#after he passed away! SHE'S CHANGING. SO MUCH. IN SUCH POSITIVE WAYS. AND HE HAD SUCH A BIG IMPACT ON IT!!

[maggicktouched]

A faint blush crept into her cheeks. She wasn't humble by any means. Quite the opposite. The compliments might have passed with nothing more than a grin and a thank you from most other people, but Yennefer impressed her. A glace, a honeyed word, and all the sudden her heart was racing. It reminded her of her girlhood---sneaking glances at Harper in the back of classes and kissing in the little cave behind the waterfall by the temple.

It wasn't the first time she'd compared the two. Yen and Harper were two very similar sorceresses. Each of them had a hunger inside that drove them. They were both painfully beautiful with quick tempers and sharp tongues. Ultimately, it wasn't a comparison that gave her any peace. A lifetime ago, she and Harper had loved one another so deeply it ached, and it hadn't been enough to keep them together. In the end, she had wanted simple things---safety, affection, family---and Harper's desire for power both over people and in her craft, kept her from being able to provide that.

Would it have been better if she'd have given up on everything she wanted and settled into marriage? After all, she was in much of the same position now. Her journey to this land was to be her last taste of freedom before she was made to bend to the will of her family and her people. And now she had gotten someone else caught in the snare with her.

She blinked several times, and the blush on her face went from flattered to embarrassed as she realized how far away she'd been.

"It is a beautiful thing, but those that have it forcefully thrust upon them---well I can see how they'd only be able to feel cursed. But mine is a blessing. The forms I can take, I have earned. I didn't forcefully take them like some witches. Some were given to me by those I loved, others I gained through devotion and sacrifice. There's no pain in the transformation, no fear." She shrugged. "But learning to take another form and learning to control it are two separate things. The way you perceive the world changes entirely. Colors, smells, sounds, even shadows change depending on the form, and your human mind has to learn to overcome each new kind of animal instincts. I imagine you'd take to it rather well. You seem to take to every kind of spellcraft well."

Beck rested her head back on the side of the boat and hummed softly in thought. How would her family respond? Poorly. Her mormor would be worried about how it looked. Her mummi, though she'd likely be the first to accept Yennefer, would be wary of the unknown phenomenon that had created the life growing inside her. Fenris would be furious that she'd even associated with a foreign sorceress. Especially someone as powerful and opinionated as Yen. Someone he had no chance of intimidating into submission.

"Before the last big war among our people, it wasn't too uncommon for ships of strangers to arrive on the shores of the Witch Wilds. Mostly humans, but sometimes I heard stories of elves." Her lips twisted in thought. "There are the other races too, sometimes they marry into our people. Werewolves, mostly, but I knew a woman that left the clans to join the centaurs. Haven't the slightest clue how well that went. Has it ever happened in my family? No. Not that I know of. I come from two very, very long lines of royal blood. Back to the first of our people--supposedly--and our marriages are usually arranged very carefully."

She waved her hand as if to dismiss the whole thing. "But you have something they value just as much--if not more--than blood ties to our people. You've more power in your little finger than most witches will taste in a lifetime, and you're beautiful and intelligent. They'll all take their turns yelling and cursing and telling me off when you're well out of earshot, and then it will be over. They'll undoubtedly insist we get married or that I... well, I won't even speak it." A hand went protectively to her own stomach. "I'd never allow them to do such a thing. And neither would you. All this might be---a lot to take in, and not without its challenges, but we both want this baby. Everything will be fine. And if it isn't, then I'll make it so."

She paused for a moment, drumming her fingers over her own stomach. "Does it worry you?"

No one can do everything.

Rationally, Yennefer understood the sentiment. She even believed it. That did not mean she had to like it. Asked once--in the midst of a terrible fight with a Djinn that had nearly leveled an entire city--what it was she wanted, what was so important that she would risk everything, Yen had replied, simply: everything. That had not changed. Over the years, she had learned to refine her wish list, to be more selective, more determined with what mattered the most. Becoming a mother had risen up that list until nothing else mattered quite as much. But that did not mean the other desires simply vanished. Yennefer still wanted everything, wanted to be capable of anything. The old wisdom that no one could be perfect at everything seemed to her the words of people who had not yet tried every avenue.

"We are all just trying to make it," she agreed. "Some--like you--simply do it better than others." Yen would not be shy about what she saw in front of her: a beautiful, capable, incredibly powerful woman. "I hope so." She was nervous; that she could admit to herself. Meeting Kings and Rulers meant little to her now--been there, done that--but meeting the grandmother of her child's mother? The grandmother of her--more than likely--wife to be? That was a very different risk, a different world waiting for on the other side of this boat trip.

Their relationship and the wellbeing of their future child was going to force a change in Yennefer. She was very used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted. She bossed Geralt around like it was her job--and sometimes, she thought it was. She believed, at times, that he--and everyone else--was better off when she told them exactly what to do. Because she knew better. Because her plans had a tendency of working--and a bad side effect of not being trusted. So she kept secrets. She worked silently behind the scenes. She gave orders and expected them to be obeyed without question.

But that was no way to raise a child.

Still, there was time left, months to ponder that dillema, to find a better way of...coping. Making it, as Beck had said.

"My, my, well aren't you impressive?" Yennefer's tone was both sultry, flirty, and genuinely impressed as she listened to the lore of shape shifting, how Beck could--yet again--do more than all the rest. She leaned back against the edge of the boat. She had noted Beck's reaction to being offered help of any sort but decided now was not the time to comment on it. Instead, she said, "I don't know how I'd feel. I can't imagine it: shape-shifting. My body has changed, yes,..." She let her voice trail away. Beck had not known her before the magic had shaped her, turned her into this inhumane, magical version of beautiful. "Yet, it has always been mine. Always this human form. You talk of shifting, and I think of werewolves and harpies, but you make it sound so graceful. Beautiful even." Would their child be a shifter too?

Yennefer glanced out over the water, at the banks beyond. Then she looked back to Beck. "What will your family think? Of you marrying a non-shifter? Has it happened before?"

[drbtinglecannon]

Hm yeah Frimmel is kinda driving me insane nowadays

[strangerexee]

ʟᴀᴛᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ʏᴇᴀʜ | ʙᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘᴛ.3 ᴏꜰ ꜱɪʀ, ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰɪɴᴇ)

Set in 1932

Reader x Bo Chow

(Smut | Explicit sexual content | soft but rough Bo | possessive behavior | missionary position | chain kink (necklace watching) | moaning | smoking | slightly obsessive energy | post-sex vulnerability | reader being down bad | praise | 18+ only | domestic affection | morning kisses | reader so down bad for arms/hands )

ᴡᴄ: 2.9ᴋ

A/N: spaced it out this time…sorry

Time Skip: Some Months Later

The store had changed.

Not in the way it looked, really — the wooden beams still groaned in the morning, the floors still creaked when the sun shifted, and the same old glass jars of penny candy still sparkled near the front register.

But you had changed.

And Bo had changed with you.

You’d been working there full-time for a few months now. Steady pay, cash in hand every Friday, and your name on the list of employees — right under his.

He let you do nearly everything now. Trusted you with the books. With the money box. With the spare key.

And with him — more than anything else.

Bo still looked like sin itself every time he rolled up his sleeves — forearms thick and dusted with hair, veins strong under that golden-tan skin — and he still touched you in ways that made your knees weak and your cheeks hot.

But now, he touched you like you belonged to him.

A hand on your back while you rang someone up.

A brush of his fingers under your chin when no one was looking.

And that little look he gave you, every time you passed too close —

like he was two seconds from hauling you into the storeroom again.

Everything was good.

Until she came in.

Two weeks after your birthday —

You were nineteen now —

Her name was Lisa.

She came through the front door one quiet Monday afternoon — silent as a shadow — with dark eyes and a book pressed to her chest.

She was younger than you — maybe sixteen? Seventeen? — and she looked up at Bo like she already knew him.

Which, as it turned out, she did.

“This is Lisa,” Bo said, like it was casual. “My daughter.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t even known he had a daughter.

Lisa didn’t say much — barely looked at you, actually — just nodded in that stiff way teenagers do and wandered off to stock shelves.

Bo hadn’t told you everything — but you didn’t press him.

You knew what you were.

You knew what you weren’t, too.

That night, though — when the store closed and Lisa had gone back to wherever she stayed — Bo kissed you like he was scared you’d walk away.

And you didn’t.

The ex-wife came two days later.

Grace.

She worked across the street — same store but for the whites — and when she crossed that dirt road and stepped into Bo Chow & Co., the sunlight caught her hair like a damn halo.

She was tall. Not that much taller than you, but enough.

Beautiful. Put-together. Nails done. Cheeks pinched with rouge.

And her mouth curled up when she looked at you, like she already knew she could ruin you.

“You’re cute,” Grace said, in a voice too smooth for the middle of the day. “Did Bo pick you out himself?”

You laughed it off.

Bo didn’t.

He came out from the back, wiping his hands on a rag, eyes narrowing.

“Grace,” he said flatly. “Don’t start.”

Grace just smiled, walked over to you, and brushed a speck of lint off your apron.

“Just saying hi, Bo,” she said sweetly, eyes flicking down your body.

“Your new hire’s a little snack, is all.”

Bo didn’t say anything. Just stood there — jaw tight, arms crossed — watching as Grace winked at you and then strolled out of the store like she owned the whole damn town.

It kept happening.

Every couple of days, Grace would stop by —

Always with something to say.

Always lingering by your side too long.

Always close enough for Bo to hear.

Sometimes, she’d whisper things when she knew he couldn’t see —

“You really like it here, huh?”

“Bo treatin’ you sweet?”

“You know I had him first, right?”

It should’ve made you mad.

But the way Bo looked at you after?

The way he grabbed your hips at the register and pulled you into the backroom…

The way he told you, smirking, “She don’t know how good I be fuckin’ you…”

The way his hands were all over you when he kissed you…

It made something in you burn.

Lisa never said much.

She came in, she worked, she read.

She didn’t talk about her mom.

She didn’t ask about you and Bo.

She didn’t flinch when Grace flirted or when Bo ignored her completely.

But sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, she’d glance at the two of you —

Bo with his hand on your back, you laughing into his chest —

and you swore you saw something soft in her eyes.

Just for a second.

And you?

You were still working.

Still flirting.

Still keeping Bo’s bed warm and his books straight and his hands full.

But there was a new tension in the air now.

Not bad —

Just heavy

You wiped your hands on your apron and leaned against the counter, watching Bo scribble something in the inventory log with that same pencil he always used.

Lisa left a few hours ago.

You should’ve gone ten minutes ago.

But you hadn’t told him yet.

Bo didn’t look up when he said it:

“You stayin’ tonight?”

You shifted, biting your lip.

He finally did glance up — those honey-dark eyes still soft from a long day of stealing touches and grazing your waist every time he passed you in the store.

“Can’t,” you murmured. “I gotta go home. My neighbor’s letting me borrow her washer before sundown. It’s the only time she ain’t using it.”

Bo didn’t say anything for a beat — just tapped the pencil twice on the page and nodded, jaw flexing like he didn’t want to be annoyed but was anyway.

Then he got up — walked over — real slow, like always.

His arms slipped around your waist.

And then his lips — warm, smelling faintly like tobacco and soap — pressed against the side of your neck.

“You comin’ back after?” he asked, voice rough from smoke and restraint.

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

“Late,” you whispered, “but yeah.”

His breath ghosted down the back of your neck.

And he didn’t say anything else.

Just let you go.

It was damn near midnight by the time you let yourself into his house.

Bo was already in bed, propped up on one elbow — shirtless, chain glinting against his chest — and a cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curled around him in thin silver trails, glowing orange when he brought it back to his lips.

The whole room smelled like him.

Like firewood.

Like skin.

Like home.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come back,” he said, smoke trailing from his mouth.

You didn’t answer.

You just walked right over — boots off, dress loose — and climbed straight into his lap like you belonged there.

And you did.

Bo handed you the cigarette — eyes never leaving yours — and you took a slow drag, blowing the smoke out past his ear as you leaned in.

“Missed me?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Bo’s hand slid up the back of your thighs, grabbed your ass — hard — and then flipped you under him like you weighed nothing, plucking the cigarette from your fingers and putting it in the ashtray on the nightstand before coming back to you.

And then he kissed you.

Not quick.

Not polite.

It was hot and wet and slow, his hands everywhere — sliding your dress up, pulling your panties down, spreading you open under him like he couldn’t wait another second.

He only groaned.

And then he was inside you — deep, slow, hard — and all you could do was moan.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, tight.

Bo braced one arm beside your head and grabbed your jaw with the other — forcing you to look at him while he fucked you like it was the last thing he’d ever do.

The chain around his neck swung gently above you — catching in the light every time he thrust deeper — hypnotizing.

“You feel that?” he grunted, voice ragged against your cheek. “That’s mine, baby. This body. This fuckin’ pussy. Mine.”

You nodded. Because of course you did.

You couldn’t talk — only moan.

Again and again — choked and high and needy — until it was all that filled the room.

“Bo—”

“Bo, oh god—”

“Don’t stop—”

Your nails raked down his back.

He hissed.

And then he smiled.

“Ain’t stoppin’,” he said darkly. “Not ‘til I’m done.”

And he wasn’t.

He kept going — slow, full strokes that had you shaking, eyes rolling — until the only thing you could think, hear, or feel was him.

He kissed you when you came.

Hard. Deep.

Like he wanted to swallow the sound of it.

You moaned into his mouth.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until you were crying out his name like a prayer.

He collapsed on top of you after — sweat-soaked, panting — and nuzzled his face into your neck— had you chuckling lazily, still holding you like he couldn’t stand to let go.

You laid there for a long moment — skin stuck together, chests rising and falling in rhythm — until your fingers wandered up to his chain.

You toyed with it.

He watched.

And then you whispered, low:

“Bo…what are we?”

The silence hit heavy.

Thick.

But not cold.

Bo pulled back just enough to look down at you — his eyes all sleepy heat and dark promise.

“You askin’ if you’re mine?” he murmured.

You swallowed.

“Yeah.”

His mouth curled.

“You been mine,” he said simply. “Been mine since you walked into that store and didn’t look away when I stared.”

He leaned down.

Kissed your mouth, soft and possessive.

“But if you need me to say it out loud, I will.”

“You’re my girl, sugar.”

“Ain’t nobody else touchin’ you.”

Your breath caught.

Bo smiled against your mouth.

“Now go to sleep,” he whispered. “Gotta be up early for work.”

It was early.

The kind of early where the light coming through the windows was still a soft gold — not full sun yet, just the glow before it. The town outside hadn’t quite woken up, but Bo’s house was already warm, filled with the smell of coffee and fresh bread that someone must’ve left cooling next door.

You stretched slow, like a cat, body still sore in all the right places.

Bo wasn’t in bed anymore.

But he wasn’t far.

You found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter in nothing but his trousers — suspenders hanging loose at his sides, his chest bare and golden in the soft light. His hair was a little messy, like he hadn’t done it yet. There was a mug in his hand, and a newspaper tucked under his arm, though he wasn’t reading it. Just watching the window.

When he heard your bare feet on the floor, he turned.

“Mornin’, sugar.”

His voice was low. Raspy. Still waking up.

You padded across the floor and stepped into his space, and he didn’t hesitate — set the mug down and wrapped both arms around you, pulling you in against his chest like you were the thing he needed most in the world.

“You sleep okay?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded, pressing your cheek to his collarbone.

“Sore,” you whispered. “Good sore.”

Bo huffed a warm laugh. You could feel the smile on his lips when he kissed your temple.

“Told you I wasn’t done with you. Still not.”

You tilted your head back just enough to look at him.

The chain around his neck was still there — glinting softly — and your fingers reached up to toy with it.

“You always up this early?”

“Only on days that end in Y,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over your back. “Got a lotta work to do today. Truck’s comin’ with the new sacks of rice and coffee. Gotta clear space in the storeroom.”

“I can help,” you offered.

He gave you a long look.

“You sure you don’t need a few more hours in bed?” He asked. “You were walkin’ like a baby deer just now.”

You flushed and lightly smacked his chest, and he caught your wrist, grinning — pulled your hand up to his mouth and kissed your knuckles one by one.

“I’m serious,” he said more softly. “You help me too much. Spoilin’ me.”

“That’s the point, I work for you.”

“Eh.”

He smiled again — wider this time — and leaned down to kiss you properly. Slow. Lazy. Sweet.

His fingers slipped under the hem of the old shirt you’d thrown on — one of his, of course — and rested on the curve of your waist like he just needed the touch.

“You make me feel like a damn husband again,” he said, voice rough.

“Like I got a real home.”

You blinked up at him.

That was…

A big thing to say…

Bo must’ve felt you stiffen a little, because he gently cupped your cheek and pulled your face back to his, brushing your nose with his.

“Don’t panic,” he murmured. “Ain’t askin’ for a ring. Just like havin’ you here. That’s all.”

You didn’t panic.

Not really.

You just…leaned into it.

Let him kiss you again.

Let him pour you some coffee with that crooked grin of his.

Let him stand behind you while you sipped.

The coffee was hot in your hand, but his body was hotter.

You leaned your back against the counter, holding the chipped ceramic mug with both hands like it was anchoring you, while Bo turned to the old gas stove and twisted the knob with a quiet hiss. Flame gone. Just like that.

Then he reached up to open the window slightly — bare chest catching the pale early morning light, muscles shifting beneath smooth skin and the slope of his shoulders stretching under his warm tan skin like God took his time.

You watched the whole thing like a film reel slowed down just for you.

The way his forearm flexed, veins visible but not harsh — his fingers long, thick at the base, a little rough, strong like they knew what to do with every part of you. His hands looked like they were made to build and fix and lift you with one arm.

And God help you, you’d let him.

He turned, caught you staring. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat.

Just gave you this sleepy little smile that said I know what you’re looking at.

And then he crossed the room with that walk — you knew the one — like every part of him was just slightly too powerful to be casual but too smooth to show it off.

And then he was in front of you.

Warm. Big. Bare.

Smelling like skin and fire and smoke.

“You like lookin’ at me?” he asked, voice low, scratchy — soft with affection, not teasing.

“Mmm-hmm,” you hummed into your coffee, not looking away. “I like the show. Think it’s why I spend the night.”

“Not my charm?”

“No, sir.”

Bo huffed — and then leaned down, kissed your forehead real quick, then your cheek, then lower — mouth brushing the hinge of your jaw.

Your fingers found the waist of his trousers. Just rested there. Nothing more.

He didn’t stop kissing.

Didn’t rush it either.

Just pressed his lips against your skin, trailing them down the side of your neck like he needed to taste you before the world turned the lights on outside. It wasn’t sex. Wasn’t leading there either. Just a mouth. And a moment.

And his hands — god, his hands — one on your hip, the other sliding up your back slowly. His thumb caught the hem of the big shirt you wore, and pushed it up just enough to touch the skin of your lower back.

It was soft. Subtle.

But it burned like it mattered.

“You smell good,” he mumbled against your skin. “That my soap again?”

“Maybe,” you murmured. “Maybe I like smellin’ like you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You dangerous,” he whispered.“Don’t even got to touch me to drive me crazy.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Your free hand trailed up his chest — slow — fingertips dancing along his collarbone, the hollow of his throat, until they found the chain he never took off. You loved that thing. Loved the way it caught the light, the way it swung when he was above you.

You kissed him there.

Right on the center of his chest.

Then again.

A little lower.

Right over his heart.

Bo stilled — body tensing for a breath — then sighed and slid both arms around you, holding you tight against him like he needed it more than his morning smoke.

“You soft this morning,” you whispered into his skin.

“I always been soft for you.”

You looked up.

That was not a line. He meant it.

You blinked, touched his jaw with your fingertips.

“You tryna wife me up already, Mr. Chow?”

He arched a brow.

“Ain’t gotta try.”

The air between you felt golden.

Like honey melting into warm bread.

Bo reached past you to take your mug and finished the rest of your coffee — like he always did — then set it down and kissed your temple again. His hands stayed at your waist for a long moment, thumbs stroking soft circles, like maybe he’d forgotten there was a store to open at all.

“We got fifteen minutes ‘til Lisa shows up,” he said eventually.

“That’s enough time,” you said.

“For what?”

You smiled.

“Nothin’. Just wanna look at you more.”

And so you did.

A/N: raw, next CHAPTER…get it? Because the…I’ll shut up now.

[nerdygirlramblings]

the pups come home!

an: it's another long one. sorry?

cw: poorly executed accents, omegaverse biology, m/m anal sex (including knotting)

previous

Quiet but not quite. Still but reatless. Nervous energy crackles in the air. Excited tension. The house holds its breath, waiting. Your parents and the new pups are on their way home.

Every passing car causes a cascade of glances before the eventual, "Not them," from Ben, positioned at the front window until the gentle rumble of the engine in the drive sets everyone in motion.

Surprisingly, it's Davy who beats everyone to the door, opening it, revealing Mum mid-reach. From the sofa, you watch first as surprise then love chase away her momentary shock. Shaky arms come up as she enfolds Davy in a hug, murmuring softly to him. He returns the embrace, the muscles in his arms tensing as he squeezes her back. Michael and Helen drop quick kisses on her cheeks before slipping past her into the front garden. The three of you decided last night how you'd help when everyone came home from the birth centre. Their job is to help the moms bring Dad and the new pups in. You job is to get everyone fed and settled. There's soup for Dad, full plates for Mama and Mum, and two bottles ready.

While the elder twins bring in the younger twins, you let the triplets greet Mum and then Mama and Dad as they come through the door. All three adults give all three teens the same treatment: whispered words and tender hugs and kisses. It's a much more joyous return from the birthing centre than the triplets have seen your parents have before. All they've known is the litters Dad lost. You want them to be able to celebrate this miracle.

Though the elder twins bring the new ones in, it's the triplets who are officially introduced to them first, lifting each baby into the crook of their neck for just a moment to let the baby smell them, imprint their scent, and know this is family. Watching the ritual your parents established when the first twins were born, telling the triplets, "They aren't our babies, they're your babies too. You'll be here to love them and guide them. To look out for them. And one day, when we're gone, you'll be there for each other. Family."

Hearing it again, you realize your parents always stressed family, but they never said pack. You know many people see them as synonymous terms, but Mama was a literature major at uni, and you were raised with the importance of using the right words. You know there is a reason they use family instead of pack. You wish you understood what it was.

When you finally have a chance to be introduced, you take each baby from Michael, Grant first then Amelia, holding their little heads close, whispering the same thing you've only said five times, "You are more than my sibling. You are part of me, and that will never change. I will love you and support you and care for you always." Each reverent phrase accompanied by a kiss to the baby's temple before passing the child off to one of your parents.

Michael and Helen swing through the kitchen and pick up the bottles to feed the babies. You all remember how tired Dad is after a delivery, so you wrap an arm around his waist in the guise of holding him close after the successful delivery, Mum and Mama slowly trailing after you. You settle them all at the table, then join them to catch them up on how the household has fared in their absence.

You hadn't had a chance to talk with them when you first arrived, and now they ask why you're home. "Clearly you couldn't have expected this," Mum huffs a laugh.

"No," you smile indulgently at first her then Dad, "this was a pleasant surprise."

The question of why you're here, now, is tied up in feelings about your team you don't quite understand and aren't sure how to process, so you don't answer it. Hopefully your parents are too fatigued to notice, but it feels like Dad is watching you pick at your fingers even though his eyes are on his food and the doorway through which you can hear Michael and Helen teaching the triplets how to hold and feed the pups. Mum and Mama must catch on something too - your avoidance, your nervous tic - and blatantly watch you over their plates. "Did something happen with your team?" Mum whispers, keeping this conversation to the kitchen.

A shoulder rises and falls. Your lips twist for a moment. Small movements there and gone belie the mess of emotions you don't know how to name.

Mama's hand on yours, a warm weight tethering you. "I think we need to talk when the rest are in the nest and the pups are sleeping." You can only nod.

"Dunno if ye heard, but the lass's Da had his pups," Soap whispers into the quiet evening. All he receives is a grunt in response. He's wrapped in Ghost's arms, Ghost's knot slowly deflating in his ass. A cock in the ass is one thing. Heat and stretch. The burn pleasant, a successful workout. An alpha's knot is an altogether different experience. Heat hot enough to scorch if you're unlucky. A stretch too far to be comfortable for either party, despite biology at play. Micro tears and burst capillaries. But he and Gaz do this for Ghost and will do it for Price in a few months if you aren't pack by then. It's one way they help the pack with balance.

Soap keeps up his running commentary in these stolen moments when Ghost is lucid, unconsumed by his instincts. "Price said 'e thinks she may be open ta courtin' when we get back." The arm around his waist grips tighter, and Ghost's scent goes briney with his arousal, a perfect compliment to Soap's own marine notes. "Ye like tha', huh, havin' Ren as oor own 'mega?" He knows the other man wants you. They all want you. And Ghost has been vocal this rut, calling out your name. Soap overhead Price's side of yesterday's call with you. Could hear a tinny version of you voice through the phone. The sadness there unmistakable. He knows Price is playing the long game. He only wished he knew how it will all play out.

Things are dark, closed, safe by the time your parents pull you from the nest. The pups and triplets are fast asleep, but Helen startles from half-slumber and Michael turns from his screen. "Just need to chat with your sister before she heads back to base," Dad tells them. "Can ya watch the pups? We'll be in the kitchen, yeah?" Michael nods, back to scrolling through his phone in the dim room. Helen scoots into the space Mama left next to the new pups, her body a gentle barrier to the nest's edge.

In the kitchen, the quiet feels oppressive. The lights don't make the room warm and inviting, instead you're on the wrong side of an interrogation, like when your parents caught you sneaking in from a party when you were in Lower Sixth. A butterfly under glass. Pinned by the weight of their knowing gazes.

The air takes on weight. There's some silent conversation between the moms and Dad. You remember the looks they shared when you told them about being on the boards on base. Finally, you crack. "What?" you ask, nervous and unsure of your footing.

"Baby," Dad starts, "why are you here?"

You avoided the question earlier but know they won't let you deflect now. "We'll, the team had leave, so I came home." The omission is deafening.

"Ya didn't want to take leave with yer team?" Mum asks. "Get ta know them without all the trainin' ya do?"

Somehow they've mastered the art of seeing past your artifice, and if you don't start telling them now, Mama will cut through your bullshit faster than a dog can lick a dish. You shift uncomfortably. This is somehow worse than the conversations you had in your teens about sex and consent and your heats and an alpha's ruts. Your jaw clenches briefly before you force yourself to relax. "Well, I'm here cause it isn't really leave fer the others. One of the pack alphas has his rut, and the whole pack takes a week to handle it together." You don't rush because if you go too fast and have to repeat yourself, you will self-immolate.

Mama blinks while Mum stares at Dad. Clear whatever planned conversation they had, this is not the information they expected you to share. "Er," Mama says, "that's very... progressive of them, yeah?" She recovers quickly because she asks, "Aren't they on suppressants?"

You shake your head. "Captain Price said they only use 'em during missions. Keeps 'em from throwin' anyone off balance for too long." Dad nods, and you hope he's remembering your bad reactions.

He's the one who breaks the silence next. "How do ya feel about them doin' that? Takin' off together, without you, to handle their alpha's rut?"

You think he's asking about you, but he could be asking about your omega, and you hate that you don't know which one answers when you say, honestly, "I miss them."

Mum hums and Mama nods along, but it's still Dad who speaks. "Have ya given any more thought to the other half of yer Captain's offer?"

There's no denying now this is about you being 141's omega, being more than teammates. Your hands fiddle in your lap. The longer you wait, the more obvious your answer seems to be, to them and to yourself. "I don't want things to change," you finally whisper, sounding so much younger. Vulnerable in a way you haven't let yourself be in too many years to count.

"Hey, pretty girl," Dad croons. You can't help but look at him. "Captain Price seems like a good alpha. We know he's a good Captain and a good man. From what you've told us, the whole team supports you and wants you to be a successful soldier. They're already looking out for you in their way."

Your parents let you sit with that truth for a few quiet minutes before Mama tells you, "Seems like they've shown interest. And it looks like your omega is interested. You deserve a pack of your own, honey. You've already put so much faith in these men. Maybe it's time to take that last leap, yeah?"

Mum chimes in with, "You'll always be our sweet girl, but you deserve a pack who will love you in a way we can't." There are tears lining her eyes, but she blinks them away before they fall. "We want you happy."

When they head back to the nest, you don't immediately follow. You sit in the stillness and listen, really listen, to your omega. How the team makes her feel safe, desired, cared for. How she wants what your parents have: the love and support and eventual family.

You know the 141 wouldn't make you retire. They'll support your career, and in that way, they're already better than most packs you could find. If rumors spread about you sleeping your way into the team because you're their omega, you know the pack would have your back. Isn't that what you've always wanted? To be seen as who you are, not what you are?

Isn't it worth it to try?

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

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[holybibly]

The unholy hour of the day, my sugar bunnies: Weirdo nerd Seonghwa has had a fondness for you for a long time, perhaps too much to be normal. So when he sees you on a crowded subway carriage, he takes the opportunity to pay his respects to you.

Warnings: Pervert nerd! Seonghwa, sub!reader, non-consensual groping, dubious consent, obsessive crush, light yandere, forced masturbation, light dub con

'Please be careful; the doors are closing'. The monotonous, mechanical voice of the underground's automated announcement system echoes through the carriage, almost completely lost in the noise of the crowd. The tube is packed, but at this time of day, that's to be expected. You hated taking the train at rush hour, but unfortunately your classes always ended at that time, and you had no choice but to use the Tube to get home, even though it felt like hell at that time, rather than a comfortable and fast ride. 

You always travelled the same way. Day after day, month after month, and in all this time nothing has changed about your trip. Firstly, the subway was always crowded, and having lived in Seoul for the last two years, you'd already gotten used to that. Secondly, there are never any seats when you get on, so you always have to stand. You even somehow managed to put up with the fact that you were always being pushed or squeezed into a corner, which you managed to squeeze into despite the carriage being almost full.

Today was no different at all. You let out a heavy sigh and made your way to the nearest available handrail in the far corner as you were pushed for what seemed like the hundredth time when the carriage doors hissed open and a new stream of passengers poured in. You grabbed hold of the cold metal handrail, trying to take up as little space as possible, while other passengers squeezed past you or kept changing their position in an attempt to get the most convenient and comfortable seat. Someone's elbow is resting on your rib, and you frown, trying to move as far away as possible, which only makes you squeeze harder into the corner. But there's not enough room, and you shriek slightly as the pressure on your ribs increases. The girl next to you bows her head, apologising as she hears this, and moves away from you, finally allowing you to breathe normally. You let out another sigh, clutching your bag tightly to your chest and gripping the handrail even tighter as the train continues to rush forward.

Just a little longer, you say to yourself, eight more stops to go and you'll finally be able to get out of here. 

Once again you hear the mechanical hissing of the doors and the automated voice warning the passengers to be more careful, and it seems to you that the carriage has become even more cramped, but it still does not prevent you from trying to adapt in some way. Dozens of people get on and off at each stop, and you're pushed again, but this time relatively gently. It doesn't matter anyway, you're used to it and ready to just brush it off, but someone's broad, cold hand rests on your bare thigh, just where the edge of your pleated skirt ends. For a second, you feel the stranger's fingers slide over your soft skin under your short skirt, and your breath catches in your throat, your heart beginning to beat faster with each passing moment. This can't be happening, can it? Maybe you're just imagining it? The stranger's cold touch on your thighs fades away as suddenly as it came, but it's enough to make you feel the cold lingering on your skin for a long time afterwards.

"You're so beautiful." A soft, velvety voice whispers from behind you, and you almost jump at the sound. 'So beautiful…' The carriage you're in is packed to the point that you can barely turn your head back to look at whoever that voice belongs to, which one makes goosebumps crawl across your skin. Your eyes widen as you see behind you none other than university oddish nerd Park Seonghwa, who is literally trapping you in a crowded subway car. He's too close to you. Close enough to be intimate. 

Not that you had a bad opinion of Seonghwa; no, he was a relatively nice and harmless guy, but there was still something about him that made people stay away from him. Maybe it was the too intense and focused look in his dark cat eyes, or maybe it was his slightly odd behaviour that was hard to explain; either way, Park Seonghwa was not popular, even though he was pretty, and not just pretty, but really handsome, as if sculpted by the hand of a great master. Another thing that put people off him was that he was a real nerd and had an obsession with Lego and Animal Crossing. You didn't see much of him in your classes, even though you were in the same study group as him; from what you heard, he was in an advanced class and was more likely to jerk off to textbooks than girls. In general, you didn't know much about him other than the gossip you heard from your friends. 

''S-Seonghwa, let me go, please…'' Your voice trembles slightly as you turn to him. There is a strange expression frozen on his handsome face, one that you are unable to decipher. He looks drunk—his big eyes are blurry and unfocused, his mouth is open from heavy breathing, his cheeks are flushed, and there is a bead of sweat on his forehead. There is obviously something wrong with him, but Seonghwa is a good guy, isn't he? He wouldn't do anything to hurt you, or at least you wanted to believe that. 

You don't hear him answer as the train makes a sharp turn and Seonghwa pushes you against the wall of the carriage, his body pressed tightly against yours. You freeze, like a mouse caught in the claws of a cat, as you feel his cold hands squeeze your soft, plump thighs, right under your buttocks. You tug at the hem of your skirt in an attempt to push Seonghwa's hands away from you, but he doesn't let you go; instead, his fingers dig harder into your flesh even more, and you're sure you'll be bruised afterwards. You feel the fast, erratic beating of his heart against your back as he leans into you, as if he's trying to melt into you, to become one with your body.

"I'm sorry…' He whispers to you again, his hot breath brushing your ear and his sensual, full lips touching your soft, thin skin with each letter. You've always admired his lips—so full and kissable—and you've even wondered what they would feel like when he kissed you, but right now you wish you could erase that touch from your skin forever. Something hard and intimidatingly large presses against your lower back as he grips your hips tighter, literally piling on top of you. The sickly sweet smell of strawberries and cream invades all of your senses, and you find yourself trapped between the dirty wall of the subway car and the hard, hot body of Seonghwa. You've never noticed how tall he is compared to you—you're invisible behind him; nobody can see what he's doing to you. "I'm so sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it… You're too beautiful… too beautiful for me to control myself. I'm so sorry…' He lowers his head onto your shoulder, his long black hair tickling the skin on your neck as you stare unblinkingly into the dirty wall, terror running through you to the bone, rendering you completely immobile as Seonghwa pushes his hips into you, fucking your arse on the crowded train like a dog in heat.

Your lips begin to tremble, hot tears gathering in your eyes, threatening to spill out and run down your cheeks, smearing your make-up, as Seonghwa's one hand slides up the curve of your hip and higher up your waist, your ribs, over the thin lace of your bra to cradle your right tit. 

'Oh fuck...' Seonghwa hisses as he squeezes the soft flesh of your breast in the palm of his hand. His fingers pull the cup of your bra down so that your tit is completely exposed. "Exactly as I thought... your tits are so big and soft. I want to fuck them so badly. I want to come on your tits; cover them with my sperm. I want to suck on your fucking tits while you are riding on me, angel." He continues to rub his cock against your plump buttocks, whimpering into your skin. 

'N-no, please don't, Seonghwa. Please stop it...' You sob, hoping that your pathetic pleas will bring him to his senses. But it seems to have the exact opposite effect, making him even more aroused. You tremble at his touch as Seonghwa continues fucking you, his rough hand caressing your naked breasts, his hard cock sliding between your buttocks through his jeans and skirt. 

"Please move away from the doors." The train stops, the mechanical hiss of the doors hissing through the crowd. You pray that Hwa will let you go, but he doesn't. For a moment, he stops pushing into you and keeps you pressed up against the wall. His breath is unpleasantly warm against your ear, making you shiver.

'Seonghwa...' You try once more. "Seonghwa, please let me go. I won't tell anyone... I promise. Please leave me alone..." The tears begin to flow freely down your face as you continue to beg him to let you go. But Seonghwa is completely unresponsive; instead, he starts to leave wet, smeared kisses on your neck. His lips are soft, too soft, like down pillows, unpleasantly slippery and wet from copious amounts of saliva mixed with lip balm as cloying strawberry as he is. From the outside, you probably look like a couple deeply in love. Seonghwa is protective, wrapped around you like a snake, and to everyone else, he looks like a caring guy. If only they knew...

The thought of screaming crosses your mind, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared when the train starts moving again and Hwa slips his other hand under your shirt and wraps it around your left breast. His hand greedily squeezes the soft flesh over the thin lace of your bra before he pulls it down as well, exposing your tits to the full extent. You hate yourself for the fact that his touch is causing your nipples to begin to tense and your pussy to clench around nothing. You've always been hypersensitive, and that's generally nothing unusual, but this situation...

You shouldn't react like this; you don't want Seonghwa to touch you; you don't want to feel his hands on your body, but then why are you biting your lip and trying your best to suppress the obscene sounds that are coming out of your mouth right now? 

"That's it, Angel. I'll make you feel good. I'll be worshipping you, pretty girl, the way I've always wanted to be. And you can't blame me for that; you've got everything to blame yourself for. You're too beautiful, too beautiful for me to let you go..." Seonghwa's hands, gently rocking your breasts as if he could feel the weight of them, his fingers running over your aureoles, stimulating you while avoiding your swollen nipples.

You sob loudly as you feel your pussy getting wetter by the second. You don't want to give in to the pleasure that is growing deep inside you, especially not in the presence of so many people and even less so in Seonghwa's hands, but there is nothing you can do about it. He gives you a sharp pinch on your nipples as the mechanical voice announces the name of the next stop, and it covers up the moan that escapes from your lips. 

"You feel so good, angel." He whispers to you in a velvety voice.  "Your little nipples are so hard and tender. I want to take them into my mouth and suck them until you come. I'm sure I can make you come just from that." Seonghwa's voice is full of dark promise, and it makes more and more moisture pour out of your hole. Shame washes over you like a wave, and you cover your eyes, trying to come to terms with the unwanted pleasure that is growing inside of you. You clench your hands tighter around your bag as Hwa continues to play with your breasts. Squeezing and massages them, rubbing and pinching your nipples, at the same time leaving hot, painful hickeys on your neck. "You were made for me, my angel. I always knew it. I knew it the moment I saw you." One of his hands releases your breasts and slides down your body. Your eyes go wide in horror as you realise where Seonghwa's hand is going, but it's too late because... He slides his hand easily between your thighs, wrapping your pussy, over the lace of the thong, whose fabric is soaked with your slime. 

"Look at you; you're all wet for me."

'I-I'm not, please, just stop...' For the first time since Seonghwa cornered you, you try to resist him. Your hand trembles as you try to pull his hand off your cunt, but Hwa just pushes it away. Then you start to wriggle in his grip, trying to push him away from you, but it doesn't help. Seonghwa is bigger and stronger than you, and all your movements instead make you rub your wet pussy harder against his palm between your thighs.

"Don't be embarrassed about it, angel. You just have to admit that you want it just as much as I do."

The train stops again, and Seonghwa takes the opportunity to pull the wet lace of your thong aside, exposing your smooth, plump pussy to his touch. You can't hold back a moan as his fingers outline a figure of eight around your clit. 

"Please... Seonghwa... you don't have to do this." You sob, lowering your head to somehow hide the way your cheeks are flushed from everything he's doing to you. 

'But how can I, angel? You're so ready for me...' He pulls his hand away from your pussy for a second and brings them up to your face. You watch in horror as he spreads his fingers, pulling strands of your arousal between them before they break apart, coating his long appendages with your stickiness. "You see that? Your slutty pussy is all wet and sticky; how can I ignore it?" You barely manage to hold back a loud moan as Seonghwa slides his hand down and, without any preamble, pushes two fingers into your wet cunt. The stretching stings, but with it comes pleasure. It's clouds your mind and overshadows any sense of decency or shame. Seonghwa begins to fuck you, twisting his fingers inside you and stroking your slippery, trembling walls with slightly calloused fingertips. Over the din of the other passengers' voices, you can almost hear the squelching of your unacceptably wet pussy.

"You are so tight, my angel. I should stretch your cunt before you take my cock. I'll do my best; we don't want your sweet pussy to be in pain, do we?" With these words, Seonghwa inserts another finger into you.

Everything in you shrinks in shame as the pleasure becomes too much to ignore—your legs spread so Hwa can fuck you harder and deeper, his finger pads pressed against your sweet spot, and your eyes roll back at the sharp pleasure coursing through your body.

It's disgusting, no, it's more than disgusting, and deep inside you despise yourself for giving yourself up to him so easily, for not putting up any resistance at all to Seonghwa, for letting him fuck you so expertly with his long fingers. 

[professorsnape394]

Seducing Mr Malfoy

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x Reader Rating: 🥵 Summary: Lucius teaches his son how to properly treat a woman.

A/N: First time ever writing for Lucius. Please let me know what you all think of it!

Warnings: Violence (one instance of Domestic abuse?). Smut. Slapping kink. Degradation kink. Voyeurism. Oral (male receiving).

Word Count: 2569

Credits to Gif Creator.

Since his divorce Lucius had been living the high life as one of the wealthiest bachelors of the Wizarding World. Having been with Narcissa since leaving school he had never had much opportunity to sow his oats and truly explore the litany of woman at his disposal. It seemed now, that he was able to have whoever he wanted for however long he wanted; women loved a man in power, and Lucius had an abundance of it.

His son, Draco, on the other hand, was not coping quite so well in the absence of his mother, taking inspiration from his father to plough through a number of young witches’ keen to experience a taste of the Malfoy life, but never quite seeming satisfied by any of them.

Frustratingly, the kind of life Lucius led also required him to put in the work to retain his prestigious position at the Ministry of Magic. Which is what led him to working over the weekend in his home office, depriving him of the much-needed female attention he had quickly become addicted to.

Scribbling away furiously at his desk, Lucius was eager to finish his work and hit the town, leaving his son the privacy of the Manor to entertain his new girlfriend. Lucius usually never took an interest in the revolving door of young witches that passed through his house on the arm of his son, but his most recent girl had caught his attention on a number of occasions this week.

The first time Lucius saw her was fleeting. As he headed out the door as Draco was coming home, the young lady stopped him in his tracks. Usually, he would have ignored the woman, greeting his son with a brief nod before disappearing out the door, but something about her confidence to address him, intrigued him.  

“Mr Malfoy.” She greeted, stopping firmly at his feet.  “Y/N L/N. It’s a Pleasure to finally meet you.”

She held out her hand for him to take. He quirked an eyebrow at the firmness of her grip, impressed by her boldness.

“And you.” He stated simply, crushing her hand and flicking his gaze over her face.

While her clothing was similar to any other woman that he encountered these days; short and low cut. Her features drew him in unlike anyone ever had. Her doe like eyes made her look innocent, but the crimson shade on her lips told a different story altogether. Lucius could see why his son had chosen such a rare beauty.

She gazed up at him through a curtain of thick lashes, refusing to be the one to let go first.

“Hurry up.” Draco snapped, yanking her by the arm. “I didn’t bring you here to make small talk with my father.”

“I apologise for taking up your time, Mr Malfoy. I hope I see you again.” She flashed him a smile, idly nibbling on her plump bottom lip.

Lucius’ gaze latched on her mouth once more, finding it hard to drag himself away.

Finally, Draco stormed off, leaving the witch to scurry after him. Lucius couldn’t help but watch the sway of her hips as she sashayed her way up the grand staircase.

~

The second time he encountered Y/N, he heard her before he saw her.

After a long day at the office, Lucius crashed onto his bed exhausted, not even bothering to change out of his suit.

He awoke hours later, feeling groggy and uncomfortable. It was one of the rare nights he missed having his wife around to take care of him. Attempting to drown away the thoughts of his ex, Lucius poured himself a glass of aged whiskey and strolled to the bathroom to shower stresses of the day away.

It was on his return from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel, that his ears pricked up at a sound from down the hall.

“Oh God, oh God.” The woman’s muffled moan echoed out the room.

His son’s voice murmured a string of curses, followed by the sound of a hard slap. This seemed to only spurred the witch on; her moans turning from high pitched and fast, to long a long and throaty groan.

Lucius’ feet carried him towards the door without thought, finding it slightly ajar.

“Fuck. Please Draco.” She begged.

Another few harsh slaps sent the woman overboard. She reached her climax in a series of pants and whines, her voice growing louder as she came.

Lucius slowed his breathing, recklessly approaching the threshold. His dick had quickly become painfully hard, the friction of his tip rubbing against the towel driving him mad with desire. Taking a sip of his half-finished whiskey, Lucius dared peak through the crack in the door.

His eyes quickly landed on bed, the woman lying face up, panting breathlessly. Her bare chest rising and falling erratically with each breath. Lucius’ gaze roamed her naked body, stroking himself roughly over the fabric of the towel. His attention quickly turned to Y/N’s face, flushed with colour, cheeks burning red from the smack of Draco’s hand and her mascara had run down her face with tears. Lucius might have been worried she was in pain, were it not for the wild grin spreading from cheek to cheek.

In an instant Draco grabbed her roughly by her hair, flipping her body until she was lying face down on the mattress, ass perfectly positioned up. Lucius took a step away from the door, just in time to see the girl turning her head in his direction, staring mindlessly at the door while Draco rutted into her from behind. The older Malfoy watched on quietly from the shadows, alternating between sipping on his drink and tugging himself sore at the sight of Y/N’s eyes rolling back in her head.

Returning to his room, Lucius felt both dirty and unsatisfied, having not had the courage to finish himself off at risk of his son hearing his feral grunts. Putting his moment of impulsiveness down to feeling lonely and overworked, Lucius retired to his bed for the night, but not before downing the rest of the bottle of whiskey he kept on his dresser.

The following morning Lucius awoke with a pounding headache and an incredibly dry throat. Memories of the night before flooded his brain. He expected to feel shame over his actions, but instead he found himself replaying the images and the sounds of the woman over in his head, wishing he had been the one to illicit that kind of reaction from her. At risk of developing another erection, he forced himself out of bed, wandering down to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water.

A tortured groan slipped past Lucius lips at the sight he stumbled upon in his kitchen.

Y/N stood alone in the middle of his kitchen, wearing only a pair small pair of gym shorts and a crop top, stretching to reach one of the higher cabinets, placing her body perfectly on show for him to gawk at. Lucius’ eyes raked over her body, lasering in on her perky little ass and reminiscing on how completely edible she looked bent over last night.

“You know we have House Elves that can get that for you.” He finally spoke, leaning idly on the kitchen island.

The girl jumped at the sound of his voice, spinning on a heel to face him.

“Mr Malfoy. I didn’t hear you come down.” The view of her front was just as good; her breasts spilling over the neckline of her tight top, hard nipples on show from the chilly air that circulated the Manor.

“Mmm.” He hummed appreciatively. “I can be quite discreet when it serves me.”

“I noticed.” She stated plainly, staring directly into his eyes.

Lucius quirked an eyebrow stunned by her acknowledgment. Pushing himself from the counter, he slowly stalked towards her.

“Is that so?”

“You think I was being that loud for your son’s benefit?” She moved in closer, battling her long lashes at him as they came practically chest to chest.

“Speaking of Draco, where is my son?”

“He’s still asleep, probably won’t be up for hours yet.”

“Mmm.” Lucius hummed again, reaching out to brush a thumb along her lips. “Then is it a shame?”

“A shame, Mr Malfoy?” The girl searched his face for any insight into his thoughts.

“A shame I have to be heading into the office this morning.”

Y/N face fell at his words. Lucius took the woman’s chin between two fingers, tilting her gaze up to meet his eyes.

“Don’t be so loud, next time. He’ll think you’re enjoying it far too much.”

And with that Lucius disappeared from the room, leaving Y/N alone in the kitchen, squeezing her legs to fight off the quickly developed ache between her legs.  

~

The next time he saw Y/N enough time had passed that she had been on Lucius’ mind more often than appropriate for his son’s new girlfriend. Draco hadn’t brought her home in a few days and Lucius was starting to miss the sweet sounds that he liked to get himself off to every night that week.

Returning home from yet another tough day at work; Lucius ditched his coat at the door and headed straight for his whiskey cabinet, ready to drown himself in thoughts of her. He made it half way to the kitchen before his attention was drawn elsewhere. Soft cries floated through the house; a familiar voice pleading through broken sobs.

His sons voice; harsh and indignant, had him charging up the stairs.

“I said; Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.” The younger of the Malfoy men, pushed the woman roughly to the ground; her knees smashing sorely onto the hardwood floors.

“Draco.” She sniffled, tears steaming down her face. The smile that once brightened her face long forgotten.

“Disobedient Bitch.” He spat.

With his heavily ringed right hand, Draco backhanded Y/N across the face.

The woman gasped from the force, quickly covering her cheek to ease the pressure.

Using his cane to catch onto his son’s collar, Lucius dragged his son away from Y/N.

“Draco.” He hissed into the boy’s ear, crushing his shoulder under his tight grip. “What exactly is going on here.”

Lucius dared to flick his eyes down to the woman now hunched over on the ground.

“She likes it.” He snapped back. “She gets off on shit like this; she’s sick.”

“It doesn’t look like she is enjoying it to me.”

“It’s none of your- “

“SILENCE.” Lucius commanded his son. “I thought I taught you to treat women better than this.”

He stepped slowly in Y/N’s direction, stopping just in front of her knees. He took her face in his hand, tilting her chin to look up at him as he had done the last time they met.

“A woman like this deserves the utmost care and attention. She should be worshipped. Not beaten to the ground like a common Elf.” He used his thumb to wipe away her tears, gently stroking the bright red imprint on her cheek.

“If that is something you do not understand, then you do not deserve to have her at all. She deserves more. Someone who understands the nuances of women. Someone who will treat her like a Queen during the day; and punish her like the slut she is at night.”

Y/N’s wicked grin returned, teeth nibbling on her bottom lip as she pictured Lucius doing everything to her that he just promised. Her eyes dropped forward to his crotch; it didn’t come as a surprise to her that he was already hard just from seeing her on her knees like this.

“Is that what you want, Darling?”

She liked the dryness from her lips, blinking up at him through teary eyes and nodded.

Lucius reached for the buckle of his belt, starting to undo the fastening of his trousers.

“Leave us, Draco.”

“But Father.” The boy stuttered, dumbfounded by the situation unfolding before him.

“I said LEAVE. Unless you want to feel the sting of my hand across your face.”

The boy stumbled from the room, leaving his father and girlfriend alone in the thick silence of the Manor.

Y/N leaned into Lucius’ touch as he cupped her cheek and finished undoing his belt.

“I’ve been waiting for this all week.”

Lucius groaned at her words, putting his hand down his unzipped trousers, easing some of the tension in his boxers.

“Don’t tell me you were thinking of me the whole time you were fucking my good-for-nothing son.”

“What if I told you I was only fucking him to get to you. That every night I made sure to moan loud enough for you to hear in the hopes that you would burst through the door and take me just for yourself. I wanted you to show him how it was done, how I sounded when I came all over your cock.”

“Mmm. Draco was right about one thing; you are sick.”

“What if I told you I got tired of waiting. That I came here tonight with the intention of seducing you.” She paused before deciding whether to continue. “I told Draco I was ending things with him tonight.”

Understanding dawned on Lucius.

“Is that why he was acting that way? Because you broke it off with him.”

Y/N nodded, dropping her gaze.

“That boy is not used to being told ‘no’. He never deserved you.”

“Let’s not talk about Draco anymore. He’s taken up more of my time than I would ever want.”

Y/N ran her hands up Lucius’ thighs, jumping up to her knees again.

“Ready, Sweetheart?”

Lucius pulled his dick from his trousers, pumping himself roughly in front of her lips, precum already dripping from his tip.

Y/N stuck her tongue out eagerly, licking the length of his slit clean. Lucius removed his hands allowing, Y/N to take charge.

Watching her wrap her lips around his cock, Lucius hissed at the contact.

Almost instantly she gagged from the size of him hitting the back of her throat.

“Relax.” He ordered. “Take your time.”

Y/N sat back on her haunches, this time taking him slowly into her mouth. She swirled her tongue leisurely around his tip, making sure he was fully lubricated before sucking him up an inch at a time.

Good Girl.” He hummed, tipping her chin up again, wanting to maintain eye contact with her.

Lucius kept his hands on either side of her face, gently guiding her movements. She bobbed her head rhythmically, savouring every second of finally tasting him in her mouth.

“Keep going, Darling, that feels incredible.” Lucius encouraged.

“Mmmm.”

Y/N whined, finally feeling his tip hit the back of her throat, threatening to surpass the boundary. She rubbed her thighs together but to no avail, the throbbing ache that had started between her legs would not be so easily satiated. Delving her fingers beneath the band of her underwear Y/N slipped her fingers between her folds, focusing on rubbing circles around her clit.

“You have no patience.” Lucius scolded, eyes lowering on her body. “You’ll get what you need soon enough.”

Lucius pulled Y/N to her feet, his cock coming out his mouth with a pop.

“How about I show you exactly what I have been dreaming about all week?”

Her doe eyes slanted seductively at his words.

“Lead the way, Mr Malfoy.”

. . . Taglist:

@pear-1206

[salemlunaa]

🎀 NEW IDEA: ASK CHAT GPT 🎀

ꨄ Use AI to your advantage when it comes to manifesting and shifting…

Although AI can get a little weird and scary sometimes, it’s actually such a great way to get information, motivation and inspiration all in one

Instead of hounding bloggers for the same thing all the time. Go to Chat GPT.

Now, how about i give you a few examples, let’s imagine someone called maya 𖨆

maya is having trouble because she feels like when she tries to induce the void, she always falls asleep and that’s taken away so many years from her dream life

she asks Chat GPT: “I keep falling asleep every time I try to induce the void, I feel so frustrated all the time and I need some help”

Chat GPT answers: “Hi Maya, falling asleep during void practice is common, so don’t be too hard on yourself. One way to combat this is by practicing at a time when you feel awake and alert, like in the morning or after a light exercise session. Another tip is to sit up in a comfortable position rather than lying down, as it can help you stay focused and avoid dozing off. Keep practicing with patience—it’s all part of the process!”

now let’s imagine joey 𖨆

joey is feeling frustrated because he feels like he hasn’t progressed, he’s been in the community for 2+ years and really wants his dream life

he asks: “I’m feeling so frustrated and upset, like I want to give up, I’ve been trying to induce the void and get my dream life for over 2 years, I need motivation”

Chat GPT responds; “Hi Joey, I know it’s tough, but remember that persistence is key—sometimes the journey teaches you just as much as the destination. Instead of focusing on the time passed, celebrate the fact that you’re still trying, which shows incredible resilience. Take a short break if you need to, and reconnect with why you started. Visualize your dream life vividly, and remind yourself it’s worth the effort. Progress might be closer than you think!”

now chloe 𖨆 is feeling really powerless lately, circumstances hit her hard on some days and she feels stuck, she wants to be reminded how the void is so possible and so easy and she’s so capable of it all

she asks: “Can you remind me how powerful I am? Some days circumstances hit so hard and it gets tough!! Can you explain manifesting from a logical point of view to remind me how easy it all is?”

Chat GPT responds: “Hi Chloe, let me remind you of this simple truth: you are the creator of your reality, the God of your world. From a logical point of view, everything you experience stems from your thoughts, beliefs, and focus. Circumstances are just reflections—they only hold power because you give it to them. Shift your focus, and the reflection changes effortlessly. When you truly accept that you’re the one in control, nothing can stand in your way. You’ve always had the power!”

Now you can see how well it works!! You can even use them to give you affirmations, help you with vaunts. You can be as specific as you want, trauma dump as much as you want and say whatever you want without crossing boundaries or being judged. You can use Chat GPT to script, i’ve used it so many times and it has given me so many ideas. And your script will still feel like your own, just see it as your collaborating with Chat GPT and that it you helps put your thoughts into words.

You can even use it when you’re having one of those days and just need to be reminded of the fact that you’re in charge. You can even use it for some tough love or to comfort you as you vent.

Like guys you can do so many things with this, I love Chat GPT so much we’re locked in like this:

LMFAOOO IM JOKING (or am i? 😏)

But in all seriousness, some of you need this. Flooding bloggers asks and dms with questions that they have repeated the answers to multiple times, asking things you damn well know the answer to or just asking for motivation repeatedly can take away from people who actually have a good question to ask and actually need help. Like fogging up a blogger’s inbox repeatedly venting about the 3d, or asking “hOw Do I gEt iNtO tHe VoId?” knowing damn well you know the answer to that, will prevent a blogger from noticing someone who actually has a good question that many people might also have and would actually spark an interesting discussion.

So just ask Chat GPT, it’s okay to have doubts creep in from time to time, it’s okay to need a reminder of basic things, it’s okay to forget how powerful you are sometimes, but you can literally ask Chat GPT to help you with that and it will. Instead of waiting around for bloggers to answer your dm or ask just to say the same thing, you can get actual help, and get it when you want it and how you want it.

Why don’t you ask “explain the law of assumption to me like i’m 5”

“explain the void state to me from a scientific view to help me believe”

“give me some dream body affirmations”

“i’ve been so demotivated, remind me who tf i am again”

“I’m going to come from a filthy rich family when I permashift, can you give me some £10Million+ per year jobs that my desired parents can do”

“I feel so lazy today, bully me into inducing the pure consciousness instead of procrastinating”

you don’t need to harass bloggers for these things when you can have immediate access to the answers you seek.

ꨄ 🧸🎀 Go download Chat GPT and knock yourself out!! 💋

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Would you write a dark and toxic romance fic?

For instance, Carlos Sainz has a girlfriend. F1 has an influencer program and invites a lingerie model to a race. Carlos is highly attracted to her, basically on his knees for her. She doesn't want to get involved and pushes him away. Carlos can't stop thinking about her and wants her more every time he sees her. He starts to try and seduce the model. She secretly enjoys his touch and pet names, dirty talks and etc., but stops him every time. Under some circumstance they finally fuck, Carlos is obsessed with making her feel pleasure. After that she's avoiding him but all Carlos wants is more of her. She even prohibits the driver from braking up with his gf. Carlos obey but in exchange wants the model to be his friend with benefits

**Not dark sorry**

Lady in Red (1) || CS55

Pairing: Carlos Sainz Jr x fem!reader Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, oral, cheating WC: 2.7k

One || Two || Three || Four

You tried to resist him, you really did. You could honestly put a hand on your heart and swear you turned down the advances he made but he was persistent. 

“You’re riding with me, hermosa.” You jumped at the Spanish driver's voice in your ear, not realising he had managed to get so close to you without noticing. 

“I’m meant to be in Charles' car,” you replied as your heart rate crept up, like his cleverly hidden hand on your ribs.

“Plans changed, now I get you all to myself.”

Each day you found it harder to fight the urge to give into him. The nights left you tossing in an empty bed as you imagined all the filthy things he had whispered in your ear each time he passed. This promotion with F1 and Ferrari in particular needed to end soon or, so help you, the temptation would be too much.

A clap of hands drew your attention away from Carlos and the professional photographer waved you forward to the red sports car waiting for you. You were accustomed to being the envy of the men around you, you were literally paid to lure them in with your body and the lingerie you paraded. This promotion was no different, only it seemed to be working a little too well on one man in particular - a man who was in a very public relationship. 

“Gorgeous, honey!” Cristiano blew a kiss as he snapped away on his camera, capturing your poses on the hood of the car effortlessly.

It would have been a lie to say you hadn’t noticed Carlos shuffle his way through the lighting staff and makeup artists to get a better view. You noticed, and you played with fire.

Carlos tugged at the collar of his race suit as his body temperature spiked. He had never been so enthralled by a woman before and he couldn’t let you leave without taking a bite of the forbidden fruit. The way you sat on the hood of his car made his blood race and when you leaned back and spread your legs as you looked to the sky, he swore that he had found the altar to worship on his knees for. 

Carlos bit his lip and vowed to take you like that before the campaign was over. He was going to have you, he didn’t care what he had to do to make it happen - there was no price he wouldn’t pay, and everyone had a price.

Cristiano spotted Carlos edging forward, his shadow interfering with the light and snapped his fingers at the man. “You, red man, go to her.”

Carlos didn’t need any encouragement as he strode confidently to his car and looked down at your reclined position with a dark smile. “How do you want me?”

Your lips parted with an answer before you realised he was speaking to Cristiano and snapped your mouth closed but Carlos’ smirk grew. “Do you have something to say, hermosa?”

“I thought this was a lingerie shoot.”

“I can strip down for you, I have no problem with that,” he said as he reached for his collar but you caught his hand to stop him.

“I think your girlfriend would have a problem with that.”

“Then don’t think about my girlfriend.”

“Red man, baby, you’re too stiff. Relax and take a seat,” Cristiano called out, curling a finger for you to stand up. Carlos took your place on the hood and an assistant darted across the track with his helmet. “Okay, honey, turn around and do your thing.”

You inwardly cursed as you faced Carlos and saw your reflection in the tint of his visor, the bright red lace you wore matching his suit perfectly. 

“Do your thing, hermosa,” he dared from the helmet as he lifted his feet to the front bumper and spread his knees for you to step between. 

You told yourself this was just a job, that the chemistry was purely for camera, as you placed your hands on his knees and arched your back before looking over your shoulder. The sound Cristiano made was pure excitement and he snapped a few shots with encouragement to do more. 

“Fuck, you are beautiful,” Carlos groaned as your position thrust your breasts into his line of vision and he all but whimpered when you turned around. 

You didn’t have to fake the pleasure on your face when you leaned back against Carlos and tipped your head back onto his shoulder, looking up under your lashes as you bit your lip. Without needing direction, his hands found your hips and pulled you flush against his body and your hand reached up, slipping beneath the back of his helmet to tug the strands of hair you caught.

“How wet are you, hermosa?” he whispered in your ear. “I bet you are absolutely dripping for me.”

You crossed your legs as naturally as you could in the stiletto heels and felt his chest bounce with a laugh. “Don’t be shy now. We are just getting started.”

His hands burned your skin as they slowly rose up your body and you didn’t dare breathe until they reached the cup of your bra and you pushed away from the car. You were at risk of doing something very stupid if you stayed there a moment longer. “What’s next?” you asked the director, silently begging it to be something solo so you could recover from being so close to Carlos. 

But your wish was ignored.

 “Some hot laps, you’re with Carlos.”

You looked longingly at Stacy who was making her way to Charles’ car but your view was interrupted by Carlos and the arm he threw over your shoulders, turning you to the passenger door. “Ready, cariña​?”

“Carlos…” your words died out as he opened the door and gave you a look that dared you to moan his name again so you silently took your seat.

“Open your legs.”

“No!” you gasped before looking at your lap and seeing the seatbelt was nothing like ones you had worn in the past. This one had a buckle between your thighs. “Oh.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t think about it,” he chuckled as he reached for the metal clasp, a hiss of air escaping your clenched teeth when his knuckles brushed over your panties. “It is humid here, isn’t it? Very moist.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned.

“What? I am talking about the weather. Unless you know of something else that is moist?”

“Please stop saying that word.”

“How about wet? Do you like that? You can tell me what you like, I am a very good listener.”

“I would like you to please focus on driving.”

“Relax, I am good at multitasking.”

“Like having a girlfriend and still trying to get my attention?”

Carlos scoffed before closing the door and walking around to his side. “Cariña, I’m not ‘trying’ anything, I had you the moment you walked in my garage.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

The engine started with a purr and your heart skipped a beat as Carlos smirked to himself. “We’ll see about that.”

Your entire body was trembling by the time the car came to a screeching halt at the start of the track. Adrenaline flooded your body and after the thrilling speeds that Carlos had driven at the world seemed to spin too slow. You wanted that heady feeling again, it was addictive.

Carlos had barely paid attention to the track as the sounds that you made drained his brain of his blood and sent it straight to his dick. He took the turns faster so your shoulders brushed with his and he hit the chicanes harder to see your perfect tits bounce in the barely-there bra.

“Dinner, tonight,” Carlos stated as he turned the car off and reached over to the buckle and pushed it in. The plastic pressed to the juncture of your thighs and a moan escaped before you could suppress it and he grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Carlos knocked at your hotel door right on time and you checked yourself over once more before opening it. After seeing how he had reacted to the red Ferrari & I.D Sarrieri lingerie crossover set at the photoshoot, you found an equally racy dress in the same shade of rouge.

“I thought we were going out?” you asked as you saw a tray balanced in his hand.

The look he gave you was truly devilish as he dragged his eyes down your body and back up to your face. “I prefer to eat in.”

He slipped past you and hooked his shoe on the door, kicking it closed. You stared at his back as he walked deeper into your hotel room before he turned and curled a finger, beckoning you to join him in the dining room.

“Shit,” you murmured to yourself as you took a step towards him without meaning to and thought, I’m in trouble.

Carlos placed the covered tray on the table and pulled out a chair before holding his hand out for you. Against your better judgement, you placed your hand in his and let him pull you closer. His arms curled around your back as your hands settled on his shoulders as he smiled triumphantly.

“I finally have you all to myself, hermosa.”

One hand slipped down your back but you couldn’t find the energy to fight his advances as his palm caressed the swell of your ass. You were just trying to figure out how to make your lungs breathe again when his lips stole what little air you had left.

You curled your body against him as his tongue lashed across you lips and they parted on instinct as you wanted more.

“This dress is killing me,” he groaned as his hand travelled further down until he reached the hem and dragged it up over your hips. Cool air kissed your skin that was completely bare beneath the dress. “Looks like you had plans of your own.”

Your head fell back with a moan as his lips sealed over the racing pulse in your neck. “I didn’t want lines showing on the dress,” you lied, because the fantasy of this moment had crossed your mind. You just hadn’t thought about the possibility of letting it go this far in real life.

You felt his teeth graze your skin as he smiled at the lie and his hands gripped your hips before he lifted you onto the table. “What are you…”

Your words faded out as he dropped into the chair and licked his lips at the sight before him. “Eating in.”

You screwed your eyes shut knowing you were going straight to hell with a Ferrari red A pinned to your dress. You screwed your eyes shut as he kissed your left calf and placed your heel on the arm of his chair before doing the same to the right.

“Cariño,” he murmured between the kisses and bites he trailed up your thighs before he lashed his tongue through your folds. “Hmm, you are so wet for me.”

You reached for his thick, dark hair and combed your fingers through it as you gave into the temptation. You tightened your fingers in the strands and pulled him back to where you needed him most. “Hasn’t anyone told you not to talk with a mouthful?”

“Where are my manners,” he chuckled, his breath scorching on your skin. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your head thumped back on the tabletop as he completely devoured you, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. The chandelier above you was almost as bright as the stars that danced around your vision as the man made a buffet of you. You had never had someone put so much passion into eating your pussy and it showed as your first orgasm quickly built and wracked your body with undulating waves of pleasure that he eagerly lapped at.

“You taste so fucking good, hermosa,” he praised as he lazily traced his fingers along your dripping slit and he rose to his feet. Your mind was in a haze and you smiled dumbly as you looked up at Carlos to see his lips glossy with your come.

“You are a filthy man,” you purred as he swiped his thumb over his bottom lip before licking it clean.

“We’re just getting started,” he teased as he reached over to the tray and lifted the lid. “Strawberry?”

You parted your lips as he dipped the sweet fruit in the tub of chocolate sauce but instead of giving you a taste, he drizzled the chocolate over the swell of your breasts. You didn’t care if it ruined the dress because his lips were on your skin, his fingers pulling the material down to bare your breasts before his tongue swirled around them.

“Fuck, Carlos,” you cried as he sucked your nipple to hard peaks. Your body burned for more, your back arching as your hips rolled in search of friction to ease the ache to be filled. “Fuck me, please.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as he reached into his pocket for a condom before unzipping his trousers. You were impatient, squirming on the table as he tore into the foil and rolled the sheath down his hard length. You sat up at the edge of the table and surprised him as you wrapped your hand around his cock, guiding him to your entrance as he watched on hungrily.

“Take it, cariña, take it,” he grunted deeply as he inched himself into your tight cunt until your bodies were pressed to each other. Your legs wrapped around his hips, your nails dug into his back, your teeth buried in his neck and he cried out your name as he snapped his hips forward.

Guilt ate at you as you dressed the next morning. The evidence of what you did was buried under layers of makeup and you swore it couldn’t happen again. Carlos was in a relationship, that should have been enough to stop you.

But he was persistent.

“Stop, someone might see,” you growled as you put your hand on his chest to stop him getting any closer. He had cornered you in a private room of Ferrari’s hospitality while you reapplied concealer to your neck.

“No ones going to come in here,” he chuckled as he easily brushed your hand aside and pulled you against him. “Don’t you want me to make you feel good again?”

“No,” you lied, your body betraying you as your nipples hardened in the thin bralette you had been scheduled to model. “Go.”

“Your lips say one thing but your hips say another,” he teased. “One touch, cariña, one touch and if you’re not wet for me then I’ll go. One. Touch. Deal?”

“No…”

“Why not?” he asked knowingly.

“Because…”

“Yes?”

You looked away from his darkening eyes and clenched your thighs together. “Because I want you to but you have a girlfriend, Carlos. This is wrong.”

“Then I’ll break up with her,” he offered, like it was the most obvious solution in the world, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

“What! No,” you gasped, grabbing the device. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be the reason, and this was a mistake.”

His hands went back to drawing small circles over your hips and you felt yourself relaxing before you caught yourself and pushed him away. “I’m serious, Carlos, once this promo is finished we aren’t going to see each other again.”

“Then let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” His pout had you sighing in defeat. You had already crossed the line once, did the number of times really matter after that? “I’ll make you another deal, I won’t break up with Rebecca if you have dinner with me again.”

You knew exactly what he meant and exactly what was on the menu but you lied to yourself. “Just dinner,” you clarified as his smirk grew.

“Just dinner.”

Click here for part two.

[starssbythepocketful]

Jealous Girl, My Girl

Spencer Agnew x Hecox! Reader

Read Part One Here!

Word Count: 700

NSFW! SMUUUUUUUTTTTT! Not a whole lotta plot here, like the majority of the plot is in Part 1, I just wanted to keep the smut seperate for the people who didn't want to read it. Pic is from Pinterest!

Smosh Masterlist!

As soon as Spencer parked the car, you quickly shot a text to Ian, letting him know that you had made it safely. You had a feeling that if you were to wait, you wouldn’t remember. The energy created by the party was still palpable between the two of you, leaving a thick tension that could snap at any moment. 

The front door had barely even been locked behind the two of you before Spencer was on you. Your back hit the door behind you for the second time that night as he kissed you with that same burning heat. 

“Got me all worked up, pretty girl,” he mumbled against your lips, “can’t get over how hot you were. All jealous and possessive.”

His hands, warm and familiar, slid under your top and settled above your hips, pulling you closer and somehow still crowding you against the door. 

Your hands had begun an eager path of their own, sliding against Spencer’s chest to push the denim jacket from his shoulders. It fell to the ground, the fabric making a light thud.

A few more moments passed that way–tongues and teeth, your boyfriend’s lips swallowing any sound that escaped you. The pushing and pulling of hands at clothes and body parts adding to the haze of heat that surrounded your brain. You almost didn’t even register Spencer pulling you down a hallway and into his room until your back hit his bed.

An exhale left you as your back hit the mattress, your boyfriend quickly following you down. His kisses felt scorching and eager, and you were more than willing to let everything around you fade away until all you could feel was him. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he kissed and nipped at your neck, breathy sounds leaving you at the attention. 

Your hips bucked up into him as his teeth found a particular spot against the side of your neck and he groaned at the feeling, his hands moving to hold you still. Whatever clothing still remained was soon discarded, joining its brethren in a trail leading all the way back to the front door. 

Spencer was eager, the pair of you falling into each other without a thought. Skin sliding against skin as kisses left trails of fire. 

You briefly thought about the drunk girl back at the party, a sense of smugness filling you. She really had shot her shot at the wrong guy. 

Spencer’s lips made their way back to yours and he greedily drank in every whine and moan that you made as he thrusted into you with a fervor. 

“Like that, pretty girl?” He mumbled against you, and you nodded your head, mind lost in the erotic symphony of pleasure. 

“You like when I have you like this, pretty girl? Underneath me, in my bed?’

“Yes, yes,” You nodded ardently, skin tingling.

Spencer grabbed your leg, pulling it over his hip, the change in position causing you to gasp. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, baby.” He groaned. “My pretty girl. My girl.”

My girl.

Another feeling of desire and pleasure shot through you, the feeling of desperation growing in your gut. 

A few more moments and you felt the tension snap, the wave of euphoria crashing into you.

You closed your eyes, trying to catch your breath as your boyfriend followed not long after you. 

After a second, you could feel Spencer chuckling lightly from where his face was pressed against your neck. 

“What’re you laughing at?” you asked him softly, still lost in the receding haze, your fingers brushing through his dark curls.

“Was just thinking about how this was supposed to be a chill night,” he mumbled. “An hour or two at the party, then come home and watch a movie or something.”

He trailed off in thought. 

“This was sooooo much better though,” he sat up, pulling away from you.

“Movie still sounds good.” You whispered. 

“Yeah? Well, come on, pretty girl. Let’s take a shower and we can watch a movie.”

You smiled. Maybe getting a little jealous here and there wasn’t the worst thing after all. 

xXx

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

pairing eddie munson x female reader [long-term relationship]  summary on a slow evening in an even slower town, eddie asks if you'd like to get away—if only for a little while [fluff, 1.5k] a/n aka you watch the sunset with eddie

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Somewhere along the line, the days began to blend. They roll in one after another like frames on a long strip of film, each depicting unique moments while bound to a singular, unbroken essence. 

Once upon a time, you went out of your way to ensure spontaneity made its perfect work out of each day so they could all be different from the last.

It was an adolescent act of defiance against mundanity. Against the life sentence of boredom and unimportance, under whose shadow Hawkins resided. “Tomorrow” was always destined to be the best day ever.

You were so busy chasing the best day ever that you never considered the possibility of there being more than just one. 

The best days are the simpler ones, as you've realized over the years. The ones that initially slip under the radar, only to claim their glory in hindsight. 

As you sit at the kitchen table completing a crossword puzzle, the light of the evening sun pours onto the page. You’d found yourself in this position countless times before and would likely find yourself here again. 

Eddie soon pads back into the house trailed by a breeze. His silvering halo of fluffy curls has yet to stop complimenting his ever-boyish smile. The sage button-down he’s wearing pairs endearingly well with his jean shorts. The top few buttons are undone, revealing the silver chain around his neck and a dusting of dark chest hair. A familiar warmth settles low in your gut as he saunters your way. 

Rather than sitting, he stands behind you to look down at the crossword puzzle from above. You lean back into the warmth of his proximity, the small pudge of his stomach. He settles one gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Was Ms. Agnes alright?” you ask. 

“Yeah, she just wanted me to change a lightbulb.” There’s nothing unkind about his fond chuckle. A smile pulls at your lips as a comfortable stillness settles between you. 

“Fairy,” he says after a few quiet beats. “Number twenty-two.” 

You hum in realization, writing the letters into the correct squares. 

He goes quiet again, absentmindedly massaging your shoulder. “Hey. Wanna get outta here?” 

“Out of where?” Tell-tale embers of anticipation curl around the edges of your question. Something about that warms him like the beginning of July. “The house or Hawkins?” 

“Both,” he says. 

You look up at him, and his shoulders shake with a laugh. You wouldn't have believed the offer if it weren’t for his sincerity. 

“Got someplace special I wanna show you,” he says. “S’only a little ways outside town.” 

You’re almost sure you’ve seen it all, but you’d go almost anywhere with him.  

••• 

There aren’t many people out this evening. There hardly are in general these days. Following the mysterious events of 1986, those who fled never found it in themselves to return. Quite a few mom-and-pop shops suffered because of it, though the newer malls and department stores springing up in the surrounding cities could also shoulder the blame. With so many job opportunities gone, it only made sense for residents to seek them elsewhere. However, there were a few older individuals who were beginning to return. 

For all its misfortunes, Hawkins was hard to shake. There was something about it like Sodom and Gomorrah, like Orpheus and Eurydice—so much that screamed don’t look back, but you couldn’t help but want to. 

A wistful feeling creeps throughout your ribcage as you pass Earl’s vacated diner. The place where you and Eddie had your first date, and a couple of months later, your first kiss. The place that had seen many birthday dinners and post-Hideout meals back when Eddie played with the boys. It now stands as a shell of what it once was—boarded windows, graffiti-tagged, an unofficial dumping ground for unwanted furniture. 

Eddie notes it as well, eyes drifting over to you. 

“Remember?” he asks. No specifics, just one word that encompasses so much. 

“Yeah,” you murmur with a ghost of a smile. 

Before long, you find yourselves on the outskirts of town. 

𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘝𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘏𝘈𝘞𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘚 

𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘈𝘎𝘈𝘐𝘕 𝘚𝘖𝘖𝘕

A straight, wooded road stretches ahead as the wind flows through the windows. Eddie’s arm rests on the sill. 

“Is it a place?” you ask. “Where you’re taking me.”

Eddie purses his lips. “Not a building, if that’s what you mean.” 

He expects you to press further, but you only hum and close your eyes. The weight of his palm on your thigh and the wind on your face make everything else disappear. 

•••

The truck slows as you approach a turn-off onto a gravel road. It’s nearly overgrown, but the small pebbles are particularly clear in two parallel tracks where multiple tires have traveled. You wouldn’t have noticed it if Eddie hadn’t slowed. There’s no signage, no sign of a residence nestled somewhere in the distance. Gravel crunches beneath the wheels as you start down the narrow path. Tall trees continue to line the road, gradually thinning as you go. 

Half a mile down the road, you reach an expansive clearing outlined with sycamore trees, lying ahead like something from a dream. Eddie soon slows to a stop and gears the truck into park. 

He unbuckles. “Here we are.” You can hear the smile in his voice as you gape out the windshield.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you breathe. “How’d you find it after all these years?” 

“I’m finally starting to pay attention to things,” he jokes. “Pretty sure my brain didn’t turn on till about seven years ago. Eight if I’m being generous.” He chuckles when you give his shoulder an affectionate, chastising squeeze. 

“Don’t say that,” you smile. “I missed it too, so what does that say about me?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re a-okay.” You can hear the sincerity in his tone. “When I was coming back from Bloomington the other evening, a deer high-tailed it across the street,” he starts. “That’s when I noticed the gravel.” 

“Mr. Curiosity,” you lilt, fondness palpable. “You drove out here, huh?” 

He hums in confirmation. “Thought it’d be a nice place to catch the sunset.”

Outside, the two of you track leisurely through the grass as the sky turns ombre overhead, Mother Nature’s canvas. Eddie walks a few paces behind you to hide his smile as he soaks in your wonder. When you peek back at him over your shoulder, he puts his long legs to good use and closes the distance, taking your hand in his. Locusts chirp, tree leaves rustle, birds sing in the distance. 

Eventually, you make your way back to the truck. Eddie unlatches the tailgate and eases it down, biceps flexing. When you hop to sit on it, Eddie shuffles to stand between your legs, hands finding your thighs. He briefly smooths his calloused palms over them before they still into a light, steady weight, grounding you to the moment. He blinks slowly as he studies your eyes, your nose, your lips—like he has all the time in the world. 

The corners of your lips upturn with the slightest hint of shyness, and you raise your hands to cup his stubbled cheeks. 

“I’m not the sunset,” you say lightly. 

“No?” he murmurs with a playful furrow of his brows. 

His soft lips find yours with a tenderness that rivals the golden glow cast all around. 

Eddie kisses in the same way he admires: slow, easy, and unabashed. Somehow pouring out all of himself without ever overwhelming you. Warmth courses throughout you like a river finding its way, free-flowing as it dips and winds. Even as Eddie begins to pull away, it doesn’t wane. 

His eyes are more lidded than before, but he’s never seen so clearly. The brush of your thumbs over his cheeks makes him lean into your touch. You can feel the fan of his breath over your lips. 

Then he chuckles, a light, surprised sound that gently cuts into the air. Because he’s happy. Because he had no idea where he’d be at this point in his life, but he’s glad it’s here with you. Your confusion passes in a brief spell that eventually makes way for your own smile to bloom. With impossible gentleness, you run your hands through his hair, then tuck them beneath the curls to rest at the nape of his neck. 

You can feel each other’s smiles as you kiss this time. The gentle scratch of your nails makes Eddie feel like he’s floating all the more. 

Your breaths steady as he touches his forehead to yours. “Got so lucky finding you,” he murmurs. 

Your lips quirk. “Hawkins is a pretty small town.” 

Eddie huffs an amused sigh, gently squeezing your waist as he straightens. “Never gonna cut me a break, are you?” Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you shake your head no. “I mean it, though. Everything I am is ‘cause of you.” 

Those words wash over you with an earnestness that renders you quiet. 

Eddie keeps talking, “Sometimes I worry I don’t make it clear enough,” he admits. “Love you so much. Love this life we’ve built—know it’s not the grandest thing in the world.” 

“But it’s ours,” you say. 

And that’s enough. More than enough. Always has been, and always will be.

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

EDDIE MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

[knavesflames]

IT'S FATHER'S DAY AND WE ALL KNOW WHO WE ALL CALL FATHER! PLEASE WE NEED ARLECCHINO DURING FATHER'S DAY!

⭐️

Hi ⭐️ anon!! Sorry this is delayed by a couple days, I had a lot going on. Happy Father’s Day to anyone who celebrated:)

Contents: fluff, arlecchino is soft

Word count: 869

Work utc!

When the children of the orphanage came up to you, whispering about a secret plan for this Father’s Day, you can’t help but feel your lips twitch into a smile. You swore to them you wouldn’t tell her, and you’d keep her away from the main hall as long as possible until Lyney somehow gave a sign. You wait patiently, the occasional smile slipping from your lips as you think of it.

You know Arlecchino has her own doubts about her ability as a Father. Forever scared of becoming Crucabena, she hides her emotions, choosing to be a strict and unfeeling Father. There’s no denying the affection she has for them, though. When she murmurs to you that one of the children needs to go shopping because they’ve begun to develop, or when one of the teenagers has a date and she sends them to you for advice. It seems, to the observer, that she’s passing them off onto you, but that could not be further from the truth.

She doesn’t know how to help them with these things. No, she was not taught how to go bra shopping, opting to wear random sports bras until she was well into adulthood because she didn’t know what her size was, or how to choose a bra that fit. Neither was she taught how to be affectionate, to date. She remembers the day you met, how she asked you on a date by simply saying “I will pick you up at 7, we are having dinner.” She’s glad that you were patient with her. So no, she is not passing them off to you because she doesn’t care. She guides them to you because she knows you are the one with the best expertise in those areas. Battle, interrogation? That’s her strength. Emotional things? Ehh, not so much.

So when you wake up on the Sunday, you immediately smell the breakfast the chefs make for the children, and the soft giggles as they plan everything. You look at Arlecchino, her sleeping form stirring as you wrap an arm around her. She murmurs a ‘good morning’, kissing your forehead and doing the same gesture she always does when she’s about to get up— a squeeze of your hand. You pull her back quickly with a soft smile, demanding she stay in bed today because in your words: “you’re too much at work and I miss you.” She can never say no when she sees those eyes of yours, so with a grumble, she agrees.

After an hour of cuddling, much to her dismay and amusement, she escapes your grip, standing up. Her muscles flex as she stretches before she hesitates, her eyebrows furrowing as she bends down.

“Why is one of Lyney’s cards here?”

“Hm? How odd.”

You bite your lip to hide the smile growing on your face, watching as she shrugs and places it on the nightstand. You wonder how he’s managed that, but you wonder that about a lot of his tricks. Now, you’re suddenly eager to get her downstairs, practically jumping out of bed and cladding yourself in clothes. Arlecchino’s eyes twitch in surprise at your sudden change of mind, but follows you anyway.

“It’s too quiet in here, if they’re in the garden with the spears again, I swear to the Tsaritsa, I’ll-“

Her words trail off when she sees the state of the main hall. Balloons on a couple of the tables, a banner that runs across the wall, a messily painted “happy Father’s Day” decorating it. And finally, on the table, is her favourite dish, the most plain looking steak tartare, exactly the way she likes it. Next to it is one singular slice of cake, her favourite cake, the one that’s always sold out, (she secretly gets grumpy when she doesn’t reach the bakery in time, but you vowed not to tell). She looks at you, and you can’t contain your grin. Neither can the children, really. Her silence is a positive thing, a very positive thing indeed. She is never silent when she’s unhappy.

She sits down, silently examining the food, and her lips twitch in a barely contained smirk when she sees the only seasoning being salt and a minimal dash of pepper. She’s not entirely sure how to react, her preferred type of affection being that she gives it and receives nothing back. Perhaps because she feels she doesn’t deserve any, or maybe because she doesn’t know how to react.

Either way, she picks up the fork before she clears her throat.

“Thank you, children. I will take a photo later and cherish this now.”

Her words are enough for the children to start talking and laughing again, most of them leaving to let her eat in peace. You hum and look towards her, content in watching her eat with a look of satisfaction on her face. Though, you catch a glimpse of her eyes, glassy and slightly red.

“I have allergies.”

She snaps in defence, but the softness in which she looks at you after proves that she’s just *happy*. You stare at her some more, a look of adoration in your eyes as she eats.

“Okay, love.”

“..do not tell them.”

[sturnsblogs]

I don’t know if you do this, but reader is a famous singer (like sabrina carpenter) and pop princess yknow? But she’s been friends with the triplet since she was young, but her and Matt broke up w her cause he thought he was stopping her from making her dreams true but she still best friends with Nick and Chris and they hang out for the first time after the breakup or they go to her concert?

im yapping but just a thought if not it’s totally fine i just loveee ur writing <3

STILL YOURS

—

You were a singer—the singer. Everyone knew your name, your songs were everywhere, and your fanbase adored you. Sold-out shows, millions of streams, award nominations—you had it all. But none of it felt complete. Because the one person you wanted to share it with wasn’t here.

Matt.

Your first love. The boy who made you believe in forever, the one you thought would be there through everything. And yet, he wasn’t. You were still close with Chris and Nick, but it wasn’t the same. There was a Matt-shaped hole in your life, and no amount of success could fill it.

Late one night, you found yourself on FaceTime with Nick, the glow of your laptop screen illuminating your tired face. He was applying his Space Camp lip balm—something he did absentmindedly during every call.

“So,” he started, smacking his lips together, “when are you coming to LA?”

You hummed, adjusting your position on the couch. “I think next week.”

Nick’s eyes lit up as he clapped his hands together. “Oh, we’re definitely hanging out. No excuses.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Before Nick could respond, the door behind him swung open, and in walked Chris, his hoodie half-zipped and hair messy from what looked like a long day.

“Who you talking to?” Chris asked, leaning over Nick’s shoulder. The moment he saw you, his face split into a grin. “Oh, shit! Look who it is.”

Your stomach twisted—not because of Chris, but because you caught sight of someone else stepping into the frame.

Matt.

Your breath hitched. He hadn’t changed much. His hair was slightly longer, his jawline a little sharper, but those eyes? The same. Warm blue, filled with something you couldn’t quite place—something that made your chest ache.

The moment your eyes met, everything else blurred away.

Suddenly, you weren’t on FaceTime anymore. You were back in that dimly lit apartment, standing across from him, heart in your throat.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Your brows furrowed as you stared at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “What do you mean?”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I mean us. I love you, but… I feel like I’m holding you back.”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “Holding me back? Matt, what are you talking about?”

“You have this huge future ahead of you,” he said, voice thick with something you didn’t want to name. “And I don’t wanna be the reason you don’t take it.”

Tears burned at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You think you’re the thing that would stop me?”

Matt’s jaw clenched. “I think I love you too much to risk it.”

And just like that, the memory faded, yanking you back to reality.

Back to the FaceTime call.

Back to Matt, staring at you with that same unreadable expression.

Nick and Chris kept talking, but you couldn’t hear them. All you could hear was your own heartbeat, pounding in your ears as the weight of the past crashed down on you.

The week passed in a blur. Between last-minute packing, rehearsals, and mentally preparing yourself to be back in LA, you barely had time to process what had happened on that FaceTime call. Seeing Matt again, even through a screen, had left you shaken in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

And now, here you were—back in LA.

Nick had insisted on meeting up the moment you landed, dragging you to a cozy, dimly lit café that had become one of his favorite spots. You were expecting just him, maybe Chris, but the second you stepped inside, your breath caught in your throat.

Because Matt was there.

You barely had a chance to react before he was moving toward you, closing the space between you in seconds. No hesitation, no words—just his arms wrapping around you, pulling you in like it hadn’t been months since the last time you touched.

Your heart stuttered as you inhaled, taking in the scent of him—familiar, warm, him. You froze at first, caught off guard, but then your body moved on its own, your arms slipping around his waist, holding on tighter than you meant to.

Chris and Nick exchanged a glance before quietly stepping back, giving you and Matt a moment.

Matt’s grip on you tightened for a second before he exhaled, his voice soft against your hair. “I knew you could do it.”

Your eyes burned at the tenderness in his tone.

“I’ve been keeping up with everything,” he continued, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands rested on your arms, warm and grounding. “I stream all your music. Every song. And I’m so—” His voice wavered for just a second, but then he smiled, shaking his head. “I’m so proud of you.”

Your breath hitched. He looked at you like he meant it, like no time had passed, like you were still his and he was still yours.

And for a second, just a second, it felt like nothing had changed at all.

—

A/N- i hope this is okay (:

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony y @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho

[natailiatulls07]

Could you please do the drivers reaction to driver reader bringing a boy to the race?

Formula one grid x female!driver!reader Male!OC x female!driver!reader

Summary - Being youngest on the grid meant that Y/n was heavily protected by many other drivers so when she gets a partner it's mixed emotions all around

Warning - Small anxiety

Reader drives for Mercedes

Part two

-

"Are you sure? I know that some of the fans can be a little crazy about my private life..." In the past few months, Y/n had started a relationship with a guy she matched with on tinder. Not many people knew of the relationship, only her family and her management team.

Although that would change today, it was the first race of the season and they had wanted to hard launch their relationship. Adam, her new partner, was a lawyer and had his own wealth behind him but he was really proud of Y/n and loved to support her.

He could tell how nervous she was, seeing how she kept fidgeting with her hair and teamwear. "Hey, it's okay. Plus if any thing happens and you have to take legal action, you have a great lawyer on your side" He would often use humour to calm down his f1 driver girlfriend, loved to bring even the smallest of smiles to her face.

Adam took hold her hand, stopping her from fidgeting so much and started to drag her to the paddock entrance where fans stood behind barriers waiting to catch a glimpse of a driver.

-

As they began to walk past the barriers, fans were shouting her name and some were asking questions about the man who held her hand. They both had proud and confident smiles painted on their faces, any anxiety seemingly disappeared.

"Y/n! Y/n! Is that your new partner?"

Nodding her head, Y/n stopped to sign some merch and greet some fans. "Yes, yeah he is. Meet Adam" Looking over her shoulder, she felt how Adam had his hands gently resting on her waist. They were both very big on pda.

Thankfully the fans had reacted well to the new face. Some softly threatening Adam not to hurt their favourite driver, which got a laugh out of Y/n and some fear out of Adam.

Soon they started toward the main entrance of the paddock, waving goodbye to the fans and individually scanning their passes. Yet as soon as Y/n set foot into the paddock, dread and anxiety plagued her mind once again.

Only now remembering that she'd have to introduce Adam to her fellow drivers, her adopted big brothers. If today weren't such an important day, she would've turned around and made her way home. Procrastinating the eventual doom.

As usual, the man still held her hand in his could sense her fear. And he knew exactly why. "Look I know I have never meet them and I know that they very protective of you but I'll try my best to earn their approval, I promise..." He coached her to take a deep breath but pulling her forward to continue the walk.

They were passing by the Ferrari hospitality area when we heard a loud shout before some softly running of feet. "Disculpe! Y/n!" A strong spanish accent mde itself known behind the new couple.

Whilst Y/n tensed, Adam turned around fully with a confident smile. "Hi you must be Carlos right? It's lovely to meet you" He started a positive conversation, only to be met with a glare and scowl from Carlos.

"Yes, that's me. And who are you?" The spanish driver snapped back, snatching Y/n's arm and pulling her away from her partner. "What do you want from Y/n?"

Taking her arm back out of his grasp, Y/n moved back to Adams side with a sign.

She knew that the other drivers would be just as protective and some even more than Carlos. "Carlos..." Her voiced broke through the awkward silence that he created. "This is my new partner, Adam. You can chill out..."

All shoulders relaxed as she explained, a small guilty smile replaced the scowl on Carlos' face. Reaching out his hand towards Adam as both an apologie and a better introduction.

After a small conversation between the three, Y/n realised that the couple had to continue down the paddock. Saying goodbye to Carlos, the two were walking down to her team garage once again but were quick stopped once again.

This time by her old teammate and the reigning champion the grid. "Y/n, um who's this?" Unlike Carlos, Max was more shy and cautious rather than forward and hostile. Something Adam was thankful of.

"Hi I'm Adam, I'm Y/ns partner. It's nice to meet you, also I promise to take good care of Y/n..." After his last interaction with Carlos, Adam tried even harder to prove himself. "Please, I promise I love her a lot and-"

Max raised his hand to stop the ramble from the younger man. He had a small smile on his face, slightly amused by his fear. "It's okay, I don't doubt it. I'm sure you'll prove yourself over the next couple of weeks..."

Giving Y/n a quick hug and Adam a pat on the shoulder, Max told them that he had an important meeting to attend and he'll see them around.

-

Finally they arrived at the Mercedes hospitality and when they first entered, Adam eyes turned to the other driver in the room. Lewis, he was sat at one the table along with some of his management team.

Much like Adam, Lewis immediately noticed their presence in the room and beckoned them over to him.

"Hi Lulu!" Y/n quicking moving to give her beloved teammate a hug before moving back to her partners side. "Lulu meet Adam, he's my partner and Adam meet Lulu, my teammate."

Unlike the other two drivers, Lewis had a reassuring smile on his face whilst getting up from his seat to give Adam strong handshake. "Well it's nice to meet you Adam, I assume you'll take good care of that crazy women right there. I wish you the best"

It was short and simple but it meant a lot to Adam. Immediately he felt approved by a legend in the sport and by someone who Y/n considered a father figure.

"Thank you, I'll take good care of her"

-

>Seb! -Seb!!! -SEB OMG I HAVE NEWS!!! >What?! >It's about Y/n!! >Well go on tell me!!!!! >She has a partner! -His name is Adam and tbh I can see them getting married!!! >THATS BOLD >IKR But it's true! -They're perfect for eachother!!! >I need to meet him first and approve him first before they can even think about engagements >Ofc ofc

-

[manmuncher777]

SHADOW

Daemon x Hightower!reader

Description - You’re alicent’s sister, back in kingslanding after years away, fed up of being overshadowed by your sister. But Daemon sees you potential, what you can be… with his help of course

SMUT!! 18+

Porn with loads of plot, dark!Daemon, manipulation, preying, sex, oral f!recieving, mentions of kidnapping. Daemon Is just devious. I did not proof read lol

a/n - huge thanks to @calmingmelody96 for helping inspire me to write this request, its so long but I had so much fun making this charcater!!!

Your dress was tight, too tight. As if the green fabric adorning your waist was trying to kill you. For that, you thought, a small part of you might be thankful. You didn’t feel natural being in Kings Landing again after so long, after all these years. Childhood memories which carried much joy now feeling tainted as you glance to the looming towers of Kings landing. The air was thick with the mingled scents of the city, Salts from black water bay, the tang of smoke from coutless chimneys, and the unmistakable stench of the teeming masses that calle the capital home. For her, it was both familiar and alien, like an echo of a song half forgotten.

It all looked the same, yet so strikingly different. Your dresses green was mirrored by the banners that fluttered proudly on the walls, mixing with the stark red dragon of the targaryen’s.

The sight of it all set your heart twisting - a pang of longing that was tainted with the bitterness you have harboured all these years. This was Alicent’s domain now, Alicent’s world.

The air here was thicker than the skies of Oldtown. The sound of your boots tapping along the cobble stone as you made you way to the red keep, it felt strange that you knew the way all by yourself. Granted you did live here for years, but it still all felt very unnatural to you coming back again

You had left kinglanding not long Alicent’s marriage to the King. Despite being a few years younger than them both, you would join Alicent and Rhanerya as they caused troubled around the castle, listening intently as rhanerya would tell you of what a warrior she would be one day as she rode on dragon back, and giggling as alicent taught her how to become a proper lady of the court. That was the time when your father loved you equally.

But soon, things changed, the girls grew up and so did you. Rhanerya and Alicent got into a fierce fight - Alicent telling you about it later in her frustrations. Rhanerya had laid with Ser Criston Cole, putting her honour on the line. And then Alicent was to marry the king. You were made aware far later than you should have been, you father always dragging Alicent away, secretly talking with her about things he deemed you not worthy of understanding. That was when your relationship truly faultered, Alicent no longer had time to be your sister, only your Queen. Your father had no time for you, Only his other daughter

At first you had tried to stay, trying to find a role in court. You just wanted to be close to Alicent. But the bing you once shared withered, turning you into a shadow of a family obsessed with power and position.

The descion to leave was your own, no one even thought about trying to stop you. Alicent had kept you away from rhanerya, you only other friend. How you wished you could listen to her stories once more. But as you bind with your sister died, so did the one with you friend. when you passed her in the halls, you were once again a shadow, nothing there to acknowledge.

Deep down that childish part of you had hoped for a latter or a visit, anything on your night of leave. None came. And so you buried the hurt, and buried the little girl who had grown up here, convincing yourself you were far better on you own, out of the vile web of lies and twisted politics

Each step up the stairs you took bringing a tight feeling on your chest.

The doors of the red keeps grand hall swung open - and there she was. Alicent. Your sister stood on the far side of the room, bathed in the white light shining from the tall windows. Time had refined her beauty, her soft childish features now sharpened and regal. Clad in a deep green gown, her every movement measured, elegant and deliberate. She truly was the Queen your father had modded her into.

Seeing your sister again only brought back the flood of memories you share, for a moment you were certain you could hear her giggle, echoing in your mind. The faint scent of the lavender perfume you would brain into each others hair.

But those memories were gone almost as quick as they came, replaced by the sharp sting of reality.

Alicent’s Gaze met yours, and for the briefest moment something flickered there - recognition or perhaps even guilt. But then it was gone, replaced by her polished mask of queen.

“Sister,” Alicent begins, stepping towards you with open arms “It gladdens my heart to see you, it had been far too long.”

Your heart twisted at the sound of her voice. It wasnt fair - how could she act as if nothing had happened all these years., You wanted to shout, to demand answers. But all you could do was stand there, frozen.

“Indeed, it has been.. long” You manage a stiff nod.

“Far too long dear sister, I have missed you.” Alicent replied, her smile unwavering

‘dear sister” the words felt hollow, like a polished piece of fruit, rotting inside. Missed you? why had she never written never sent word. You only heard of her children due to word of mouth.

“How have you been?” Alicent asked, her tone so light, so casual, as though they had parted only yesterday. Her hands grasping your unwilling ones.

You pulled her hands back slowly, your jaw tightening. “I’ve been as well as one can be,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “It seems you’ve been… busy.”

If Alicent noticed the edge in your tone, she didn’t show it. “There is so much to catch up on,” she said, linking their arms as though nothing had changed. “Come, walk with me. You must tell me everything.”

As Alicent led you deeper into the keep, talking as though the years of silence had never existed, you felt your bitterness churn like a storm. you wanted to shake Alicent, to force her to acknowledge the hurt she had caused. But instead, you let herself be pulled along, your mind spinning.

It was clear Alicent wanted to erase the past, to pretend the years of abandonment didn’t matter. And maybe, for the sake of the queen’s peace, she expected you to do the same. But as they walked, one thing became certain—you wouldn’t make it so easy for your sister to forget.

The chamber was quieter than you had expected. Outside, the sounds of the bustling castle filtered through the walls—servants hurrying down corridors, the clang of preparations echoing from the kitchens, and the faint hum of voices carrying snippets of conversation. Yet here, within these four walls, it felt as though the air had stilled, wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud.

you sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting in your lap, fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. Alicent’s words still echoed in your mind—a feast. A grand gathering to celebrate your return, Alicent had said, her voice warm and full of purpose. But beneath the surface, you knew there was more. There was always more with her sister now.

Your gaze flicked to the small mirror on the table, catching your own reflection. You barely recognized the woman staring back at you. The years had changed you—softened some features, hardened others—but it wasn’t just time. It was everything you had lost. Everything you had left behind

Your mind was now flowing with thoughts and worries. How would Rhanerya greet you? Would she be indifferent? Hostile - you knew her an Alicent’s relationship was over now. Or would she wear the same mask as alicent, pretending the past had never happened? you weren’t sure which would hurt more.

And then there were the others—the courtiers, the lords, the ladies, all of whom had watched you fade from the capital without a word, without a care. What would they think, seeing you now? A woman called back by her sister, thrust into the court she had abandoned, a pawn in games she no longer wished to play.

Perhaps tonight would be a reckoning. A chance to remind them all that you were not a woman to be forgotten or dismissed.The thought sent a flicker of fire through your veins, though it was quickly doused by the nerves coiling in your stomach. You stood and approached the window, looking out at the Red Keep bathed in the light of the setting sun. The feast would begin soon, and with it, the weight of a past you could no longer avoid.

With a deep breath, you turned back to the gown on the bed. If they wanted you to play the part tonight, you would. But it would be on her terms.

The dress you adorned that evening was not of your typical house style, your gown was crafted from a get black silk, small peaks of green lace poking through around the hem and bodice. You gave up all symbols of your house, not picking any of the gold jewellery you had. Instead a necklace. A silver one your mother had left you - you expressed your dislike for the family colours, this was something she left you an only you. Beautifully cast, shinning sharply in the light a small emerald in the middle, dangling on your chest. The necklace was tight, framing your neck and features. It fitted the low cut of the gown, you were no longer a child. Your gown sat delicately off your shoulders, the sleeves are embroider with the same green lace, yet a see through material. Silver chains frame the front of the bodice, you felt like a warrior, a knight maybe as they fit your snug and securely. No symbols of your house - other than the mild green adorned you that evening. You were a shadow, the black of your dress embracing that fact.

You step into the feast hall, deliberately late, and the moment the doors creak open, everything comes to a sudden, charged halt. The room falls into a heavy silence, like a breath held too long. You feel it—the weight of every single eye on you, the way their gazes burn into your skin. It isn’t unfamiliar, this attention. But tonight, it’s different. It’s not curiosity this time. It’s judgment, suspicion, and something colder, sharper. You feel the moment you’ve become the center of it all, and you savor it.

Your gown, the deep jet black of midnight, flows around you like a shadow, its silken fabric whispering against the floor as you move. It’s simple yet striking—elegant, with just a hint of rebellion woven into its very design. The silver chains draped across your bodice glint softly in the candlelight, the thin, intricate lines sharp and strong, like armor beneath the dark silk. The lace sleeves, almost ethereal, brush your arms like whispers of something long forgotten. The gown feels heavy in its defiance, the stark contrast to the rest of the court, and as you move through the room, you know it’s all they can see.

You catch his gaze—Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince. He sits there, as still as a shadow, his eyes never leaving you. There’s something in his stare, something unreadable and intense, that lingers a moment longer than it should. You feel it pull at you, as if his gaze could reach deep inside and expose what you refuse to show. You look away quickly, trying to push aside the strange fluttering in your chest. You’ve come here for yourself, for your own reasons, and not to be drawn in by anyone’s attention, not even his.

You remember the small moments, the ones that made your heart race, even though you knew they meant nothing. Daemon wasn’t cruel, not exactly. He would glance at you sometimes, when you were playing with Rhaenyra in the garden or lounging in the courtyard, his eyes flicking over you with a brief, almost imperceptible glance. It was nothing—a momentary flicker of attention that was gone before you could even process it. But it was enough to make your heart race, enough to send a jolt of excitement through you every time he acknowledged you, even if only for a split second.

He would never say anything to you directly, never linger long enough to make you believe there was any real interest. Instead, it was those little gestures—how he would ruffle your hair playfully, as though you were still just a child, but the touch lingered a moment longer than necessary. Or the way he would give you a smirk when you said something, as if amused by your words, as if you had somehow caught his attention, even for just a fleeting second. He never made it obvious, never let on that he cared about you more than anyone else, but that was what made it so intoxicating. It was always just enough to keep you wondering, enough to keep your heart tied up in knots.

When Rhaenyra would run off, lost in her own world, you would find yourself alone with him in the garden, and the silence between you would stretch out, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sometimes, when he caught your eye, his expression would soften ever so slightly, and your breath would catch in your throat. You’d feel the heat in your cheeks, but you’d never look away. Not then. Not when he was looking at you like that, even if it was just for a moment.

He would lean in just a fraction closer as he spoke, his voice low and teasing, making you feel as though the conversation was just between the two of you. The others were never around, not when he let himself be just a little more relaxed, a little less of the untouchable prince. You lived for those brief moments, those stolen seconds when Daemon’s attention was on you, however fleeting it might be.

It was never more than that—a flicker, a smile, a brush of his hand against your arm—but it kept your heart bound to him, kept that crush alive even as the years passed. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t real, that he wasn’t interested in you the way you dreamed. But still, when he glanced your way, when his eyes lingered just a second longer, it made your world spin just a little faster.

You force yourself to keep walking, straight-backed and steady, as you approach your sister. The silence follows you, the gazes still locked onto your every movement. When you reach the high table, you see her—Alicent. She looks so much the same, yet so very different, and when you sit beside her, the space between you feels like an abyss. You can sense the tightness in her posture, the way her fingers clutch the edge of her goblet just a bit too tightly. The anger that simmers beneath her calm exterior isn’t something she’s even trying to hide now. It’s there, thick in the air, the silent wrath that she’s been holding back ever since you returned.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t look at her directly. Instead, you sit down with your back straight, your hands resting calmly on your lap as though nothing in this room could touch you. You can feel her tension, feel her eyes burning into you from the side, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. The game has changed. You are no longer the girl she could command with a glance.

The air between you two thickens, like a storm that’s already begun to break. You feel it, the undeniable shift, as Alicent’s anger seethes just beneath the surface. But you hold your ground, your mind focused on the present moment, on the power you now hold in the space you’ve carved for yourself.

The moment you sit down, your eyes inevitably find him—your father, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. He’s seated just a few places away, his posture as straight and composed as you remember, the weight of duty etched into every line of his face. He looks older, though. Perhaps it’s the years of maneuvering the chessboard that is court life, or perhaps it’s simply time catching up with him. But his eyes... they haven’t changed. They are still sharp, calculating, always looking for the next move.

For a moment, you’re struck by the sheer oddity of it—how he can seem so familiar and yet so distant all at once. You’d spent so many years trying to earn those eyes' approval, only for them to shift away from you and settle on Alicent the moment she married the King. You can still hear his voice echoing in your mind, dismissing you as if you were an afterthought: “You are no longer needed here.” The sting of those words hasn’t faded, even after all this time.

Now, though, his gaze has found you again, drawn there almost magnetically. But it isn’t approval you see. No, it’s something else entirely. His brow furrows ever so slightly, and you notice his eyes catch on the necklace resting just above the neckline of your gown. Your mother’s necklace—silver, not the greens or golds of your house. You haven’t worn it in years, not since the day he told you it didn’t “suit your station.” It had been easier, back then, to simply put it away, to avoid the argument, to not feel the heavy weight of his disapproval every time he looked at you. But tonight, it sits proudly against your skin, a subtle but deliberate act of rebellion. And you know he sees it. You see the flicker of recognition, the way his lips press into a thin line, the tightness in his jaw that betrays his otherwise stoic demeanor. He’s never been one for outbursts, not in public, but you know the signs of his displeasure as well as you know your own reflection.

Alicent notices too. Her eyes flick briefly to your necklace, her expression unreadable. She’s perfected that, hasn’t she? The calm mask that reveals nothing of the thoughts swirling beneath. But you see the slight shift in her posture, the way her hand stills on her goblet for just a moment too long. She recognizes it as well—your mother’s necklace, the one that had been left to you and only you. And though her face remains impassive, you can sense something stirring beneath the surface. Guilt, perhaps? Or simply discomfort? You can’t be sure, and you don’t particularly care.Your father, however, is a different story. You meet his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to shrink under the weight of his disapproval. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’ll say something, if he’ll try to admonish you here, in front of the entire court. But he doesn’t. Instead, he simply looks at you, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

And for the first time in years, you feel a strange sense of power. It’s not much, just a small spark, but it’s there—a quiet defiance that burns brighter with each passing second. Let him stew in his disapproval. Let him wonder if you wore the necklace for this very reason, to remind him of what he cast aside. Because in truth, maybe you did.

The feast continues, but for you, it’s like you’re in a different world—your heart beats steadily, and a quiet sense of satisfaction hums through you. You’ve made your choice. Tonight, you are no longer just a pawn. Tonight, you are the one who will shape the story.

And as Daemon’s gaze lingers on you once more, you smile to yourself, knowing that he—like everyone else in this room—will soon see that you are a force to be reckoned with.

The feast hall hums with life, the air thick with the clink of silverware, the rustle of rich fabrics, and the soft murmur of conversation. You sit in silence, the noise of the room all but fading into the background as you watch the scenes unfold before you. Lords and ladies cluster in small groups, their voices low but eager, whispers floating like smoke in the air. They glance at you now and then, no doubt wondering what’s behind the change in your appearance, the subtle defiance in your gown, in your presence. They can’t decide whether you are the same, or something new. You don’t mind. Let them wonder.The soft strains of music begin to fill the hall as the dancers step onto the floor, swirling in delicate steps as the violins and lutes carry the rhythm of the night. The bright, flowing colors of the dancers’ gowns blur in the air as they move, their laughter light and carefree. The court seems to forget its formalities for a brief moment, caught in the frivolity of the dance, the sound of soft feet tapping against the stone floors. You feel like an observer, watching them from your seat, your own heart at a steady, deliberate beat, disconnected from the joy that surrounds you. You don’t dance tonight. Tonight, you are simply here, marking your place.

The King, kind-hearted as he always was, leans toward you with a smile, his voice gentle as he speaks. “It’s good to see you back at the capital,” he says, his tone warm, almost fatherly. He’s never been anything but kind to you, his eyes always carrying that same genuine kindness that made it impossible to feel anything but at ease in his presence. You nod politely, your lips curling into a small smile, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the room shift around you. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly. But it’s different now. There’s something in the air tonight that you can’t quite shake. You sense the tension in the corners of the hall, in the soft glances exchanged when they think no one is watching.

You see Alicent’s head snap to the king, you could tell she did not approve of his kindness, but she didn’t care say anything. After all, she needed this night to go incredibly well.

Before you can respond fully, Rhaenyra leans toward you, past her father, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “I’m glad you’re back,” she says, her words a comfort, a reminder of the past. “I know I haven’t written... I should have. I’m sorry for that. Things have been... complicated.” Her smile is genuine, but her eyes—those familiar, warm eyes—hold something more, something unspoken, a shared understanding of how much has changed since the days when you were just children.

“Thank you rhanerya, its so lovely to see you again” a soft smile graces your features and youre glad that something positive has managed to from from this night. Alicent one more looking frustrated by the kindness of rhanerya’ a words, yet the princess paid her no mind.l

Rhanerya opens her mouth to carry on, when a new voice breaks in, cutting through the conversation like a blade. “A dance, my lady?”

Daemon Targaryen.

He stands at the edge of the table, a playful smirk on his lips, his eyes glinting with mischief as he surveys you. He’s always had that look about him—the kind that makes your stomach tighten, the kind that draws you in despite yourself. You feel the room’s attention shift again, as if everyone is waiting for you to respond, waiting to see what you’ll do. You know what they expect, what they want to see: a game, a flirtation, perhaps even a refusal that will keep the air buzzing with gossip for the rest of the night.

But you’re no fool. You know the rules here, and you know Daemon well enough to know that he’s never one to simply walk away. He stands there, waiting, his smirk deepening as he looks from you to the others at the table, all too aware of the eyes on him.

Rhaenyra’s expression falters just for a moment, but only for a brief second—something in her eyes, a flicker of recognition. You can’t tell if it’s jealousy or something else, but it’s gone before you can truly understand it. She shifts, her gaze quickly returning to Daemon, then back to you. You can almost hear her soft, unspoken question: What will you do now?

You know what the court expects. You know the rumors that swirl around Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, the dashing yet dangerous man who can make any woman’s heart race. But tonight, you are not the girl you once were. You are no longer the one who swooned at his glances, who dreamt of him in secret. Tonight, you are your own woman, unafraid to carve your own path, even if that path leads into the whirlwind of trouble Daemon inevitably brings.

But still, when his eyes meet yours, you feel that familiar flutter, that rush of something old and dangerous stirring within you.

“A dance?” you repeat, a slight smile tugging at your lips. You hesitate, just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, before you rise, the tension in the air palpable. The music swells around you as you step forward, your gown trailing behind you like a shadow, as the hall watches you, the game already set in motion.

And for just a moment, you wonder if this night will change everything.

Daemon extends his hand, his grin sharp as a blade, his silver hair catching the glow of the hall’s countless candles. His confidence is infuriating and intoxicating all at once, and you can feel the room’s collective breath catch as you place your hand in his. The warmth of his palm against yours sends a ripple of something electric up your spine. He leads you to the center of the dance floor with the grace of a man who knows exactly what kind of chaos he inspires.

The music shifts as the two of you step into place, the tempo slow and seductive, perfectly suited to the swirl of your gown as he begins to guide you. His movements are precise yet effortless, and you find yourself matching his steps with an ease that surprises you. His smirk deepens as his eyes meet yours. “The Queen of Shadows,” he says, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “How fitting. A shadow is all they’ve ever let you be... but tonight, you’ve turned it into a crown.”

Your breath catches at the words, a mixture of disbelief and... something else. The way he says it, it’s not mockery. It’s a compliment—a rare, genuine acknowledgment of your defiance, your power. For years, you’ve been invisible, cast aside, an afterthought. And yet here you are, the center of attention, with the Rogue Prince himself spinning you around the room as though you are the only one who matters.

The corners of your lips twitch upward, and you meet his gaze head-on. “Careful, Prince Daemon,” you reply, your voice laced with a confidence you haven’t felt in years. “Someone might think you mean that.”

“Oh, I do,” he murmurs, twirling you effortlessly before pulling you back against him. His hand rests at the small of your back, firm yet not restricting. “You’ve always been wasted in the shadows. Tonight, you remind them all what a mistake that was.”

You can feel the heat of countless eyes on you, but none more so than Alicent’s. She sits rigid at the high table, her expression betraying a flicker of worry as she watches the two of you glide across the floor. You know exactly what she’s thinking. This isn’t part of the plan. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. She’s fretting over the arrangement she’s carefully orchestrated, the marriage she’s likely secured for you without your consent. But you don’t care. Not tonight.

Otto’s face is a mask of controlled tension, his fingers gripping the armrest of his chair just a fraction too tightly. He, too, is calculating, trying to figure out how to intervene without causing a scene. But Daemon doesn’t give them the chance. He spins you again, drawing you further into the crowd of dancers, further away from their reach.

“They’re furious, you know,” Daemon teases, his voice laced with amusement. “Your father, your sister... I’d wager half the room is scandalized.”

Good,” you reply, your voice firm. “Let them be.”

He chuckles at that, a low, rich sound that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t fully understand. “That’s the spirit. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than they realize.”

The music swells, and Daemon guides you through the intricate steps with a practiced ease, his hand never faltering as he keeps you close. He leans in slightly, his lips near your ear. “But tell me,” he says, his tone quieter now, more intimate, “did you wear this gown for yourself... or for me?”

Your heart stutters for a moment, but you catch yourself before you falter. You tilt your head slightly, your own smirk forming. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His laughter is soft and wicked, and as the dance carries you both across the floor, you realize that, for the first time in years, you feel truly alive. Let them watch. Let them whisper. Tonight, you are no longer a shadow. Tonight, you are something more. And the Rogue Prince, with all his dangerous charm, seems to see it too

You were far to busy to notice you father and sister slipping away from the feast

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

The murmur of the feast hall echoes faintly down the corridor, but here, in the shadowed alcove behind a tapestry, Alicent stands with her father, their voices low. Her fingers nervously trace the edges of her green gown, her expression carefully measured.

“She’s drawing far too much attention,” Alicent murmurs, glancing toward the faint glow of the hall. “Daemon, of all people. If she continues like this, the lords will start talking, and that cannot happen.”

Otto, ever composed, clasps his hands behind his back. “She won’t have the chance. The arrangement has already been made. The match is strong, politically advantageous. Once it’s announced, her theatrics will be irrelevant.”

Alicent nods, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—hesitation, perhaps? “Does she truly need to be told tonight? This was meant to bring her back into the fold, not alienate her further.”

“She has no choice,” Otto says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “The King has agreed. It is done.”

Alicent swallows, her throat tight as she lowers her gaze. “She’ll hate me for this,” she whispers.

Otto’s voice softens slightly, but it remains resolute. “Better that she hates us now than jeopardizes the stability of the realm. She’ll come to see the wisdom of it in time.”

The sound of laughter swells from the feast hall, and Alicent straightens, smoothing the fabric of her gown as she forces a calm expression onto her face. “Very well,” she says quietly, before stepping back toward the festivities

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

The feast blurs around you, the laughter and music fading into the background. The weight of Daemon’s gaze pulls at you, as if tethering you to him despite the chaos swirling in the hall. You’ve tried to ignore him, to keep your composure, but when he suddenly appears at your side, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, it’s impossible to pretend he’s not there.

“Are you bored yet, little shadow?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You glance at him, trying to mask your curiosity. “And why would that concern you?”

His smirk is wicked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Because I know how much you hate being their obedient little puppet. And because I have a much better idea for how to spend the evening.”

Your brow furrows, suspicion flickering in your chest. “What are you suggesting?”

He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Come with me. Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

Part of you worries the man is toying with you, you were no fool, you knew what he was like. But you cant help be drawn into his trap.

The air between you feels charged, dangerous. You know you shouldn’t. You know whatever he has planned will only make things worse. But the allure of defiance, of stepping out of the role they’ve forced you into, is too tempting to resist.

He was the wolf, guiding you to slaughter. Daemon knew what he wanted, and if toying with you was what he had to do, then so be it.

A dark streak in him loved to watch as you fell into his plan, just as he thought you might.

Before you can overthink it, you find yourself nodding.

The cool night air greets you as Daemon leads you through the darkened corridors of the castle. Your gown whispers against the stone floors, and the sound of the feast grows faint behind you. You should feel nervous, but instead, there’s a strange exhilaration coursing through your veins.

“Where are we going?” you whisper, your voice tinged with both curiosity and unease.

Daemon glances back at you, his smirk still firmly in place. “You’ll see.”

He leads you out onto a narrow balcony overlooking the courtyard below. The city of King’s Landing sprawls beyond, its lights twinkling like a sea of stars. Daemon leans against the railing, his posture relaxed, but his eyes are sharp as they study you.

“Do you know what they see when they look at you?” he asks suddenly, his tone softer now, almost contemplative.

You blink at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“They see a girl too afraid to claim what’s hers,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours. “Too afraid to break the rules they’ve chained her with. You let them shape you, define you, when you could be so much more.”

His words sting because they’re true, and he knows it. But there’s something in his tone, something almost cruel in the way he peels back your defenses. The way he’s sculpting you into what he needs you to be.

“And what do you see?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost a challenge. You desperately wanted to know.

A flicker of something unreadable passes over his face before he steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the silver chain of your mother’s necklace. “I see someone who doesn’t belong in their world. Someone who could burn it all down if she dared.”

The words are intoxicating, and you hate how much they resonate. He steps even closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“They think they can control you,” he says, his fingers lightly tracing the necklace. “Prove them wrong. Let them see what happens when you step out of their grasp.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at him, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to stay. “How?”

Daemon’s smirk returns, sharper now. “By doing what they’d never expect. By doing exactly what they forbid.”

He gestures out toward the city, the suggestion hanging in the air between you. Sneaking out of the castle with him would be reckless, dangerous—everything they would hate. And he knows that.

“You want to unsettle them?” he says, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

There’s a challenge in his eyes, and you can feel the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You know he’s playing on your desire for freedom, on the resentment simmering in your chest. But the temptation to follow him, to throw caution to the wind, is impossible to ignore.

Temptation was all Daemon was, he thrived off it. Relishing in how you gave into it so easily.

As you stare back at him, you realize that Daemon isn’t just dangerous—he’s intoxicatingly so. And tonight, he’s offering you a taste of that danger, knowing full well it’s something you can’t resist

The air outside the castle walls is thick with the scent of the city—smoke, spice, and the faint tang of the sea. It’s noisy here, alive in a way the stifling halls of the Red Keep never are. Daemon moves through the labyrinth of streets as if he owns them, his steps confident, his silver hair catching the glow of lanterns as he glances back at you.

“Try to keep up, little shadow,” he calls over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You quicken your pace, trying not to let the unfamiliar surroundings overwhelm you. The streets are crowded, lined with vendors, performers, and people shouting over one another. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced, and you feel the weight of every curious glance thrown your way.

“Daemon,” you hiss, catching up to him. “Where are we going?

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as a group of rowdy men stumble past. The touch is possessive, almost territorial, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re with me. No one will dare lay a hand on you.”

His words are meant to be reassuring, but there’s an edge to them, a reminder of his reputation. You don’t pull away, though, and he notices, his smirk deepening.

The tavern is dimly lit, filled with the smell of ale and sweat. The din of laughter and shouting washes over you as Daemon leads you inside. It’s a far cry from the elegant halls of the castle—crude and chaotic—but Daemon seems entirely at ease.

He tosses a coin to the barkeep without breaking stride, securing two goblets of wine before steering you toward a corner table. The wooden bench creaks as you sit, and you feel the weight of curious eyes on you.

“You’ve done this before,” you say, watching him over the rim of your goblet as you take a cautious sip.

“More times than I can count,” he replies easily, leaning back in his seat. “The city is far more entertaining than that gilded cage we left behind.”

You glance around, the noise and unfamiliarity pressing in on you. “I’m not sure I belong here.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans forward, his voice dropping. “That’s where you’re wrong. You belong wherever you choose to be. The problem is, you’ve spent your entire life letting others decide for you.”

His words sting, but there’s a truth to them that you can’t ignore. You look away, swirling the wine in your goblet, and he chuckles softly.

“You’re too used to being told who you are,” he says, his tone softening just enough to draw you back in. “But tonight, you get to decide. No one here knows your name, your bloodline. You could be anyone.”

You glance at him, searching for any sign of mockery, but his expression is unreadable. “And who are you when you’re not the rogue prince?”

His smirk returns, but there’s something darker beneath it. “Exactly who I choose to be.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

As the night wears on, Daemon’s attention never wavers from you. He teases, flirts, and challenges you at every turn, his words laced with a mix of charm and provocation.

When a musician begins to play, he stands and extends a hand to you. “Dance with me.”

“Here?” you ask, glancing around nervously.

“Why not?” he counters, his smirk daring you to refuse.

You hesitate, but the weight of his gaze and the pull of his confidence draw you to your feet. The floor is uneven, the space too crowded, but Daemon moves as if none of it matters. His hand finds your waist, his other clasping yours, and he guides you into a slow, deliberate rhythm.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“I’m not used to this,” you admit.

His smirk softens into something almost resembling patience. “That’s the point, little shadow. You’ve spent too long hiding. Let them see you.”

His words sink deep, stirring something inside you. But even as you let him lead, you can’t ignore the way he looks at you—as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, as if every word and gesture is calculated.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask suddenly, searching his face for an answer.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. “Because you deserve to know what it feels like to live.”

But there’s something else in his eyes, something he doesn’t say. And as he spins you across the uneven floor, you realize that with Daemon, the line between freedom and manipulation is razor-thin. He’s offering you a taste of something intoxicating, but at what cost?

The tavern hums with the chaotic noise of its patrons, but in this small corner, everything feels unbearably still. Daemon’s eyes are fixed on yours, the intensity of his gaze drawing you in like a magnet. The warmth of his hand rests lightly on your waist, the touch sending a strange shiver through your body. You can feel your heart racing, uncertainty curling in your stomach.

“Daemon...” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intend.

He leans in closer, the proximity making it impossible to breathe normally. The scent of wine and something darker—more dangerous—lingers around him, but it’s intoxicating, and you can’t seem to pull away.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Daemon whispers, his lips barely grazing your ear. “I won’t hurt you, little shadow. Not unless you want me to.”

Your breath hitches at the weight of his words. You know better than to be so close, to let him get under your skin like this, but something inside you trembles with curiosity, with an aching desire to know what he’s offering.

But there’s still hesitation, a voice in your mind warning you to be careful, to stop before things go too far. You glance around, but the world outside this little bubble of silence feels distant. There’s no escape.

“I... I’m not sure,” you whisper, your heart pounding.

Daemon’s fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, the touch soft but purposeful, sending a wave of heat rushing through you. He smiles, a slow, knowing thing that sends an uneasy thrill through your veins.

“I think you are,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours, the words laced with something darker, something you don’t fully understand yet. “You’ve always known, haven’t you? You just needed a little push.”

Before you can respond, he’s pulling you closer, the kiss coming so swiftly you don’t have time to think, to pull away. His lips are firm against yours, and the world fades. You can taste the wine on his breath, the heat of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, you forget everything else.

But then, a flicker of awareness creeps back into your mind—his hands, too deliberate in their hold, the force behind the kiss, the way his tongue brushes against yours with an almost possessive edge. You want to pull away, but the pull of his touch keeps you rooted, his lips deepening the kiss, coaxing you further into the storm he’s created.

For a moment, you let it happen—because you want it, don’t you? There’s no mistaking the way your pulse quickens, the way your body reacts to him, to the dangerous thrill of what’s happening between you.

But then, a small voice inside you whispers that this isn’t what it seems. Daemon isn’t just taking what he wants; he’s testing you. He’s pushing you, knowing you won’t resist, and that thought should terrify you, but instead, it only deepens the knot in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes watching you with a glimmer of something—triumph, perhaps, or perhaps it’s something more complex.

“You’re so innocent,” Daemon breathes, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. “So naive. But you’ll learn.

The words hang between you, heavy and loaded. And for the first time, you realize that the weight of his care is just as suffocating as his manipulation. He sees you as a puzzle, something to unravel, and in doing so, he’s slowly drawing you into his world—one where rules are bent, and where the only thing that matters is getting what you want.

You blink, your breath shaky, trying to regain your composure, but it’s hard with Daemon so close. You can’t tell if the heat in your chest is desire or something darker.

“What... what do you want from me?”

Daemon chuckles softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Everything, little shadow. Everything.”

The moon is a silver crescent, casting shadows across the streets of King’s Landing as you and Daemon slip through the dark alleys, hearts still racing from the night’s escapade. The thrill of defiance still buzzes in your veins, but something else gnaws at you—a feeling you can’t shake, a creeping sense that this is all too dangerous, that you’ve stepped too far into a world you can’t control.

Daemon walks beside you, his hand briefly brushing against yours. You can’t tell whether it’s for your comfort or his, but you don’t pull away. His grin is still mischievous, his eyes sparkling with the kind of dangerous energy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I do enjoy watching them squirm,” Daemon murmurs, more to himself than to you, but you hear it clearly. “You, little shadow... you do have a knack for it.”

Your chest tightens with a mixture of exhilaration and guilt. This was reckless—this was too much. But just as quickly, your rebellious streak rises again, and you refuse to be the one to regret. Not yet.

However, as you near the castle gates, you realize too late that you’ve already lost the luxury of freedom. The looming figures of your family stand before you, gathered like statues carved from ice. Alicent’s face is pale with fury, her lips tight in an unforgiving line. Otto stands at her side, his expression unreadable but sharp as a blade. The King, normally so composed, stands with furrowed brows and clenched fists.

Rhaenyra’s presence only makes it worse—her eyes flick between you and Daemon, her gaze mixed with concern and a subtle understanding of the storm that’s about to break.

Before you can even take another step, Alicent’s voice slices through the air like a whip.

“There you are. Thought you could slip away unnoticed, did you?” She doesn’t wait for a response, her voice tightening. “You’ve ruined everything. Do you understand that? You’ve ruined your future. Your marriage to Lord Harroway... gone. All because of this.” She points an accusing finger at Daemon, her eyes filled with disdain.

Daemon, ever the provocateur, gives a lazy smile. “Ruined? Hardly. She’s free for once. Shouldn’t that be celebrated, dear sister?” His voice oozes mockery, and you can’t help but feel a spark of anger at his casual disregard for the consequences.

Your heart lurches as Alicent’s words sink in, the anger bubbling up inside you. “I didn’t know! You—you never told me! I didn’t even know about this... this arranged marriage!”

“You don’t have the luxury of ignorance,” Otto’s voice cuts in, cold as ice. “The plans were made. Your future was decided long ago. And now, thanks to your impulsive behavior, we have to start from scratch.”

“I have to start from scratch? What about you?” you snap, your temper flaring. “You’ve decided my life for me without even asking what I want, without ever giving me a choice!”

Alicent steps closer, her voice hissing through gritted teeth. “You have no choice now. You’ve made your bed, and you’ll lie in it. There’s no room for him in it. Not anymore.” She points at Daemon again, and you feel a pang in your chest. The venom in her words cuts deeper than you expected.

Daemon, undeterred, steps forward with that same cocky smile, his eyes glinting with something darker. “What’s the problem, sister? Afraid my presence will overshadow your perfect little plans? Your little puppet of a daughter?” His words are sharp and deliberately cruel.

Daemon’s voice becomes dangerously soft. "You think you can just control her, that you can marry her off like some prize? You should be grateful, Otto, that I didn’t choose to go even further."

Daemon leans in just a bit closer to Otto, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. "After all, I kissed her. Right under your nose. I took what you thought you could control." He lets the words hang in the air like a heavy, biting taunt, the cruelty of the statement drawing a sharp intake of breath from Otto and the others.

You see Alicent’s hands tighten at her sides, her jaw locking in fury, but it’s Otto who steps forward next, his voice low and dangerous.

“Enough. This ends now. I don’t care if you’re the King’s brother. You’ve risked her honor—my daughter’s honor—and I will not tolerate it.”

Daemon doesn’t back down, though. He looks at you with a mixture of annoyance and something deeper, more calculating. “You know you can’t cage me, Otto. She wanted this. She wanted the freedom.”

For a moment, Daemon leans into otto, right next to his ear muttering something only otto can hear “How about I fuck her next, then you’ll truly be ruined.”

You have no idea what Daemon said, but Otto pushed him away with such hatred in his eyes, you knew it was bad. “You bastard!” otto bellowed

Daemon chuckles darkly. "I’m not done yet. If you try to stop me again, Otto... you’ll regret it. I’ll take her whenever I want—no one, not even you, can stop me. I’ll just steal her away from you. And if you so much as look at me wrong, I’ll make sure your precious plans fall apart for good."

He grins, his expression both teasing and threatening, a dangerous mix of arrogance and cruelty. "The marriage is ruined, Otto. She’ll never be yours to control, not after this. You’ve lost."

Daemon then turns to look at you, eyes cold, calculating. "And don’t think I’m done with you either," he sneers, amusement flickering in his voice. "You were so willing to follow my lead tonight, to sneak away with me. And yet you stand there like you’re innocent. Do you really think I’ll let you just go back to your life?"

His words hit you harder than expected, and you can’t help but feel that the power Daemon wields over you is suffocating. You want to speak, to argue, but his presence is overpowering, his smirk twisting your insides into a knot.

Before you can react, the King steps forward, cutting off Daemon’s threat with a sharp command. "Daemon!" The King’s voice rings through the night like a hammer. "Enough of this insolence!"

Daemon’s gaze flickers briefly toward the King, his smirk returning. "Ah, the old man finally speaks. Are you afraid of losing control of everything, Your Grace?"

The King’s face hardens. "No one is taking her anywhere. You will not leave this castle with her. And if you try anything... there will be consequences."

Daemon’s smirk falters for just a moment, but then, in the blink of an eye, he gives a slight, mocking bow. "Of course, Your Grace. I understand." His voice is laced with sarcasm, and though he’s feigning submission, the air of threat still lingers in his every word.

Daemon turns back to you, his eyes still dark, but with a hint of something more—something that could be regret, or perhaps satisfaction at having rattled the cages. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he steps away, his presence still hanging heavily in the air.

Later, you find yourself in the cold, sterile confines of your chamber, the door slamming shut behind you with an echoing finality. The guards stand at attention outside, their presence a silent reminder that you’re not free to leave.

The anger inside you refuses to fade. How could they do this to you? How could they keep this marriage a secret, control every part of your life like this? Your hands tremble as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. This was your life. Your choice. But now...

“You will marry Lord Harroway.” Otto’s voice, gravelly and severe, breaks through your spiraling thoughts. You look up to find him standing in the doorway, his face set like stone.

“I will not,” you say, your voice low, but steady. “You can’t force me into this. I won’t be some prize to be handed over for a political alliance.”

Otto takes a step closer, his eyes cold with an authority that’s suffocating. “You have no choice in this. You’ve ruined everything. Daemon has ruined everything. You will do what’s expected of you.”

Your chest tightens, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill. “I don’t want him,” you whisper, the truth cutting through your anger like a knife. “I want me. I want my freedom. Why can’t you see that?”

Otto’s expression hardens further, his jaw clenched as if the mere thought of your independence disgusts him. “You don’t get to decide that. It was decided long before you were born. You will marry Lord Harroway. If you want to see Daemon again—if you want any part of your life back—you’ll accept the life we’ve planned for you. There are no more choices.”

The finality in his words hangs in the air like a death sentence. You stand abruptly, your legs shaky beneath you.

“I won’t... I won’t do it.”

“Then you’ll live with the consequences,” Otto replies, his voice colder than ever. He turns to leave, but then pauses. “You’ll stay here until your head is clear. And if I hear of Daemon again, if I even hear his name from your lips...”

The threat is left hanging, and you can’t help but shudder at the coldness in his tone. The door slams behind him, leaving you alone in the silence of your prison.

Anger burns hot in your chest, a tangled mess of fury at your family, at the life they’ve forced upon you, and yet, there's something darker festering within. You’re furious with Daemon too—furious that he pushed you into this, egging them on with his recklessness, his devil-may-care attitude. Did he ever stop to think about the consequences? About how you would bear the weight of his actions? Of course not. He took what he wanted, without a second thought, and now, you’re left to pick up the pieces. And the worst part? You still want him

The days drag on, suffocating you in your solitude. Your chamber has become a prison, and every second spent there is a constant reminder of how tightly your family has bound you—your father, your mother, Alicent, all of them shaping your life without a care for what you want. They’ve planned your marriage, decided your future, and left you with no choice but to accept it.

The anger you feel burns hot inside you, but it’s a quiet rage, simmering beneath the surface. And then, just when you think you might explode, you hear it—the sound of your door creaking open.

Daemon.

He steps inside without hesitation, as if he’s done this a thousand times before, and his eyes sweep over you with an unsettling familiarity. The way he looks at you—it’s like he knows something you don’t.

For a second, your heart skips in your chest, and a twinge of excitement rushes through you. But then, the anger floods back, sharp and bitter. You feel it, and you want to lash out at him. He’s the reason everything has gone to hell. He’s the one who pushed your family to this point, his reckless actions leaving you to clean up the mess.

“just in your night gown my lady? How scandalous” he jokes, a sultry look in his eyes

“Daemon…” you hiss, not bothering to hide the fury in your voice. “What are you doing here? You’ve ruined everything! My life is no longer my own, and now you show up like it’s some kind of joke?”

He smiles, the kind of smile that promises trouble. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice is laced with amusement, as if the destruction of your life is just another game to him. “But let’s not pretend you didn’t enjoy it a little. You did, didn’t you?” His eyes gleam, dark and knowing. “I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to play, and now we both have to face the consequences.”

You flinch at his words. It’s true—you did enjoy the attention, the excitement, the flirtation. But you didn’t sign up for this. You didn’t expect him to abandon you, to let you suffer the consequences of his actions.

You cross your arms, trying to steady your breath. “How dare you speak to me like that the other night?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended, but it doesn’t matter. You want him to know how deeply he’s hurt you, how careless he was with his words.

Daemon chuckles lowly, a sound that sends a shiver of unease down your spine. He stops just in front of you, his eyes glinting with something darker, something that makes your stomach tighten. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did you think I didn’t mean it?”

You recoil slightly, the words stinging. “What’s wrong with you?” you snap, your voice wavering despite your efforts to remain composed.

He’s too close now, too overwhelming. His presence fills the room, making it feel smaller, suffocating. Daemon’s fingers brush against your arm as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “I know you’re angry,” he whispers. “I know you want to hate me. But you can’t. Not really. Not when you know how much I’ve ruined you...”

You swallow, the accusation hanging in the air. His words have a way of finding their mark, cutting deep into the places you thought were safe.

“I’ve ruined your little plans,” he continues, his voice mocking. “But you followed me, didn’t you? You followed me just as easily as you’ve followed everything else. And I know you can’t stop thinking about it. About me.” He pauses for a moment, eyes trailing over your face, reading every flicker of emotion. “You can’t stay angry at me, not when you know you want to be with me.”

His hand slowly reaches for your chin, tilting your face up toward him, forcing you to look him in the eye. His grip is tight, possessive, and for all your anger, you don’t push him away.

Daemon’s smirk widens, cruel and knowing. “You’ve always wanted to be a part of my world. Don’t pretend you didn’t. You couldn’t resist me then, and you won’t resist me now.”

His words are like a gentle caress to the skin, but they’re coated with venom, sharp and cruel beneath the surface. The accusation burns, and you want to deny it, want to push him away with everything in you. But something in the pit of your stomach churns—doubt, confusion, and a pull that you can’t seem to escape.

Daemon leans closer, his lips hovering just above your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “I can see it in your eyes. You hate that I’ve made you feel this way. But you know, deep down, that you’ll forgive me. Because, whether you like it or not, you belong to me now.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and Daemon watches you carefully, his gaze a mix of amusement and satisfaction, as if he knows exactly how deeply his words are cutting into you. He’s playing you like a stringed instrument, and you’re helpless to resist.

His lips brush against your ear, whispering softly, “You’ll forgive me, because you have no choice. You’ll forgive me because, no matter how much you deny it, you want me. And you know, darling, that’s the hardest truth you’ll ever have to face.”

You close your eyes, anger mixing with confusion, as Daemon straightens up, his fingers lingering on your chin a moment longer before he releases you. He steps back, seemingly content with himself, watching you, waiting for you to break, to give in.

“And don’t pretend you’re above it,” he adds, his voice low and cutting. “You’re not. You’ll forgive me. You always do.”

Daemon steps closer, the air between you thick with something charged. His presence is overpowering, and every part of you wants to pull away. But you can’t. You’re drawn to him in ways you don’t want to admit.

His voice softens, and he places a hand on your arm, his touch far too intimate, far too familiar. “Don’t be angry with me,” he murmurs, leaning in just a little closer. “I know you’re upset. But we both know you’re not some delicate flower. You’ll weather this storm better than anyone else.”

You can’t help but feel a flicker of doubt. The way he speaks, like he understands you, like he’s the only one who truly gets you—it makes your resolve start to crack. Your anger still lingers, but it’s harder to hold onto with him standing there, looking at you like he’s the only one who sees the real you.

“I’m not some pawn in your game,” you snap, even though part of you wonders if you already are. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you to come here and tell me everything will be fine, Daemon. Because it won’t be.”

He smiles again, but this time, there’s no humor in it. It’s predatory, like he’s toying with you, pushing you into a corner you didn’t even know existed. “You’re angry,” he says, his voice low, almost a purr. “I understand that. But don’t mistake my actions for cruelty. I did this because I knew you were strong enough to handle it. You’re not like the rest of them. You’re... different.”

You swallow hard, the words stirring something inside you. He’s right, in a way. You are different. You’ve always felt out of place, like the world around you was something you had to adapt to instead of shaping it for yourself. Daemon makes it sound so... tempting, as if he’s offering you a chance to be something more than just the dutiful daughter.

But then he steps closer, and the moment your skin touches his, something shifts. His presence is overwhelming, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s dangerous. You know this. He’s the reason your life is in chaos. But the way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel seen, it draws you in like a moth to the flame.

“You’re stronger than you know,” he says softly, his fingers tracing the line of your arm. “But you don’t have to face this alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

His words are so smooth, so convincing, and in that moment, you want to believe him. You want to believe that he’s telling the truth, that maybe, just maybe, he’s the one who will help you find a way out of this mess

“You can’t fix this, Daemon,” you say, though your voice cracks, betraying the doubt in your chest. “You’ve already made everything worse.”

“I’m not here to fix it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now, as if the words are meant for only the two of you. “I’m here to offer you an escape. An escape from them. An escape from the life they’ve planned for you.”

The weight of his words hits you hard. You’ve been trapped for so long, your fate sealed by others, and the thought of escaping it, of finally having control over your life, is a temptation you can’t ignore.

Daemon watches you closely, reading the turmoil in your eyes. “You don’t have to be their puppet anymore,” he says softly, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your skin. “Come with me. Leave this place behind. I’ll make sure you’re free.”

Your heart races. Every part of you wants to run, to escape this suffocating existence. But you hesitate, because you know that following him means crossing a line you can never uncross. Yet, his gaze pulls you in, and for just a moment, the desire to be free, to be anything but the person they’ve molded you into, is stronger than anything else.

You look up at him, your breath shallow, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. “What do I do now?”

Daemon’s smile is slow, almost too pleased with himself. “Come with me,” he says, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll show you.”

Before you can say another word, his hand is on yours again, and he pulls you toward the door. Every step you take feels like a leap into the unknown, but you follow him anyway, trusting him more than you should, believing in the words he’s whispered into your ear

Daemon’s chambers are dimly lit, the flickering flame of the candles casting shadows that stretch across the stone walls like ghosts. The air is thick with the quiet of the night, but the tension is palpable. You stand near the door, heart racing in your chest as your nightgown clings too tightly to your skin, an innocent, exposed fabric that makes you feel both vulnerable and strange in Daemon’s presence. It’s just the two of you in this room now, and every breath feels heavy, weighted with the electricity that hums between you.

Daemon leans casually against the stone wall, one arm draped lazily over his waist, his gaze fixated on you with a curiosity that’s both unsettling and magnetic. His eyes—those stormy, knowing eyes—never leave you, studying you like a puzzle he can’t quite figure out, yet is intent on solving.

“You’ve made quite a habit of defying your family,” he says, his voice low and smooth, with that mischievous edge you’ve come to know all too well. “It’s... interesting. They thought they could control you, tie you down with a simple marriage, a pretty little contract. But here you are, free as ever. It suits you.”

You shift uncomfortably, his gaze like a weight pressing against you. The room suddenly feels too small.

“I’m not free,” you murmur, trying to push back against the pull of his words. “I’m just... running from one cage into another.”

Daemon’s lips curl into a smile, but it’s not comforting. It’s dangerous, calculated. He pushes himself off the wall slowly, almost lazily, as if he’s savoring the moment, the game. He steps closer, and the space between you grows smaller, until he’s only a few feet away.

“No,” he says, his voice dropping, lowering the temperature of the room even further. “You’re not running. You’re... escaping. There’s a difference.” His eyes flash as he takes another step, and you can’t help but notice how his movements are predatory, yet effortless. He makes it look so natural. “You’ve never really had a choice, have you? Always being told what to do, who to marry, where to go. You’re always playing by someone else’s rules.”

Your throat tightens as his words sink in, and the breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes shakily. You swallow, trying to ground yourself. But then he’s there—right in front of you—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body.

Daemon’s hand brushes against yours, just barely, like a spark flickering in the dark. It’s light, teasing, but it sends a jolt through you. His touch is a reminder that he’s not just another man in the room. He’s Daemon Targaryen, and you’ve never been able to ignore the effect he has on you.

“You know,” he says softly, his voice like a velvet whisper against your ear, “they’re never going to give you the freedom you crave. They’ll always keep you in your place, a pawn for their schemes.”

Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat, but you refuse to let him see the way his words are hitting you. You look away, trying to gain some semblance of control, but Daemon won’t let you. He steps closer again, his body brushing against yours just enough to make your pulse quicken. His fingers graze your wrist—just a light, fleeting touch—but it burns like fire.

His lips twitch upwards at the reaction he knows he’s getting from you. “You’re so... tense,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, thick with promise. “You can let go, you know. No one is here to judge you. Not tonight.”

The words dance around your head, teasing, tempting. You try to step back, but Daemon is there again, his hand on your arm, pulling you gently but insistently toward him.

His touch is light, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of your nightgown, but it feels like more. He’s too close now, his breath mingling with yours, and the space between your bodies has evaporated entirely. The tension thickens, coiling tighter with every second that passes.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice hushed, but with an edge of challenge. His fingers trace the edge of your collarbone, a soft caress that has your heart racing. “I’m not like the others. I won’t trap you. I’ll give you what you want... freedom.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words fail you. You feel like you’re drowning, suffocated by his presence and the way he’s watching you. You can’t escape from the intensity of it, the way he’s pulling you in without saying a word, drawing you closer, making you forget the consequences.

Daemon’s gaze darkens, and for the first time, you see something sharper, more dangerous. He leans in, so close now you can feel his breath on your skin. “You’re not a little girl anymore,” he says, his voice soft but full of intent. “You don’t need to play by anyone’s rules. Not mine, not your father’s... no one’s.”

His hand moves up to cup your cheek, and you close your eyes, caught in the heady warmth of the moment, the world narrowing down to just him, just the two of you.

“You can take control. You can have power, be free, just by making one choice.” His eyes flicker to your lips, and you feel the magnetic pull again, impossibly strong. “Let me take what no one else can have. Let me take your honour.”

The words hang in the air between you like a tangible thing. A weight that presses on your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. You should step away. You should say no, because you know this would ruin everything. You know the consequences. But as Daemon watches you, waiting for your answer, a part of you—something deep, something far more primal than logic—feels the lure of his offer.

He’s not offering you love, not truly. He’s offering you freedom. A chance to slip from the chains that have held you your whole life.

“Daemon,” you whisper, your voice trembling, though you’re not sure whether it’s from fear or desire.

“Think about it,” he breathes, his lips brushing the edge of your ear. “I can make you untouchable. No one can force you into that marriage. You’ll be free, and no one will stand in our way.”

The temptation lingers, heavy and oppressive. You know it’s dangerous. You know you should walk away. But the thought of being free... of being his... tugs at something deep inside you.

Daemon’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as you hesitate, and you wonder—just for a moment—if you’ve already fallen too far to turn back.

The room is suffocating with heat, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that seem to grow and stretch as Daemon’s gaze never leaves you. The space between you feels charged, like the air itself is thick with something unsaid, something dangerous.

Daemon’s breath is steady, controlled, but you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes—something that mirrors your own longing. His body is impossibly close, towering over you in a way that makes you feel small, vulnerable, but also alive, in a way you’ve never felt before.

You want him. That much is clear. His presence, his touch, everything about him makes your heart race, your pulse quicken, and your breath catch in your throat. But with that desire comes something darker, something you can’t quite put into words—fear, maybe. Or uncertainty. The price of giving in to this feels high, and you know it.

Daemon, however, knows this too. And that only makes him more determined, more insistent. He’s watching you intently, as if waiting for the very moment when he’ll break down the walls you’ve spent your life building. His hand is still lightly resting against your cheek, and his thumb brushes over your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He can sense the hesitation, the inner battle. You can see the smile tugging at his lips, but it’s not kind. It’s triumphant, as if he knows something you don’t. That, in this moment, you are his.

“You know what you want,” he says, his voice low, smooth, almost like velvet, but it carries an edge—a hunger you can almost taste. “You’ve been running, hiding behind your family’s expectations, but the truth is... you’re not like them. You’ve always been different. You want to be free, and I can give you that.”

His words hang in the air, thick and heavy, like a spell being woven around you. You know the consequences. You’ve heard them, felt them. And yet...

Daemon leans in just a fraction more, his lips brushing against your ear, and you can hear the quiet, dangerous satisfaction in his voice when he speaks again.

“You want to feel something different, don’t you? Something real, something you can’t get from your family or their precious plans. Let me show you what it feels like to have control, to finally feel alive.”

The moment stretches out, and all you can hear is the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. Your thoughts are swirling, spinning, but at the center of it all is him. Daemon Targaryen. The man who holds your future in his hands, a future that could break you, or free you.

You’ve never been so conflicted in your life, yet his words have found a way into your soul, pressing on every vulnerable part of you. You can feel the walls you’ve built around yourself beginning to crumble, and there’s a part of you—a deep, secret part—that wants to surrender to him, to let him take you and leave you with nothing but the promise of freedom.

And yet, you can’t quite breathe without wondering if you’re making a mistake. If you’re giving up something too precious. But when Daemon’s lips move closer to yours again, his breath hot against your skin, you know that it’s too late to turn back. The decision has already been made. The temptation is too strong.

You nod, just barely, but it’s enough.

Daemon doesn’t need more words. He sees the shift in you, the acceptance in your eyes, and a glimmer of satisfaction flickers across his face. It’s not just triumph. It’s something else—something darker. He’s won, but the game is far from over.

He moves, quick and decisive, pulling you into him as his lips crash against yours. The kiss is everything you’ve been afraid of and everything you’ve wanted, all at once. His hands move to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might slip away. And for the first time, you stop thinking, stop questioning, and simply feel.

This is it. This is the point of no return.

This is unlike any other, this kiss was so different to the one that you shared in the tavern, it was hungrier. Filled with something more than just innocence and tension. It was full of passion, a feeling that had you mind going foggy despite Daemon having hardly touched you.

The feeling of his possesive grip on your neck had you whimpering lightly into the kiss, a sound that he moaned at. Relishing in your innocence, your taste, the smell of your flesh, the way you looked so angelic in you gown, in the candle light of his room.

He had backed you into a wall now, leaving no room for your escape. His lips dominating yours with each kiss.

“Are you sure of this my lady, once I start, I don’t think I can stop” he pulls away to mutter breathily in your ear, the both of you panting lightly. All you can do is will yourself to nod your head, a small smirk gracing his features at your wordlessness.

You weren’t sure what he was going to do, but the burning pit in your stomach told you to accept it greedily. You watched as the silver haired prince lowered himself between you legs. Lifting one onto his shoulder as his head dissapred beneath your night gown. You stood in silence for a moment as you back leant against the cold wall, until a sharp gasp but through the silent air.

You weren’t expecting anything like this, for him to kiss you down there. You had never even heard of such a thing. You didn’t have it in you to comparing however, moans ripping from your throat as Daemon slopping kissed your pussy, tongue gliding through your slick folds.

He sucked and licked to his hearts content, he could feel his pants tightening at your taste, it drove him wild, so sweet and innocent, he was so lucky to be the first to touch you he thought. He sucked gently on your clit, listening to the shrill moans you let out as he played with your virgin cunt. Your hips bucking involuntarily against his face as he licked fat stripes along you.

You didnt know what to do with yourself, eyes screwing shut with pleasure as you took whatever he gave you, whatever this was it felt amazing, unlike anything before

A feeling in your belly rose, a band tightening, a coil winding. You felt like you were going to snap, your breathing becoming more and more erratic as Daemon did nothing to slow his action. You were positively dripping, your slick smeared over his face.

“Daemon, oh gods- Daemon it feels-“ You didnt get a chance to finish that sentence before that band inside you snapped, your nerves on fire as Daemon didnt dare slow is assault

“That’s it little shadows, scream for me.:” he murmured into your cunt as it gushed on his face. You were screaming in pleasure as this point, trying to pull his off of you when it got too much, you had never been so sensitive before.

When he was finished he rose from his knees, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve, something that you shouldnt have enjoyed watching - an action so filthy - but you couldn’t help it.

Your head all dizzy and mushy from the after effects of your orgasm still flowing over you. You scared at each other for a moment, you hooded eyes glancing at the man with nothing but want written all over his features.

Not breaking eye contact for a moment, he rid himself of his shirt. Slowly stepping over to you, like you were some scared animal, hands reaching for your dress, slowly raising the garment over your head.

There you stood, naked in front of the man who’s eyes were running over you like you were fresh cut meat and he was starving.

Your arms instinctively rose to cover your bare chest, your nipple perk as the night air brushed against them, Daemon stops you, ringing your hand down to your sides so he can look at you, mutterly sweetly in you ear about how you mustn’t fear him and there’s no need to hide from him.

His hands meet your hips as he guides you to his bed, laying you down on it. He rids himself of his trousers as well and you cant help but watch, an admirable length stands tall between his thighs and you gulp. You knew that was meant to go inside you, but how would it fit.

He could read the nervousness on your face as he pressed his body on top of yours

“whats wrong my lady?” he asks in betweeen his kisses on your neck and chest, biting and licking the skin, making it harder for you to talk

“..Serving girls my lord, they mentioned how… bedding was painful, not enjoyable.” you can hardly make eyecontact with the man as his kisses stop as he looks at you.

“Trust me my lady, It might hurt at first, but what we are about to do will be very, very enjoyable I can assure you.” he pulls your chin to force you to look at him, you can feel him prodding at your wet entrance as you cant help but squirm at the feeling, all you know is you trust the prince, and you need more of whatever this is

Slowly, watching your face he pushes inside, inch by inch. One of his hands holding yours.

The stretch burns, and when he finally sheaths himself fully inside of you, You gasp out from the pain. It certainly did hurt, but you wanted to believe what Daemon said, that it was going to get better. you whine at the pain.

Daemons breathing heavily now as he is still inside you, what he wouldnt do to take your virgin cunt like a street whore, but he’s trying to be considerate, pausing and allowing you to adjust to his size first.

After a short while he finally began to move, building slow thrusts in and out of your weeping cunt, your wetness was dripping down onto the bedsheets beneath you. Daemon slipping into you with ease. Gods your cunt was so tight it was practically choking him, you virgin pussy sucking him back in with every thrust.

NOw you understood what Daemon meant, now he was moving inside you, it felt increadibly.

His mouth sucking lazily on your nipples as moans reverberated through his chest. His hand still gripping yours, dwarfing your smaller one as he kept it pinned to the bed.

Your chest heaving with every gasp, this feeling was so foreign to you, yet it had your legs turning to jelly, your mind fogging as your eyes glossing over.

“My prince- please” In truth you didnt know what you were begging him for, but you knew that you needed more.

He chuckles to himself, watching you fucked out state “oh whats this, You want more my lady?” His thrusts now picking up in both speed and strength, kicking the air out of your lungs as moan after incoherent moan left you.

“What would dear father think if he saw you like this, hm?” he teased, relishing in the blush along your face, and the innocent pout you gave him at his suggestion. He wouldnt mind if otto walked in right now and saw how he was defiling his daughter.

Daemon was fucking you with such hunger, yout tits bounced with each thrust, entrancing him to the supple skin. The vulgar squelching noises of you cunt could be hurt, you were truly embarrassed, but in that moment you didnt have the capacity to be bothered about it.

“Such a good lady, taking me so well” he muttered, out of breath as his silver hair now dangled handsomely in front of his face. He couldnt help but look down at where he was entering you, moaning at the sight or his cock pushing into your virgin walls.

“You like this don’t you? You like that im ruining you for any other stupid lord” You squealed at his suggestion as he punctuated it with a particularly harsh thrust. His fat tip was bu;;yung that gummy spot inside of you, the one that left you quivering and shivering.

“Yes!- yes my prince, I love it” Daemon chuckled darkly, he knew he would break you. Getting you to be completely his, completely ruined and improper. He had destroyed you an turned you into something else, something darker.

That band was building inside you once more, that feeling that you loved so much. ONly it was stronger now, as if the previous time had only made this one stronger. Daemon could tell you were close by how tightly you were gripping him, and the cute way your eyes screwed shut.

He was close also, your cunt milking him for everything hes got. “Come on my lady, fall apart for you prince. Fall apart on my cock.”

The words he was saying to you were so vulgar and crude, but you couldn’t help that they helped push you were that edge. You released over your prince with a cry of his name. It was the only thing you could think to do, sing his praises.

You were dripping around his cock, your release all over his thighs and abdomen. His hand squeezed yours tighter as he fucked his way to his orgasm.

Hips stuttering as he came, shooting his seed deep inside of you. A moan leaving his chest as he finally stilled, collapsing into of you whilst he was still inside. Giving you a final sloppy kiss of the night. In that moment you couldnt have been happier, falling asleep in freedom, in your princes arms

The first slivers of sunlight spill into the chamber, casting a golden glow over the bedchamber. You stir, caught between the haze of sleep and the memory of what you’ve done—what he has done to you, with you. It was a night unlike any other, one where you let your defenses crumble entirely, and Daemon made sure there was no going back.

He stirs beside you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as if he can read your thoughts. “Awake already, my Lady? Don’t tell me you’re regretting it,” he teases, his voice low and full of self-satisfaction.

You rise, unable to match his ease, your nerves already fraying. “You know what day it is,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

Daemon stretches leisurely, as if the weight of the world isn’t about to come crashing down. “Your wedding day,” he replies, unbothered. “How fitting. A celebration, just not the one your father planned.” His smirk is infuriating and maddeningly attractive.

He insists you dress and follow him, his presence a steadying force even as your stomach twists. By the time you reach the hall where Otto, Alicent, and the King await, the adrenaline has numbed your nerves, leaving only a simmering defiance in its wake.

The three of them are gathered in quiet discussion, Otto pacing, Alicent biting her nails, the King seated with furrowed brows. All eyes snap to you and Daemon as you enter, arm in arm, his hand resting on yours with a casual possessiveness that sets the air ablaze.

“Good morning,” Daemon announces with his usual audacity, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We have some rather exciting news to share.”

Otto’s expression darkens instantly, his calculating gaze narrowing on Daemon’s smirk. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, though his voice trembles slightly.

Daemon’s smirk deepens, and he gives your hand a squeeze, silently daring you to speak. You open your mouth, but he beats you to it.

“Lady Hightower will not be marrying that dull lord you’ve chosen for her,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. “Not after last night.” He glances at you, his expression full of dark amusement, and then back to Otto. “Consider her... unavailable.”

Alicent gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes dart between you and Daemon, searching for denial that doesn’t come. The King slams his cane on the ground, his face a thundercloud of barely contained rage. “Daemon, explain yourself,” he barks.

Daemon steps forward slightly, still keeping you close. “She’s mine now, brother. Fully and irreversibly,” he says, his voice calm but layered with unyielding dominance. “So unless you wish to see this house embroiled in scandal beyond repair, I suggest you stop meddling in her affairs. Or mine.”

Otto’s face flushes with anger, his composure crumbling. “You’ve disgraced her! Disgraced this family!”

Daemon laughs darkly, as though he’s savoring every second of Otto’s fury. “Disgraced? I think I’ve done the opposite. She’s more than a pawn now, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes flicker to you, softer but no less intense. “She made her choice.”

You glance at Alicent, who stares at you in shock and something akin to betrayal, and then at your father, whose fury burns hotter than the sun. For the first time, you meet their gazes without fear. Daemon is a menace, yes, but with him by your side, you feel untouchable.

“Daemon is right,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “I will not marry a man I don’t know, don’t want. You can’t make me.”

Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out. The King lets out a sigh, his fury abating into tired frustration. “Daemon,” he says, “you have gone too far.”

“Perhaps,” Daemon replies with a shrug, “but far is the only place I’ve ever been comfortable.”

The tension in the room is suffocating, but you stand your ground, knowing there’s no turning back now. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens, his smirk a silent promise that, come what may, he’s not letting you go

[agarbar]

Rumors- Prologue

Sevika x Reader

MDI!! +18

You were Sevika's most loyal pet.

Warnings for whole story: (I will avoid giving too much detail of the plot of the fic, read at your own risk.) SMUT, Sexual descriptions, age gap, ANGST, SLOOOOW BURN (years literaly pass, kidnapping, aggression, Toxic relationship, aggression, cheating (situationship type), Sevika does not even like (or respect) the reader, Reader is delusional. Sevika hasn't lost her arm (yet), manipulation, reader might be described as curvy. More warnings be added later. SLOW WRITER! (sorry)

English is not my first language. I struggle a lot with punctuation and grammar. This will take multiple parts, and its set before the first events of Arcane. Its technically an x reader, but I will avoid using (Y/N) the best I can. There is an age gap in this story, the reader is also a bit weird and obsessive.

Sevika made her way through the crowd, her steel-toed boots making loud thumps as she marched along the wood and metal floors of the Last Drop. She headed to the ornate doorway of the top floor. The men guarding the entrance knew better than to attempt to block her path. The door swung open and banged against the wall, slammed shut just as loud. Silco did not even need to glance up to see who it was, he called her up after all. 

“You asked to see me, boss?”

"Have you been taking good care of your pets, Sevika?" Silco questioned as he reviewed their latest shimmer supply record.

She nearly rolled her eyes at his question. "My men know their place— they do as I say, no questions asked. They don’t need pampering."

"You must already know how vital loyalty is for someone of your position. Particularly the ones you are affiliated with." The man poured himself a glass of liquor. “So then? How have you been treating your pets?”

The woman slumped down on a wooden coffee table, not bothering with the fancy velvet settee. "What exactly are you getting at?”

"Certain rumors are spreading around," Silco picked up his drink, swirled the golden-hued beverage, and leaned back in his seat. "In regards to Sheriff Grayson." 

Sevika scowled as she heard the Piltie’s name. “What type of rumors?” She drew a cigarette from her vest and dug into her back pocket for her lighter.

"Insiders say Sheriff Grayson is going around digging for dirt."

Sevika blew a cloud of smoke out her nostrils, the burn alleviated the itch in her lungs. “Thought the Piltie had no interest in ‘fixing’ Zaun.” 

"The sheriff does have a deal with Vander.” Silco dropped the papers on the table, no longer interested in revising them. “But things can change fairly quickly."

“You think she will start meddling with our business?”

"She might," Silco said, circling his chair to look at his large window. "There are numerous sightings, all late in the night. She visits one person in particular.”

“And you want me to deal with them?”

Sevika could tell Silco was more amused than enraged by the stupidly obnoxious way he swirled the liquid in his glass. Strange, considering that the possibility of the Sheriff suddenly placing importance on their business was a big reason for stress.

“Sources claim that the sheriff has been visiting a little seamstress.”

Sevika froze for a moment. So this was it? This was the reason why you've been avoiding her for months? Her jaw clenched in anger. Of course. Of course, Grayson would be targeting her... she pushed her thoughts aside, focusing on what was important.

“Blue building, three stories high, store front at the bottom, sound familiar?”

"Yes, I know the place.” She answered, gripping the cigar in her thick fingers and drawing it away from her lips.

Silco turned his chair to face her once again.

"The sheriff has been going in late at night, and leaving before sunrise.

The girl was a..... plaything of yours,” He arched his thinning brow. “right?"

Sevika averted her eyes. She despised being questioned. “I never claimed her as my own, just.. entertainment. A distraction.”

Silco leaned back in his chair, his eye never leaving Sevika’s face. "And, don't you think it's odd that the Sheriff is visiting your ‘distraction’, night after night?" his voice both serious and amused.

No, you wouldn’t. You were an attention-seeking hog, but you were too obsessed, too devoted to her for something like that. But then again... you had stopped attending to her needs. After ‘that night’ you had not shown up at the Last Drop to see her. Or tried to seduce her, shown at her doorstep for some fun, or showed your face anywhere she frequented. 

“Are you implying she’s a snitch? For Grayson? My brat?”

Silco chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. "I’m not implying anything, Sevika. I’m merely stating the facts. Grayson has been spotted entering that little seamstress shop, night after night. And I find it awfully convenient that your little pet happens to be involved."

Sevika clenched her jaw, her irritation and anger growing with every word Silco spoke. "Bullshit," she hissed. "She would never.”

But a small, nagging doubt crept into her mind. It had been months since you stopped seeing her. Could it be that you were working with Grayson? Betraying her? No, there was no way. Was there?

Sevika took a long drag from her cigarette, calming her nerves before she spoke again. "Even if Grayson has been visiting that shop, it doesn’t prove anything," Sevika said, her tone stern. “There's no proof that they are involved."

"We don't, but we don't have any proof she is not either," Silco said, looking at how his glass gleamed with the moonlight. "I was going to let two of my men give her a visit for answers, but I doubt you'd appreciate me bruising one of your apples."

Sevika grimaced at the thought of you being roughened up by some ruffians. "No. Nobody touches her. I'll handle this myself." She snuffed out, her cigar on one of Silco's trinket plates.

Sevika stood up from her seat, determined to find out the truth. She needed to know if you were truly working with Grayson and if you had sold her out. She headed towards the door, her mind set on confronting the little seamstress she had spent most nights with for the last 3 years. Her hand grasped the door's brass knob.

"Take better care of your pets, Sevika," Silco said, "She was so loyal just months ago."

Sevika paused in the doorway, her hand on the handle. Silco's words dug deep, reminding her of the once loyal girl who used to attend to her needs.

"You think I don't know that Silco?" she said, her voice low and laced with irritation. "Just... let me handle this." She walked out and slammed the door behind her.

[conundrumoftime]

One of the fun things about shipping Haladriel and about Galadriel's story in Rings of Power, for me, is that we know exactly where this is going to end up. And I wanted to babble for a bit about where that place is because I have seen so many people view it as "she is retired to some woods to be a passive wife-and-mother who can do magic but in a mystical New Age-y way", and: no! No.

So a quick overview of where she will end up by LOTR:

Very much not removed from the war against Sauron.

She is constantly mind-battling against Sauron: One of the lines that inspired McKay and Payne's whole show was her talking about this: "I say to you, Frodo, that even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves. And he gropes ever to see me and my thought." In one of the versions of the Annatar story in Unfinished Tales, Sauron immediately realises she will be his 'chief adversary', and has apparently not changed that assessment 3500 years later.

She co-ordinates joint efforts against Sauron: The White Council that Elrond talks about in LOTR, the combined force of Ring-bearers, wizards and elf-lords that first drives Sauron out of Dol Guldur - she's not just on that, she founded it.

She gets Gandalf back after Moria and the Balrog: Galadriel learns what's happened to Gandalf from the Fellowship when they arrive in Lothlórien. The the Fellowship are sad; the elves of Lothlórien mourn; Celeborn loses it a bit and says Gandalf 'fell into folly'; but Galadriel sends Gwaihir the eagle to get him, returns him to health, updates him on the situation with Boromir, gives him some messages to take to the others, and sends him back on his way.

She is possibly in Lothlórien because of its position of strategic importance: from Unfinished Tales here, she 'saw that Lórien would be a stronghold and point of power to prevent the Shadow from crossing the Anduin in the war that must inevitably come' and that's why she and Celeborn go there. (There are other versions as with almost everything else in Tolkien, but this is one of them.) She's not there to hide away from Events.

2. Calmer than in TROP, but not all-wise and all-sweet and still pretty scary.

She is still tempted by power and world domination: "I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer [...] In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night!"

And, she doesn't just turn down the One Ring because it's abstractly eeeevil. She turns it down because she knows what she, specifically, would do with it. Sam sees a vision of the Shire, and tells her "I wish you'd take his Ring. You'd put things to rights. You'd stop them digging up the Gaffer and turning him adrift. You'd make some folk pay for their dirty work," to which she says that yes, she would: "That is how it would begin. But it would not stop with that, alas! We will not speak more of it."

And saying she wants to rule the world here is not me joking about! This is Tolkien describing that moment in LOTR:

It was not until two long ages more had passed, when at last all that she had desired in her youth came to her hand, the Ring of Power and the dominion of Middle-earth of which she had dreamed, that her wisdom was full-grown and she rejected it

People are scared of her: The only scary moment we directly see is the Ring temptation, but she does other unsettling things. When she meets the Fellowship she tests them by reading their minds and offering something they really want to see if it would make them "turn aside from the road and leave the Quest and the war against Sauron to others." (She offers Sam a garden; the One Ring later on tempts him with the same thing.) Even the hobbits are a bit disturbed by this and Boromir, who's already said he doesn't want to go into Lothlórien because people who do that never leave again, absolutely does not trust her.

Éomer, a few chapters later:

'Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood, as old tales tell!' he said. 'Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days! But if you have her favour, then you are also net-weavers and sorcerers, maybe.'

She's scary! She's ancient and powerful and people are scared of her.

3. Married, but not in the character-limiting way the nerdbros want it to be and would have you believe it is.

I am not telling anyone they should ship Galadriel/Celeborn or even find it interesting just because I do, but, the angry nerdbros fancasting Celeborn as Henry Cavill and talking about how he'll come back to tame her and tidy her neatly out of the narrative are writing their own little AU headcanons because that is not what's in the text.

She's the more powerful one. Partly because she's one of the 'High Elves' - she's Noldor and has lived in Valinor seen the light of the Trees - which for various reasons about the way Tolkien's elves work just makes her more powerful, partly because she has a Ring of Power and Celeborn doesn't. It's her Mirror; she's the one reading people's minds; she's the one locked in endless mental battles with Sauron; she's the one the Rohirrim (whose lands border Lothlorien's) tell each other scary stories about. Celeborn at no point ever seems to have an issue with this, and calls her his 'treasure'.

They work together. Even in a big-action-sequences sense: after Sauron's defeat, Celeborn 'led the host of Lorien over Anduin in many boats' to Dol Guldur, where Galadriel 'threw down its walls and laid bare its pits'. But the rest of the time, too: she says of him that 'together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat'.

You really get the sense that they have been married for a loooooong time. An actual sequence of events in LOTR, somewhat condensed:

The Fellowship reveal there's a Balrog in Moria;

Celeborn goes "!!!!", complains about dwarves waking it up and says he'd never have let Gimli into Lothlorien if he'd known that;

Galadriel smacks Celeborn down for being rude to their guest;

Celeborn apologises to Gimli;

Galadriel tells the Fellowship that Celeborn is accounted the wisest of elves;

Boromir says something about "old wives' tales";

Celeborn, whose wife is one of the oldest beings in Middle-earth, tells Boromir not to be so dismissive because "old wives keep in memory word of things that once were needful for the wise to know";

Galadriel hands Celeborn a drink.

Whatever is going on here is clearly something that works for them, is what I'm saying! And you don't have to find their marriage interesting just because I do, of course; but what it's not is some trad fantasy of domestic subservient-wife anything.

So where her TROP story ends up is ultimately with LOTR Galadriel: powerful, important, tempted to rule the world, a bit calmer than in TROP, a bit happier than in TROP, co-ordinating big strategic efforts in the war, married to someone who's got her back and adores her and they fall out a bit sometimes but generally work pretty well together, and still having Sauron constantly trying to get into her head. I am fine with this! I am more than fine with this.