#might share them later if I can find them too

[tanadrin]

I am sorry for the anon but I feel too vulnerable to come off due to the nature of my question.

I am slowly losing friends due to my refusal to engage in negative/nihilistic/doomer views of the future. My friends are 1000% convinced Trump and Republicans are going to crash the economy on purpose, leading to a depression, and carry out a Gilead situation. I told one of my friends the other day how, despite everything and the political situation, I am trying to be as positive as possible - or at least neutral. Her response to me was, "Why? I don't understand your optimism. You know they're going to enslave us all like in The Handmaid's Tale, right?" and it has become so dreadful now to interact with them. Anytime I disagree, they try to intellectually dominate me or put me under them in a way where I have no choice but to just leave the conversation.

I know this was a lot. But is there any advice you might have for someone like me? Because I sometimes feel like I am being painted as crazy. I know things will be hard but they genuinely want me to believe I have no future and I can't stand that.

Also, would it be too much to ask if you maybe mind sharing some of the other people/blogs you follow?

I once heard advice on dealing with Qanon family members who had fallen down the rabbit hole and only ever wanted to talk about conspiracy theories or the outrage bait they'd seen on Fox News or OANN or whatever, about not challenging them on their views but basically saying "I don't want to talk about this; let's talk about our plans for the weekend, or what movie we wanna go see later, or what interesting books you've read lately." The idea being, arguing with someone can only further entrench their beliefs, and if you really want to shake someone out of their dismal universe of conspiracism, it helps to remind them of all the things that aren't the fear-and-anger-activating content they're stuffing their brains with for hours every day.

Maybe something like this could help? I have a hard time imagining that someone really believes The Handmaid's Tale really is just around the corner--if you really believed that, surely you would be trying to flee to Canada or doing some political volunteer work or something--and sometimes doomer stuff can be kind of reflexive or phatic, like making a crack about how your retirement plan is to die in the water wars or something. But even if it isn't, I don't think there's any point in trying to argue about this stuff in the moment. Instead try to build on the things you still find fulfilling in that friendship, the conversations and interests and activities with those friends that caused you to become friends in the first place.

If you can't do that--if hanging out with them is always a constant grind of full-throttle doomerism, and they express no interest in actually trying to do something with their feelings of anger and frustration--you are perfectly within your rights to spend less time around them. You could, if you wanted to and you felt that you owed them at least that, give them a heads up as to why. If a close friend of mine or a family member was doing this, I would certainly talk to them about it. But your obligation to subject yourself to someone else's self-destructive idee fixe is not bottomless. Even with a partner you are within your rights to eventually say "I'm not going to talk about this with you anymore."

(And that's not only true of politics or conspiracy theories, by the way! If you have a close friend or family member or partner who--for example--has severe depression but refuses to seek treatment for it, you are not obligated to be the sponge for their misery forever every time they need someone to talk to. If someone in your life is in a relationship or a job that is making them miserable, and won't do anything to leave that relationship or find a new job, and just wants a friend to complain to, you are within your rights to eventually shut that down. Lots of people fall into a holding pattern in their life where they are unhappy but unable to do anything about it, and they will make this their friends' or loved ones' problem. That doesn't make them bad people: lord knows I have found myself doing this before. It's a very human thing to do. But sometimes the Good Friend Thing is to say "I love you, and will support you if you want to actually *do something* about your situation, but otherwise, oh my god shut the fuck up." But, you know, nicely.)

But if your friends want to make themselves miserable because hanging on to an endless stream of toxicity and doomerism from social media (and I will bet this is primarily coming from social media) is more important to them than your friendship, and they can't handle you not agreeing with them, you may lose them as friends. If you do, I'm sorry. That sucks. It's hard to lose friends, and it's even harder later in life when making new friends is more difficult, and I don't want to pretend like that's not a big deal.

[ctrl-alt-bucky]

Ghost & Bucky x Reader — Headcannons

I can't get these two out of my head, so here's even more crossover content lol. If you haven't read the first post, you can do so here! It's not required, but it might add some context.

♡ Headcannons below the cut ♡

Word count: 693 | Tags: gender neutral terms, mentions of kink (rope, dom/sub dynamics, etc.)

Though they're alike in battle, it's a different ballpark in the bedroom. While Ghost is sweet and teasing, Bucky is commanding and rough. Ghost often calls you "sweetheart" as he's pinning you down, sometimes with his hands, sometimes with rope if he has any on hand.

Ghost would coo and grin as you tremble, his sweet tone undercut by the sadistic way he'd restrain you and hold a vibrator to your most sensitive parts— and when you're crying, either from the need to cum or the need to stop cumming, he'd just grab your hair, expose your throat, and murmur, "You can handle it, baby. My good little slut."

Additionally, Ghost is often the one who stays beside you during aftercare while Bucky heads off to draw a nice bath. They both take turns carrying you from the bed to the bath and vise versa, their arms gentle but strong; the pinnacle of safety.

Both of them tend to fight with one another over whose clothes you wear, whose body wash you're smelling like, etc. And you play into too, purposefully throwing on Bucky's oversized tees and strutting around the apartment, knowing Ghost's intense gaze will be on you the entire time. And likewise, Bucky's subtly smug expression will cause Ghost to hug you from behind and take what's his.

That's why Ghost loves markings. You don't go a single day without some sort of hickey on your throat, thighs, chest, and anywhere else he can reach. One time you had an obvious lovebite right above your collarbone, and while the rest of Task Force 141 kept making playful remarks about it. Ghost was the one standing off to the side with his arms folded, wholly smug and his eyes displaying a sense of satisfaction behind the mask.

Both soldiers have a love/hate relationship with sharing you. But they find ways to make it easier, especially when they have you sandwiched between them, Ghost's steady hands on your waist as Bucky's tongue tangles with yours.

Bucky is rough, but he's cautious about it. It took him a long while to be comfortable with touching you, let alone with his metal hand. He often finds himself wrapping his right fingers around your throat; a reminder that he can be in control and keep you safe all at once.

Ghost won't go as far as choking you, but he does prefer to use various tools on you, so to speak.

Rope, vibrators, plugs— he changes between them depending on his mood. And it's not lost on Bucky either, who enjoys the surprise in seeing what Ghost made you wear this time around. Sometimes just a plug, other times cute lingerie he bought you as a gift.

More than once, Bucky has fucked you full and used the plug to keep it inside for later, when you inevitably run into Ghost.

It isn't always super kinky, however. There are days when the two soldiers are exhausted from their work and in need of relaxation.

They'll bundle on the couch with you between them, Bucky's metal arm on the top of the couch behind you, while Ghost's hand traces up and down your thigh; a movie playing on the tv, though none of you are really paying attention to it. His hand would sneak inside your boxers/panties, and you'd end up with Bucky's cock down your throat while Ghost's fingers lazily thrust inside of you, his other hand holding you face down, ass up.

"Our little plaything, hmm doll?" Bucky would purr as you choke around him.

Ghost likes to guide your head on Bucky's cock whenever you're forced to your knees. And when Bucky finally streaks your face, Ghost is the one who swipes his thumb through the mess to push it into your mouth.

At the end of the night, you'd find yourself surrounded by them, Bucky's heartbeat steadily beating as you lay on his chest and Ghost's warm, strong arms wrapped around your waist as he spoons you. They both struggle to sleep most nights, but with you passed out on top of them, both soldiers find it much easier to relax.

I couldn't help but make it a bit sweet, sue me. Hope y'all enjoy ♡ This has been in my drafts for *checks wrist* a year, holy moly. Absolutely send me prompts with these two so I have an excuse to write them!! >:) Also check out my ficlist for more!

[blackaquokat]

Hi Kat~

I hope you're doing well! You've graced my inbox several times, and more often than not, your asks give me little bursts of inspiration for snippets.

If you're comfortable sharing, I was wondering—how would your MC make Chris/Jade or the parents suffer? Or, if you're not up for answering that, I’d love to hear some details about your OCs!

Either way, I hope you're having a great day/night, and I’m looking forward to seeing you in my inbox or the comment section!

LEA!!! HOLY SHIT, HI!!!

My god, this is such an honor, I'm not even joking!

Okay, so when I first mentioned my MCs, I was still using previous OCs from other IFs , but now I think I've OFFICIALLY adjusted them into true Love & Leases fashion, so I'll do a post about them later with picrew images and everything, but in the meantime--

Peridot "Dot", my Cam-mancer (formerly Genevieve), would not go in with the Intention of making anyone hurt. It's easier for her to just cut them out of her life. BUT, that doesn't mean they won't be seeing her around. Dot posts on socials fifty times more than she ever did before, because suddenly it's like this entire weight is off of her shoulders and well, Cam takes too good of pictures not to post when they're finally together.

Dot honestly just decides to live well with the knowledge that her family and Chris will never be allowed to touch her existence again. That being said. Doesn't mean Dot won't be passive aggressive. They might get, "You are Not Invited to the Wedding" Invitations in the mail. Jade might get a piece of jewelry in the mail: something that she gave to Dot years ago because she didn't like it and though it was more to Dot's "taste", and it was something that had been given to Jade by Chris or her parents. so when that comes in the mail at a strategic time, it won't be pretty.

Jumana, my G mancer (formerly Quinn) on the other hand, has Fuck Around time. If she hadn't been so shell-shocked when finding Chris and Jade doing the Deed, she would have been grabbing inconvenient shit right there with Cam. Would have grabbed Chris's favorite shirt/underpants, cut them up, and then mailed them back. Would arrange friendly dinners with ALL her family's friends, be on her absolute best behavior when spending time with them (which she's not known for with Jade and her parents) so that her family looks bad for their decisions to support Jade and Chris.

She would find the time to tell Chris at one point that they were a rebound from G. Would remind Jade that if Chris cheated on Jumana, what would stop them from doing the same to her down the line? Or reminding Jade that the spotlight can burn, so be careful where she seeks it. And well. Jumana doesn't exactly keep what happened a secret. So that spotlight might burn Jade faster than she expects.

Anyway, those are my initial thoughts. Now that I have their characters more fleshed out, I'm excited to work with them more to fit the story! I'll make sure to tag you when I make the intro post for them!

[mochimochimona]

Rewatching Arcane Only For Viktor and Jayce, analyzing for storytelling purposes as an artist* -S1 EP:4 or Viktors staring is sus

I loved that scene, where Jayce firstly implies Viktor to keep sitting so he doesn't need to crawl up and also for taking the blame completly.

A little disclaimer here because it might be confusing why I am doing this analyzis (?)...sss english is not my native language sorry - so I am an artist and Arcane is a huge inspiration for me and I wondered what the animators did to imply Jayce and Viktor being really close to each other, even having feelings for each other. And I do get the impression Viktor always had feelings for Jayce because he acts different in a lot of interactions with him. Body language is also an implication, so I will take a closer look on that as well. So I am going through scenes of them together and asking myself what makes me think they wanted to imply something more than lab partners, what makes me think that and HOW I would have done it differently to AVOID that. Also I want to know if I misinterpreted Jayce's behavior and read too much into it. So, here we go. It's actually part #3 already, I will put a post on tumblr with all of my guesses later. If you wanna share your thoughts, please do so!

Knowing what will happen and how sick Viktor gets, seeing it (really, seeing it because I can pay attention) and Jayce not noticing because he is so caught up in playing political figure hurts. Really hurts. And also I am sure now that Mel used Jayce most of the time to get what she wants (not in an evil way, honestly, she does take a liking to him later one, but I will say not as much as we get the feeling Jayce and Viktor care for each other) and she makes advances to Jayce, using his insecurity and jearning for acknoledgment.

I mean how can Jayce not tell that Viktor is immensly sick? I mean those two were working their asses of in the lab I get that, but I think it started right then and there that Jayce lost their dream, really, and the fact that Viktor is his best buddie (or whatever) and it got worse after he holds the speech.

And Viktor is clearly more devastated, which might even shocked Jayce too, than Jayce was, I mean the reaction:

Jayce really was surprised Viktor was so desperate. Viktor knew he was gonna die sooner or later so I think he thought with studying hextech he might find a cure for himself in the process. He didn't touch him, though, so Viktor wasn't shy, just shocked.

This scene made me laugh and choke, I have flashbacks of Jayce being in the Future but instead of seeing Mel and Viktor through the fire, we see him. Interesting choice to make the appearance of Jayce like that. Is that...is that foreshadowing again???? This makes my brain hurt.

Why am I doing this to myself again?

LOOK HOW HE LOOKS. WHY IS NO ONE ADRESSING THIS. Why am I doing this to myself, SEND HELP? Viktor was confidently asking "where have you been, they asked me to do the speech (or whatever)" but when Jayce touched him, said they were partners, he got a bit shy and even stuttered a bit. Okay so IF you are fine with your homie....anyway, the next thing:

"Not in front of" - there is a pause, his look:

"...all of them" and then THE STARE. Why would you do that? I am an artist myself and when it comes to visual storytelling, I am always asking myself what I want to tell people with frames and panels (if you make comics), so I am really wondering from a storytelling point of view: what did they wanted to make a point about? Apart from highlighting Viktor in this situation, to imply that he isn't comfortable in speaking to others okay. But his pause. Looking at Jayce...?

Because clearly Viktor is staring. Honestly, if they didn't want to make it read as longing, or something similiar/else, you would have took a different shot after he told "not for all of them", because if you did that, you wouldn't imply that he would have done it maybe in front of everyone, but not with Jayce staying there because it made him nervous being in front of him. ALSO really important thing I noticed here: when he interacts with Jayce in close proximity and out of context of research, he gets shy but he usually is a confident person.

And again, you could have approached Viktor not wanting to perform in front of a huge audience differently, if your only goal was to make that clear. Ya know, him being touched by Jayce on the shoulder, saying "You are my partner" and keeping a wide shot, making him gesticulate that he isn't comfortable, "in front of all those people" (he would do it in front of Jayce though). DOES ANYONE GETS WHAT I MEAN?

Still staring, or paying a lot of close attention to your lab partner.

And then he says "you - pause", AGAIN WITH THE CLOSE SHOT. I HOPE for the love of god that some people from the Studio will be at the Art Department in Berlin because I really want to ask about this. And I hope I won't get spooked so I ask lol. Because that's really what is interesting about this.

And then comes a really interesting thing, I guess. Sky approaches and she looks at Viktor. A short, acknowledging look from Viktor and he gets back to Jayce. So I was wondering why they made the shot like that again and showing she has interest in Viktor, but Viktor is just respectful.

And right back to Jayce but the next shot is a perfect masterpiece, I laughed so hard.

Replacing Vikor with the mug, where Jayces "Man of Progress" can be seen is, again, peak foreshadowing and storytelling. Again, you could have showed it differently, but every scene has a message and wants to convey something, so this is an important shot. Man, these guys from Fortiche are madmen. Stopping here or the post will get too long.

[manmuncher777]

SHADOW

Daemon x Hightower!reader

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

SMUT!! 18+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daemon Targaryen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before you can overthink it, you find yourself nodding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here?” you ask, glancing around nervously.

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

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

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

“I’m not used to this,” you admit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What... what do you want from me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t... I won’t do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

Daemon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His touch is light, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of your nightgown, but it feels like more. He’s too close now, his breath mingling with yours, and the space between your bodies has evaporated entirely. The tension thickens, coiling tighter with every second that passes.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice hushed, but with an edge of challenge. His fingers trace the edge of your collarbone, a soft caress that has your heart racing. “I’m not like the others. I won’t trap you. I’ll give you what you want... freedom.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words fail you. You feel like you’re drowning, suffocated by his presence and the way he’s watching you. You can’t escape from the intensity of it, the way he’s pulling you in without saying a word, drawing you closer, making you forget the consequences.

Daemon’s gaze darkens, and for the first time, you see something sharper, more dangerous. He leans in, so close now you can feel his breath on your skin. “You’re not a little girl anymore,” he says, his voice soft but full of intent. “You don’t need to play by anyone’s rules. Not mine, not your father’s... no one’s.”

His hand moves up to cup your cheek, and you close your eyes, caught in the heady warmth of the moment, the world narrowing down to just him, just the two of you.

“You can take control. You can have power, be free, just by making one choice.” His eyes flicker to your lips, and you feel the magnetic pull again, impossibly strong. “Let me take what no one else can have. Let me take your honour.”

The words hang in the air between you like a tangible thing. A weight that presses on your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. You should step away. You should say no, because you know this would ruin everything. You know the consequences. But as Daemon watches you, waiting for your answer, a part of you—something deep, something far more primal than logic—feels the lure of his offer.

He’s not offering you love, not truly. He’s offering you freedom. A chance to slip from the chains that have held you your whole life.

“Daemon,” you whisper, your voice trembling, though you’re not sure whether it’s from fear or desire.

“Think about it,” he breathes, his lips brushing the edge of your ear. “I can make you untouchable. No one can force you into that marriage. You’ll be free, and no one will stand in our way.”

The temptation lingers, heavy and oppressive. You know it’s dangerous. You know you should walk away. But the thought of being free... of being his... tugs at something deep inside you.

Daemon’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as you hesitate, and you wonder—just for a moment—if you’ve already fallen too far to turn back.

The room is suffocating with heat, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that seem to grow and stretch as Daemon’s gaze never leaves you. The space between you feels charged, like the air itself is thick with something unsaid, something dangerous.

Daemon’s breath is steady, controlled, but you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes—something that mirrors your own longing. His body is impossibly close, towering over you in a way that makes you feel small, vulnerable, but also alive, in a way you’ve never felt before.

You want him. That much is clear. His presence, his touch, everything about him makes your heart race, your pulse quicken, and your breath catch in your throat. But with that desire comes something darker, something you can’t quite put into words—fear, maybe. Or uncertainty. The price of giving in to this feels high, and you know it.

Daemon, however, knows this too. And that only makes him more determined, more insistent. He’s watching you intently, as if waiting for the very moment when he’ll break down the walls you’ve spent your life building. His hand is still lightly resting against your cheek, and his thumb brushes over your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He can sense the hesitation, the inner battle. You can see the smile tugging at his lips, but it’s not kind. It’s triumphant, as if he knows something you don’t. That, in this moment, you are his.

“You know what you want,” he says, his voice low, smooth, almost like velvet, but it carries an edge—a hunger you can almost taste. “You’ve been running, hiding behind your family’s expectations, but the truth is... you’re not like them. You’ve always been different. You want to be free, and I can give you that.”

His words hang in the air, thick and heavy, like a spell being woven around you. You know the consequences. You’ve heard them, felt them. And yet...

Daemon leans in just a fraction more, his lips brushing against your ear, and you can hear the quiet, dangerous satisfaction in his voice when he speaks again.

“You want to feel something different, don’t you? Something real, something you can’t get from your family or their precious plans. Let me show you what it feels like to have control, to finally feel alive.”

The moment stretches out, and all you can hear is the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. Your thoughts are swirling, spinning, but at the center of it all is him. Daemon Targaryen. The man who holds your future in his hands, a future that could break you, or free you.

You’ve never been so conflicted in your life, yet his words have found a way into your soul, pressing on every vulnerable part of you. You can feel the walls you’ve built around yourself beginning to crumble, and there’s a part of you—a deep, secret part—that wants to surrender to him, to let him take you and leave you with nothing but the promise of freedom.

And yet, you can’t quite breathe without wondering if you’re making a mistake. If you’re giving up something too precious. But when Daemon’s lips move closer to yours again, his breath hot against your skin, you know that it’s too late to turn back. The decision has already been made. The temptation is too strong.

You nod, just barely, but it’s enough.

Daemon doesn’t need more words. He sees the shift in you, the acceptance in your eyes, and a glimmer of satisfaction flickers across his face. It’s not just triumph. It’s something else—something darker. He’s won, but the game is far from over.

He moves, quick and decisive, pulling you into him as his lips crash against yours. The kiss is everything you’ve been afraid of and everything you’ve wanted, all at once. His hands move to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might slip away. And for the first time, you stop thinking, stop questioning, and simply feel.

This is it. This is the point of no return.

This is unlike any other, this kiss was so different to the one that you shared in the tavern, it was hungrier. Filled with something more than just innocence and tension. It was full of passion, a feeling that had you mind going foggy despite Daemon having hardly touched you.

The feeling of his possesive grip on your neck had you whimpering lightly into the kiss, a sound that he moaned at. Relishing in your innocence, your taste, the smell of your flesh, the way you looked so angelic in you gown, in the candle light of his room.

He had backed you into a wall now, leaving no room for your escape. His lips dominating yours with each kiss.

“Are you sure of this my lady, once I start, I don’t think I can stop” he pulls away to mutter breathily in your ear, the both of you panting lightly. All you can do is will yourself to nod your head, a small smirk gracing his features at your wordlessness.

You weren’t sure what he was going to do, but the burning pit in your stomach told you to accept it greedily. You watched as the silver haired prince lowered himself between you legs. Lifting one onto his shoulder as his head dissapred beneath your night gown. You stood in silence for a moment as you back leant against the cold wall, until a sharp gasp but through the silent air.

You weren’t expecting anything like this, for him to kiss you down there. You had never even heard of such a thing. You didn’t have it in you to comparing however, moans ripping from your throat as Daemon slopping kissed your pussy, tongue gliding through your slick folds.

He sucked and licked to his hearts content, he could feel his pants tightening at your taste, it drove him wild, so sweet and innocent, he was so lucky to be the first to touch you he thought. He sucked gently on your clit, listening to the shrill moans you let out as he played with your virgin cunt. Your hips bucking involuntarily against his face as he licked fat stripes along you.

You didnt know what to do with yourself, eyes screwing shut with pleasure as you took whatever he gave you, whatever this was it felt amazing, unlike anything before

A feeling in your belly rose, a band tightening, a coil winding. You felt like you were going to snap, your breathing becoming more and more erratic as Daemon did nothing to slow his action. You were positively dripping, your slick smeared over his face.

“Daemon, oh gods- Daemon it feels-“ You didnt get a chance to finish that sentence before that band inside you snapped, your nerves on fire as Daemon didnt dare slow is assault

“That’s it little shadows, scream for me.:” he murmured into your cunt as it gushed on his face. You were screaming in pleasure as this point, trying to pull his off of you when it got too much, you had never been so sensitive before.

When he was finished he rose from his knees, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve, something that you shouldnt have enjoyed watching - an action so filthy - but you couldn’t help it.

Your head all dizzy and mushy from the after effects of your orgasm still flowing over you. You scared at each other for a moment, you hooded eyes glancing at the man with nothing but want written all over his features.

Not breaking eye contact for a moment, he rid himself of his shirt. Slowly stepping over to you, like you were some scared animal, hands reaching for your dress, slowly raising the garment over your head.

There you stood, naked in front of the man who’s eyes were running over you like you were fresh cut meat and he was starving.

Your arms instinctively rose to cover your bare chest, your nipple perk as the night air brushed against them, Daemon stops you, ringing your hand down to your sides so he can look at you, mutterly sweetly in you ear about how you mustn’t fear him and there’s no need to hide from him.

His hands meet your hips as he guides you to his bed, laying you down on it. He rids himself of his trousers as well and you cant help but watch, an admirable length stands tall between his thighs and you gulp. You knew that was meant to go inside you, but how would it fit.

He could read the nervousness on your face as he pressed his body on top of yours

“whats wrong my lady?” he asks in betweeen his kisses on your neck and chest, biting and licking the skin, making it harder for you to talk

“..Serving girls my lord, they mentioned how… bedding was painful, not enjoyable.” you can hardly make eyecontact with the man as his kisses stop as he looks at you.

“Trust me my lady, It might hurt at first, but what we are about to do will be very, very enjoyable I can assure you.” he pulls your chin to force you to look at him, you can feel him prodding at your wet entrance as you cant help but squirm at the feeling, all you know is you trust the prince, and you need more of whatever this is

Slowly, watching your face he pushes inside, inch by inch. One of his hands holding yours.

The stretch burns, and when he finally sheaths himself fully inside of you, You gasp out from the pain. It certainly did hurt, but you wanted to believe what Daemon said, that it was going to get better. you whine at the pain.

Daemons breathing heavily now as he is still inside you, what he wouldnt do to take your virgin cunt like a street whore, but he’s trying to be considerate, pausing and allowing you to adjust to his size first.

After a short while he finally began to move, building slow thrusts in and out of your weeping cunt, your wetness was dripping down onto the bedsheets beneath you. Daemon slipping into you with ease. Gods your cunt was so tight it was practically choking him, you virgin pussy sucking him back in with every thrust.

NOw you understood what Daemon meant, now he was moving inside you, it felt increadibly.

His mouth sucking lazily on your nipples as moans reverberated through his chest. His hand still gripping yours, dwarfing your smaller one as he kept it pinned to the bed.

Your chest heaving with every gasp, this feeling was so foreign to you, yet it had your legs turning to jelly, your mind fogging as your eyes glossing over.

“My prince- please” In truth you didnt know what you were begging him for, but you knew that you needed more.

He chuckles to himself, watching you fucked out state “oh whats this, You want more my lady?” His thrusts now picking up in both speed and strength, kicking the air out of your lungs as moan after incoherent moan left you.

“What would dear father think if he saw you like this, hm?” he teased, relishing in the blush along your face, and the innocent pout you gave him at his suggestion. He wouldnt mind if otto walked in right now and saw how he was defiling his daughter.

Daemon was fucking you with such hunger, yout tits bounced with each thrust, entrancing him to the supple skin. The vulgar squelching noises of you cunt could be hurt, you were truly embarrassed, but in that moment you didnt have the capacity to be bothered about it.

“Such a good lady, taking me so well” he muttered, out of breath as his silver hair now dangled handsomely in front of his face. He couldnt help but look down at where he was entering you, moaning at the sight or his cock pushing into your virgin walls.

“You like this don’t you? You like that im ruining you for any other stupid lord” You squealed at his suggestion as he punctuated it with a particularly harsh thrust. His fat tip was bu;;yung that gummy spot inside of you, the one that left you quivering and shivering.

“Yes!- yes my prince, I love it” Daemon chuckled darkly, he knew he would break you. Getting you to be completely his, completely ruined and improper. He had destroyed you an turned you into something else, something darker.

That band was building inside you once more, that feeling that you loved so much. ONly it was stronger now, as if the previous time had only made this one stronger. Daemon could tell you were close by how tightly you were gripping him, and the cute way your eyes screwed shut.

He was close also, your cunt milking him for everything hes got. “Come on my lady, fall apart for you prince. Fall apart on my cock.”

The words he was saying to you were so vulgar and crude, but you couldn’t help that they helped push you were that edge. You released over your prince with a cry of his name. It was the only thing you could think to do, sing his praises.

You were dripping around his cock, your release all over his thighs and abdomen. His hand squeezed yours tighter as he fucked his way to his orgasm.

Hips stuttering as he came, shooting his seed deep inside of you. A moan leaving his chest as he finally stilled, collapsing into of you whilst he was still inside. Giving you a final sloppy kiss of the night. In that moment you couldnt have been happier, falling asleep in freedom, in your princes arms

The first slivers of sunlight spill into the chamber, casting a golden glow over the bedchamber. You stir, caught between the haze of sleep and the memory of what you’ve done—what he has done to you, with you. It was a night unlike any other, one where you let your defenses crumble entirely, and Daemon made sure there was no going back.

He stirs beside you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as if he can read your thoughts. “Awake already, my Lady? Don’t tell me you’re regretting it,” he teases, his voice low and full of self-satisfaction.

You rise, unable to match his ease, your nerves already fraying. “You know what day it is,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

Daemon stretches leisurely, as if the weight of the world isn’t about to come crashing down. “Your wedding day,” he replies, unbothered. “How fitting. A celebration, just not the one your father planned.” His smirk is infuriating and maddeningly attractive.

He insists you dress and follow him, his presence a steadying force even as your stomach twists. By the time you reach the hall where Otto, Alicent, and the King await, the adrenaline has numbed your nerves, leaving only a simmering defiance in its wake.

The three of them are gathered in quiet discussion, Otto pacing, Alicent biting her nails, the King seated with furrowed brows. All eyes snap to you and Daemon as you enter, arm in arm, his hand resting on yours with a casual possessiveness that sets the air ablaze.

“Good morning,” Daemon announces with his usual audacity, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We have some rather exciting news to share.”

Otto’s expression darkens instantly, his calculating gaze narrowing on Daemon’s smirk. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, though his voice trembles slightly.

Daemon’s smirk deepens, and he gives your hand a squeeze, silently daring you to speak. You open your mouth, but he beats you to it.

“Lady Hightower will not be marrying that dull lord you’ve chosen for her,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. “Not after last night.” He glances at you, his expression full of dark amusement, and then back to Otto. “Consider her... unavailable.”

Alicent gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes dart between you and Daemon, searching for denial that doesn’t come. The King slams his cane on the ground, his face a thundercloud of barely contained rage. “Daemon, explain yourself,” he barks.

Daemon steps forward slightly, still keeping you close. “She’s mine now, brother. Fully and irreversibly,” he says, his voice calm but layered with unyielding dominance. “So unless you wish to see this house embroiled in scandal beyond repair, I suggest you stop meddling in her affairs. Or mine.”

Otto’s face flushes with anger, his composure crumbling. “You’ve disgraced her! Disgraced this family!”

Daemon laughs darkly, as though he’s savoring every second of Otto’s fury. “Disgraced? I think I’ve done the opposite. She’s more than a pawn now, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes flicker to you, softer but no less intense. “She made her choice.”

You glance at Alicent, who stares at you in shock and something akin to betrayal, and then at your father, whose fury burns hotter than the sun. For the first time, you meet their gazes without fear. Daemon is a menace, yes, but with him by your side, you feel untouchable.

“Daemon is right,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “I will not marry a man I don’t know, don’t want. You can’t make me.”

Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out. The King lets out a sigh, his fury abating into tired frustration. “Daemon,” he says, “you have gone too far.”

“Perhaps,” Daemon replies with a shrug, “but far is the only place I’ve ever been comfortable.”

The tension in the room is suffocating, but you stand your ground, knowing there’s no turning back now. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens, his smirk a silent promise that, come what may, he’s not letting you go

[madrivervalleyicelandics]

Yes that’s sort of what I’m getting at, this could be “normal” & may have always been there, so I’m not even trying to moralize it or say it’s good or bad, it’s just that we NEED to get curious about it to actually know if that’s the case, & to know how best to manage symptomatic horses. If it’s something we can breed away from, that would be great to know! But it also just has implications for how we best manage individuals, if we don’t test we can’t know. Right now a lot of people will say a horse is hypermobile, and even recommend exercises for the horse, but I find strange pushback when it comes to actually checking for this disease. And ultrasounds aren’t invasive! They aren’t cheap, but MANY procedures are more cost prohibitive.

I had seen that they’re working on skin biopsies but I don’t think that’s available yet as a diagnostic test for owners to order yet…. If it is, it seems it hasn’t been available to me around here yet.

We did do muscle biopsies of my ESPA mares when we suspected PSSM2, & once I understood how invasive that procedure was, I understood why it’s not a popular diagnostic test. We had good reason to suspect PSSM with their symptoms, though, so I don’t regret the choice. A skin biopsy would certainly be easier than that 😅

My cynical guess is that breeders would need a very compelling reason to test the horses before they’d spend the money and risk tarnishing a bloodline’s reputation. With ECVM, lawsuits actually broke out over people sharing diagnostic results. Stallion owners were angry at the suggestion that their horses’ offspring had the condition, & didn’t want it to negatively impact their horses’ reputations. I recall a bit of that with Spavin, particularly if the stallions were sound & the condition didn’t bother them… it’s tricky. What would be MOST useful is a test that would be non-invasive enough to do as part of a prepurchase exam 😅

The official recommendation is to not ride ESPA horses, but studies have shown that exercise helps slow progression of the condition. I think stabilizing exercises (like basic French classical dressage work in-hand) are a great idea, & one of the vets I work with was also talking about doing things that the horses enjoy, for their mental health as well! For example Vigri finds trail rides enriching, always has enjoyed getting out to explore in the woods. I’m primarily being more mindful about how much weight he carries for how long, & avoiding excessive repetitive pounding. We’ve definitely done our last 100 mile ride, but he enjoys his hacks & can do them on the pony line or with a light rider & I feel comfortable with that for him at this stage (his vets have also approved that level of work). Managing his weight will also be extremely important. His vet team thinks he should be able to be comfortably managed into his 20s which, really, is a decent expectation for any horse. I can’t be mad about that prognosis! But that decision is also context specific to Vigri, who gets bodysore when he’s out of work, & who shows evidence of enjoying his hacks. When it came to Sylgja, she was fully exercise intolerant at her time of diagnosis (age 5) & wasn’t consenting even to hand walks, & Skvísa was not far behind, experiencing muscle tremors after walks for example. So there is a huge range of progression & severity.

It could be a topic for a whole separate post, but I think offering opportunities for consent in training could be a huge part of managing chronic / progressive conditions like this. It’s not foolproof because horses tend to be very good about telling you what’s comfortable in the moment, but can’t really understand that doing too much now might make them sore later, so in that sense consent isn’t ENOUGH. But man… having Sylgja be pure R+ trained & VERY comfortable saying “no” is what saved her a much more painful life, & honestly the reason I kept digging to understand what was wrong with her when diagnostics kept coming back negative. There was this constant question of, maybe it’s just behavioral, maybe I’m not getting through to her, why is she like this…. But she kept saying no, so I kept trying to figure out why. When we did her ultrasound, I was warned ahead of time that it might be inconclusive because of her young age - the disease might be present but might not have broken down the tissues enough to become obvious yet. So when the results were a very CLEAR positive at age 5 both vets & I just kind of sat there in silence for a few minutes like, damn. Okay. Well. That’s that, then. I was so stunned after the ultrasound that I was sort of robotic but I remember that one of the vets took me aside and said “listen, this horse could have so easily been abused if you hadn’t listened to her. I see it every day.” Imagine if I’d sold her on, or tried to push her through it when she started to resist.

I’m only just getting to feel really okay talking about it, honestly. But there is so much to learn from the whole situation, not just for me, but already it’s helped others solve mystery cases of their own. And many horses get a better outcome than she did, if we catch this early I think there is so much we can do for these horses.

Another thing I’ve been talking about with a couple of colleagues recently is that many of us (esp in R+ circles) have made careers of fixing horses that would have been culled in the past. Again, not trying to moralize that or say it’s good or bad, it’s just the world we live in now. We don’t kill animals when they fall short of expectations, in most modern cultures - we try to work with them and find solutions. That means we WILL see and discover more conditions than we used to. Even if ESPA has always been around, these fast-progressing cases that make horses lame or provoke them to behavioral problems wouldn’t have been around long enough to really examine because they’d have been culled. Until fairly recently in history, honestly. So perhaps, as welfare improves globally and we continue to evolve our thinking to respect animals as individuals with inherent value (which I think is a good thing, to be clear!), maybe seeing more chronic disease is a part of that, just in the sense that these animals now get the privilege of a full life 🤷‍♀️ I can’t tell if that’s a positive thought or a gloomy one, which probably means I should stop for the night 😅

Since my two mares got ESPA diagnosed in 2023 I feel like everyone I know has ESPA dx’d or suspected in Icelandic horses. So all I’m gonna say here is that if you have weird mystery sensitivity, the horse is kind of reactive & weird some days & fine others & you’re ruling out a lot of common causes of pain & can’t really find muscular or chiropractic causes & the horse isn’t lame on one leg or neuro but something is just weird about the horse…..

Ultrasound those suspensories, bestie!

We just did Vigri this Fall & found that he has early signs of degeneration of his suspensories, too, but at 16 & sound this is “normal” progression of the disease (as opposed to the serious degradation of the tissues we noted in Sylgja at age 5, & her mom at 13 - I still think Skvísa probably would have progressed more slowly had I not bred her, which I’d never have done if I’d known she had the disease). Since he isn’t a mare, won’t be bred, & the current best practice for treatment is consistent, appropriate exercise, I’m responding to this DX by slowing down his workload, riding him myself less, ponying him more, having my child (who is very light) be his primary rider when ridden, & keeping up with the shoe package that’s been keeping him sound & comfy with his rotational deformities up to this point. Vigri is more comfortable / happy when in an exercise program so this makes sense for him at this level of progression, but we will be monitoring closely & re-checking. This comes w perfect radiographs (zero arthritic changes to hocks, fetlocks, etc) - we literally only US’d bc when I pulled him barefoot last winter I THOUGHT I noticed his fetlocks dropping slightly more than usual, & I wanted to see if I were crazy or not 🤡

But where I’m at w this now is I think it is FAR more common in the breed than previously reported & warrants serious examination certainly for anyone who wants to breed these horses. The prevalence in Standardbreds, pasos (disease was first discovered in pasos) etc has a lot of vets curious if there’s a connection between the DMRT3 mutation & this connective tissue disease. Worth noting as well that Vigri is of no relation to my other horses, & is actually not even from the same breeding farm. Looking back, I wish I could US Glæta… I have a lot of questions about past “complicated” horses I worked with that could be answered by this disease.

It’s super worth paying attention to because of the connective tissue involved w internal organ suspension. A friend just attended a dissection of an (suspected) ESPA horse in which the liver was found to be detatched. I know quite a few Icelandic horses that were “fine” until they suddenly died of some weird medical event involving digestion. Was it colic or something else…..?

We know this disease can affect the cardiovascular system, vision, etc. I’m certainly curious if Vigri’s intermittent difficulty pulsing down - even when his resp returned to normal right away - could be related to subclinical presentation of this disease. I’m even curious if his rotational deformities at birth might have been the earliest sign! I’m quite sure it explains his unusually sensitive skin, which rubs & chafes so easily. All of which is to say, this disease goes beyond workload / performance expectations, it’s not just a (potential) soundness problem. It’s potentially something that can negatively impact organ function.

Another interesting thing I’ve learned more recently is that research is suggesting that the bodies of these horses lay down layers of fat in unusual / unexpected places to compensate / protect the lack of healthy connective tissue. On dissection that’s apparently really interesting to see, sometimes the horses don’t even palpate or look especially fat until you get into the layers of the body. My ESPA mares did have an unusual amount of body fat & it actually complicated the muscle biopsies we did to rule out PSSM2….

Anyway this is sort of a disorganized dump of random ESPA thoughts but I haven’t had the energy or time to make more coherent thoughts for Instagram / FB & I know Tumblr doesn’t care.

Bottom line is if you’ve got gaited horses & they’re having “mystery” health or behavioral issues, you might want to consider a connective tissue disorder as a possible contributing factor! & certainly if you notice hypermobility or unusual flexion of the joints.

[critter-of-habit]

Just remembered this dumb comic I did like 3 years ago as part of the 'space road-trip' au art I did - ie. Hera, Sabine, Ahsoka, Enfys and Barriss are all on the Ghost together and Hera is already exhausted by everyone's nonsense

(bonus Ahsoka ending up bunking with Hera and not shutting up about Barriss)

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 59

Chapter; Highlights

His ears still rang with the din of battle, his breath a rasping beat echoed by Aelin.

Atop the blood-slick battlements, their allies and companions around them, Rowan wordlessly passed Aelin the waterskin. She drank deeply, then handed it to Fenrys.

An unleashing and release. That's what the battle had been for his mate.

Hasar at last looked Aelin over. "I heard you put on a show today."

Rowan braced himself.

Aelin turned from the battlefield and inclined her head. "You look as if you did, too." Indeed, Hasar's ornate armor was splattered with black blood. She'd been in the thick of it, atop her Muniqi horse, and had ridden right up to the gates. But the princess made no further comment.

Irritation, deep and nearly hidden, flashed in Aelin's eyes. Yet she didn't speak again-didn't push the princess about their next steps. She just watched the battlefield once more, chewing on her lip.

She'd barely stopped during the battle, halting only when there had been no more Valg left to kill. And in the minutes since the walls had been cleared, she'd remained quiet— distant. As if she was still climbing out of that calm, calculating place she'd descended into while fighting. She hadn't bothered to remove any of her armor. The bronze battle-crown was caked with blood, her hair matted with it.

Chaol's father had taken one look at her armor, at Rowan's, and gone white with rage.

For now. They had bigger things to consider. Things that drove his mate to gnaw on her lip. When Prince Kashin's army might arrive, if they would indeed head northward to Terrasen. If today had been enough to win them over.

"Any nearby are to run here. Those farthest out will have to flee for the forest." Rowan met Aelin's stare. Her hands began shaking.

This cannot end here, she seemed to say.

Panic—panic indeed flared in her eyes. Rowan gripped her trembling hand and squeezed.

But there was no truth or lie that might soothe her. No truth or lie to save the army on the plain.

Something had gone wrong. Something was wrong.

The battlefield stretched into the distance, healers darting amongst the felled bodies with white banners high to indicate their locations. So many. So many dead and wounded. A sea of them.

Elide reached Chaol's side just as Nesryn Faliq leaped atop her beautiful ruk, launching into a dive for the army below. No-the other ruks.

Elide laid a hand on Lord Chaol's shoulder, drawing his attention from where he watched Nesryn fly off. Blood-splattered, but his bronze eyes were clear. And full of terror.

Any message that Yrene had given Elide faded from her memory. "What's wrong?"

It was Aelin who answered, her bloodied armor strange and ancient. A vision of old. "The dam is going to break," the queen said hoarsely. "And wipe away anyone on the plain."

Oh gods. Oh gods.

Elide glanced between them, and knew the answer to her next question: What can be done?

Nothing.

Ruks took to the skies, flapping toward them, soldiers in their talons and clinging to their backs.

"Has anyone warned the healers?" Elide pointed to the white banners waving so far out into the plain. "The Healer on High?" Hafiza was down there, Yrene had said.

Silence. Then Prince Sartaq swore in his own tongue, and sprinted for his golden ruk. He was spearing for the battlefield within seconds, his shouts ringing out. Kadara dipped every few moments, and when she rose again, another small figure was in her talons. Healers. Grabbing as many of them as he could.

Elide whirled to her companions as soldiers began running for the keep, trampling corpse and injured alike. Orders went out in the language of the southern continent, and more soldiers on the battlefield leaped into action.

"What elsewhat else can we do?" Elide demanded. Aelin and Rowan only stared toward the battlefield, watching with Fenrys and Gavriel as the ruks raced to save as many as they could. Behind them, Princess Hasar paced, and Chaol and his father murmured about where they might fit everyone in the keep. Those who survived.

Elide looked at them again. Looked at all of them.

And then asked quietly, "Where is Lorcan?" None of them turned. Elide asked, louder, "Where is Lorcan?" Gavriel's tawny eyes scanned hers, confusion dancing there. "He ... he went out onto the battlefield during the fighting. I saw him just before the khagan's troops reached him."

"Where is he?" Elide's voice broke. Fenrys faced her now. Then Rowan and Aelin. Elide begged, voice breaking, "Where is Lorcan?" From their stunned silence, she knew they hadn't so much as wondered.

Elide whirled to the battlefield. To that endless stretch of fallen bodies. Soldiers fleeing. Many of the wounded being abandoned where they lay. So many bodies. So, so many soldiers down there.

"Where." No one answered. Elide pointed toward the battlefield and snarled at Gavriel, "Where did you see him join with the khagan's forces?"

"Nearly on the other side of the field," Gavriel answered, voice strained, and pointed across the plain. "I—I didn't see him after that."

"Shit," Fenrys breathed.

Rowan said to him, "Use your magic. Jump to the field, find him, and bring him back."

Relief crumpled Elide's chest.

Until Fenrys said, "I can't."

"You didn't use it once during the battle," Rowan challenged. "You should be fully primed to do it."

Fenrys blanched beneath the blood on his face, and cast pleading eyes to Elide. "I can't."

Silence fell on the battlements.

Then Rowan growled, "You won't." He pointed with a bloody finger to the battlefield.

"You'd let him die, and for what? Aelin forgave him." His tattoo scrunched as he snarled again.

"Save him."

Fenrys swallowed. But Aelin said, "Leave it, Rowan." Rowan snarled at her too. She snarled right back. "Leave it."

Some unspoken conversation passed between them, and the hope flaring in Elide's chest went out as Rowan backed down. Gave Fenrys an apologetic nod. Fenrys, looking like he was going to be sick, just faced the battlefield again.

Elide backed away a step. Then another.

Lorcan couldn't be dead.

She would know if he were dead. She would know it, in her heart, her soul, if he were gone.

He was down there. He was down there, in that army, perhaps injured and bleeding out — No one stopped her as Elide raced inside the keep. Each step limped, pain cracking through her leg, but she didn't falter as she hit the interior stairwell and plunged into the chaos.

She had made him a promise.

She had sworn him an oath, all those months ago.

I will always find you.

Soldiers and healers fled up the stairs, shoving past Elide. The shouting was near-deafening, bouncing off the ancient stones. She battled her way down, sobbing through her teeth.

I will always find you.

Pushing, elbowing, bellowing at the frantic people who ran past her, Elide fought for each step downward. Toward the gates.

People screamed, a never-ending flood surging up the stairs. Still Elide pushed her way down, losing a step here, another there. They did not even look at her, even try to clear a way as they flowed upward. It was only when Elide lost another step that she roared into the stairwell, "Clear a path for the queen!"

No one listened, so she did it again. She filled her voice with command, with every ounce of power that she'd seen the Fae males use to intimidate their opponents. "Clear a path for the queen!"

This time, people pressed against the walls.

Elide took the small opening, and screamed her order again and again, ankle barking with every step down.

But she made it. Made it to the chaotic lower level, to the open gates teeming with soldiers. Beyond them, bodies stretched into the horizon. Warriors and healers and those bearing the wounded rushed toward any stairwell they could find.

Elide managed all of five limping steps toward the open gate before she knew it would be impossible. To cross the field, to find him on the endless plain, before that dam burst and he was swept away. Before he was gone forever.

He was not dead.

He was not dead.

I will always find you.

Elide scanned the gates, the skies for any sign of a ruk that might carry her. But they soared to the upper levels, crawling with soldiers and healers, some even depositing their charges onto the mountain face itself. And at ground level, none would hear her cries for help.

No soldiers would stop, either.

Elide scanned the other end of the gates' entryway.

Beheld the horses being led out from their stables by frantic handlers, the beasts bucking at the panic around them as they were hauled toward the teeming ramps.

A black mare reared, her cry a sharp warning before she slashed her hooves at the handler. Lord Chaol's horse. The handler shrieked and fell back, barely grasping the reins as the horse stomped, her ears flat to her head.

Elide did not think. Did not reconsider. She limped for the horses and the stables.

She said to the frantic handler, still backing away from the half-wild horse, "I'll get her." The man, white-faced, threw her the reins.

"Good luck." Then he, too, ran.

The mare Farasha-yanked so hard on the reins that Elide was nearly hurled across the stones. But she planted her feet, leg screaming, and said to the horse, "I have need of you, fierce-heart." She met Farasha's dark, raging eyes. "I have need of you." Her voice broke.

"Please."

And gods above, that horse stilled. Blinked.

Horses and handlers streamed past them, but Elide held firm. Waited until Farasha lowered her head, as if in permission.

The stirrups were low enough thanks to Lord Chaol's long legs that Elide could reach them. She still bit down on her shout as her weight settled on her bad ankle, as she pushed, and heaved herself into Farasha's fine saddle. A small mercy, that they had not even had time to unsaddle the horses after battle. A set of what seemed to be braces hung from its sides, surely to keep Lord Chaol stabilized, and Elide unhooked them. Any weight, anything to slow her, had to be discarded.

Elide gathered the reins. "To the battlefield, Farasha."

With a whinnying cry, Farasha plunged into the fray.

Soldiers leaped from their path, and Elide did not stop to apologize, did not stop for anyone, as she and the black mare charged toward the gates. Then through them.

And onto the plain.

[ssruis]

Going through a straight up comical amount of irritating situations to get the stupid 4* guaranteed ticket from the welcome to sekai campaign. It Will Be Mine.

[bearlydruid]

“I’m sorry.” His echo is quiet, but not any less honest - to know that all of Astarion’s connections had been taken from him seemed so cruel. But an elf like Halsin cannot ever begin to understand one like Cazador. Though he attempted to be a peaceful person there is no way to deny that vengeance has its place too in Halsin. He sought revenge for those that Ketheric had doomed - he sought revenge on the Goblins who had imprisoned him. “If….if you would like to, when we go to pay our respects we could do so for both of our parents.” Of course there is the unspoken chance that Astarion’s parents might be alive. Perhaps they had fled the Gate after losing their son. There might be records - but no doubt Astarion would have faced a grave punishment for trying to find them. Now though? There are opportunities before them that could lead to Astarion finding some peace potentially.

Now though, they are still dealing with the poison that Cazador had sewn into every aspect of Astarion’s existence. Every memory corrupted, every reaction built from years of torture and abuse. Halsin understood intimately how Astarion felt. He remembered the touch of his Mistress and the way she had won his cooperation. He remembered his Master’s apparent indifference - right up until it came time to parade their pet about. Halsin had been a novelty amongst the Drow. There were still moments, even centuries later, when he felt their hands on him. Halsin let out a sigh and pressed his scarred lips together for a moment, centering his thoughts again on the man before him.

Halsin brings Astarion’s hands up to kiss each palm, cradling them as delicately as he might an injured sparrows wings. He has seen Astarion take lives, he has watched with pride and thrill as his rogue fought, he knows that Astarion is not weak. The trembles do not mean such a thing, nor does the particular words that his lover spoke. To not want to be there, to be lost in this grief and these memories, does not make Astarion weak. “I cannot take this pain from you - but I promise to not leave you to endure it alone.” Halsin said softly. He leaned forward to press his forehead to Astarion’s, eyes closer as if to bind the words between them.

“If you want me to, I can help you rest - although it would only be a temporary reprieve.” Elves metabolized Potions of Sleep faster, and even Angelic Slumber, and that wasn’t even accounting for his vampiric rejuvenation. He wouldn’t mind sharing his pipe, or any other remedies he could think of. “I could also try a different touch? If heavier pressure might help.” Thinking immediately about trying a deep tissue massage.

A second later Halsin heard himself. “I do not mean laying on you, before you worry about being crushed.” He added before Astarion could protest. “I meant like deep tissue - to help remind you of current sensations.” It always seemed to help to explain himself better, he had to remember that not many shared his same knowledge.

"I'm sorry." Astarion says, unsure of what else to say when Halsin confirms that his parents are indeed dead. "I do not remember my parents, I wish I could." But he supposes that is what trauma does to someone. He doesn't recall them at all or if they're even alive.

But that is the least of his worries right now. That is not what is plaguing his mind, threatening to drag him back into that dissociative state again.

Astarion's mind screams at him to forget, forget, forget. He wants to retreat into himself and shut down entirely but Halsin's voice keeps him grounded and in the present.

"We should visit them sometime, then." Astarion tries to make his voice sound even and firm but it's quieted considerably, he's struggling to focus on the conversation at hand and when Halsin pushes, he knows that shutting down would not be good for him even when he wants nothing more than to ignore the pain.

"I..." Astarion pauses to swallow the lump forming in his throat. "I can still feel him. Feel the pain and the feeling of his hands. It's not there but it feels like it is." He wants to scrub and scrub his body until there is nothing left except for raw bloody skin.

Instead, he forces himself to let Halsin take care of him, even as his hands shake in his lover's hold.

Would it be so bad to drift off again?

"I don't want to be here right now." He isn't talking about ending his life, he's survived far too long for that, but he doesn't want to be grounded, he doesn't want to be in the present. He wants to run, retreat back into that place where he feels nothing at all.

[stimboardboy]

Question: how do you find videos to make into gifs?

oh its different for most of the sites! I use Etsy these days a lot for gifs and I tend to just use the search engine with prompts I think of, and then look through similar products or other people’s collections. for stuff like instagram the search engine doesn’t work in a way that’s easy for me so i usually have to either follow people or just use my for you page (a few time I’ve found reallyyyyy old videos on archived stim blogs to gif but not very often)… and I’ve made a few TikTok gifs but I usually find those through google bcs I don’t have a tiktok… I hope this made sense, I know it’s might not be very helpful… a lot of my sources I stumble upon on accident while looking for other things

(bonus: I use ezgif to make my gifs if it means anything!)

[phagodyke]

i keep getting irrationally miffed at ppl 😐😐

[catmemer]

Thinking of making sticker sheets of my ocs.....need to find a site that does that

[mariocki]

Susannah: Yes. Yes, he did risk himself. We all did. A lot of it... OK, a bit half-assed but at least... some of it will stick! You have to try. It's not going to work any more, running for the same old burrows... we're rafting off into space - God! Frank sees it. He said to me one day, 'Suse... you know what's going to do for us all? Not the failure of intellect, moral, muscle - but the failure of imagination! They're all too busy with their snouts in the trough to smell the fire.'

Crystal: Yeah, he says some really daft things.

-

Pam Gems, Loving Women (1984)

[reidsworld]

A Different Kind of Training

Summary: When sparring with Logan turns into something more.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: sparring, cursing, mentions of alcohol, teasing, flirting, kissing, making out, tit sucking, fingering, heavy petting, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, knife play? (the claws come out), use of Y/N, pet names (baby, bub, darlin’) — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!

Word Count: 2.8k

Mars speaks… Two fics in one day? What can I say, I’m a sucker for writing (and Logan Howlett). I originally wasn’t gonna write smut for this but I locked in and nearly 1.4k words of smut later, I’m happy with how it turned out! I was imagining Logan in X-Men but this gif is too hot not to use.

Masterlist

The sun was setting over Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, casting a warm, golden light through the large windows of the gym. The usual buzz of activity had quieted down, leaving you alone to get in some extra training. The silence was almost calming, a rare moment of peace after everything that had happened over the past few days.

You were lost in your thoughts, practising your kicks against a heavy bag, when the door creaked open. Without needing to look, you knew who it was. There was only one person who could move so silently yet make his presence known so effortlessly.

“Looks like someone’s been working hard,” Logan’s gruff voice came from behind you, a teasing edge to it. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

You turned, arching an eyebrow as you met his gaze. “Just trying to stay sharp. Didn’t expect you to drop in. Thought you’d be nursing a beer somewhere.”

He shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Beer can wait. Figured you could use some real training instead of beating up that bag.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, so you’re volunteering to be my punching bag?”

Logan pushed off the wall and strolled toward you, his movements fluid and controlled. There was always something captivating about the way he moved—like a predator, always aware of his surroundings, always ready to strike.

“Something like that,” he said, his voice low as he came to a stop a few feet from you. “If you think you can handle it, bub.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at your lips. “Big words, Wolverine. Hope you can back them up.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “Guess we’ll find out.”

The session began as it always did—circling each other, testing the waters with light jabs and quick footwork. But there was an underlying tension tonight, more than usual. Maybe it was the way Logan’s eyes kept straying to your lips, or the way your heart raced every time he got close.

“You’re getting slow, old man,” you teased as you dodged a punch and spun away, landing a light tap on his shoulder.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk. “And you’re getting cocky. Might have to teach you a lesson.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, you both lunged forward, fists flying in a blur of motion.

The sparring intensified, the lighthearted banter replaced by focused determination. But even as you fought, there was a spark of playfulness, a dance of words and movements that only the two of you shared.

“Is that all you’ve got, bub?” Logan grunted as he blocked a kick and spun you around, his grip on your arm firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a sly smile on your lips. “Wouldn’t want to hurt your ego too much, Wolvie.”

His laughter was low and genuine, and it made something warm unfurl in your chest. Logan was a hard man, but moments like these—when he let his guard down, even just a little—made you feel like you were seeing the real him. The one beneath all the gruff exterior and adamantium claws.

As the session continued, you found yourself pushing harder, testing his limits just as much as your own. Each time he got close, you felt the heat of his body, the brush of his skin against yours, and it was becoming harder to focus on the fight and not on how much you wanted him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of back-and-forth, you saw your opening. With a quick feint, you managed to sweep Logan’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the mat with a surprised grunt.

You didn’t waste a second, straddling him and pinning him down with a triumphant grin. “Looks like I’ve got you.”

Logan looked up at you, his eyes dark and intense, but there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. “Seems so. What’s your plan now, darlin’?”

The way he said “darlin’” sent a jolt through you, and suddenly the playful atmosphere shifted into something heavier, more charged. You leaned in closer, your faces just inches apart, your breath mingling with his.

“Maybe I’ll make you beg for mercy,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing.

Logan’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. “Or maybe I’ll turn the tables on you.”

The challenge in his voice was clear, and you felt your pulse quicken in response. But before you could think of a retort, Logan’s grip tightened, and with a swift, effortless movement, he flipped you over, reversing your positions so that he was the one hovering over you.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly, but his eyes were soft as they searched your face. He wasn’t pinning you down, not really—there was still room for you to escape, but neither of you made a move to do so.

The tension between you was palpable now, crackling in the air like electricity. Logan’s gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if asking permission. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest, but you gave a small nod, unable to find your voice.

That was all the encouragement Logan needed. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as fierce as it was gentle. It was like everything that had been building between you two—the banter, the flirting, the unspoken tension—was pouring out into that one kiss.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, lost in each other.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other’s. Logan’s eyes were still closed, his grip on your hip gentle but firm as if he didn’t want to let you go, while his other hand was on the floor, positioned next to your head.

He leaned down to lay passionate but gentle kisses against your neck.

You bit your lip, suppressing the almost vile moan that was on the tip of your tongue, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. “I’ve been waiting for you to make the first move.”

Logan chuckled, raising his head to look at you. “Guess I’m not as patient as I thought.”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. “Guess not.”

The mood between you had shifted, the playful teasing giving way to something deeper, something more intimate. You felt a connection with Logan that you hadn’t allowed yourself to fully acknowledge before, and now that it was out in the open, it felt right.

“So, what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s eyes darkened with a new intensity, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “How about we take this workout somewhere more private? I’ve got a few ideas on how to… optimise our training.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the suggestive tone in his voice. “Lead the way,” you murmured, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Logan smirked, pulling back just enough to help you to your feet. But before you could move, he captured your lips in another heated kiss, this one more urgent, more demanding. It left you breathless, your knees weak as you clung to him for support.

When he finally released you, there was a hunger in his eyes that mirrored your own. Without another word, he took your hand and led you out of the gym, his pace quick and determined. The cool night air hit your skin as you stepped outside, but you barely noticed, too focused on the man beside you.

Logan’s room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air was filled with a quiet intensity as you both entered, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Logan’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes dark with an unspoken promise. He stepped closer, his rough hands finding your waist, pulling you gently towards him. The world outside seemed to fade away as you stood there, the anticipation crackling between you.

You looked up at him, your heart racing, as his hands slid up your back, his touch both firm and tender. “So, this is your idea of a private training session?” you teased, your voice breathless.

Logan’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Just thought we could continue our workout in a more…personal setting.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s lips were on yours, his kiss fierce and hungry. The sudden intensity took your breath away, but you melted into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, gripping him as you kissed him back with equal fervour.

His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer as if he wanted to absorb every inch of you. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as you both lost yourselves in the sensation. The roughness of his hands contrasted with the softness of your skin, creating a delicious tension that only heightened the experience.

Logan’s lips were warm and insistent, moving with a rhythm that made your pulse quicken. He gently pushed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours, the heat and strength of him undeniable. You responded eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips moving in perfect harmony with his.

The kiss was a dance of passion and exploration, each touch and caress filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. Logan’s hands slid down to your hips, his grip strong and possessive as he pressed you closer against him. You could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his muscles, and it only made you want him more.

“Jump,” Logan said, though it sounded more like a grunt than actual words. As you jump, his arms catch you, holding you by both of your legs as your hands threaded through his hair. You could feel him straining against his pants while he walked you over to the bed. You looked up at him with a smirk from where he tossed you on the bed. You slowly begin to undress, leaving you bare in front of him with the exception of your bra and panties.

“Stunning,” He muttered under his breath as he stared at you in a trance. His hand travelled down to his aching bulge, palming himself at the sight of you.

“Just gonna stand there and stare or are ya gonna do something, Wolvie.”

He let out an almost animalistic growl as he climbed on top of you, capturing your lips with his. His rough hands hands felt smooth against your skin as they travelled across your body. He pulls away from you, looking at his hands as his claws come out. He gently slides a claw under your bra, snapping it, freeing your breasts.

His claws retract and discard the bra across the room. His head quickly dives down to your tits, mouth latching onto one of your hard nipples as his hand kneads at the neglected breast. A yelp escapes your lips as he gently bites down on your nipple.

Your hands twine themselves in his hard, tugging gently as he moves his attention to your other breast. As he focuses on your breast, he shifts so that his elbow is holding him up while playing with your breast. His free hand slides down your body, slipping into your panties.

His fingers brush over your clit, making you let out a very solicited moan. His fingers run up your slit, making him groan.

“Fuck, you're already so wet and I’ve barely done anything yet, bub,” you let out an almost pathetic whimper in response. You feel him rut against your leg, attempting to get some much-needed relief. One of your hands leaves his hair and moves to push off his pants before planning him through his underwear, earning a groan from his lips.

You gasp as you feel one of his thick fingers enter you, pumping and curling in and out. It feels so good, all you can do is moan out his name. Looking into your eyes, he pulls you into a kiss as another finger slips into you. He swallows your moan with his mouth.

“Logan, ‘m so close baby,” you moan into his lips before whimpering at the loss of contact as his hand pulls your of you.

“Need to be inside you, want you to cum around my cock, darlin’” he says making you nod quickly, pulling your hand away from his groin.

He stands up, pulling off his boxers. As his cock frees, it slaps against his stomach and you almost whimper at the sheer size of it. His claws slowly extend out of his fist. He crawls back on top of you before using one of his claws to gently rip off your panties.

He positions himself at your entrance and looks up at you for approval.

“Please Logan just fuck me already.”

Gently and slowly, he pushes himself inside of you. His head falls back at the feeling of you around him. You wince at the slight sting from the size of him. He slows down and looks at you. You nod at him and moan as he bottoms out.

The two of you stay still for a minute as you adjust to him.

“Ok, you can move now, Lo.”

“How d’ya want it darlin’?” his raspy voice sounds out, making you even wetter.

“Rough baby, I thought this was supposed to be private training not–,” you tease him but are quickly cut off by your own moan as he roughly pulls out to the tip before slamming back in. His hands grip your legs, pulling them over his shoulder before moving to tightly grip the pillows next to your head. Your arms move up my your head, loosely wrapping around his.

The room is filled with loud moans and grunts as he fucks you. One of his hands moves down to circle your clit, making you cry out at the feeling. He drops one of your legs off his shoulder, changing the angle slightly.

“Oh fuck, right there!” you scream out as he pistons into your sweet spot. He throws his head back with a loud growl as your pussy clenches around him.

“Holy shit bub, so fuckin’ tight, wrapping around me just right.”

You hear the loud noise of his claws right next to your head as they extend into the bed. He uses them to give him more leverage as he fucks you harder, making you arch your back.

“‘M so close baby,” you moan into his ear as his head drops to your neck.

He doesn’t give up his relentless pace as he brings you closer to your orgasm. The sounds of his feral grunts in your ear throw you over the mess, making you scream as your insides tighten and you cum around his cock.

“Almost there,” he says as his thrusts become sloppier and his dick twitches inside of you.

“Where d’ya want it?”

“Inside, please,” you say, desperately.

Logan moves to kiss your tender lips roughly as he cums in you with a loud groan. His thrusts slow down before he comes to a stop. He drops on top of you with heavy breaths as you both lie there in silence.

Slowly pulling out of you, Logan rolls onto his back next to you before you both turn your heads to look at each other. He grins at your fucked-out expression.

“That was even better than I imagined,” he admits.

“Same,” you agree as you lean over to kiss him, smiling against his lips and muttering as you pull away,

“This was definitely a different kind of training, but I think that I still need a little more work on my form, think ya could help?”

Mars speaks... (again) I don't think I've ever locked in more than I did for writing the smut part of this. Any feedback is greatly appreciated🫶

[flowersforbucky]

down bad

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.9k

author's note: i couldn't stop thinking about bucky being able to use his metal hand as a vibrator and therefore this was born.

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (female receiving), fingering, bucky being used as a human vibrator, multiple orgasms, language, consumption of alcohol, reader is afab, no use of y/n, slightly possessive bucky, 18+ only

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Natasha mutters through a mouth full of popcorn. “Tyler from the statistics department? Are we talking about the same Tyler from statistics?”

“Nat, for the fourth time, yes. Tyler from statistics. The only Tyler from statistics that I know.” You reach for the bottle of Moscato that the two of you are sharing, pouring yourself some more wine.

“Nuh-uh,” Natasha shakes her head. “I don't believe you. There's no way he could be that bad.” She takes a sip from her own glass of wine. “He's too gorgeous,” she shrugs, turning to face you on the couch. The romantic comedy you had picked out for your bi-monthly movie night plays forgotten in the background.

“Trust me,” you sigh. “I was just as shocked as you are. But I swear on my life, he stuck his tongue in my ear. In my fucking ear, but wouldn't go down on me.” You can tell by the look on her face that Nat is trying her hardest not to laugh.

“He said his dick game is ‘too good to need to eat a girl out’.” You shake your head, cringing at the memory. “Which is also what he said when I merely suggested that he use my vibrator on me instead. He looked like I had kicked his dog.”

“Well?” she asks, a pained expression across her features. “Was it? Too good?”

“I didn't stay to find out,” you admit. “I faked a work emergency and dipped.” A laugh breaks through her pursed lips.

“I'm sorry–” she says, although her face says otherwise. “I shouldn't laugh. You just have the worst luck with men. Isn't that the third failed hook-up in what? Six months?”

“Don't fucking remind me,” you groan, throwing your head back on the couch and staring up at the living room ceiling. “I think I've lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to me by another person again.”

Nat opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it when you both notice voices approaching from the hallway.

Sam and Bucky enter the room a moment later, both dressed uncharacteristically nice. You suddenly feel the desire to conceal yourself with the fleece throw blanket laying across your lap. You and Nat usually plan your movie nights for when the tower is relatively empty, so you're just wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a tank top. Bare-faced and hair unstyled, the fact that Bucky's gaze is locked on you as the two of them approach where you and Nat are lounging doesn't help. He's not smiling - but there's a look on his face that you don't quite understand. The ghost of a smirk on his lips and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

It's a look that makes you nervous - in addition to already feeling flutters in the pit of your stomach at how fucking good he looks.

“Hey, boys,” Nat greets them cheerily. “Where are the two of you going so dolled up?”

“There's a new nightclub in Brooklyn that a group of SHIELD trainees are going to tonight,” Sam answers. “They invited us and we've got nothing better to do. Figured we'd go check it out, get a few drinks. You ladies want to tag along? Or are you too busy watching - what is this, 10 Things I Hate About You?” He gestures towards the screen.

“Couldn't hurt to get out of the house for a while tonight, right?” Nat looks at you for confirmation, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Who knows, you might even meet someone,” she adds, nudging you with her elbow.

Bucky lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough, which he tries to play off as the latter. You narrow your eyes at him before glancing back to Natasha.

“For sure,” you agree, trying to ignore Bucky's bizarre behavior. “Couldn't hurt. You guys go on, we'll get ready and head there soon. Text us the name of the club?” You direct the last part to Sam in particular.

“You got it,” Sam says as he pulls his cell phone from his coat pocket. He turns to leave when both your and Nat’s phones chime with the club information. “Let's go man, our Uber's here,” he directs at Bucky.

“See you both soon,” he says before turning to follow Sam, though his gaze is still only on one of you.

“I'm gonna go throw on some make-up, curl my hair, and hope I can find something somewhat cute to–” Nat starts as soon as Bucky and Sam have turned back down the hallway.

“Was he acting kind of odd?” you interrupt her in a hushed tone.

“Barnes? Always. I've stopped reading into it too much.”

“Some spy you are,” you mumble. “Meet me back here when you're ready.”

— — — — —

One hour later, you're applying some last minute mascara and lip gloss in the backseat of an Uber on your way to downtown Brooklyn. Natasha sits beside you, ranting about an assignment that Fury has tasked her with and you swear you're trying your hardest to absorb everything she's saying - but your mind keeps going back to the way Bucky was looking at you just an hour ago.

What was with that little smirk? That curious glimmer in his eyes? Had he overheard your conversation with Nat? Had he developed the ability to read minds and knew you were thinking about how fucking hot he looked? Or was that thought simply written all over your face?

You knew you couldn't deny it. Bucky does look exceptionally attractive in his black suit, with his perfectly tousled hair - but you had found him to be ridiculously good looking since you'd first met him. Even in casual, everyday clothes, even in gym shorts and drenched in sweat, even covered in blood after particularly brutal miss–

“You girls have a great evening,” your Uber driver interrupts your train of thought as he comes to a stop in front of your destination.

You really need to get fucking laid. You definitely shouldn't be having these kinds of thoughts about Bucky. He's your coworker, your teammate, your training partner on many occasions, your friend…

Natasha thanks him and hands him a generous cash tip before climbing out of the car right after you.

“Thanks,” you tell her. “I'll buy our drinks.”

“Don't worry about me,” she tells you with a sly grin as you both flash the bouncer your IDs and enter the club. Despite the night still being relatively young, it's already bustling inside.

“You just focus on meeting people, mingling, maybe hitting it off with a super hot guy and taking him back to your place for some mind-blowing–”

“Super hot guy? Are you talking about me?” Sam’s voice interrupts Nat. You both turn around to see him and Bucky walking towards you, drinks in hand.

There's a roguish smile on Bucky's face as his eyes skim up and down your figure.

“You both look wonderful,” he compliments, but once again, his stare is focused only on you. If Natasha notices, she says nothing.

To be fair, you were impressed with how well you managed to put yourself together with such little notice. You found a black, backless mini dress crammed in the back of your closet that you had forgotten all about after snagging it on clearance forever ago. The form-fitting material hugs you in all the right ways, and paired with your favorite pair of strappy black heels, you're feeling infinitely more confident than you were when Bucky saw you just an hour prior.

“Thanks!” You chirp quickly, averting your gaze from him to take in your surroundings. To your left, the dance floor is lively, though not too overcrowded for your liking. To your right, there's a bar surrounded by tables filled with groups of people conversing - you vaguely recognize a couple of SHIELD agents huddled around one. The entire room is illuminated by the faint blue-green glow of the mood lighting, and the bass of the music vibrates through the floorboards.

Sam and Bucky excuse themselves to go say hey to the group of agents that had invited them, while Nat all but drags you over to the bar. You order a double shot of whiskey and throw it back as quickly as you can.

“I see what you mean now,” Nat whispers to you after downing her shot of tequila. “About Barnes,” she clarifies. “He's been eye-fucking you since we walked through the door.”

If you hadn't already swallowed your liquor, you would have spewed it all over her.

“He has not been eye-fucking me, Nat,” you say in an almost scolding tone.

“I'm just saying,” she throws her hands up. “There’s no way he could possibly be any worse than the last few guys you've gone for. I think you should go for it,” she shrugs.

“It's not that I don't think he'd be good,” you say defensively, forcing yourself to look away from where he and Sam are socializing with the small group of SHIELD agents a few tables away. “I just don't want things to be weird afterwards. We work together nearly every day, and we have a bunch of mutual friends–”

“Suit yourself,” she cuts you off in a tone of voice that very much says if you say so. “Now, are you going to dance with me or not?” She adds as she begins tugging you towards the ever-busying dance floor.

You spend the next half hour dancing with Nat before she's swept away by some black-haired doctor looking type. Good for her, you think as you watch them converse intimately at a small booth on the other side of the room.

Thanks to the liquid courage that runs through your veins, you're okay with the fact that Bucky stands just twenty feet away from you, watching you as you dance among the thick crowd of people.

You've made eye contact with him a few times now - on accident or on purpose, you're not sure at this point. But each time, your eyes lingers on his for a moment longer than the last.

You're mentally daring him to come here, to make a move, to do something other than stand to the sidelines of whatever conversation Sam and the others are engaged in.

The slightest bit of pressure on your waist snaps you back to the now congested dance floor.

You look up to find that the hand on your waist belongs to a tall man with shoulder length, sandy blonde hair. He's conventionally attractive enough, though not who you were hoping would come grab you on the dance floor.

“I'm Shawn,” he introduces himself, loudly enough for you to hear him over the roaring music. You tell him your name, pushing aside the pang of disappointment in your chest.

“Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter to talk, maybe? Let me buy you a drin–”

“There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you,” a voice booms from behind you.

Shawn immediately retracts his hand from your waist, backing up a few inches as Bucky comes into view beside you.

“Must not have been looking too hard, I've been right here this whole time,” you jab back with a smug smile.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to–” Shawn says as he starts to back away.

“No worries, bud,” Bucky says in an overly friendly voice as he moves to stand in front of you, blocking you from Shawn's view entirely.

“Took you long enough,” you tell Bucky once the man is out of ear shot, once again beginning to sway to the music. “Get bored of listening to Sam hype himself up to the newbies?”

He takes a step closer, angling himself behind you. The crowd of people surrounding you edges you closer to him - your bare back brushing against the cool satin fabric of his suit.

“Maybe,” his chest vibrates against your skin when he speaks. He places his hands on either side of your hips - eliciting goosebumps across your skin in a way that no one else has in a long, long time.

“Or maybe I just wanted to save you from wasting your time on another guy who can't make you come.”

Your movements come to an abrupt pause as his words hit you.

He had fucking overheard your conversation with Natasha.

At a loss for words, you turn to face him. There's a shit-eating grin spread across his face. He thinks this is hilarious and it's obvious.

“Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to eavesdrop?”

“Is it really eavesdropping if I have superhuman hearing?” He takes a step closer to you, closing what little distance was separating you. The peaks of your breasts brush against his chest.

“So what happens now that you've saved me from another unsatisfactory hook-up?” You challenge, staring up at him in the neon blue lighting.

You can smell hints of cedarwood and sage from his cologne in your close proximity. It's so delicious that it's dizzying.

“Let me take you somewhere more private than this dance floor and I'll show you.”

“You seem to have a lot of confidence in your ability to give me a better experience,” you say, leaning forward so that your face is just inches from his.

He responds by placing his flesh hand on the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. The tips of his fingers continue to dance down the skin of your exposed spine. His vibranium hand comes to cradle your jaw, his metal thumb tracing your bottom lip.

His mouth forms a dark smirk - and then you feel it. It starts soft and subtle and then gradually increases in intensity.

His fucking thumb is vibrating against your lip.

If you hadn't been standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor at a nightclub in downtown Brooklyn, you would have taken that thumb into your mouth and sucked on it right then and there.

“What do you say?” he asks, now tugging on your bottom lip with the pulsing digit. “Are you going to let me take you to the first empty room I can find in this place and make you come?”

“I say show me the way.”

He removes his hand from your face and turns you in the direction of the back of the club. He guides you through the throng of dancers, keeping his hands placed firmly on either side of your waist from behind. His vibranium fingers still hum softly, reminding you of what he says is to come.

Directly past the dance floor, there's a hallway blocked off by a rope with a sign that reads employees only. Taking a quick look around, you see that all of the patrons surrounding you and Bucky are paying you no mind. Bucky unhooks the flimsy rope and the two of you slip down the hallway.

He jiggles the handles of several doors that all turn out to be locked. Not wanting to waste any time or draw any attention to yourselves with picking locks, you continue down the dark corridor until the heavy music from the heart of the club fades to a muted roar.

The very last door opens without a hitch.

Thanks to the pale orange glow of a table lamp on a desk in the corner of the room, you can see that you're in a makeshift office/supply room - a couple of filing cabinets, cleaning supplies, extra glassware, and some sound equipment strewn haphazardly throughout the limited space.

Bucky clicks the lock into place as soon as he closes the door behind him.

You're going to turn around him and tell him that he doesn't have to do this - that as badly as you want this, you don't want to ruin your friendship, that as badly as you want him, he doesn't have anything to prove to you - but his lips are already on yours as soon as you start to open your mouth.

He doesn't take his lips off of yours as he guides you backwards to the rickety wooden desk. The backs of your thighs hit the table and Bucky effortlessly lifts you to sit on the edge, giving him the perfect angle to deepen the kiss - with his tongue exploring your mouth, you're unable to stop yourself from groaning into the kiss.

You fist your fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough so that he hisses into your mouth. His own hands trail from the sides of your stomach and down your thighs, until he reaches the tail of your dress. You instinctively part your legs for him, as much as the restrictive fabric will allow, and his vibranium hand shoots between your thighs.

He teases you, dragging his index finger along the cloth of your panties that you know you're close to soaking through already. Just as the tip of his finger pauses above your clit, his finger begins emitting the softest vibration.

You break the kiss, breathless as you throw your head back at the sensation. Bucky takes it as an opportunity to attach his lips to the pulse point of your throat, nipping your flesh with his teeth followed by a wet kiss.

He continues with the ministrations through your panties until you're rutting against his hand, needing more. He tugs your underwear to the side and increases the intensity of the vibration before nudging his middle finger past your entrance.

You have to hold onto his shoulders to steady yourself - despite the fact that you're sitting, your body feels like jelly beneath his touch. He adds in his index finger with ease before cupping your pussy in his palm - the heel of his hand pulsating against your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you cry against his mouth.

“You're so fucking wet for me, you know that?” He coos, thrusting both of his fingers against the spongy-flesh of your walls.

You can feel the vibrations of his hand all the way from your belly to your toes.

You begin grinding your hips to meet the movement of his fingers, fucking yourself against his hand. There's a familiar knot forming in your lower belly as he curls his fingers inside you -

“I want you to think about me and how good I'm making you feel every time you think about letting some fuckin’ nobody touch you,” he says in a low voice next to your ear. “I want you to think about riding my fingers until you come all over my hand.”

His words send you over the edge and you do exactly that - your pussy clenching around his fingers as you ride them through your orgasm. While you're still coming down from the high of your climax, Bucky pulls his metal fingers out of you and brings them to your lips, inserting his index finger in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the slick metal as he brings the vibrations to a halt and then slowly pulls the finger from your mouth.

He picks you up off the edge of the desk and plants you back on the ground - your legs still shaking from how hard you had come.

“Turn around and lean over the desk,” he instructs you, soft but authoritative.

You don't know if it's because of the way he's looking at you or because of how good he's already made you feel, but in that moment, you would've done anything he asked of you.

You bend over the desk, supporting yourself by leaning on your forearms. You peak back over your shoulder to look at Bucky - he hikes your dress up, baring your ass to him.

He lets out an audible groan before he has even pulled your panties down to your ankles.

He kneels on the ground behind you, his face inches away from your cunt. He uses both his flesh and metal hands to spread you open for him, and then his tongue is licking up your center from behind.

God, you hope no one tries to come into this room. The door may be locked but the sounds that someone would hear if they even walked up to the door…

Bucky knows just how to make you writhe above him. He's soft when he's kissing up your folds and unsparing when he's sucking your clit between his lips. His hands hold your ass in a firm grasp that teeters between pleasure and pain.

You grind back against his face and he moans so deeply that you feel the vibration of it up your core. Your eyes roll back into your head as you clutch the sides of the desk to better support yourself.

His enthusiasm alone has you spiraling towards a second climax embarrassingly fast.

“You know,” he murmurs against your sensitive pussy. “When I overheard you say that someone had refused to go down on you, I couldn't believe it. What a fuckin idiot to pass this up.” He gives your ass cheek a firm slap with his flesh hand before diving his face between your legs once more.

It's just seconds before you feel the telltale pressure growing in your lower belly once more. You go limp against the table, Bucky placing his hands on the backs of your thighs to help keep you upright as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

You continue to lay against the desk as you regain control of your breathing. Bucky stands up, tugging your panties up your legs and back around your waist as he does. He then shimmies your dress back down into place so that you're once again looking club-appropriate.

When you turn around to face him, he's wiping your slick from his lower face on the sleeve of his suit, once again displaying a shit-eating grin.

“What was it you said?” He asks in mocking contemplation. “You had lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to you by another person again?”

“I think you've made your point. You're fantastic at eating pussy and you're a walking human-sex toy.” You roll your eyes at him and start to walk towards the door, but he grabs your wrist in his metal hand, stopping you.

He pulls you back to him and brings his flesh hand to cradle your jawline. He stares at you in a heavy, uncertain silence for a split second before bringing his lips to yours.

It's a kiss that's a bit more hesitant, and a lot less rushed than the one before. You taste yourself all over him, warm and salty. He takes his time getting lost in your mouth - you savor every second and it still comes to and end all too once.

“Couldn't help myself,” he smiles softly when he pulls away. “Just had to kiss you one last time.”

You can't help the way your heart skips a beat when he says the word last.

You clear your throat. “We should probably go find Sam and Natasha,” you say, giving him a small smile in return. “I'm sure they're both wondering where the hell we are.”

You spend the rest of the evening attempting to mingle with friends, but there's one thought that torments you for the remaining duration of the night - just a few hours ago, you doubted that you'd ever have a satisfactory hook-up ever again.

Now, you had to wonder if anyone else could ever make you feel as good as Bucky did.

♡♡♡♡♡

i left this kind of open-ended soooo leave it to your own interpretation what happens next for them 🤭

as always comments/reblogs are infinitely appreciated. thanks for reading!

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