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aventurineswife · 2 days ago

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Aventurine, Sunday and Ratio w/ a Memokeeper...? 👀

“Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us”

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Memokeeper!Reader, Character Study, Existential Themes, Introspection, Emotional Growth, Intellectual Tension, Mysticism, Loss, Haunted Past, Unresolved Regret, Journey of Self-Discovery, Temporal Manipulation

Warnings: Existential Crisis, Trauma, Philosophical Discomfort, Emotional Weight Vulnerability in Characters, Mature Themes (regret, guilt, and self-worth).

Ratio, with his signature plaster sculpture concealing his face and his wavy hair cascading just past his shoulders, was a figure both revered and feared within the Intelligentsia Guild. His sharp eyes, the color of fading twilight with a ring of yellow at their core, saw everything and everyone, evaluating, analyzing, dissecting.

It was here that you, a Memokeeper from the Garden of Recollection, first encountered him.

You had come to this world, as you did with every other, to preserve memories, to seek out moments that spoke of the lives lived, the forgotten faces, and the stars that fell into oblivion. In the endless cycle of existence, you had learned that the only thing that truly mattered was memory. To think, to feel, to exist—those were not just ephemeral things, but imprints on the fabric of reality itself.

But when you met Ratio, it was as if all the weight of time had been condensed into a single moment. He, too, had an unyielding belief in the importance of knowledge, in the idea that ideas, too, were immortal. He understood the power of remembrance, but to him, it was intellect, not memory, that was the truest form of immortality. A fascinating paradox.

"You're a Memokeeper, aren't you?" His voice was smooth, like velvet over steel, his eyes locking onto yours, seeing straight through to your very essence.

You nodded, concealing your true form beneath your disguise, as was customary for those like you. In this world, you were just another scholar, another wanderer with a collection of knowledge to trade. But unlike the others, your knowledge wasn’t of facts or figures. It was of memories, of moments suspended in time, of people long gone and forgotten.

"You believe that memory is everything, don’t you?" Ratio's gaze never wavered, as if he was testing you. "You think that by preserving memory, you preserve the soul of a person. But memories are subjective, fleeting. They are not absolute. Ideas, facts, theories—these are what endure. These are what define existence."

His words were confident, dismissive even. But you knew there was more behind them, a deeper yearning to understand what lay beyond the limits of mortal comprehension. You could see it in the way his hands gestured as he spoke, the sharpness of his thoughts revealing a man who, despite all his brilliance, was searching for something more.

"You misunderstand," you said, your voice calm but full of a quiet intensity. "Memories are the only things that cannot be erased, not by time, not by entropy. They are the proof of existence. Without them, what are we but ghosts, vanishing without a trace?"

Ratio's eyes glinted with something unreadable—was it interest? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell, but it was enough to pique his attention. "And how do you preserve them? What makes your memories so… important?"

You smiled faintly, an ethereal expression. "I don’t just remember, Dr. Ratio. I preserve. Through the Garden of Recollection, I collect and store memories, not just from the world I come from, but from all worlds. I can live through them, feel what they felt, see what they saw. I can carry the memories of thousands, and in doing so, they live on."

For a moment, there was silence. Ratio’s gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. "And what of your own memories?" he asked, his voice softer now, though still brimming with intensity. "Do you ever remember yourself? Or are you too lost in the memories of others to even recall your own?"

It was a question that struck deeper than you had anticipated. You, who had shed your mortal form long ago to live as a memetic entity, could not remember the life you once lived. The body you had was but a vessel, an illusion of the past. Yet you held the memories of countless lives, each one a thread in the grand tapestry of existence.

"I remember," you said quietly, your voice distant, as if recalling a long-forgotten dream. "But only fragments. I carry the memories of all those I've encountered, of all the lives I've touched. And in that, I live."

Ratio stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. "Fascinating," he murmured, as if the concept of your existence challenged everything he had ever known. "You are a paradox, then. A being of memory, yet unable to fully grasp your own existence. How… tragic."

You tilted your head slightly. "Perhaps. But in some ways, it’s beautiful. Every life I encounter becomes a part of me, and in that, I become part of them. A perpetual exchange, a never-ending cycle of remembrance."

Ratio’s lips quirked upward slightly, a rare and almost imperceptible smile. "Perhaps," he echoed, his voice tinged with something akin to admiration. "You might be right, after all. Memory is the only true form of immortality. But don’t forget, my Memokeeper, that intellect and knowledge are what shape the universe. Without them, memory would be meaningless."

You met his gaze, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "And without memory, even the greatest intellects would fade into obscurity, leaving nothing behind."

For a moment, you both stood there, two beings of immense knowledge and power, staring at one another in the midst of a universe that seemed both infinite and fleeting. In that fleeting moment, there was no need for words. You understood each other, in a way that few could.

As you turned to leave, your final words lingered in the air, like a soft melody, echoing across time itself.

"Remember me, Dr. Ratio. After all, that is the only way I can truly exist."

He watched you disappear into the endless flow of time, his mind racing with questions, with curiosity. The Memokeeper had left an impression, a memory etched into his mind. And though Ratio would continue his work, seeking to change the world through intellect and knowledge, something had shifted within him.

Perhaps, in the end, the preservation of memory and the pursuit of knowledge were not so different after all.

The Astral Express hummed with the faint rhythm of its journey through the stars, its steady pulse a stark contrast to the turbulent thoughts that swirled within Sunday’s mind. He stood by the window, watching the unending expanse of the cosmos pass by, his eyes reflecting distant stars. His thoughts were as fractured as ever—an unyielding dissonance between his ideals and the weight of his past. Yet, there was something different now, something new stirring in him, as if the winds of change were gently sweeping through his world.

You, the Memokeeper, stood just a few steps away from him, an enigmatic presence, yet somehow, your existence felt more real than anything else. Your presence was like an anchor in a sea of uncertainty, a testament to a truth he had not yet fully grasped.

To think is to exist.

He had never truly questioned his existence in this way before. For all his lofty ideals about dreams, suffering, and the balance between them, there was something about you—your quiet, eternal purpose—that made him reconsider his place in the universe.

You had explained, on occasion, the nature of your kind. A Memokeeper’s task was to collect memories, to preserve them as proof of existence in a world where everything, even stars, would eventually fade. Unlike most, who viewed reality and imagination as distinct, Memokeepers saw them as one. It was a perspective that intrigued Sunday deeply, yet he struggled to fully comprehend it. Perhaps because, in the end, he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

"How do you hold on to something so... fleeting?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a weight that betrayed the many layers of his thoughts.

You turned toward him, your expression serene, but there was a flicker of something deeper in your eyes, an understanding of the burden he carried. "We don't hold on to it. We let it flow through us, and in doing so, we become it."

Sunday looked at you, his gaze lingering on the delicate curve of your cheek, the ethereal quality of your being, and how it seemed as though you were made of light itself. "Do you ever feel... trapped by your memories?" His voice faltered at the question, as though he were reaching for something he couldn’t quite touch.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the distant hum of the train and the occasional flicker of stars outside. You took a step closer, your fingers brushing lightly against the air as you spoke, your voice gentle and calm.

"Trapped?" you mused. "No. We are the keepers, not the prisoners. Memories are not chains. They are bridges."

His brow furrowed slightly. "But what if the memories are of things you can never change? Things that haunt you?" His words were quieter now, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. The weight of his past—of the choices he had made, of the lives he had shaped, for better or worse—pressed down on him once more.

You studied him with a knowing gaze, as though seeing through the veil of his facade. "Hauntings are but echoes of what was, Sunday. The question is not whether the memories are painful, but whether we let them define us." You paused, letting your words settle. "What you choose to do with them—that is what matters."

Sunday’s eyes flickered as if a distant thought had just emerged, one that had been buried beneath layers of rationality and philosophy. He had spent so long trying to change the world, trying to create a place free of suffering, that he had neglected the simplest truth: he could not change the past. He could only move forward.

"But how?" he asked, his voice filled with quiet desperation. "How can I move forward, when the past keeps whispering in my ears?"

You smiled softly, a knowing, almost maternal expression on your face. "You are already moving forward, Sunday. Your journey on the Astral Express is proof of that. The question is not if you will move forward, but how you will choose to remember."

There it was again: remember. It was a word he had often associated with pain, with the weight of regret and guilt, but somehow, in your presence, it felt lighter. It felt like a possibility, a way to reclaim something precious without being bound to it.

For the first time in a long while, Sunday allowed himself to truly look at you. Not just as a fellow traveler aboard the Express, but as someone who embodied a truth he had yet to accept.

"I... I think I understand," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Memories are not the end of us. They can be... a part of something greater."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering slightly as you gazed at him with an expression of quiet encouragement. "Exactly. And sometimes, the greatest gift you can give to the past is to let it go, while still carrying it with you."

Sunday fell silent, his mind now processing your words, considering their implications. Perhaps this was the true path to redemption—not the erasure of pain, but the acceptance of it, and the ability to carry it without letting it define him.

As the train continued its journey through the stars, Sunday found himself standing a little taller. He wasn’t sure where this journey would take him, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he might finally be on the right path.

In the labyrinthine corridors of the IPC, where deals and schemes wove through the very fabric of power, Aventurine stood as an enigma, a master of manipulation with a heart haunted by the ghosts of his past. His smile, enigmatic and ever-present, was a mask that concealed the fractured man beneath. The ‘Aventurine of Stratagems,’ a name he wore with pride, was a title earned through unrelenting gambles and sacrifices, yet it was the one thing that kept him from truly losing himself.

But on this particular day, something—or rather, someone—was pulling at the threads of his carefully constructed world. Someone who didn’t need to gamble to see through the veil.

You. The Memokeeper.

A fleeting figure, a whisper of another existence, you moved through worlds unrestrained by physical boundaries. Memokeepers were creatures of memories—preservers of the immortal, the eternal. You had no flesh, no true form. Only the shifting remnants of memories you carried with you, the fragments of countless lives you had touched and stolen.

When Aventurine first encountered you, he had been intrigued. Memokeepers were not common, and your mysterious nature had piqued his interest. But it was your ability to navigate through time and space, your unflinching grasp of memory as a permanent artifact, that truly captivated him.

"You never forget, do you?" Aventurine's voice was smooth, laced with his signature mix of challenge and curiosity as you stood across from him in a darkened room, a flicker of memory flashing in your eyes.

You tilted your head slightly, a soft, almost imperceptible smile gracing your lips. "For a moment, I thought you would say 'never forgive.'" You said it with an air of knowing, your voice gentle yet profound. "But no... you are too familiar with your own regrets to seek forgiveness."

Aventurine’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. The hint of vulnerability did not go unnoticed. The last surviving member of a lost clan, haunted by survivor's guilt—those wounds ran deep. His facade was usually flawless, but before you, it felt fragile, a thin layer barely holding back a flood of emotions he hadn’t let surface in years.

"You speak as though you understand me," he remarked, his voice regaining its usual confidence. "But I’ve played this game for too long to be an open book."

"Yet, here you are," you countered, stepping closer, the air thick with the power of your words. "A man who wagers lives as easily as others breathe. Do you think I can't see the stakes you're playing for? The past you can never escape?"

There was a moment of silence, one where Aventurine’s usual bravado seemed to crack slightly, revealing the ever-present tension in his posture, the subtle guarding of his left hand behind his back. He wasn't ready to expose his fragility, not yet.

"You play with the illusion of luck," you continued, your voice almost hypnotic. "But I know what you really seek. You gamble because you fear being forgotten, because you fear that if you stop playing, your existence will cease to matter."

Aventurine’s eyes narrowed, gleaming with a mixture of challenge and intrigue. He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating your words, but his tone remained steady. "And what of you, Memokeeper? Are you truly immortal, or just a collector of lies?"

You didn’t flinch. "Memory is the only true immortality. Everything fades—worlds, stars, even gods. But memories... memories last longer than anything else. They are what make us real. What make us matter."

He chuckled softly, his lips curling into that all-too-familiar grin. "I suppose you would say that. After all, you're in the business of making things last forever."

Aventurine’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, and for a brief instant, he wondered what it would be like to have his memory preserved—not his reputation or his empire, but his very essence. Would someone like you, a Memokeeper, truly see him for who he was beneath the layers of strategy and artifice?

"I’ve seen countless memories," you said, your voice soft but heavy with meaning. "But there's something about you... You're not a mere gambler, not just someone who risks it all. There's something darker in you, a longing for connection, yet a fear of it."

He looked at you with raised eyebrows, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. "You really think you can see all that from just a glance?"

"You show more than you think," you said, your gaze steady, your words unshaken. "And it's those little things—the way you hide your left hand, the pauses in your speech, the smile that never reaches your eyes—that tell me you are more than the games you play."

The silence stretched, an unspoken challenge between you. He couldn’t deny it. He had always thought of himself as untouchable, an orchestrator of every move. But you? You had no need for power or control. You simply existed, transcendent and free.

And yet, despite all that, Aventurine felt something strange stirring within him—a desire to be remembered, not just for his gambles, but for the man he truly was.

"Perhaps you're right," he finally said, his voice quieter, more contemplative. "Perhaps there is more to me than even I realize."

You smiled, a soft, knowing expression, and for the first time, Aventurine’s smile seemed a little less rehearsed, a little more genuine. The idea of someone, a Memokeeper no less, understanding the depths of his soul was an uncomfortable yet fascinating thought.

"I don’t need to gamble to know your worth, Aventurine," you said, your eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible warmth. "But perhaps, just once, you might stop playing and let someone else remember you. For who you really are."

For the first time in a long while, Aventurine didn’t immediately respond with a quip or a strategy. He simply watched you, his mind turning, calculating the possibilities. What would it mean to be remembered? To be seen beyond the mask of the gambler, the strategist, the survivor?

In that moment, Aventurine felt the first stirrings of a gamble he had never before considered: the gamble of letting someone in.

Oh damn, this was long af... 🫣😨

Also I couldn't come up with a better title so yeah...🧍‍♀️

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onehundredelevven · 3 days ago

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Okay so what if Satoru's eyes glows in the dark and is like a flashlight

☆☆☆

"Satoru, wake up."

The voice was soft, yet insistent. Satoru groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around him as if he could escape the world’s most persistent problem—being awake. The lights flickered, and then, a sudden, dark silence blanketed the room. The power was out.

You were already half-awake, fumbling around in the pitch-black room for your phone, but it wasn’t helping. The glow of the screen was faint at best, and without any light, you might as well be blindfolded.

“Gojo Satoru,” you muttered again, a bit more forcefully this time. “Get up.”

There was a grunt from the bed, followed by a long, dramatic stretch. “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?” he groaned, his voice muffled from under the pillow.

You sighed and stood up, feeling your way across the room toward the bed. Your hands brushed over his bedside table, knocking over a few things in your search for—yes—his face.

With an exasperated sigh, you nudged his side. "I need you to wake up. I can’t see anything in here."

Satoru’s eyes fluttered open, glowing faintly in the dark. “Really? You need me to help you with this?” His tone was cocky, like he knew exactly how ridiculous the situation was.

You took a deep breath. “Yes, I need you to be the light. You’re basically a walking flashlight.”

Satoru blinked, his eyes lighting up brighter, and then he grinned, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all. “I knew you’d come around~ I am the strongest, after all.”

You reached out, tapping the side of his face to make sure he was fully awake. “Alright, can you just move and shine for me so I don’t trip over something?”

Satoru laughed, sitting up dramatically and lifting his head like he was doing some grand reveal. His eyes glowed with an eerie, yet oddly comforting, light. “There you go. Your very own living flashlight. Try not to get too distracted by my beautiful eyes.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but chuckle as you made your way around, finally being able to see without having to grope through the dark.

Satoru leaned back against the pillows, arms behind his head, still glowing in the darkness. “You’re welcome,” he said smugly, the usual gleam in his eye never fading.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, but secretly, you were kind of glad he’d woken up.

And, honestly? The whole thing was a little endearing(and funny). Even if he was, well, a walking flashlight.

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vacoomer · 3 days ago

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The Bindings 2

Part 1

The man’s footsteps echoed as he walked down the creaking hallway, leaving behind the heavy silence that now clung to the apartment like a suffocating blanket. [Name] remained frozen in place, her gaze fixed on the card that had slipped from his fingers, resting on the floor in front of her like a reminder of everything she had tried to bury.

The offer still stands.

The words lingered in the air long after he had left, gnawing at her. She didn’t want to pick up the card, didn’t want to acknowledge the twisted comfort it promised. Yet, as the faint glow of the neon sign outside flickered and the first rays of dawn began to pierce the darkness, a strange tug pulled at her chest. It was a pull she couldn't quite explain—an internal conflict between rejecting the past and confronting it.

She stepped forward slowly, the weight of the room’s stillness making her movements feel like an intrusion in her own life. Her hand hovered over the card, the sleek business card lying innocently on the floor, its edges crisp, its surface clean. Almost too clean. The number scrawled on the back seemed to mock her, daring her to pick it up and take the step she had been avoiding for five years.

Her fingers brushed against it, cold and fragile in her grasp, as though it might crumble under the weight of her hesitation. She turned it over. The digits were clear, stark against the black ink.

45 billion won. A life rebuilt or shattered. Her choice.

The irony of it stung. All this time, she had convinced herself that the price she had paid was too high, that her peace could only be found in isolation. But now, standing at the precipice of it all, she wasn’t so sure. The weight of the choice felt almost unbearable. She had buried the pain, shut out the memories of the people she had watched die, and locked away the anguish of having survived. But was this truly living? Was this the life she had imagined when she had walked away from the games, with her fortune and her soul hanging in the balance?

As the sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, she realized that she was still running. Running from the past, running from herself. The recruiter had been right in some ways—she had molded herself into something she thought was safer, a shadow of the woman she used to be, but had it really made her stronger? Or just more fragile?

A sudden surge of anger flared within her, directed at him, at the games, at the world that had twisted her into something she didn’t even recognize. But it wasn’t just him she was angry with. It was the system, the life that had been forced upon her, the endless suffering that had come with winning something that was supposed to be a blessing.

She closed her hand around the card, the edges pressing into her palm like a warning. Her heart raced, uncertainty flooding her veins, but beneath the uncertainty, there was something else—a glimmer of hope, the smallest flicker that maybe, just maybe, this was her chance to reclaim control.

Her thoughts collided, the anger, the guilt, the shame—all intertwined in a web that felt impossible to unravel. But the one thing that remained clear in the center of it all was the truth she had buried deep: she couldn’t continue living like this.

She had a choice. It wasn’t about redemption or forgiveness. It was about her. The woman she had been and the woman she could still be.

With a shaky breath, she dialed the number.

The phone rang twice before a voice answered—cool, detached, and all too familiar. "Yes?" The recruiter’s voice was a velvet rasp, as though he had been expecting this moment all along.

“I’m listening.” Her voice was steady, but beneath the calm, a storm brewed.

The silence on the other end was long, deliberate. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I knew you’d come around eventually.”

Her hand clenched tighter around the phone, but she didn’t waver. “I’ll need more than a promise of power,” she replied, her voice hardening with resolve. "I need you to explain exactly what you want from me."

His chuckle was low, almost predatory, yet there was something else there—something acknowledging in his tone, as if he had been waiting for her to reach this point all along. "You’ll see soon enough, [Name]."

And for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t afraid.

She didn’t know what was coming next, but for once, she was ready to face it.

The days that followed were a blur of restless anticipation and cold, sleepless nights. Each hour stretched like an eternity, filled with thoughts of what lay ahead. The recruiter’s words echoed in her mind, haunting yet oddly comforting. You’ll see soon enough, [Name].

She had made the decision—there was no turning back now. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the city, she prepared herself for what was to come. The apartment had grown too small, too confining. The walls, once a barrier, now felt like they were closing in on her, pushing her toward a new path she hadn’t quite mapped out yet.

The phone call had been short, a date and a mere exchange of coordinates. A secluded part of the city. Abandoned, quiet. No one would be watching. No one would care. It was a place where the past could be forgotten, buried under layers of concrete and steel.

The thought of facing him again stirred something deep within her—something primal, something she couldn’t quite understand. She had chosen this. Chosen to let him show her what it meant to become like him, to embrace whatever it was that had turned him into the monster he was. She wasn’t ready to admit it, but a small, dangerous part of her longed for it. She longed for control, for mastery over her own life, even if that meant wielding power like a blade, cutting through everything that stood in her way.

Her footsteps were deliberate as she left her apartment, each one a reminder that she was stepping into a world she had once feared. A world where survival wasn’t just about living—it was about becoming something else entirely.

The city was quiet, unnervingly so, as she navigated through the labyrinth of streets. It was late, the kind of late where only shadows remained. The neon lights from the bars and shops had dimmed, leaving the streets bathed in the ghostly glow of streetlights. She didn’t know why, but she felt the weight of the city pressing in on her—its pulse beating in sync with her own.

She reached the location just as the clock struck midnight. An abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the district, tucked away behind a row of dilapidated buildings. The place looked as though it had been forgotten, its metal walls rusting, the windows boarded up with rotting wood. Yet it felt alive. Alive with the echoes of memories she didn’t want to remember, memories she couldn’t escape.

The door creaked open at her touch, the sound a harsh contrast to the quiet night. She stepped inside, her breath hitching as the door clicked shut behind her, plunging her into darkness.

"Welcome," a voice said from the shadows. Deep. Unwavering. Familiar.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look for him. She knew he was there, watching her, waiting for her to make the first move. She was the one who had come to him. She had made the choice. He would let her take the lead, for now.

She stepped forward, her footsteps echoing off the concrete floor. She couldn’t see him yet, but she felt his presence like a weight on her chest. The recruiter’s figure materialized out of the shadows, emerging with smooth, calculated movements. He was wearing the same black suit, his expression unreadable beneath the cold glow of the single overhead light.

"Do you understand what you’ve come here for?" he asked, his voice low and deliberate, carrying the weight of a thousand secrets.

[Name] didn’t answer immediately. She was still processing, still trying to put the pieces together in her mind. She had made a choice, but what exactly did that mean? What did she expect from this meeting?

Finally, she nodded. "I understand. You’re going to teach me how to become like you."

A flicker of something—satisfaction, perhaps—passed across his face, but it was gone before she could fully register it. He stepped closer to her, his presence overwhelming, like a force of nature pressing in on her.

"You want power," he said, his voice a smooth, almost hypnotic drawl. "You want to be able to take control of your life. To stop running, to stop hiding. But you must understand that with power comes cost."

She squared her shoulders, feeling her heart race. "I’m ready for the cost."

He chuckled darkly. "Are you? I think you’re still naïve. You believe you can control this. But in reality, control is an illusion. It’s only about who you are willing to destroy to get what you want. You want to be like me, but are you prepared to pay the price?"

The words cut through her like a blade, but she held her ground. She was tired of pretending she wasn’t capable of darkness. She had been through hell and back. She had survived. And now, it was time to finally learn how to live—truly live.

"I’m ready," she said again, this time with more conviction. "Teach me."

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes piercing, as if he was looking straight through her. Then, finally, he nodded, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Very well," he said, his voice low and full of purpose. "Let’s begin."

The training was grueling. The recruiter taught her not just how to think like him, but how to be him—how to shed every ounce of weakness, every emotion that might cloud her judgment. How to view the world as a game, and how to play it better than anyone else.

They began with strategy. Every decision, every move in life was a calculated risk. She learned to watch people, to read them as if they were open books, their weaknesses etched into their faces, their gestures, their eyes. She learned to make deals, to barter with more than just money. Power was currency, and she was going to become an expert in trade.

Next, he taught her the art of manipulation. How to make people do what she wanted without them even realizing it. It was subtle, a gentle nudge, a whisper in the right ear. It was about controlling the narrative, bending others to your will without them ever questioning it. She was good at it. Too good.

But the hardest lesson of all came when he forced her to confront her own demons. To face the trauma, the fear, the guilt that had driven her for so long. She thought she had buried those feelings, but he made her dig them up, piece by piece. He pushed her to examine everything she had done, everyone she had hurt, and use that pain as fuel, not as a weight.

"It’s not about forgetting," he told her during one of their late-night sessions, his voice soft yet chilling. "It’s about using it. Channeling it. You’ve been running from your past, but in reality, it’s the key to your power. Embrace it."

Each lesson, each day, twisted her further. She could feel herself changing, molding into something different, something darker. The woman who had entered that warehouse was no longer the same woman who walked out. The lines between right and wrong blurred. What once felt like betrayal now felt like survival. She had shed the skin of the naive girl who had been broken by the games.

She was learning to be something else. Something better. Something stronger.

And the recruiter? He was no longer just a man in a black suit. He had become something more. A mentor. A mirror. A person she now confided in.

She often wondered if she let her guard down too fast, too unprepared. Yet, after she started learning his arts, he never gave her a reason to mistrust him anymore. She thought as if he also confided in her like she did in him.

The building was always quiet, but tonight it felt heavier, more oppressive. The low hum of distant traffic, the faint echo of footsteps in the hallway—all of it seemed like a distant memory as [Name] stepped into the space where their meetings always took place. Her pulse quickened as she crossed the threshold, as if she could sense the weight of what was about to unfold.

She took notice of the shift in the atmosphere a long time ago. Innocent, almost too casual touches. She didn’t know what was the cause of this though.

He was already there, standing by the tall, dark windows that looked out over the city, the last of the daylight retreating, leaving a stretch of deep blue in its wake. He didn’t turn as she entered, but she knew he was aware of her presence, the way the room seemed to tense in anticipation.

"You're late," he said, the coolness of the words, almost dismissive, masking something deeper.

Her eyes narrowed as she walked toward him, taking in the slight, mocking tilt of his lips. He knew what he was doing—pushing her buttons, watching her, trying to provoke her reaction. It was a game, but one that was becoming harder and harder to play. She had learned to read him, his every shift in posture, his every calculated glance. But tonight, there was something different. Something underneath it all.

"I had things to do," she replied, her voice controlled but carrying the weight of a challenge. She could feel him watching her as she approached, sensing his eyes on her skin as if he were tracing every line, every subtle movement.

As she stood before him, just close enough to feel the heat of his body, she couldn’t ignore the tension that hung between them. It was something that had always existed, but now it was sharper, more electric. There was no denying it anymore—every time they met, it became harder to pretend that she wasn’t drawn to him in ways that made her uncomfortable. Ways that made her afraid.

But she couldn't back down now. Not after everything she had been through, not after everything she had learned. She had made a choice to come back, to step into his world again. And this time, she would control the narrative.

"You’ve been watching me," she said, her words quiet but firm, almost like an accusation.

He turned his head then, the sharpness of his gaze locking with hers. His eyes were dark, intense, like an abyss that threatened to swallow her whole. "What else would I do?" His voice was low, rough. "You think you can just slip away from this, from me?"

Her breath caught in her throat. He was closer now, his hand brushing the side of her arm as he took a step toward her. The contact was light, almost casual, but it sent a jolt through her body. A reminder of the power he had over her. A power that was becoming harder to ignore.

"You're becoming like me," he said softly, almost as if to himself, his eyes flicking down to her lips before meeting her gaze again. There was something almost pleased in his tone—he was watching her evolve, watching her give in, bit by bit.

She stood there, feeling the weight of his words like a heavy stone pressing against her chest. "I’m nothing like you," she retorted, her voice colder now, harder. But even as she said it, she felt the lie. There were moments when she found herself thinking like him, acting like him, taking pleasure in the things he had taught her—the darkness, the manipulation, the power.

He chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through the air. "You’re just lying to yourself, [Name]. You’re more like me than you realize." His gaze darkened, his smile tightening into something far less playful. "But I’m not here to push you. Not tonight. Tonight, I want to see if you’re ready for what comes next." The air between them was thick with heat now, the tension almost unbearable.

"I have to decline the offer, I wanted to do so from the start." she stated firmly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. The close proximity makes her head swirl.

The air between them crackled with tension, his face mere inches from hers, his breath a warm whisper against her skin. He leaned in slightly, as if inviting her to bridge the gap, but her instincts took over, igniting a fire within her that her mind struggled to comprehend. Her heart raced wildly, and her hands, resting on his chest, could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a reminder of the closeness they shared.

"I was aware of that from the beginning," he replied, his gaze intense and unwavering. "But honestly, I no longer wish for you to accept it. I would much prefer to keep you close, just for myself." As he spoke, his hand found its way to her lower back, drawing her in even tighter, as if he wanted to shield her from the world around them.

"You don’t have to fight this anymore," he whispered. "You know that, right?" His fingers brushed the curve of her neck, tracing the delicate line of her jaw as though mapping out the places he had touched her before. "You can let go now. Let me in."

The words were soft, coaxing. But they were also an order. A command. He wasn’t asking for permission. He never had. And as much as she wanted to resist, wanted to shove him away and scream at him for trying to break her, she couldn’t.

Because every word he spoke, every touch, every glance, dug deeper into the part of her that had long been dormant. The part of her that needed him, even though she hated it. Even though it terrified her.

His lips brushed against her ear as he spoke again, his voice low and almost seductive. "You feel it, don’t you? The need. The hunger for more. You crave it just as much as I do."

The truth of his words rattled her. It was the lie she had been telling herself—this wasn’t just power. This wasn’t just control. It was something else. Something darker. Something she couldn’t escape.

A gasp escaped her lips, a sudden intake of air that seemed to freeze time as his mouth met hers at last. The kiss ignited a spark that coursed through her veins, wild and untamed, as if he were consuming her essence in a single, fervent sweep. She surrendered to the intensity of the moment, allowing herself to be swept away by the tempest of desire and shadow he had woven around her, feeling as though she had finally discovered her rightful place in the chaos.

The world around them faded into a blur, the noise and distractions dissolving into nothingness as their lips connected. It was a kiss that transcended mere physicality, charged with an energy that felt almost primal, as if he were claiming her in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. She embraced the whirlwind of emotions that surged within her, letting go of all reservations and diving headfirst into the depths of the passion he stirred in her soul, a place where she felt both vulnerable and invincible.

Just moments before, his hand had gently cradled her cheek, a tender gesture that spoke volumes of affection. Now, that same hand has shifted, encircling her neck with a possessive yet intimate grip. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down her spine, igniting a spark of electricity between them that is impossible to ignore.

Meanwhile, his other hand roams freely across her lower back, tracing delicate patterns that seem to dance across her skin. Each movement is deliberate, a silent invitation that draws her nearer to him, as if the very air around them is charged with an unspoken desire. The world around them fades into a blur, leaving only the two of them in this moment of shared intimacy.

As he pulls her closer, the space between them evaporates, and she can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her own.

(Next Part 18+ —> Part 3)

#salesman x reader #gong yoo x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game #squid game season 2 #the salesman x reader #the recruiter #the recruiter x reader #squid game x reader #squid game x you #the salesman #the salesman x you

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beesandwasps · 1 day ago

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When I got to be a senior at St. Leon’s College, I was given my very own studio. It was a tiny room in a creaky old wooden shedlike building. Here I was to work on my senior project, a series of woodblock prints. I found, left behind by previous inhabitants, a dangerous electric percolator and a squawky old radio. I loved having a studio of my own, and spent most of my time there. I’d arrive at ten or eleven at night and stay till dawn, chiseling away at my woodblocks, swilling black coffee, and listening to the all-night hillbilly station. At sunrise I’d stroll to my room, where I would sleep until lunchtime. I had signed up only for classes that met in the afternoon, and I had time in the evening to socialize and study before retiring to my little workshop. The rest of the college would be sleeping when I was at work, and I had no distractions. I was getting a lot accomplished. It was an ideal routing, and I was happy. It was during this period that the President of the United States was assassinated. Today, documentaries and news retrospectives emphasize the shock and grief felt by the nation — but I also remember the fear and confusion that closely followed the event. At first it was unclear whether or not the assassination was part of a coup or insurrection. News reports were vague and fragmentary. There was speculation as to whether our country’s enemies might not take advantage of the confusion of the moment and attack us. I hovered near the radio and learned of the capture of Oswald and later of his murder before the news cameras. Lyndon Johnson had been sworn in as President. Harry S. Truman flew to Washington, and from the airport, broadcast a statement assuring the country that the orderly succession of government was intact. It was two or three days before the feeling of panic and uncertainty died down. And the whole time, I was listening — while carving away at woodblocks, because there was nothing else to do. I was realizing that events can become ugly with a terrifying suddenness — and that I, personally, had nothing to contribute in times like these. There were advisors in Southeast Asia. There was a wall in Berlin. We had nearly had a nuclear war over missiles in Cuba. People were being fire-hosed and police-dogged in the South. Now someone had knocked off the First Citizen of the Republican — and I was learning to do what? I was learning to make things for rich people to decorate their apartments with. I felt useless and stupid. As the assassination hysteria subsided, I continued to come to the studio, but it seemed to me an empty exercise. Worse, a mockery. In times like these, the last thing needed was a little more art. Then, one 2:00 A.M., a fellow student dropped in to see me. Jerry Schwartz was his name. I knew him by sight, but had never spoken with him. He had something to tell me. It seemed Schwartz had gone through a period of living the life of a swine. He had been in the habit of coming home drunk at approximately the same time every morning. And every morning, he’d see the light in my studio, and through the window, me, doing… he didn’t know what, but there I was doing it. He felt that here was at least one person doing something probably constructive — anyway, functioning. It somehow meant to him that there was hope for him too. In the parlance of Alcoholics Anonymous, the image of the light in my studio window had become his higher power, had kept him from despairing, motivated him to try to straighten out — and, as he told it, may have prevented his taking his own life. I thought he was probably exaggerating, but I couldn’t take the chance. Now I had to show up every night, and work on my woodcuts in order not to let down this formerly miserable Schwartz. I didn’t see Schwartz again, but I finished out the year and got my degree. And gradually I became convinced that the best way I could address the big evils of the big world would be to keep chipping away and something comparatively small.

— Daniel M. Pinkwater (from Chicago Days, Hoboken Nights)

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yanderejustforyou · 2 days ago

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A Prison of My Own

geto x reader

The walls pressed in on you. Slowly. Imperceptibly at first. But over time, it was as though they were suffocating you, closing you off from the life you had known, from the world outside. The days blurred together, each one indistinguishable from the last. And with each passing hour, the memories of your past life faded—slowly at first, like a distant dream you could no longer remember the details of. The faces of friends, the laughter, the freedom—all of it seemed to slip further away, as if the walls around you were erasing everything you had been, everything you used to care about.

Suguru Geto’s presence was a constant. A heavy, suffocating thing that you could never escape. He was always there, watching, controlling, shaping your existence into something unrecognizable. His eyes never left you, and when they did, it was only to make sure the walls of your prison were reinforced—emotionally, physically, every way possible.

You had stopped counting the days. Stopped tracking the hours. It was easier that way. The less you remembered, the less you fought.

But there was still a small part of you—buried deep inside—that fought against it all. It was fragile, this part of you, but it refused to disappear completely. And tonight, as you sat alone in the cold silence of your room, you felt it stir. The smallest flicker of rebellion. Of the life you had lost.

The door creaked open, and Suguru walked in, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He didn’t speak immediately, just watching you with those dark eyes, studying you like an experiment he had no intention of abandoning. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. The weight of his presence was too much, suffocating. His eyes alone felt like they were crushing you.

You had long since stopped fighting, at least outwardly. But inside, there was still a quiet war raging. And tonight, it was louder than ever.

Suguru didn’t have to say anything for you to know what he wanted. He never did. He just stood there, his silence filling the space between you. His presence seeped into every corner of the room, until it felt like the air itself was thick with him.

“You look so... lost,” he finally said, his voice low, taunting, and almost affectionate. He stepped closer, and you instinctively recoiled, but you didn’t move far. You had no strength left for it. “You’re fading, aren’t you? Fading into this place.”

You didn’t answer. There was no point. Your life before him was slipping through your fingers, and you knew it. There was nothing left to say about it. The memories of freedom, of laughter, of even the smallest joy—gone. And here, in the shadows of this place, there was only him.

Suguru’s fingers brushed your cheek lightly, almost tenderly, but it was the kind of tenderness that made your skin crawl. His touch was always careful, calculated. He didn’t need to be rough. Not when the power he held over you was enough.

“No one else can keep you safe,” Suguru said softly, almost as if it were a fact. His voice was calm, but there was an undeniable edge to it—a finality to his words that made your heart twist.

You didn’t look up, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. “Safe?” you whispered, your voice hoarse, a bitter laugh escaping your throat. “From what? From you?”

Suguru’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, something dark and dangerous, but he didn’t pull away. His hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers curling gently around it, holding you in place, forcing you to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes felt like fire.

“You’re safe with me,” he repeated, almost as if he was trying to convince himself. “No one else can protect you the way I can. No one else would even try. You belong here. With me.”

“But who will save me from you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension in the air like a blade.

Suguru paused, his grip tightening slightly around your neck, but not enough to hurt. His expression flickered—just for a moment. There was a flash of something almost... human in his eyes, but it was gone before you could register it.

“Save you?” His lips curled into a soft, almost amused smile. “You don’t need saving. You never did. You just need to accept this. Accept me.”

You wanted to scream, to throw him off, to fight back in some way. But the reality of your situation settled in once more. There was no fighting him. Not anymore. There was no escaping.

Suguru leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “I made you mine, and now there’s no way out. There never was.”

The words echoed in your mind, and as much as you wanted to deny them, a sick part of you knew he was right. You were already lost. You had been for a long time. The memories of your old life were nothing more than ghosts now, fading with every passing day. All you had left was him.

And no matter how much you hated it, there was nowhere left to run.

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lesbiannnsstuff · 2 days ago

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i know what you want

warnings: alpha!shauna x alpha!reader, top!shauna x bottom!reader, afab reader, dub con, porn with plot, power dynamics, cunnilingus, fingering, biting, swearing

7k words

If life was a gamble, being born as an alpha would be considered winning the lottery. Physically submitting betas, easily attracting omegas with your scent, and commanding a room just by stepping in one, if so desired. It couldn't get better than that, really.

Even so, you were never one to get too cocky about it. Choosing to protect instead of attack. Just like when you used to fight to save your betas and omegas friends in middle school, against alphas bullies. You promised yourself your strength was a steady rock to rely on and not a pedestal from which you couldn't allow yourself to fall. You refused to lean into the overwhelmingly aggressive nature expected of you.

Some of your alpha friends thought it was nonsense, wasting your high rank, but every time some weaker leaned on you, it made it all worth it. And you were proud of that because the survival of the fittest didn’t mean standing above those with lower rank, but standing beside them and helping them thrive as well.

Your principles followed, you anywhere, and the same thing happened once you joined your school’s soccer team in your senior year.

“C'mon, girls! We need to score only one more to get to the nationals!” you yelled to your teammates as you saw how the numbers on the timer were getting closer to zero. It all happened so fast and before you knew it Jackie was heading the ball and scoring the much-needed point. You're going to the nationals.

The locker room felt like a party. Everyone was singing or laughing. You were the state champions, after all. Considering it had been long since Wiskayok High School had won a significant tournament, it was a big deal. And taking into consideration that the only other team in school was the boys from baseball, well, the responsibility was on your back after all. You were the last to get out of the locker room, closing your locker and throwing your bag over your shoulder.

“You’re still here,” you quickly turned towards that familiar voice, a little unsettled by the interruption of your thoughts.

“Shauna? I thought you went home with Jackie,” she glanced at you briefly, before walking to her locker.

“Forgot something,” she murmured, her voice low and smooth. You stood there momentarily before nodding, even though she didn’t look at you anymore, her gaze fixated on the notebook she grabbed from the locker, tucked in her bag.

Her movements are deliberate. No rush, she never rushed. Ironic for the fastest player you’ve ever met. She also didn't seem to feel pressured by your presence, completely unbothered by the idea of having to interact with you. But, again, you doubted Shauna felt pressured to do anything. You thought that maybe for being the only other alphas in the team, she would either befriend you or challenge you for dominance or influence. Still, she didn't seem compelled to do either, leaving to Jackie, her beta best friend, and you, the caring alpha, to lead the way as captain and co-captain.

But, in the end, Shauna always had this thing about her, this quiet confidence, moving calmly as if the world rotated around her. For her, it was unsettling, in a way, how composed she seemed all the time. Most girls thought that her apparent indifference and intimidating posture were all there was about her, but not you. You thought there was something so much more intense and wild about her, and you never knew what it was.

“You played well today. That assist? Perfect timing.” you began, filling the silence. She paused, glancing at you. Her brown eyes were deep and charged with something you couldn’t quite place like she was sizing you. Her gaze lingered a second too long before she looked away. “Thanks”

You couldn't fathom her cold answers, this is the first time in ages since you’ve been alone with her and you don't know exactly what but there's something about Shauna Shipman that is way too magnetic just to let her go like this. There's something about her that every time you brush shoulders, or when you catch her staring whenever you're changing after a game that makes you incredibly anxious. Like you're anticipating, waiting for something you don't know why. “Are you going to that party before nationals?” You leaned against your locker, watching her, trying to seem as unbothered as her.

Shauna sighed, almost imperceptibly. “Jackie didn't give me a choice.” She closed her locker ready to go. “Are you guys together?” You regretted your question the moment it came out of your mouth. Shauna's gaze sharpened in a matter of seconds.

“I don't think that's any of your business” The sharpness in her tone sent a jolt through you, leaving you breathless, her words cutting through the air like a knife. You knew you’d overstepped, but something about the way she looked at you now, ferocious, unflinching, and ardent with quiet fervor, made it impossible to regret the question entirely.

“Yeah, fair,” you replied, crossing your arms and forcing a casual shrug even as you could barely feel your knees.

Shauna didn’t move for a moment, her eyes boring into yours with a potency you never felt before. You hated the heavy silence but you didn’t dare to say anything, scared of how weak your voice would sound. Then, slowly, she stepped closer, her movements deliberate.

“You always ask questions you don’t want answers to?” she said finally, her glare locked onto you. Her voice is quieter now, but no less sharp. There was a challenge in her tone, a dare.

You felt the blow hitting you intensely. You hesitated, caught off guard, but you wouldn't let her see it, so you just scoffed, rolling your eyes in a weak attempt at nonchalance. “Maybe I just like to get to know my teammates.”

At that, Shauna let out a smooth, humorless chuckle that made your whole body buzz. “You want to understand me?” She asked seriously now, tone low and steady, each word weighing heavy on your ears. “You wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag, trying to hold onto something. “Maybe I’d start with how you're always behind the scenes,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “So controlled... you never even tried to come up to me once. You never challenged me or tried to assert your dominance.”

Her eyes were unreadable, as she stepped even closer. She moved so confidently, every step more precise and sure than the last one. As if the space between you was hers to take. You didn’t realize your back hit the lockers.

“Dominance isn’t something you show off,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “It’s something you make people feel.” Her words sank into you, pressing against your chest with unmeasurable force.

“Is that what Jackie feels?” You were trying to redirect the tension, to shift the focus off of yourself and let you breathe for even as long as a second, but the question only seemed to deepen the intensity in her gaze.

“Jackie?” Shauna repeated, her eyebrow shot up almost imperceptibly and her lips curving into the smallest hint of a smile that didn’t even reach her eyes. “Jackie’s safe with me. because I want her to be, that’s all there is to it.”

The message behind her words was impossible to miss. “So... people are only safe if you decide they should be?” you asked, slightly annoyed at her calm arrogance. She leaned in just slightly, her scent suddenly overwhelming with something unmistakably alpha. An aggressive scent that seemed to fill the entire room.

Her voice dropped to a near murmur. “Do you think anyone’s safe when I don’t want them to be?”

The words made your breath hitch, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. Her eyes were too much but you couldn't dare to look away either. You forced yourself to say, though your voice was weaker than you wanted it to be. “Am I safe?”

Shauna chuckled again, brief and so low you could feel it vibrating on your chest. “You're an alpha too, you tell me,” she said, sizing you up, but something in her eyes made you realize she wasn't so impressed. You couldn't hold back how that pissed you off.

“You don’t have to be so intense all the time,” you spoke as steadily as you could, gathering all the fight you still had.

Shauna’s eyes narrowed, and she took another step closer, chests barely touching. “And you don’t have to act like you’re not affected by it,” she said, her tone final. And just like that, all the left fight was gone.

Your heart pounded, your throat dry as sand as you struggled to find a response, a witty comeback, or anything to close the gap between your positions. But before you could say anything, Shauna turned toward the door. Then she delivered her final blow.

“And by the way, I never tried to assert my dominance over you for a simple reason”

She stopped at the door, her head tilting slightly as she looked back at you. “Because the way you look at me… it’s submission enough.”

The door closed behind her, leaving you standing there, stunned and breathless. You let yourself slide to the floor. Her voice still echoed in your mind.

The way you look at me, it’s submission enough

You’re an alpha. Submission and you were like oil and water. Or, at least, they were supposed to be. Then why does Shauna seem so certain? And why you’re feeling so exposed like you've just been caught? Then it hit you.

You were not only intrigued by Shauna or her ways. You were drawn by it.

You were attracted to the same alpha characteristics that made her an alpha, just like you.

No, not like you. She was something else, something more. And, as much as you hated to admit it, you were being pulled to her because of it.

You saw Shauna at the party as you confidently sipped your drink. You couldn’t help but notice Randy chugging his beer in some sort of drinking game and dedicating it to her. You scoffed and she rolled her eyes. Like Shauna would be interested in him, yeah, sure, Randall.

“Look, I don't know if you realized, but this is a party. You should be having fun and not sizing up the competition” Van elbowed your torso playfully, and you turned to her wide-eyed. Were you so obvious? Could she possibly have noticed your disdain for Randy? Or, even worse, your attraction to Shauna?

"Randy? Please, like he even stands a chance with Shauna. She's way out of his league," you said, sipping your drink trying to seem nonchalant.

Van raised an eyebrow, her smile widening amused. “You know I wasn't talking about Shauna, right? But it was interesting that it was your conclusion. Interesting,” the redhead laughed loudly, looking at you like you just told her the best joke she’d ever heard.

“What the fuck were you even talking about?” You asked with a scowl trying to cover your embarrassment. “I meant the drinking game. Thought you’d take him on since you’re so good at it.” You almost lost Van's explanation as the girl couldn't stop laughing.

Van began to recompose herself, slapping your back as if to break the awkward tension. “Relax. I won't tell anyone that you dig alphas too” You thank Van, forcing a small smile, but your mind is already spinning.

Then the night took a turn.

It started with a heated argument between Shauna and Taissa, voices cutting through the music before the other girls joined in the mess. Jackie was trying to part the fight unsuccessfully. Shauna's scent had begun to make its presence in the air, the rich and smooth smell growing overwhelmingly. You observed how a few omegas nearby began to shrink back in discomfort.

Before you knew it, you were standing beside her. “Shauna, come here for a second,” you said firmly, your hand gripping hers as you led her toward a more empty corner.

Shauna didn’t resist, though her anger could still be seen coming out in waves, her sharp fangs threatening to make their appearance. Once you were far enough away from the chaos, you let go of her hand, she leaned against a tree, exhaling slowly.

“What the fuck was that?” You asked pissed off, clenching your fists in annoyance.

“Your savior complex is incredibly annoying, you know that right?” she said, her voice tight.

“Your scent was all over the place!” you replied, your voice heightening a couple of tones, standing a few feet away, arms crossed. “Some of the others couldn’t handle it. It was too much for them. They were scared”

Her eyes locked onto yours, stepping closer. “And what about you? Can you handle me?” she asked, her voice smooth, the challenge unmistakable.

You swallowed hard, refusing to step back. “You know I’m not like the others.”

Her lips curved into a slow, teasing smirk. “No, you’re not.” She took another step, grabbing your jacket and pulling you close enough now that her scent was all you could breathe in. Her gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes.

Your pulse quickened loudly in your ears as you tried to hold your ground. “I didn’t bring you out here to fight,” you managed to say, though your voice was shakier than you intended.

“Are you sure that’s not what you want? Trying to be the alpha of the team, huh?” Shauna leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear. "Or maybe," she murmured, her voice dropping dangerously, "you just wanted me all to yourself."

Your stomach flipped and you pushed her away. You felt like you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t name, and Shauna was right there, daring you to jump. You just didn’t know if she’d catch you or let you fall. "Don’t flatter yourself," you shot back, almost in a growl. Her smirk widened, her fingers still gripping your jacket.

"Oh, I don’t need to," she replied smoothly. "I can smell it on you."

"Don’t play games with me, Shipman," you warned, your voice sharper and steadier than you were feeling.

Her expression didn’t falter, but her eyes shone with something untamed, something that was enjoying the situation. Like she was amused to see you so worked up. Her eyes were predatory, like a beast who toys with its prey. "Who said I’m playing? You think you’re so above it all, don’t you?" Her tone was mocking. "Such a noble alpha. But deep down... you’re just like the rest of us. Driven by instinct. Waiting for a moment where you can bare your teeth.”

Shauna smiled. “But it's a tragedy though,” the alpha continued slowly. “Maybe you could go fucking crazy if it wasn’t for me. Because as long as I'm here you'll never be able to bite, only bark”

“You are drunk” you replied trying to prevent yourself from lashing out.

“And you are pretending” Shauna tilted her head. “Like you’re unshaken, my equal, a threat. You're acting tough, trying to press everyone else but I don't buy it for a second. I can see what you are.” Her smile widened in defiance.

“You better watch your mouth, Shipman.” Your scent became stronger, lingering in the air.

“A big puppy who likes to growl but wants to be tamed by someone who knows how” That was it. When you began to lunge towards Shauna. She bent her knees waiting for the impact.

“What the fuck is going on here?” A high-pitched voice stopped both of you. You both look at the same time to that familiar scent. “Jackie…”

“I thought you brought here for some air and not to fight,” Jackie said visibly annoyed and she walked towards you and pointed her finger to your chest. She was right. You lost your composure, you let your anger lead you instead of your thoughts.

“It was my fault,” Shauna said, fixing her hair. “I had way too much to drink and didn't think straight. They were actually trying to make me behave” She continued with a knowing smirk.

“It’s fine, just, let's get you out of here. We're almost past our curfew anyways” Jackie grabbed Shauna's hand and began to pull her out of there. “And, thank you, really, for earlier” Jackie turned to you momentarily. You only nodded back.

You clenched your jaw, watching Jackie pull her away. Running a hand through your hair you realize that Shauna had you exactly where she wanted you, and who knows what would happen if Jackie didn't get there in time. You were sure that there wouldn't be the last time Shauna would test or the last time you’d rise to meet her. You just didn’t know that the next time that would happen, Jackie would be there to stop here.

It's been months since you have been in the wilderness. If you knew that that party would be one of your last moments of normalcy, you'd enjoy it to the fullest, maybe even play against Randy in that disgusting drinking game until you passed out. Or, even talk more with Shauna. Even if just fighting like the last time. It's been such a long time since she had a proper conversation with someone. Taissa being the one gets closer to doing so. Although you can still notice her staring at you from across the room.

All of you just fell into this system. Everyone has their chores and works together to make survival minimally bearable. After Shauna lost Jackie and later the baby she became feral, disrupting the fragile society you have built together. You weren't at the house at the time hell broke loose. When you came back you only saw Lottie on the ground, beaten up and bloody. You yelled at Shauna that day, throwing insults at one another as the fine line connecting you both snapped. After that day you barely talked with each other anymore.

Over time, it fractured into two groups, those who followed Shauna, driven by her ruthless determination to survive at any cost, and those who sided with you, clinging to a semblance of empathy and humanity amidst the chaos. The divide was subtle at first, but it grew into something much more pronounced.

The girls made sure that you wouldn't be in the same room alone and your chorus were never in the same place or at the same time. The wilderness was dangerous enough as it was and none of you really needed two enraged suppressants-lacking bloodlust alphas growling at each other and stinking the forest with musky pheromones. And that worked. For weeks. Until it didn’t.

It was like any other day, boring and repetitive, as you finished your daily chores. After putting aside the makeshift cleaning tools you just wanted to allow yourself to be lazy for the day. Stretching your sore limbs.

“You're not in charge anymore”. That voice. After hearing the sound, you quickly went straight to the window trying to catch a glimpse of the commotion outside.

Shauna stood tall and imposing over Nat, smirking sinisterly at the omega. The blonde was shaking, clearly distressed by Shauna's overwhelming scent. You didn’t need to be a genius to know what was going on. Shauna was again threatening the group's fragile hierarchy. You were aware Shauna wasn’t happy with Natalie as the antler queen, but you didn't realize she’d question her authority in front of everybody.

“What the fuck is going on here?” you yelled, stomping out of the cabin, your voice cutting through the silence of the crowd.

“She’s weak,” Shauna said unbothered, her tone dripping with disdain. “She isn't a leader. You know that.”

Nat gave you a desperate glance, her bottom lip quivering. She wanted to say something but couldn’t defend herself in this situation.

“You’re out of line, Shauna,” you replied, stepping between them. “The wilderness had chosen because she earned it.”

“It was a mistake,” she replied matter-of-fact, crossing her arms.

“You aren't the one to decide it” You stepped in front of Nat, eyes boring into the challenging Shauna.

“Look around. I'm not the only one” She opened her arms confidently, inviting you to observe everyone's faces, and you realized that Shauna was right. All were staring at you with cold glares, demanding change, even those you thought would be against this pseudo-coup. Van, Taissa… God, even damn Travis Martinez. But you didn’t care, you may not be the most fervent wilderness worshipper, but if it decides their antler queen, you'd make your job to protect her.

“If you want to challenge her, you’ll have to go through me.” You growled, making sure to show your growing fangs.

“I’ll give you a chance to take that back.” Shauna scowled, releasing pheromones so heavy you felt like gravity doubled its force, but you didn't back down, releasing your own pheromones.

Murmurs spread through the group. Mari, standing beside Shauna, grinned like she’d been waiting for this moment.

“Why don’t we settle this the way alphas should?” Mari offered, her voice beaming with dark enthusiasm. “A fight. You and Shauna. The winner takes charge. Let’s see who really deserves to lead.”

You clenched your fists, your blood-boiling anger at Shauna for starting this mess, anger at the group for not saying anything about it, and anger at yourself for not being able to handle this situation any better. You didn’t want to give Shauna the satisfaction of a fight, but deep down, you knew this wasn’t any other way. The pack needed stability, and Shauna’s challenge threatened to tear down what little unity remained within you.

“Fine. Not in front of everyone. I don’t want anyone possibly hurt or overwhelmed”

Shauna’s smirk widened. “Of course not. We’ll take it to the forest. Just us.”

The sun had set, and the moon shone beautifully in the sky. “You don't have to do this for me,” Nat said as she cupped your cheek. “It's not only for you, Nat. The whole pack is in danger if Shauna actually takes over.” Nat smiled, closing her eyes and connecting your foreheads. “May the wilderness be with you”

Shauna cleared her throat, visibly annoyed. “It’s time,” she said, putting her knife on the belt. You had a small knife with you as well.

“The rules are simple. You'll walk to different points in the forest and will have to find the other. Whoever gets the other to submit wins. As the tradition says.” Mari said after clapping her hands to call everyone's attention.

“Remembering no one is supposed to get seriously hurt.” Taissa stepped up, her voice firm and commanding as she observed Mari's enthusiasm with narrowed eyes.

With one last look to the cabin, you and Shauna began to walk to the forest, on opposite sides. You knew things would never be the same after this, but whatever the consequences would be, you were prepared to face it.

The forest seemed quieter that noon like it was holding its breath in anticipation. Its oppressive silence pressed against your limbs like a suffocating weight. Your steps on the soil and dry leaves were the only sounds in the middle of that vast forest, but every crack of a twig underfoot was stifled by your racing heartbeat in your ears. It's been about ten minutes you haven’t heard of Shauna. You tried to steady your breathing, but the idea that Shauna could be watching you, lurking you, made it impossible as your skin crawled. At some point, you just wished she would appear at any moment to free you from this building anxiety making your knees shake.

Your sweaty palms clutched the hilt of the knife in your hand with great force, a solace in this ocean of uncertainty. The oppressive silence of the forest drove your senses heightened to the point of exhaustion. You were here because you wanted to protect everything at risk. The ones who didn’t agree with Shauna, the society you’ve built throughout the months, peace. But a question lingered insistently in the back of your mind: aren't you at risk as well?

You tried to steady your breathing, tried to cling to the reason that had brought you here, but that was hard to think about when you knew that Shauna was out there, somewhere.

The woods seemed endless, each tree seemingly the same as the last one, blending into the next in a maze. Suddenly, you hear the faint rustle of leaves behind you, you turn immediately, but you can’t see anything suspicious. No movement, no sound. Maybe this whole situation is driving you crazy, making your anxious brain play tricks on you.

Or that you thought.

“You don’t seem very well,” a low chuckle broke the silence, and your stomach dropped. You spun around, your eyes scanning the shadows. “Poor baby. Seems so scared” Shauna’s voice echoed through the woods mockingly.

Your grip tightened around the knife as you scanned your surroundings, forcing yourself to stand tall even though your legs felt like jelly. “Are you so scared you can't show yourself?” you yelled, trying so hard to sound firm, but still wavering slightly.

Another sinister chuckle broke, slightly closer this time. “No, it's just so much more fun watching you scared.”

Then, she appeared. Right behind you.

“I'm so sorry, I know it isn’t right to play with my food”. She whispered in your ear., making your skin crawl. Your legs felt glued to the ground. Her scent hit you like a freight train, unrailed. You wanted to look back, your instincts screamed at you to turn to her and use that knife you brought with you. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

“Look at you,” she murmured, her voice dripping with mockery as she buried her nose in the crook of your neck. “Trying so hard to look brave, but I can smell it on you, you know? The fear.” Her front pressed against your back firmly, and one hand on your waist pulled you closer, as the other slid down your thigh. “Your legs are shaking…” Your eyes widened in horror.

Move, move, move goddamnit.

In a moment of bravery, you elbowed her torso, and turned back, creating some distance between you. “I’m not afraid of you!” You pointed the knife at her threateningly, daring her to step closer. And she did.

“I bet you think you look so intimidating right now,” Her steps were firm against the leaves, creating a rhythmic sound as she stepped closer. “Stay where you are, Shipman!” You began to back away slowly, she smiled at your motions. “I bet you think you look so big and strong… but let me tell you something…” you kept moving back, trying to create some distance. “I'm not kidding!” your hand clutching the knife was trembling, you barely could stand your arm straight.

“The truth is, you look exactly what you are” Your back hit a tree, ceasing your steps. She stopped walking when the tip of your shaky knife rested on her stomach. “Like a cornered little rat.” In a hasty move, she grabbed your knife and threw it somewhere you couldn't bother looking. “Did you even know how to use that thing?” she asked, visibly amused, her smirk beaming in arrogance and someone else, something you were scared to find out.

“We don't have to do this, Shauna. We can just talk and solve this”. You offered, voice cracking midst sentence. She tilted her head, in a slow, deliberate motion, her smile widening as her fingers brushed against your cheek, feather-light.

“You know something that always intrigued me about you?” her fingers trailed from your cheek to your jawline, contouring your bone. “You always act so righteous, so put together and proud of not being like the other alphas,” her eyes burned into yours, a predatory gaze staring into your raw soul.

“But you're so attracted to the wild, to bare instinct… to primal rage” You swing yours first, targeting her face, but she was faster and pinned your wrist to the tree, squeezing it so hard it made you wince. “Is this why you like to put yourself in danger? Because you want this adrenaline, to hear your heart racing?” her fingers began to glaze on your side, Shauna seemed entranced by the movements of her own hand.

You took it as an opportunity to strike again, your knee moved into the direction of her torso, but once more Shauna was too fast, and defended herself. A hand grabbed your jaw forcefully, “I'm trying to go easy on you don't make regret on that” She let remnants of her alpha voice escape in that sentence. And you froze for what seemed like the 100th time that noon.

Menacing fangs made their presence as she pressed her body flush against yours, soft but firm flesh. Her lips ghosted against yours, close enough to make them tingle in anticipation. The hand on your jaw slid slowly to your nape and then your hair, pulling it roughly exposing your neck to her.

“Shauna…” your voice sounded so weak you almost didn't recognize it. Soft lips brushed on the surface of your throat, sharp teeth grazing it just slightly, enough to make you shiver. “Tell me,” She said, breathing hot on your skin, “What are you most afraid of? That I’m gonna hurt you? Or that you'll like it?” She kissed your skin, open-mouthed and warm. Too softly considering your current situation.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, before letting out a gasp once you felt Shauna biting down. “Shh,” Shauna pressed her body even further on yours. “Just let me do this. I know you want it too” You let yourself melt, little by little. The alpha in front of you smirked against your jaw.

You weren’t about to give in without a fight. Once you felt Shauna lowering her guard you summoned every ounce of courage you had left, you twisted your body, wrenching your wrist free from her grip and pushing her shoulders. Shauna growled at your defiance but didn't back away. You swing your arm at her, punching as hard as you can. She dodged your strike and grabbed your arm mid-swing, using your momentum against you, she spun you around and slammed you into the ground.

With a grunt, you twisted beneath her, trying to buck her off, trying to shift her weight. But Shauna was too strong, too determined. When you tried to turn to your side in a failed attempt to spin her, she was the one to spin you around once more, landing you on your face this time. You swung your elbow, this time aiming for her side, but Shauna caught it way too easily, twisting it painfully and pressing it on your back. Before you could react, she had you helpless, her weight pressing against your back, her breath hot on your nape.

“You're still fighting,” Shauna muttered, voice covered with annoyance and amusement. “But I can see you're liking this… I've always known you liked this” She licked a long stripe on your neck. “You always looked at me with those big puppy eyes when you thought I didn’t see it” Her hips rolled forward, beginning to grind against the back of your thigh.

You froze. “Shauna, what the-”

“So composed” She interrupted you, breathing hot on your face. “Playing the knight in shiny armor, trying to hide how much you just wanted to be broken, tamed… devoured”

You felt your blood rushing to your cheeks and a way too familiar sensation on your clit, asking for something you didn’t want to acknowledge. “You’re so stubborn. But I like that about you. You wouldn’t be so fucking sexy if you weren’t” She wrapped her hand around your throat and used her thumb to turn your chin towards her, making you look at her.

Her other hand slid under your shirt, roaming down your side, her fingers grazing over your ribs. “Together, we would be unmatchable. Have you ever thought about that?” she murmured, her lips brushing against your temple. “We are stronger, more powerful, better… We shouldn’t take orders, we should give them. Like we were born to do” She gave a last bite of your earlobe before turning you to her completely.

She cleaned the remains of dirt from your cheek. “Think about it,” She began to lift her shirt, and your eyes widened, scanning her every move. “You by my side. Ruling together. No one would challenge us. Not Nat, not Lottie, not anyone”

“You want me as your slave with benefits?” You said, eyes still fixated on the soft and toned muscles of her abs. “I wouldn’t say, my slave, more like my right-hand man” She began to tug on the hem of your shirt, and when you thought she would lift it too, she used her other hand to rip it open. “But I wouldn't say you won't have benefits”

“Are you craz-” Shauna connected your mouths before you could finish your protest, she harshly bit down your bottom lip, making you groan. You tried to push her away by instinct, but she didn’t budge, only bit it harder. Trying to get away from the pain you swung a punch to her ribs. You thought she would be pissed off and would lash at you, but Shauna only pulled smiling sinisterly at you, with remains of your blood on her teeth. You couldn’t escape the shiver running down your spine.

“There it is…” She closed the distance between you again, but this time she truly kissed you. The kiss was feral, uncontrolled… Shauna. Her skin pressed against yours, enveloping you in this primal heat that made your skin tingle. Her tongue shoved in your mouth, you didn't have time to assimilate completely that wet sensation, when her thigh pressed between your legs, drawing a gasp from you. God, you hated how you pulsed under her touch.

Shauna slyly took her hand to toy with your bra clasp. Her bloody sleep traveled down to your jawline, biting it hard. Your hand shot up to grab her wrist, nails digging in as you tried to push her away. She winced, before chuckling darkly unclapsing your underwear anyway, before throwing it somewhere.

Your first reaction was to cover yourself, but she was fast. “Don't you dare” With a growl, she pinned your wrists down, nails digging into your forearm. Her gaze burned on your chest. You felt exposed, but with Shauna's like full weight in pressing you against the dirt, you couldn’t move. You just lay there, like a prey playing dead not to startled the predator. You couldn't stop yourself from sneakily rutting against Shauna's thigh pressed on you.

She looked hypnotized, in a trance as she moved closer and without any warning caught your nipple in her mouth. Shauna moaned on your chest, her soft plump lips sucking on it eagerly. Her tongue flicked at the bud inside her mouth. With a last bite on your nipple, she captured the other chest. You felt your body buzzing, your back arching towards against your command.

“Don’t move your hands” She let go of your wrist and moved her fingers to unzip your shorts. Her mouth began to liss its way down your body, until your lower stomach, where she licked and bit it. “Stop… Shauna…” You tried to push her shoulders, but she ignored you, pulling your shorts off you and spreading your legs wide.

“You're fucking insane…” You said it with gritted teeth, cheeks burning as you watched her gaze fixating on your panties. “And you're wet,” she said lowly, and as if to prove her point Shauna used her thumb to rub on your clothed pussy. She was right, you could feel the fabric sticking to your slippery, warm folds. A moan broke out before you could stop.

That seemed to turn something in Shauna's mind. Seeing you struggling, squirming under like a small rabbit trying to run from a big bad wolf. It was the hottest thing she'd ever seen. She leaned down, her breath hot against the soaked fabric, she pressed her nose on it, your smell driving her absolutely crazy.

She pushed your panties to the side and looked up at you, hungry eyes expecting you to say something, to fight her. “Tell me no, tell me to stop” Her mouth was so close now, hot kisses on your inner thigh, fangs gripping into your flesh, tonguing darting out and tasting your skin. No one ever looked at you like this before, you were supposed to be the hunter, the alpha. But now you were questioning everything, clenching and unclenching your hands over your stomach trying to say something.

But Shauna wasn't waiting.

Her tongue darted out, dragging a long, deliberate line along your folds. The shock of the sensation sent your hips jerking upward involuntarily, and she chuckled darkly, the vibration against your skin making you bite back a moan, you could feel her smile against you.

Her fingers gripped your thighs tightly, keeping you spread open for her as her mouth worked passionately. Each flick, nip, and slurp was messy but not careless. She knew how to break you, to draw out sounds you couldn't contain no matter how hard you tried. "You taste like you've been waiting for this," she said against you, her voice smug,

The sheer audacity of her words lit up a fire of indignation within you, and you reached down, grabbing a fistful of her hair to yank her back. But instead of being unmotivated, Shauna groaned, her eyes rolling back slightly as if the roughness only turned her on even more. She just dived into you with more passion. She was moaning, and groaning against you, like she tasting her last meal.

As if that wasn't enough for her, Shauna slid her finger in you, relishing in the way your gummy walls clenched around her. Her breath hitched. "That's it," she muttered, almost to herself, her voice raw. "You can fight all you want, but this…" she curled her finger inside you, hitting a spot that made you arch uncontrollably, "...this doesn't lie.”

Her nails were so purposefully deep on your thigh, scratching your skin. Every action was possessive, unrelenting as if she was claiming you with every touch. She adds another finger, her pace brutal and unforgiving. Her other hand pinned down your hips from fucking yourself against her hand like she selfishly wanted to be the one giving you pleasure. Her thumb found your clit, circling it with a precision that made your vision blurred.

Shauna leaned up, her face hovering just inches from yours, her breath hot and heavy. "Every time you look at me, every time you challenge me... I've wanted this. Wanted you.” The wilderness swallowed your sounds, Shauna and the trees being the only ones to hear your desperation, the pleasure the alpha was giving you. “Come on, bunny. Lost all the fight in you?”

Your teeth clenched, your body trembling in want. You're close, and Shauna knew that, and Shauna would take advantage of that. “I could keep you like this all night, edging you, leaving you…” you shot what you thought to be a threatening glare at her, but clearly it wasn’t threatening enough since it only caused Shauna’s smile.

"Say you're mine. Say you love this, that you love me fucking you like this." You shook your head, your pride clashing with the raw pleasure. "Never," you hissed, though your voice wavered. Shauna's grin turned sinister, and without warning, she withdrew her fingers from you, leaving you empty. “Oh, you will," she said, her tone dripping with dark amusement. "Because if you don't, I won't let you come."

Your jaw clenched, your body shaking with the effort of holding back. But Shauna wouldn't make it easy for you, her fingers still resting on you, rubbing you teasingly, driving you closer and closer to the edge without ever letting you fall completely. You could take just as much. Finally, the tension snapped. Your voice broke, and came out as a desperate moan. “Fine!" you yelled, "I want this, I want you!"

Shauna's laughter was satisfied, her fingers immediately entering back into you, her thumb circling your clit once more. "Good bunny," she purred, her voice dripping with victory. "Was that so hard?"

The intensity of her movements made your head spin, and she leaned down, her lips capturing yours in an intense kiss. "You're mine now,”. A cry tore from your throat, and a wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

Shauna didn't stop, drawing out every last tremor and drip from your body until you were a trembling mess beneath her. She leaned down, her lips brushing against your ear. "I told you, bunny... you were made to be mine.”

#🌑! full moon #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader #shauna shipman smut #alpha shauna shipman

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bitchy-peachy · 17 hours ago

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Trump is making hating the deranged and stupid in America fun again.

America was never great and he's really proving it to the world (although the world already knew America's politicians with their manipulation and foreign government meddling had really turned the whole country the definition of shithole for quite awhile now).

There's nothing to be proud about in this unless America had been entered in some Moronic Olympics and won a golden anus as a trophy.

Trump and his ghoul supporters are just one of the many fucking embarrassments in this country.

The issue is that they're both in power and being openly fucking stupid and unfiltered in their crazy shit while having too much power.

PS: Yes, I will roast America especially with the dumb crap coming outta that orange menace's puckered butthole he has for a mouth being president.

Being American doesn't mean we have to take every dumb shit from our leaders with empty stupid smiles. I leave that to fake patriotic hicks that wouldn't know patriotism if it bit their already pancake flat asses off.

Patriotism doesn't mean fucking up your country more than it already was and worshipping the assholes that did it. Trump's magats really need to pull their heads outta their asses and also stop pretending they want "small government" and are pro freedom and "free thinkers".

They're just stupid cocksuckers that installed a fucking geriatric maniac with obvious mental decline and now we're under threat by multiple countries cos their "anti war" candidate can't stop talking crazy shit.

Fuck America for what it is now cos of these useless fuckers.

Honestly quite insane that Germany and France have had to issue warnings over this.

#us politics #politics #long post #donald trump #maga #i hate the shitty government and suffering cos of it #fuck everyone that put him there #we could have been great if we could just make all these country destroying disgraceful aholes disappear #not queued

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ro-bee · 2 days ago

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KIRANDER / WOLF NARI THINGS FACTS STORY IDK

He's an albino gray wolf, he acts a lot more like a dog... Maybe millennia in the void tamed him or maybe is just his people pleaser nature. (Despite that he can be authoritarian I think)

Kiran is very old, the oldest of bishops, the first of them to find a crown.

He's not a big fan of fighting but is very good at it, he taught his siblings some techniques!

The relationship with the other bishops isn't really good, he loves them but they don't like him much because he's "too affectioned" and overall strange. They don't understand his vision of the world and I mean fair.

His morals are mostly pessimistic he believes in the concept of destroy and rebuild, his "excuse" is that he doesn't want to see people suffer so he comes to the conclusion that dying is better than living and that the world would be better without gods.

He's very impatient but doesn't show it... And he doesn't allow more than one (1) second chances, all his previous vessels were definitely killed by him after their first death againsts the bishops

He would come up with some bullshit like "I'm sorry, I won't prolong your pain any longer, I clearly was wrong you're not fit for this... Now rest" or "you tried but it wasn't enough" a bit evil... And not very productive from him since he can't free himself alone... Ironic because he's impatient lol his morals are very strong

So yeah basically goat killed all bishops without dying even once... That was hell

(Goat playing hardcore lmao)

Cal and Deb (kiran's Baal and aym) weren't given by the bishops but by they're mom did a ritual to gift them to their father (yes I'm gonna make Kiran x forneus (name need a change) canon here and make him the bio dad of the pups , how were they born? Idk immaculate conception probably), they are demigods, kiran loves them very much and they keept him "sane"

Also forneus is his most Loyal follower 🔥🔥🔥🥴

After goat kills all bishops Kiran uses his freedom to... Take care of the pups...

They knew this was going to happen and let him do it (like... Brainwashed behavior)

If the world was to be freed from gods then demigods shouldn't be here either, so he killed them. Fast and painless.

Ok ok relationship with goat :

Is always ups and downs but mostly it starts as just you help me and I help you kind of deal... After the first bishop down Kiran kinda start to catch feelings... Nobody went so far yet this goat was the one, goat never died again so they saw each other's only after the first chain got destroyed and Kiran was able to use a bit of his power to bring them to him as the pleased, they use those summonings to talk e know each other's better lol.

So after bishop one was down they were in a friendly mood? Relationship??? Positive?

After the second bishop goat started to be a bit confused about their big friend's plan... The bishop told them some stuff but they decided not to believe him still doubt started forming in their heart even if Kiran was always so affectionate

I think the crush start here

After bishop 3 was down the seed of doubt finally sprout and Kiran noticed that goat started to be more distant from him... After one day goat asked him "after you're free, What will you do to me? " and Kiran simply responded with "I'll free you too, from you're regrets and from all the pain, I'll free your soul and we will be together in peace" that didn't reassure goat one bit but they let it slide because they wanted to believe their god

At this point their relationship was a bit confused but I think there was love in there under all the doubts

After the fourth bishop was killed goat was scared, terrified even.

They finally knew what the real plan was, the last bishop told them, He told them everything and how that wolf would take their second life just for a crazy ideology. They won't let that happen, they are stronger than him anyway... This whole deal made them go a little mad and on a full rampage, it didn't help finally knowing that the stermination of their kin was basically kiran's fault, yes the bishops started it but it was all to stop the crazy plans of the wolf, a "little" price to pay to save everything else.

When they arrived to purgatory they noticed the pups were gone, not surprising considering everything they learned that day about their beloved wolf.

Their fight wasn't long, Kiran asked goat to just listen to him but they were not willing at all.

it all ends when they finally manage to pin him on the ground.

The relationship right now is divorce 😭😭

So Kiran dies, a very painful and slow death. Goat claims his place and they become the new God fo death.

That didn't satisfy them toh, now there was emptiness in their heart. They loved that wolf! They felt safe with him, he always attended their words wounds and now just like that he was gone. They killed him.

Goat would stop thinking about it for some years and would keep attending on their cult (in a very bad way) until one night they decided to bring the wolf back and make him pay and his actions again, like yes out of spite and to fill the emptiness.

Now can start the toxic yaoi

Bringing Kiran back will start this circle of love and hate, a desperate attempt from goat to fix the problems in their head??

Bro needs therapy (lamb is their therapist and will help them)

Every time Kiran would die goat would bring him back, bro doesn't deserve peace🔥🔥

Ok but with time goat calms down, realize that this is useless, Kiran realize that his actions were actually the problem, that he missed his siblings and his pups so much.

Sorry chat he changed a bit I think 😔

#gods do be gods...#anyway idk you can see I'm no writer like 🚶 yeah #never liked to express my ideas with words I'm more “I'll show you with a doodle” kind of person #cotl #the goat #wolf narinder #kirander #pupigoat #goatverse au #lol that name is so stupid 🔥🥴#i am NOT giving this a third reading #no beta we die like kiran #btw order of the bishops: 1 shamura 2 kalamar 3 heket 4 leshy #they all have different names but is easier like this noe #*now... god #anyway hm... yes hmmm #*scratches head*#oh.... oh chat oooh..... I'm so bad at posting

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click4rainy · 2 days ago

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Now, kiss my hand.

👽:Beep Boop, I’m in love with a MONSTER (girl) I really want her to hold me and kiss me and pet me and love me and tell me I’m her’s…໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ (kinda proof read? I tried)

🖇️:Empress Mileena x Reader fic

⚠️:Fluffy, Light romantic tension, you’re a simp.

★ “Focus.” Raiden’s voice snapped you from your train of thought, but not before Mileena gracefully ducks under your half assed punch, sweeping your legs out from beneath you. The world flipped, and before you knew it, you were flat on your back, staring at the sky.

★ Mileena stood over you, holding one sai loosely in her hand while twirling away the other, sheathing it at her hip before she reached out to offer assistance. Her expression was poised, as always, but her lips curved into something akin to a smirk.

★ “You were distracted,” she spoke, her voice holding a teasing lilt as she tilted her head towards you.

★ “No, I was—okay, yeah, maybe a little off par with my focus…” you admitted with a sheepish grin. Grasping her hand, the first thing you note is how sweaty yours is and you immediately feel self conscious—especially when her brow lifts.

★ “Mmh, Clammy palms…?” She inquires, obviously noticing your flustered demeanor, her voice a velvet smooth purr.

★ Coughing, you pull your hand away like you had been burned. “No idea what you’re talking about…” you lamely say, fooling nobody, least of all Raiden, who crossed his arms with a faint sigh.

★ Who could blame you though? The woman radiated elegance and power in a way that left you completely unprepared. She’s literally the Empress. And you? A new Earthrealm recruit still figuring out how to hold your own in sparring matches.

★ Somewhere along the line, you had developed a bit of a crush—okay, a big crush—and now every single interaction with her felt like walking a tightrope over a huge pit of embarrassing mistakes.

•••

★ The first time you’d caught Mileena’s attention, it had been during a grand diplomatic gathering of some sort. Liu Kang was invited, and by extension the other Earthrealm defenders, including you. She entered the hall in her full imperial regalia, her gold and violet attire shimmering beneath the lighting, causing you to nearly walk into a pillar at the sight.

★ Johnny noticed immediately, cocking a brow with a devious smirk. “Smooth, champ. I mean, real subtle,” he snickered.

★ Ever since then, you had found yourself in an endless loop of trying too hard.

★Compliment her? Stuttering and stumbling over your words. Offering a spar? You suddenly have two left feet and trip during the match. Apologizing about eight times too many. You wanna try and impress her during a mission? Yeah sure, it kinda works…until you end up stuck in a mud pit as she offers you help with an amused look to her eyes.

★ At this point, you weren’t even sure why you kept trying, except…when Mileena smiled at you, it made the whole day brighter.

•••

★ “You’re quite persistent.” Mileena remarked that afternoon as the two of you walked through the palace gardens.

★ You felt the chill of the gentle breeze against your cheeks, brow slightly furrowed. “Persistent?”

★ “With how often you challenge me to spar…you must know by now that i’ll win.”

★ You scratched the back of your neck, “Yeah, well…its not really about winning for me.”

★Mileena paused, turning slightly to face you. Her eyes softened, an almost golden hue catching in the afternoon light. “If its not about winning, then what is it about?”

★ You hesitated, wondering if this was the moment you’d make a fool of yourself again. “Maybe…maybe spending time with you is my main goal…”

★ Her expression flickered briefly—surprise, perhaps? But instead of scoffing or brushing it off, Mileena let herself smile genuinely for a second.

★ “You do realize I’m the Empress, don’t you?” She asked with light skepticism, taking a step closer to you.

★ “Oh—I more than realize that. And that’s my problem,” you replied with a small, almost deprecating laugh. Unable to mask your infatuation with her.

★ She laughed softly, the sound rare but melodic nonetheless. “Mmh, Earthrealm isn’t accustomed to subtlety, is it?” She lightly teased.

★ You simply looked away, your expression bashful. “We’re not too good at practicing it, I suppose.”

•••

★ Later that evening, as the gathering drew to a close, you found yourself standing near the palace gazebo. You weren’t sure why you lingered. Maybe in hopes for a little more time to simply bask in her presence.

★ To your pleasant surprise, Mileena approached, her steps quiet but deliberate. “Still here?” She asked, resting her hands lightly on the railing beside you.

★ “Couldn’t leave without saying goodnight to my favorite Empress.” You said, mustering the courage to be bold first once.

★ Mileena’s gaze slid toward you, amusement glinting in her eyes. “Favorite? Aren’t I your only Empress?”

★ “It doesn’t make it less true.” You double down, your tone almost earnest.

★ There was a pause, filled by the hum of Out Worlds night. And then, quite unexpectedly, Mileena extended her hand towards you, her palm facing down as she poised her fingers. Presenting her bedazzled knuckles to you.

★ Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. “Uhm…?”

★ “Kiss it,” She instructed lightly, tilting her hand towards you once more.

★ Staring at her with wide eyes, you weren’t entirely positive if you misheard her or not. “Pardon?” You softly asked, too afraid to ask if she meant what she said.

★ Her eyes narrowed playfully. “You know, I expect a proper goodbye from my favorite Earthrealmer. Now, kiss my hand.” She reiterated, smiling fondly at you.

★ Your head tilted forward just barely, registering her seriousness and quickly taking her hand, you swallow your heart down, trying not to think about how warm her skin felt against your fingertips. With reverence, you bring her hand up to your lips, pressing the lightest kiss to her knuckles. You were practically glowing after, your hand lingering in hers, not wanting to let go.

★ Mileena’s gaze was fixed on you. Unreadable but not unkind. “You’re endearing,” she murmured, brushing her thumb against your knuckles before pulling away.

★ “Well, I most certainly will keep looking forward to our meetings…and our sparring matches.” She adds almost casually, “Keep up that charming persistence of yours. Perhaps you’ll get the better of me, might I say even the best….” The words felt like a hidden invitation wrapped up as a challenge.

★ With that, you walked backward with a dumb smile plastered on your face. Not wanting to look away from her as did so, you clumsily tripped over your own feet and barely caught yourself before finally turning to hide your embarrassment. Making way back to where the portal and the others had been very patiently waiting for you.

👽: She’s perfect. She’s everything i want. Everything i need. LOOK AT HER—I WOULD KILL FOR HER, I WOULD DIE FOR HERRRR *flips table*

#rainyworx #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat fandom #mk fandom #mortal kombat #mileena mk1 #mileena x reader #mk x you #mk x y/n #mk x reader #longing for her frfr BRUHHH #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat x you #mortal kombat x y/n #click4rainy #gay girls #lgbtq

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ahsoka-in-a-hood · 3 days ago

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Crawling out of my cave for one more round.......

Eh, for that I'd have to subscribe to the idea that they didn't work at all in the outer rim as hard canon, which I don't. See I'm far too fond of Quinlan Vos. A character that has grown across multiple continuities from a random tall dark and handsome guy in the background on Tatooine in the phantom menace to beloved star of my heart. What exactly was he doing on Tatooine? Who knows, he is mysterious as the dark side of the moon. He works in the shadows. Why did he not interact with Qui Gon in TPM? Aside from the fact that he wasn't really a character then… maybe he was in deep cover. Maybe he had whole networks of lives on the line. Maybe he was helping an underground railroad. Maybe he was rescuing toddlers from the jaws of death while I Need A Hero played in the soundtrack

(it's not like there being no activity in the outer rim is an unfair extrapolation from just the film, mind, it's not just not a given. "the republic doesn't exist out here"- Shmi. "i didn't come here to free slaves"- Qui Gon. But Shmi did say the republic and can hardly be omniscient, and Qui Gon was talking about himself, as a guy on an entirely different mission with a ship full of political refugees being actively hunted down who ended up stranded entirely by accident on random planet number however many thousand that he nevertheless knew enough about to be the giver of exposition to the literal ruler of a neighboring planet and now that I think about it, that's sort of funny. The film is pretty clear on the jedi not being able to maintain justice across the entire galaxy, for sure, but it also doesn't argue that they don't do anything at all, and there's a pretty big difference between doing nothing and doing a bit, in my book.)

Anyway, on Mandalore. Is there an implication that Mandalore at that time wasn't worthy of aid? Obi Wan is sometimes loose with the truth, but even if he was exaggerating when he said that most of Satine's people were killed in the civil war, that's still a major level of brutality and civilian death. If more than half a world's population is getting killed, that's a huge crisis and tragedy. Is that alone not enough of a motive?

And then let's consider Deathwatch, the major faction that was active at that time. We get to know deathwatch in tcw. We see how they operate- they conquer a settlement, steal all their resources, kidnap all the young girls as hostages and force them to serve them. It's dark as shit. And they are explicitly imperial revivalists. I'm going to make a silly comparison, but imagine if like. Britain was in a civil war, and there was an army of far right extremists who were gaining ground in a reign of terror under a banner of rebuilding the british empire, with like maps of imperial britain on their flags and plans to take back the colonies etc etc. Would it be politically motivated to protect the leaders of the opposition to that when they were in exile with assassins after them? Sure. But like. Maybe the rest of the world doesn't want to have to deal with an attempt at british empire number 2.0, if they won their internal war. And I would say that's fair enough, actually. So maybe the "potential resource" they would gain is not having an army of mandalorians trying to invade planets and enslave people in 10 years time.

Intervention is a tricky thing though. We're all familiar with the damage missionaries can do, and with how 'soft power' is often exploitative. If this were a history book, the basic assumption would be that there's very little altruism in politics. But this is a story. The thing about Satine and Obi Wan is that we get a strong sense, from the very first arc about them, that Satine is not a client queen/puppet/corrupt and Obi Wan is not there to manipulate her on the chancellors behalf. This is, in fact, the plot of those three episodes. Satine is fiercely protective of Mandalorian independence, does trust the jedi as long as they're acting as an independent body, and Obi Wan actively helps her thwart not only deathwatch, but also Chancellor Palpatine's scheme to get Mandalore under his control. He explicitly does not subvert Mandalore on behalf of those controlling the republic.

And now I'm going to invite you to imagine Quinlan again. Standing on a sand dune, a breeze ruffling his hood, gazing out into the soft light of dawn, with a face that could have been chiseled by the gods,

Okay so I’m thinking about how Satine’s initial reaction to Obi Wan’s visit is really hostile until he explains he’s there on behalf of the jedi council, not the republic, causing her to immediately relax. How that whole arc is about her resisting republic attempts to encroach on Mandalore and the neutral system’s sovereignty and independence, and how she is so consistently insistent on that. And I’m thinking about Obi Wan’s description of his year on Mandalore during their civil war- how they were ‘living hand to mouth,’ aka they had little to no funding or resources for the mission, and also just the simple fact that… as far as I know Mandalore isn’t in the republic so how they operate there is fundamentally different to how they would operate on a republic planet?

So anyway I’m now convinced that that mission was not affiliated with or funded by the republic. This was a jedi operate independently sometimes sort of situation.

#i didn't know where to insert this additional sentence: also when it comes to varying levels of intervention #protecting the life of a political opponent or activists in a conflict against assassination #is a different kind of intervention to like. carrying out a covert coup. for example.#and there's reason to think that this was not something that was held over satine by the jedi. because of the episodes of tcw.

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manmuncher777 · 1 day ago

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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

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