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arabellasleopardcoat · 3 days

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To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

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brain-rot-central · 3 days

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Do you think that Astarion is actually decently intelligent or do you think he is real good at hiding his own stupidity?

Ohhh this is an interesting question. I have a whole theory on why Astarion seems like a ditz in game.

Astarion was (technically still is) a magistrate. The man is smart. He went to law school, and likely grew up highly educated. He's not stupid. His vocabulary is quite rich, though you can also attribute that to 200 years ago being the last time he had an earnest conversation with another being. The version of common spoken now in Faerûn is a bit duller. Even Wyll and Gale, also two highly educated men, don't speak the way Astarion does. Wyll even mentions at one point how Astarion's choice of words gives away his age (the whole "agog" bit).

However.

Given how smart Astarion is, him playing the helpless fool works in two ways for him: 1) it guarantees protection from others by way of gaining sympathy; and 2) it allows him to get close to potential targets without raising much suspicion. Mind you, those are both things he did (or at least tries to do) to Tav/Durge if you romance him.

HOWEVER.

My theory toward why he seems a bit off in terms of smarts has to do with him being enthralled by Cazador. Cazador keeps the spawn underfed on purpose as a way to make them more submissive and easily controlled. Their minds are clouded constantly by hunger -- only ever getting enough to keep themselves from going feral. Blood could dance under their noses and they'd never be able to touch it, unless Cazador wills it.

Astarion is essentially starved when we first meet him. But not for long, as he quickly takes off into the night to hunt (probably something he did at first just to see if he could and likely out of pure desperation). Once he realizes he can gorge himself on whatever amount of animal blood he can, he graduates to pushing the boundaries of another rule: the blood of thinking creatures. Yet another thing that was banned by Cazador. Astarion comments on how much sharper his mind is after having fed on the PC.

Anyway, my theory is that once Cazador is dealt with and Astarion is free, he slowly begins to regain all his prior memories as well as his intelligence. Everything is just being suppressed. Once Cazador is gone and he's given regular feedings, the man is a menace. A "too smart for his own good" menace.

#neech's speeches #astarion #answered #astarion headcanons

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bogleech · 2 days

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Could I mayhaps know what's the name of that arachnid field guide you have 0//0 it looks really pretty and I have. A thirst for all arachnid related field guides and biology books, love those critters

The Golden Guide to Spiders and their Kin! There were lots of them, originally made in the 60's or 70's I believe, and they used to still be so common when I was a kid - still in print, and sold for just a couple dollars everywhere - I thought everybody had a few! But now they seem to be forgotten.

I had the spiders one, insects one and "seashores" one (mantis shrimps and nudibranchs!!) before I could even read, just looking at the pictures all day. As I learned to read they were how I learned concepts of taxonomy and ecology, why I knew what a "parasitoid" was in first grade and I'd talk constantly about insects that aren't really RARE, but culturally most people never heard about. These books made things like velvet ants, bolas spiders and hairy millipedes seem to me like knowledge as ordinary as dogs and cats.

That "pests of animals" page in particular is why I knew there were wingless parasitic flies, and I thought that was so cool, I was obsessed with "SHEEP KED" for my entire childhood. This bug that nobody ever heard of when I mentioned it, but was at one time deemed worthy of inclusion in an everyday field guide. And they include "duck louse" as an animal pest you're expected to encounter. Sheep and duck parasites?!.....Oh, right! When these books first published, it was still commonplace for almost everyone to have experience with farm animals. Most people at least had grandparents or aunts and uncles with a farm they might visit and help out on. Of course they would encounter sheep and duck parasites. I think they still publish these, actually, I'm sure I still saw them in Barnes and Noble only a few years ago, but it's remarkable what a different America they were made under. My old copy even recommended DDT to control bed bugs....they did eventually edit that out in newer editions.

Some of their attitudes may be outdated here and there, and they're only intended for North American wildlife, but I think the golden guides might still be perfect introductions to their topics for anyone, anywhere of any age really?? They're such well-balanced overviews so densely packed with just the most essential information about each organism.

....Did people really ever just call tree frogs "hylas?!" It's one of their genus names, but was it also used as a common name anywhere? That's a cute idea. Maybe it was, briefly, so at some point to someone there was a concept of Frog, Toad, and Hyla?

#biology #animals

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flowerandblood · 8 hours

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (31)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She couldn't believe it, but the measter left her with no illusions − after weeks filled with fear and prayers, a miracle had happened and she was expecting a child.

She knew it was a blessing from the heavens, that some women waited months or even years for their offspring.

She thought with joy that it was a sign that the gods were supporting them and their cause.

That they also did not desire war.

It seemed to her that, despite everything that had happened, her mother was also reassured and pleased by this information − by the thought that perhaps she would give birth to a son who could be declared heir to the throne and bring a solution that would at least partially satisfy all sides.

The only person who was not pleased by this news was Jace. He was the only one not to congratulate her, and at the common table he pretended not to see her, speaking only to his betrothed.

She realised that their mother, while protecting him all her life, had at the same time weakened him, allowing him to remain immature deep inside while maintaining a semblance of masculinity.

She decided, however, that it no longer mattered.

She eagerly awaited her husband's return, wanting to convey this wonderful news to him in person − she wished to see his reaction and enjoy the moment with him. She gushed with delight when one morning her servant announced that a message had arrived from Harrenhal, hoping that she would read in it when she would see him again.

Her anger at him was now completely passed, replaced by longing and desire to be reunited.

She unrolled the parchment, chewing on the piece of bread she had just had in her mouth, and began to read.

I reached Harrenhal however, unfortunately, I found the fortress empty. Lord Strong escaped with several spies − we are still searching for them. In accordance with your will, I have spared Alys Rivers' life and locked her in her chamber. I cannot predict when I will be able to return to Dragonstone. I ask your forgiveness for not fulfilling my duty as your husband and not being by your side. Aemond

She swallowed hard, feeling a twinge of discomfort and grief in her guts at the thought that the matter was not yet closed and there was no way of knowing when it would be.

The thought of further separation devastated her.

This made her come up with an idea that her mother did not approve of.

"No. You are carrying your child inside you, I will not let you fly to Harrenhal. It's too dangerous." She communicated to her clearly, shaking her head.

She pressed her lips together at her words, feeling her heart pounding fast.

"The journey to Harrenhal is not long. Who would attack me in the sky? My husband has informed me that the fortress is empty. I will be safe there. He is there to prove his loyalty to me and you."

Daemon chuckled at her words, shifting from foot to foot, amused.

"He's fixing something he destroyed himself. If he had said what he knows instead of playing with us, I would have taken care of the matter myself, and Larys Strong's head would have greeted visitors to Harrenhal on a spike." He said coldly, staring at her expectantly. She looked at him in disbelief, wondering if this was what they were discussing then, on the seashore.

Daemon knew of what was about to happen to them and Aemond had thwarted his plans.

She swallowed hard at the thought.

"I…−"

"− I'll fly with you −" She heard Baela's voice and raised her gaze to her, surprised. Jace moved beside her uneasily.

"− what are you doing? −"

"− I've never seen Harrenhal − I'll make sure my cousin got there safely, rest a day or two in the fortress and return to Dragonstone −" Baela said without heeding her betrothed's impatient, furtive gaze.

Rhaenyra pressed her lips together, turning her head away, clearly frustrated that her daughter wanted to leave her family home, which she felt was the safest place possible for her.

"− if you lose this child −"

"− I won't lose it − I'll look out for myself − it'll be easier for me to calm down when I'm by his side knowing what's happening −" She explained, looking at her with a certainty from which her mother sighed heavily.

She and Baela set off before dawn the next day. Her mother hugged her tightly, tears in her eyes at the thought that her child was leaving her again.

"− watch out for yourself − you are my only daughter −" She muttered with regret and pulled away, placing a lingering, warm, tender motherly kiss on her forehead.

She glanced at Daemon, who stood in the distance − he was looking at her with his chin raised high, as proud and filled with mockery as always. He nodded as if he accepted her choice, the fact that she had done what he demanded.

She had made a manly decision with all its consequences.

She was her husband's wife.

Flying in the skies alongside Baela and Moondancer, she wondered why she had never done this before; her cousin's dragoness was as beautiful and agile as Larax, her scales shining wonderfully in the light of the rising sun.

She was grateful to Baela for offering to fly with her − her company calmed her and gave her strength, a sense that she wasn't treating her like a traitor, that she was trying to understand her and help her as much as she could.

She thought with pain that if she had opened her heart to her earlier, they would have been close friends for years.

She hoped in her mind that they would make up for lost time when at last the succession issue would be finally resolved.

When peace would reign.

The journey to Harrenhal on the dragon's back proved to be quick and pleasant − they landed just outside the fortress when the sun was already lazily rising in the sky.

She couldn't stop the wide smile that appeared on her face, the rapid pounding of her heart or the trembling of her hands as she slid from her saddle and saw her husband step out of the stronghold gates to meet them, looking at her from afar.

She felt what she had experienced when she saw him for the first time after eight years then, in the courtyard of the Red Keep, when he was duelling with Criston Cole.

She wanted to run to him, throw herself into his arms and whisper how much she missed him.

This time he didn't turn away, and she didn't hold back.

She laughed as she felt her legs begin to carry her forward on their own, her body filled with warm affection and emotion at the sight of his pain-filled disbelief.

As she fell into his arms, as she smelled his familiar scent again, she felt his hands catch her under her hips and lift her high. She threw her arms around his neck, her legs entwined around his waist as their lips came out to meet each other, locking in a sticky, messy, hot kiss from which they both sighed quietly.

She squirmed when she felt his tongue slide deep into her mouth, rubbing her palate, her walls clenched greedily as his throbbing manhood slapped against her lower abdomen, betraying how great his longing actually was.

She pulled away from him, breathing loudly as he did, wanting to look at him and noticed his hazy, dark gaze filled with desire, his lips, puffy from their caresses parted.

She sighed when his broad hand stroked her head and pressed her forehead against his, only to have their lips join again a moment later in a soft, warm kiss with a loud click of their saliva.

Only after a moment did she remember that she had not come alone.

She grunted quietly, pulling away from him − her husband glanced sideways and furrowed his brow, setting her back down on the ground, clearly unhappy with what he saw before him.

Their cousin stood a few steps behind her, smiling at her uncle with feigned affection and mockery, from which his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Baela accompanied me on the journey for my safety. Mother did not want me to fly to Harrenhal alone." She said quickly, wanting to calm the situation and what was surely just going on inside his head.

She saw him glance at her quickly at her words, as if surprised. He hummed under his breath and nodded − his expression softened, as if he recognised that this was indeed the right decision.

"I am grateful to you for your sacrifice, cousin. I will order a chamber to be prepared for you." He announced coolly and matter-of-factly − their cousin nodded, still smiling.

She knew she was trying to bring him out of balance, but there was nothing she could do with it.

As one of the servants took Baela to her quarters, her husband looked at her and licked his lower lip with his tongue, as if he was thinking deeply about something.

"− I must speak to you in private −"

"− I need to speak to you too −" She said cheerfully.

She was so eager to share this joyful news with him.

She closed the door behind her as soon as they crossed the threshold of his chamber, ready to tell him, but he grabbed her violently by the shoulder and turned her towards him, slamming her back against the wall.

She squealed when his lips pressed against hers as if he wanted to devour her, his tongue invading deep into her throat with his loud sigh on the edge of pain and relief.

"− w-wait − uncle − I must −" She mumbled as his hand clamped down impatiently on her breasts and his hips began to rub against her stomach − his manhood was all hard and swollen beneath his breeches, and the very thought made her feel the wonderful, familiar wetness between her thighs.

"− were you touching yourself? −" He breathed out into her mouth, as if he was in amok and hadn't heard her words, his hands trailing from her hair, down her neck, to her breasts and buttocks, as if he couldn't decide what he wanted to feel more, what he longed for so much.

"− I − y-yes − gods, Aemond −" She gasped in pleasure as one of his hands slid deep between her thighs − his fingers dug into her womanhood hidden beneath the fabric of her breeches, teasing and squeezing it, making her nipples harden all over with desire.

Only a sigh escaped her lips as he turned her with her face against the wall, his moist tongue running over her thrill-warmed neck, his twitching cock pressed against the place between her buttocks.

"− me too − every day −" He hummed into her ear, untying her breeches with his long, nimble fingers − she involuntarily pressed her cheek against the wall understanding and desiring whatever was about to happen, her fleshy insides clenching desperately around nothing.

"− morning and evening − thinking of this tight little cunt −" He gasped with delight, running his fingertips over her soft, plushy folds as he spoke the words, satisfied apparently that she was completely ready for him.

"− as always sticky and warm for her husband − hm? −" He hummed, sliding her breeches down with a single, sure flick of his hand.

She swallowed hard, feeling her thighs and what was between them being enveloped by the cool air of the room, her heart thumping like mad as she heard him try to deal with the material of his garment behind her back, his hot breath teasing her neck again and again.

"− yes − ah −" She mumbled when she felt him grab her with his arm around her waist and pull her hips closer, forcing her to buck her buttocks and bend over.

Pathetic, helpless moan broke from her throat when she felt how swollen the head of his cock was, with what difficulty he tried to force it between her slick, hot, puffy walls.

"− fuck − fuck −" He exhaled, with impatient thrusts of his hips invading deeper and deeper into her warm core, spreading her open on his fat erection.

She gasped, clenching her eyes shut, trying to keep her balance by leaning against the wall in front of her and fit what he was trying to force into her − she thought in disbelief that it seemed more swollen to her than usual, she could feel exactly every vein of it rubbing again and again the wonderful spot inside her.

"− why is it − so big − o-oh, gods −" She mewled, moaning like a mere whore as he began to pound into her without any warning, opening her wide again and again on his throbbing cock with loud splats of his thighs against her buttocks.

She felt her wetness run down her thighs − she knew he had seen it because she heard his low groan of pleasure.

"− and what do you think − fuck, Rhaenys, I'm not going to pull it out of you tonight −" He breathed out, leaning forward, slamming into her again and again as brutally and quickly as if he'd lost his mind − he leaned one of his hands against the wall just above her head, the other clenching at the same time on her hip, forcing her to take what he was giving her.

She clenched her hands into fists, feeling the tickling, hot sensation building up in her lower abdomen at a startlingly rapid pace, her hips involuntarily beginning to respond to his thrusts, meeting him halfway, clenching around his manhood, refusing to let him go.

Her nipples swelled wonderfully as she felt him press his face against her hair, as if he was drawn to her scent, groaning and panting along with her, thrusting into her so fast and deep that he was hardly sliding out of her.

"− let me, Rhaenys − let me, let me, let me −" He uttered with a heavy breath, and she felt that it was over for her − her body shook with a wonderful, tickling shudder that she felt in her mouth, in her fingertips, in her nipples and in her weeping cunt, which began to suck him inside her in an fulfilment so strong that for a moment she saw darkness before her eyes. She heard his surprised gasp of pleasure, followed by his loud sigh of relief.

She felt his hot seed fill her womb again, his hips rocking inside her for a moment longer, his face pressed into her neck, as if he wanted to prolong this wonderful moment.

They both couldn't catch their breath, panting and quivering, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, keeping her from slipping to the stone floor.

"− Rhaenys −" He whispered, and she sighed quietly, smiling involuntarily, tired and fulfilled.

"− hm? −"

"− stay wtih me −"

She swallowed hard and pressed her lips together into a thin line, for some reason feeling a squeeze in her throat, a wonderful elation at the thought that he craved her presence so much, that he missed her as much as she missed him.

"− I will, my love −" She hummed and heard him sigh in relief, his lips placing a soft, warm kiss on her neck.

"− what did you want to convey to me? − your mother has another condition? −" He asked reluctantly, as if he didn't want to bother himself with this topic, having her at his fingertips again. She smiled at his question, placing her hand on his arm, with which he embraced her at the waist.

Her heart sang with joy.

"− I'm carrying your child −"

She felt him freeze behind her, his breath caught in his throat.

"− what? −" He muttered, as if he thought he had overheard himself and needed her to say those wonderful words again.

She smiled under her breath feeling that, for the first time in months, happiness and hope filled her. With a soft movement, she grabbed his wrist and gently placed his hand on her lower abdomen, pressing it against her bare skin. She heard him swallow loudly, taken aback in disbelief.

"− you're going to be a father, uncle −" She hummed, turning to face him over her shoulder − her breath caught in her throat when she heard him laugh.

It was not a mocking or cold sound, more an expression of joyful disbelief, there was a warmth and happiness in his gaze from which she felt moved.

She felt the tips of his fingertips dig into the soft skin of her stomach, his lips found hers in a greedy, wet, deep kiss, his half-soft manhood pulsed deep inside her again.

"− Rheanys − oh gods − this must be a dream −" He breathed out into her mouth, slipping his slick tongue deep into her throat, panting with delight − her walls squeezed him tight with pleasure as she felt him involuntarily begin to root into her again with the tentative, soft thrusts of his hips.

"− then it is a good dream −" She whispered tenderly into his mouth and he murmured loudly, saying no more.

This time, knowing she was expecting his child, he took her to his bed, wanting to look at her face and what he was doing to her, panting into her mouth at how much she pleased him, how well she did, already carrying his offspring in her womb.

He pulled their garments off of them, ripping his eye patch from his face, wanting to be vulnerable with her, wanting to be exposed with her.

She knew what she was to him at that moment.

A dragon egg that had cracked.

As his swollen manhood pushed against her moist slit again, he slid into her with ease, slowly and unhurriedly this time, merely rocking his hips back and forth inside her, making her lips part in delight at how gentle and tender the experience was.

His cheek snuggled into her hair and his face sank into the pillow under her head as if he didn't want her to see the expression on his face, how much pleasure he was getting from this soft intimacy.

They both moaned shyly as he slowly began to accelerate his pace, each time slapping his bare skin against her buttocks − her lips placed soft, butterfly kisses on his bare shoulder and neck, her hands ran down his back and buttocks making his soaked cock pulsate impatiently deep inside her.

"− I've missed you −" She whispered, answered by his low sigh, his hand blindly finding her breast and squeezing it lightly, as if the sensation of that plump, soft structure under his fingers gave him a sense of security and reassured him.

"− me too −" He muttered so quietly that she barely heard him, a lazy smile filled with happiness spread across her face as she closed her eyes and let herself drift off.

When it was all over, her husband, all breathless and sweaty, laid his head on her womb, facing her, looking down at her belly, running the tips of his fingers over it as if he was thinking about what was hiding under her skin.

"− how did you find out? − are you absolutely sure? −" He whispered, as if doubts were beginning to invade him, as if he feared it was too beautiful to be true. She sighed quietly at his words, the smile never leaving her face.

"− I fainted and was examined by the maester − I am sure −"

At her words her uncle furrowed his brow, raising the gaze of his healthy eye at her, his sapphire shone dangerously in the sunlight.

"− you fainted? −"

"− yes − I despaired because I didn't know when or if I would see you again −" She mumbled in embarrassment, combing his long, snow-white hair with her fingers. He closed his eye and murmured contentedly, opening his eyelid again after a moment.

"− if you had only written to me − I would have flown to Dragonstone immediately −"

"− I was afraid my message would fall into the wrong hands − I didn't want to take the risk −"

Her husband hummed at her words.

"− wise girl −"

She smiled, letting him place a warm, moist kiss on the skin of her lower abdomen.

"− I have a gift for you −" He murmured, running his fingers over the hot skin of her stomach. She looked at him, surprised, her heart beating harder in excitement.

"What's it?" She asked, curious.

"I give Harrenhal into your possession. I hand it over to you in my letter, which I have already sent to King's Landing. The fortress is your property until your death. It will then fall as a inheritance to our offspring."

She blinked, twisting in her place, looking at him in disbelief. Seeing that he grinned, she covered her mouth and giggled like a little girl, unable to contain the joy and warmth that spread through her body.

"Do you mean it?" She mumbled, unable to believe that he could do such a thing without consulting his brother and mother.

That he had made this decision alone.

Her husband hummed under his breath, trailing his fingers from her lower abdomen to her chest making goosebumps appear in the places he ran over her bare skin.

"You are your father's daughter. This is your legacy." He replied, his wide hand stroking her belly with a tenderness from which shivers ran through her.

"And my brothers?" She muttered, reminding herself that, after all, her father, although she didn't know him very well, had sons too. Her uncle smirked at her in a way that was disturbing, to say the least.

"I don't give a shit about your brothers." He sneered, making her swallow hard, wrinkling her eyebrows but unable to hide the smile of amusement from which his face lit up.

"You're cruel." She mumbled, stroking his hand lying on her womb with her fingers, softening her words and their overtones in the process. Her husband snorted at her words.

"I am. I am a walking cruelty." He whispered maliciously before he lifted himself on his hands, moving towards her, leaning over her face − his tongue invaded deep between her lips with his hum as his mouth pressed against hers in a loud, sticky, messy kiss.

She squirmed as his fingers slid from her womb between her thighs, warningly beginning to tease and squeeze her sore bud, puffy from earlier caresses and fulfillments.

"− uncle −" She mewled weakly into his mouth, feeling the wonderful tickle in her lower abdomen again, tentatively parting her thighs apart, his half-hard erection slapping impatiently against her belly, demanding her attention.

"− I warned you −" He exhaled, shifting the weight of his body to his elbow, spreading her legs apart with his knee. "− open −"

She obeyed his command obediently and whimpered loudly with exertion as she felt him try to force his long, throbbing manhood into her again with the impatient thrust of his hips.

She threw her head back as he finally broke between her oversensitive, swollen walls, pulsing around him in panic, her short nails digging into the sweaty skin of his back as he began to sink into her again, panting with pleasure.

She felt her moisture mingled with his seed ran down her buttocks.

"− too much −" She mumbled out, moaning each time he teased the sore, swollen spot deep inside her again, trying to pull out of him at the same time and bucking her hips in response to his thrusts, feeling both the discomfort and the wonderful, tickling pleasure shaking her body.

"− shhh − I know − we'll take it slow − there's no reason to rush −" He whispered tenderly, placing comforting, soft, warm kisses on her face, leaning on one forearm, his other hand stroking her effort-warmed cheek, as if trying to give her reassurance.

"− I warned you − I warned you that I wouldn't pull it out of you today − didn't I? − is your husband lying? −" He cooed, as if he were speaking to a small, frightened child. She shook her head, struggling to fit him deep inside her again and again, feeling his thighs hit her buttocks with loud splats of their shared wetness.

"− n-no − no, husband −" She mumbled, looking up at him pleadingly, running her hand over his scarred cheek, her puffy lips parted in heavy breaths. He gasped with satisfaction at her words, pressing his forehead against hers, with slow, deep thrusts making his way to his next fulfilment.

"− just like that − let me do my duty to my wife − as many times − ah − as necessary −" He exhaled, quickening his pace, swollen and already completely hard deep inside her, slamming into her with greedy, sure thrusts from which she felt like she was losing touch with reality, the chamber around them, the bed she lay on seemed blurred to her, she could only smell his scent, only feel the strong grip of his hands.

"− g-gods, Aemond −’" She mumbled out, feeling the way his bare chest pressed against hers with his low groan of satisfaction, her nipples rubbing against his exposed skin with his every push making his cock pulsate aggressively inside her with pleasure, intensifying her sensation.

She gasped when she felt him grab her thigh and lift her leg higher, putting her knee on his shoulder, pulling her closer to him.

"− uncle, what are you − o-oh, fuck, uncle, uncle, uncle, uncle −" She whined out, tilting her head back with her lips parted in disbelief, her eyes closed with her loud, shameless moans as she felt him like never before, his entire length pressing wonderfully against a place inside her with each of his thrusts, from which her body quivered all over with pleasure, writhing before him.

Nothing more than a babble and a plea left her lips as he watched her in awe, not slowing his pace, placing hot, sticky kisses on her knee, stroking her thigh with his wide hand, panting loudly along with her.

Something like a smirk of satisfaction flashed across his face as she threw her other leg over his shoulder on the other side of his head, his body leaning over her in such a way that she could in no way escape his brutal thrusts, which again and again teased the intensely oversensitive spot inside her.

"− I can't − I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't, p-please −" She cried out, but her husband didn't stop, bringing her to a state where pleasure different than usual took her speechless − she felt a sudden, wonderful relief, her walls began to squeeze and suck him inside her, she heard him hiss quietly, clearly feeling what she was feeling.

He groaned low as he came a moment later, clenching his eye, panting hard and swallowing loudly as he looked down at the sheets beneath them, under which a huge wet spot had formed.

"− did I hurt you? or the baby? −" He exhaled horrified, thinking that perhaps she had miscarried due to his brutal treatment, however there was no blood after all. She shook her head, rising on her elbow, struggling to collect her thoughts, panting loudly, her body quivering all over.

"− no − b-but − this time − it was different − I mean − my fulfilment was different − and then I felt...this −" She muttered in shame, feeling that her whole buttocks were wet. Her uncle swallowed hard at her words, embarrassed, his lips tightened into a thin line as he looked at their sticky bodies.

"− I − I think I read about it − in one of the books −" He said uncertainly and grunted softly, sliding out of her gently with a click of their shared wetness. She hissed quietly, pulling away and noticed a large, colourless stain under her buttocks, as if someone had poured water there.

"− the maester wrote in it that a woman is also able to − well − come as well as a man if she is properly… teased inside −" He hummed, licking his lower lip involuntarily, looking at the stain beneath them as if he was proud of his achievement.

She raised her eyebrows in amusement and giggled involuntarily, feeling some kind of relief.

"− what kind of books do you read, uncle? − what would your mother and Ser Criston say? −" She sneered, smiling broadly. Her husband threw her a frustrated look, which however softened after a moment, his grimace turning into a mischievous smirk.

"− in the same book I also read about this position − after I became your husband I began to delve into the mysteries of these…sensations − what else can I do with you −" He murmured, running his index finger along her thigh, a glint of satisfaction and contentment in his eye from which she sighed heavily.

She leaned back and made herself comfortable on the bedding, shifting her body closer to him so that she wasn't lying on a wet spot. Her uncle leaned on his elbow, watching her intently in silence − they stared at each other for a moment, with only the rustle of leaves and birdsong outside the open window around them.

"− I'd like to rest now −" She muttered, running her knuckles over his bare chest. Her husband hummed quietly under his breath and nodded, his broad hand stroking her head.

"− sleep − rest after the journey −" He murmured, combing his fingers through her hair the way he had when they were children. She closed her eyes and purred softly when she felt him lay his head beside her, his gaze on her face, his warm breath enveloping her cheek as his free hand covered their naked bodies with warm furs.

"− do not fret − your husband is by your side now −"

_____

Author note: Those who were to know know. I promised you, didn't I? Hehehe. 👀👀👀👀👀

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bridenore · 2 days

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HD eight year fic recs : less than 10k words

Here are a few drarry eight year fic recs that are less than 10k words. Posted in alphabetical order, as always.

All I Have to Do by @fluxweeed [9k]

The Patented Daydream Charm (Adult Edition) allows you to enter a top-quality, highly realistic thirty-minute sexual fantasy. Solitude and privacy spells advised. or: Draco finally has some alone time; Harry just needs to nip in for a book.

All We Want Is Danger by @cassiaratheslytherpuff [9k]

Something weird was happening to Draco. It wasn’t something Harry was used to being concerned about. He’d spent most of sixth year sure that Draco was up to something, yes, but this was different. This was – something was off. Wrong. Harry had never in his life been scared of Draco. And yet, something about him had changed enough to make the hair rise on the back of Harry’s neck every time he entered a room. The feeling was only made stranger by the rush of arousal that usually came along with it.

Alpha by @lqtraintracks [2k]

Finding out I’m Malfoy’s Alpha and he’s my Omega might have gone a lot differently had we not still hated each other. But we do, so here’s how it goes

Aurora by @wolfpants [5k]

Eighth Year at a half-built Hogwarts, and Harry is not following Draco Malfoy anymore. At least, that's what he's telling himself.

Awake in the Night by venis_envy [2k]

H/D Post war, eighth year Hogwarts.

Back to You by aibidil & daisymondays [8k]

The eighth years make Harry and Malfoy go head to head and back to back in a question-and-answer drinking game. The worst that can happen is they end up drunk, right?

Bare Feet, Giant Squid, and One Perfect Moment by bryoneybrynn [4k]

Gryffindor may be the House of the brave but Harry’s feeling a bit nervous. It’s one thing to face a dragon or a Dark Lord. It’s quite another to make a move on the bloke who’s been your nemesis for the last eight years…

Brandishing The Wand by @ladderofyears [2k]

When four Eighth Year boys overhear Draco and Harry having sex in the dormitory bathroom, each jumps to a very erroneous conclusion.

Checking out the Opposition by birdsofshore [6k]

Harry and Draco seem quite wound up after their latest game of Quidditch.

The Comfiest Armchair by @xanthippe74 [2k]

In which Harry and Draco won’t stop fighting over the best armchair in the Eighth-Year common room, Hermione takes matters into her own hands, and Harry sees a (ahem) side of Draco that he’s never seen before.

Empty Nights by winterstorrm [4k]

Draco and Harry have had this ‘thing’ for months now. It’s ‘just sex’ though, right?

Erase the Shame by FleetofShippyShips [6k]

An Inter-House unity party is the last thing Draco wants to go to. It's not long into a game of Truth or Dare when he is reminded why. But maybe his dare is worth it after all.

Flutter by @shiftylinguini [4k]

Being back at Hogwarts is not what Harry expected, and neither is what’s going on between himself and Malfoy, but it feels good, and that? Well, that’s what Harry’s chasing this year. Amid the rebuilding of the school and the budding relationships of the other students at Hogwarts in spring, Harry finds that the flutter of change and the new feelings it brings are exactly what he wants ― and more.

Games Night by @agentmoppet [6k]

Harry has no idea why Hermione decided that an inter-house Games Night would be a good idea, but he’s here now, and he intends to beat Malfoy, no matter what game he chooses. But, who would have thought muggle games could be full of so much... tension?

A Ghost of Blissful Feelings by @alpha-exodus [6k]

Harry hadn’t expected to spend his eighth year fucking Draco Malfoy, but it’s the only thing that helps him let go.

A Good Place to Start by JET_Playin [2k]

Harry is finding 8th year rather dull until he goes to visit Hagrid and ends up helping him deliver Draco Malfoy’s baby. Now he has to protect Malfoy and keep his secrets and he might just be falling a little in love with both Malfoys just to complicate matters.

Good to Me (And I’d Be So Good to You) by AWickedMemory [8k]

Everyone returns to Hogwarts after the war, but nothing is quite the same. Harry’s groupies are creepier than ever, Ron and Hermione are snogging all over the place, and the once-proud Draco is shuffling around like a kicked puppy. But that’s okay: Harry’s got a plan.

Grow by @shiftylinguini [3k]

There’s an abandoned greenhouse, right at the back of the lot. There are unruly trees, and snagged brambles, and the grass is long and lush. It feels like the Forest, but tamer somehow, and Draco likes it. It feels like the spot where the castle meets the wild, or where the wild is trying to creep back in. There’s something mildly thrilling about it at night, the potential for danger, for something to look back at Draco as he stares into the dark, lush woods. Draco’s always loved that feeling. This is where they meet.

Jump Into the Fog by taradiane [9k]

Draco returns to Hogwarts for his eighth year carrying a secret that will change not just his life, but Harry’s as well.

Of the Heart's Fullness and Of the Coming Emptiness by tout a coup [9k]

Harry Potter is nineteen, and he's already peaked.

An Old Habit by fireflavored [8k]

The boys have changed a lot over the summer after the war, but Harry hasn’t got over the urge to spy on Malfoy.

A Pain of Our Choosing by @lqtraintracks [5k]

It’s 8th year and everyone’s still a bit messed up. Harry and Draco fall into being messed up together.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kneazles by curiouslyfic [1k]

Harry sort of comes back to the world to the sound of sniffling, which strikes him as odd.

Room for Improvement by acromantular [2k]

Malfoy’s family-rehabilitation project is going so well. But is Potter worth risking all his hard work?

Sexplanations (Of the Horrible Sort) by @bixgirl1 [7k]

Harry’s willing to put up with a certain amount of injury, as long as he and Malfoy can keep doing… whatever it is they’re doing. Maybe. Mostly. Especially if there might be more to it than sex. Based on a tumblr headcanon.

Snug by @moonflower-rose [6k]

Potter can’t keep his hands off himself. Draco can’t look away.

Sores by mijeli [3k]

It’s been going on for weeks. They don’t talk about it.

Speechless by mayberry_rose [6k]

In which Draco can’t speak, and Harry learns to listen.

Starting Positions by @bixgirl1 [8k]

Later, Harry would wonder if Malfoy regretted that first, surprised mutter after three days of hard-pointed silence. Later, Harry would wonder about his own lack of regret over looking up when he heard Malfoy’s voice. But that would come after everything had already happened, the way events always seemed to, when even a Time-Turner couldn’t change things. The shape of a path, as Harry knew very well by then, once walked, was a lot like a paper crane — unfolded and pressed flat, you could try to fashion it into something different, but the original creases would always remain.

Storm in a Teacup by @faith2wood [7k]

For reasons he’d rather not think about, Draco is obsessed with Potter’s hair. This cannot end well.

swallow your words by icarusinflight [9k]

The truth is, not many things are known about the magic that is behind soulmarks. They’ll turn up when they want and not before. The truth is, you don’t get a choice in your soulmark. The truth is, not everyone is okay with that.

This Heart Shut Wide by @xanthippe74 [4k]

It’s New Year’s Eve and Draco refuses to talk to anyone at this wretched party in the Eighth-Year common room. He’s going to ignore Harry Potter and not think about snogging him in the staircase earlier. And he’s definitely not going to let himself fuck up both their lives by continuing the reckless game they’re playing. As usual, nothing goes according to Draco’s plan.

Trouble with your tie, Potter? by @tenthousandyearsx [6k]

The last thing Harry expects when Slughorn partners him up with Zabini is Malfoy shooting them furious looks throughout the whole class and then unceremoniously snogging Harry in the corridor.

the Veela codec by curiouslyfic [3k]

Potter wants obvious. Draco wants Potter. Clearly, some sort of plan will be required.

What Potter Wants by birdsofshore [3k]

Harry definitely didn’t want to do that to Malfoy. Not at all. So why did Malfoy keep saying that he did?

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #eight year

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 days

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𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞'𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦

↳ summary: the x-men can't seem to leave you alone, even if you've made it clear that you want nothing to do with them. as a last-ditch effort, they send logan, who's a little different than the rest

↳ notes: man writing this fucked me up. i kept editing it because i didn't like how it sounded, so some feedback would be much appreciated

↳ warnings: mentions of blowing things up in a past instance, but no one died. reader is a mutant and their powers are kept ambiguous, but it is implied they can somehow cause explosions

↳ song: promiscuous—nelly furtado

masterlist | commissions | carrd

The first time they sent someone, you had been excepting it

You weren't dumb. You knew the difference between an innocent bystander and a hired gun; or at least something along those lines. The way people walked talked and carried themselves was always a dead giveaway, and recently you had been surrounded by a few too many intense stares and stiff shoulders for your liking. A lot more than you were used to, in fact. Maybe that's what prompted you to start taking a new way home from work instead of the usual combination of cross walks and dirty bus seats.

The quick guy with silver hair was their first attempt at contact. You had found him waiting outside your apartment for you to get home all but a week after noticing the new attention on you, and you would have ignored him too if it wasn't for the fact that he was sitting on the outside your balcony, kicking his feet merrily off the side about ten stories above the pavement below without a care in the world. And with what looked like a twinkie in his hand, too.

You'd closed the blinds without a second thought, tossing him a fake grin and a little wave when he eventually turned around as you slammed them shut. You were fairly certain he could have stopped you in no time flat, if the way you would watch him zip away in the blink of an eye later said anything, but you took a heat-of-the-moment gamble and were satisfied when all your efforts got was a whine from the other side of your window pane. His mouth was too full of pre-packaged pastry to say anything in the moment, you realized

"Not interested." You called over your back as you began to retreat into your kitchen without another moments notice.

"You haven't even heard what I want!" He said thickly, clearly trying to swallow as he spoke. You must have startled him a little then. Good.

"And I don't need to."

He left a few minutes later when his one sided conversationalist skills got him no where, and you responded by throwing a frozen pizza in the lower half of your oven.

You had been craving pepperoni all day anyway.

The second person try was a bit more aggressive.

They didn't have the decency to wait for you to come home this time. Instead, you found yourself looking up from your laptop as a chair was pulled out across from you at the quaint table you sat at. It made a scraping noise, and you tensed the muscles in your hands for a moment at the sound.

"Can I help you." Your eyebrow quirked up as you looked at the woman across from you. She had blonde hair, and what you thought were the brownest eyes you had even seen. You had trouble looking anywhere but into them for a second. When they hit the light, you swore they turned yellow just for a moment, and she looked about as annoyed as you were that she was sitting by you. You didn't have to wait long to find out why.

"We've been trying to reach you." The surrounding noise of the café hardly disturbed the hard tone in her voice. "You're avoiding us."

At least this time these people had the common sense to approach you in public. If you were any form of confrontational, which you very much weren't, you could have started a fight the last time. Who knows if you would have won against super speed and whatever else the first guy had— you weren't exactly sure about the extent of his powers, and at this point didn't care —but the point remains that some damage could have been done. Now, in the middle of a coffee shop on a busy afternoon, it would be a bit harder to start a fight. Not that you were seriously concidering it. If anything, you wanted to duck into a large crowd just to loose this new recruiter, or whatever they were called. You didn't exactly know if they had a name for this type of situation.

"I have no idea who you are." Your tone matched her own, dealing out the half lie nonchalantly. You weren't technically wrong, really. You didn't know her, nor did you know that other man that had shown up before. But you knew what they wanted, and you'd be damned if they didn't pin you down without a bit of a struggle.

Moving with a speed quick enough to get your message across, but not fast enough as to alert any of the surrounding coustomers that something was up, you closed your laptop, abandoned your now lukewarm drink, and started for the door. You only paused in your movements after a weight settled over the back of your shoulder, and you carefully turned your neck to look down at the hand resting firmly on you.

"I don't recommend doing that." You said with a bit of a warning tone in your voice, looking her right in the eyes as you did so. They had since shifted from dark brown to an almost hazel shade, and you filed that information away for later use.

Her grip remained where it was for a moment. Then a thought seemed to cross her mind, and she let go of her hold on your shirt; even if a bit reluctantly.

You didn't stick around to see if anything else would happen. You just made your way out of the shop and into the bustling street, not caring if she followed. They already knew where you lived anyway.

"Taxi!!"

The final person they sent for you, you hadn't seen coming.

Every other time— from the teleporting blue kid, to the woman with white hair and fair skin, and even the tall guy in glasses that had turned a little blue when you pushed your way past him —you had been able to prepare beforehand. At the very least you were able to lock your doors before going out and about your day. You knew that wouldn't stop them in the slightest, but it was a silent message to stay out of your business.

But this guy? This guy just didn't care at all.

"You know, you're really nailing this first impression thing."

A gruff voice sprang to life at the same moment that your hallway lights did, doing a fine job at catching you off guard. You managed to not jump, but with the way the intruders lips tilted up, you figured he knew he had surprised you.

"Oh, fuck my life."

You were really not feeling like another impromptu visit tonight. You had gotten home from a rough day of work a couple of hours ago, only to realize that you had finally blown through all your food, and was once more sent back out into the city to look for a grocery store. You had been looking forward to finally resting your feet, and maybe your eyes a few hours earlier than planned, and you most certainly weren't in the right state of mind to entertain this hulking figure of a man and the proposition that came with him.

You looked at him harshly. He had muscles for days, and a brown leather jacket to accentuate just how large he was. You knew for a fact that he was a few weight classes up from the last guy that had been sent to your house, and you wondered if this was their way of trying to intimidate you into forcefully accepting their offer.

Tiny scars dotted his face and the skin on his neck. You wondered why there were so few, considering that you already knew what he did for a living, but also knew better than to question someone like him. Especially since he was already standing in the doorway to your home, looking like he owned the place.

"Go away." You didn't grant him any sort of emotion in your voice as you walked in the direction of your fridge. The plastic bags full of your food for the week swung in your arms, and for a moment you thought this new guy was going to block your way into the rest of the house before he backed off with a roll of his shoulders.

You clocked his broad chest and bruised knuckles out of the corner of your eyes as you opened the ice box and slowly placed some frozen veggies in side by side. He had either gotten here straight from a fight, or was itching for one. You figured it was probably the former considering he hadn't jumped you the second you walked through the door. Or you know, maybe he just had fucked up hands. You could never tell with people at this point.

"You're pleasant." The mans wry smile was nothing but headache educing as you finished putting the cold groceries up. You snorted with hollow amusement.

"Try being stalked for a month and a half. It really makes you feel like being hospitable."

"Try being the guy that gets sent to get in contact with you. It ain't exactly the way I wanted to be spending my Friday night either." He parroted back your words while running a hand down his face and across what you had since recognized as mutton chops in the process.

"When are you going to tell that professor of yours that I'm not interested in his little passion project." You think that might have been the first time you ever directly acknowledged what exactly was going on. Every other time you had just told the other person to get lost or slammed a door in their face to really get the point across, but the way this guy was looking at you gave you the feeling that he wouldn't be as easy to shoo away as the others, and you weren't really feeling up for a giant display of effort right about now.

"You could always tell him yourself, bub." His eyes followed your face as you crossed the room to stop in front of him, hand outstretched with something that ignited a small smirk on his face.

"Trying to bribe me?" He asked, going to take the fresh beer you offered him all the same. You shook your head.

"No. My master plan actually consists of getting you shit-faced drunk so you guys will finally leave me alone." You watched as his hand hesitated in mid-air slightly, and you misinterpreted his silent amusement at your jab for skepticism. "I've just got too much beer and a stranger in my apartment that's not going to leave me alone anytime soon, that’s all." You relented with a shrug.

"Fair enough." He took the brown bottle by the neck and popped open the top without so much as looking around for a bottle opener. When the cap went rushing to the floor less than a second later, you squinted.

"What are you then? Super strong? Or is your power alcoholism." That got a rough chuckle out of him. He swallowed about half of the bottle in one go before answering, and you sucked at your teeth as he did so.

"Something like that."

"Wow. Really feeling the comradery here." You didn't miss the way he deadpanned at that, and you figured he was thinking about all of the times you had kicked every other pursuer to the curb without even letting them get a word in edge wise. Still, you pushed on. "Remind me how its fair that you and your friends know all about me, but I have a new hero-of-the-week showing up on my doorstep every other day without so much as a clue as to what they could do to me?"

"About as fair as your little accident in Colorado." He responded without a seconds hesitation. You felt a little perspiration form on the back of your neck, and chalked it up to the lack of a.c in the room. Even if it was anything but.

"If you're here to try and convince me to join your little superhero team, I hate to tell you, but it isn't going to work. Just like it didn't work the past ten times." You ignored his last comment and made yourself comfortable on your living room couch. "Do you have a name? I've never really stuck around to talk to one of you this long before, and it's annoying to keep rendering to you as 'some guy' in my head."

He paused abruptly while drinking the beer, and you barely held back from rolling your eyes at his change in mood.

"It's Logan." He finally bit out reluctantly. You got the feeling that the only reason he told you was because he was here by request. If it has been any other circumstances, you had no doubts that he would have told you to fuck off. He gave off that energy.

"You already know mine, so I'm not gonna bother." You kicked your feet up and let your head hit the back of the couch with a sigh. "Just let me know when you finally get bored and head out. I want to make sure my landlord knows to blacklist you from the building after you're gone."

"Is this how you got everyone else to leave? By annoying them to death?" Logan sounded more entertained then you would have liked, and you blamed it on the beer.

"Depends. Is it working?"

"I've been sleeping at a school filled with screaming kids for the past few weeks. You're going to have to try harder than that to get me out of here." He took another swig.

"What will it take to get you to leave me alone. All of you." Your voice dipped out of it's usually casual tone for a more annoyed one. You were used to playing the long game when it came to getting people to leave you alone, but at this point it was getting ridiculous with the amount of people that they were throwing at you, and it was starting to wear you out. You weren't sure if Logan could tell your patience was being tested, and you weren't sure if you wanted him to.

Logan raised one eyebrow in your direction as an answer to your question, and you sighed.

"I'm not taking a stupid fucking spot on the X-Men if that's what you're implying. What do I have to do to convince you guys that I'm not up for it; blow up a building on accident or something?" The word 'again' went unsaid, but the implication was there.

You watched as Logan seemed to throw something around in his mind for a moment.

"Do you want to know why I joined the X-Men?" He eventually asked.

"Because you had nothing else to do with yourself other than styling your hair real stupid? Seriously what's with this horn thing you've got going in."

"I joined because they helped pull me off a dark path, kid." He barreled past your sarcasm, shutting you down quicker than you would like to admit. His tone was laced with something you recognized all as hatred, and you knew it wasn't directed at you, but rather himself. You knew the feeling all too well.

"I was running from something that I didn't even know I was trying to avoid." He continued. "And if it wasn't for the Professor and his 'stupid fucking team', I wouldn't have ever stopped."

For the first time in the past few minutes, you allowed one of your walls to come down as he spoke. You stared at him with a tired look lingering behind your gaze, choosing this time to listen rather than to ignore.

"I'm not running from anything." Even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. Logan didn't even have to look at you for you to sigh and lean forward again.

"I can see why the Professor wants you on the team." You felt the cushions on the opposite end of your couch dip slowly as he sat down. The now empty beer bottle was still in his hand, but as you looked over at Logan, you found his eyes filled to the brim with nothing but the honest truth.

It was a strange, tense moment. Both you and Logan could admit that. You were clearly filled with regret for your past actions, no matter how accidental they might have been, and conflicted with yourself because of it. Logan could do nothing more but watch as you battled with yourself over his words. His original plan had been to come here, show off a claw or two if needed, and bring you back to the school with a characteristic scowl on his face. But all that was thrown out the window when you offered him a beer, and when he was finally able to get a good look at you.

You looked exactly how he used to before one of his old cage matches. Detached and losing yourself. He could see it in your eyes.

The room delved into silence. You wrung your hands together and planted your feet. Logan watched as you seemed to have a silent conversation with yourself, and he began to regret not pacing himself with the beer. He wasn't anywhere near affected by the alcohol, that's to say. He just wished he had something to do other than sit in your home with squared shoulders and a furrowed brow.

"If I took one trip over to the place, would you guys let up on whatever this is?" You finally asked. Logan pushed down a faint smirk as you turned your neck to look at him.

"Sure."

You didn't say anything else, and you didn't have to. You got up without another word and grabbed a bag from a nearby closet. Logan found himself leaning on your doorframe as you stuffed a few essentials down into your travel bag in the room over, and he remained there until you finished.

"Still curious about my powers?" Logan decided to bait you just a little further as you shut the door to your apartment with a click of your keys, and he had trouble keeping a straight face when you looked back at him with curiosity dancing across your features.

Without saying anything, he held one of his hands up, and let you watch as his trademark claws popped up slowly. Like seasonal weeds in a garden full of flowers. The appendages let out a slight sliding noise as they did so, and you blinked once. Twice. Three times.

"And I thought my powers were bad." You finally said after a moment, and Logan scoffed at you.

"Kid, everyone thinks their powers are bad at first."

You seemed to take that as a challenge, and Logan watched as a bit of that fire that he'd heard about from Storm and the others flared up in you.

"Yeah? You ever accidently blow up a boiler room and take out half your high school's classes, big guy?" Your grin was all teeth as the two of you made your way down the complex hallway. Logan slowed his pace so you could keep up, and turned around so he could fully look at you as he walked backwards.

"Big guy?" He questioned you with a tilted of his head, looking about as unimpressed as he could.

"I mean yeah." You snickered. "Just look at your, well, everything." You took to gesturing at his entire being, something that got you a huff from the other man.

"Maybe you're just small." He shot back. You laughed and shook your head, looking down at yourself. Yeah right.

"And maybe I'm right, and you're just freakishly big."

Your banter continued all the way down to the elevator, where you had a hard time holding in your laughter as Logan accidentally almost stabbed the down button with his claws, apparently having forgotten that they were even out.

You couldn't help but wonder if he was always like this; if everyone at the school was like this.

Maybe going for a visit wasn't as much as a bad idea as you'd thought.

#xmen #xmen x reader #xmen x you #xmen x y/n #wolverine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x y/n #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #peter maximoff #mystique #charles xavier #x reader #one shot

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picturejasper20 · 3 days

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Lets talk about how Danny Phantom loves to push the idea of ¨these two characters must be together because destiny said so¨ and the implications of it!

Okay, for starters there is quite a lot of fans that agree how Danny and Sam gets forced into the show, specially in Season 3. They don't have much development in their relationship around the show because it was a 2000's Butch Hartman show and things have to keep the *status quo*

We know that Marmel wanted for more Valerie and Danny development but he couldn't for continuity issues and probably because Hartman wasn't fond of the ship. It took around 20 episodes for Valerie to have another episode about her since breaking up with Danny in ¨Flirting With Disaster¨.

I say that it makes a lot of sense of why Valerie and Danny's relationship didn't last long in this context because Danny was still keeping secrets from Valerie and still involved a lot of lying- not exactly the best condition to be dating with someone. So the best solution is for Valerie to learn who Danny is, and then after things get better, they probably can start getting into dating again, right?

Well, sorry, you can't see any of that because this happens in the very last episode of the series, we don't get to see how Valerie reacts to it and it doesn't matter because now Sam x Danny is canon!

Lets talk about that ring:

What bothers me is how, while this episode is about Danny being into Valerie and dating her, the ring that Jack gives to Danny has the name ¨Sam¨ on it. It is like the universe in show is screaming at Danny and the audience ¨See these two are the endgame! Haven't you realized it yet? Well, we are leaving you 100% clear with this¨.

Sarcastic Chorus made a video talking about the show keeps hammering you again and again that Danny and Sam are ¨meant to be together¨ by having characters commenting how everyone can see that except Danny and Sam, who it isn't clear why they don't tell what they feel to each other. He talks about how it gets really frustrating because nothing is exactly happening, people are just waiting for something to happen.

Let's move to ¨Double Cross my Heart¨ we have Gregor/Elliot and Sam falling in love with each other. They seem to share a lot in common, being into similar things. Danny keeps thinking that Elliot is an spy from the GIW and he is after him. I could get into the implications of Danny stalking Sam in this episode, but the one thing i want to focus on is that by the end of the episode it does get revealed that Elliot had been faking to share similar interests to Sam and was lying to her about who he really was. Was it because he was a spy from GIW? Nope! It was because he was tricking her into falling in love with him.

What frustrates me about this is the implications this episode gives: ¨If anybody else that likes Sam that isn't Danny, then that means that they are faking it! Danny is the only one who can love Sam and everybody else is trying to trick her¨. It is such a bad message and it sucks a lot for Sam to find someone that is a lot like her and then the writing go ¨sorry, they are a faker¨.

At least for Danny and Valerie made sense because it wasn't intended to work in that context, in ¨Double Cross my Heart¨ it just does dirty to Sam by spitting back in her face any chance of liking someone else that isn't Danny.

And episode that leaves a similar bad taste in mouth to me is Masters of All Time.

I have talked about this before, that in the alternative timeline Vlad and Maddie end up getting married together. Because they didn't want the kids in the audience to think about the implications about how Vlad might have been happier and not turned out evil from the proto lab accident, they had to make human! Vlad go against most of his previous established characterization of his regular self (like not allowing Maddie to use ghost gadgets for some reason) and be an abusive caricature of himself.

It couldn't be that maybe Vlad and Maddie didn't work together well, they have to leave obvious that no, Vlad is the terrible option and that Maddie and Jack are meant to be together. So much so that it said by the characters in the episode!

See, the writers made human! Vlad a piece of shit to leave clear that Maddie can only marry Jack. Because destiny told it so! It isn't like Jack and Maddie are their own people and they can choose whoever they want.

Yeah, Jack and Maddie have to get back together so Danny and Jazz don't become non-existent, but it find it so dumb that they made human! Vlad a weird ass copy of Disney Gaston instead of just writing it in a way that maybe these two clash being a couple. It could be that Maddie finds Vlad nice but Vlad is too busy always working or he isn't as fun as Jack was. Then Maddie realizes that she wants to be with Jack instead.

While having some fun elements, Masters of All Time is an episode that gets dumber and with more weird implications the more you think about it. And telling us that Jack and Maddie have to be together not matter what is one of the reasons.

I just dislike how weird this series is about how ¨destiny told these two characters have to be together¨ and not treating the characters as something they choose to do. It is also weird how this seems to apply to the female characters, in how Sam and Maddie, the moment they like someone else that isn't Danny nor Jack, then it turns out that person has to be abusive or be faking it. Itis like the show says they ¨belong¨ to Jack and Danny and they can't be with anyone else because then it would be bad. It is as a whole pretty frustrating

#danny phantom #danny fenton #sam manson #jack fenton #maddie fenton #Valerie gray #vlad masters #human! Vlad #Flirting with disaster #Masters of all time #Double cross my heart #dp rant

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thoughtsfromlayla · 3 days

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Chapter Three - Anguish

Summary: The error of his ways is seen in a new light. Morpheus realizes that perhaps he is the monster he claims he is not.

Notes: ~7.4k words. This chapter flips between Reader and Morpheus a bit since they're not always together so I apologize if the timeline is confusing... Lightly edited, if you see the tenses switching between past and present, no you didn't

Warnings/Tags: more angst, self destruction/mental breakdown. Morpheus learning he's the problem

Tag list is open! Just let me know if you want to be added :)

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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That night, the King doesn't join you at dinner. Your company is that of footmen and maids as they try to not stare at you eating alone at the long table. The next night, he doesn't show again, nor the next, nor the night after that. Matthew and you have begun to fall into a comfortable silence as he follows you around.

The knight is starting to take his role more seriously and even resists eating another bug in front of you when you go back to your garden and tend to the nursery plants. In turn, you have started to talk to your plants, even if you know they won't respond back. You fear if you never use your voice again, it may as well be lost.

A common bird in a golden cage, with no one to sing to.

It is to none of your surprise when you walk into the private dining room and see the empty seat across from your place. Again. The royal chef always cooks enough for two, and he didn’t hold back tonight either.

It is so unbearably quiet when you eat, you can hear each chew of your food, every scrap of your silverware against the plate, each clink of the glass back onto the table. Looking down at your half-eaten food, you’ve long lost your appetite.

Perhaps you would’ve had your fill if your mind wasn’t constantly running with thoughts, feeding into your loneliness. These thoughts formed into hideous monsters that follow you no matter where you went in the palace. In every crevice, every nook, in every page you want to read. It was exhausting, to say the least. You could feel them as tingles on the back of your head and through the whispers of palace staff and attendants.

“I am done for the night,” You announce as you push away your half-finished dinner.

“Was the food not to your liking, Your Majesty?” A maid came by to take your plate as you stood.

“It was adequate, I simply am done. Thank you.” You send a small smile to her before you leave.

Matthew was waiting for you when you exited the room. His armor jostles as he stands up straight, seemingly surprised at how fast you finished your dinner. You don’t wait for him as you already set your sight on your bed, walking with purpose down the long halls. Your head was pounding, again, and sleep seemed like the perfect resolution to the problem.

“Was the food that good?” He asks behind you.

“I can’t complain, not any good as any bugs you have eaten?” You ask in a small joke.

Mathew doesn’t bother with a response. He had in fact eaten bugs again, but this time nowhere near his queen in fear that Jessamy is going to randomly appear in front of him again. A blush creeps onto his cheeks as he thinks of the woman and he’s glad for the cover of his raven helmet. Whether the blush was from embarrassment or admiration, he isn't quite sure of yet.

“You can leave for the night, Matthew. I’m going straight to bed,” You say as soon as the two of you make it to your room.

“I still can’t do that, as you know. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” Matthew comments and remains in position with no plans of leaving.

With a sigh of resolution, you enter the room. The maids haven't arrived yet to light any candles, too busy eating their own dinners. So it was up to you to undress yourself. Thankfully, Agnes was kind that night and left the corset untieable by your hands. You pick a random nightgown to wear and head straight to bed.

Your headache is still prevalent, but with your head against the cooling pillow, the intensity seems to dwindle slowly. Pulling the covers over your chin you close your eyes as you beg for sleep to come to you.

♔♕

In a different part of the castle, sits Morpheus. He rubs his fingers against his temples as yet another piece of paper is placed down in front of him. Lucienne stands in front of his daunting desk with even more in her hands. His dinner plate has long since been forgotten, cold and with only a few bites taken out of it. The fork stabbed into the meat in a most unprofessional way; if his mother saw this, she would have his hands spanked.

“Is this the last of it?” Morpheus asks slowly as he picks up the parchment.

“Do you want me to lie… or…” Lucienne drags out the last syllable as she speaks. She peers at her King over her glasses as she does so. The stacks of papers in her hands were obvious enough.

“Ha!” A new voice laughs.

“Something funny, Robert?” Morpheus basically spits out his name.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t know laughing was banned in the castle,” The man holds up his hands in fake surrender. He lays languidly on some grand couch, a hand resting over his eyes and his legs folded over each other. “Also, seriously, we’ve been friends for how long? Just call me Hob.”

“No,” Morpheus mutters and returns his attention back to the paper on hand. Hob throws out his hands in exasperation as he gives a look to Lucienne, who only returns it with a shrug.

The markings on the large piece of parchment were starting to swirl together, or his eyes were beginning to become crossed. Either way, there was no way he could make out anything. With a groan, he throws the paper back on the table and rests his head on the back of his chair.

Flashes of his discussions today play in his mind. There was the possibility of a drought this year, and last year’s food rations had already run out. He needs to think of something for the farmers. Desire’s pettiness is still willing to wage some unknown war on his kingdom, but he currently has no information about their plans, only that they managed to wrangle Despair into their plans. Then, his out-of-commissions brother, who decided to leave the country to “find himself.” Whatever that means.

Then there was his wife who he hadn't seen for several days in hopes of avoiding you. His lover who won’t even speak to him alone. His older sister, whom he has no idea where she is. There was too much on his plate, and he could feel each new task weighing down on his shoulders.

With another groan, he presses his palms into his eyes, making swirling patterns behind his eyelids. When he opens them again, Lucienne is waiting patiently for him.

“Shall we stop here for the night, my lord?” She asks.

“Gods, please, let’s stop now.” Hob comments, voice slowly slurring as he fights sleep.

“Robert, you did not help at all. How can you be tired?” Morpheus glares at his friend though he knows he can’t see him do so.

Hob doesn’t bother with a verbal response, instead faking a loud snore with a slight smirk on his lips.

“Let us continue,” Morpheus sighs and picks up the parchment for the third time.

“Actually, there is something I wanted to bring up,” Lucienne pauses and waits for Morpheus’ attention before she continues. “Just gossip, really… There’s rumors going around that you didn’t consummate your wedding, is it true?”

“The rumors… are quite true,” Morpheus admits, unable to lie to his loyal advisor.

Surprise takes over Lucienne’s face as she hears the news. She blinks as she tries to think of an appropriate response. Witnessing how the two of you acted a few days ago, she felt as if something was off, but she didn’t think it was because of this.

“Then you must consummate at once, it’s for the betterment of the kingdom,” She responds calmly, holding his gaze.

“Is it?” He huffs out a small, fake laugh. The question was not at all genuine, and sarcasm lay heavily within it. “It is none of anyone’s concern except ours. Though, you should find a way to stop the rumors. They are doing more harm than good within my walls.”

Lucienne does little to hide the displeased look on her face. Why was it her responsibility to stop the rumors, didn’t Morpheus just say the concern is none of hers?

“He’s saying he can’t get laid, is all I’m hearing,” Hob voices his thoughts once more.

“Stop jesting or I will hang you by your inflated head,” Morpheus growls at him.

“No, you won’t. Or else you lose 50% of your friends. And that, my friend, is some pretty bad math.” Hob scoffs.

The titled royal heaves as he sits up, his outfit having long since wrinkled from his position. The tunic was starting to wrap a bit tighter around his abdomen and he swears he will start exercising the next day. Perhaps get back into the sport of hunting before his body gets wasted away. But that was a thought for the next day, or the day after if tomorrow didn’t suit his taste.

“Ignoring him,” Lucienne quickly interjects the two men loudly. “I think it wise if you were to do something for your wife. If she doesn’t look so forlorn, perhaps the rumors will stop on their own. They’re obviously feeding off something.”

The message was clear for both Lucienne and Hob: “You’re acting like a shit husband and everyone can tell.” Morpheus was willing to brush off the topic, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind agreed with them. He stares at the bracelet that wraps itself on his wrist, following the red string that intertwined with the black. The King doesn’t voice it often, or ever for that matter, but Lucienne and Hob’s company were always appreciated.

The king taps his finger against the wooden desk in thought.

Fate.

What a horrible thing.

“I will think of something.” His words were the final verdict of the night.

♔♕

Your morning starts as it always has. With a sharp tug of the bell, Agnes’ face is the first to greet you. Sleep is still evident on your face, the early retirement last night wanting you back in its grasp. Agnes and her maids dress you in something simple today, the weather is far too hot for anything else.

“Anything planned for me today?” You gasp as your lady’s maid pulls the last string on the corset. She should become a sailor instead if she can tie ropes this tight.

“None of your schedule, Your Majesty.” She responds as she backs away from you, a satisfied smile on her face as she gives you one last look over.

“Great,” You grit through your teeth. Same as always then.

Agnes gives a curtsy and she and her army of maids leave you once more. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you cross your arms over yourself. The self-hug was all you had going for you. Long since another person touched you and even if you missed the way your mother treated you, you long for her gentle touches on your scalp.

With a deep breath you open the door, perhaps a little more forceful than necessary. As always, Matthew is waiting for you. This time, however, he’s standing with his hand raised in a fist, ready to knock on the door before you open it.

“You scared me,” You say with a sharp intake of breath. “And why are you staring at me like that?” If you were wearing pearls today, you might as well be clutching them.

“G’morning, boss lady!” Matthew greets you as he looms over you in his armor. It was ironic how stoic his armor set made him look, only for his personality to be the complete opposite of it.

“Is there a special occasion?” You reply with a smile. This was the first time he used the term “boss lady” for you and you remember him asking ever so nicely those days ago.

“The king handed me this, he said it was for you and that special locked door we found on your first day here.” Matthew opens his palms and a single key is laid within it.

When you go to pick it up, it’s heavy and rustic and reminds you of something that would lock up the basement. There was a small note attached to it which read “something for you to do” written in excellent penmanship by His Majesty.

“He touched me…!” Matthew’s voice gushes a mile away in your head as you reread the note. Morpheus remembered that you wanted something to do. That was new, you were sure he had even forgotten you existed ever since that unplanned visit in the gardens.

“That makes one of us,” You mutter back at him. The snide comment didn’t process all that well in your mind before it launched itself from your mouth.

“Do you think it means I’m blessed by the Gods now?” Matthew asks, choosing to ignore the statement.

“More like cursed…” You respond absentmindedly again.

Your fingers go to touch the bracelet the Crone had given you. You did try to take it off your wrist, several times. But each time proved futile as the string just twists tighter around your wrist until your hand turns purple. It only returned to its normal size after you stopped fiddling with it. Blessed by the Fates or cursed? At this point, you’re starting to think these two are the same thing.

The string bracelet glows with a soft and warm touch as you touch it this time. Perhaps there is hope for the two of you yet; a gesture was a start. At the very least, Morpheus hasn’t forgotten about you.

Before you know it, you stand before the grand doors once more. Its secrets are no longer hidden from you as you insert the key. With a sharp jiggle, the key turns and the resounding click of the large locking mechanism opens for you. A simple push was enough to open the doors.

Rows upon rows and aisles upon aisles of books greeted you. Staircases and ladders ascended upwards to even more beautifully bound pages of knowledge, other worlds, and art. Your jaw slackens at the sheer beauty of it.

Natural light was in abundance as you see dust and dust sprites floating in the air. The dust sprite glowed brightly, the only thing you could make out was their insanely fast-beating wings as one flew past you. Their chatters were nothing but the sound of jingling bells and gibberish as they held conversations with each other. One sneezed, a light sound and new dust exploded into the air.

They part as you walk into the library, running your fingers across the spines of a few books. The feeling of parchment and bound leather briefly remind you of home and the library it housed as well. Though this was much grander, the sentiment was still felt.

Muffled human voices catch your attention, and when you round the corner a familiar face greets you.

“Lucienne,” You say excitedly and your smile grows when she acknowledges you.

“My Lady!” She says in surprise, eyebrows shooting to the high heavens.

“Oh… the something he thought of…” The other person whispers to himself.

When he notices that your attention is on him, he clears his throat and introduces himself.

“Sir Robert, erm, Hob Gadling of Bourneberrel.” He drops an exaggerated bow, flourishing his arms as he does so. An easy smile rests on his lips as he comes back up.

“Bourneberrel? I haven’t traveled there before,” You respond.

“Ah, good wine, even better hunting grounds. I would love to host Her Majesty over the summer.” Hob’s arms are spread out as he describes his land to you with a tone of nostalgia.

“I would be delighted, so long as our King finds privy to the idea.”

“Eh, knowing him, I unfortunately doubt he will.” Hob runs his earlobe as his plans suddenly fall apart before they can form.

“How do you know him? The King?” You ask, sudden interest perked.

“Oh, our families are old friends, been with him since we started primary school together. Though, that’s nothing to our Lucienne here. She’s been here since they were both in diapers,” Hob explains with a soft smile. He gestures to Lucienne as he does so, who is more interested in rearranging books at the moment than the conversation.

“So the two of you must be familiar with royal life,” You say.

“I would say so, I spend more time here than in my own estate. Though, my late wife would not have complained much,” Hob sighs with a distanced look.

“I’m sorry to hear that, my condolences for your loss.”

Hob nods at your comment, thanking you silently for your condolences. He misses his wife and his son whom he left out of conversation. It would have made it all the more depressing and he didn’t want to make your life any more difficult. Perhaps in a different time and circumstance, with a little bit of alcohol in his system.

A silent pause fills the room, only accompanied by the squeak of the chair as Hob sits back down and Lucienne files through her books. You turn to leave, no longer wishing to bother the two. However, something stops you and you turn back around.

“Is there something that I can do here?” You chew the inside of your cheek after you ask. Your breath held in anticipation in hopes that there would be something.

“Is there anything Your Majesty pertains to?” Lucienne's question comes soon after. Her glasses fall down her nose a bit and she pushes it back in place with the back of her finger.

You think for a moment, looking around at the library. You enjoyed reading, but that was something you could do on your own time. If Lucienne was going to offer you something to do, it should be worth thinking about. You dig through your hobbies and when you decide on one, you look her dead in the eyes and speak.

“Painting, is there anything here for painting?” You take another step forward towards Lucienne at your request. It may be a long shot, but it’s worth asking.

Lucienne and Hob share a look, exchanging a conversation using only their eyes. After a particular look from Lucienne, Hob stands and beckons you to follow him. Excitement courses through you as you fall in step with him. You fight back a smile as the two of you venture further into the library.

Hob leads you to another set of doors. He stops and takes a deep breath, then he opens them to a studio. Easels, canvases, unfinished pieces, and paint buckets greet you as he leads you further inside. Dust sprites scurry away in fright at the sudden intrusion, whizzing past your hair.

In the corner of your eye, you see Matthew flinch at the sudden intrusion and you wonder if he got spooked by the sprites or if he was fighting back the urge to grab one for a taste. Matthew moves to stand by the door, guarding the entrance as Hob continues speaking.

“This is, was…sorry, my wife’s studio,” He says after a deep breath. His finger glides across an unfinished portrait of him and his wife.

Hob looked happier in the painting, clean-shaven and fit. His wife hung onto him by his arm, but her face was unfinished, leaving only a blank canvas of her skin tone. Hob thought he was over the death of his sweet Eleanor, but grief never truly leaves you, does it? It waits in the memories of your treasured loved ones and hurts you all the same when you recall them.

“I can not possibly take this from you…” You say softly as you watch him. His face falls as he finds another canvas, this time of a young man.

“My son,” He cries out as he holds the canvas in his shaking hands. “Forgive me,” He apologizes as he sees you staring at him, his own vision blurring from his tears.

Hob is quick to leave the studio, the portrait of his son still in his arms. Before he fully leaves the space, he turns to you.

“I want you to know that I do not regret coming back here.” He pauses to collect himself. “These memories… They are sad but they are all I have of my family. My wife, she would have wanted it if you showed this studio love again.”

Hob leaves by shutting the door and you hear him sigh once more on the other side before his footsteps recede. It takes a few moments longer for you to unstick yourself from your position. You explore the space a bit more, occasionally looking towards the door in case Hob returns and goes back on his words.

Reluctantly, you set up a blank canvas on the easel and begin to paint. Finally, there was somewhere to put your emotions to. Your thoughts take control of the brush as it swipes across the linen canvas. It dips, swipes, swirls, and blots as an image slowly begins to form.

You place everything you could into the image, the emotions that you’ve bottled up since you’ve arrived. What were you doing wrong here? Was it enough to really harbor such hate from Morpheus? From the helpers and gossip mongers that will never truly know you for who you are?

When you set your brush down, you stare at the art you’ve produced. A lone swan in a vast lake has its head hung low. The scenery was beautiful, but the algae and duckweed around the lone animal were slowly dying as it cried out for help.

♔♕

Another week has passed since you arrived at the library. And like every night, Morpheus doesn’t show up for dinner. Instead, he stays alone in his office, having long since dismissed Lucienne from her duties for the night. He sits pondering, his entire day he wondered if you liked the gift he gave you. He’s heard of your exploration adventures and knows of your attempts to enter the library.

Lucienne’s library isn’t the only one in the castle, but it certainly is the most special. Not only is it the largest, but only a select few may enter it. Last week, you would’ve joined the concise list of guests permitted within its walls.

Morpheus tells himself it was so it would be easier to face you when the two of you have to host the Summer Eclipse Gala that’s coming soon. On that day, once every year, the celestial lovers Sun and Moon meet. For that one night, the people of the Dreaming drink, dance, and feast until they can no longer understand the physical world. Then, when the total eclipse locks in place, it sends the kingdom into darkness for the rest of the day.

It was a wondrous occasion, even he cannot deny it. At the very least, the two could pretend to be amiable during the celebration. They would have to put up a unified front so as not to spread any more rumors about their marriage. However much Morpheus hated the idea of it.

Time passes as he stays within his thoughts, before he knew it the moon was high in the sky. Its fullness illuminated his path as he took a midnight stroll. It had recently rained, covering the colonnade to his gardens in a thin layer of water. Petichor follows him from the castle to the outdoors as he breathes in the earthy scent.

He doesn’t really know where he’s going, only that when he is out here, no one can bother him; no responsibilities could chase him. He didn’t have to be king in the dead of night. When it was simply the moon, gentle and caring as She, he could breathe. The moon’s dominion over the night sky casts a blue glow over his figure, illuminating his pale skin as he basks in Her guidance with closed eyes.

When he opens them again, a small flickering figure stands before him. The figure grows two flame-like limbs and motions Morpheus towards itself. The will-o-the-wisp glows a warm yellow and slowly turns purple when Morpheus walks closer to it. He glances at the moon one last time before the will-o-the-wisp disappears.

Just as it disappears, another one appears further down the path. Slowly, it turns purple just as the last did when Morpheus walks closer. The will-o-the-wisp lead him further from his original path, taking him deep into the gardens. His pants gather leftover raindrops as he walks across the flowers.

When he looks in disgust at his foot after stepping in a particularly deep puddle, he notices that the will-o-the-wisps he had been following have gathered around his legs. They dance between his legs and try to untie his shoelaces, though with their astral bodies, they find difficulty in doing so. Morpheus only rolls his eyes as another one gathers with its friends and a new yellow will-o-the-wisp beckons him again.

A soft humming pulls him out of his small quest and he notices that the will-o-the-wisp no longer appeared. He follows the humming, and in the pale moonlight, he sees you. The will-o-the-wisp that gathered around him trill in excitement as they notice you as well. They fly towards you so fast their flames almost flickered out in the cool night air.

Morpheus watches in awe, jaw slackening as you move across the pavilion under the moonlight. If the moon was kind to him, then She absolutely dotes on you. Her light hugs your figure like a cloak, passing through the fabric of your clothing, and leaves close to nothing to the imagination. Morpheus finds himself unable to move, simply entranced by your beauty.

He stands as the will-o-the-wisp surrounds you, holding hands as they dance with you. Your humming continues, not noticing the little fire sprites. Your feet were bare and you wore simple clothing, as if you had snuck out of your room not too long ago. Your arms were held up as if dancing with an imaginary partner as you twirled again across the mosaic flooring.

Morpheus recalls the conversation you two shared on your eventful wedding night, about how you loved to dance. How much has he avoided you to the point of you dancing alone in the middle of the night? The question zips across his mind like an icicle to lava and guilt takes over him. Just as fast as it appeared, he buried it deep and let anger take its place instead. He needed to have a serious conversation with his eldest brother. At his departure, the will-o-the-wisps leave your side and follow Morpheus. His robe billows behind him as he abruptly turns, the sound hidden behind the whispers of the wind, leaving you all the more ignorant to his presence.

♔♕

It was easier said than done to sneak out of your own room. Matthew, ever loyal to his station, was posted outside your door. And no matter how long you waited by it, listening carefully for his unforgettable snoring so you could sneak past him, midnight came sooner.

Your room was becoming stuffy and even standing out on the balcony felt like you were trapped. You only considered it once, barely fornicating the plan in your head before you threw yourself over the ledge and climbed down the ivy that scaled the side of the castle. The bark was surprisingly soft under your skin as you slowly made your way downwards.

When your feet touch the cooling grass beneath you, a smile erupts from your face. Goosebumps scatter across your body as the night air easily nips through your sleepwear but you pay it no mind as you begin to wander. Eventually, you find yourself back in the royal gardens. A pavilion with astronomical stars scattered beneath you greets you in the dead of night.

You peek around you, even though you’re sure no one would be awake so late. Then, carefully, you tiptoe onto the pavilion, the stone proving much colder than the grass. You don’t mind, though, and slowly begin to hum to yourself to fill the silence of the night. Humming turns to dancing as you pretend you aren’t dancing alone, but rather attending a grand ball where you get to wear your favorite dress and gems. When you close your eyes, you hear laughter as you twirl, and the sound of glass clinking against each other. The wind blows and you swear you could hear the draw of strings as the orchestra begins their next piece.

A twig snaps and echoes across the garden and you stop, your eyes opening quickly. The full moon gave you enough light to see a silhouette hidden within the trees, but not enough to make out who it was. You suddenly feel exposed and slowly back away from the silhouette. Matthew’s name perches on the tip of your tongue at any given notice.

“Well, hello there,” The silhouette speaks and comes into the moonlight. He joins you in the pavilion, hands placed inside his suit pockets.

His smile was charismatic, posture perfect, and any question as to whether or not he was a part of the palace would have been thrown out the window. Yet…

“Can you see out of those?” You ask cautiously as you stare at his dark glasses.

He chuckles at your straightforward question, but it doesn’t pass you when he doesn’t answer it. Instead, he asks his own. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

You don’t answer him and risk turning your head back in the direction you came from.

“A whooole lotta dangerous people out there y’know. Even within the castle walls.” He continues and takes a step closer to you. His voice carried a slight accent to it

“Who are you?” You reply, taking your own step back to maintain the distance, feeling the edge of the pavilion on your heels as you do so.

“Our, oh so gracious, King calls me the Corinthian. Sends me out when there’s dirty work to be done…” He looks at your figure slowly with a deep sigh.

“Am I… dirty work?” You ask. The tremor in your voice was hard to hide, at the very least you’d say it’s because of the cold air, but then you’d both know you’re lying.

The Corinthian chuckles again, this time open-mouth and towards the sky. “Ah, no, I can’t lay a finger on Your Majesty,” He sucks in his breath through his teeth.

His comment held a certain lilt of sarcasm in it, and it didn’t at all help you feel any more at ease in front of him. Saying he can’t doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to or could. He’s simply obligated by something that’s holding him back.

Something about this man was dangerous even though he desperately tried to hide it behind his aloof manners.

“It was lovely to meet you, Corinthian,” An obvious lie, a perfect farewell. “But, I’m afraid I must be going now.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Sweet dreams.”

You risk another look behind you to make sure to not fall off the pavilion, but when you turn back around, the Corinthian is gone just as fast as he appeared. With one last look around, you begin your way back to your room. Your walk slowly turned into a pace as your eyes darted across the dark garden, any shadow reminding you of him. Soon enough, you’re panting hard as you barrel through the gardens on pounding feet.

You look behind you as you begin to scale the ivy to your room and close the door with a slam, locking it, and pulling the curtains tight. The room turns pitch black and you light a candle to illuminate the space. That night, you slept with the candle going, something you hadn’t done since you were a child.

It felt childish, but the fear that followed you from that pavilion was anything but. You swallow your beating heart as you lay in your bed. Staring at the ceiling, you count the swirls once again. Tomorrow morning, you will ask Agnes for more Natterhorn milk to be added to your bath. Matthew will be outside your door should anything happen and he will greet you tomorrow morning just as he always has. When you close your eyes for the night, you dream of teeth.

♔♕

To others, he was the archbishop of the church, the one who speaks the will of Gods, the Reverend Destiny. But to Morpheus, he was simply Potmos, his eldest brother. Morpheus finds him within the rose maze of his garden, as he often does. Destiny rarely spends time in his church, except for special occasions, as he hears the voices of Gods no matter where he goes.

In the dead of night, Destiny wanders, the faint clinking of his chained book the only sound he produces. He leaves no footprint, and Morpehus only finds him when the smell of dust and books grows heavy.

“Potmos,” Morpheus seethes at him.

Slowly the archbishop turns, his hood covering his pale eyes. He doesn’t speak, waiting patiently for his younger brother to start speaking to him. Morpheus storms closer as the will-o-the-wisp follows close behind. As the sprites slowly come to recognize their master, they leave Morpheus’ side, and with more trills, they fly under Destiny’s cloak to hide.

“What games are you playing at? Will-o-the-wisps?” Morpheus accuses, adamantly pointing at Destiny’s feet.

Once again, Destiny stays quiet as he listens to his brother's rant. Anger was evident on his face, but if he was willing to dig deeper, even his blind eyes could see the small boy drowning in guilt. He feels the will-o-the-wisps dancing around under his robes, their fire tickling his exposed ankles. Will-o-the-wisps came to him soon after his powers did as a small gift from the Gods.

From that day on, he was no longer Potmos, crowned prince of the kingdom, but merely Archbishop Destiny. His job now was to make sure that the Gods’ voices were heard and their plans were placed into action. An idea all too novel to Morpheus, who seeks control over anything he could set his hands on.

“If the will-o-the-wisps led you to your fate, I am not one to deny their claims.”

“She is not my fate. I do not love her.” Morpheus can’t bring himself to even say your name.

“Perhaps not now, but it is fated. She was created for you, you are created for her. Sun and Moon, Light and Dark, Land and Sea. Balance in duality, my brother.” Comes Destiny’s answer.

“I do not love her. It is forced love. Fate cannot tell me who to love, I choose to love Calliope, I wish to have her.” Morpheus whispers the last few words, mainly to himself. Destiny, as always, hears them.

“Does she wish to have you?” Destiny asks instead.

The question strikes him hard, like a cold, hard slap of reality to the face. Ever since that conversation with her on his wedding night, Calliope had been the one to ignore him; not at all dissimilar to how he had been avoiding you.

Morpheus was unwilling to come to fruition with the truth and he turned to anger once more. Grabbing at Destiny’s book, he opens it and watches as the pages flip to the page he needs. He faces the book towards his older brother and points at the names written in golden ink. There were plenty of other words written on the page, about unification, about soulmates, but he looks past all of that.

“This,” He jabs his finger where he signs his name next to yours. “This is why I ‘love’ her. It is not real.”

“It is real. Open your eyes.”

Morpheus shuts the book with force, the slam echoing in the hedge maze. It only floats back gently into Destiny’s after he drops it. Morpheus storms off, arguing with Destiny is like arguing with a brick wall, except the brick wall is always right. He can’t deny it, his brother is the voice for forces even greater than him, but he can hate it.

“It is time you come to recognize her. Find her soon or let disaster run its course.” Destiny’s voice reaches him even after he leaves the maze, his voice carried by the wind and the fragrance of roses.

When he gets back to the castle, thinking at the very least that he may turn in for the night, the Corinthian is waiting for him. The conversation was brief, both men were tired and wanted to sleep, but Corinthian had important information he must let his king know.

He tells about one of Desire’s plans, to send a man named Rodrick Burgess after his sister. To manipulate the man into thinking his sister could bring back his dead son; it would be Rodrick’s greatest wish, his greatest desire.

The solution was easy, and with the promise of increased pay, Morpheus instructed Corinthian to deal with the man before he became a problem. The Corinthian only smiles, pay was not the reason he spied on the other kingdom, nor the reason why he was all too satisfied to end another’s life. He was great at it: the drama of killing another, the power he feels when he hears them beg beneath him. It is what he was made for.

That night, when Morpheus closes his eyes, he dreams of you. He watches as you’re taken by Rodrick Burgess, just as his sister might soon be. When he woke, the king didn’t dare to go back to sleep again.

♔♕

Destiny’s vague warning and his dream last night make him seek you out after his daily responsibilities the next day. He finds you after spotting Matthew standing in front of Eleanor’s old studio. Lucienne wasn’t in the library at the time, and Hob was off doing some new exercise cleansing ritual that he didn’t really bother to listen to.

“Your Majesty,” Matthew greets with a salute, his voice laced with something between panic and bewilderment.

“Is she in there?”

“Huh?” Matthew caws in confusion. Who?

“Is Y/N in there?” Oh…. Oh!

“Oh, yes. Her Majesty has been here since the morning.” Matthew replies with a smile, though his king couldn’t see it.

Morpheus motions Matthew to stand aside with a wave of his hand and he does. Jessamy follows Morpheus like a poisonous shadow and goes to stand next to him as well. She doesn’t bother to look at the knight, but still, he shakes with anxiety at her close proximity, or the fart he was suddenly holding in, he can’t tell at the moment.

Morpheus hesitates to open the door, in fact, he almost leaves, but the bracelet that rests on his left wrist constricts as if unhappy about his decisions. When he places his hand on the handle once more, it releases itself in content.

Slowly, he turns the handle, hoping to not make a noise and startle you. When he comes into the room, you don’t notice him, too entranced in the process of your painting. Your brush was held mid-stroke and you stayed still in thought.

From this angle, he could see the slope of your nose and the curve of your lips and eyelashes. In the late afternoon sun, he can see every detail of your face. Morpheus opens his mouth to greet you, but a glint is caught by the sun and he stops.

He watches with a frown as a tear slowly falls from your eye, it collects itself on the tip of your chin before falling and splattering itself on your painter’s palette, diluting the colors. Another tear forms in your unblinking eyes and joins the other. Your arms begin to shake as you let your tears collect and the sudden rush of emotions makes you lurch in pain. A whine tries to make its way out of your throat, but you clasp a firm hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

Your brush staggers across the canvas at the movement and you stare in shock at your ruined painting. You don’t know why, but you scream at the canvas, the defining streak runs across what would have been a perfectly adequate art piece. Everything seems to mess up in front of you, no matter how hard you try to be perfect.

“Stop,” Morpheus calls out to you at your outburst, but you’re too deep to hear him.

Perhaps it was all of the emotions you’ve kept bottled deep within yourself finally bursting. Your hands grip the frames of the painting as you scream again, tears now freely coming out in fat drops. Anger runs through your body and you let it.

This stupid painting!

You scream again and throw your palette across the room, the paints splattering across the wall like blood. Sobs rack through your body, shaking you to your core as you find your hands toppling over the canvas, watching as the wooden frame cracks after coming in contact with the floor.

“Y/N, stop!” You hear his voice closer to you this time, but the buzzing thoughts keep you occupied. You see your monsters seeping in through the cracks of the stone walls.

This stupid marriage!

It’s getting hard to breathe, your hands grabbing the scalp of your hair as you look around the studio. All of your past paintings look back at you and you feel their melancholy coming back at you. You’re storming towards them, to hit them, destroy them, anything to allow the anger to stay.

Anger would be better than feeling lonely anymore.

Arms wrap around your body from behind and hold you back as you begin to thrash in the hold. It was so constricting, your body heaves gulping breaths and your teeth buzzes at the brink of hyperventilation. Your fingers go numb, your mind blank and you scream again.

“I hate you!” You cry out in the embrace, squirming as you try to break free.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Morpheus whispers back as he tightens his grip on you. Your trashing doesn’t die down and he grunts as a particularly hard elbow hits him in the ribs.

“I hate you, I hate you!” You continue screaming.

“I’m sorry, please, stop. I’m sorry.” He holds on tight. An uncomfortable feeling creeps up his throat and he realizes he’s holding back his own tears. His knees buckle and he brings you with him, falling to the floor with you in his arms. He turns you towards him to hold you closer, to shield you from the outside world.

“I HATE YOU!” You sob one last time as the pent-up energy is finally spent, leaving you nothing more than a bag of flesh and bones in Morpheus’ arms. You slam a weak fist against his chest, throat screamed raw. “I hate you…”

Your body is racking with hiccups and remnant sobs as you feel the warmth of his embrace. You grab onto his jacket lapel, knuckles turning white and you realize that this is the first time someone has held you, touched you, embraced you since your wedding night. He still smells like earth and licorice.

The two of you stay like that for a while, and despite all circumstances, Morpheus can’t find the will to let you go. Your eyes and nose were cherry red from crying and the guilt once again starts to eat at him. This was his fault because he was too pretentious in what he thought he could control. He runs a delicate finger across the top of your forehead when your breathing evens, moving the hair away from your face.

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing Morpheus could think of saying.

Went fishing around in my greifcase for this one I think. Found the angst pretty deep in there

See you next time ( ` ᢍ ´ ) ᵐᵘʰᵃʰᵃ

♡ Yours, Layla

Tags: @dnarez @arunawayheart @acdassenza @ella33 @karma-is-a-god @bluespecs14

#destined dreams of love #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #lord morpheus #arranged marriage #strangers to lovers #eventual smut

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