#it makes us feel powerless and frustrated

[brucewaynehater101]

Vigilante named Rumor Tim anon here

For Stephanie, Tim would likely have tried to arrange matters to Arthur Brown is neutralized or at least kept away from Stephanie and her mom, maybe gotten them into witness protection, definitely gotten Crystal Brown help to be more independent, probably managed to help Stephanie avoid becoming a pregnant teenager by maybe getting the would be baby daddy arrested or something

Rather than Stephanie having her memories of another version of herself and living with that burden, maybe make her even more of an independent vigilante, if she even goes that way without the impetuous of her father

Not Spoiler in Star City, Stephanie giving Oliver Queen gray hairs as an independent vigilante who doesn't use a bow and is definitely operating in "his" territory, Stephanie standing up for Roy and maybe joining the Outlaws, Stephanie looking at Cissie and maybe taking a page out of her book and finding happiness and fulfillment with what she wants instead of feeling so powerless and frustrated with the system that she feels it's her responsibility to fix it (I understand why DC has kid heroes but kids should not be responsible for cleaning up the mess of the adults! Stephanie should not feel responsible for Cluemaster's actions! Tim is the Best Robin and an amazing vigilante but the adults should have stepped up!)

If C4 and Stephanie have the memories and impressions of other versions of themselves, it wouldn't lead to them incorporating Stephanie into YJ, it would probably alienate her further and honestly Stephanie and Tim on the same team with the burden of their history, it would take away the safe place that Tim has created for himself with his friends/family and Stephanie wouldn't find a safe place there either (he asked her to give him space! she did not give him space! she blew him up! she made his coming out about her and her feelings! that was not ok!)

Let her have a clean slate instead, a fresh start, Stephanie maybe not as a vigilante, not as someone who feels so powerless and so burdened by her parents that she feels like she has to be the one to fix it, but someone who can be more, someone who can build her own connections in the vigilante world with her own merit

Or if the Browns do stay in Gotham, Stephanie as future Dr. Stephanie Brown, medical doctor to vigilantes instead, taking up Leslie's mantle (kind of mad at Leslie for her helping to fake stephanie's death but it was sort of a witness protection thing so understandable but at the same time, jerk move)

Maybe Stephanie volunteering in Leslie's clinic and running into Cass there and building a friendship with the other girl outside of masks and hopefully not pressuring anyone and badgering them and being secure in herself to become trusted with Cass willingly, voluntarily, confiding in her, Stephanie not being Spoiler and always tied to the Cluemaster, Stephanie not being Batgirl and feeling as though she always has to prove herself and the Bat moving the mark so she can never reach it and using her as a tool to motivate the Robin he never wanted (I despise that Bruce told Stephanie Tim's identity)

Stephanie as Stephanie Brown, and that's enough

Or Stephanie as Kate Kane's protege, Batwoman and maybe Songbird? Or owlet, let Stephanie and Kate piss off the court of owls and if Stephanie has to have a vigilante name tied to a rogue, court of owls would be cooler than cluemaster, make cluemaster irrelevant to Stephanie, let her have an identity not tied to someone who hurt her personally

Post referenced here ^^

OH. You are entirely right, anon. Not only are you correct that Tim nor her would feel safe/supported with those memories and connection, but Steph should be able to exist outside of Tim. I didn't consider that part, so I appreciate your additions ^^

I can't decide between Star City, Doc Brown (particularly when we consider her mom), and Kate's protege. All three are beautiful, wonderful options for Steph.

Perhaps the Kate route would allow for YJ and Steph to become friends/associates while giving Steph the ability to stand independently from Tim (and Bruce).

[aardappel-van-mijn-oog]

Kamala is doing everything she can lads.

Try and grasp the situation here: she is the presumptive nominee of a party that is comprised of both staunch Israëli opponents and hard line Israëli supporters. She also is going up against a party of exclusively the latter, and wants to try and convince as many people deciding between the Democrats and Republicans to vote for her in November. She cannot afford to lose because if she does, America will turn into a fascist theocracy for the foreseeable future, and then we will all be fucked because America is the most influential country upon global politics.

So Kamala Harris CANNOT AFFORD to say any more than she is saying about the war in Palestine right now, because if she does, she risks losing the support of a large and potentially election-deciding group of swing voters.

I am a supporter of a free and prosperous Palestine. I believe that Israël has no right to exist as a country, and that it is an apartheid state. But I also have some amount of common sense, and I see that there has to be a compromise here. As, it seems, does Kamala Harris. Watch the video above to see what I mean.

I am not a resident of the United States. I live in the Netherlands, where in the last election, the party with the most votes was the party who wants to ban the Qur’ān and close all mosques, advocates for increased and more violent policing, wants to retract the official apologies made for the Netherlands’ involvement in the Slave Trade, and ban puberty blockers. That’s not because most people want to do those things. It’s because people didn’t fucking vote. Well there are more reasons than that but that’s one of the main ones.

So, Americans. From your friends over in Europe. We like you. We don’t want you to live under a fascist theocracy. However, we don’t have the power to stop that. Only you do, and you can do it by putting aside your grievances and seeing the big picture here. In other words,

VOTE FOR KAMALA HARRIS.

I’m not gonna go into all the rest of her policies, but coming from a gay genderqueer socialist I think she’s pretty solid. Obviously she and I don’t agree on everything, but that’s because we’re unique individuals with different personalities, upbringings and backgrounds. Yknow, like how normal society is? I’ve been hearing so much discourse on this kut website and most of it boils down to “she’s not a carbon copy of me so I won’t vote for her”.

Guys, what the fuck happened to the tolerant left? What happened to the people who welcomed different ideas and beliefs? Are they in the room with us now??? Grow up. Go to your silly little American voting website and register to vote. I don’t know which website it is but someone can link it in a reblog or something idk.

And for my European friends. I know we all dislike how much influence American politics has on our lives. I fucking hate it. But we live in a globalised world, for better or worse, so try as best you can to make as many Americans that you know and love vote for Kamala Harris - or whoever it ends up being - come November. That’s the most we can do to ensure the right wing parties of our own countries don’t see Trump and follow in their footsteps. It’s happening in the Netherlands and we are already seeing the consequences over here. I’d talk about them but this post is too long.

TLDR: OI AMERICANS, VOTE BLUE

(pwease :3)

[illycanary]

Katara's Story Is A Tragedy and It's Not An Accident

I was a teenaged girl when Avatar: The Last Airbender aired on Nickelodeon—the group that the show’s creators unintentionally hit while they were aiming for the younger, maler demographic. Nevermind that we’re the reason the show’s popularity caught fire and has endured for two decades; we weren’t the audience Mike and Bryan wanted. And by golly, were they going to make sure we knew it. They’ve been making sure we know it with every snide comment and addendum they’ve made to the story for the last twenty years.

For many of us girls who were raised in the nineties and aughts, Katara was a breath of fresh air—a rare opportunity in a media market saturated with boys having grand adventures to see a young woman having her own adventure and expressing the same fears and frustrations we were often made to feel. 

We were told that we could be anything we wanted to be. That we were strong and smart and brimming with potential. That we were just as capable as the boys. That we were our brothers’ equals. But we were also told to wash dishes and fold laundry and tidy around the house while our brothers played outside. We were ignored when our male classmates picked teams for kickball and told to go play with the girls on the swings—the same girls we were taught to deride if we wanted to be taken seriously. We were lectured for the same immaturity that was expected of boys our age and older, and we were told to do better while also being told, “Boys will be boys.” Despite all the platitudes about equality and power, we saw our mothers straining under the weight of carrying both full-time careers and unequally divided family responsibilities. We sensed that we were being groomed for the same future. 

And we saw ourselves in Katara. 

Katara begins as a parentified teenaged girl: forced to take on responsibility for the daily care of people around her—including male figures who are capable of looking after themselves but are allowed to be immature enough to foist such labor onto her. She does thankless work for people who take her contributions for granted. She’s belittled by people who love her, but don’t understand her. She’s isolated from the world and denied opportunities to improve her talents. She's told what emotions she's allowed to feel and when to feel them. In essence, she was living our real-world fear: being trapped in someone else’s narrow, stultifying definition of femininity and motherhood. 

Then we watched Katara go through an incredible journey of self-determination and empowerment. Katara goes from being a powerless, fearful victim to being a protector, healer, advocate, and liberator to others who can’t do those things for themselves (a much truer and more fulfilling definition of nurturing and motherhood). It’s necessary in Katara’s growth cycle that she does this for others first because that is the realm she knows. She is given increasingly significant opportunities to speak up and fight on behalf of others, and that allows her to build those advocacy muscles gradually. But she still holds back her own emotional pain because everyone that she attempts to express such things to proves they either don't want to deal with it or they only want to manipulate her feelings for their own purposes. 

Katara continues to do much of the work we think of as traditionally maternal on behalf of her friends and family over the course of the story, but we do see that scale gradually shift. Sokka takes on more responsibility for managing the group’s supplies, and everyone helps around camp, but Katara continues to be the manager of everyone else’s emotions while simultaneously punching down her own. The scales finally seem to tip when Zuko joins the group. With Zuko, we see someone working alongside Katara doing the same tasks she is doing around camp for the first time. Zuko is also the only person who never expects anything of her and whose emotions she never has to manage because he’s actually more emotionally stable and mature than she is by that point. And then, Katara’s arc culminates in her finally getting the chance to fully seize her power, rewrite the story of the traumatic event that cast her into the role of parentified child, be her own protector, and freely express everything she’s kept locked away for the sake of letting everyone else feel comfortable around her. Then she fights alongside an equal partner she knows she can trust and depend on through the story's climax. And for the first time since her mother’s death, the girl who gives and gives and gives while getting nothing back watches someone sacrifice everything for her. But this time, she’s able to change the ending because her power is fully realized. The cycle was officially broken.

Katara’s character arc was catharsis at every step. If Katara could break the mold and recreate the ideas of womanhood and motherhood in her own image, so could we. We could be powerful. We could care for ourselves AND others when they need us—instead of caring for everyone all the time at our own expense. We could have balanced partnerships with give and take going both ways (“Tui and La, push and pull”), rather than the, “I give, they take,” model we were conditioned to expect. We could fight for and determine our own destiny—after all, wasn’t destiny a core theme of the story?

Yes. Destiny was the theme. But the lesson was that Katara didn’t get to determine hers. 

After Katara achieves her victory and completes her arc, the narrative steps in and smacks her back down to where she started. For reasons that are never explained or justified, Katara rewards the hero by giving into his romantic advances even though he has invalidated her emotions, violated her boundaries, lashed out at her for slights against him she never committed, idealized a false idol of her then browbeat her when she deviated from his narrative, and forced her to carry his emotions and put herself in danger when he willingly fails to control himself—even though he never apologizes, never learns his lesson, and never shows any inclination to do better. 

And do better he does not.

The more we dared to voice our own opinions on a character that was clearly meant to represent us, the more Mike and Bryan punished Katara for it.

Throughout the comics, Katara makes herself smaller and smaller and forfeits all rights to personal actualization and satisfaction in her relationship. She punches her feelings down when her partner neglects her and cries alone as he shows more affection and concern for literally every other girl’s feelings than hers. She becomes cowed by his outbursts and threats of violence. Instead of rising with the moon or resting in the warmth of the sun, she learns to stay in his shadow. She gives up her silly childish dreams of rebuilding her own dying culture’s traditions and advocating for other oppressed groups so that she can fulfill his wishes to rebuild his culture instead—by being his babymaker. Katara gave up everything she cared about and everything she fought to become for the whims of a man-child who never saw her as a person, only a possession.

Then, in her old age, we get to watch the fallout of his neglect—both toward her and her children who did not meet his expectations. By that point, the girl who would never turn her back on anyone who needed her was too far gone to even advocate for her own children in her own home. And even after he’s gone, Katara never dares to define herself again. She remains, for the next twenty-plus years of her life, nothing more than her husband's grieving widow. She was never recognized for her accomplishments, the battles she won, or the people she liberated. Even her own children and grandchildren have all but forgotten her. She ends her story exactly where it began: trapped in someone else’s narrow, stultifying definition of femininity and motherhood.

The story’s theme was destiny, remember? But this story’s target audience was little boys. Zuko gets to determine his own destiny as long as he works hard and earns it. Aang gets his destiny no matter what he does or doesn’t do to earn it. And Katara cannot change the destiny she was assigned by gender at birth, no matter how hard she fights for it or how many times over she earns it. 

Katara is Winston Smith, and the year is 1984. It doesn’t matter how hard you fight or what you accomplish, little girl. Big Brother is too big, too strong, and too powerful. You will never escape. You will never be free. Your victories are meaningless. So stay in your place, do what you’re told, and cry quietly so your tears don’t bother people who matter.

I will never get over it. Because I am Katara. And so are my friends, sisters, daughters, and nieces. But I am not content to live in Bryke's world.

I will never turn my back on people who need me. Including me.

[kpluto]

︵‿୨✦・ PAC READING ✦・୧‿︵

ADVICE FOR THE COMING DAYS

Take a deep breath & choose the image that pulls you in. Allow your intuition to guide you & receive messages from your higher self. There may be messages for you in more than one pile. Much love to you. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Pile 1 : Strength, Two of Pentacles, Knight of Swords, The Hermit, & The Fool

You are taking on more than you need to. I see your energy being pulled in multiple different directions. You need to make space for yourself. There is freedom being offered to you, but first must come rest. It is vital along your journey. You are going to need your energy for the new beginning emerging within you. I know that you feel like you may have to do everything. There is burden on your shoulders. However, you are being guided to put the burdens down. Find your inner outlet. Spend time alone. Connect with yourself through dreams, meditations, or simply journaling. You will meet a time of action and direction within the year. It will find you, but only through the rest you put in now.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Pile 2 : The Magician, The High Priestess, Three of Pentacles, Death, & Nine of Cups

Things may be changing around you and within you. Manifestations of the heart are definitely highlighted here. You are much more capable of navigating these changes then you realize. You can expect good things. Most of these changes relate to the relationships that are around you. You may encounter people that connect you to the things that you want. Be open to those that reach out to you. Spirit is advising you to be consistent as possible while these things pan out. You may already have an idea of these changes or you may be moving through them already. Also, you are not alone in what you are experiencing. There may be difficulty in adjusting for you, but you just need time to get used to what is happening. Specifically, the changes within you may feel uncomfortable. Keep going, my doll. Continue doing what you are doing. Don’t give up. And remember to enjoy the things that are going on. You are actually meant to enjoy yourself here.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Pile 3 : Queen of Wands, Five of Pentacles, The Magician, Five of Swords, & Eight of Swords

Oh, you are not seeing things clearly. I’m seeing smoke all around you. You have much more going for you than you realize. You want change in your life, very badly. You don’t realize how easy it would be for you to make a move. You just need to make a move. Most of your frustration with life is coming from your inability to see past yourself. Your mind is a very powerful resource. What you feed it is important to making you feel more stable. Your environment may also be negatively affecting you. My darling, you have so much potential. What you desire, desires you, you must believe that. Spirit is suggesting you to seek inspiration and admiration. Imagine having the things that you desire. See what others have and admire them for it, without envy. I know it is easier to find yourself a victim to your circumstances, but there is a passion within you waiting to be explored. You are not powerless.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

please like & reblog if this resonates ♡⋆.˚

[asce-of-hearts]

May i please request something where yandere nanami from jjk kidnaps reader and turns them into his little housewife/husband/spouse ?

Housewife

contents: Yandere!Nanami x gn!reader scenario in which they kidnap reader to make them his housewife.

more Nanami content here

A/N: Due to the poll that was held last week, I've decided to change formatting to accomodate readers who find it easier if I used "quotations" to open dialog. Goodbye line —, we'll miss you.

WARNINGS: YANDERE, NON VIOLENT KIDNAPPING, USAGE OF THE WORD WIFE OTHERWISE GENDER NEUTRAL, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP, MANIPULATION, DUMBIFICATION I SUPPOSE, SLIGHTLY MYSOGINISTIC IF YOU REALLY THINK ABOUT IT.

"There really is no need, Nanami." You sigh, preparing your coffee. You only stare at the black void that holds the cup, trying not to make eye contact with him.

"There is. I don't want you working." He stands next to you. When you finally resign to look at him the only thing you end up finding is his chest.

If the conversation wasn't so sour, you'd find yourself burying your face in it. Inhaling his scent, he always smells so good.

"You... have no reason to not want me to."

"I have. I have multiple reasons, in fact." He follows you around the kitchen, you can see the veins popping in his arms with the corner of your eye. He's clenching his fists, that's not a threat for you, more of him expressing his evident frustration. "You don't belong in an office, or in a mine, or in an oil rig. You don't belong in the workforce."

"Then where do I belong, Nanami?" You ask him with tired eyes, but he isn't fazed. He stands his ground, you swear he looks taller for a moment.

"Here. In this house." You snort at his comment, amused. Him, on the other hand, is as emotionless as ever, he almost looks annoyed. "I mean it." He takes a step closer, and a warm, calloused hand cups your cheek. He looks tired too, but his touch is tender and sweet and his thumb circles the soft skin of your face.

"Just because I can cook better than you doesn't mean that's the only thing I can do." You answer him, without pulling away from his touch. "I can manage working just fine."

"Then is this the third job you've had this year?" He asks, and you feel your face heat up with embarrassment. "Why do you always complain about the salary? And your coworkers? Why do you complain about it being too hard for you?"

He's doing it on purpose, his words sting and burn. You grit your teeth, shoot him a glare that doesn't faze him. He has this way of making you feel so small at times. So powerless, so dumb.

"I—" you stutter for a moment. "Just... just because."

"You're not built for this, ___." His voice is low and even, it makes you feel even tinier. "You belong inside this house because you're good for other things. You're good at cooking, you're good at cleaning," He leans in closer, you can feel the heat emanating from his body. He whispers in your ear. "You're good at keeping my balls empty."

He presses a kiss at your temple. You freeze in place. It's weird when he talks like that, like he's putting a spell on you.

His hand travels down your arm, the other one cups your hip. His hand engulfs yours as he makes you grab your phone that was resting on the kitchen counter.

"Tell them you're quitting." He whispers again, and you already feel your legs giving out as his voice becomes a sweet murmur, whispered against your skin. "Be good for me... what kind of man would I be letting you work all day?" It almost sounds urgent, the way he's holding you, the way he peppers open mouthed kisses against your jaw, your neck. "My pretty wife, my only one. Let me take care of you, alright?"

You stay silent, trembling in his arms before nodding. Quickly dialing the phone number.

You're unable to see the wolfish grin on his face as he lets out a pleasured hum, muffled by the skin of your neck.

gRAAAAAHHHH MANIPULATIVE COLD HUSBAND TROPE SSBHJBSHSBASBJK

hope you enjoyed this

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @sunnymmoon  @lilithlunas @imvivian  @yukimutsu @eroscastle @goldenglow149 @Voidthewriting @stranger00001 @DelicatelyCraftedBambi @rania200527 @kitzusune @Blueivyoreo @mizzhellsingstuff @lakxcpsta @coolnekochan9961 @Notreallyablogger @lilyalone @florcxo @eeelieschariot @hannas16

Like my works? Join the TAG LIST!    (please write your @ correctly or else the tag won't work)

[remina-mina]

Twst Yuu Theory: Magic as Desire

We got a lot of information from the chapter 12 update so I feel like we can finally have a grasp on Yuu and their future role in the story. Honestly this is practically a crack theory but I feel like there is something there. So throughout the story we have had glimpses of Yuu's insecurities, especially in Book 6 when we lost Grim and couldn't help Ace or Deuce in battle. Its been established that Yuu sees themself as useless and powerless and feels frustration at the fact that they cannot do anything but be protected in battle.

This comes up again in this update but I think its on purpose that Yuu's frustration at being useless mirrors Ace's and the other freshman before they unlock their unique magic. It feels like Twst is creating these parallels on purpose to lay the groundwork for Yuu to have an important role as a 'trump card' in the future (book 8 maybe) just like Deuce was in Book 5 and Ace in this update.

I'm hesitate to say something wild like Yuu will develop a unique magic, however I do think that Yuu will have a role that only they can fulfill possibly because they don't have magic.

Or maybe they will temporarily gain the ability to use magic because as established in this chapter update magic in its ancient form was miracles born out of people's deep desires such as wishing to fly or heal. Following that logic then maybe Yuu will be able to harness the oldest and original form of magic simply through their deep desires.

Also in the Chapter 12 update Leona offhandedly mentions that the dark mirror's criteria for choosing mages is vague but without a doubt everyone chosen to go to NRC has what it takes to make their mark on history. All these lore drops makes me sure that something will be happening sooner or later.

Honestly I hope in Book 8 (if that really does end up existing someplace that isn't my hopes and dreams) we explore Ramshackle's history because it seems special that the dorm has strong ties to other worlds. Considering that they straight up have a mirror that connects to other worlds where we see Mickey and whenever we get snippits of the old disney movies it also is through that mirror it feels important. Maybe we will learn about Skully and how he possibly was a Ramshackle student in his time at NRC.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Platonic yandere Rhaenyra as your mother...

~ The moment she laid eyes upon you, she helplessly fell in love. All the anger and shock towards Daemon took a backseat to her emotions the moment she saw you- her breath stuttering in her throat as her own amethyst eyes settled upon the wailing girl in the mad prince's arms. No woman is keen upon the idea of their other half returning with a child that they've had behind their back, but the sight of a girl- a daughter, for her, settled her decision at once. It's unlikely for her to take out her frustrations out on you, and something about your tearful little face and upset cries for your mother made her want to take you into her arms at once to soothe you. She didn't care at all about you being a bastard, all she could see was a daughter. Hers.

~ Rhaenyra would spoil you. Gifting you dresses and jewellery and books and fine silk threads, and always wearing an adoring twinkle in her eyes whenever she sees you. Rhaenyra herself loves her precious gems and fine luxurious dresses, and now with her own little girl, you bet you're getting spoiled. She'd also love seeing her dear boys get along with you, further fueling her delusions that you're her own child. She'll call her 'my dearest love' and 'sweet girl' , a cautious protective arm always within reaching distance of you if things get heated at the dining table during rowdy family dinners.

~ she's often the one to smoothe your anger and sadness over when it comes to your conflict with Daemon, your father. He is always the one to dish out punishments and restrictions, and in his stead, she'll be the one to lather you with comfort and alternatives. As a child she'd carry you in her arms, wiping away your tearfulness and promising you a ride with Syrax after Daemon forbids you from riding your own dragon for a week. That dynamic fits well with them. Essentially, Daemon is The bad cop, and she is the good cop.

~ as a child, you were very against this woman mothering you when you missed your one mother at home. However you may eventually grow soft to Rhaenyra, even if it's unintentionally done. She's so attentive and gentle towards you, it's hard not to seek out her comfort- even if most of it is dismissive and performative to keep you calm. She'd happily braid your hair if you wish to go riding upon horse or dragon-back, and always with a smile upon her face.

~ Rhaenyra soothing you whenever you fights with her father, Daemon. She is firm, but gentle, the perfect salve to Daemons cruelty and coldness. He has always stood strong and confident, and the powerlessness you'd feel around him would both infuriate you, and make you feel hopeless. Rhaenyra is always there for the aftermath, to distract you from the sadness brewing in your chest. Squeezing your hand beneath the table as you all eat your meals together, your presence always insisted upon by Viserys and Daemon.

~ she'd be a fiercely protective mother. As you grow older, transitioning from her little girl to a young woman, she'd be very against any arranged marriages. If she could, she'd keep you at home forever, single and happy- or free to love whoever you like as long as they are approved by her and Daemon and that you remain at home with them.

Thankfully, due to your bastard heritage, you have no political duty to marry, and are therefore free from being wed for gain. (Sure, you'll never seat the iron throne, but as a woman in those times everything was cut-throat. You may as well have a taste of freedom)

~ Syrax is just as doting. You're her riders little girl, and that maternal feeling would come through both Rhaenary, and syrax. The large golden dragon will chirp and purr in your presence, bowing her head to sniff and gently prod at you- like a doting mother.

"Darling, are you joining us for lunch?"

"For the afternoon".

Rhae smiled warmly, watching you pet Syrax- who gazed upon the princess with passive golden eyes. Crooning gently into your touch, before retreating softly. Rhaenyra approaches soon after- peeling her riding gloves off before taking your face within the cradle of your palms and kissing your brow. 1...2...3, a mantra of soft kisses laid upon your face before she steps back to look at you. Her smile is genuine and warm.

~ As the dance of the dragon approaches, the more protective and demanding she becomes. Suddenly your dragon riding time is limited, especially after Luke's death :( the moment you even suggested leaving upon dragon-back to get some fresh air in the clouds she snaps almost tearfully, composing herself shortly afterwards, and then sending you outside upon the balcony with a guard. A pleading look in her eyes begging you not to disobey her, for her sake, please. She cannot lose you as well.

~ She becomes especially paranoid about team green snatching you away, as both teams are obsessed with keeping you on their sides amidst the approach of war. The amount of kingsguard that stand position outside your chambers every night, hell, even accompanying you around the castle increases. You seldom have a moment to yourself without a lady in waiting heel-to-heel with you, or a towering armoured knight breathing down your neck.

Even with Daemon gone, you're still trapped within the castle.

~ Bastard!princess reader wants nothing to do with this war, and although she may have created a connection to Rhaenyra and Jace and her twin sisters, she may see this as an opportunity to finally leave. Escape would be difficult, near impossible, but not out of the question. You still have your dragon at your call, so you may find a way to slip away and find a way to get to your dragon to escape.

Everyone would go mad however, almost putting a pause on the conflict to go out and find you. Be warned that Daemon and Rhaenyra would immediately go seek your hometown and mother and brothers (that is, if they are still alive), so you'd have to be smart with slipping from their grasps.

~ To the end Rhaenyra will hold onto you dearly like her life-line, committed to being your mother, regardless of your feelings or circumstance. Even as she is burnt, she will not cry or scream- only thinking of everything that she has lost. How she failed you, and everyone she ever held close.

(under the scenario that in the end you did leave and vanish, or worse, got killed in the conflict).

[daemonsversion]

Hightower Girl | Daemon x Reader

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Female (Hightower) Reader

Summary: Sometimes it seems like Daemon has made it his life's mission to annoy you as much as possible. However, when he learns that your father has practically arranged a marriage for you, a long hidden desire comes raging to the surface.

Content etc: profanity, slight masturbation but not really, smut (fingering, loss of virginity) I never know what to put here tbh. Sorry for any mistakes, I only read back through it once or so.

Word count: 6,935 (my first fic on this page was NOT meant to be this long help)

The air held a chill as you turned your gaze up to the sky. You were standing at one of the large windows, looking out over the courtyard as the morning light continued to grow. It was beautiful to look at, yet the chill felt similar to the one that ran through your heart.

With a sigh, you turned away and retreated down the corridor. Last night your father, Otto Hightower, had told you of his plans to marry you off to one of the lords on the small council. You would, quite frankly, rather eat your own head but when you tried to protest all he'd done was get upset with you and tell you it was long overdue that you wed.

So you had been in a downward spiral ever since, trying to decide what - if anything - you could do to get out of it. It was a feeling of powerlessness that had you in its grip as you lamented that there might actually be nothing that you could do about it. Unfortunately, in many ways, you were seen as your father's property. To effectively sell off as he saw fit.

You didn't see him at first. Your eyes were fixed firmly ahead as you walked but they were not really working as they should. You had tunnel vision, moving mainly on autopilot. It wasn't until you'd walked right into Prince Daemon and trodden on his foot that you realised he was anywhere in the vicinity.

"Ah-careful!" He hissed, though not out of real anger, just a bit of surprise and pain because you'd really stomped down on his toes without meaning to. His hands had shot up to your shoulders, pushing you away from him, holding you at arms length.

Your gazes met at the same time and he blinked, abruptly letting go of you and stepping back, his eyes looking you up and down. "Oh." Hightower girl.

You frowned at his reaction but you were not in the mood today to get into an argument with the prince of the city, though some days you almost lived for it. "Forgive me, I was not looking where I-"

"No. I daresay you were not." Daemon smoothly interrupted, causing a flash of irritation to go through you. As much as you tried to conceal it, it did not go unnoticed and his lip curled into an amused smirk.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes now full of mischief as he saw the reaction he'd drawn out of you. Very similar to the ones you often drew from him, merely by the circumstance of your birth. He had not the stomach for Hightower cunts, after all, but he had absolutely found some use for you - getting to make you scowl and want to stomp your pretty little foot was the highlight of his day sometimes.

"You know, if you wanted to be close to me, all you had to do was ask." He purred, a hand coming up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face.

Your own hand immediately came up to slap his away before he could even touch you. Daemon chuckled, straightening up and letting his eyes roam down your form once more, from head to toe. This time it felt like there was something more than just derision there... and a sort of heat started to creep through you. Once his eyes met yours again, he gave you another one of his irritating smirks and then turned on his heel and vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

With a glare, you watched him leave, ignoring the deep ache that started to gnaw at you somewhere within and then you turned away and continued about your business.

Idiot.

Hours later, your frustrated footsteps took you through the keep, away from your father's office, out into the fresh air. The expression on your face was anything but happy, the argument you had just had with Otto fresh in your mind. You had, of course, gone to him intending to have a very levelheaded conversation about all of this but as usual it had descended into madness.

'It is high time you wed and start a family of your own, I have coddled you too long. Grow up. You will marry him.'

The words were spinning in your mind as you exited and stormed out to the Godswood. Not for any reason other than the fact that you knew it would be empty of people and your main desire was to be alone.

You didn't even want to talk it out with your little sister right now because you knew Alicent would only try and defend him. Ever the little appeaser, she would probably say that Otto was only doing what he thought was best. If he wanted to do what was best for you, why not let you marry someone you wanted, when you wanted?

A large pair of hands suddenly gripping you by the waist from behind and pulling you backwards, flush up against a hard body, startled you from your web of thoughts.

"You know the Gods aren't actually listening, don't you?" Daemon's lips grazed your hair and his breath was hot in your ear.

With a squeal, you scrunched in on yourself, squirming out of his grasp, twisting around to shove him away by the chest. "Daemon!" Your tone was scolding.

He only chuckled, leaning against the nearest tree as he looked back at you. "What?" He asked innocently.

You could only frown. Usually you had no problem giving back what you got but you simply don't have the heart for any of it today.

"Oh, what?" Daemon practically sneered, his lip curling as he stared at you. "Cat got your tongue, Hightower girl?" He knew your name but he never bothered to use it, simply out of a desire to further annoy you. You only ever called him by his name and he never called you by yours.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a look but there was not as much fire in it as usual and he found that this disappointed him a little.

"I saw you leaving your father's office." Daemon continued, watching the way your jaw tightened just slightly. He smirked. "Is it your cunt of a father that has upset you, hm?"

Where he expected to see a scowl at his insult against Otto, perhaps even a little fight, you instead huffed a humourless laugh and threw your hands up in a defeated manner. Upset was an understatement, you felt so far beyond just upset.

Daemon frowned, his expression becoming more serious. Well, teasing you was no fun if you did not react in the way he had become accustomed to. It seemed that he might have hit the nail on the head here without even really meaning it - he thought your mournful look was due to his presence, though now that he thought about it you had stormed out here in something of a temper. He had followed you all the way from inside, after all, so he'd seen the swiftness of your steps.

"What has he done now?" He asked then, studying your face with a look you rarely saw on him.

"Nothing." You mumbled, looking down at the ground. The last thing you wanted to do was pour your heart out to Daemon fucking Targaryen.

"It does not look like nothing." Was all the prince said in response.

Just that, not a hint of mockery in his tone, and you lifted your head to frown at him again. He did not look his usual level of cruel amusement. He looked almost like he... actually just wanted to know. That couldn't be right.

However, something about that made you just blurt the words out. Your father had basically sold you off to one of those stupid, stuffy lords on the small council. You had no choice and you felt like you were suffocating!

After you finished venting, Daemon's expression changed again. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but you caught the slight narrowing of his eyes as he stared at you in silence. The smugness seemed to have been wiped completely from his face. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him without it.

"What?" You asked, confused now as well as frustrated. Why was he not making fun of you about this? Why was he not taunting you with your looming fate?

Daemon gave the slightest shake of his head, his gaze dropping away from your face slightly. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then he closed it again as if he'd changed his mind. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and then he turned his face, looking away over the trees.

Your gaze had dropped to his mouth but you ignored the feeling in the pit of your stomach that the glimpse of his tongue gave you and tried to focus.

"What?" You asked again, a little more firmly this time. Daemon's silence was setting you on edge.

"What do you mean, what?" Daemon practically hissed as he turned his face back towards you.

Your glare returned at his tone. That was more like it. More familiar. "What do you think I mean? What is your problem?"

"You are my problem!" Was his furious reply as he took a step towards you.

"I have never done anything to you!" You exclaimed back. It was always him! Starting an argument or saying something snide in passing. He'd started this whole thing! If you were such a problem, why did he keep seeking you out just to bother you?

"Oh, do not act as though you are blind!" Daemon said, exasperated.

"What are you talking about?" You could not understand how a discussion about your predicament had spun so out of control. Why was he so angry? He was the one who'd asked! You were the one who was being given to some random man! "This is typical Daemon Targaryen. Everything is always about y-"

"You know very well that I have desired you, do not try and deny it!" Daemon snapped.

The silence that followed was absolutely deafening. You stared at him, your expression now one of shock. He stared back, his one of anger and also regret for speaking the words aloud.

"You..." Was all you could get out before you fell silent once more. This did not make sense.

In one of the most surprising moves he had ever pulled on you, Daemon closed the remaining distance in an instant. Taking your face in between his hands, he held you in place for a moment as his dark gaze burned across your features, and then his mouth descended upon yours and you were thrown so far into shock you were not sure you would ever come back from it.

His kiss was hot and passionate and his tongue was in your mouth before you knew what was happening as you... kissed him back, the desire that had been fighting for attention inside you for years now taking control.

His hands moved from your face and took hold of your waist as his mouth continued to explore yours, guiding you backwards towards the tree and pressing you gently up against it. You would have expected him to be rough and quick but he was not. His touch was gentle and soft and your heart was practically flying in your chest.

His body pressed up against yours as he deepened the kiss and you couldn't stop a soft sound of desire leaving you. It spurred Daemon on as a hand moved up from your waist, sliding up over your dress. He groaned into your mouth at the shape of you and you felt like you were on fire.

Only when Daemon's fingers began to fiddle with the lacing at the front of your bodice did you come back to your senses, turning your face to break the kiss and the hands that had moved to grasp his shirt began to push him away. "Stop... stop..."

The kiss stopped but Daemon did not immediately move away, his nose grazing your hair and his breath now hot against your ear as he fought to get his lust under control.

Eventually, he pulled away, his hands leaving you, stepping back to put distance between you both.

You were in an absolute whirlwind. Had that actually just happened? You had kissed Daemon. Daemon had kissed you. He'd been desiring you? For how long? Why? He hated you, did he not? You had so many questions and a moment later you turned your face back so you could see him.

Daemon stood where he was for another few moments, breathing heavily as he stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then he suddenly turned on his heel and started walking off.

"Daemon!" You called, stepping after him in surprise. What? He was just going to leave? This was not finished!

The prince said not another word, nor did he turn around, simply picked up his pace and disappeared.

The night was quiet.

The hour of the wolf had come and you had still not managed to fall asleep. It was not just your marriage predicament playing on your mind this night, it was also the moment with Daemon in the Godswood.

His hands on your waist. His tongue in your mouth.

You would be lying if you tried to convince yourself that you had never imagined it before. Despite the way he often spoke to you, and the remarks or looks you sometimes even gave him back, you had always had that funny feeling around Daemon. Try as you might (because he was a complete bastard, there was no denying it) you just hadn't been able to shake it. That desire.

Desire. He'd said he had desired you. How long had he felt that way? Why had he never said or done anything? To be fair, you knew why, and it probably had everything to do with your father.

Otto Hightower was the snake in Daemon's boot.

You thought about the way he'd looked at you when you'd told him about Otto's plan to marry you off. The speechlessness you had never witnessed before. The way his anger had risen quite quickly, causing him to just blurt out these apparently hidden feelings he'd been harbouring.

Your thoughts began to wander, wondering what would have happened if you had just let him continue what he'd been doing. If you'd let him pull at the laces of your dress and go further. He'd already had you up against the tree, what would it have been like if you'd just... let him take you?

As you imagined it, an ache began to grow steadily down between your thighs. Sighing, you squirmed. It was too late for this! You needed to sleep... yet it would not go away and your thoughts would not quiet.

With a frustrated noise, you shifted and your hand slid beneath the sheets. You couldn't believe that you were about to do this. Touch yourself to the thought of Daemon fucking Targaryen. That rude, arrogant, self-centred...

Your eyes drifted closed as you pulled the hem of your nightdress up and moved your fingers where you wanted - no, needed - them.

The lightest of touches was all you were afforded before you heard the sound of soft knocking at the door. You flinched, eyes flying open again as you sat up on your elbows and stared at the door with a frown.

The hour was so late. Who could that possibly be?

"Who is it?" You eventually called out, in case it was Alicent or maybe a guard informing people of a problem - though you had not heard any activity in the halls.

Instead of receiving a reply, your heart leapt into your throat as the door was simply pushed open upon hearing you were awake and a figure slipped into the room. It took you a moment to realise it was not any old intruder.

"Daemon!" Your heart rate slowed again, though not by much. The fact he was here at all was very improper.

He did not speak but stayed standing by the now closed door, staring at you through the darkness.

His silent, lingering presence in your dark chamber unnerved you slightly. "What are you doing?" You hissed.

Daemon blinked, seeming to snap out of whatever reverie he'd found himself in. He had been staring at you in the bed, not having been prepared for the sight even though he'd known logically you would be in it. "I thought that we should speak." He said, taking a step away from the door.

You sat up even further in the bed. "At this hour? In my chambers? You should not be here."

"I could not sleep." He said simply. Even through the darkness you could see the way his gaze flickered very quickly over your sheet-covered form.

"What has that got to do with me?" You asked even though you were pretty sure you already knew the answer. Had he been thinking about it too? Had it kept him awake as it had kept you?

Daemon's slight smirk returned as he took another step towards the bed and slowly moved to sit down on the edge of it. He wanted to touch you but he refrained. You were right, it was late and inappropriate but he just hadn't been able to rest. He had been pacing a hole in the floor of his own room for the past few hours.

You shifted in the silence that followed, refusing to be the first to break it. Your eyes were glued to him.

"I would say sorry about earlier," his voice came again. "But I would not mean it."

"Why are you here, Daemon?" You asked, ignoring what he'd just said completely.

He smiled a little wryly and his gaze dropped briefly to the low neckline of your nightdress and back up to your face. The moonlight streaming in through your window was the only thing illuminating the room.

"I think you know why I am here." He murmured, lifting a hand as if to reach for you face.

As earlier in the day, you lifted your own hand and lightly smacked his away before he could touch you. "I am not one of your whores!" You snapped, offended.

"Give yourself to me and I will never take another whore again, I swear it." Daemon said simply, his voice low as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving your face.

"What?" You leaned backwards but the pillows didn't let you move too far from him. You could feel that ache again... the closer he got, the more he spoke.

"I mean it, I am being serious." He stated, lifting his hand again to graze the backs of his fingers down your cheek. This time you let him. "You do not wish for your father to marry you off to that stuffy idiot." He whispered, shifting closer. "Well, neither do I." His tone had darkened a little on that, taking on an almost possessive quality that made your heart somersault. "I presume you are a maiden." It tended to be something of a good bargaining chip for arranging unions between houses, after all.

Daemon's touch travelled slowly down your cheek towards your jaw and he eventually curled his long fingers under your chin, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "Give yourself to me," he repeated. "And I will deflower you and make it known... the marriage will be over before it is even begun." He knew this particular lord well and he knew he would not want a wife who had been sullied.

You stared at him in stunned silence for a long moment, trying to ignore the tightening in your belly and the racing of your heart at his proximity and his words. "To what end?" You asked in a helpless little whisper. "I would not have to marry this lord, no, but then what? I will surely be...-" Unwanted by most, seen as ruined perhaps, used. And gods the fury of your father when he found out...

As much as you desired him you did not want to be just one of Daemon's conquests, especially when it would leave you ostracised with no options while he continued to swan around doing whatever he wanted with no consequences. Oh, to be a man, you thought bitterly.

However, you did not get to finish your thought as Daemon interrupted, with a frustrated little frown on his face as if he'd expected you to piece that together on your own. "You would marry me."

A silence followed in which the two of you simply stared at each other. You were stunned. Did he mean that or was he being annoying? Despite the frustration on his face, which was also kind of born from his lust, you got the feeling he wasn't making fun of you. Not this time.

"What?"

"I said you would marry me, Hightower girl, are you deaf?"

A small scowl appeared on your face at his response and you pulled your face from his grasp. No, you were not deaf, but it was a bit of a bloody shocking thing for him to say, wasn't it?

"I have a name you know, you arrogant-!" You cut yourself off before you could say something too terrible but the irritation remained on your face. He had never in all the years you'd known him told you off for not using a title with him, yet he had also never called you by your own name from what you could recall. No doubt he had probably long forgotten it!

Daemon smirked at the sudden rise of fire in you. You had been off for most of the day due to wallowing in your misery and fighting with you had not felt quite as satisfactory as it usually did.

"There she is." He muttered, reaching for your face again. This time he took it with both hands like he had in the Godswood and he stared directly into your eyes, amusement shining on his face as he said your name.

Something about it falling from his lips, the way his mouth moved as he spoke it, coupled with the slowly growing desire in his eyes made you cave. Something flickered in your eyes. Daemon saw it and he immediately took it as a yes and leaned in. You did not object, tilting your head slightly once his mouth came down on yours, kissing him deeply.

A moment later his hands left your face and he was tugging at you to get you to lie back down. You shifted, still reeling slightly, and lay down again in the bed. Your heart was racing. You should not be doing this.

Any further thought was momentarily ceased as Daemon slid over top of you, hovering for a few seconds as his eyes seemed to take in as much as they could of you through the dark. "You are beautiful." He mumbled, so quiet that you thought he'd probably said it accidentally. His mouth immediately descending upon your own to prevent any response strengthened this thought.

You kissed him back right away, not in the state of mind to fully think on it anyway. Your desire was rising and the ache that had kept you awake was growing once more.

You made a small sound into his mouth which made Daemon press his body down against yours a little. The contact just made you feel hotter.

His hand slowly moved up to the neckline of your nightgown and this time you did not try to stop him. You let his fingers tug at the little ties, feeling it loosen with each one he pulled free. Your heart was now hammering so hard in your chest that you wondered how you had not passed out.

This is wrong, your mind was screaming.

But if it was wrong... then why did it feel so right?

Your thoughts ceased again when Daemon's fingers touched the bare skin of your right breast, having gotten the laces at the bust undone while you were kissing. You made a sound into his mouth and then he broke the kiss, pulling back so he could look down at you, wanting to see you properly.

The light in the room was dim but his eyes were keen enough and he groaned at the sight of you, gently pulling the rest of the fabric aside.

Again, Daemon continued to surprise you. Earlier, in the Godswood you remembered expecting his kiss or his movements to be rough and demanding yet it had been soft and gentle. In bed, you had imagined (yes, shamefully, you had imagined) Daemon ripping clothes off impatiently and taking what he wanted, yet he was taking his time undressing you and he was looking at you like you were something special, not just a body he wanted to use.

There was a funny, fluttery feeling in your stomach that you ignored as Daemon's eyes met yours again. He just held your gaze for a few seconds and then his lips were on yours once more. While his tongue explored your mouth, his fingers roamed your breasts - pinching, rubbing, tweaking, caressing - until you were squirming and whining.

You felt the beginnings of one of his trademark smirks and he broke the kiss with a chuckle, pulling back and looking down at you with amused eyes. Before you could complain about his teasing, a hand reached down and began to pull the skirt of your nightdress higher up your legs.

Briefly, you tensed. You tried to hide it but Daemon, who had been watching you very closely, immediately stopped his hand.

"Tell me to stop..." He said quietly. "And I will."

You could have. You could have told him to stop. You could have pushed him off. You could have told him to get out of your room. You could have stopped this whole insane plan right there and then.

But you didn't.

Because you wanted him.

You shook your head and Daemon raised an eyebrow, still not moving. He needed more than that.

You wriggled in frustration. "Please." You muttered, a little embarrassed to seem like you were begging for it, but Daemon did not mock you. His gaze seemed to darken with desire and his fingers clawed at the fabric once more, pulling it all the way up your thighs, wanting access to you. He might not seem it but he was growing impatient. He could feel the proof of it straining against his breeches, practically screaming to be let out.

But he would not be selfish and greedy. Not tonight. Not with you.

His fingers reached your most forbidden area and your mind immediately went blank once more, a gasp catching in your throat as he began to touch you there. His eyes did not leave your face once, wanting to see every little expression of pleasure that passed across it.

Daemon let out a groan when his fingers slid up and down your centre, feeling how wet you already were for him. He could scarcely believe his luck, it took everything not to just hold you down and finally make you his.

It was all he had been thinking about for months, probably even longer. Every whore he'd fucked to try and banish the thought of you from his mind had only succeeded in lodging you deeper into his heart.

He circled your clit a few times, drinking in the way you writhed at the sensation and then he slipped a finger inside of you. Your breath caught in your throat and he felt you tense slightly once more, an involuntary reaction. He'd felt such a reaction many times before. This was not his first deflowering.

"Shh.." He soothed, leaning in to press soft kisses to your cheek and jaw. "Shh... relax."

Daemon began to move his finger slowly, to allow you to become accustomed to the feeling. He felt you relaxing in response to his kisses and his gentle movements and soon it felt nice and you were making those sweet little sounds once more. He swiped his thumb over your clit again and then inserted a second finger, moving them both in and out with a gentle rhythm.

His lips came back to yours and he stayed like this for a little while, tongue exploring your mouth while his fingers worked you, slowly increasing speed. Your body felt hot, you were shaking and moaning... and Daemon was growing more and more turned on.

When he finally drove you to climax, he could take no more and he grunted, pulling his mouth from yours and leaning back to watch you come undone on his fingers. You were almost dizzy from the stars he'd just made you see but your eyes reopened as you felt him move away, whimpering slightly as his fingers left your heat.

You heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled and your heart started to race.

His fingers were starting to becoming impatient as he freed himself of his bothersome clothing and then moved himself back on top of you. When he kissed you this time, you felt something pressing up against you that was certainly not his hand. You shuddered and moaned into his mouth.

Daemon's lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw to your neck. He let them linger there, kissing and licking your skin as his hand moved back down your body, caressing your breasts and familiarising himself with the shape of you. He gently nudged your legs apart with his knee, trying not to rush too much because the last thing he wanted to do was go too fast and ruin the experience for you, but he wanted you to badly by this point it was almost painful.

Your body was on fire and your mind was focused on nothing but him, him, him. If there had been any lingering doubts anywhere inside of you, there wasn't any longer. You wanted this. You craved it. You had craved it for a long time, though you had not fully let yourself think it.

Daemon's hand took hold of his length and he gave himself a lazy stroke as his teeth gently grazed against your neck. The scent of you and the way you were responding to him was driving him absolutely mad. He wanted nothing more than to be inside of you. For you to finally be his.

He guided himself to your cunt and began to slide himself through your wetness, not quite pressing in yet, teasing you over and over as he got you used to the feeling of him.

You whimpered desperately.

Daemon groaned, his breath hot against your neck. "Gods, I want you." He muttered. He was frustrated, almost guilty, that he had not the patience to spend more time on your body. He wanted to taste you, but he told himself next time.

"Please..." You whispered, once more practically begging him. The feeling of his cock gliding through your slick was too much, you needed more, you needed to feel him. "Please." You said again, in a whine that caused Daemon to groan again in response.

He pulled his head back and looked down at you. "Say you want me."

"I want you." The words fell from your lips easily. They were true. They had always been true.

"I want you too." He whispered, leaning back in to kiss you one more time before he pulled away again and then shifted slightly. He kept eye contact with you the whole time as he began to press himself into you, your arousal making it so easy for him to slide himself into your heat.

Gods, the slick between your thighs made you feel like such a wanton little thing. He almost growled.

Another few seconds and he was buried inside you. He gave a deep moan as he pressed his face back into your neck, dizzy on the feeling. He wasn't so far gone that he didn't feel the tension rise in you once more though and he leaned back up, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your face and jaw again.

"Shh..." He soothed once more as he heard your breath catch in your throat when he shifted his body. He had gotten you ready for him and been as gentle as he could but he knew you were hiding the fact it still hurt a little.

"Look at me." He murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips and then looking down at your face. "Good girl." He purred when your eyes met his, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The praise awoke something inside you and you made a soft sound. He smirked slightly, having felt the fluttering of your walls around him. "Mhm. You liked that." Daemon teased.

If your face was not scarlet before, it was when he said that. Still, all panic had left your body as you were now just focused on the pleasure of the moment. When Daemon tested the waters by shifting his hips a little bit, a soft moan left you and he could tell it was feeling better for you. So he moved again. Then again. And again.

Soon, he had built up a steady pace, thrusting in and out of you. The room filled with lewd sounds and you could do nothing but revel in it. The burn had faded and now each thrust of his hips gave you a jolt of pleasure. Daemon was good at this. You supposed it was to be expected with all the experience it sounded like he had.

He wanted to last. He really did. But he had wanted you for so long and he felt like he was about to burst with each little sound that left you, each little wriggle you made underneath him, each time your nails gently bit into his arms as you clung to him.

His movements began to get quicker and you whined as he rubbed repeatedly against a certain spot inside of you. He grunted hard as he realised the reaction you were having. Daemon, however, was slightly unhappy with something. You were not reaching release quick enough and he was worried, with the way things were going, that he would before you did. He would be damned if he left you unsatisfied.

He moved his hand back down between your bodies and found your clit again, circling the little bud with skillful fingers. It was not long after that you were trembling and then shattering as he pushed you over the edge once more.

The sounds that your release pulled from you were so hot that he pretty much fell apart there and then. He groaned helplessly and buried his face back into your neck, breathing heavily as he moved his hips a few more times, his movements becoming a little less controlled as he felt himself nearing completion. With a harsh moan, Daemon then spilled himself inside of you and collapsed on top of you.

For a few minutes, the room was filled with nothing but heavy breathing as the two of you lay there like that, tangled together, all hot and sticky. You felt utterly boneless. Your eyes were shut and your breathing was ragged, your heart racing, your body limp beneath his weight.

It was perfect.

He was perfect.

"I will speak... to my brother to... tomorrow." Daemon muttered against your neck, slowly coming back to himself. Even if Otto held any reservations after what happened, Viserys would no doubt smooth them over somehow and convince him that you marrying Daemon was the best (and only) option to come out of this.

You could only hum in response, delighting in the kisses he began once more pressing against your skin. You felt warm and content and when he eventually moved and rolled off you, you couldn't hold in a sound of disappointment. Immediately you felt embarrassed but Daemon's arms coming around you and pulling you to him distracted you from it.

Opening your eyes, you blinked at him. "You can't stay."

"We are to be married." He said simply, a small smirk on his face. "I have taken you. Everyone will find out anyway." He reminded you. That was the plan after all.

"Yes, but..." Your cheeks felt hot but hopefully he would think you were just still coming down from the high because you partly were. The idea of being caught with a man (Daemon Targaryen of all people) in your bed was too scandalous. A step outside your comfort zone. "...you..."

"I will go, do not worry." Daemon purred in your ear, flicking his tongue out lightly over the outer edge, smirking as he felt you shiver. "I only want to hold you until you fall asleep. Does that not sound nice? Hm?" He did not say that he simply could not stomach the thought of just rolling out of bed and leaving you lying here all by yourself after your very first time. He did not want to leave you alone in the dark.

You sighed, acting bothered, but it did sound very nice and you were already so comfortable. He was very warm... so you were quick to relent. "Fine. But as soon as I am asleep..." Your voice held as much warning as you could muster.

Daemon chuckled softly, nodding as he adjusted slightly, getting more comfortable in the bed and pulling you up tighter against his body. "Yes, my lady." He said it as if you had given a command and he liked the way his teasing tone made you giggle.

It did not take you long to fall asleep. Indeed, you were so exhausted, you were out in a few minutes.

Unfortunately, Daemon was also so exhausted that he fell asleep mere moments after you did.

When Alicent entered your chambers the next morning, she got quite a shock... and quite an eyeful, as Daemon had kicked himself out of the covers at some point during the night, giving the poor girl an unfortunate glimpse of his backside that did not leave her memory for the rest of her days.

Her shriek was what caused your father to come running into the room. You were not sure you had ever seen Otto quite so angry in your whole life. After the initial shock wore off, you thought he might actually be so angry he would lay hands upon the prince but he managed to somehow hold himself back.

The look of disappointment was clear as your father turned his gaze on you but Daemon, now standing, shifted in front of you the second he saw it and blocked Otto's view.

If anyone would take Otto Hightower's anger, it would be him.

"What's say you and I go and have a talk with my brother, hm?" Daemon muttered, his eyes narrowed.

Otto stared at him with barely concealed rage. The last thing he wanted was his child linked to a man like Daemon Targaryen. He had been a thorn in his side for years. And now he had... defiled one of his daughters! He tried to look at you again but Daemon cleared his throat.

Otto glared at the prince. "You may wish to put on some clothes first." Was all he said before turning and sweeping from the room, dragging Alicent out by her elbow, letting the door slam behind them.

You would have burst into tears if you were not so shocked. You watched Daemon turn to pull his clothes back on. When he looked up at you, he was smirking.

"It's not funny!" You exclaimed.

"Oh, come on." He teased, sitting down on the bed and leaning closer. "It is a little bit funny."

You turned your head so he couldn't kiss you, frowning. You had never felt so embarrassed and ashamed in your whole life. Though it would have come out anyway when Daemon told his brother and you confirmed but to have been walked in on by your father and sister was another thing entirely!

Daemon sighed, lifting a hand to your chin and gently turning your face back towards him. "I'm sorry."

"You said you would leave!"

Daemon blinked, feeling a little bit guilty because he could see this actually had been difficult for you. "I did not do it on purpose, I fell asleep!"

You scoffed. "Right."

"Hey. I mean it." He said and he looked and sounded so serious that you did believe him.

There was a brief silence and then Daemon smirked again.

"What?" You asked, half snapping at him.

Your tone did nothing to rid him of his smile, the smirk turning into a bit of a grin. "When I return," he said as he leaned in again. "You and I will be betrothed."

You could not stop your face from breaking into a smile of your own. "You seem very confident in that fact." After what he'd just walked in on, you were pretty sure your father would be vehemently against this, perhaps simply out of spite and anger.

"Don't you know by now, Hightower girl?" Daemon's eyes glinted with mischief as he closed the distance and kissed your lips once more. When you parted, he was smirking again. "I always get what I want."

[alltimefail]

Random thought that could could absolutely be nothing, an over-analyzation of sorts even, but I have always found it interesting that in the Devlin house episode Charles gets sucked into the loop starting from the point he snaps at Edwin about him "Not being the all-knowing expert on all things." It's especially interesting to me because after he does so, Edwin tells Charles that he's "...Not acting like himself at all."

In theory, Charles could have just reappeared when Mr. Devlin turns the corner or when he approaches Mr. Devlin here:

because if the point of repetition here is to show us that the abuse Charles suffered at the hands of his own father is what causes him to get trapped in the loop, either of those moments would have been sufficient in supporting that idea. The dialogue shared beforehand between him and Edwin has little to do with the point at hand...unless...

Charles feeling pain about his own father isn't the whole sum of why he gets trapped in the loop; his fear that he's just LIKE his father, that he's not a good person, that he's "Cruel for the shits," and capable of hurting the people he loves (and thus undeserving of their love) is also what traps him in the loop, and that's why his "loop" starts with him snapping at Edwin.

Even though we as viewers can empathize with and understand why Charles snaps at Edwin given the circumstances, it's very unlikely that Charles extends that same grace to himself. I would argue that we see the multi-faceted layers of his trauma explored in various ways from this moment on. Charles himself even later admits that all he feels is anger despite the fact that he wants to be "a good guy." Charles has yet to understand that it's possible to be good and feel anger, that anger in and of itself is not bad, and that feeling strong negative emotions like grief or anger does not make a person dangerous or abusive like his father was...nor does it guarantee that he would use his anger to harm others. So, with that in mind, of course Charles' loop would start with him lashing out at Edwin, as opposed to it just starting with him lashing out at Brandon Devlin; it's not just about feeling powerless to stop the abuse, it's about feeling like you play a role in it. It's about the deep-rooted fear that maybe you actually deserved the abuse you suffered because you are not good, and just by being related to an abuser you are damned to be just like them, or worse. Charles worries about who he truly is, deep down, and that maybe Edwin is wrong when he says that Charles isn't acting like himself: maybe the darkest parts that he works so hard to bury are actually who he truly is, and his ability to throw careless, harmful, biting words at someone he loves deeper than anyone else may be a reflection of this. After all, his father loved his mother, he loved Charles, and look what he did to them... how he hurt them beyond repair. What if he is the same?

OR: the trauma Charles deals with isn't only the violence his father enacted on him (shown through what Brandon Devlin does to his family), but it's also the violence he feels capable of enacting himself (shown through his ability to throw harsh words toward Edwin who Charles openly claims is the "most important person in the world" to him).

What furthered this idea even more for me (and added a bit of salt to the wound frankly) was Crystal and Edwin's reactions to Charles being pulled into the loop. Out of shock, confusion, and frustration Crystal immediately turns to Edwin for answers but for a moment he is just frantic and uncharacteristically frazzled, only able to say, "Charles was right, I don't know everything..." and OUCH, right? But it emphasizes that 1) what Charles said to Edwin was quite hurtful, 2) that it did have an (unintentional) impact on Edwin, and 3) that Charles himself very well might have realized it was hurtful as soon as it left his mouth thus, again, why it would make sense that his loop began there.

It takes a strong emotional reaction to be pulled into a loop; the possibly that this moment was written to work on two levels of Charles' inner turmoil is quite clever (and extremely heartbreaking).

Again, it could absolutely be nothing... but it's worth pondering!!

[slut4megantheestallion]

Hello! I don't know if you have any rules regarding requests, but I sent you my idea. Arcane women x female reader! Especially Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn. They wanted to have something more intimate with the reader, but she can't because of past experiences and she feels frustrated with herself, and she doesn't feel able to tell her partner because she thinks he will judge and abandon her. Many times, the reader has stayed awake while her partner is sleeping and begins to cry, then her partner wakes up after sobs and finds the reader crying, and she finally confesses her trauma and her love comforts her. Again, if you're uncomfortable with this, you're free not to write it down! Hugs!

Characters: Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn.

Hiii<3 yeahh, I'll do this, and yes, I write for arcane sometimes, I do take requests 😄.

Arcane Women x Reader w/ trauma Headcannons

Scenario: The reader struggles with intimacy due to past trauma, afraid of judgment and abandonment. She often stays awake, crying, feeling frustrated herself, and ashamed. Until one night, her partner wakes up and finds her breaking down. Comfort and love follow.

Warning ⚠️: angst, trauma, past abuse, comfort, fluff.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Before you ended up in Zaun/Piltover and met, vi, Jinx, or caitlyn, your life was far from kind. You had experienced relationships that weren't built on love or trust, just lust, power, control, manipulation, and fear.

You were once with someone who made you feel like your body was something they deserved rather than something you owned. Your bound were ignored - your "no" was met with guilt tripping, anger, or silent treatment until you gave in. You learned to freeze rather than fight back because arguing led to worse outcomes. Over time, you started believing that love was something you had to earn by giving parts of yourself away.

Even after escaping that life, the scars lingered. You told yourself you were free and that no one can hurt you again, but when it comes to intimacy, your body still remembers what it felt like to be powerless.

Kisses sometimes feels like suffocating.

Touch- no matter how gentle - could make your skin crawl.

Even when your partner held you in the safest way, your mind whispered, what if they get tired of waiting? What if they leave?

You love them, but you hated yourself for feeling like this.

-Vi

● Vi had always been patient with you. She never pushes, never pressures you - just waits for you to come to her when you're ready, but she does notice this from the beginning of the relationship. How you'd tense slightly when things got to heated. How your kisses always stopped before they could get too deep. She doesn't pressure you or anything. She waits for to be ready, but what she doesn't know is that you don't think you'll ever be ready.

●Tonight is another restless night. You lie beside vi, staring at the ceiling while she sleeps, steady and warm next to you. You wish you could be at peace like that, but the weight on your chest won't let you breathe properly. You bite lips, trying to hold the tears back, but your body betrays you. A quiet sob escapes before you can stop it.

●A slight shift, then a groggy, sleep rough voice:

●"Babe?" Her voice is thick with sleep, but the concern is immediate.

●She sees you curled up, shaking. Something in her chest hurts.

●She reaches out, but the moment her hand brushes your back, you flinch. That makes her freeze.

●"Talk to me, sweetheart."

●You shake your head, hands gripping the sheets like they're the only thing keeping you together. "I'm sorry," you whisper.

●"For what?" Vi asks, brow furrowing.

●You try to explain how you want to be normal, how you hate that you pull away when she touches you, how you're afraid she'll get frustrated and walk away like everyone else did. Your voice cracks as you confess what happened in the past, how you were used, how your body never felt like yours.

●Vi listens, silent, herfists clenching under the blankets. Not at you, but at the people who did this to you. At the world that made you feel so fucking small.

●She leans in, gently tilting your chin up so you can see her eyes - so full of love and unwavering devotion.

●"You never have to apologize for this. Ever." She kisses your forehead, slow and lingering. "I don't need anything from you, okay? Just you. However you are, whenever you're ready. And if you're never ready? That's fine, too."

●Your breath hitches. "But... what if you get tired of waiting?

●Vi huffs a small laugh, but there's no humor in it - only warmth.

●"Then I'll wait longer."

●For the first time in a long time, you believe someone.

-Jinx

●Jinx sleeps like the dead usually, but tonight, something pulls her from her dreams - maybe it's instinct, maybe it's the way the bed feels too cold despite your body being right there.

●And then she hears it. Soft, muffled crying, her heart clenches.

● Jinx turns over, rubbing her eyes, then freezes when she sees you curled up, facing away from her, shoulders shaking.

●"Babe?"

●You stiffen, hurriedly wiping your face. "Sorry, I - just go back to sleep."

●Jinx isn't having it. Within seconds, she's hovering over you, pressing her forehead against the back of your head.

●"Nuh-uh, nice try. What's wrong, sugarplum?"

●You try to hold it in. You do. But the moment she snakes an arm around your waist, anchoring you to her, it all comes spilling out in broken whispers.

●Jinx listens. And for once, she doesn't joke, doesn't deflect - just holds you, silent and still, until you're done. When you finally stop, she exhales a shaky breath.

●"Damn, that's been eatin' at you this whole time, huh?" You nodded.

●Jinx is quiet for a long moment, and then she turns you into her arms, cupping your face. "Listen up, cause I ain't sayin' this twice. You? You're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me. And I don't give a shit if we ever do anything like that. I just want you, yeah?" Tears spill over again, but this time, there's relief in them.

●Jinx smirks softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek. "Now come here, lemme squeeze the sadness outta ya." She pulls you against her, tucking you under her chin, holding you like she'll never let go, Because she won't.

-Caitlyn Kirraman

●Caitlyn has always been patient, but tonight, when she wakes to the sound of your quiet sobs, her heart shatters.

●"Darling?" Her voice is soft, laced with concern. You curl in on yourself. "I- I can't do this."

●"Do what?" Caitlyn sits up, brushing her fingers over your back. "Be what you deserve." Caitlyn breath catches, "love, look at me."

●You hesitate, but finally do. And when you see her face - soft, full of love, worried - the words come pouring out.

●You tell her everything. The past, the guilt, the fear that she'll leave. Caitlyn listens, her hand gently rubbing yours.

●"I wish I could take the pain away." She says softly. "I wish I could erase every horrible thing they did to you. But since I can't... let me show you that love doesn't have to be like that."

●You choke back a sob.

●Caitlyn presses a tender kiss to your knuckles. "No matter what, I'm here. We go at your pace, always."

●Her words wrap around you like the warmest blanket. And finally, after all these years, you believe it.

[imsilay]

VENOR

NSFW! mdni +18, cw: stalking, stalker!König (idk lol lmk id i have to add anything)

word count: 1.3k

summary: His obsession for you was overwhelming. So yours too.

pt.2 posted! here

cr: dwisesz on twt (sir is that seat taken?)

There was something about the way you talk, move, look, glance at him; and he was enhanced by you. That was why he wanted to watch you all the time. You were his only entertainment, his deep desire and obsession. His obsession was too strong and he was powerless against it. He just couldn’t resist the craving he had for you. So he was ignoring all your personal boundaries just to keep observing you.

He watched you in awe as you walked around your home where you're the most relaxed and vulnerable. The black, silky nightgown you were wearing was making his head spin. The way the dress moved along with your body as you got ready for your night routine was impressive. First, you'd make a cozy spot for yourself. Then, you'd put on some music to play in the background while you read and drink some tea.

He watched you carry the absurdly large pillows to your nest. Your petite form was sinking into the couch that was filled with pillows and blankets. He crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair. He was glad that he had enough time to set multiple cameras in your house when you were at work. The perfect angle to see you was the camera on your bookshelf. Your body was directly towards it and the nightgown slid up to your thighs. You didn’t seem to have a problem with it. But he had a problem, a huge problem. He had a fetish for the delicate skin of your thighs. He wanted to mark them so bad. The bite marks he’d leave on your thighs would make them look more gorgeous. But it’d make him look like a madman, right?

He continued to observe you but it was hard to pry his eyes off your thighs. The next stop was your breasts. He felt his cock throb at the sight. Your nipples were noticeable thanks to the thin fabric and you, for not wearing any bra at home. He swallowed thickly and his arms tensed against his chest. How he wanted to bury his head between your soft breasts… Using your chest as a pillow after a horrible nightmare would heal him. You were his only remedy.

Then his gaze shifted to your neck, which he wanted to kiss and suck hickeys on. A soft sigh drew his focus on your neck and his shoulders stretched. What happened? Were you not feeling good? Were you cold? Concern gnawed at his heart as his whole body tensed. But it was nothing he was expecting. Your bottom lip was captured by your pearly teeth and your legs now crossed. Your thighs pressed together and rubbing slowly. He narrowed his eyes trying to process what you’re up to.

“Verdammt.” he hissed as he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with frustration. His mask was hiding his flushed face but nothing could hide the massive bulge on his pants. “Bitte Liebling, tu es nicht.” (Please darling, don’t do it.) he mumbled and looked back at the big screen in front of him. How could you be so cruel? Teasing him like that… Your body squirming as you stubbornly continued to read that book. Was that the reason you were pulling down your panties and spread opening your legs? “So hübsch.” (So pretty.) he mumbled at the sight of your wet cunt.

You must feeling so comfortable with satisfying yourself in the living room because you had no problem letting out loud moans as your fingers rubbed at your clit. He couldn’t resist his painful arousal anymore. It was okay if he satisfy himself along with you, right? It wouldn’t harm anyone. He unbuckled his belt swiftly and unzipped his pants. His cock spung free and hit against his stomach when he pulled down his boxers. The tip of his cock was red and dripping precum from all the time he was holding back. He groaned and tipped his head back as he fisted his fat cock with his large hand. That man was big. From head to toe, everything about him was big.

Your desperate and needy whimpers were filling his room as he jerked off the perfect view of your pussy. “I bet your small fingers can’t even reach the spots that make you squirm.” he mumbled a he focused on how desperately you fingered your greedy cunt. “I could do that for you, Maus. I’d finger your pretty pussy until you can’t cum.” he mumbled between his whimper and groans. His thumb drawing circles on the sensitive tip of his cock while fantasizing about what he’d do to your pussy. When your moans turned into cries he knew you were close. Your hips twitching and your head pressed to pillows. He was also close and he cum along with you imagining how good it’d feel like cumming inside you.

You stayed there for three more minutes before getting up and taking a cold shower. He cursed himself for not being able to put a damn camera in your bathroom. He waited until you get out, trying not to break his own neck for that great mistake. He finally took a deep breath when you got out of shower but he chocked on his breath when he saw you in only a short towel wrapped around your body. That fucking towel wasn’t even covering the half of your body.

“Mein Gott.” he breathed. The towel dropped when you stood in front of your closet to pick up your pjs. His cock got rock hard instantly. He didn’t even tried to convince himself to stop. It was all your fault for being so hot when you bend over to pick your panties up. His hand stroking his thick cock as he watched you get dressed. You liked to watch yourself from the mirror as you get dressed. It tortured him the most. The way your underwear clinged to your hips making them look harder to resist.

He felt like a pervert when he released another load of cum. His hips bucking up to fuck his fist. The comfort of being home allowed him to whimper and moan as loud as he wanted. He watched as you climbed on the bed and covered your body with blankets. His hand was still his twitching cock, watching you as you got ready for sleep. Now it was his problem that he was still rock hard… He got up and kicked his pants out, removing layers as he walked to bathroom. A cold shower was what he needed to suppress his animalistic urges now.

You smirked when the notification sound came from your phone. Your back was turned to the camera so he couldn’t see what you were doing. “How cute.” you murmured. The camera that you placed on his bathroom was working perfectly, providing you the most mouth watering view. He was showering, and he was moaning your name as he fucked his palm. Your finger brushed against the screen of your phone. Did he know you were a sucker for him? Did he know the necklace you bought for him came along with a tracker? How would he feel about you stealing the keys of his room? Which he never let you in. The curiosity was eating you alive. So you'd find out what he was hiding tomorrow. You continued to watch him shower until you fell asleep.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked the content ofc <3 your comments also makes my day :* and i love to reply all of them :>

yes, i finally did it :> imma post it now but i’m not satisfied with it. so i might delete sorry (:

tag:

@entityunkown @elichisstuff @mikisworls

for some content: You two are close friends so you got keys to his house and he do too. You know he’s in love with you -not that he’s too obsessed- but he doesn’t knows. The said room is that he keeps locked is the room he watched your home and was filled with your belongings, photos, videos etc…

taglist?

[hades-in-bloom]

On Nights Like These

Vergil Sparda x Reader

summary: after running away night after night, Vergil finally forgets to leave. Sequel

warnings & contents: fluff with a teeny-tiny assumption of spice happening behind the scenes; seriously, mostly cuddling; Vergil is—well—vergiling (this man be blessed); turned out more poetic than I thought it would; could be age gap, could be none; the reader could be any gender; emotionally mature reader though; no mentions of y/n

a/n: h-hi! It’s been a while. I got myself into writing an actual book, so that’s been happening (aside from other life stuff). In the meantime this silly man has been making me lose my mind, so I had to come back, even for a blurb. As always, proceed at your own risk. Love y’all. Minors DNI! Masterlist xoxo

***

Vergil never stays the night.

He’s already irritated enough for that he feels compelled to come over again. The long-buried sensation of another's touch sends his mind into a frenzy; at first, he resents it, feeling as though he’s losing control. It gnaws at him from within, breaking through the iron-clad defences he’s built for himself since he was a kid.

He’s a survivor, and then he’s the Alpha and the Omega. He was there at the beginning, and he will be there at the end, no matter the cost.

He’s so accustomed to being haunted for decades, whether it’s his past or ambitions, so when you offer him a safe haven in your embrace, his brain short-circuits. It feels both wrong and sweet, like forbidden fruit. He’s been alone for so long, consumed by his feral pursuit of power, so the only true horror for him is the one of depending on anyone but himself. He knows that your touch could shatter every belief he clings to, yet he reaches for it anyway, surrendering to the overwhelming urge to connect and explore.

On nights like these, he lies beside you, a mix of vulnerability and yearning in his eyes, resorting to desperate measures to reclaim his power when all else feels futile.

On nights like these, his touch is rough and demanding—his way of asserting control over you when he feels utterly powerless. He’s lost and frustrated, and it shows in every movement, in the way he touches you, worships you, and uses you.

You are weak—in his eyes, just a human with all the needs and desires he has tried to cast aside over the years. He’s better than that. He’s better than you.

Yet while he sees you as weak, in his eyes, you are far from powerless. The influence you have over him drives him mad, and time and again, he succumbs while punishing you both for the vulnerabilities you share.

On nights like these, he takes so much from you, but it doesn’t bother you—he gives in return plenty.

And then, on nights like these, he runs. As soon as you fall asleep, he slips away, leaving you to awaken in an empty bed. You never know when he’ll return, yet deep down, you know he will—sooner or later.

Until, on one of those nights, he forgets to leave at all. When you wake at dawn, his head rests on your chest, and his breathing is steady and calm. One of his arms curls around your waist, and in that moment, he looks almost angelic despite his demon blood. It makes you uneasy; you’ve never seen him so trusting before. For a brief second, it’s your mind that is plagued with the thought of running.

He shifts in his slumber, as if your thoughts of abandoning him have disturbed his nightmares. A frown creases his brow as he barely opens his eyes. Then his eyes widen in fear as he realises what he's done.

He’s succumbed. He always knew you would be his ruin, and now it has happened—tonight.

Tonight, you gently brush your fingers through his hair, keeping his head resting on your chest. Tonight, no one is running away.

“Sleep, Vergil,” you whisper. It’s not an ask—an order. A clear-cut command despite your gentle touch and voice. A faint smile graces your lips as you close your eyes, drifting back into blissful dream of your own.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you give him a promise.

He scoffs, but chooses not to protest as he closes his eyes once more. Tonight, he’s weary from running; tonight, he succumbs.

[jweekgoji]

yan! hiccup/reader/yan! dagur

I'm on season 4 of RTTE but I just can't help but think how interesting the dynamic between Yan!hiccup and Yan!dagur would be.

tw: yandere, yandere rivals, mentions of attempts of kidnapping, slightly stalk-ish hiccup (?), overprotective Dragur, possessiveness

Dagur is already such a troublesome and unbearable person. sorry not sorry, but seriously, that guy toyed with Hiccup and almost drowned him? such a menace but that's why we love him, haha.

pre RTTE is probably one of the wildest times for you to be in this love triangle. while it is actually so nice to be around Hiccup, discussing every simple thing you two enjoy together like drawing or inventing (of course, not without him awkwardly standing next to you, almost stuttering every now and then); Dagur is the one who mostly talks. He would drag you around the island, yelling about how you two would be unstoppable together as dragon hunters and eventually you two might succeed in killing THE night fury! well, he would be the one who did all the job because it's him, obviously 🙄but you were here too, I guess...doing somethin very very important…

Even though Dagur gets a «bit» too crazy during dragon hunting, he still pays a good amount of attention to you. He would constantly make sure you stay NEAR him ALL the time, if you just made a few steps away, he would not bother casually taking your hand and be like 'nuh-uh, you're not going anywhere ☝️' with that calm voice of his, as if he's talking to some reckless little thing like you, who totally needs to be looked after by him. Dagur likes physical touch, he also loves the attention, giving and receiving it at the same time. If something or someone poses a threat to you, he would not hesitate to pull you behind him and deal with it himself.

Hiccup can't be as bold as Dagur though. He's shy, awkward and just doesn't have any experience at all. I'm not sure if Dagur has any experience too, but he's at least confident in what he does. Unlike Dagur, Hiccup is not as strong as him, and most of the time, it makes him frustrated and feel less of himself. He already experienced constant bullying by people on his own island, including his father and he judges himself too. But with Toothless around, he feels less powerless and more hopeful. If he is sure you're fine with dragons, he would find it as a reason to get closer to you. You want to find a dragon friend? Good for you, Hiccup is the best dragon trainer around. If you have your own dragon, it's just more perfect for him, because he would now use the opportunity to show his skills to you and maybe prove that he's actually more than everyone thinks of him? If he's very awkward with you on the ground, eye to eye, he's less tense around you now that he has his best friend around him. After all, it doesn't feel as scary as before.

Dealing with both Dagur and Hiccup would not be easy. Because if they both have a massive crush on you, it's just a matter of time before one finds out about the other. I feel like Dagur might get suspicious at first, because he doesn't care if you like him or someone else, he will be around you. Hold his hands around your waist, shoulders, constantly whining if you just stop paying attention to him as if his life depends on it. If someone approaches you, like Snotlout, he just can't help but show how annoyed he is. Dagur is not shy about making it obvious how the presence of others irritates him.

Hiccup has to be concerned about the dragons' safety, the safety of Berk, Dagur and now yours safety too. If you're not from Berserker Island but from Berk, Dagur doesn't want to part ways at all. He puts his eye on you, and he just can't let you slip away like that. He might just put you over his shoulder and get you on his ship when it's time to go— but thankfully, Hiccup notices this at the right time and saves you from the fate of being stuck with this madman.

If Dagur treats everyone as a possible rival, Hiccup is not that comfortable expressing his feelings yet. I mean, of course he likes you, he would constantly daydream about you like a normal teenage boy, sketching you in his book so many times that even Toothless can replicate it with a stick between his teeth. Well, maybe just a bit more than just a typical teenage boy crush. He knows he can't be like Dagur who can just express his love to you whenever the young Berserker chief sees you, but he shows it in every small but meaningful way he can. Hiccup would find out what you're interested in, what you like, and every small little fact he can memorize, but he would put it like it's just all an accident and pretend like he didn't know anything about it. good for you to have a friend like him?

When things get more heated between you three, Dagur is more protective, he's not that dumb, actually, and he perfectly sees how his bro gets a bit too friendly with you. He really, really tries to think it's just because his two favorite people are being nice to each other and nothing more, but jealousy...! I don't think he would be as violent towards Hiccup as to other people, before «betrayal» he actually thought of the poor boy as the only person he can trust.

«I just HATE how every time I try to get close to [them], someone always appears out of nowhere and takes [their] attention from ME! I mean, [they're] obviously mine, right? You wouldn't try to steal [them] from me too, yes, Hiccup? 🤨 Haha! Of course, you wouldn't, it's not like [they] interested in you anyway ☺️»

«...Right. 👀»

After the fight between the two when it gets revealed about the dragons, Dagur is practically furious. More than usual this time, since he is forced to leave, and he can't see your pretty face again now :((

But good news, it makes you and Hiccup closer now! Whether you want it or not, you were close to Dagur for a good amount of time, you might consider him even some kind of friend of yours. Someone might get a little suspicious of you, because maybe you accidentally took some bits of craziness from Dagur too, but eventually, Hiccup, being the sweet trustful sweetheart would make sure you feel as comfortable as possible. He stays longer than usual, asks if maybe you need a nice quiet ride with him and Toothless just to clear your mind off the recent incident, would always be the one who checks on you every day. He really, really wants to do more, but expressing his true feelings is still so hard for him. It was said that Hiccup is a good gift maker, so expect to receive some small gifts next to your door out of nowhere.

While being away from you, Dagur thinks only about these three things. Night Fury. Hiccup. You. 🔁

His ego hurts, his heart aches, and it doesn't help that he gets even more violent towards others. Every time he tries to attack the riders, he hopes to see you too. When he spots you on your dragon with other riders, he is happy. But you are with dragon riders, so he quickly loses his temper, screaming orders about how his people should focus on capturing you and night fury, the others don't really matter to him.

You just can't help but notice how the fights between the two get more serious with each time now that you're the main target. Dagur would make it one of his personal goals to drag you back to his ship, meanwhile Hiccup would do everything to not get you on Dagur's ship. And that just repeats over and over again, at this point it's just something deeply personal you three have. Meanwhile, the others are left all confused and lost. The time Dagur spent in prison is probably not for the best, isn't it?

[mommyownsmee]

Top 3 favourite ways to edge a sub?

What's also your favourite way to deny an orgasm?

Such good questions, well done! x

My top 3 ways to edge:

Tying you down, blindfolded, while I trace a vibrator over your soaked cunt-hovering just enough to make you beg, then pulling it away before you get what you want. Watching you squirm is half the fun.

Slowly fucking you with my fingers, whispering in your ear how good you feel, how close you're getting, only to stop and make you whimper when you think you're about to break.

Forcing you to ride my strap at an excruciatingly slow pace, holding your hips so you can't take more, teasing you until you're pleading for me to let you go faster.

My favourite way to deny an orgasm:

USING A TIMER

There’s something intoxicating about control. About watching you come undone, about knowing that every whimper, every shudder, every desperate plea is because of me. And nothing makes me savor that more than the slow, torturous game of making you wait.

I’d have you exactly where I want you—maybe tied down, your wrists and ankles bound to keep you from squirming. Maybe kneeling, hands on your thighs, forced to keep your eyes on me, to watch everything I do to you. Or maybe on your back, legs spread wide, completely open and vulnerable, knowing you can’t do anything about what’s coming next.

And then, I’d set the timer.

Ten minutes? Fifteen? Long enough that every single second feels like hell—long enough that anticipation turns into desperation, that desperation turns into suffering. Long enough that you start whimpering before I’ve even touched you.

Because that’s the real torture, isn’t it? Not just the waiting, but knowing what’s coming. Knowing that I’m about to tease you, ruin you, push you so close to the edge, but you won’t be allowed to fall.

And while the seconds tick down, I’d toy with you. My fingers, slow and deliberate, spreading you open, sliding through the slick mess you’ve already made for me. My tongue, just barely brushing against your clit, teasing you with the barest flicks, never giving you enough to satisfy. Or maybe I’d use my toy, pressing it right against you, setting it to the lowest, most maddening vibration—just enough to keep you aching, twitching, needing more.

And every time your hips buck, every time you grind down against me, trying to get something, I’d pull away.

"Pathetic," I’d murmur, my fingers trailing down your inner thighs, watching them tremble. "Look at you—so fucking desperate, and you haven’t even earned it yet."

You’d be panting, breath hitching, thighs shaking, body screaming for relief. But you wouldn’t get it.

Not until that timer goes off.

And I’d remind you of that, over and over, whispering in your ear, "Not yet, baby. You don’t get to come until I say so." You’d watch the clock, your eyes glassy with frustration, with need, with pure fucking suffering as every second drags by like it’s mocking you.

And then—just when you think you’ve finally earned it, just when the timer hits zero and you’re right there, right on the fucking brink—

I’d reset it.

Another ten minutes.

Maybe fifteen.

Maybe twenty.

And you’d watch me do it.

You’d see the way I smirk at your helpless little whimper, the way my eyes darken when your hips jerk up in sheer, involuntary desperation. You’d know exactly what I’m doing to you, and you’d still be completely powerless to stop it.

"Oh, baby," I’d purr, dragging my nails down your stomach. "Did you really think I’d let you come that easily?"

You’d sob at that, your body trembling, your hands twitching where they’re tied because you want to touch me, want to pull me closer, want to force me to give you what you need—but you can’t. You can only wait.

And that’s what I love the most—watching you crumble under my control, watching your self-restraint break into nothing but pure, aching, helpless need. Because by the time I finally let you come—when I decide you've suffered enough—you won't just be desperate.

You'll be fucking wrecked for me.

[bu3ck3r]

always us

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 3k

summary: paige and azzi confront their fears and reaffirm their deep commitment to one another

It had been a long, tense few days, and the silence between Paige and Azzi had become a weight too heavy to bear. The usual hum of laughter and gentle teasing that defined their relationship had been replaced by an uncomfortable quiet that neither of them knew how to fill.

It had started so innocuously, just a small misunderstanding, a passing comment that should have been forgotten, but it had festered. Neither of them had backed down, neither of them had apologized. And now, sitting across from one another in their small dorm, the space between them felt wider than it ever had before.

Paige ran her fingers through her hair, the familiar motion one of her many nervous habits, but this time, it only served to irritate her further. She could feel the frustration building in her chest like a slow burning fire, the heat of it rising with each tick of the clock on the wall.

"Why do you always do this?" Paige's voice was quiet but sharp, the words cutting through the heavy silence.

Azzi's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do what, Paige?" she asked, the edge to her tone betraying the calm front she was trying to maintain. "What exactly do you mean by always?"

Paige swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing, but she couldn't stop now. The words had to come out, even if they felt like daggers. "Why do you shut me out every time something happens? You just... retreat, and I have to chase after you, but you don’t let me in."

Azzi looked away, eyes dropping to her hands. The confession struck a nerve, one that had been tender for a while now. “I don’t shut you out. I just... I can’t deal with everything at once, okay?” she murmured, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability that she rarely showed.

Paige felt the sting of those words, the realization hitting her that, perhaps, Azzi wasn’t as strong as she appeared. But that didn’t make it easier. "I can’t always be the one trying to fix things, Azzi. I can’t keep doing this. You say you need space, but all I’m asking for is to be there for you when you’re hurting. Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, suffocating. Paige’s heart raced, her breath shallow as the emotions swirled around her. She had never felt so... powerless. The intensity of her feelings, hurt, anger, confusion, flooded her.

Azzi stood abruptly, walking to the window as if the view could offer her some relief. “You think I don’t want you there? You think I don’t want to be open with you?” Her voice cracked, and she quickly swallowed, her back to Paige.

Paige stood up, the impulse to move toward Azzi like a magnet pulling at her. "Then why do you push me away?" she asked, her voice breaking as she stepped closer, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill over.

Azzi’s shoulders tensed, but she didn’t turn around. Instead, she stared out the window, a tremor in her voice as she spoke. "Because I’m scared, okay? I’m scared that I’m going to hurt you, that I’m not enough for you, and I don’t know how to be everything you need me to be. I don’t know how to love you the way you deserve. I never learned how to be... this vulnerable."

Paige froze, the words hitting her like a physical blow. "Scared?" she repeated softly, her eyes welling up as she processed what Azzi had just said. “Azzi, you’re not gonna hurt me. But pushing me away, keeping me at arm’s length... that’s what hurts me. It breaks my heart every time.”

Azzi’s breath hitched as she finally turned to face Paige, her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Please can we just stop talking about it right now," she whispered, her voice fragile, barely above a whisper. “I need to think, please give me space.”

…

The sound of a basketball echoed through the empty UConn practice gym. The steady rhythm of dribbling, the squeak of sneakers against polished hardwood, the sharp breath of exertion everything about Paige’s movements screamed frustration.

Her blonde ponytail bounced as she moved, her body working on autopilot. Dribble, crossover, step-back jumper. The ball swished through the net with perfect precision, but she barely acknowledged it. The burn in her muscles wasn’t enough to drown out the ache in her chest.

She was angry. And hurt.

She and Azzi had argued before, sure. They were passionate and stubborn, so sometimes that led to disagreements. But this? This had been different.

This had felt like a crack in something she thought was unbreakable.

The gym doors creaked open behind her, and Paige’s grip on the ball tightened. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. The air shifted, her entire body reacting to the presence of the one person who could unravel her in an instant.

“Paige,” Azzi’s voice was soft, careful.

Paige exhaled sharply, bouncing the ball once before tossing it aside. She finally turned around, her blue eyes locking onto Azzi’s.

Azzi looked hesitant, arms crossed over her chest like she was bracing for impact. “Can we talk?”

Paige scoffed, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. “Now you want to talk?” Her voice was laced with bitterness, but underneath it was something more vulnerable.

Azzi flinched at her tone. “Paige, please.”

Paige shook her head. “You don’t get to do this,” she said, voice rising slightly. “You don’t get to shut me out, walk away, and then just show up like nothing happened.”

Azzi looked away, guilt written all over her face. “I know,” she murmured. “I messed up.”

Paige let out a shaky breath, her frustration bubbling over. “Do you even know what it felt like last night? To stand there, telling you how much I need you, and then just watch you walk away?” Her voice cracked at the end, and she hated how raw she sounded.

Azzi took a hesitant step forward. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh. “But you did. You always do this, Azzi. Every time things get hard, you shut down. You don’t talk to me, you don’t let me in you just leave me standing there, wondering if I said something wrong. Wondering if I’m too much for you.”

Azzi’s face crumpled. “Paige, no—”

“Then why do you do it?” Paige interrupted, blinking rapidly as the emotions threatened to spill over.

Azzi swallowed, looking down at her hands. “Because I’m scared.”

Paige stilled, her breath catching in her throat. “…Scared of what?”

Azzi’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Of losing you.”

Paige felt something in her chest tighten.

Azzi exhaled shakily, finally meeting Paige’s eyes again. “I love you so much, Paige. It terrifies me. Because what if I say the wrong thing? What if I mess this up? What if I hurt you so badly one day that you decide I’m not worth it?”

Paige’s heart ached at the sheer vulnerability in Azzi’s voice.

“I shut down because I don’t know how to handle it,” Azzi admitted. “But I see now that walking away only hurts you more. And I never, ever want to be the reason you feel like you’re not enough. Because you are, Paige. You always have been.”

A tear slipped down Paige’s cheek before she could stop it. Azzi’s face crumbled at the sight, and she took another step forward, closing the distance between them.

This time, Paige didn’t move away.

Azzi reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Paige let out a shaky breath, squeezing Azzi’s hand like it was the only thing grounding her. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Azzi. I just need you to let me in.”

Azzi nodded, her grip tightening. “I will. I swear.”

For a moment, they just stood there, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the gym.

Azzi’s eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to touch Paige’s arm, her fingers light, barely brushing against her skin. “You’re not alone,” Azzi said, her voice steady now, filled with determination. “I’m here. I always will be. I just—” She faltered, her lips parting slightly. “I just need you to know that I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t shown it the way I should.”

Paige’s chest tightened at the sincerity in Azzi’s words, and before she could stop herself, she stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “I love you too,” Paige whispered, her voice low. The words felt like they’d been stuck in her throat, but saying them now, with Azzi standing so close, felt like an exhale she didn’t realize she needed. “I need you to show me though. I need to know you’re here.”

Azzi looked into her eyes, her gaze searching. Slowly, Azzi’s hands moved to Paige’s face, gently cupping her cheeks, her thumbs tracing circles on her skin. The softness of Azzi’s touch made Paige’s heart flutter, but it also made something inside her stir a longing that had been building for so long.

Azzi’s eyes softened, and she leaned in, her lips brushing against Paige’s forehead in a tender kiss. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Always.”

And then, without another word, Azzi’s lips found Paige’s in a kiss that was everything Paige had been craving. It started slow, tentative, like they were both testing the waters. But soon, the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. Azzi’s hands slid into Paige’s hair, pulling her closer, and Paige responded in kind, her arms winding around Azzi’s waist, bringing her even closer.

Every kiss, every touch, felt like a promise. A promise that they were here. That they were in this together.

Azzi pulled back for a moment, her chest heaving with breath. “Paige, I… I need you,” she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. “I’ve needed you so badly, but I’ve been afraid. Afraid I might push you away.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat, her hands moving to Azzi’s back, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her shirt. “You won’t,” Paige murmured. “You never will.”

Paige’s hands slipped lower, resting on Azzi’s hips, her touch gentle but insistent. There was a tenderness in her movements, but also an undeniable hunger. The way her fingers traced the curve of Azzi’s body made her heart race, her body reacting without thinking.

Without breaking the kiss, Paige guided Azzi toward the bench at the side of the court. She gently sat down, pulling Azzi to straddle her lap. The position felt intimate, natural, but there was something else, a need between them, an unspoken longing that was growing stronger with every moment.

Azzi’s hands slid down to Paige’s shoulders, her fingers lightly grazing the fabric of Paige’s shirt before pushing it up, inch by inch. Paige lifted her arms, allowing Azzi to pull it off completely, revealing her arms, the soft glow of her skin in the dim light of the gym. Azzi couldn’t stop herself from running her hands over Paige’s bare skin, her fingertips tracing the lines of her muscles, feeling the warmth of her body.

Azzi leaned forward, capturing Paige’s lips again, the kiss deepening as Paige’s hands moved to Azzi’s shirt, tugging it up over her head. Their lips never parted, their movements eager but tender, as if they both wanted to savor every second.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing heavily, Paige’s gaze was intense, filled with both love and longing. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice trembling. “I need to be sure, Azzi.”

Azzi nodded, her hands caressing Paige’s face. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

Paige’s lips curved into a soft, appreciative smile before she kissed Azzi again. This time, the kiss was filled with a deeper passion, a more urgent desire. Paige’s hands explored every inch of Azzi’s body, memorizing the feel of her as if they had all the time in the world. But neither of them could deny the tension that had been building between them for so long.

Every touch felt electric. Every kiss was a promise, a reaffirmation of their love, their bond. Paige’s hands slid lower, tracing the waistband of Azzi’s shorts, tugging them down slowly, deliberately. Azzi shivered at the sensation, her breath hitching as Paige’s fingertips grazed over her skin, sending sparks through her body.

“Paige…” Azzi gasped, her body arching into Paige’s touch.

“Shh,” Paige murmured softly, her lips brushing against Azzi’s ear, her hands steady and sure. “I’ve got you.”

Azzi sighed contentedly, resting her head against Paige’s shoulder as they stood in the quiet gym, wrapped up in each other.

Then, Paige hesitated before asking, “Can I hold you?”

Azzi’s defenses crumbled completely. Without a word, she stepped into Paige’s arms, burying her face in the crook of her neck. Paige wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly, like she never wanted to let go.

Azzi closed her eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of Paige’sd skin—vanilla and something undeniably her. The warmth of her embrace, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against Paige’s own, was more comforting than anything words could provide.

Azzi pressed a lingering kiss to the side of Paige’s head, murmuring, “I love you.”

Paige exhaled against her, nuzzling closer. “I love you too.”

For a long time, they stayed like that, swaying slightly as if they were the only two people in the world.

Then, Azzi pulled back just enough to cup Paige’s face in her hands. “I’m never walking away from you again,” she whispered.

Paige searched her eyes, looking for hesitation. There was none.

A slow, soft smile broke across her face. “Good.”

Because at the end of the day, no matter how messy things got, they would always find their way back to each other.

[sereinnu]

Fractured Tides 3

Warnings: STEP-CEST| drugs and alcohol use| Rafe Cameron| very foul language| more yet to come| DON'T read if you're uncomfortable with these themes| MDNI| I already warned you not to read|

Rafe Cameron x Step-sister!Reader

Despite your efforts to make peace, your stepbrother Rafe's hatred for you persists. Each attempt to bridge the gap only seems to widen the divide, leaving you wondering if you'll ever find common ground in this family.

The days after the party were nothing short of torturous. The house felt more oppressive than ever, each room steeped in a tension so thick it was hard to breathe. The air was heavy with unspoken words, simmering anger, and the constant, gnawing sense that something was about to break.

You tried to immerse yourself in your studies, losing yourself in textbooks and sketches that once brought you comfort. But even in the safety of your room, the memories of Rafe’s cold, cutting words haunted you. Every time you picked up a pencil, your hand would tremble slightly, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil you couldn’t quite push down. The lines on your sketchpad blurred, becoming nothing more than frustrated strokes of graphite that led nowhere.

Rafe was a constant, haunting presence in your life—visible even in his absence. The mere thought of him lurking somewhere in the house was enough to send your heart racing, a toxic mix of dread and something else—something you refused to name—churning in your chest.

The kitchen became your refuge, a place where you could pretend, even if only for a few moments, that things were normal. The simple act of preparing food, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, and the scent of herbs offered a fragile sense of stability. Yet, even here, the fear lingered, like a shadow that never fully receded.

One afternoon, as you were lost in the mindless comfort of chopping carrots, the sound of the front door slamming reverberated through the house, followed by the heavy tread of Rafe’s boots on the hardwood floor. You stiffened, your hand faltering as the blade sliced through the carrot, nicking your finger. The sharp sting of pain was immediate, a small, physical echo of the emotional wounds you’d been carrying.

You hissed in pain, but the sound was drowned out by the roar of your heartbeat in your ears. You barely had time to react before Rafe stormed into the kitchen, radiating a fury that seemed to crackle in the air around him. He didn’t acknowledge you at first, his focus solely on the beer he yanked from the fridge with a force that made the bottles rattle.

The tension in the room was suffocating, pressing down on you like a physical weight. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of how vulnerable you were in his presence. Rafe was like a storm, unpredictable and dangerous, and you were caught in the eye of it, powerless to escape.

Finally, he turned to you, his gaze sharp and unforgiving. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, each word dripping with menace.

You looked up, your breath catching in your throat. The expression on his face made your stomach twist with fear. “About what?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might provoke him further.

Rafe’s eyes flashed with something dark, something that made your stomach twist in fear. “About you,” he snapped, his voice harsh. “About how you keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

The accusation cut through you like a knife, and you could feel the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. But you refused to cry—not in front of him. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care what you meant to do,” Rafe interrupted, his words laced with venom. “This is my life, my space. And you—” He gestured at you with the beer can, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “You’re just a complication. You’re making everything worse.”

His words were like a physical blow, and you flinched as if he had struck you. Your heart shattered in your chest, the pieces scattering in the empty space between you. You wanted to defend yourself, to tell him that he was wrong, that you did belong, but the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck in your throat, suffocated by the overwhelming pain of rejection.

Rafe’s gaze bore into you, unrelenting and cold. “Do yourself a favor,” he said, his voice dangerously calm, sending shivers down your spine. “Stay out of my way. I don’t need you. I don’t want you here.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving you standing in the middle of the kitchen, your hands shaking and your vision blurred by tears you refused to let fall. You could barely process what had just happened, the sting of his words echoing in your mind like a cruel taunt.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing you. The silence of the empty kitchen was deafening, the only sound the soft drip of blood from your finger, a small but painful reminder of how deeply his words had cut you.

Later that night, you lay in bed, the darkness of your room mirroring the darkness in your heart. You couldn’t stop replaying the confrontation in your mind, the harshness of his voice, the venom in his words. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his face, twisted with anger and something else—something like disgust.

The tears finally came, hot and relentless, as you curled up on your side, clutching your pillow like a lifeline. You felt like you were drowning, each sob tearing through you, leaving you gasping for breath. The pain was overwhelming, an all-consuming ache that radiated from your chest and spread through every part of your body.

You wanted to hate him, wanted to hate the way he made you feel so small, so insignificant. But beneath the anger, beneath the hurt, was something far more terrifying—a longing you couldn’t shake, a yearning for something you knew you could never have. The desire for his approval, his attention, gnawed at you, even as you tried to bury it under layers of pain and rejection.

The days that followed were a blur of pain and confusion. You avoided Rafe as much as possible, but every time you saw him, the wounds he had inflicted reopened, raw and bleeding. The house felt like a prison, each room a reminder of the distance between you. The silence between you was deafening, a constant reminder of how much had changed, how much you had lost.

One evening, the unbearable weight of your emotions drove you out of the house. You found yourself at a local bar, drawn by the noise and the people, hoping that the chaos would drown out the turmoil inside you. The music was loud, the lights dim, and the air was thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat.

You stood at the edge of the crowd, nursing a drink you didn’t want, your eyes scanning the room for a familiar face. But no one here was familiar, and the emptiness inside you only grew. You felt out of place, alone in a sea of strangers.

Then you saw him—Rafe, standing by the bar, another woman draped on his arm, her laughter shrill and grating. Your heart clenched painfully in your chest, the sight of him with her reopening old wounds. The memory of him with the ginger that morning flashed through your mind, the way he had chased after you, angry and embarrassed. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the pain was as fresh as ever.

You wanted to look away, to walk out and never come back, but your feet were rooted to the spot, your eyes locked on him. He didn’t see you at first, too caught up in whatever meaningless conversation he was having with the ginger. But then his eyes met yours, and something shifted in his expression.

For a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw something like regret in his eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by that cold, distant look you had come to dread. The same look he had given you in the kitchen, the same look that had made you feel so small.

As if sensing the shift in his mood, the ginger followed his gaze and spotted you. Her smile turned icy, and she whispered something in Rafe’s ear, something that made him frown. You couldn’t hear what she said, but you could feel the sting of her words all the same. The jealousy that had been simmering inside you boiled over, and you felt a pang of something dark and bitter twist in your gut.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back at you, his expression hardening. The ginger, proud by whatever she had whispered, stepped closer to him, her hand resting on his arm as if she owned him. “Why is she staring at us?” she asked, loud enough for you to hear, her tone dripping with disdain.

Something in Rafe snapped. You saw it happen, the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes darkened with something dangerous. He shoved the ginger's hand off his arm with a roughness that made her stumble back, shock and hurt flashing across her face.

“Shut up,” Rafe growled, his voice low and deadly. The ginger stared at him, stunned into silence, her lips parting in disbelief. “Just shut up and get lost.”

The girl blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Rafe, what the hell—?”

“I said, get lost!” Rafe’s voice rose, anger simmering just beneath the surface. The bar seemed to fall into a hushed silence, and you could feel the eyes of nearby patrons turning in your direction, sensing the brewing storm.

The ginger looked like she wanted to argue, but one look at Rafe’s furious expression made her think twice. With a huff, she turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Rafe standing there, seething.

The girl's departure left a strange silence in the bar. You felt as if the air had thickened, the tension so palpable it made your skin prickle. Rafe's gaze bore into you from across the room, his chest rising and falling with the effort to control his breathing. You knew he was on the brink of something—whether it was rage, regret, or something else, you couldn't tell.

Desperate to escape his glare and the whirlwind of emotions threatening to pull you under, you turned away, moving deeper into the crowd. You pushed past the swaying bodies and found yourself near the back of the bar, where the noise was slightly muffled and the shadows a little deeper.

It was there, leaning against the far wall with a beer in hand, that you spotted JJ. He was in conversation with someone, but when he noticed you approaching, he excused himself and made his way over to you, his easygoing smile a welcome reprieve from the intensity of Rafe's presence.

"Hey," JJ greeted, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity as he noticed the look on your face. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

You forced a smile, but it was weak and unconvincing. "Yeah, just needed some air. This place is a little... crowded."

JJ chuckled, nodding in understanding. "Yeah, it can get pretty wild in here. You sure you're good? You seem a little out of it."

His concern was genuine, and the warmth in his voice brought a fleeting sense of comfort. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, JJ's eyes flicked past you, his expression darkening.

"Shit," he muttered, his body tensing as he stepped in front of you, partially shielding you from whatever had caught his attention.

You turned to see what had alarmed him and immediately wished you hadn't. Rafe was shoving his way through the crowd, his expression murderous, with Topper and Kelce right behind him, both trying to hold him back. But Rafe was a force of nature, his anger propelling him forward with a terrifying momentum.

"Rafe, man, calm down!" Topper urged, his voice strained as he grabbed Rafe's arm, trying to halt his advance. "You're making a scene!"

"Get off me!" Rafe snarled, shoving Topper away with a roughness that sent him stumbling. Kelce made a grab for Rafe's other arm, but Rafe jerked free, his eyes locked on you like a predator zeroing in on its prey.

"Rafe, stop!" Kelce shouted, trying to reason with him, but it was no use. Rafe was beyond reason, his fury blinding him to everything but the need to confront you.

JJ stepped closer to you, his voice low and urgent. "You need to get out of here, now. I'll handle Rafe."

But it was too late. Rafe broke free of Topper and Kelce's attempts to restrain him, his gaze never leaving you. He was on you in an instant, grabbing JJ by the collar and yanking him aside with a force that nearly knocked JJ off his feet.

"Get your hands off her!" Rafe roared, his voice echoing in the suddenly silent bar. JJ barely had time to recover before Rafe was on him, fists flying in a barrage of punches.

JJ tried to fight back, but Rafe was relentless, his anger fueling his every move. The sound of fists meeting flesh was sickening, and the sight of blood splattering across the floor made your stomach turn.

"Rafe, stop!" you cried, trying to intervene, but your voice was drowned out by the chaos. Topper and Kelce were yelling, trying to pull Rafe off JJ, but it was no use. Rafe was out of control, his fury consuming him.

In the midst of the struggle, someone—maybe it was JJ, maybe it was Rafe—threw a punch that missed its mark, and you were caught in the crossfire. The blow landed squarely on your temple, the force of it sending you reeling.

Pain exploded in your head, a bright, searing pain that seemed to radiate from the point of impact and spread through your skull. The room spun violently, the floor tilting beneath your feet as your vision blurred.

You staggered back, the sounds around you growing muffled as your senses dulled. You could hear the distant shouts of Topper and Kelce, the roar of Rafe’s anger, and JJ’s pained grunts, but it all seemed to come from a distance, as if you were hearing it through water.

Then the world tilted again, and you felt yourself falling. Your knees buckled, and you crumpled to the floor, the cold, sticky surface pressing against your cheek as the pain in your head intensified, a throbbing pulse that drowned out everything else.

The last thing you saw before darkness claimed you was the blurry outline of Rafe, his eyes wide with shock and horror as he realized what had just happened.

Did I just use the same scene again?

Yes.

But with more drama?

Yes.