#yanks him by the scarf and holds him tightly

[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.”

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

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

[buckysgrace]

Apple Dumplin'

Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Flufftober 2024

Steve takes you apple picking. 

You bounced your knee up and down in the seat, holding your fingers tightly together as you waited for Steve to return with your sweets he was collecting. You had a scarf wrapped around your neck, a long sleeved shirt on and a pair of pants that was thick enough to keep you warm from the chilly breeze. The coldness wasn’t unbearable, just cold enough to make your cheeks burn. 

“Okay so-,” Steve approached, hair wind blown and kissed from the sun as he sat down a few different items that had been sandwiched between his long fingers, “Apple cider, caramel and candy apples, apple butter, apple pie and uh, I think that was an apple dumpling. It’s new.” He presented to you, making you blink in surprise at the mass amount of items. 

“What is it?” You asked him as you poked at the last object, yanking your finger back at how warm it felt. He pulled his jacket around him tighter, wrinkling his eyebrows together. 

“Uh,” He paused as he looked at it again, “Some sort of apple donut? I don’t really know, it just looked good.” He shrugged his shoulders, making you smile as you gently picked it up this time. You placed it against your teeth, taking a bite from it. 

“It’s really good.” You told him seriously, your tongue burning with the flavor of melted caramel, cinnamon and soft dough. The apples were crisp and soft too. You handed it towards him, laughing as he leaned forward and took the rest of it from your hand with a large bite.

“That’s hot,” He protested, fanning his mouth as he quickly chewed it down, “You could’ve warned me.” He remarked playfully, but his eyes were still widened in a flurry of panic as he tried to keep from burning his mouth. 

“I thought you knew,” You defended yourself, fanning your hand as well to try and help, “I’m sorry. I thought you saw the heat from that sucker.” You told him seriously, laughing as steam rolled out of his mouth. 

“It’s good,” He agreed a second later, smiling as he wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, “Just blistering. My tongue hurts.” He rolled his tongue around inside of his mouth, as if to prove a point 

“Do you need a kiss?” You teased him, passing the apple cider over in hopes that it would help some. He took a big gulp, fluttering his eyelashes before he turned back to you in amusement. 

“Yes,” He answered cheesily, eyes glazed with mischief as he looked at you, “I’d appreciate that very much.” He dropped the cup down back onto the table, making you grin as he leaned forward expectantly. 

You leaned over the table, letting your fingers graze against his wrists gently as you slowly dipped your head down to meet his. You grazed your lips over his gently, tasting the leftover sugar and cinnamon as electricity spread through your body. 

“Better?” You asked him as you pulled away, flattered by the lovestruck look in his eyes. He was too cute for his own good. 

“Much,” He grinned, taking you by surprise as he shoved a spoonful of apple pie into your mouth, “How’s that taste?” He questioned you as you rolled the bite around in your mouth. 

“Really sweet,” You spit out between mouthfuls, “I really like it.” You stated, nodding your head in approval as he pushed the pie back to himself. 

“It is good,” He agreed as he used the same spoon to eat from, “But not as sweet as you.” He replied with a small smirk, making your insides warm. 

“Flattered,” You giggled as you held your hand to your chest, “It's like you’re trying to impress me or something.” You teased him, sending him a sly wink before you dived into your next apple dessert. 

“I’m your boyfriend, that’s my job.” He added, stealing the fork from you once again. Underneath the table he slid his shoe between 

“Robin said it’s to be corny,” You added as you took a sip from your shared apple cider, “Which you are, just a bit.” You added as you pressed your fingers close together. You didn’t mind it though, not one bit. 

“It doesn’t sound like you’re complaining.” He cocked his eyebrows playfully as you both fought over who got the last piece of apple pie. 

“No, I love it,” You grinned as you watched him chew it down triumphantly, “Very much so.” You grinned as you bumped your knees against his, hoping that he enjoyed that last piece.

The farm wasn’t too busy today, but you supposed that had to do with it being a Tuesday afternoon. But it was the only day that you didn’t have class and Steve was off. Even though you knew you’d ditch class if he asked you to.

“So we just take whatever?” Steve turned towards you curiously, fixing the hem of his shirt to keep the material from falling against his palms. His sweater was yellow, fitting him quite nicely with the afternoon glow. 

“It said a basketful,” You repeated as you thought about what the rules had said, “So I guess however much we can fit in here.” You gave your wooden basket a little spank, just to prove your point.

“Sweet,” He added, taking the basket from your hand and linking your fingers together with his free one, “See any you like?” He questioned as you two went forward on your path. 

Rows and rows of trees lied in front of you, all of them covered with bright red apples. Thick and gleaming. You weren’t sure which ones were best, or how to tell which ones were bad. They all looked great. Good enough to pull off of the limbs and take a bite out of. 

“Um,” You paused as you came to a thicker branch, “These look nice and red.” You replied, picking a few off of one of the trees. You were about halfway down your current row. That had to be a good spot. Well, at least you hoped it was. It would be your luck to bring home a basket full of rotting apples. 

“What about these?” Steve hummed in agreement, motioning to a cluster of apples just above where yours had been located. Maybe you had found the best tree. 

“Get those too,” You nodded your head, letting him get the ones that were higher up, “Yeah. We’re doing good.” You reassured him, feeling proud of the amount you had found so far. 

The two of you went on like that for a while, gathering and plucking different apples as you searched through the various trees. The basket slowly began to get heavier and heavier, making the two of you switch back and forth on who was carrying it. 

“How many apples is too many apples?” You asked him seriously, grinding your teeth together as he tentatively balanced another apple on top of the rest. Your basket was close to exploding, the apples just a brief motion from falling into the dirt. 

“Will we eat all of these?” He asked you seriously, both of you sharing a little laugh. You were sure by the end of this you would be tired of apples, but it was still fun. You’d find something to do with them. 

“We could try and make apple butter,” You stated as you thought about it, “And we could candy them. Or we could make an apple pie.” You thought of the various desserts you’d had earlier, thinking they could be easy enough to replicate.

“So yes?” He asked as he cocked an eyebrow, shifting the basket towards you. You reached out, gripping the other side so it didn’t topple over. 

“Yes,” You agreed with a nod of your head, “I have faith in us.” You told him, a bit amused by the thought of him selling desserts on the side. Perhaps he could bake little desserts for the kids he occasionally watched too. You were sure that they would like it. 

You walked with him, both holding onto one side of a sagging basket as the sun warmed your back. The breeze was cool as it drifted you both towards the end of the lot, an occasional apple falling free from your basket. But you didn’t worry about it. Not with Steve convincing you that it would be totally fine to have apple pie for dinner. 

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

Inspiration for muzzled Sebbie?

It's spring, so heat and mating time!

Sebastian gets touchy feely and keeps trying to give you hickies and smooches to try and release his feelings as well as get you aroused (even doe he knows you have important work to do...)

He won't come and ask for help when you're free. It's always. When. You're. Working.

So what do we do to bad demons that can't learn to be patient or properly communicate their needs? We muzzle them. (Desensitisation too if you're okay with that)

Leash him. Tie him to the table and have a bar (idk what it's called) separate his legs permanently so he can't try to rub himself out. The only way he can get pleasure is try to hump your foot till he admits he's been bad, apologises and asks for help directly

Oooh!! This is so good!! (A spreader bar I think is what you’re talking about? It forces a subs legs apart and keeps them like that)

(ALSO I CANT BELIVE I HAVEBT DONE FOR DESENSITIZATION??)

Sebastian (demon forms, teasing, nuzzling, basically underlining pet play, ed:ging, slight pact play, ruined org*sm (once), )

-

Spring caused a lot of things to bloom, and you don’t mind when it comes the only thing you get annoyed by is your butler getting into his yearly heats. He couldn’t wait till you finish any work before he’s getting handsy, practically inhaling your scent as he whines about how badly he needs you.

You’ve spoiled him in the past really, you indulged him preavously during his heats and now he things you’ll drop everything you’re doing to stroke/blow him whenever he’s aroused. (Which is basically 24/7 with this horny demon’s heats) He oversteps boundaries, nipping and biting at any exposed skin he can get close to, leaving a ton of sharp, clearly in human bites around your wrist, neck and shoulders.

You had to wear scarfs when it’s 70 degrees out! It was so frustrating so you had to get a few ‘gifts’ to remind your dumb mutt his place. A pretty black muzzle, it would fit him perfectly and a bright pink collar and a matching leash! Even a little name tag for him (along with a phone number to call) to wear.

Before you were even in your house, Sebastian was on you, shoving you against the door, pressing his body right against you and leaning down to kiss you. You bring your free hand up to push him away, he quickly nips your hand and holds it firmly in a painfully sharp grip between his teeth.

You hiss in pain. “Let go.” You say firmly, you get a playful growl in response but he doesn’t let go until you make it an order. You glare at him as you bring the bag up to his eye level. He huffs and looks you over, seemingly not interested in the bags contents as he reaches to fondle your chest.

You grab the leash first, showing it to him. The clink of the tags and the leash get his attention and he stares at it for a second and shakes his head. “No, M-Master just, a hand?” He guides your free hand between his legs and you have to force his pact to stop him. You drag him in the house.

You snap the collar on and give the leash a firm yank, Sebastian in turn bows his head as he lets you pull him along. He whines as you drag him him to your kitchen. You notice the heavy boxes stacked on the table and without missing a beat, you tied Sebastian’s leash tightly. He looked at you like a kicked puppy, lightly tugging at the leash, the table moving as you step away. “Stop.” Your order forces him to freeze.

“M-Master, I cant r-reach you?” He ask in a confused tone. He tries to resist the pressure by rubbing his thighs together to stimulate his aching cock. You had just the item for this! You ordered him to strip (much to his delight) and grab a spreader and once he had kicked off his pants and undergarments, you spread his legs and lock it in place.

Unsurprisingly he was hard, making a mess. With a hushed tone, you speak clearly and slowly. “Don’t. Move. The. Table. That’s an order.” Sebastian groans and presses as far as he can without moving the table, when he reaches for you, you step just out of his range. A whimper escapes him, he claws the ground in frustration and uncomfortably sits on his heels, legs still forced apart. His cock bobbed and given how swollen it was and it was already dripping, you imagine how much it must ache when he can smell that this is arousing you as well.

Not to mention his heat, you can tell all he want is to just buck into you until he’s seeing stars, but now you won’t even let him touch you. “M-Master? I need you…why aren’t you…” He trailed off with a whine glancing between his cock and then to you. “Please?” He whines out.

His cock gives a few hopeful bobs before you step forward. You press a leg between his legs, watching him quickly buck up against your leg. You pull back before he even gets to touch you, earning a growl. “Bad boy!” You step out of his range right before he can grab you. To his embarrassment, his cock was drooling in anticipation, a small puddle of pre pooling between his legs.

“You cant take what you want. You are my dog. You only get what i give you, and you obey me. Be good, I’ll reward you, as your first punishment…” A grin spread across your face as you grab the last item in the bag. You are quick to put it in Sebastian, startling him enough that he didn’t struggle, seemingly not sure how to respond.

Once it clicked in place he seemed to snap out of his trance and you step back. To your amusement he shook his head first, but the muzzle didn’t come off, without being able to see the clasp, he cant easily get it off. He reaches up and feels the contraption on his face.

“Master…you’ve….m-muzzled me? I cant… bite you. I-I cant kiss-“ You force his head up to face you. Before you can speak, he pulls you down, nuzzling into your neck, you can feel his tongue drag over the bars to try and taste you. You growl at him.

“I order you to let go right now and sit like a good dog.” He releases you instantly and sits on his haunches. You step to the other half of the room before you release the order. He huffs and before he can do anything you add. “You are not to touch yourself, you are not to grab me, or touch me without permission.”

A whine escapes him as he listens to you. “And,” You add with a glare. “You need to learn self control…” You step forward, taking his cock into one hand, teasingly rubbing the head of it. You could see his entire body jolt as the pleasure shot through him. He bucks up instantly, but your hand lets go of his cock as soon as he moved.

“W-why..?” Sebastian whimpers out as his cock painful bobs in excitement. “I’ll be good, w-what am I supposed to do?”

You hum and reach down but stop short of his cock. “Don’t buck up when I touch you, if you want something, just tell me. I am sick of you bothering me at work, so today I’m training you.” Sebastian gave you a shocked look, a tremble goes through him at the authoritative tone you use on him.

“M-my heat! I-I can’t train l-like this! This is cruel!” He whines like you caught him stealing a cookie, not him dry humping you while you work. You lean down enough to be eye level with him.

“Higher stakes.” You half joke as your hand goes to his chest instead of cock, teasing his man hood with your other hand, avoiding the tip as you barely rub it between your fingers, intentionally putting too much pressure. “I don’t mind if you ask for it. Politely. But instead you bite me, leaving marks like a dog, so I’ll treat you appropriately. You can use your words when you’re ready to tell me what you want.”

You release his cock once more to his dismay. “You’re heat is going to make this more…intense for you. You only act up when you’re in heat too, so if I can get my dog to keep his bone tucked away whenever he smells his bitch, only then will I let him finish.” You glare at him and disgruntled whine in return.

“I’m not a dog-“ He tries to rub against anything, but in this position his cock can’t reach the floor without you noticing. His ‘bone’ throbbed in a attempt to get your attention, the tip bright red, looking like you had been torturing it…

He pauses, seeing you look down upon him, he can feel the power of your pact keeping him from releasing the agonizing tension between his legs…as much as he wants to fight…he just whimpers in response, tongue lulling out as he pants. “Please, my cock, touch me!” He sits up, almost like he’s presenting his cock to you.

You reach forward, lightly touching it, working it until you wrap a hand around it, you could feel it pulsing in your hand, but you didn’t move…you held his manhood their as he trembled, the pact preventing him from grabbing your hand, leaving it hovering above your hand. He growls in frustration, his teeth clear even with the muzzle, you let go of him and jump back just before there’s a change the in atmosphere.

His wings are out, trembling as his scarlet orbs desperately eye you. You watch him claw at the ground as he bears his teeth in frustration. “B-but I asked!” You nod, but don’t respond right away. “Master, it hurts! Please!” His wings flap desperately, leaving feathers to scatter.

When he sees the scowl on your face he freezes, and to your amusement, he bucks under your gaze and you hear the distinct sound of his cock smacking against his stomach. You let out a short laugh, watching his face turn red as he takes in the situation.

“Puppy,” You wait till he acknowledges you to continue. “You told me to touch you, so I did, you didn’t ask for me to help you, just for a touch.” Sebastian freezes and lets out a drawn out sight.

“Stroke m-my cock! I need you pleaseplease-“ He cries out as you tighten your hold of his throbbing shaft. You stroke him at a leisurely pace, watching the way his hips tremble as he tries to stay still. You barely have a grip on him, you don’t even move all the way to the tip with each stroke! “Please, please! Squeeze my cock! Stroke f-faster, p-please!”

His tone hurried, the ache between his legs worsening with each stroke. You know what he wants, but you’re dragging it out to drive a point home. You do show mercy this time though, hand speeding up and tightening more than he liked. Sebastian moans out a couple “Thank you!”s before he’s trembling.

“Close?” Sebastian nods, his man hood giving a heavy throb before you stopped and let go of him once more. Sebastian cries out, he couldn’t buck fast enough, he’s left trembling as you let him ruin his orgasm. You hear him near wheezing as he pulls on the collar, harder than he should, the table jerks forward and you see him try to get up to stop the boxes from falling, but the spreader causes him to lose his balance and practically bow in front of you. He glanced back to see a few of the boxes on the ledge, if he pulls again…you will definitely punish him if any of those fall…

When he turns back to you, he can see you’re think the same thing, he moves back to give his leash slack before putting his arms behind his back. His cock hung between his legs, still fully erect. “Master, I n-need you to stroke my cock. Please, let me cum! I want to feel good!”

You praise him and lean down, he meets you half way but with the muzzle, he cant kiss you. He let out a defeated whimper. “Muzzle off…please?” You eye him carefully.

“If you bite me once, I’ll leave you like this till tomorrow.” Sebastian whimpers but nods. To his confusion, you don’t touch him or take the muzzle off. Instead you shove your leg between his. You stand up straight and grin. “Hump my leg like a good dog, you can cum as much as you want on one condition.” Sebastian gives you his full attention, his manhood throbbing hard against your calf. “Admit you were a bad boy. Apologize.”

He whimpers and quickly caves. “I’m s-sorry, I’ve been bad, I need to cum please…” He’s bucking against your leg, you show him mercy and bounce your leg with every few thrust. You can feel that he’s close and you let him cum on your shoe, he collapses against you, too tired to support his own weight.

You step aside and he falls forward, dragging the table forwards, making the boxes fall with a loud thud….

Sebastian whimpers in response, he submissively bowed and apologized again with a tremble in his voice. “I-I’m s-sorry! I’m-I didn’t mean to…” You ruffle his hair but don’t punish him over it. Besides you can see his cock starting to come back to life, he’s gonna have to be good if he wants to finish again!

[lost-in-lamentation]

human world headcanons

a/n: i just know half of the brothers would break into the human world under the excuse of seeing their favourite human, only to be distracted 9 seconds later. and so; human world shenanigans.

═  ˎˊ˗

lucifer.

here's one that doesn't stray from his goal.

lucifer heads straight to your house (without warning).

but he forgets that you have work today; he also does not have the key to your front door.

your neighbours start to wonder if the strange man who has been sitting on your doorstep is lost.

one kind-hearted neighbour sends you a picture of the lonely demon on your porch, along with the message "he's been there for hours."

a fit of laughter and a 20 minute drive later, you embrace lucifer tightly.

"sorry, sorry," you manage to giggle out as he tries to scold you for not having your d.d.d. on you.

lucifer finally relents the harsh glare when you tell him you'll cook a special dinner for him.

═  ˎˊ˗

mammon.

he's distracted in all the right ways.

first, he grabs you a drink from your favourite human world café.

mammon will then head to the grocery store and look for your favourite snacks.

he's so focused on the task at hand that he doesn't notice you side eyeing him from two feet away.

when he finally does notice, he turns on his heel and ducks his head, trying to escape your gaze.

it's too late now, though; you've already got a hand on the edge of his jacket, yanking him towards you.

"mammon. does anyone know you're up here?"

"... you do."

"not good enough!"

═  ˎˊ˗

leviathan.

see, he really wishes he could be distracted.

after all, the human world has so many anime and manga goods stores that he wants to visit.

but being the shut-in he is, he'd rather wait inside your house until you have time to go out.

unlike a certain brother, he remembers the key to your door (mainly because he doesn't want to be stuck waiting outside).

he does also shoot you a quick text before he enters, just in case you're inside and he freaks you out, or in case you're out of the house.

you enjoy having levi over; he doesn't drag you back outside as soon as you've got one foot through the doorway.

but perhaps the real problem is getting him back out.

because, why leave when he can game without his brothers interrupting his boss level speed run?

═  ˎˊ˗

satan.

oh lawd he's NOT coming.

he saw a cat on the road; as far as you know, he's gone forever.

satan only stops when he sees a street library box, curiosity getting the better of him.

it's maybe a few hours later that he remembers to text you of his arrival in your realm.

you call him almost immediately, asking where he is, only for the blonde to respond "i'm not quite sure myself. i followed a cat here."

your eyebrow twitches, and you almost want to give satan a taste of his own wrathful medicine.

"if it helps, the cat was a tortoiseshell."

"how is that supposed to help?!"

═  ˎˊ˗

asmodeus.

luck is on his side today, as his walk to your place takes him right past the shopping district.

it may have also taken him inside a few stores.

meanwhile, you lounge around at home, blissfully unaware.

that is, until lucifer calls you with much urgency in his voice, saying "MC, please tell me asmodeus is with you."

your neighbours can hear you screaming from the inside of your car as you pull out of your driveway.

a part of you is grateful that it's asmodeus at the mall; although he spends, he's not quite as bad as his older brother.

when you finally find the demon in the shopping center, you grab hold of his scarf, dragging him and his bags towards your car.

"MC, wait! i haven't bought a good lip tint for you yet!"

═  ˎˊ˗

beelzebub.

unlike most of his brothers, beel makes it his priority to call you first thing upon arrival.

his second priority is to find the shop where that delicious smell is coming from.

"beel, do NOT move from where you are, or i swear i will call lucifer and have him drag you back to hell himself."

you're glad the shopping and food square is walking (sprinting) distance from your place.

in your panicked rush, you leave your front door wide open, leaving your neighbours to wonder what you're up to this time.

it's a good thing the avatar of gluttony is so tall; you find his orange head standing close to the decorative water fountain in the middle of the square.

"oh, MC. you must be hungry after running like that."

you can only plant your hands on your knees while catching your breath, and beel waits patiently for your approval to go grab a snack.

═  ˎˊ˗

belphegor.

does not call or text you when he heads up to the human world.

you're most likely to come home to him already knocked out cold on your couch.

belphie is a quiet sleeper, so it takes you a few minutes to actually realize that he's there.

when you do realize that he's there, you unwillingly release a yelp, waking up the sloth demon.

belphie's expression shifts from a glare to a smile when he remembers he's in your house and not the house of lamentation.

"welcome home," he mumbles sleepily, stretching his limbs out one by one.

"belphie, how many times do i have to tell you to text me before you come over?"

he shrugs in response, instead dragging you onto the couch for a well deserved nap with him.

a/n: praying that my demon bro bias does not glare anyone in the face with these headcanons. i'm soft for all of them, i swear.

[laswells-ashtray]

Just an idea, about Price and Laswell, besties, that much is clear. Arguably platonic soulmates. Maybe that’s just me.

But just the idea of Price getting hurt for Kate, taking a hit for her, getting taken prisoner, it doesn’t matter what the sacrifice is, because Price would rather risk his life everyday than ever have to tell Kate’s wife that she died.

Idk where I’m going with this, I just like the pain. Sorry to bother. Love from a fellow Scot.

A FELLOW SCOT!? I'm mentally passing you a bottle of red kola rn.

Absolutely they are platonic soulmates. No interest in each other romantically as so many people would assume but Kate Laswell is John's best friend and she is stuck with his ass for as long as he stays alive.

The day John takes a bullet for Kate is a memorable one. He doesn't actually take a bullet, a bullet grazes his bicep and Jesus fuck almighty does it sting something nasty but it's nothing compared to the actual injuries he's faced over the years.

Kate is not happy, in fact, he's positive that if there wasn't blood running down his arm she'd be smacking him senseless.

They had a goal and the job should've been easy. Kate was going to lead a man out of a bar and John was going to subdue him before he was subjected to some "CIA questioning". Kate's words, not his.

None of the information they had been provided stated that the man they were after was out with three of his buddies and they hadn't prepared for the four of them to be shitfaced either.

It had been easy to grab the guy they were after but one of his friends had been up for a tussle and Kate was beating his arse black and blue until the cunt pulled out a gun. He hadn't thought twice about grabbing her and pulling her over to his right side, throwing himself in the line of fire as the unsteady prick pulled the trigger. His aim is shit because he's clearly pissed and he shoots like it.

The bullet skims his bicep but it doesn't throw him off as he launches himself forward and slams the man's head into the edge of a bin at the back of a bar. God bless America and their reliance on weirdly large metal bins. John tries not to wince at how crispy the man's hair feels, the sheer amount of hairspray in it as he pulls his head back by the straw-like black strands and pummels his face into the metal structure until he hears that familiar popping sound of a jaw breaking and he lets the thug go.

He isn't prepared for how Kate yanks him back towards her, kicking away a stray limb from the unconscious fuck on the ground. He stumbles just a little and opens his mouth to say something until he catches the look on her face. The furrowed brows, the narrowed eyes, the scowl and the fact she's using a scarf her wife bought her to staunch the bleeding from his arm imply that he might've fucked up.

"Didn't Sarah buy you that?" He asks, he already knows the answer but it's the only thing he can think of that won't get him verbally abused in response.

"Yes." Nevermind, the verbal abuse would've been better.

She wraps the scarf around his bicep and ties it so tightly that he can't help but grimace a little. She looks up at him as he does and is very visibly unapologetic.

"Was that necessary?"

"He tried to shoot you, he's still breathing just with a broken jaw." He looks down at the man with the broken jaw. That'd be a shit Bond title. There's blood pooling around his head but John can still see one of his hands twitching so he's alive.

Kate's grip on his arm tightens ever so slightly and he's positive that she doesn't know she's doing it. "That isn't what I was talking about. You know that, John."

"He was going to shoot you." He answers simply.

"He would've missed."

"You don't know that."

"Why?"

"I've got countless fucking scars on me at this point, what's one more."

Kate's expression is pained in the way that implies that she wants to say something but she's holding herself back. John has seen it far too much over the years.

"Say it."

"Don't pull that shit again. Not with me."

He doesn't answer. Doesn't promise that he won't do it again because he's never made a habit of lying to Kate and he won't start now.

He'd take a bullet between the eyes for her if he had to. She knows.

[kabie-whump]

❆ Whumpcember Day 10: "Let me help you." ❆

Donner's gotten himself caught in a bear trap.

⋆❅*𖢔𐂂꙳

Donner can’t believe how stupid he is.

The forest is blanketed in snow, all sounds muffled save for the sharp gasps for air Donner drags through his teeth. His face is scrunched with pain as he stares down at the steel jaws clamped around his ankle, blood bubbling thickly around the metal. The pain radiates up his body, throbbing and hot. 

He didn’t even see it as he wandered through the woods, hoping to work off some excess energy before he had to sit through a long movie night with the team later. The trap was well hidden under the thick snow, ready and waiting.

“Shit,” Donner hisses, his fists clenching where they hold his own knee tightly. It’s taking all of his self control to not try to yank free of the trap, knowing that he’ll probably just end up losing his foot for good. No, any sane person would tell him to relax, take stock of his condition, and find help without causing any further harm. 

Slowly, carefully, with only a few muffled grunts of pain, Donner lowers himself to the ground. He sits with his unharmed leg outstretched and his other leg bent so he can examine the damage, brushing away red-stained snow with shaking hands.

The trap itself is attached to a chain, which disappears underground. He tests the dirt with his fingertips, finding it frozen solid. He’s stuck.

A crunch of snow nearby makes his head snap up, his eyes flitting around for the source of the noise. He’d screamed when the trap had snapped around his ankle, and he worries now that his screaming combined with the stench of blood have attracted predators. 

But it’s not a wolf or a bear that he finds slowly approaching him from behind a tree, but a man, dressed in thick furs with an axe hanging at his hip.

Donner flinches back, his instincts screaming for him to run, but the trap keeps him firmly in place. 

“Easy there,” the man says, his voice low and cautious. “You’re in a bad spot, huh?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, lowering himself to the ground next to Donner and reaching for the trap. 

Donner yanks his foot back, gasping at the new wave of pain that comes with it. “Stay back,” he growls.

The woodsman freezes for a second, glancing up at Donner’s face, then a little higher to his antlers. “You’re one of those deer-people,” he says, pulling his hands away and holding them up in a placating gesture. “You’re a hell of a lot bigger than your friend. Comet, was it?”

Oh, right. Comet got lost in the woods a few months ago, came back saying that they met a nice old woodsman. This must be him. He’s probably not going to kill Donner right now, considering how good he was to Comet. 

“Just,” the man continues, “Just let me help you, alright?”

Donner nods shortly.

“Alright. This is gonna hurt, but I’ll get you out. Just hold still.” The woodsman inspects the trap with practiced eyes. “Old one,” he mutters to himself. “Springs are stiff. No one’s checked this trap in years.” He glances up at Donner, his expression surprisingly gentle for such a weathered face. “Alright, big guy. I’m gonna wedge this open.”

Donner grits his teeth as the man starts to work, using a crowbar from his pack to pry the jaws open. He brings a hand to his mouth and bites down on his own glove, holding back a scream as the pressure eases for a moment, only to return as the springs resist. It’s excruciating but he does his best to be still despite the all-consuming urge to pull away. 

“Almost…” the woodsman mutters, his brow furrowed with concentration. With a final grunt of effort the trap’s jaws give way and his discards it, immediately whipping off his scarf to wrap it around Donner’s rapidly bleeding ankle. “There.”

“Thanks,” Donner gasps, his head light and fuzzy from shock and blood loss.

He wraps his arm around the woodsman, letting him lift him off the ground and start leading him back the way he came.

⋆❅*𖢔𐂂꙳

Tags: @whumpcember@sapphicccici

[definitelynotstable]

Camomile pt. 17 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10, pt. 11, pt. 12, pt. 13, pt. 14, pt. 15, pt. 16, pt. 17

AN: Another oneeeeee.

Synopsis: Closely follows the “El Sin Nombre” mission from mw2 (reboot). Rights to the game developers <3 Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: canon divergence, canon typical violence, guns, wounds, swearing, brief mentions of sa etc Ghost x gn!Reader (Callsign: Rags): Note about pronouns at the bottom :)

✧˚ · .

You hood is yanked from your head and you squint at the harsh fluorescent lighting. 

“Hermana.”

Your eyes widen as they meet the brown ones in front of you.

“Alejandro?”

He’s in a suit and wears a matching balaclava to the men at the gate. He rests a hand on your shoulder, holding your gaze.

“How did you–“

–“No time.” He cuts you off, “Listen, give them good intel in there. Don’t lie, tell them everything they want to know or you’ll die here.”

“Everything?” You know it’s part of the plan and partially your idea but you’ve been trained not to give up intel. This goes against everything you’ve learnt as a soldier.

“Everything.” Alejandro confirms, “Mexican special forces, American PMCs, Shadow Company, Philip Graves – all truth.”

“Even your name?” You ask, unsure of how much is too much. But there’s a screech and elevator doors open, cutting you off.

A man stands, a double leather holster overlaps his brightly patterned shirt. He’s bald with a dark beard and a chain rests on his chest. Your gaze flicks up to his and he grins at you like a hungry shark and it takes everything in you not to gulp like a cartoon character. You settle for a shaky breath.

“¿Es ella?”

“Sí, señor.” Alejandro replies, pushing you forward with a firm shove.

The man tilts his head, still smiling.

“You got a name, chica?” 

You swallow. No lies. 

“They call me Rags.”

“¿Qué tipo de nombre es Rags?” He laughs, reaching forward to grip your upper arm. “Let’s go.”

You tug back slightly, eyes hard. “I want to see El Sin Nombre.”

He turns back to you and grips your jaw tightly, wrenching your neck forwards and into the light.

“You’re only alive because you may have some information.” He squeezes harder and you bite your tongue. “It better be good perra or I’ll let my men have their way with you.”

He shoves you away with a laugh.

“Get the fuck out of my elevator.”

✧˚ · .

You’re shoved down the narrow hallways, trailing Diego as he gives you a scuffed version of a tour. Finally you’re pushed into a dimly lit room a the end of a corridor. The floor steps down and there’s a single light casting a hard glow on a cluster of chairs where two men in army uniforms are slumped; bound and gagged. Another sits with his back to you in more civilian attire.

“Valeria.” Diego says as you enter, “There’s one more. A gringo.”

The woman, Valeria, stands behind the two uniformed men. She’s in a tank top and jeans, a scarf around her neck and holster on her hips. She looks at you with an interest smile, almost like a cat.

“Sit down.”

The man to her left shoves one of the soldiers off a chair. He slumps over and rolls to the side, unmoving. You eye her warily as you cross the room, someone’s laid a tarp down in a poor attempt to keep the blood spatter from the polished wood floors. You swallow thickly as it squeaks underfoot, careful not to lose your balance with your hands still zip tied in front of you.

“¿Quién es?” Valeria asks, stepping in front of you to talk to Diego. There’s an authoritative air about her and Diego’s body language suggests she holds the power here – though it’s his house.

“El nombre es trapos.” He replies as she questions him. “They came to us.”

“¿Trapos?” 

You watch as she circles the man like an animal hunting its prey.

“And you let them in?”

Diego stands stock still. “They say they have information.”

You flinch as Valeria kicks out his legs from beneath him and holds a knife to his throat.

“¡No la conocemos y nos ha visto la cara!”’

“Valeria.” Diego gasps against her hold, palms raised in surrender. “We need intel, they could help us.”

She spits a threat to him in spanish before removing her hold and shoving him forwards. He lands on his hands and knees before scuttling to the side. 

Valeria’s gaze turns to you and she pulls out a gun from her holster. She holds it in a casual way which almost feels more threatening than the guards before. She’d use the gun to maim – a bullet to the head would be too easy.

“Children!” She says, swishing her hips as she comes to stand in the centre of the circle of chairs. “This is simple: I ask questions. You answer truthfully.”

She swings her gun around. “Do not lie to me.”

She turns to you, eyes dark and calculating.

“Recently we were protecting a friend in the mountains. Someone attacked us there. Who?”

The man across from you sends you an anxious glance. You realise he isn’t in civvies – he’s in the army but wears a jacket unlike the other two.

“Fue un caos. No lo vi.” He stutters and Valeria tuts.

“English. For the gringo.”

He gulps. “I-I think it was the Rivals Cartel.”

Valeria stares him down for a moment before turning to you. 

“Your turn, blanquita. Who attacked us?”

“It wasn’t cartel.” You say, mouth dry. It feels as though your betraying your own. “It was Mexican Special Forces.”

“We found the bodies." Valeria narrows her eyes and turns back to the man in front of you. “Now, how would an outsider know they were Mexican Special forces and not you?”

You watch as the man swallows, Diego pushing himself up from where he was sitting in the background – rolling his sleeves as he approaches.

“M-maybe she was there!”

Diego hisses something at the man in spanish and Valeria leans over the man menacingly.

“There were outsiders helping the Mexican Special Forces. Who were they?”

“We – we heard them yelling – some in English. They were with the gringos – like her!”

Valeria turns to face you and you meet her gaze.

“American PMCs. A group called Shadow Company.”

Diego curses from where he stands behind the man and Valeria spits at the ground.

“What proof do you have?”

You jut your chin out, “check my pocket.”

The woman leans forward cautiously and pulls the patch from your pocket. The overhead light casts harsh shadows and highlights her muscular shoulders; arms covered in tattoos.

You lick your lips nervously as she studies it. “Shadow company insignia. Proof.”

Valeria drops the hand holding the patch to her side and leans over you, warm breath fanning over your face.

“Who leads Shadow Company? Give me a name.”

You feel less guilty saying the Americans name. He hasn’t earned your trust like Alejandro has. 

“Phillip Graves.”

Satisfied, Valeria pushes off the chair and away from you, studying the insignia again as Diego chuckles.

“Fill graves. I like that.”

Valeria passes the patch to him before turning back to you.

“This man …Graves. What does he want?”

Your jaw ticks slightly. “He wants the missiles you’re moving.”

The man across from you scoffs and says something under his breath. It seems to anger Valeria and he speaks in rapid streams of spanish. Diego approaches him, gun in hand and his voice raises. He’s begging for his life.

You watch, eyes wide as Diego pressed the gun to his temple and pulls the trigger. Blood and brain matter splats wetly across the floor and you hold back a gag. It’s easier to pull the trigger than be forced to watch someone else do it like some sick play.

You’re grateful when Valeria rounds on you, filling your vision and blocking the now-dead man.

She leans down, her knife in hand.

“How nice.” Her dark eyes bore in to yours as she cuts through the zip ties around your wrists. “You did good. Well done.”

She turns and walks to the door, the other men in the room stepping out of her way. 

“We’re going upstairs.” Diego beckons you forward. “Come on, chica.”

✧˚ · .

Diego shoves you roughly into the elevator and converses in spanish too complicated for you to understand. Valeria still watches you with her calculating gaze, only looking up when the elevator dings and the doors open. 

A man in a suit and balaclava waits at the top – a guard.

“This is where you wait, Rags.” Diego shoves you into the arms of the waiting guard and barks an order at him. The guard presses you roughly up against the wall as Diego disappears down the hall with Valeria.

The guard holding you says something to other guard nearby. He says something back before chucking a pale mask at the one restraining you and exiting through a door nearby.

“Your alive.”

The voice catches you off guard. You almost forgot he was inside with you.

“Alejandro!” You sag in relief, arms still against the wall as your friend pretends to search you for weapons. “I’m glad you’re alive too.”

“What did you find?” He asks, squatting to pat down your pants.

“El Sin Nombre is in the penthouse – third floor.”

“We’ll need a keycard.”

“Diego has one.” You reply, remembering the man fidgeting with it and using it in the elevator.

Alejandro finishes his fake search and hands you a mask and a knife.

“Take this.”

You slide the knife into your belt, feeling considerably safer with a weapon. “Why a mask?”

“Some people here can’t be seen with the cartel.” He says, already striding away from you and down the hallway. “Comms are hooked in.”

You slip it on, rolling your neck as it itches against the skin there. His voice buzzes in your air. 

“Radio check?”

You give him a thumbs up. “Copy.”

“You’re good.” Alejandro confirms back, “Let’s head out.”

✧˚ · .

AN: ok here’s the situation re pronouns. This dialogue was so damn hard to write gender neutral esp since I don’t know a lick of spanish. The spanish is the only part that is gendered and the logic here is that Rags is most likely fem presenting and so that’s the language used. I’m a she/they girly and I get it’s probably insanely disappointing for my other enbies out there to find gn content. I’m sorry to disappoint but at the end of the day I’m trying to get these out as fast as I can on top of uni and don’t quite have the capacity to be as thorough as I’d like when it comes to this. I plan on turning this into an OC fic eventually and Rags will be afab and use she/her pronouns in that. The rest of this fic will stay generally gn though :)

✧˚ · .

Taglist

@crosshairs773fp @alanalanalanalanalanna @ghostlythots @hyperfixationwhore @shinebright2000 @sae1kie @hotaruteba @karurururu @rorel1a @http-paprika @thriving-n-jiving @lazybutsmexy @zozosrandomthings @jinxxangel13 @tumblinginoz @kee-0-kee @moonsua1 @freeseeker @kaoyamamegami @01trickster10

Reply if you want to be added :)

Masterlist

[hitomisuzuya]

Dom!Childe x Fatui!sub!fem!reader. Smut. Established poly relationship. Degradation. Praise. Yandere-ish? Self indulgent. Wearing Childe's scarf during sex. Harbinger jackets. I think I covered it all.

a/n: Welcome to #suzu after dark, everyone. As stated last night that this is a part two companion piece. Bear with me on this one, everyone. This is a way for my brain to go brrrr writing Childe for a bit. I woke up feeling like shit. So, enjoy cause sheesh, both of these boys bring out the worst in me LOL 🫶 I am gonna finish up the little bits of the Windblume Festival gameplay tomorrow and then start getting the last few requests I have done in my inbox done. About 4 days or so should be all I need.

Tagging @xxventiswindblumexx and @kichikichiko

It had been Scaramouche's turn to provoke Childe that night by putting his Harbinger jacket on you. This started a new round of their game.

"You know, girlie.." Childe groaned, smirking down at you, holding onto the back of your head, making you cough as he pushed his cock into your throat. "You look like slut, on your knees, sucking me off so well, drooling pooling all over that short shit's jacket."

He stroked the back of your head. "And I have the added bonus of seeing your slut throat wrapped in my scarf. By the way," he yanked your head up off of his cock, gripping your hair tightly, "I fucking hate how much it turned me on when I could smell him and you all over my jacket. It disgusted me, and I know you got off on it too."

Childe roughly flung you down onto the bed, making you shiver with excitement. You knew Childe lay into you extra. And you couldn't get enough of it.

Childe flipped you over onto your stomach, grabbed your hips to pull them up and thrust himself inside of you. He laughed when you cried out in pleasure. "You know, as much as I would to make you beg for me the slut you are, like Scaramouche did, but I would rather him see my marks of dominance darkening over his."

Your hair was a favorite go to for leverage. Childe gripped a handful and yanked your head back, pushing two fingers into your mouth, making you gag on them the way Scaramouche did.

"It would piss him off extra he if knew you were sucking on my fingers while I fuck you. His favorite show of dominance over you being used against him adds extra fun for me. And you as well. So try and beg so that he can't hear you."

You happily sucked on his fingers while he pretty much ruined your insides in a way that sent you reeling with love for the both of them.

When Childe decided his fingers were wet enough, he wrapped his hand around your throat. Another use of Scaramouche's favorite use of dominance. Knowing it would piss him off if he saw it make Childe extra harsh with his thrusts as he squeezed. "Don't forget, you are all mine to, my girlie. And I'll fuck you dumb whenever I please."

You barely heard him over your babbling and moans as your orgasm approached.

Childe went to work, biting into your throat first.

[allzelemonz]

Finding and Feeling (1.3): A Bear and The Mouse

Pairing Type: M/M Rating: T/Language Warnings: Captivity, mentions of death, mutual pining, mild background Arthur/Charles Summary: A blizzard hits Colter and Kieran stays in the boys’ cabin so he doesn’t freeze. Other Chapters

The cold has gotten worse. A blizzard started up early yesterday morning and Dutch is more than stressed. There’s only so many places to put folks. So long as they have a fire, a chance to warm, they’ll be fine. That’s what he tells himself.Grimshaw has put in the work to make this hellhole a camp but there’s only so much to be done. The main structure holds most of the gang with a fire, the boy’s shack has a little stove to burn, and Dutch’s space has its own fireplace. Arthur agreed to let Charles room with him rather than in the stables, so that just leaves their little mouse of a prisoner.

He’s no good to the gang dead. Information dies with the person.

Eventually Dutch comes to the decision that he’ll room with the boys. And when he tells them this he gets the expected backlash, easily squashed by his usual glares and strong words. Lenny is sympathetic, Micah is a suck up, Bill and Javier are too loyal to object much. The shack has a heat source and with all the boys there, going through watch shifts, the dumb O’Driscoll kid won’t have much chance of escape. Hell, they could even tie him to one of those dilapidated bunk beds if he causes too much trouble.

*

Kieran has spent his fair share of cold nights sleeping in stables, but he’s not about to deny sleeping next to a fire. He watches as a couple of the fellas get the horses ready for a cold night, nervously waiting for them to untie him. It’s the big one, the same man that helped with his coat and scarf the other day, that approaches him. He doesn’t say a word as he unties the ropes, but he does leave a tight wrap around Kieran’s wrists.

His hands grip tightly on Kieran’s shoulder and opposite arm to guide him. “Ya try anythin’ n’ I’ll shoot ya myself, O’Driscoll.”

Kieran knows better than to speak right now, so he just nods quickly. He’s getting a fire and he’s not going to do anything that might make his captors change their minds. Bill knees the back of Kieran’s leg, spurring him forward like a spooked horse. Holding the boy like this gives Bill a few fuzzy feelings that he forces down, even though they warm his belly in the cold.

The short walk to the shack is uninterrupted, the other men away getting a lecture from Dutch about the O’Driscoll staying on their shabby floor until the blizzard dies down. Bill pushes Kieran inside, closing the door on the howling wind behind him. Kieran waits, watching Bill closely. The large man has red cheeks hidden halfway by his beard and Kieran almost misses the feeling of his big hands.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Bill grabs his shoulder harshly, squeezing enough to make Kieran wince. He shoves Kieran down at the foot on the bunks and kneels down with a length of rope to tie him to the post. “Not a damn word from ya. Keep yer damn mouth shut n’ ya might live through this.”

“Sure, Mister.” Kieran mumbles.

Bill should probably threaten him, tell him that those were words and punch him or something, but he finds himself blushing through the cold burn on his cheeks. Kieran’s voice is so small and light, gentler than anything Bill’s ever heard before. So he just yanks on the ropes and gives the other man a look in warning. He checks his knots, tugging to test them. Bill distances himself, adding a log to the stove in the corner in an attempt to forget that the O’Driscoll is staring at him.

*

The boys don’t take the news well. The O’Driscoll being shoved into their already cramped shack is not what they expected to hear when Dutch said he wanted to talk to them. But, Dutch being Dutch, gets his point across with firm words and reason. The O’Driscoll is no good to the gang frozen. None of them put up a fight after Dutch nearly yells at them, the three of them looking like scolded children.

When they get back to the shack, Javier takes his watch. He’s happy to distance himself from some useless little mouse. Lenny ignores him, favoring going straight to bed as Bill has already done. Micah, the ever restless, stays up by the fire and uses the light to clean his guns. He would talk to the O’Driscoll if he gave a shit, but he doesn’t.

Kieran falls asleep better than he has the past few nights, warmed by a fire and the body heat of a full room. He knows it’s Bill that he hears snoring, the low rumble of a bear in hibernation. In his dream, he finds it almost comforting.

[dildeaux-san]

The final whistle blows, signaling Karasuno’s victory over Shiratorizawa, the atmosphere in the gymnasium erupted with cheers and applause. The exhilaration of the win coursed through the Karasuno team, their spirits soaring as they celebrated their hard-fought triumph. The third years run to each other and hug, tears streaming down their faces.

But amidst the jubilant chaos, one figure stood still, his gaze fixed on a particular silver-haired omega.

Ushijima Wakatoshi, Shiratorizawa’s formidable ace, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the omega who had played a pivotal role in turning the tide of the game. He had witnessed an incredible display of skill and determination, watching in awe as the omega maneuvered through his team full of alphas, outsmarting them with each move. Ushijima couldn’t deny the impact this silver-haired omega had on him and frowned, confused at the way his heart sped up.

Ushijima found himself searching for the silver haired omega. Why? Well he’ll figure that out when he gets there.

He made his way through the crowd, after his team packed up to head home. His eyes scanning the faces of the Karasuno players in the crowd and then, as if the universe had heard his unspoken desire, he heard a familiar voice call out, “Suga-chan!”

Ushijima’s heart skipped a beat. Suga. That name resonated deeply within him. He turned towards the sound and there, standing a few meters away, was the silver-haired omega he had been seeking.

Ushijima’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Suga rush into the arms of another person—Oikawa Tooru.

“Tooru! You came!”

Confusion clouded Ushijima’s mind. Oikawa, an omega himself, held Suga tightly, their lips meeting in a tender kiss. Ushijima’s world seemed to shatter, his heart sinking as he realized that the person he had been drawn to was already taken and by an omega no less.

A pang of regret and longing washed over him, a bittersweet realization of what could have been. He sighed and turned back to his team to leave back to school and end his high school volleyball career.

Briefly, He turned and looked one last time. He couldn’t help but watch as Suga and Oikawa smiled at each other, their hands interlaced, radiating a sense of warmth and contentment. Ushijima’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, etching the scene into his memory with a frown, before he turned away, his steps heavy with defeat. From both, Karasuno and Oikawa.

_____________________________________

“I’m surprised you came. You said you didn’t care if we won or lost,” Suga grins at Oikawa before pecking the pout on the brunette.

“You hurt me Koushi! I’m pissed either way, but you kicked Ushiwaka’s ass. You should have seen his face when the final whistle blew!” Oikawa brushes back Suga’s hair with a wink.

“Alright you two.” Iwaizumi approaches wearing his usual scowl before yanking Oikawa from Suga by his scarf. “Suga you need to get back to your team. I’ll take this loser home and you’ll see each other later.”

“Iwa-chan! I’m spending time with my omega!”

“Shut up shittykawa! He needs to finish packing up so they can plan for nationals. You’ll literally see Suga tomorrow!”

Suga grins watching the two argue between each other and laughs, “You two are like a married couple.”

Iwaziumi’s smile falls from his face in horror looking at the silver haired omega, “Please don’t joke like that Suga.”

“Yeah! That hurts my feelings Kou-chan! You trying to get rid of me?” Oikawa pulls the omega close.

A burst of citrus floods Suga’s senses and he rolls his eyes at the omega. He accepts his fate and holds still as Oikawa thoroughly scents him.

“There,” Oikawa grins, satisfied.

“Ugh,” Iwaizumi mockingly pinches his nose. “It reeks of you now.”

Suga shakes his head at the two best friends. He notices Daichi start to approach with a stern look.

“Uh-oh, mom is on his way to scold me. I need to get going.”

The two omegas meet in a tight embrace, stealing a couple more kisses before reluctantly pulling away and leaving to their separate destinations.

_____________________________________

After graduation, Ushijima found himself at one of Tokyo's premier universities, known for producing numerous successful athletes who have gone on to pursue professional careers in their respective sports.

Despite being scouted to play professionally after high school, Ushijima had reached a compromise with his mother. She insisted that he prioritize his studies and find a stable career instead of solely pursuing his passion for Volleyball.

Ushijima Hotaru, a fiercely controlling alpha woman, saw her son's passion for volleyball as an obstacle to his future success. She firmly believed that he should prioritize his studies and conform to her vision of a secure and conventional career path. Now that Ushijima Wakatoshi was setting out on his own, she couldn't shake the urge to tightly guide and dictate his choices.

She persuade her son into attending the prestigious university in Tokyo. She saw it as a perfect compromise, knowing that many professional athletes had graduated from there, making it a promising avenue for his future success. Despite Wakatoshi’s initial hesitation, his mother’s persistent coaxing ultimately led him to make the decision to enroll at the university.

Alone in his dorm room without a roommate, Ushijima's mind was consumed by thoughts of the potential opportunity to join a professional volleyball team. Despite being at the university, his focus remained fixated on the possibility of leaving the academic world behind to pursue his passion for volleyball at the highest level.

On move-in day, Ushijima found himself making a solemn vow: he would not waver from his goals, and nothing would stand in the way of achieving his dreams. Determination filled his heart as he set his mind on excelling academically while never losing sight of his ultimate aspiration to play professionally. The unwavering commitment he made that day fueled his drive to relentlessly pursue success, no matter the challenges that lay ahead.

As Ushijima went about exploring the campus on his move-in day, he caught a fleeting glimpse of someone with striking silver hair walking by. The sight immediately captured his attention, and he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of familiarity.

Little did he know that this familiar sight would have a significant influence on his journey and the course of his future.

[meadow-roses]

Joden has a Gun - Part 3

First . <- Previous . Next ->

Rowan was still fighting, he could hear his furious roars and the clash of swords behind him, and the Captain still had a shot left in his pistol. 

Joden untied the fox's scarf and yanked it loose from around his neck.

"Are you apologizing?" The fox grunted painfully, opening one eye. "You idiot." 

"Shut up, you're wasting your energy," Joden retorted, wrapping the scarf tightly around the fox's leg. "Lay still now. I have to help my friend."

The fox grunted again in response, and Joden jumped to his feet, grabbing the gun on his way up. He wasn't going to pull that trigger again. 

He watched Rowan dodge the attack of the second soldier and parry his blow with a skill that alarmed his opponent, despite being “rusty” as he had admitted earlier. 

The captain had his gun trained on the fight, and seemed to be just waiting for an opening to hit the pesky prisoner. 

“Hey!” Joden shouted, catching his attention. “Put your gun down.” 

The captain seemed surprised, but this was quickly replaced with anger. 

Joden smirked to himself, he would have to take him seriously now. 

“You put it down, and I’ll put mine down, deal?” 

He was sure there was no way he could best the fox in combat, but this seemed a step in the right direction when your enemy is holding a one hit killer. 

The fox sneered. “Stupid.”

There was no one near Joden he was worried about hitting. He turned the gun around to face the raccoon, and fired. The motion of aiming gave Joden just enough time to realize what he planned to do and attempt to dodge, but not enough time to actually succeed. He tried leaping to the side, but crumpled to the ground in agony as fiery pain roared through his leg. 

With a smirk, the captain lowered his gun and walked forward to finish off his writhing prey.

Unfortunately, he was now outnumbered two to one as the third fox soldier fell to Rowan’s blade.

[slasherrabbitmadness]

Beach day with the Slashers

Female Reader -Bo- Gender-neutral -everyone else-

Bo- Fingering but no penetration. Dirty talk.

Angst and Fluff with Herbert and Dan (They pronouns used for Y/N) Fluff with Michael and Jason.

Michael Myers (1978 with the extra height of the 2018 one)

> Wants to visit the beach during the day. He’ll even have his mask off. Instead of enjoying the beautiful view of the sun hitting the blue ocean, you spend your day staring at your handsome boyfriend.

> Michael is just there to scan for new victims. He kills people who litter, hates seeing wrappers and cigarette butts littered across nature.

> You egg him on to go swimming, it takes a lot of coaxing. “Please, Michael, just for a little bit.” He points to your belongings on the towel, “They’ll be fine, who’s gonna want to steal some sandwiches and some towels?” He shook his head. You got down on your knees and gave him sad puppy dog eyes. He grumbled then lifted you onto his shoulder, you squealed as you placed your hands on his firm back, rubbing his taut muscles.

> When he got up to his pecs in the water he threw you in. You came up for air, “Mikey, what the hell!?”

> “What? You wanted in the water.” He gave a small smile.

> He made you swim in front of the beach while he just stood in the water and watched. He knew you’d be fine, it was your belongings he was worried for. You caught his eyes, his already dark blue eyes were now matching the deepest parts of the ocean. He barreled through the water, pushing you aside. You watched him as he made his way up onto the beach.

> Some fuck had the bright idea to do some stealing. He just happens to choose the one man’s belongings you don’t fuck with.

> Before that guy had time to react to a six-foot-three man, hauling ass like he is a tiger chasing after a deer, Michael clocked him so hard in the face the man immediately went down.

> People stood around Michael, some congratulating him for knocking out a thief, others gawked “My God he swung that punch so hard.” “Is the thief even breathing?” Michael stood over your belongings, and turned back towards you, just making your way out of the ocean. Michael was mad, but not as mad at what he saw next.

> Some random beach Chad made his way over to you, “Yo, that was wild huh?” You gave a quick, “Ya.” not caring to speak to him, just wanted to get back to your boyfriend. “He just knocked that guy out in one punch.” You made your way up the beach, he grabbed at you “Hey, be careful, probably want to stay aw-”

>The poor sap never stood a chance, Michael swung his fist so hard Chad went flying back into the water.

> “I’ve had enough, we're leaving.”

> You were gonna protest, but when you scanned the crowd, you realized that yeah, we’re gonna go home.

> Walking back home, Michael held your hand, tightly. “Mikey?” He grunts, “You don’t like people touching your belongings, huh?” You turned to look up at him and he caught you in a kiss. He snuck his tongue in, dominating yours, you moaned and he pulled away. You whined and he smiled.

> “what’s mine is mine.”

Jason Voorhees

> He’s the beach’s lifeguard, so if you wanna spend a beach day with Jason, you’ll have to do it after hours. You would, but Jason takes the evening shifts too.

> Everybody loved Jason. Kids loved him, he was always so nice to them after all. He gave them swimming lessons. He was always so patient with them, never getting mad if a kid was struggling to grasp the basics.

> Men and Women loved Jason. His stoic demeanor, his calming presence...his bulging muscles. Jason was oblivious to all kinds of flirting. “Your hands are like, so big!” said a bubbly tanned beach bunny. Jason just grunts. A muscle-bound beach bro asked, “Bet you lift a lot eh, what’s your macros?” Jason just looked at his large bicep, he shrugged.

> When you visit him at work he gives you small waves then his eyes go right back to the water, not wanting to miss anything. Dedicated <3

> He doesn’t take a proper lunch break, he’ll eat his food while watching the beach, scarfing down the food as fast as possible.

> After a long day, you’ll finally have Jason all to yourself.

> Night swimming!

> You and Jason have splash fights, that he often wins, his large palms create huge splashes that knock you back into the water.

> Keeps you incredibly close in the water, will bug you to wear a life jacket if you ever swam without him. He’s very protective.

> Holds you close to him the further out you go. He won’t let you go, so it’s the perfect time to smother him in kisses.

> Jason hums into your kisses, his large hands running up and down your back, the water and his hands feel perfect on your skin.

> Jason couldn’t be happier that you're together.

Herbert West + Dan Cain - Poly relationship or what Derrick Barry calls a ‘throuple’

> “Please Herbert, for me?” He grimaced at you. Don’t you know how busy he is? Perfect specimens don’t just end up dead you know? Someones gotta end a life! You sighed and brought out the big gun. “Well, Dan said-” The moment Dan left your lips, Herbert was pushing you and him out the door.

> You and Dan had a blast, building castles, collecting seashells, playing some beach volleyball with another friendly couple.

> Herbert sulked under the beach umbrella, nose in a large medical textbook.

> “If you come with us, Herbert, we’ll get you a grape freezie!” Dan coaxed but it did not affect Herbert. Herbert waved you both off as if you were two mosquitoes bugging him.

> You and Dan walked hand in hand, swinging them in between yourself on your way to the little concession stand. “You sure it was for the best we brought him, Dan?” Dan looked at you and frowned, your eyes were a little glossy. “He only came because you were coming.” You felt the tears rolling down your cheek.

> “fuck, Herbert, you little monster.” Dan cursed to under his breath. Dan knew Herbert gravitated more towards him. It’s not that Herbert didn’t like you, just Dan was there first. Dan never told you but he often caught Herbert staring at you, a softness in his eyes that Dan knew meant one thing…

> “I’m sorry…” You mumbled, quickly rubbing the back of your hand over your eyes. Dan shushed you and brought you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head.

> “Don’t be, Herbert should be. Some Vitamin D is much needed for his pale little body. I’ll talk to him, okay? In the meantime, focus on me!”

> Dan and you continued with the most fun day ever. You ate your freezies, swapping flavors halfway through. A little boy asked Dan to help with flying his kite, Dan’s height coming in handy.

> Herbert stewed in his spot under the umbrella, watching you and Dan have fun, “Hmph, wasting time.” He kept peeking from his book, eyes on you, how you smiled when you looked into Dan’s eyes, how you leaned in closer, head resting on his shoulder. How Dan wrapped his arm around your waist, lips on your ear whispering...God knows what, Herbert can only imagine.

> “They could just yank me away from this, make me spend time with them...not that I want to. But if they dragged me away from my book then I’d have no choice.”

> When it got late, You and Dan packed away everything into the bags, Herbert supervised. How helpful/s

> Dan had you drop a few of the smaller items at the car on your own, he made Herbert help with some of the heavier items. As your figure became smaller and smaller in the distance, Dan turned to Herbert, “You know, they wer-”

> “I can’t believe you two, frolicking about so openly.” Herbert had cut Dan off. Herbert fumbled with the bags while trying to push up his glasses. Dan fumed.

> “You mean act like a couple, which we are, which you're a part of. Or are you only a couple with me?”

> Herbert snapped “excuse me, you and Y/N are most certainly a couple, which I have no part of.”

> Dan scoffed and shook his head “They want to be with you too, Herbert, They do like you, They feel upset with how you treat them. Now I know deep down you adore them, you best start showing it.”

> Herbert stopped, he looked at Dan and then at you in the distance starting the car.

> Later that night, Herbert had asked if you’d help in the basement. As tired as you were, you went to help. Herbert scarcely looked at you, but he found ways to touch you. Hands ghosting over yours as you handed him some flasks. Grabbing your hips softly to move you out of the way.

> “Everything good, Herbert?” You asked. His eyes looked everywhere but you. He stepped a little closer to you, His face only a foot away.

> He smashed his lips onto yours and wrapped you up in his arms. His hands rubbing along your sides, pulling you in so tight you were surprised he was strong enough to bring pain that way.

> “Don’t cry over me. Okay?” Your face felt hot, you nodded. “You are mine too, not just Dan’s, okay?” You nodded again. “Good. Now kiss me.”

> The kiss started tender but that just wasn’t gonna cut it with all the tension between you two.

Bo Sinclair /Female reader/

> Lookin’ at all the pretty girls go by.

> Catches you catching him staring, flashes his baby blues at you, “C’mon darling, you know you're still the apple of mah eye.”

> Gets pissed when other guys check you out. Strolls on over and wraps an arm around you, sneering at the Chads and Kyles.

> “You just had to wear that sexy little number, didn’t ya?” He snarled in your face. You grabbed your tits in the cute red bikini and gave them a Lil shake.

> Bo yanked you away from the beach, you protested, hitting his large forearm, “Bo, what the hell? Oh come on, you act like a leech an-” He cut you off, his lips slammed onto yours, the kiss was teeth and a little tongue action.

> Bo had yanked you away to some run-down looking bathrooms, the paint was so old it looked like the original coat from the 1960s

> “Now, Darlin, looks like you’ve just been wanting to rial me up now, huh? Wanting those sons of bitches to fuck you?” He leaned in close to your ear, his heavy breathing making you shake with anticipation. He suckled on it, causing you to buckle at the knees.

> “Bo, no I didn’t wan-want ah, the- them to” You were panting as he made small circles on your clit over your bikini bottoms. His fingers were calloused but he could be surprisingly gentle.

> “Now, yah best be quiet so no one hears ya, understood, Doll?” You whimpered and Bo flashed you his pearly whites. “That’s a good girl.”

> You should make him jealous more often.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

The neither route was amazing! If you ever get ideas for it pls continue because i found it really interesting. You are a great writer.

Okay! This route actually made me very happy, but unfortunately, as much as I wanted to write it, I didn't know how exactly to do it? If that makes sense?

Context is HERE- The very end of the story is the Neither route.

TW: Anxiety, mentioned nightmares, mentioned Tubbo threatening Ranboo, guilt

I would also like to say that cuddling is platonic.

Left The Game (Plat!C!Ranboo x GN!Reader x Parental!C!Philza) Headcanon/Fic (Part 3???)

Ranboo Beloved joined the game.

(Y/n) (L/n) joined the game.

Michael Underscore-Beloved joined the game.

You and Ranboo tumbled out of the swirling portal and hit the ground with a hard thud, dirt and sand kicking up around you both upon impact.

Before you could comprehend what happened, a small squeal came from behind you and something slammed into your back, causing a groan to pull itself from your chest.

The monochrome male mumbled from beside you, his face practically buried in the grass which caused his words to be muffled.

His crown had rolled a few feet away, and his bags had opened as well, sending a few of his tools scattering, but everything seemed to be intact?

You slurred a mess of words before spitting out the sand that had gathered up in your mouth, attempting to tell the tall male that you were alive.

At least somewhat.

You both knew that you three had to drag yourselves into Phil's house, but the travel was so exhausting. Sleeping in the dirt sounded so tempting...

A quiet whine sounded from the weight on your back, reminding you that Michael had also come into the server with you.

When Ranboo got up, he picked the zombie piglin up from where he sat on your back, allowing you to get up.

You both, plus Michael who was resting on Ranboo's hip, began to pick up everything that had dropped out of the portal with you.

Once everything was gathered up, you three wandered through the iron doors of Philza's home and looked around curiously.

Two cats, one named Pog and one named Champ, came up to you both, chirping and meowing eagerly before pausing suddenly. They most likely expected Phil...

Michael gave a loud squealing noise at the sight of the cats and squirmed out of Ranboo's hold, running over to pet the cats.

Ranboo set off to find food in the chests, scribbling in his memory book the entire time.

You, on the other hand, dug through your bags to find materials you had brought to make three beds. One yellow, one grey and the other (f/c).

Once you placed each of them beside each other, Michael eagerly hopped into the middle one (the yellow one), while Ranboo walked over with plates of steamed carrots and baked potatoes.

"Stressed?" He mumbled softly, watching you stare down at your wrist where the tattoo of a heart with deep grooves in the center rested. The exact place the three hearts tattoos were, "I-I know, it's going to be a little different... But... Maybe it's a good different! ...Please, eat something and then get some sleep. Phil will check on us in the morning, and you know how he can get..."

With a smile, he handed you the plate and a fork before sitting on the floor at the foot of the beds with his own plate. Luckily he had given Michael a golden apple before he had gone to look for food, so the child was quietly drifting off to sleep, "Do... You really think that running was the best option?" You whispered, taking a bite of the vegetables.

"I... What else could we have done?" He frowned, setting his crown beside him before taking a bite of his own food, "We couldn't fight them... and they were definitely not going to let you go so easily. Hell... Tubbo... My own fiance was threatening to kill me because I was talking to you and caring for your burns!" He hissed, tilting his head back with his eyes pinched shut tightly, trying so hard not to cry.

You quickly walked over and moved his plate so it rested on his bed and you wrapped your arms around him tightly. The enderman hybrid eagerly returned the hug, crying into your shoulder so the fabric of your clothes soaked up his tears, "Should... I have just... Accepted their love, and maybe learn to love them back? For everyone's sake?" You whispered, your voice wavering as you tried to keep your composure.

"Absolutely not!" He yanked himself back from your shoulder to give you a glare, "That relationship would not have been healthy whether you loved either of them or not! They would've kept you locked away like a prized possession, and they would've severely hurt anyone who tried to interact with you!"

"I- I know... But..." You glanced down, but Ranboo tilted your head upwards so you were looking at him, but you still avoided eye contact so it didn't make him uncomfortable, "Your... Your relationship..."

Ranboo sighed, "I know. But, I'd rather that he showed me his true colours and I divorced him again for that, rather than him manipulating someone into loving him... and putting everyone else in danger in response. Now. We have a lot to do tomorrow. Finish eating and get some sleep."

The next morning, Philza practically slammed open the iron doors to his own house, looking a tad bit out of breath and a bit frazzled.

Once he saw you, Michael and Ranboo curled up in a small cuddle pile on the three different coloured beds, he gave a loud sigh of relief and adjusted his striped bucket hat.

Thankfully, the father of Minecraft let you three sleep for a little while before waking you and Ranboo up around noon.

First, he gave you both spare elytra's and so you could keep up with his massive black avian wings.

Ranboo's turned into massive black and purple dragon wings, while yours turned into (f/c) (f/a) wings.

Phil showed you both the end realm and his Endlantis, which he gave Ranboo special water protection potions so he could swim through the waters as well.

This man basically treated you three as if you were his own children!

Taught you how to fly.

Taught you how to cook properly.

Everything!

And basically survive with bare minimums.

Once you both got better at flying, a few months later, Philza rEAAALLY wanted to take you to the massive project he called Nether Void.

"Ready, mates?" Philza walked over and ruffled the hair on both your and Ranboo's heads with a soft smile, somehow unbothered by the blistering heat of the hellscape, "Double check your potions, armour durability and food supply."

Ranboo mostly stopped wearing his crown because it had problems staying on when he flew and because it had a lot of memories tied to it, so he didn't want it damaged. He had also stopped wearing his tux, instead, he wore plain black pants and a white ruffled poet shirt with a purple short cape that had a golden trim and gold chains, which was a gift from Philza.

You on the other hand wore something similar but with a(n) (f/c) poet shirt and a(n) (f/c) and gold cape. Your cape was also a gift from the fatherly figure as well, and so was the (f/c) infinity scarf type fabric wrapped around your shoulder over your chest that helped you carry and protect Michael as you flew, "Yep, we're ready to go, Mr. Dadza Minecraft!" You gave him a mock salute with a smile as he laughed.

Ranboo checked on Michael who was nibbling on a golden apple before he helped put the zombie piglin child into your scarf carrier, "Yeah, everyone seems safe!" He chirped softly as he adjusted his cape to spread his wings, shaking them out a bit in the heat of the lava.

"Let's go!" You cheered softly once you made sure Michael was 100% secure and wouldn't fall out somehow, "Food is stocked up and in my bag, as well as Regen and Health pots, and a first aid kit and two extra totems."

Philza gave you a proud father smile and took off first, hovering in the air for a few seconds as he waited for both of you to catch up. Thankfully, he knew very well that you both likely would never be able to catch up to his skill in flying as he had been born with massive feathered wings hundreds of years ago. You and Ranboo had never been into the air until a few months ago. Once you both caught up, he took off and soared through the burning hot nether.

Phil loved telling you both the stories of the lands. The Blaze Empress who lived in the Quartress, the foolish Ender King...

You and Ranboo always listened to his stories with such eagerness, often asking him to retell the stories when you were having a bad day or just wanted to relax.

The elder male actually greatly enjoyed having two children to raise again, even if he didn't have the best track record with sane children.

When he did leave to go to the DreamSMP, he would always promise you both that he would be safe and NEVER left without saying goodbye, even if he was angry or upset with either one of you.

He never wants his last words to someone to be filled with anger or hatred.

Somedays he would go to the SMP, you and Ranboo would not leave the house, just out of fear that he wouldn't come back, or that Tubbo and Tommy would come out instead of Phil.

Both you and Ranboo were plagued by nightmares very often for the first few weeks and woke up in tears in the middle of the night.

As old as Phil was, he had absolutely no problems comforting either of you in the middle of the night, same with Ranboo.

"Here mates..." He whispered softly as he handed you a hot beverage and gave Ranboo a grass block, "You're safe here... I promise. I would have to allow either of them into the server, and that would never happen... Especially now that I know what kind of people my sons are..."

You sighed and put your hand on Ranboo's back as he sobbed into your shoulder, using the fabric of his shirt to dry his tears before they burned his skin, "I know... I know... There's just the overwhelming fear that suddenly I'll wake up and I'll be back in the SMP and-and..." You decided not to finish your sentence, nuzzling into Ranboo's hair to try and keep yourself calm.

"Last I checked... Techno scared them off from the Tundra... But I haven't been in Snowchester or near the Embassy enough to know what Tubbo and Tommy are doing. But Ghostbur said that Tubbo has gone absolutely nuts... And Sam had to steal the nukes so Tubbo wouldn't destroy anything else... He also said Tommy on the other hand hasn't done anything except visit Dream in prison constantly."

Ranboo gave a shaky sigh and glanced over at Michael, most likely extremely happy that he brought his child along so he didn't have to deal with a psychotic Tubbo... Hell, he didn't know what would've happened to his kid if he did leave him. The thought caused him to give a small sob and hide his face again, holding onto you tighter and practically pulling your smaller form into his lap, trying to silently promise you safety and using you to remind him that he wasn't alone.

"We... we can't thank you enough, Phil... Really... You taught us so many life skills, kept us safe and promised us a safe haven... Allowed us to your private server..." You whispered, before feeling the warm cup being taken from your hand before a hand replaced it.

"Honestly... It's the least I can do to protect you both... You two have become two children to me, and, while I haven't been able to raise you from children like Techno, Wil and Tommy..." He didn't continue his sentence, struggling to form sentences, but both you and Ranboo understood and were quick to yank him into your little cuddle pile/hug, the two of you eagerly hugging him.

"Thank you... Dadza..."

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

Vampy come down for family dinner and help clean up like he wasn’t just defiling their daughter 10 minutes ago

Harry would rail the fuck out of her in her closet with one hand over her mouth and another around her throat, grunting absolute filth into her ear as she spills over him with muffled whines and sobbed pleas. He’d lick her clean, pull her panties and leggings back up her quaking thighs, and proceed to buckle his slacks casually while she props herself against the wall, trembling and panting.

He just leans forward and presses a chaste kiss between her sweaty brows, her skin sticky against his lips as he murmurs smugly. “I’m gonna go finish cleaning up the kitchen with your mum. Come back down after you’ve sorted yourself out, and don’t forget to wipe your makeup off. It’s smeared down your face.”

Y/N does as he says, wiping the watery steaks of mascara off her cheeks and fixing her wild hair, making sure to leave no evidence of their little escapade, lest Harry end up sleeping outside on the yard. When she finally gets back down to her living room (she takes the stairs extra carefully, her belly throbbing with each step), the vampire is sitting in the rocking chair next to her mother’s, swaying lightly as they chat away nonchalantly.

They’re laughing and gossiping, their hands occupied with all types of yarn and needles, and she always forgets that Harry had learned how to knit when he was younger. It’s so baffling to see him engaging innocently with her mom, his nimble fingers expertly working on a multicolored scarf as he does so, not sparing the piece the slightest glance due to how confident he is in his skills. The reason it’s especially startling is because those fingers had been inside her not even five minutes ago.

“So we were running around this lake near my house,” Harry explains candidly, clearly in the middle of telling a story from his past as his digits weave in and out amidst red and purple yarn, “and we were playing in the snow near the banks, which was our first mistake. My mother had told me that the snow around the shores tended to be really slushy, so if we weren’t careful, we’d end up slipping really easily. We didn’t listen, of course— what ten year old does? We were playing tag with the neighbors, and as I was chasing after Gemma, I accidentally shoved her a bit too hard and she slipped and fell right into a pile of muddy snow. Completely stained everything she was wearing.”

Her mom releases a disappointed hiss, giving him a sympathetic glance over the glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Poor thing.”

Harry nods in agreement, looping yarn over his needles as he extends the scarf over his lap for more space, continuing his labor. “My mum grounded me for a week, and I spent that entire time learning to knit so I could remake Gemma’s mittens, since I was the one that ruined them. It was a fair punishment, honestly, and I ended up liking it more than I thought. Plus, the mittens I made were way better than the original pair. You just can’t buy this type of talent anywhere.”

The older woman laughs boisterously at his self-absorbed joke, which results in Harry smiling to himself proudly, giggling along.

Y/N clears her throat softly, leaning against the archway that leads into the room and crossing her arms over her chest in a relaxed manner, quirking an eyebrow at both of them as she makes her presence known. “Having fun?”

Harry glimpses over at her, his eyes raking down her body to where she’s clasping her thighs tightly, irises gleaming with knowing condescension. “Loads.”

“Harry was just telling me about when he learned to knit!” Y/N’s mother chirps, sending a warm smile towards the boy sitting across from her, unaware of the fact that he’d been defiling her daughter not too long ago. “It’s not often that you find a young man with this type of interest. He’s a keeper, sweetheart.”

“Hear that?” The immortal gloats teasingly, wagging his brows playfully as he holds up his unfinished accessory. “I’m a keeper.”

“Mm.” His girlfriend hums sarcastically, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling to avoid giving him any satisfaction. “I bet you’re just loving all this praise, aren’t you?”

Harry whistles lowly, tutting in a chastising fashion. “Someone’s jealous.”

Y/N rectifies her posture, an appalled expression cracking over her features. “Am not!”

“Are to.”

“Am not.”

“Are to.” Harry insists doggedly, looking over at the older woman for support. “Isn’t she?”

Her mom studies her for a moment, clicking her tongue scoldingly. “I think maybe you are, honey. Just a bit.”

Harry cranes his head back towards Y/N, sticking his tongue out mockingly behind the woman’s back and scrunching up his face comically, flaunting his childish point.

“Plus, Harry was sweet enough to make you that scarf he’s working on. You should be more grateful.”

Harry softens his eyes dramatically, sugaring his voice into a honeyed drawl that only she can read through. “Yeah, Y/N. I’m going out of my way to make you this nice gift, and that’s the thanks I get?”

“Dickhead.” The girl grumbles pettily, shifting on her feet as she glowers at him.

Her mother glares at her accusingly. “Language! I taught you better than that!”

“Mm. You should be more careful with what you say; words hurt more than you know.” Harry tacks on with a snide grin, shrugging his brows daringly as he slips an innuendo into his next line. “Mouthing off like that could get you into a whole lot of trouble.”

The pit of her tummy throbs at his curtained challenge, her eyes narrowing as she bites back the urge to curse him out again. “Thanks for the moral advice, Aristotle, but I’m grown enough to face the consequences of my own actions.”

Harry slowly puts down his knitting needles onto the small table beside him, picking up the scarf laying across his thighs and rolling it out in its entirety. It’s now that she realizes the item is much too thin width-wise to be scarf— it looks more like a belt, similar to the strap used to tie off a robe. The vampire flickers his gaze over to Y/N’s mom to make sure she’s not watching, and once he sees the lady is once again preoccupied with her knitting, he trains his attention back onto his partner.

He lifts the long colorful band up to his neck, tying one end around his throat loosely and wrapping the excess length around his knuckles, giving the article a symbolic tug. Y/N’s cheeks burst with heat at the crude reenactment, suddenly coming to terms with what he’s actually created under the guise of a harmless statement piece: it’s a makeshift collar.

Harry watches her avidly, a sinister smirk carving his dimples into place once he sees she’d understood his implication. He yanks the leash from around his neck swiftly before he gets caught, rolling the material back up neatly to disguise it. He cocks his head to the side conceitedly, his accent slathered with the same amount of arrogance as his gesture. “You never know, dove. Sometimes the consequences might be too much for you to handle.”

[diavolosthots]

Can I request the demon brpthers finding something important that MC lost so out of happiness/gratefulness MC literally tackles them with affection ?

I think I understood this right so here it goes. I just did random things and hoped they'd make somewhat sense

THE BROTHERS finding something important and giving it back to MC

Lucifer:

The day he found a random gold necklace with a cross on it in the bathroom wasn't all too special, in the beginning at least. He knew it wasn't Asmo's, seeing as it had a cross on it, so it could only belong to you. He knocked on your door to give it back, was ready to say "you're welcome" and walk on his merry way, but instead, you saw the necklace and body slammed him against the nearest wall, clinging to him as if your life depended on it. Now, in reality, he absolutely loved that. He loved having you cling to him like you need him and owed your life to him, but he has a reputation to uphold and just cant let his brothers find him like this. "it's my grandma's... She gave it to me before she passed..." So, with a soft squeeze and a warm smile, he pushes you back and hands you the necklace, "I'm glad I found it for you, then..." Hes more than glad. Please body slam him again. In private, next time.

Mammon:

"Oi, I found this picture and it ain't any of us, so if this you or what?" He held a picture up, which had been folded to properly fit into a wallet. You gasped in shock, running up to him and yanking it out of his grasp. "You found it! I thought i lost it.... Oh, Mammon!" Your arms wrapped around him tightly as you leaned up to kiss his cheek again and again. He was flustered, and even thats an understatement. He just brought back a picture and you give him this kind of treatment? Maybe he should bring pictures back more often... "That's my baby brother....i miss him..." He scoffed, wrapping his arms back around you and pushing you into him a little too tightly, probably to be selfish. "Yeah, well... You could always borrow mine." You laughed in response, shaking your head.

Leviathan:

He had noticed a while ago that you left a jacket in his room. He meant to give it back, he really did, but it smelled so much like you and he kinda just got hooked on it? But next time you were over.... He did decide to hold it up. "Hey... Uhn... You left this...?" You gasped, taking it from him and hugging it tightly, tearing up and then hugging him. "I-i was looking everywhere for it... How did you find it...?" Between sobs, he understood you and awkwardly wrapped his arms around you too "I uh.... I found it in here..." Well... That wasn't too much of a lie, was it? Right now he's trying not to hyperventilate due to the close proximity of your body against his.

Satan:

Unlike some people *cough* Levi *cough* he gave you your things back right away. The minute he found your journal, he handed it back.... After sneaking in a few peeks. He quickly noticed that it wasn't yours though, although he knew it belonged to you, but that wasnt your hand writing. He knew your handwriting like his own. "You... You had it...?" Your emotions were mixed when he presented it to you before you finally lost it and pulled him in, jumping up and wrapping your arms and legs around him, which barely gave him time to catch himself, and you. "Thank you... That was my dad's journal..." It meant a lot to you, especially after he passed, and you appreciated satan being kind enough to give it back, and he appreciated being hugged like this; keep going.

Asmodeus:

You body slammed him onto his bed before he could even open the door, quickly grabbing the scarf from his hands and holding it up to your nose "how did it get mixed in with your stuff?! Nevermind...!" You plastered kisses all over his face, still clinging to the scarf tightly as he laughed. He wasnt quite sure what was going on, but apparently it belonged to your aunt and it meant a lot to you, which means it meant a lot to him by default and he's happy to deliver it back. "Oh love... If I knew it meant that much to you, I wouldve searched for it sooner.... Can I have another kiss?"

Beelzebub:

It was so random. Beelzebub knows every plate in this house, for obvious reasons, and he knows they don't own fine china like this. Bringing it back to you made you gasp out in shock and quickly take it from him. "This is gonna sound ridiculous... My childhood best friend turned out to be super good with ceramics... She made it her job later on in life... She made me this and I treasure it so much... Our friendship well apart, but... This keeps the memories you know?" You set it down gently before wrapping yourself tightly around beel, who nodded in response. He gets it, holding onto the memories. Right now he appreciates holding onto you.

Belphegor:

This blanket wasn't his, he knows for a fact. Although it is warm and fluffy and he would like to keep it. He didn't give it back, per se, and you actually found him wrapped up in it, quickly yanking it from his body which is what woke him up. "Why did you take the blanket?" He found you hugging it tightly, on the verge of tears. You shook your head, taking a shaky breath, "i misplaced it... I dont know... Seeing you have it was both a relief and a curse... My mom made this blanket... She's no longer with us, and... I use this blanket for everything; comfort, sadness, happiness..." He only nodded, taking your invitation when you opened your arms and wrapped him tightly up in the blanket; he gets it. This does feel like everything you ever wanted, although he isn't sure if it's because of the blanket or you.

[littlemissnoname13]

Wisps of Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader) - Part two

Summary: Draco and y/n find themselves drawn to an abandoned classroom every single night

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader

Warnings: excessive smoking, mature language, mature themes, smut, female receiving, 18+ reader discretion is advised.

A/n: a big thank you to everyone that read part one. I adore each and every one of you and your feedback sm <3

at this point, I am projecting my cigarette cravings onto Draco Malfoy. Sorry. (Smoking is injurious to health)

Word count: 3000

You can read part one over here

Friday

When your eyes opened the next morning, you found your thoughts to be littered with the kisses you shared with Malfoy.

And even if you’d somehow managed to forget the way he suckled, bit and murmured onto your skin, you had purple hickeys marking your neck to remind you. 

This was a mistake. 

Frantically wrapping your green and silver scarf around your neck, you made a run towards your Potions class but before you could even make it to class, you found yourself pulled into a small gap in the wall making your body go into an instantaneous fight or flight mode. 

“What in the actual fuc—”

You were silenced with a kiss on your lips once again. 

Draco pushed you further up against the wall and moved his lips desperately against yours—kissing your mouth senseless. 

“Do you just lurk around in the hallways waiting to sneak up on people?!” You asked in a breathless whisper as his lips made contact with the base of your neck again after he’d loosened your scarf. 

“Only sometimes.” He smirked. 

The wetness that seeped in through your panties and all the way down your inner thighs was a tell tale sign, warning you to stay away from the abandoned classroom that night. 

And you did just that.

Even if you had reached for your door that night, Adrian’s sudden arrival ensured that you stayed away. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday

It was nearly four in the morning and anyone with a hint of sanity inside of them would have been fast asleep—if they could sleep through the ear-splitting sound of thunder that is. 

It had been raining for three consecutive nights and the sky was as clamorous and angry as ever. 

Draco scoffed to himself at the sound of sleep.

The whole idea now seemed so foreign to him. It was like he had forgotten what a good night's sleep even felt like. 

With his fourth cigarette for the night lit up and between his lips, He leaned against the glass window waiting for you to walk in wearing your insanely soft night dress that he simply couldn’t stop thinking about. 

Why was he waiting for you? 

It wasn’t like you were obliged to come to that classroom every night. 

It wasn’t like both of you now had an unspoken agreement that you’d meet up in this murky classroom to talk, make out—maybe even shag. 

How ravishing you’d look with your slip dress slipped off into a pool at your feet.

He couldn’t help but imagine you seated on the windowsill with your legs parted. He’d eat you out all night if he could. Lick up long, slow, deliberate licks up your slit and place soft, airy kisses along your inner thighs. 

The images of you straddling him with your tits  bouncing up and down as he pumped into you refused to leave his mind, leaving him all hot, bothered and frenzied with lust. 

Draco forced himself to snap out of his vision and shook his head, restraining himself from reaching towards the buttons of his trousers.

The rain clouds had started to clear up a bit and the sky had slowly started to change colours with the darkest shade of black on the top of the sky trickling down into shades of lighter blue indicating the break of day. 

He wanted to give himself hell for waiting up all night for you for the second time that week—infuriated with the way you made him feel. 

He wanted you out of his system—You and your stupid silk slip dress. 

Your stupid stupid stupid slip dress. 

But before he could even manage to make an exit from the classroom, you pounced right into him with a thud. 

The way you collided with him resembled the collision of opposite magnetic poles—powerful and inevitable. 

"Took you long enough." Draco breathed, holding you tightly against him as he desperately ran his hands along your sides feeling the fabric of your silky nightdress.

"I tried to stay away. I tried so hard." You whispered, and he instantly placed his lips onto yours furrowing his brows as you fiercely kissed him back.

“But I just couldn’t help myself.” You mumbled between kisses as he lifted you up, causing you to wrap your legs around his torso as he carried you. 

“Good.” 

Both of you knew there would be implications to your actions but that seemed like a problem for future Draco and y/n. 

You let your head fall onto his shoulder and you moaned loudly when you felt him grip the exposed skin of your thigh—his fingertips and his ring dug deep into your skin making you hiss into the base of his neck from the sting of pleasure.

If he was going to go around leaving markings on your flesh, so would you. 

It was only fair. 

You went on ahead and sucked on his flesh as he carried you all the way to the window and sat you on the windowsill. 

Hastily tugging the straps of your nightie that had imprinted itself into his subconscious, he made the smooth fabric slide right off your body and into a pool on the floor. 

“Nothing underneath?” He chuckled gazing intently at your naked body making a pink flush appear on your face as you nodded closing your legs together and crossing your arms over your breasts. 

His vision just didn’t do justice to the sight in front of him. 

The sight you exposed, sitting timidly on the windowsill with rosy cheeks woke up something primal inside of him. 

You felt him kneel on the floor in front of you, parting your legs and gently moving your arms away from your body. 

“So fucking perfect.” Draco drew in a sharp breath before leaning in to capture your lips into his, brushing his hands over your shoulders, trailing all the way down your arms and back up again. “Don’t you dare cover yourself up.” 

There was an unusually strong taste of cigarettes fused into the flavor of what felt like mint and apples on his lips and you tried to extract every bit of it—running your tongue along his bottom lip earning a feral groan from him. 

He let his hands ghost around your breast—barely touching.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to.

He did.

So fucking bad.

But he wanted confirmation from you.

He wanted to know if you wanted this as much as he did. A sign, a sigh, a moan, anything. 

“Draco.”  You murmured into the kiss with your hands yanking on his black button down—fumbling with the buttons. 

Never had he ever heard a sweeter sound. 

Actually scratch that, your moans were even sweeter as he massaged and kneaded your breasts, tugging and pulling onto your hardened nipples. 

“Oh, Draco.” 

His given name on your swollen lips sounded like an invitation he simply couldn’t resist— so fucking innocent and mischievous at the same time. 

The lower his kisses trailed, the more incoherent your speech got. 

Wet, open mouthed, starved kisses that started along your jaw and down your neck moved lower and lower until you felt like you had forgotten every other word that wasn’t “Draco.”  Or fuck.

You felt his hot breath on your hardened nipple as he swirled his tongue around it—catching the left one in his mouth. You grabbed a fistful of his blonde hair as he started to suck and your moans only encouraged him to suck harder. 

He wanted to worship every square inch of your body, on his knees in front of you  like you were his only deity —repeating his licks on both of your nipples, occasionally stopping to litter dark purple bruises around your chest. 

Draco paused and looked up at you with his silvery greys. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t picture this exact scene in this head a thousand times over. 

Sure, your complete inability to stay quiet made him livid. 

Sure, the way you walked around in translucent white tops, absolutely unaware of the one too many curious onlookers pissed him off. 

Sure, he’d thought about pushing Adrian Pucey off his broom. 

But the way you sat on that window sill with your legs spread out—wetness dripping down your legs and your pretty little cunt glistening was straight out of Draco’s deepest darkest fantasy.

You arched your back bucking your hips forward and he smirked at your silent pleas.

And when the tip of his tongue gently massaged your clit, it was like your entire body was set ablaze.

You’d never felt that way before and he was just getting started—making you let out a sound even you didn’t know you were capable of making.

 It was somewhere along the lines of a moan and a gasp. Maybe a combination of both. 

After a long, slow torturous lick up your folds, he looked up at you. 

“You taste..” another slow lick “so fucking good.” 

“Please—Drac..Fuck—” 

You lost it when he started to eat you out. It was as if he was starved for this. 

He kitten licked, kissed and nipped you like he’d been waiting for this very moment—this moment with you on the windowsill with his blonde head in between your legs, fingers bunching his hair, calling out only his name with a plethora of other swears. 

And you slowly understood. 

You understood the screams coming from whoever he was shagging the other night. 

There was nothing tentative or hesitant in the way he moved his tongue. 

He knew what he was doing, he knew what he wanted, he wanted you.

“Draco—” You moaned jutting your hips forward when his tongue made contact with just the right spot. “Fuck— god Draco yes right there—ah-.” 

“Right here?” He teased as he continued to lick. With his grey eyes focused on you—the way you bit your lips and rolled your eyes back in pleasure. 

He wanted to remember it, recall and replay it in his mind for hours on end. 

He didn’t care about the mellow and golden rays of sunlight pouring in through the window glass you had your back rested against. 

He didn’t care about any fucking body or any fucking thing. 

You let out another laboured gasp when you felt him push his finger inside you. One finger at first, allowing you to get used to the sensation. 

And then he put in a second finger, the cold metal of his ring making contact with your sensitive skin. 

There was a strange feeling inside of your stomach. It was pressure—kind of like a knot waiting to snap. 

It was delicious. 

It had you begging for more. 

You simply couldn’t think of anything or anyone else. 

Whatever he was doing with his fingers and tongue—you just wanted more. 

“Please Draco—don’t stop.” 

The sounds you were making made him want to bend you over, press you against the window and fuck you mercilessly, but there was a part of him that reminded him that you deserved more than that. 

You deserved more than just a quick little fuck in this classroom. 

He wanted to take you, make you his, make you cum over and over again and although he wasn’t sure he could do the former in that particular moment in time, he sure as hell could do the latter. 

His fingers and tongue moved in perfect coordination. Each taste accompanied by his fingers pumping in and out of you. 

Draco knew you were close. He could tell by the way you gripped onto his hair while you clenched around his fingers. 

“Let yourself go y/n.” He murmured. “Yes, that’s it—good girl.” 

You felt the tight knot in your lower abdomen snap at his words, and you felt overcome with pleasure that made your legs spasm and your toes curl. 

“Draco..I think I’m..ah—”

“That’s it y/n, be a good girl and cum on my mouth yeah?”

Your high felt like an ocean wave—sweeping, billowing and crashing all over your body. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that to you.” He looked up at you, accomplished as his lips twisted upwards and you looked down at him with a peachy kind of afterglow on your cheeks.

“And I wouldn’t mind doing that again.” 

~~~~~~~~~

Sunday

A four poster bed, a nightstand and a desk full of nothing but books stacked upon one another and an opulent looking rug on the floor. 

Of course, Malfoy had his own bedroom. 

You kept telling yourself that it was the softness of his pricey pillow, laden with his scent and his thousand thread-count sheets that made you want to spend the rest of eternity there.

It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Draco kept grumbling in his sleep while pulling you closer to him every passing second or two.

It had nothing to do with how content you felt with your bare body pressed up against him.

He still had his shirt on, unbuttoned all the way allowing you to brush your fingertips against his toned abdomen.

You could tell it was already late evening by the way bare minimum light seeped into the lake and in through the windows.

You had spent the entire Sunday in his room, where he snogged you, ate you out and gave you orgasms upon orgasms.

He was adamant with the way he said “not yet.” every time you tried to unbuckle his pants. 

You sighed and allowed your lips to graze his forehead for the briefest of seconds before shimming free from his arms. 

After sliding your dress back on, you tiptoed to his dresser when you saw a pack of unopened cigarettes on it.

Blame it on mere curiosity but you slowly took a cancer stick out and placed it between your lips—right in the far corner just the way he did it and looked at yourself in the mirror. 

Your neck was marked in a trail of purple bruises and your hair looked like it had definitely seen better days than this.

 As messy as you looked, the reflection stared back at you looking content. 

"If you wanted a smoke, all you had to do was ask." 

The husky tone of his voice startled you. He was propped up on his elbows with his messy blonde hair covering most of his forehead making you weak in your knees.

Damn you Draco Lucius Malfoy. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Monday 

Both of you had showed up to your potions class late—your shirt buttoned all wrong and his blonde hair in a riot of knots and tangles. 

It was the result of an intense snog fest against a wall but nobody needed to know that. 

“That’s the wrong ingredient y/l/n.” Draco scoffed pretending like his tongue wasn’t in your mouth just a few minutes ago. 

Two can play at this game. 

“It is not.” You glared at him making poor Blaise next to you wish he could just shrivel away. 

“Is too.” 

“Is not.” 

“Is too.” 

~~~~~~~~

Tuesday 

“Oh and thank you very much for getting me into detention yesterday.” You said sarcastically while he quietly smoked his cigarette next to you. 

And thank you for making me fall apart by the mercy of your fingers at detention. 

You were seated on the same window sill but this time, you had clothes on—three whole layers of clothing actually. 

“Pleasure.” He chucked, exhaling.

With his exhale, wisps of smoke escaped his lips creating a veil around you two. 

The smell had started to get tolerable, familiar—pleasant even. 

It was strange how the human mind was conditioned into latching itself onto anything that brought it comfort. 

Where there was smoke there was Draco. 

It came as a fixed packaged deal and you didn’t feel the need to complain anymore. 

“So, does Pucey know what you’ve been up to these days or is he still as oblivious as ever?

“Adrian wouldn’t notice if I went missing for a week.” You shrugged.

“Then why are you with him?”

“As cliched as it sounds, its complicated.”

~~~~~~~

Wednesday

“I’m starting to believe I’m a terrible influence on you.” He muttered, raising only one of his eyebrows as he watched you pull out the lit up cigarette from his mouth. 

“Absolutely, without a doubt.” You confirmed, placing his cigarette between your lips attempting to inhale. 

The second you did, you were left a coughing, wheezing wreck—throat on fire, tears streaming down your cheek. 

You quickly drank the water he’d already conjured with a simple aguamenti charm and proceeded to smoke again. 

His heart felt the strange and inconvenient kind of ache seeing you make a mess out of yourself, struggling with the coughing. 

He’d also noticed how you put the cigarette on the far corner of your lip the way he did but he decided to not bring that up. 

“And why have you suddenly decided to take up smoking?” 

“I’ve grown quite fond of the taste.” You blurted involuntarily.

“Oh y/n.” He shook his head. He’d never seen you smoking so there was only one explanation and the explanation made him feel things he’d rather not.

“Cm’here.” 

His hands gently grasped into the hair on the nape of your neck as he pressed his lips on you. 

“Could have just said you wanted to kiss me.” He smirked against your lips. 

“Shut up.” You murmured back. “Just kiss me.”

~~~~~~~~~

Thursday

You always did feel bolder, livelier and happier towards the end of the week. 

Maybe it was the Fire whisky you two and brought to the classroom in his flask coursing through your veins but you felt brave. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to do.” You declared so courageously, taken aback by your own capability of sounding like a reckless Gryffindor. 

“And what would that be y/n?”

You pulled him by his green tie and brushed your lips on his for a fraction of a second before dropping down on your knees in front of where he was seated. 

“This.” 

To be continued....

~~~~~~~~~~

Part 3 teaser:

Draco watched with fascination as you tried to slip back into the remains of your silk slip dress.

“I’m sorry about your dress.”

“That’s okay.” You mumbled absently as you tried to get your dress to stay on your body.

“Here.” He said hesitantly before handing you his blazer. “Wear this.”

“Going back to my dorm with your blazer doesn’t seem like a good idea.” You chuckled as the fabric drowned you. “What am I going to tell Pansy?”

His lips quirked up into a faint smile.

“You’re not going to your dorm y/l/n.”

Part three is available here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @maybesandohnos @justfangirlthingies @lieswithoutfairytales @dracomalfoys-wh0re @hannahhobnob @sycathorn-slush @mxl-foyrecs @daringvixon @linetteyde @imbadwithunsernames @dracoswhore007 @myunngi @goawayimreadingbeach @loxbbg @icedlattewithalmondmilk @paulina1998 

Thank you all for asking to be on my tag list for this story. I would give you all a blonde ferret if I could. (p.s. I was unable to tag the ones in bold for some reason. :’( )