#poor neglected endless

[five-and-dimes]

Thinking about Dream/ the Endless and their shitty parents and it got me thinking about some absurd situation where Dream somehow gets turned into a literal child. He gets dropped on Hob's doorstep while other folks look for a solution, and Hob is over the goddamn moon to see tiny Dream, but he learns very quickly that tiny Dream is, in fact, a menace. But not for the reasons he would have suspected.

Dream is very much a neglected child. Hob constantly finds him climbing up dangerous surfaces to get something he wants because it doesn't even occur to him to ask Hob for help. He hoards anything he can get his tiny hands on because best case scenario he'll never be given anything ever again and worst case scenario it'll be taken away from him. He gets upset when Hob pays attention to him because he doesn't know what to DO, he knows how to take care of himself, he knows how to be ignored, he knows how to be scolded or punished, but Hob just sits with him and asks him questions or offers to play and Dream is so confused it makes his child emotions go haywire.

Hob is very sad, and loves Dream very much, so he spends a few days pouring all his love and care into this child, and then once he has adult Dream back he keeps doing it, because that little kid is still in there somewhere, and he needs all the hugs he can get and Hob is more than happy to give it to him.

#the sandman #dreamling #kind of #having Thoughts #no I'm not making this into a full fic I have TOO MANY WIPS #thoughts and ramblings #poor neglected endless #also Night creeps me out

[xxshujiswhorexx]

Baby Bunny~

(Chapter 1)

Vox x Reader; Valentino x Reader; Alastor x Reader; maybe Lucifer x Reader

After your untimely death, Mr Vox was kind enough to take you in and give you a job as his assistant. However, it appears that you’ve caught the eyes of few other demons, who are certainly not afraid of a little competition…

Frankly, Vox was a stressed out man.

Endless meetings to attend, scripts to review, and catastrophes to clean up; very little could consistently relax the poor man. Luckily, one of these particular vices just happened to be readily available; you.

Oh, how he loved to watch you flit around his offices, big floppy ears twitching with concentration, large brown eyes peering up at him, searching for approval and validation. It almost made him feel guilty, the way you obeyed his every beck and call.

Regardless, your presence had become a somewhat comforting one in his workplace, ever since you had the unfortunate fall from earth following your untimely death. Your loyalty to the overlord only made sense, given his boundless generosity towards you, providing you with a job as his personal assistant, as well as a small flat inside his studio.

Thus, when he discovered that Valentino had decided to send you on an ‘errand’, he was less than pleased. Of course, you with your unbridled kindness and timidity couldn’t even think of refusing such a request, despite the sex maniac holding no legitimate power over you. So, off you went, suddenly feeling rather exposed in your open white blouse and tight leather skirt (a favourite outfit of Mr Vox), as you wandered through Pentagram City, glancing back occasionally at the directions that Mr Valentino had so graciously provided.

All of a sudden, you feel yourself slam into something, or more aptly, someone. Your nose begins to twitch in fear of the consequences, knowing full well the cruelty of the sinner residing in the area. Peering up at the stranger with teary eyes, you mumble an apology, and pull yourself back up on shaky legs.

“Not to worry, my dear! Accidents happen, of course! Although, you really should watch where you are walking, darling.”

The static in his voice, almost tangible, sends shivers down your spine, his glowing eyes intensely staring into your own, as if to bear witness to your very soul.

“How rude of me, I neglected to introduce myself. I’m Alastor, darling, the Radio Demon.”

The man, Alastor, extends a hand to greet you, but the mention of his title causes you to freeze, and flinch away in fear. The demon’s smile strains in reaction, appearing confused and mildly offended.

“T-the Radio Demon? M-Mr Vox said I’m not allowed to speak to you..”

Alastor’s grin tightens at this comment, his snarl baring gums, yet he chooses to feign ignorance.

“My dear, it’s impolite to not return a greeting.”

Due to the mild threat in his tone, you reluctantly tell him your name, your bunny ears twitching in fear, as you look up at him.

“Now, my dear bunny, wherever were you off to on this fine morning?”

“Mr Valentino w-wanted me to s-speak to Angel Dust about his s-supposedly ‘poor work ethic’. S-so, I was h-hoping to find him at the Hazbin Hotel..” you trail off, unsure of how much information you could safely disclose.

But Alastor’s grin only brightens at the news.

“Well, my dear, you’re in luck! I was just about to head over there myself!” With that, he pulls you closer to him, evoking a surprised yelp from you, and wraps his arm tightly around your waist, setting off at a brisk pace.

Alastor hums a jolly tune, seemingly ignorant to your struggles in keeping up with his quick pace, almost being dragged along. Finally, once you had reached your destination, he finally releases you, this time choosing to grab you by your arm. But, for some reason, he chooses to spare a moment, and look you over.

You stood a fair bit shorter than him, having to crane your neck to meet his eyes, but furthermore you were simply trembling with fear. Your nose was twitching, your floppy ears fluttering with anxiety, and your doe eyes refusing to meet his gaze.

You truly were just adorable. Oh, he was going to have fun breaking you.

And with that, he flung open the hotel doors, the action catching you off guard, as you jump again.

“Awfully jumpy today, my dear? Why, is everything alright?” He asks with a condescending grin.

“Just peachy, Mr Alastor.” You manage to mumble out a reply, starting to overcome your fear of the radio demon.

“Now, now, you mustn’t lie, my darling. But, trust me, you have nothing to fear here.” He draws you closer again, his clawed hand playing with your hair, as you looked up with a tight frown. Once he got bored of your lack of reaction, he decided to switch his focus, petting your bunny ears. This action caught you off guard, their sensitivity causing you to whimper, bringing a hand to your mouth to stifle your noises. Alastor’s grin grew ever wider, finding a new way to push your buttons. He increases pressure on his ministrations, causing you to yelp as your jelly legs gave out and you collapsed against his chest. He finally relents in favour of hoisting you back up onto your shaky legs and wobbly knees, forcing a whine from you at the loss of contact. He chuckles darkly at your compliance, your passive nature truly pleasing him. Perhaps he should keep you around; that truly would annoy Vox… but that’s a thought for another day. For now, he needed to build trust in you.

“Toots? What are ya doin here, cutie?”

Angel’s New York drawl fills the room, his voice full of concern.

“M-Mr Val sent me, Angie. Please, I-I don’t want you to get hurt…” your eyes well up at the thought of poor Angel’s contract, as he rushes over to hold you.

“I just came to warn you, Angie. Mr Val isn’t pleased. He’s mad at you, and he’s gonna make it hard for you. P-please, Angie, come back, for your own sake. I miss you…” you trail off, sniffling.

“I know ya do cutie, and it’s ok that big V’s mad at me. I can take it, sugar. But, toots, what about you? Does Vox know ya here? He’s gon be real mad that you been hanging with smiles over there.” Angel rebukes you, concerned for your own wellbeing.

“M-Mr Val said he’d tell Me Vox that he’d sent me on an errand for him, so I think I’ll be fine…”

“Sure, toots, whateva ya say.” He pulled you in for a tight hug, as you buried your head in his chest fluff.

Angel seemed a lot happier now. You were glad that he had begun to escape Mr Val’s clutches.

“Angel, who’s this?” A chipper voice interrupted your thought, as you were greeted by a tall blonde girl, who seemed ecstatic to see you.

“Charlie, this is Y/N. She’s Vox’s assistant and just came ta check up on me. Y/N, this is Princess Charlie Morningstar; she runs this shitty hotel where I’m stayin.”

Suddenly aware that you were in front of Royalty, you bowed nervously and squeaked out a greeting. Your timidness was met with aws and statements of your cuteness, causing your face to darken slightly out of embarrassment.

“Well isn’t she just adorable! Now my dear friends and guests, I believe I should be escorting our dear bunny back to her workplace. After all, we wouldn’t want your boss to worry about, would we? “

You gulped at Alastor’s words, nodding your head vigorously, as he once again, grabbed you by the arm and began marching away.

“See ya, cutie! Come visit sometime!” Angel yelled as you left.

“Bye-bye, Angie! I’ll definitely come see you again!”

And with that, you set off towards the entertainment district.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox #vox x reader #valentino #valentino x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #reader insert #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #smut #hazbin hotel smut #bunny!reader #this was fun to write #I’m so in love with Christian borle #and Vox ig

[dolldefiler]

[Inspired by an ask? I think? I can’t remember, sorry </3 I’ve just spent a while researching chastity belts and they seem inconvenient. Pretend they work in the long-term for this post pls ty]

God, I’d love to leave my sub denied and needy for days, even weeks on end. She’d plead and beg like a needy, little puppy, grinding her chastity-belt-covered cunt against my foot and begging for release. For weeks, I’d simply shut her up by railing her hot, wet mouth and draining my balls in her. “Beta bitches don’t deserve to cum, I’d say,” before walking off. I’m sure she’d go mad, her fingers clawing at her belt. She’d go near delirious, humping against anything, everything to stimulate her neglected fuckhole.

And then, one evening, I’d do something different. She’d beg and plead, grinding against me again, almost expecting me to fish out my cock at any moment now. I’d look at her softly and smile, before leading her to our bedroom. I’d tie her up and promise her the release she so desperately craved, unlocking her chastity belt as I do. And from beneath the bed, I’d pull out an arsenal of sex toys. God, the silly mix of fear and lust on her face would get me so fucking hard.

I’d slide a finger into her neglected, sensitive cunt, relishing in her loud moans. I’d flip on a vibrator and place it against her clit. I’d work it against her, flicking against her cunt. I’d replace my finger with her favourite dildo, teasing her at first before I begin to assault her overstimulated fuckhole. She’d explode. Her trembling body would shake the bed frame. She’d yelp as I push the vibrator against her clit again, asking for some time to rest. I would ignore her, overloading her poor clit with enough pleasure to leave her legs spasming.

And I’d hardly forget about her tits and her asshole. I’d snap on toys to her nipples, stroking my cock to her mindless, orgasm-dulled fuckface. I’d slide my cock into her tight fucking asshole, her legs far too weak and relaxed to offer much resistance. To turn the cumrag airtight, I’d let her fucking gag on her own cunt-slickened dildo, and filling her up with a g-spot vibrator. All these fucking toys and my cock providing her endless, unlimited pleasure. I’d cum eventually, but she’d hardly notice. I’d simply slide my cock out of her, and find another vibrator for her ass.

Then, I’d leave her and go about my day. By the time I’d come back, the toys would be dead, her body would be limp and her mind would have melted into a cycle of endless euphoria. She did ask for it after all.

#locked in caged #degrading k1nk #degradation k1nk #humiliation kink #overstim kink #cnc overstim #overstim nsft

[ur-mousey]

Time Moves ~

Yandere! God! True Form! Sukuna x Disciple! F!Reader! Prt 1.

Part two

summary Sukuna demands attention from his out of breath disciple for leaving him alone. 2.2k warning mature, smut, possessive themes, mentions of bondage/imprisonment, pussy-eating, dub-con.

..............................

A god lies and waits, practically neglected. His legs are spread, his head rested on his hand, and that elbow dug into his thigh. These trips of hers get longer and longer, he thought to himself. He fought the urge to resist stroking his red-tipped hard-on. His other three arms found purchase somewhere on his hips. With other disciples, he didn't care for their comings and goings. He could easily find solace buried in another cunt.

His little pet, however, he needed to hold her down by a leash. Maybe it's because she's the only one at his side.

Sukuna, the God of Curses, was the first to cultivate spite, revenge, and war against the human race. But, he was needed more whenever your hands were held in a prayer nowadays. He was aware that the town below held wavering faith in his powers. Their earlier malice for other tribes settled throughout the centuries. And it is true that as a God, he has been weakened due to this time of peace. 

It disgusted him to no end.

The smoke below was no longer a symbol of families' homes ravished by flames or hunkered-down soldiers. But, of baked goods warming in the oven. 

You had begged for months to see the village below. The ghost of Sukuna's name from your lips weighted his balls with cum for you to drink. You gave kitten licks to his head, coaxing his pre-cum to splash the tip of your tongue. You earned your right to venture and partake in the new year markets below. Obedient to his demands despite how absurd. 

Once a year, he had promised. And a god can lie.

The first year, you had left and came with a bounty of sweets. Most of which you had forgotten existed: sweet red bean buns, daifuku, green tea cookies. And a plethora more that Sukuna had cared less for. He scolded you for the lack of satiating meat in your haul. "Then you go," you whispered into his ear with a sharpness that bit. 

"If only I could go without lifting a leg," Sukuna waved off.

That time, you sank to your knees, looking up at him. "My God! What is it that you want to try first? A sweet bun?"

So he took his favorite dessert. Your first year out of his sight bared its weight on your thighs. He discarded the bought goods across the floor. You had been gone merely three hours. However, Sukuna could not lift his head from your heat. Your saltiness kept his tongue pushed deep into her sopping hole.

Your feeble arms pushed against Sukuna, who has strapped you down at your waist. He knew that you were crying profusely. He wanted you to break down more upon his tongue. 

Your nails drew blood from his shoulder blades as he held your legs wide. You had struggled to kick out at his thighs. Now, they twitched at the bite of his teeth on your clit. Sukuna would have chuckled at the pleas you made to unlock your neck. But, the collar that secured you to the floor fit you so snug. You were his perfect pet. 

He sucked in between your flesh, tasting you over and over again to never forget that you were perfectly made for his sinful desires. 

He overreacted. Ten days were spent in his personal heaven. And Sukuna couldn't tell if she enjoyed it herself.

>>>

Your salvation is at the top of the mountain where your God resides. At least, that's what you had told yourself at the base of those stone steps.

When you were staring up into the endless sky. When you could feel the trees wave and the birds sing blessings upon your journey. Now, all within your heart was the sound of ringing, the pumping of blood which aided in the spasm of your muscles. How much longer?

You thought you hated making the trip down in fear of toppling over, but it was the climb up that made you appreciate the respite of the poor village. It felt more humane talking to the workers below than doing endless cardio.

But days like these were rare. The villagers do not recognize you anymore, nor do you recognize them. Every day spent in the village are new faces and you are just a humble stranger. You doubt that whatever family you had left out there would know it is you.

Time moves differently on the mountain. 

Your body felt like it would fall apart at the seams. Your bag was filled to the brim with food: savory meats, dried jerky, and sweets galore. You looked at the upcoming archway that marked the journey as being a third over with. The pillars hold familiarity fore this was as far as your God allowed you to step off of the immediate property. You can see the works of your crafted talisman plastered on every vertical surface. It’s maddening. Black ink smeared upon crimson parchment. Sukuna had glared at your work but he shrugged and let you be. That was long ago when humans gathered for his harem. You were the only left.

You knew that your God lied to you. Yearly visits to the mortal world easily showed you that more time has gone by. Today, a girl named Yumi worked at your favorite stall selling pastry goods. But the year before, it was the newly wedded Hiragashi couple. You remembered the young wife brimming with light, belly round and ready to pop. And you remembered how the husband begged his wife to sit while he handled the bustling night market. When you asked about the two, Yumi sighed, "They are my parents."

Hiragashi Yumi was that baby yet to be born, now she stood before you in her twenties. Her parents are significantly older when you're not.

Time moves differently on the mountain.

What were you to do? Your God wouldn't want to hear any of your plight. You doubt that this is a matter he would allow you to fight for.

He'd taunt you. He'd ask if it even matters when at the end of the day, you got to take the excursion. But, it terrifies you that you cannot tell the difference between a year and twenty.

You had to let it go. 

You had taken the moment to set down your bag. The pillar felt like stone against your forehead. It was obviously made out of stone and the realization slammed into your pounding head. It's hard and grainy like time. You realized there were no memories before you laid eyes on your God. You try to calm your breath. Did you even have a family or a childhood? When did life begin for you? Will your life ever end or will it be determined by your God?

Vines coiled up the stone pillar, its leaves brushed against your flushed cheeks. You watched them grow each day. Water droplets slid from them to you, on you cheek. A cause from the earlier drizzle, you presume. It made you wonder if it was safe to cry. After speaking to Yumi, you admitted that you wanted nothing more than the comfort of home. Despite knowing better, there is nothing for you outside of the arms of your God.

"Pet, why the long face." Your body went rigid and you shot your head up the path. The moon shows half its face to the world. And like the moon, your God sat encased primarily in shadows. His eyes showed bright vermillion. 

"My God, why have you come this far from the shrine?" You panted through the coils in your chest. You quickly gathered yourself to the best of your abilities. First, you start by kicking off your hard-to-walk-in sandals. Then you shimmed your hair from its tight bun, allowing the terraces to flow. The black rose pin that held the style together, you placed behind your ear. Lastly, you make work of the kimono. You had pestered your God to help tuck and tie to perfection. Now, it’s folded fabric that you set on top of your traveling pack. 

You stood straight to be beheld. "Here, I bare myself to you." You do not own undergarments, you don't remember a time in which you would have. You bowed till you were sure that your whole body felt flatted into the mountain's steps. "My God."

"Come," Your God beckoned. "Drop the God." 

"Yes Sukuna," You huffed out. "Shall I bring you any food or dessert? The night market was more lively than the last! I could hardly handle the long lines. And I thought we would have more fun watching the fireworks from within the courtyard."

"Quit yapping and come. I couldn't care less for mortal foods."

You make your ascent up the remaining steps separating you two. "Aw, I guess that I'm the only mortal food you'll eat." You let out a giggle through the racing questions. "I hope that you know that you are getting my stuff from below, it has been quite tedious for this mortal to make it this far."

Sukuna looked up into your eyes. You have made it in between his parted legs. You swayed there for a little bit before assuming your kneeling position. Your finger grazed Sukuna's hair before using his shoulder to brace your knees when hitting the slab below. Back straight. Bum placed directly over heel. And, your hands cling to each elbow behind your back in a straight line. "Bold to order me around."

"It was a suggestion."

"A hell of one." Sukuna placed his finger under your lips "Your chin should be lifted. Do you need a reminder? And where should your eyes be?"

"Retraining won’t be necessary." You lifted your chest higher to prove the point as you focused on Sukuna's manhood. His white robe left little to the imagination especially since he never ties it properly. His tattoos frame his sculpted abs and draw the eyes to his glorious v-line. And it's only if you don't do a double take of the smirking mouth protruding from the middle of his stomach. You are used to it and you have been more than aquatinted to how perverted it makes you feel. 

"The long face, pet?" Your nickname was held off long enough to feel somewhat like an afterthought or an attack on your ego.

You sighed, "At the market... This girl I met was twenty, but when I met her last year, she wasn't born yet. I had talked to her parents."

You dared look up into Sukuna's four eyes, searching from one to the other which all stared back at you. "Oh pet, are you mad?"

"Should I be?"

"Why no, pet," Sukuna whispered. He bowed his head to rest his forehead against yours, coated in a film of sweat. "I could make you forget the thoughts running in your dumb head. You are a pet that only needs to know of her master." He scraped a finger behind your ear, taking the black rose pin and with his other hand, he swept your hair back to his liking. "But, if you are mad, I will allow you to pierce me with this. Hold out your hand."

You did as told. Now the metallic warmth of the pin weighed heavy on your conscious. "I don't wish to hurt you. And if I do this, you'll punish me."

"I lied. Pierce me for all I care. You are mad like me.” His blazed eyes hunger for the fear in yours “Your punishment will be a light one."

You shook your head, "No! No no no. I want to let this go! Let's enjoy the food and the fireworks. Please!" Before you could yank your arm away, your God gripped tight enough to bruise. With full awareness, you watched as Sukuna used your hand to shove the pin repeatedly into his chest.

At first, the skin doesn't break. Your hand throbbed from the forced handle you had to take. Your arms ached all over as you tried pulling away from the slashing. Screaming felt foreign but not unheard of coming from your throat. Moments like theses caused your mind to wonder. Were those cries even yours or someone else's? A spectator could be in the woods regarding the nakedness of your skin.

They could be the one screaming. The spectator has front-row seats to view the enormous stomach mouth gulp down blood. Or they were the one fighting, not you, to get away from Your God.

"Su-uuh kuna! Wh- why, why! Why are you doing this!?" You bellowed through gritted teeth, smacking against his chest. 

"What did I even do wrong?" You felt the crash of your lungs. You felt the heaviness of your knees losing balance on the pavement which caused you to smack into Sukuna's right thigh. Your face felt hot. "I can't be mad! I don't have the right!" You shook your head, whipping hair everywhere. Snot ran down to your lips as you kept screaming. "I don't care if you lied! Why should I! I'm nothing more than a pet who would be nothing without their god!"

Sukuna squeezed your hand as he pushed the sharp pin in one last time before ripping your arms away. You fell backwards. catching yourself on the step below you. Your main find at last year's market, the black rose pin, looked dimmed when coated in blood. It stuck out of your God's chest where it rises and falls to the normal beat of his lungs. Whatever compelled you to buy the article of jewelry made you gag into your hands.

"Pet, I hate these excursions of yours. You know that."

.............................. Thank you for reading! This is my first attempt on making a smut! There will be a part two because I wanted to get this out on new years day! Please leave ideas in the comments! Request rules are here! I have an idea of where I want part two to go, but there is always room to stir the pot. HAPPY NEW YEARS!!! (technically a day late)

>>>

NEXT JJK POST: Yandere! Landlord! Geto Suguru x F!Reader

#sukuna smut #yandere sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk sukuna #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #sukuna x reader #male yandere x reader #smut #smut fic #dom/pet #female reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen

[inwhosereverie]

afab!reader x simon ‘ghost’ riley

warning: smut, naive reader, reader cheating, mean simon, rough sex, degredation, filming/videotaping, oral (f & m receiving), sexting, masturbation

word count: 769 words

a sharp hiss leaves from the small gaps of simon’s gritted teeth, his huge arm draped over his eyes covering the way his features scrunched in insane pleasure from pumping his cock mercilessly within the grasp of his large calloused hand. “ah, you fuckin’ slut..” he managed to growl out, you weren’t there to hear them- you are 30 minutes away from his own flat probably laying in your little nightwear beside your so-called lover, poor guy doesn’t know the things you do when he isn’t around.

you couldn’t leave simon’s head alone, never, since he’s tried ignoring your pleading calls to get him to come over, his phone lighting up whenever it vibrates against the wooden texture of his nightstand every time you text because he doesn’t pick up your calls, you haven’t left his mind.

‘are you free tonight?’

‘he just left for work.’

‘need you rn..’

‘please, si?’

you were pathetic, pathetic pretty little thing that can’t get enough of him even when you have a whole other man to provide something better for you. you seek for him and simon takes pride in it.. his cockhead raging red leaking endless amounts of pre-cum for him to smear around the base of his veiny dick thinking about your gorgeous pussy swallowing him like it’s made just for him, all while your worthless of a boyfriend works his ass off nightly probably imagining a prosperous future with you.

your boyfriend doesn’t know the amount of pictures and videos simon has saved of you in his phone, where he’s got you all fucked up and slurring as he slides his cock in and out of your leaking cunny after you’ve already climaxed 3 times around him.

videos of you on your knees swallowing his thick cock deep down your tight throat until the tip of your nose press against his pelvis and how your eyes sting with tears, gripping a handful of your locks then repeatedly ramming into those beautiful lips of yours, saliva trailing down your chin to your neck gagging from how big he is. all beneath the roof you share with your partner: the one that everyone expects you to get married to and have kids with.

he has you wrapped around his thick finger, he has your cunt wrapped around three of them too, his face pressed in-between those luscious thighs, his pierced tongue licking your puffy clit listening to the way you whine and beg.

he lightly squeezes his dick harder, thrusting up to his own hand as beads of sweat drip down his sheets from all parts of his exposed skin, god, you are sexy— so fucking sexy and naive that you’d rather throw away a better man for a bloke like him, who didn’t give two shits about you other than your pretty little body and your addictive moans.

how you’d rather be in his inbox sending him pictures of your fingers in your cunny, a video of you pawing and playing with your breasts moaning his name softly into the speaker right in front of a mirror, be a whole whore for him behind that innocent facade of being a loyal devoted girlfriend to another man. “fuck..” you deserve better, you should know that, even simon knows that.. “fuuck, such a good whore f’me..” he huffs, lighty pressing his thumb on the tip of his shaft causing shivers down his whole body.

he knew you shouldn’t be begging for him. but he likes that you do. he knew it was fucked up for him to humor you, to play with you. but he wants to. he likes that you’d bend down and let him take you whenever, how you don’t shy away from crying and screaming out his name, let him make you forget that you belong to someone else entirely only for you to sob against your confused boyfriend’s chest when he leaves without tending to you. neglecting you all over again.

his body then stuttered, legs began to shake as thick ropes of cum shoots out his tip— painting his hand, abdomen, and inner-thighs with his own sticky cream, his back arched off the mattress, brown eyes fluttered and rolled back releasing a strained pathetic whimper that unexpectedly drew out your name, a train of slurred swearing slide out his tongue as he continues shagging his hand until he was too sensitive.

his heavy breath was all he could hear, then a notification from his phone lights up the dark room- he grins in disbelief, didn’t have to look to know that it was you.

begging for more.

#cod smut #ghost cod #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost smut #ghost x reader #simon riley #ghost x female reader

[luveline]

What about Steve with a cry baby reader? Like she cries at everything and May be Steve is telling her about something hard but also not that deep like a fight with his parents or they r discussing exes and she starts crying bc Steve didn’t deserve heartbreak

thank you for your request! —steve tells you about his relationship with his parents and gets the comfort he deserves a few years late. fem!reader. hurt/comfort ♡ 1.7k CW mentioned child neglect

Steve indulges you every now and then with old movies. You're obsessed with those musical movies from the fifties, soft colours, cool cat leading men and blunt heroines. Your very favourite are the ones with love triangles, though Steve hasn't ever thought you'd like to be entangled in one yourself. 

Entangled in him, absolutely. "That is ridiculous," you say softly, sitting entirely in his lap, an arm around his neck and another his waist. "She loves him." 

"She does." When the heroine of Young At Heart realised one of her love interests didn't have a present for the birthday party they were going to attend together, she bought one for him so he wouldn't feel embarrassed —yet she's planning on marrying the other man. "Poor Frank. He looks shocked." 

"I'd be shocked. Lucky me, you've never sprung a sudden engagement on me," you say, your fingers rubbing mindlessly into his side. Your affection is often thoughtless. You care for him like another must-do, in time and rhythm with your breathing. 

"To another girl, you mean?" he asks warmly. 

You fluster and rub your cheek against the collar of his shirt, rolled and worn from an endless day on the couch together. He should go up and shower soon before bed, only you feel right in his lap, in no way light but a weight he's happy to bear.

You're skewed sideways, your legs laying across the rest of the couch, his legs kicked up on the coffee table. He keeps trying to force himself up for a shower and you keep leaning into his front or scratching your nails from his ribs to his hip, convincing him otherwise.

"If we ever… got engaged," you begin unsurely, eyes on the television to avoid his gaze, he's sure, "would we have a nice party like that?"

"When we get engaged we'll do whatever you want. We can have a party, send out ivory invitations with eleven point four Times New Roman font. All the trimmings." 

"Eleven point four." Your eyes soften with your smile. "What do you know about invitations?" 

"My mom had tons of stupid parties. She didn't always send out invitations, but when she did, she'd have them done right. I got to lick the envelopes." 

"Lucky Stevie." 

You shift backwards so your weight is on the couch rather than Steve, your back to the armrest and your thighs over his legs rather than on top of him. He can see your face better in this new position, and it's fitting: the love interest on TV starts spouting about how beautiful the heroine is, how her face is a tribute to the heavens if there ever were one. Smiling as you are, Steve has to agree. 

"What were they like, the parties?" 

Steve bites the tip of his tongue. "Fine," he says eventually. "They were fine. They'd set up buffet tables covered in hors d'oeuvres and everyone would walk around in their cocktail dresses and tailored suits drinking champagne and whiskey." His tone lightens toward the end, a put upon theatric for you to make it sound less snotty. 

"Did you wear a suit?" you ask. 

"Button down, usually."

"Nice! I bet you looked adorable. Do you have any photos?" 

"Honestly, baby?" Steve squeezes your leg. "I was miserable, then. You don't wanna see any photographs. I was never smiling."

"What?" 

"I hated my life. All my mom cared about was making us look like a perfect family, and all my dad cared about was work. I was happier when they started taking months-long business trips to Missouri."

"What do you mean?" you ask, putting your hand against his face. It's smaller than his but still big, still encompassing as you stroke his cheek and scratchy stubble. "You… what?"

He tells you because he knows you love him. It makes a hard thing easier, being loved. "Nothing, just, things were bad. My parents didn't even really like me, you know? They bounced me between little league and swim team and basketball when I was old enough. Track, cross country running, everything. Killer sun tan every summer." 

Any trace of a smile is gone from your face. "They didn't like you? What are you talking about?" 

"I was an annoying kid," he says. "You know how I was when we first met? Imagine that and worse." 

"There was nothing wrong with you when we first met." Your lip trembles. 

"Baby," he says quickly, on an exhale, the word half love and half apology, "don't be upset. I'm sorry, it wasn't as bad as it sounds. I'm making it sound worse than it was." 

Your eyes turn glassy. It's awful, being so close he can see the tears well, collecting in the corners of your eyes. You stroke his cheek tentatively and ignore them. 

"It was fine, sweetheart, really, I had everything. They'd leave me a fucking credit card when they went away, I never had to ask for anything. They gave me a car for my fifteenth birthday… I think they thought it was my sweet sixteen." 

Your face crumples like a wet paper towel. You try to fight it but you're a heavy crier and you always have been. It shocked Steve when you first met, how quickly you can fall into tears, but it doesn't necessarily mean you're extremely upset. He can maybe fix it before you give yourself a headache if he tries. 

"I'm sorry," he says again, dotting a kiss on the meat of your thumb. "I didn't tell you so you'd feel sorry for me." 

"I do feel sorry. I feel so sorry," you say quietly. 

"Don't cry…" Steve shifts into a better sitting position as the first tear trips over your waterline. Your hand falls to his collar. Your fingertips rub his collarbone. "I was lucky, I had everything I needed." 

"You just told me your parents didn't like you, Stevie, I wouldn't call you lucky. That they went away for months– How old were you?" 

He winces. "Fifteen?" 

"You were still a kid." 

"I was old before my time." 

"No, you weren't." You sniffle. "I didn't know about that, Stevie. I didn't know about any of this, I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry? I never told you." 

You bring both hands up now, placed gently against his chest, talking to him with a tenderness that makes his body ache, "If you think that it didn't matter, I'm really sorry. Imagining you that young, sitting there thinking they didn't like you? That breaks my heart." You're not overly dramatic despite the tears, but you say it with conviction. "You're not supposed to feel that way." 

Steve laughs quietly. "I know that, dummy. Why're you this upset about this? It was years ago." 

"Because it happened to you," you say, pouting at him sympathetically. "I don't know. I guess I figure how heavy that must be carrying around this whole time, thinking they didn't like you and that it was your fault." 

Steve tries to say something, his mouth dry as sand, but he supposes he had said that, in a way. It is what he thought, what he thinks. If he were better, if he were more interesting, more attractive, more talented, they'd stick around. He pushed himself in every sport they'd let him play hoping he'd see his dad standing in the bleachers one day. 

"You're not annoying," you say, wiping your tears. You square your expression into a steadier set. "You're amazing. If they couldn't see it then and if they refuse to see it now, that isn't something you did, Stevie. Maybe they gave you a car and an Amex card, but what you deserved most was–" Your determination to calm down wanes as your voice turns airy and scratchy, like you're trying not to sob. "You deserved to feel cared about. 'N' I'm sorry you didn't, because I love you more than anything."

Steve pulls you in for a hug. Mostly because you need one, but it doesn't hurt to hide his face from you know. His eyes burn, his heart pounding in his throat and between his ears as his arms climb up the length of your back. He focuses on that, the feeling of his hands and his bare forearms against your soft shirt. His chin goes over your shoulder and he presses the side of his head to yours with more force than he intends. 

"Don't wind yourself up over it," he murmurs. "I know it sucks, I promise I get it, and I love that you're sorry, I love you, but it's not worth crying over. They're not worth it." 

You tuck your arms behind his shoulder. Steve indulges in your smell, the warmth of your closeness. Talking about his parents is like poking at a purple scar. It's healed for the most part, but it's far from invisible. He usually ignores it all. 

"Is it weird that I'm kind of vindicated by your, uh, reaction?" he asks under his breath, as though someone might hear him and call him out for it. "I don't want you to cry, but…" 

"I'm in your corner." You pull him impossibly closer. "I'll always be upset for you. Even if you don't think it matters anymore, that's the kind of stuff that stays with you, you know?" You kiss his hair. Twice. A third time. "Sorry, I know I always make stuff about me, crying 'n' all." 

"That's not true," he murmurs, rubbing your back. 

He hates that you're crying, but he's glad, too. Glad all that pain isn't made up. Your reaction is proof he didn't just imagine how much it hurt to always want something he couldn't quite grasp. 

"You didn't deserve that," you say. 

"I know." 

"I love you." 

He knows that too. "I love you. You gotta stop crying, okay? You need your tears for the end of the movie when he crashes his car. How are you gonna bawl your eyes out for Sinatra if you've wasted them all on me?" 

You laugh wetly. "I think I've made a wet patch in your hair." 

Steve relaxes, reassured at the sound of your laugh, precious as spun silver even doused in waterworks. "That's cool. I needed a shower anyway." 

—

thank you for reading!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

[desb3ar]

Night Terrors

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Summary: You had a nightmare.

Warning: Chasing, animalistic actions, dark themes

Word count: 800+ (Short)

Your legs were on fire, pushing against the hard ground with overpowering adrenaline fueling your vessel. Your mind screamed madly at you to not let your taunting exhaustion prevail. There was a barreling threat on your shortening trail, hungry and desperate. The mindless monster seeks salvation through you, tasting whatever you have in store within the confines of your warm, sweaty skin. Your mouth ran dry when you heard the grunts and callouts, begging you to escape from your goal of finally getting away from him. You didn’t give in to his harrowing pleas, your instinct wouldn’t allow it.

Caught in his web and getting out every time, it was a repetitive hell that made surrendering seem like heaven. You told yourself, what was the point? Why even try? It felt like an endless, hellish game of cat and mouse and you got trapped no matter how careful you were to not trip, slip, fall, and fumble. Still, he didn’t catch you. You were far too slippery for him.

What could be done? His heightened senses laughed at you trying to hide from him. He could sniff you out in seconds, he could see you in the dark corners that had lied about the promised safety it would provide. He could hear the trembling breath you tried to quiet down, making catching your breath merely a death sentence. Before your lungs could replenish the sweet air back into its longing cavities, you were instantly caught. His face of pure malice and twisted intent shows up in mere seconds once you’ve recovered. Nothing worked, everything was against you. Everything.

You ran down to the empty streets of the underground, your legs begging for rest as you seek restlessly for refuge. Looking around as you moved with haste. Your eyes darted anywhere that could at least postpone your death. Keeping yourself together and yet you began to think that running for this long seemed to be useless knowing your end was inevitable. He will catch you.

Your legs, mind, arms, and whole being were riddled with hopelessness. There was nothing you could do against him. Your web shooters had nothing else to provide after you made an attempt to trap him instead, only for him to slash through the material like butter and run to you like nothing you’ve seen before. He was an animal, a carnivore neglected, trapped in a cage that finally was freed from the bars of the enclosure it had remained. Ribs showed through the skin, eyes wide with need for food, all things blurred in its vicinity, nothing wasn’t a victim to its terror it rained upon the poor people it encountered or sniffed out.

Your eyes threatened to spill more tears, blurring your vision as you, like you were a small-minded character only capable of performing horror movie cliches, made your way down an alleyway. Your last resort. You didn’t know why you tried. These horrifying moments end the same way, no matter how much you tried to counter it. You were in a dim corner, right beside rotting garbage, you felt your stomach turn at the odor. However, that didn’t grant a huge effect like the beety red eyes did when they locked onto you like he already knew exactly where you were. It only just now clicked with you that he had an AI. Telling him every detail he needed to know to secure his prize.

This meant that everything you did was pointless.

Your doom was sealed as he came down with such haste that you didn’t even have time to scream. Not here.

.

.

.

.

“...”

.

.

“... (Y/N)...”

.

.

“(Y/N)...!”

.

“(Y/N)!!!”

You were shaken awake. You heard the sounds of Miguel’s voice, it sounded like he was struggling, and you felt his hands try to hold you still, pressing hard on your shoulders with a tight grip. You were screaming at the top of your lungs, from the scratchiness of your throat, you’ve been doing so for ages.

"Baby! Open your eyes!" He pleaed. Just like in the dream.

You opened your eyes, greeted by Miguel’s gentle expression that was filled with fear and overbearing concern. Your yelling ceased, chest going up and down. You felt he had his body weight pressed down on your legs, his solution to keep your legs from flailing around, as if you were trying to run from your unforgiving mind. His worried eyes darted at your face which was drenched in sweat and tears. You had finally calmed down enough to utter his name. 

“(Y/N)...” He melted, arms wrapping around you, holding you close like you had almost died. 

He had been awake the entire time you had your dream, the sounds of distress bleeding past your lips stifled him awake. The way your calm body had progressively gotten restless genuinely scared him stiff.

You looked at him, unable to make sense of the sudden contrast of how he was in your dream and how he was now. 

Miguel O’Hara, your love, your partner you’d fight demons for, had torn into you in your dreams. How he’s comforting you. Nothing made sense to you.

Why? -

-

-

-

Aaaaa. You didn't see that coming, did you? Well, surprise! That was something I've been wanting to write about for... A literal second. I'm in class rn as of typing this lol. Some horror for the holidays. Bound to get you in the spirit! ;D

I HOPE YOU LIKED THE READ!!

i'll try and make some art of this when I got time <33

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel o hara

[malice-ov-mercy]

Learning Lessons

Pairing: vampire!Nicholas x fem!reader x vampire!Noah

Content warnings: 18+, oral (female receiving), sub!Noah tied to the cuck chair, possessive dom!Nicholas (??? Idk it kinda took a turn towards the end)

A/N: Is there any real vampire shit in this??? Not really, other than the stuff I’ve made up in my head. A little continuation of this thot and this. Did not proof read this at all, soooo if it’s a jumbled mess, sorry.

Word Count: 1.3k

Tag list: @circle-with-me @foliosriot @cookiesupplier @concretenoah @sitkowski @missduffsblog @ladyveronikawrites @meekahy @baddestomens @dominuslunae @poisongirl616 @deathblacksmoke @gretavanomens @shilohrosechicken @sprokat

If you would like to be added, please fill out this form!

Noah Masterlist

Ruffilo Masterlist

Nicholas quickly regretted agreeing to no fingers—not because he lacked confidence, but because his tongue could only reach so far. Sure, he could ask, but that would mean he’d have to stop licking into you and that certainly wasn’t a viable option. He wanted to savor every little drop of nectar possible, commit your taste to memory. Nothing in his young immortal life had ever tasted as splendid and wonderful as you. He almost understood why Noah chose to neglect his studies—almost.

“You’re not doing it right,” Noah barked, struggling against his restraints.

“Noah,” you sighed, “He’s doing fine.”

Breathy and low, Nicholas took immense pleasure in the moan you made. Your back arched and pressed more of your center to his mouth. He swallowed down his own moan when you softly threaded your fingers through his hair, ultimately failing as you tugged gently.

Internally, Nicholas smirked hearing Noah’s frustrated huff and more fruitless flailing.

Every stroke of his tongue, each meticulous flick and lick was purposeful and calculated. It took him no time at all to render you speechless, much to everyone’s happiness. The only sounds escaping you were loud, boisterous and erotic, encouraging Nicholas to work faster, creating an endless, perfect cycle.

He gazed up at you, admiring the rapid rise and fall of your chest and bliss filled haze surrounding you. His name sounded ethereal and heavenly tumbling from your lips.

Up until now, he’d been so gentle and kind, sweet and tender, but prayer of his name paired with Noah’s whimpering cries drove him close to insanity. He gripped your hips mean and rough, pulling you impossibly closer, burying his face deeper. You tried to grind against him, but he held you firmly in place. His strength surprised you.

“Don’t stop,” You pled, grasping his hair a little harsher. “I'm so close.”

Nicholas hummed, delighted by your command.

Thrashing caught his ear and he glanced towards the being strapped to the chair. Noah had his eyes closed, neck back and face turned up to the ceiling. His breathing was labored. Nicholas could feel the jealous envy and aroused helplessness radiating from him.

As if felt his steely gaze, Noah looked down his nose, nostrils flaring ever so slightly when their eyes met, desperate anger flickering in the darkness of his irises. It was as if Noah was trying to challenge him, trying to show him how dangerous he could be. Nicholas knew better though. He knew all too well how pathetic and docile Noah was when it came to sex. It was all posturing, a poor show of power he didn’t possess.

He kept his eyes fixed on Noah, feeling full of smug pride. Watching him struggle to keep his cool, seeing him bite down on his lip so hard it’d started to bleed had its own intoxicating effect on Nicholas. The faint smell of his blood mingling with the scent of you so heavily on his senses was dizzying, almost too much for him to bear.

The sight of Noah on the verge of tears, thrashing violently against his restraints while you called out another’s name at the peak of climax was one of the most beautiful images and sounds Nicholas thinks he’s ever seen.

A litany of swears and vitriol erupted from Noah, cursing his very maker with a sharp, venomous tongue. His threats may have been empty, but they certainly wouldn’t go unpunished. Nicholas would make sure this moment was a learning lesson in private. Though, the flaming daggers staring back at him as you gasped and writhed in his grasp delighted him.

Had you been his, Nicholas would have left you crying, begging for your life to stop—but he had to show mercy. There was an agreement after all, as much as he’d love to keep torturing and tormenting Noah.

Reluctantly, Nicholas pulled away, nose to chin glistening. Briefly, his eyes fluttered shut as he unconsciously licked his lips, already craving more of your essence. You smiled at him, so radiant and bright, he’s positive it outshined the fullest moon on the clearest night. In that moment, he decided he too would do anything you asked. He would gladly accompany Noah in his chokehold.

Whatever enchantment you cast on Noah, Nicholas found himself falling victim to.

“God fucking damn it.”

The sound of leather ripping prompted Nicholas to tear his eyes from you, landing immediately on Noah as the strap across his chest snapped. With lightning fast speed, he stood in front of Noah, looming over him. He grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at him.

All the rage and vague jealousy melted away, leaving behind an expression that mimicked a wounded puppy. Under different circumstances, Nicholas would have thought it was endearing—cute even— but there was nothing cute about the careless venom he spewed.

“Do you see why you need to learn, Noah? Do you know what you told me?” He said, not an ounce of emotion in his voice.

Noah visibly sunk back into the chair, clearly aware of his misbehavior and painfully embarrassed.

Not satisfied with his silence, Nicholas tightened his grip and leaned down so they were face to face. Noah tried to look everywhere but the scolding, icy eyes in front him, but Nicholas wouldn’t allow it.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He shook his head by his jaw.

Sheepishly, Noah obeyed. He squirmed under Nicholas’ judgment.

“You’ve been terribly behaved this evening, Noah.” He raked his eyes over his shameful face. Red stained his lips, and a bruise had started to form from his teeth.

Nicholas moved his thumb to delicately brush along his bottom lip. He brought their faces closer together, wanting to get a better smell of Noah’s blood and giving him a tantalizing whiff of your delectable arousal. Noah couldn’t contain his whimper or the way he tried to capture Nicholas’ lips, desperate for a taste of you.

Goosebumps pricked his skin as he felt breath and soft lips on his ear.

“If I was cruel,” Nicholas whispered, voice low and quiet, only loud enough for him to hear, “I’d keep you tied here all night while I have my way with her, bring her within an inch of her life and make her mine.”

Panic surged through Noah and he tested his bindings again, only to be swiftly reminded it would take much more strength and power to break the rest. He locked eyes with you, offering an equally enchanting and ethereal smile.

The low, rumbling chuckle in his ear made him shiver.

“Lucky for you, I’m not entirely cruel.”

Nicholas bent down and unfastened the restraints around his legs and ankles. As he moved to the ones on his arms and wrists, he once again fixed his eyes on Noah, giving him a stern, dangerous look.

“But if you ever threaten to ‘rip my fucking throat out’ again, knowingly or unknowingly, I will make good on cruelty. Understood?”

“Yes.” Noah nodded furiously. Nicholas raised a brow.

“Yes…?” He let his question trail off.

“Yes sir.”

Nicholas gave his own approving nod and freed him. Noah sat still as could be, waiting to be dismissed. He didn’t want to anger Nicholas anymore than he had.

“Go.”

Quicker than lightning, Noah pounced on you, eagerly settling between your thighs, already salivating before he’d even had a lick.

A small smile pulled at Nicholas’ lips as he watched a feral, pussy starved Noah devour you, happily cleaning the mess he left behind. Wet squelching and audible slurping filled the room; the erotic sounds warmed his skin, spreading through him and stoking his growing desire.

Silently and secretly, he hoped you’d be kind enough to invite him again.

The next morning, Nicholas was pleasantly surprised to see Noah bright and early, ready to learn. Perhaps all he needed was a little scaring after all. He would be sure to thank you later.

#nicholas ruffilo x reader #noah sebastian x reader #nicholas ruffilo x reader x noah sebastian #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #nicholas ruffilo fic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic

[luna-writes-stuff]

Prisoner Of Your Eyes, Steven Grant

Song link

Fanfic, gn! reader

Angst, unresolved tension

Word count: 3505

Tw: So much angst. Neglection of feelings/feelings of unrequited romance in a relationship. Steven loses his mind. One (1) glimpse of Mark. Maybe not an entirely accurate timeline/loyal to the source material. It’s been a hot minute since I watched Moon Knight. Light swearing. That’s it??

Summary: Going into a relationship with Steven, you knew of his poor sleep schedule and occasional absence. You had always made peace with it. But when he didn’t show up on your two-year anniversary after weeks of planning, you couldn’t help but feel a little deflated. Steven tries to make things right, not knowing he’s actually worsening the situation. You became faced with the cold, hard facts.

Buy me a coffee/force me to write more

“When I saw your face I became a prisoner of your eyes. And I would do just anything. To stay and be with you.”

“Hello, this is Steven. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. You can leave a message after the tone and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Cheers.”

That was the sixth time you heard that voicemail. The sixth time. He said he’d be there. On all occasions that he’d leave you standing, he’d have to pick this date.

Going into your relationship with him, you were well aware of his circumstantial loss of time, but lately it had begun to grow worse and worse. There were days he’d go without talking to you, leaving you an anxious mess - leaving no messages and not picking up any phone calls. Be that as it may, you had grown accustomed to it. It might not have been the nicest thought, but you learned to adjust. You knew he loved you, regardless of what he would go through.

But he promised to be here. You watched him set multiple alarms. He had given you the key to his apartment just in case. So there you sat, on his bed, ringing his phone an endless amount of times. Of all days, he had to disappear on your second anniversary. He had missed many big days all year round, so this was his way of making it up. He had reserved a spot at a restaurant, he had bought the gifts, he had taken the day off. And still, he hadn’t been there.

“You know there are times When I let myself wonder As I was going under. You pulled me back to earth.”

You were hesitant to call the seventh time. He wasn’t going to show up. You’d been here for two hours now, and that was after waiting in the restaurant for another two. It was nearly midnight now.

You sighed deeply as you dialled his number again, putting him on speaker as you laid down on his bed. You listened to the seemingly endless ringing, closing your eyes at the horrible sound of it.

“Darling?” Suddenly sounded through the room, causing you to shoot upright, your eyes immediately opened. “Steven?” You tested, just to be sure. A relieved laugh rang through the phone at your question. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear your voice.” As he spoke, you noticed the breathlessness in his voice.

“Steven, where are you?” “I don’t know,” He answered quickly, before you heard something crashing in the background. “What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?” You repeated, now more worried than angry at him. “I have no idea where I am.” He clarified, as if that would ease your thoughts. Then, something loud was heard. Almost like a firework going off.

“What the hell was that?” Another crash followed, and you leaned closer to the phone. “Steven, are you okay?” “Leave me alone!” You frowned at his words, unsure of what to say next. “I’m so sorry, darling,” He suddenly said, in a much softer voice. “Steven, are you okay?” You asked for a second time. A loud crash was heard, followed by silence for a few seconds.

“Do I need to call the police?” “No!” He replied almost immediately. “No, I’m fine.” “Baby, you don’t sound-“ “No,” He interrupted you, yet somehow you knew he wasn’t talking to you. “Leave me alone!” The phone went silent for another few seconds, and you awaited anxiously. “Hello?” You called when you heard rustling on the other side.

“Steven will call you back.”

“Don't you hear me crying? Take me in your arms again. Tell me that you're trying. Or is our love a lie?”

You stayed at his apartment that night. You tried to call after someone hung up on you, but you got no more responses. You had sent him a text in which you said you’d be staying over, and that he shouldn’t be spooked if he found you asleep in his bed. He had read the messages. He simply refused to answer them. And as quickly as the tides changed, your worry transformed back into anger.

Somehow, you still managed to fall asleep that night, clutching Steven’s pillow, his blanket thrown over your figure. On the table was a small basket filled with his favourite snacks, two candles, a book on Egyptian mythology which you were sure he didn’t have yet, a tiny statue of Bastet and a collection of your best pictures with him. You had been so happy and giddy gathering the gift, but now, you only wished you had spent less time and thought into it.

It didn’t take long until the first few tears had fallen. You should have been used to this by now. It wasn’t his fault. Surely, something terrible had happened and he was in some kind of shock. But, he’d still be fine.

Yes; you should have been used to it. This couldn’t have come as a surprise. This far, he had missed both of your birthdays during the two year course of your relationship, he hadn’t shown up to the first and second dinner with your parents, he would stand you up on dates and would occasionally forget the day, and therefore the gifts - if there was any need for it. You had tried to convince yourself how it hadn’t been the most important, but how you would have loved to receive just a single rose on Valentine’s Day.

“Love is blind And love deceives you. You came along and captured me. Now I'm a prisoner of your eyes.”

Though the sun had been up for a long time, it was a new noise that had awoken you. From his small bathroom, you could hear rustling coming, followed by a short, hushed curse. Hesitantly, you stood up, putting distance between you and the bathroom, but so much that you couldn’t see what was happening in there.

“Steven, what the hell happened to you?” You gasped as you noticed the dishevelled state of your boyfriend. He turned around, a sheepish grin on his face: “You really wouldn’t believe.”

You walked closer to him, another gasp escaping you as you noticed the red on his cheek. “Is that blood?!” He looked into the mirror, frowning when he saw his face. “Oh, bullocks.” “Shit!��� You cursed, now taking notice of the bruises and cuts forming on his arms. “Did you get mugged?”

The man looked at you hesitantly, unsure of what to say. A lot had happened, most of which he hadn’t even properly processed yet. He wouldn’t even know where to start explaining. Thus, he just sighed, nodding painfully: “Yeah,”

“Trapped in time. I cannot leave you. I'm just a prisoner of your eyes.”

Guilt flooded your senses as you recalled your talk on the phone last night. “I should have called the cops.” “Hey, darling,” Steven immediately tried to comfort, walking up to you as he rested his hands on your upper arms. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” Then he opened his coat, revealing his keys and wallet. “Look; they didn’t steal anything.” But you just shook your head at him in remorse: “Fuck, Steven, I’m so sorry.”

Finally, he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you loosely as you sighed into his shirt, all anger from last night fading away in his hold. You were just glad he was here now, however painful the experience had been. “It’s not your fault.” He mumbled, before parting from your embrace, hissing slightly as he manoeuvred his arm.

“Are you okay?” You asked, holding his arm gently as you tried to pull up his sleeves, now noticing the complete blue colour of his biceps. “My arm kind of hurts.” He tried to lighten, but you shook your head at him. “I’m calling you in sick.” “You don’t even work at the museum.” “Donna knows my face.” You countered, already walking up to his phone. Quickly, Steven followed you, placing his hand on your shoulder to make you halt: “I can work.” “Absolutely not. If not for your physical health, then for your head.”

When he didn’t seem convinced, your shoulders dropped, looking at him in defeat. The dark circles underneath his eyes only seemed amplified, and empathy flooded your senses as you observed him more closely. “Jesus, you need some rest.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“As each day goes by I've given up completely. I've locked myself inside your heart And thrown away the key.”

You had helped him get cleaned up, not asking any more about the mugging. You figured it had been a sensitive topic, which you completely understood. When Steven was finally in some fresh clothes and his wounds had been cleaned, he sat on top of the bed, fatigue seemingly settling into his features the moment his body touched the mattress.

His eyes wandered the room, lingering on you for a while until they came to rest on the gift you had gotten him: “What’s that?” A light smile accompanied him as he said the words, almost as if he wasn’t expecting any gifts.

That was because he wasn’t. In all his experiences, he must have forgotten what you had initially been celebrating last night. Your features fell at his innocent smile, a dull knife suddenly piercing your heart as a shallow feeling entered your stomach.

“Your anniversary gift.” You mumbled, too tired to even pretend it was okay. The man fell silent at your words, remorse clearly displayed in his eyes: “Darling, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off. “Wasn’t your fault. You got mugged.”

Walking up to the door, you pointed your thumb to it. “I’m gonna go.” You tried to say nonchalantly, but it probably came out more broken than you had intended. “You can stay.” Steven offered, but you dismissed it quickly, a lump now forming in your throat. You didn’t know how to feel. “I stayed to make sure you would come home safe. I’m going.”

If he wanted to object, he could have. Part of you almost wanted to beg him to stay. But he didn’t. Instead, a soft ‘okay’ came out. He didn’t even stand up to try to see you out. He just remained on his bed. The dull knife in your heart began to twist.

“Take care.” You told him, opening the door for yourself.

“Cheers.”

“Only time will tell If I can live without you. Can you see into the future? Will you ever set me free?”

You were glad you had taken the day off. Not only were you still exhausted after the small amount of sleep you had gotten out of worry for Steven, an uncomfortable feeling had begun to settle within you. Part of you wanted to shout at Steven. You wanted to be mad at him so badly. You wanted to curse him, and to tell him how horrible he had been.

On the other hand, you felt incredibly guilty. He had been mugged last night and you hadn’t called the cops to check on him. You had heard the crashes in the background - and those fireworks had to be gunshots. You could have cried upon the realisation. He had been in genuine danger and you hadn’t even warned anyone. A complete stranger had taken over his phone and had hung up on you: all the signs had been there.

Then there was the part that felt stupid. Not angry at Steven, not guilty for what you had done to him: it felt stupid. You knew what you were getting into from the start. This shouldn’t have surprised you - you could have anticipated this. Why were you so torn up about it if you could have known? You were so foolish to think you could celebrate one anniversary.

“Don't you hear me crying? Take me in your arms again. Tell me that you're trying. Or is our love a lie?”

Your phone had been ringing all day, but you had no energy to answer it. Maybe it was petty, but you knew who was calling. You didn’t feel like talking to him. Perhaps you should have, considering all he had went through. But you needed your time too.

You didn’t make that as clear as you might have hoped.

It was around seven at night when there was clear knocking on the door. You had been in the living room, laying on the couch of which you hadn’t gotten off the entire day. You weren’t specifically watching anything. The TV had just been on and you were watching whatever stupid game show it had been presenting. You were out of it all day. A much needed groan needed to be uttered as you got up, your muscles protesting with your movements.

Perhaps this was a new form of low for you, but you just wanted some rest. Apparently, that was very hard to come by on a free day.

“Love is blind And love deceives you. You came along and captured me. Now I'm a prisoner of your eyes.”

When you opened the door, you weren’t surprised to find Steven standing there, in his working gear. Something about that made you even more angry than you were before.

“You weren’t picking up your phone.” He spoke, as if it was the most obvious thing to him. He walked in without invitation, wiping his shoes on the doormat as he walked into the living room. You widened your eyes at his actions, but didn’t comment on them.

“This is going to sound insane, but the craziest thing happened to me today.” He began to rant, sitting down on the couch you had occupied the entire day, ignoring the glass of water, tissues, and discarded lucifers. “There was this jackal hunting me in the museum, and there was a man ranting on and on about Egyptian avatars.” He spoke in one breath, giving you no time to interrupt him or answer him.

"And then I think a god showed up. You know? Khonsu, the god of the moon.” He looked at you, expecting you to understand him. You didn’t know what to tell him. Five minutes ago you were crying right where he was sitting, and now he was rambling on about his hobby chasing him and communicating with him.

You blankly nodded at him, before he continued. “Well, he spoke to me. And there was this other dude who spoke to me as well. And then I fought the jackal, I think. But here’s the weirdest thing,” He stood up, walking towards you as if he was going to sell you the invention of the century. “The camera doesn’t show any of this. I mean, that must be some kind of complot or something, right?”

You couldn’t suppress the shaky sigh that escaped you. Now close enough to you, Steven noticed your red eyes and swollen cheeks, his expression softening as his entire voice became much more gentle. “Hey, have you been crying?”

“Trapped in time. I cannot leave you. I'm just a prisoner of your eyes.”

“Steven,” You dismissed. “When was the last time you slept?” “No, I’m serious.” He returned, his face now no longer as caring as it had been seconds ago. “So am I.” You countered, crossing your arms in desperation, your eyebrows furrowed together in a mixture of worry and sadness.

“What?” The man stuttered surprised. “Do you not believe me?”

Of course you didn’t. But you weren’t going to tell him that. The poor soul was probably still in some form of shock. Thus, you tried to soothe him: “Sure I do-“ “You don’t sound convinced.” Steven jumped in, rapidly ticking his fingers against his arm as he thought out his words.

“But I think you might have just been shaken up by the accident yesterday.” You continued, ignoring his protests and doubt. His mouth opened in an ‘ah’ of understanding: “But, you see, I wasn’t mugged.”

And there it was, yet again. That sinking feeling in your stomach. Twist the knife, drop the butterflies. Your whole body just felt empty now. He had never lied to you before.

“Beg your pardon?”

“In this heartache. We can try and start again. Stop the heartbreak. A little time will help to kill the pain.”

“I woke up in some weird cult, with the same dude who talked to me today about Egyptian deities and their avatars, actually!” “You weren’t mugged?” You repeated, making sure you had heard him correctly. “No,” He answered. “But are you listening?” “Why would you lie to me?”

Steven’s expression fell slightly as he noticed the wobble in your lower lip. “I was just very confused yesterday, and I didn’t want to worry you,” He began genuinely. “But do you not see the connection?”

An incredulous sigh left you as you thought over everything you had been through this morning and the night prior to it: “I was worried about you all night yesterday, and you couldn’t give me straight answers.” “It was a very stressful day!” Steven tried to defend. “You told me you didn’t know where you were. And you told me you were mugged.” “Well, I don’t know where I was, but it was terrifying.” He bundled up his sleeve, showing you the bruises you had been treating only hours ago. “I think I actually got this from a fight.” “You were in a fight?” You repeated, your voice growing louder in surprise and offence.

“Yeah! And somehow I won.”

His hands found yours, rubbing them affectionately. “And now I don’t know how to feel. It’s so scary and ominous, but also exciting, if that makes sense.”

“Don't you hear me crying? Take me in your arms again. Tell me that you're trying. Or is our love a lie?”

He sighed loudly, looking into your eyes, a somewhat crestfallen expression within them. “I don’t really know what to do. You always know just what to do and what to say. Figured you might be able to help.”

With that, you dropped his hands, walking towards the door: “Get out.” He stood there frozen, unsure of what you were saying. “Beg your pardon?” “I’m tired, Steven,” You sighed. “Get out.” “But I need your help.” He pleaded, following you like a lost puppy, trying to grab your hands again.

“And I need you,” You argued, your voice coming out more emotional than you had intended. Tears began to build again, but you swallowed them down. “Steven, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been falling apart lately. And every time I need you, you’re not there.” You opened the door, signalling towards it: “I knew what I began the moment we started going out, but it’s getting worse. Please, get some help.” “Darling, I’m so-“ “Just,” You muttered. “Not now. Call me tomorrow and we can talk.”

As he walked outside, you looked at him, offering him a sincere look: “I hope you figure it out, Steven. I really hope you do.” “Yeah,” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ll talk with you tomorrow. Love you.”

You didn’t return it - you just watched him leave, turmoil setting into your stomach: “Goodnight.”

“Love is blind And love deceives you. You came along and captured me. Now I'm a prisoner of your eyes.”

It was stupid how you waited by the phone the next day. How you had purposefully left your sound on during work, hoping to receive his call. Maybe you had been a bit harsh last night, but he deserved to know somehow.

However much you still loved him, he always left you hanging when you needed him most. And when you finally thought that perhaps it had been you who was just thinking too much of it, he had taken up lying to you. Steven was as honest and kind as they came and he had lied to you. You didn’t know what happened to him, but you really did wish he had someone to help him figure it out.

It was late in the afternoon when you finally finished your shift. Steven hadn’t been waiting there with his usual after-work snack, or that dorky smile that always accompanied it. He was always there, but not today. Maybe it was time to dial him. Perhaps he had somehow forgotten.

You stood there on the curb, waiting patiently as the phone rang a few times. The longer you had to wait, the more hollow your stomach became. When the ringing finally stopped, a light flutter flew through you, though it immediately died down as you heard his voice over the phone.

“Hello, this is Steven. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. You can leave a message after the tone and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Cheers.”

“Trapped in time I cannot leave you. I'm just a prisoner of your eyes.”

#November writings 2023 #mcu #marvel #moon knight #oscar isaac #steven Grant #steven grant x reader

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew)-Chapter 4

Word Count: ~5,431 words

Rating: 18+

Warning ⚠️: Uncle/niece incest (mild smut)

Description: “She has yet to give you a child.” Naerys hand flew to her stomach. Peering through the crack in the door that Daemon had left to take a look to see the scene that was playing out in their chamber.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

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116 AC-Kings Landing

“That was then Rhaenyra,” Daemon's quiet voice could be heard from their solar, awakening Naerys from her restless nap. She had tried to sleep but had not been able to find an agreeable position in which she could take her mid-day slumber. Instead, she lies in the realm between reality and dreams. Constantly drifting in and out of consciousness.

In the fortnight they had spent at the capital it seemed as if Naerys could not get enough rest. She woke up tired and went to bed in the same state. Her days had become a monotonous string of court proceedings that she struggled to find her footing.

The sun set and the sun rose and a new day of court would begin. An endless parade of pageantry and tittering empty-headed smiles. The young princess longed for the quiet solitude of Dragonstone. Some nights she would lie awake going through every interaction she had that day.

Laena, her husband, and the rest of house Velaryon were stuck on Driftmark. A coming storm had made their journey to Kings Landing impossible. Alicent and Rhaenyra had taken it upon themselves to entertain her in her cousin's absence. If it was not Alicent with her constant teas, sewing circles, and worrying looks it was Rhaenyra and her jibs. Searching her face to see which one would hit its target.

Naerys' husband's general absence had not helped matters. She knew that her uncle had not meant to neglect her. Perhaps neglect wasn’t even the right word for it. The simple fact of the matter was that duty had called. One could hardly say no to the king. Least of all when he is your elder brother.

Daemon was back in the Viserys good graces. All was forgiven since the debacle of their wedding had put further strain on the brother's relationship. Daemon had been invited to attend small council meetings. Lord Strong surprisingly did not object to her husband’s presence on the small council. The lord undoubtedly wanted to keep the peace and was willing to make sacrifices to do so. The rest of the council had followed the hand’s lead.

The rogue prince's seat at the meetings was in an unofficial capacity of course, but some position on the council would no doubt be offered to him once more. He would take it. Daemon was never one for the shadows. Dragonstone was less than stimulating to the mind. At court he was in his element once more.

Naerys herself had been offered to attend a council meeting, but Rhaenyra had put her off from taking up the offer. “Naerys will be bored out of her mind uncle. Wouldn’t you aunt?” It was said with the same condescending tone that she always spoke with. The remark stung, but not as much as her other taunts.

“Children are a joy.” Rhaenyra had found her bullseyes. As Rhaenyra cooed over her black-haired sons, Naerys had to hold back from snapping at the woman. The realm's delight had gotten with child without having to bat so much as an eye. She had given birth to two healthy sons. Two healthy heirs. Not all women were so lucky.

Naerys apparent lack of children had been a source of gossip throughout the Red Keep. Rhaenyra had seen to it. Among the ladies at court, the detail of her empty womb was a favorite topic of conversation. She’s barren. She can not give him children. Poor thing. Perhaps the prince will take a lover again. The young princess would have faltered under the growing weight of the chatter had she not suspected that their efforts to have an heir might yet be fulfilled.

“It wasn’t very long ago.” Rhaenyra’s high-pitched whisperings interrupted the younger girl from her memories. Bringing her back to her present reality, Naerys reached for the robe hanging off her changing room's screen to cover her nakedness. The capital was much warmer than Dragonstone. Even when Daemon did not join her in sleep, she remained comfortable throughout the nights.

“She has yet to give you a child.” Naerys hand flew to her stomach. Peering through the crack in the door that Daemon had left to take a look to see the scene that was playing out in their chamber. Her husband stood by a freshly lit fire with a drink in his hand. Rhaenyra’s back was turned towards her as she faced their uncle.

“So has Laenor.” Naerys could see Rhaenyra visibly wincing from where she stood. Her body jumped slightly at their uncle's words. Daemon looked unbothered, almost bored with the flow of conversation as he swirled the amber liquid in his goblet before taking another slow sip. He had not taken his eyes off the firelight in their chambers.

“She may never give you heirs.” A sneer was evident in her voice. Her spine stilling, holding her head high once more. “What good is my cousin, a Valyrian bride, good for if she has not done her duty to you?” It was a bluff. Naerys could not be put aside so easily. The king would not allow it. Both Ser Vaemond and Lord Corlys would raise hell if an accident were to occur. She was the blood of old Valyria, not a common Andal lady.

“She’s my wife Rhaenyra.” He had lowered his voice. Daemon had finally turned around to glare down at the realm's delight. The dying light of the day coupled with the glow from the fire cast his eyes in a tenebrous haze. “You will do well to remember that.”

“Lady Rhea Royce was your wife as well.” Rhaenyra let out a bitter laugh as she continued on. Unconcerned with the shadows that crossed their uncle's face. “What did you call her? Your bronze bitch. Have you forgotten her already?”

It was easy enough to forget that Daemon had ever been married to another. Her husband never brought up his ill-fated union with the vale woman. Naerys had never even met the woman. She only existed in the outer reaches of her mind as a faceless memory.

“You promised me and yet you married her.” Her cousin's anger and desperation had grown into something else. Rhaenyra grabbed Daemon. Pulling the tall man into her space. “You promised me.” Her husband did not move from her cousin's grasp. Daemon began to stroke her forearm. The touch was intimate. As if they had done it a million times before. Rhaenyra’s words echoed in Naerys' mind.

Naerys did not know what the two got up to during her visits or what happened between the two before their respective marriages. She would not ask now. The past lay in the past. It was best kept that way. Daemon was ever the attentive husband these days. She would not bring up old misdeeds, but it seemed that these wounds appeared whether she wanted them to or not.

“Rhaenyra.” It was said with a sigh. The venom was gone from his gaze. Her husband closed his eyes briefly as if to gather his bearings. His fingers continued their descent across Rhaenyra’s arm. Naerys could feel her blood begin to boil. She was grateful that no objects lay within her reach or else she would have hurled them at her uncle's head.

“Kosti sagon biare kesīr.” Daemon did not reply. His fingers had finally ceased their movement. He cast his violet eyes towards the door where his wife hid behind. Naerys froze hoping he had not seen her.

“Would you abandon Ser Harwin so easily?” Naerys could see her husband leaning down as if to whisper a poorly kept secret in her cousin's ear. Rhaenyra had taken a lover herself. She was not left without companionship. She found her own distractions.

“I had no choice.” Rhaenyra sputtered at her uncle's question. Her desperation returned as she reached out to bring him near her.” I was alone. We both were.” Excuses fell from her lips, but came upon deaf ears. Daemon spurred his niece’s advances this time. Moving further away from her grasp back towards the fire.

“I am not alone Rhaenyra.” Daemon turned his back fully towards the fire to face Rhaenyra, but he did not look at his niece as he had said the words. Naerys felt her husband's gaze lock onto her. A grin spread across his face which seemed to grow when he saw the fury within his wife.

Rhaenyra had yet to see her, but the woman was burning up with her own barely contained-rage. She almost fluttered past her as she made her way to exit their chambers, but her lilac eyes finally landed on her cousin. The princess yanked open the iron-framed oak door, bringing in a draft, to face her cousin. Naerys pulled her robe tighter around her body to ward off the chill.

“He never stays in one bed for long.” Rhaenyra’s eyes cast down at Naerys stomach with a mirthless sneer. The older girl bent down slightly to spit her next words in her cousin's ear. “If he ever puts a babe in you he’ll just move on to the next one.” The older girl cast one last look at their uncle, before storming from the room.

A wave of dizziness came over Naerys. Daemon was by her side with surprising speed. His smirk had fallen as he helped her into his chair, seating her on his lap before handing her a goblet of water fussing over her as if he were a mother hen. “I’ve sent for Maester Orlys.” He urged her to drink the cooling liquid. Her anger at her husband faded with each sip. “We are not going.”

Naerys had nearly forgotten Jacaerys name-day feast. Rhaenyra had pushed it back as far as she could, but now that Ser Harwin and the Velaryon party had finally arrived the feast was to take place that night.

“We must.” They hadn’t much of a choice. Their absence at the festivities would be noted. Daemon may not care what the “sheep” gossiped about, but Naerys would not add fuel to the growing pyre. They still had to do their duty.

Naerys made ready to climb off her husband’s lap though her Daemon would not release her. He merely shushed her as he brought the back of his hand up to stroke his niece's sable cheek. He gave her a dark look before he leaned in, catching her open mouth by surprise. Their pink tongues danced tangling with one another briefly before her uncle pulled away.

“Ao issi issa vys issa byka mēre.” Daemon buried his silver head in her neck. He was breathing her in as he softly petted the silver coils at her nape. Naerys let herself be fawned over. Her husband's words and gentle ministrations soothed the last remnants of the dull ache she had felt moments ago. “You mean more to me than you could possibly know.”

It occurred to her that for all of his bolstering and saccharine remarks Daemon had never spoken those three little words. They had been married for a year now and yet in some ways Naerys still felt like she did not know her husband at all of his true opinion of her.

Was a man like her husband even capable of such feelings? Was he even capable of feeling that way toward her? Love was not a requirement of marriage, but Naerys was certain that she carried half of him inside of her. Surely that meant something. Was she to share a child with a man who ran hot one minute and cold?

“Get dressed sweetling.” Daemon snapped Naerys from her thoughts with a start. Releasing her from his lap with a final kiss on her temple before turning quickly to head to his own antechamber to do the same.

The rogue prince did not stop to check back on her, but his wife did not miss the glance he gave her before he had left to change. Nor did she miss when he hesitated to leave her in the first place. Naerys knew that she was burning under his fire, but perhaps he burned in hers as well. Or perhaps she was too hopeful. Believing in fairytales, words made of wind, and gallant knights where there were none to be found.

If it was something Naerys mother's family were known for it was how to make an entrance. In Velaryon fashion, they arrived late. They were the last ones to arrive at the Red Keep for the little prince's festivities and what an entrance they had made. Particularly Laena’s girls.

The little darlings had stolen the show. Baela and Rhaena were not yet half a year old and yet their presence dazzled the court. They were small little things that had inherited their mother's silver waves and the lilac eyes of house Velaryon. Sans their coloring, which was all Ser Harwin, they looked like the spitting image of their mother.

Naerys held onto the belief that babies could change until she saw Luke and Jace near their sire. Laenor’s “sons” had not a stitch of their “father” in them, nor their mother for that matter. One had only to look at Ser Harwin to see who fathered them.

Naerys had not meant to ambush her cousin, but Laena had arrived too late for a private chat over tea as she had wanted. She and Daemon were officially due to depart for Dragonstone in the coming days. Regardless of whether they made that journey together or not, the feast was likely Naerys' only chance to learn the truth of the situation.

Her cousins had not denied the affair. “My daughter will be queen,” Laena smiled at the passing ladies of the court as they took a turn about the room. “My youngest will likely be the lady of Driftmark.” She was a daughter of house Velaryon and a dragonrider. She held her head high as they passed by her husband. Ser Harwin smiled at his wife, bouncing one of their daughters in his hold. “I am happy with what I have dear cousin.”

Naerys could not understand how her cousin could be so calm in the face of everything. Laena had the patience of a septa. The young princess did not believe she could endure being around her husband’s mistress day in and out, much less embrace the situation with open arms. She would have grown mad by now, but her oldest cousin possessed a quiet acceptance that was lacking in even those twice her age.

Princess Rhaenys bristled whenever Rhaenyra or her sons came near. She seemed to avoid her good son altogether. Leaving for the opposite side of the room when the captain of the city watch ventured too close to her. Her behavior was a stark contrast to how her husband approached the subject of their grandsons and their sire

Lord Corlys for all intents and purposes appeared unconcerned. Baela, Laena’s oldest, was already betrothed to the future king of the seven kingdoms. From Laena’s own mouth Rhaena would be betrothed to the heir of her father's seat. As long as her uncle's blood sat upon the Driftwood throne he would not deny the strong boys the privilege of the Velaryon name.

Naerys' other uncle was a different matter. If there was any question of Ser Vaemond’s views on the future king and the Lord of Driftmark one need only to see the sneers the dark man gave his good niece and her sons to decipher his true opinion.

Laena was called away to deal with a teething Rhaena. Naerys was left alone. Daemon stood on the opposite side of the hall with Lord Boremund and her aunt Rhaenys. Her husband met her eyes, giving her a smirk. She might have gone over to join them, but though he was good-natured she always found the storm lord too brutish for her tastes.

“You glow my princess.” A foreign voice emerged from the shadows. Naerys turned to its source to come face to face with a ghost. Lords and Ladies gilded around the great hall with practiced ease. Not paying any attention to them. Naerys wondered if the woman was a figment of her imagination, but she knew that her eyes did not deceive her when Rhaenyra stared at her from where she sat at the high table with a mocking leer.

Lady Mysaria stood as an unnaturally pale thin creature cloaked in a hooded robe. Naerys had only seen her husband's former mistress from a distance. She had been a child then, but The woman had not changed much from her memory.

“Thank you.” Naerys did not know how else to respond. It was best to take her words at face value than see them as something more. The woman reached out a milky hand to brush her stomach. Her hands were cold. Cold enough to feel through the layers of dark gown she wore. Naerys tried not to flinch at her touch. Something told her not to falter under the pale woman’s stare.

“You have not told him have you?” The white worm continued to caress her stomach. Naerys dared not to breathe. She feared that if she did her body would give into the cold. “Children are fickle creatures. A blessing from the Gods that can be so easily taken away before they are even born.” She smiled and the chill spread. “Fear not princess, your husband shall have his heir.” Mysaria turned her violet gaze on the other side of the room towards where the princess had last seen her husband.

Naerys did not want to follow it, but she could not resist. Lord Boremund and Rhaenys had left from Daemon's side. Their presence had been replaced by a visiting Lysenni lady. Her white hair gleamed and reflected off of the hall’s ember glow. The lady had her hand resting on Daemon’s arm.

The rogue prince leaned into her hold bending his silver head so that she may whisper in his ear. Whatever she had said made the two descend into laughter. Naerys felt her face heat up. She tried to contain her fire, but she felt herself spiraling at the next words the white worm's breathed into her ear. “His heir and more to spare.” Mysaria was not known for her gift of prophecy, but she had known Daemon.

He will get bored of you. Rhaenyra’s unspoken words rang around in her head. She could no longer hear the noise of the festivities around her. Daemon had his fill. Naerys was just a plaything to him. A useful necessity that he was bound to, but the bonds of marriage meant little to her husband. He was back to where he wanted to be. He can not survive in one bed alone. It did not matter what pretty words he muttered to her in the dark of their chambers. Daemon was not built for it.

“Are you well princess?” Ser Gwayne had removed himself from his post and was by her side before she could blink. Holding her forearm up with practiced ease. Concern was written plainly across his face. Lady Mysaria had slinked back to whatever hole she had crawled out from, but the princess could still feel the chill she had left behind. Naerys felt eyes watching her every move. She could barely breathe under their stares.

“Would you escort me to my seat Ser?” Naerys did not have to explain she would not make it there herself. The Hightower knight was not the only one who had noticed her distress. Daemon was thundering across the Red Keeps great hall. The fury of the dragon blazing in his eyes.

Naerys met Ser Gwayne’s dark eyes before nodding her head in the direction of the oncoming storm. I do not want him whisking me off somewhere to simper out more empty words. The knight gave her a small smile in understanding. Taking her arm to escort her into the crowd, but Daemon had made their way towards them before they could.

“Thank you Ser Gwanye, but your assistance is no longer required.” Daemon sneered at the younger man. His empty sword hand twitches at his side. Viserys had not allowed her husband to bring Dark Sister to the feast. Only the guards had a need for weapons. Naerys thanked the Gods for her uncle’s foresight.

“I will go when the princess dismisses me.” The Hightower knight stood his ground this time. His dark eyes stared her husband down. The two were at a crossroad. Naerys wondered if the two would cause a scene.

“She is my wife Ser. You will release her this instant or you will not see to the end of this feast your dear sister has so dutifully planned.” Daemon's grip tightened on her. Only relaxing it when she let out a wince. Naerys would not meet his eyes. Her husband had no right to his foul temper. He had embarrassed her enough for one night. She would no longer placate him.

“Aunt,” a small voice called from the edge of the crowd. Aemond stood beckoning Naerys over to where he and his siblings sat on the far end of the high table. Naerys had never been more grateful for the distraction. Ser Gwayne let her go upon hearing his nephew, but Daemon would not fold.

“Our nephew calls for me my lord.” Naerys felt herself burning up as she finally lifted her head to gaze up at her husband. “May I go to him or are you mistrustful of little boys as well as the knights of your brother’s City Watch?” She expected her husband, but instead, he began to drag her to the king's youngest children.

They passed by the Lysenni lady Daemon had been enchanted with moments before. “Princess.” It was said with a curtesy and a polite smile. One which Naerys did not return. How could she expect her to when she had so blatantly made a pass at her husband with her in the very same room?

“She’d sooner take you into her bed than see me in it, you spoiled thing.” Daemon went to caress her arm, but the princess jerked from his touch. Her husband’s boldness would never cease to astound her. Naerys dug her heels into the floor. A move that she would regret as he threw her over his shoulder. Some of her uncle’s visiting guests looked their way, but the lords and ladies of the court were far used to the rogue prince's antics.

“Are you ill aunt?” Aemond asked with a frown as Naerys' uncle deposited her in an empty seat to Helaena’s left. Daemon moved to sit in the chair to her right, next to his brother's second son.

“Your aunt is fine.” Daemon placed a kiss on the back of her hand before setting their joint hands on the oak table. “She’s just tired.” Naerys sunk her nails into the back of her uncle's hand. It was not enough to draw blood, but it did cause the prince to grunt in discomfort.

She challenged her husband with a raised eyebrow. The man relented with a smirk breathing a threat into his niece’s ear. “Behave or you will not be able to walk tomorrow.” Naerys released her claws with a glare.

The children seemed to pay no mind to the older prince and princesses' heated exchanges. Aemond began to prattle on about some Valyrian text he had come across to his “nuncle.” Aemond and Damon's relationship had improved greatly. It was in no small part to Naerys.

With Naerys' increasing dizzy spells Daemon had forbidden her from flying alone. The royal couple would take turns riding Caraxes and Silverwing together. Carving out some time in the day to visit their dragons. By the second week of their stay in the capital, Aemond would often wait for them at the Dragon Pit entrance. Trying to catch a glimpse of their dragons with wonder in his eyes.

The young prince had no dragon of his own. His egg had long since turned to stone. Aegon had already begun to tease his brother about his dragonless state. His siblings' dragons were too small to ride, but they would soon even little Daeron would become Dragonriders while their brother remained without so much as a dragon to call his own.

The queen was not overly fond of her children’s dragons, but she understood the importance of the bond between a Targaryen and their dragon. She knew how her second son longed for an end to his dragonless state. It took little to convince Alicent to allow him the privilege of a dragon ride. Daemon had not been able to say no either after she had ambushed him while he was still coming down from his high one night.

“I would be grateful kepus if you— if you were to take Aemond with you and Caraxes on your next ride.” The two lay panting in each other’s embrace. Naerys combed her fingers through silver locks as he lay on top of her. The princess winced as her husband replaced his spent cock with his fingers. “Kostilus kepus.”

Daemon's eyes remained glazed over as he watched his digits move in and out of her spasming cunt. Fucking his cum back into his niece while his thumb drew small circles on her clit. “Ao issi sīr gevie byka mēre.” The rogue prince suddenly removed his fingers from within her as the princess was on the crest of another release. Naerys whined at her ruined climax, but her husband only shushed her. “Ao drējī issi vēttan syt issa”

Some of his seed leaked out wetting the silk sheets below, but the lovers paid it no mind as Daemon brought his fingers to his niece's waiting mouth. Naerys eagerly lapped at their combined spends while her husband gave into her demands.

The boy had been ecstatic when Daemon had helped him climb upon Caraxes back. Naerys watched them from the dragon pit entrance with a less than enthused Ser Criston who acted more like the boy's father than his mother's guard as they made their descent into the horizon. Aemond took to the sky’s with a fever she had not seen apart from Daemon and Laena.

Naerys reached for the goblet of water that was placed in front of her. Most of the nausea she had felt in the past had dissipated, but the dizziness remained. Helaena looked up at her with a smile. She was a sweet quiet girl, if not a bit spacey. Alicent’s daughter placed a small hand on her belly with a wistful smile.

“Do not fret aunt. My sister shall be healthy and beautiful.” Dragon dreams. Naerys did not know what to say. Daemon narrowed his eyes at their niece's words, but he made no comment. Only Aegon would grace the table with his thoughts on his sister's riddles.

“Mother isn’t pregnant you nitwit.” Aemond looked as if he wanted to throttle his own brother. Even Helaena had turned her nose up at the unruly boy. Aegon’s ill-mannered behavior remained unchecked by both the king and his mother. His sire seemed to barely acknowledge his existence while Alicent remained at a loss for how to best deal with it.

The king made his way to retire for the evening. He had stayed far longer than he usually did at the feasts of late. Those seated at the high table rose with him as was customary before Viserys would depart. Naerys tried to rise with the rest of the table, but Daemon rested his hand on her shoulder to stop her. As she looked at the pale hand Naerys felt what little was left of her restraint vanish.

She no longer cared if she made a scene. Let the court see how the rogue prince viewed her. The princess managed to shake free of her husband's hold. In her haste, she rose too quickly. Tripping over the leg of her chair she had pushed too far back, Naerys felt herself lose her balance. Her husband caught her before she could hit the Great Hall’s stone floors.

Daemon's voice was the first Naerys heard when she returned to consciousness. She felt sluggish and drowsy. The princess spied from the corner of her eyes one of Maester Orlys’ tinctures on her vanity. Whatever the kindly man had given her had a foul aftertaste.

“How long have you known sweetling?” Daemon did not look angry as he sat in a chair that had been placed by their bed dragging the back of his hand softly across her cheek. He in fact reminded her of a kicked puppy. His gaze was as tender as his touch. The rogue prince looked more like a boy of ten than a man grown. Naerys supposed that was really what he was underneath his bravado.

“When Alicent first invited me to tea.” She felt a weight lift off her shoulder at the revelation. Naerys had her suspicions before, but she had not been sure until Alicent had made it plain to her.

“Ser Gwayne was only trying to help.” Daemon winced. He should have been there for her, not the Hightower knight, but he would apologize for jumping to conclusions. It was not in his nature to express regret for his actions. Naerys understood why. Their fires burned too hot to allow them to. “How far along did Maester Orlys say I was?”

“Three moons.” The baby would arrive in time before the new year. Enough time to get her affairs in order. Enough time to travel to Dragonstone and then Driftmark if she so wished. Naerys wondered if she could fly there now. Daemon answered that question for her.

“We can journey back home.” He gave her a small smile. Petting her silver twists as if she were a child. Her handmaids must have come in at some point to braid up her hair. Something that she would be thankful for in the morning.

“You may stay.” Daemon began to tense up at her words. She reached out in search of the scars on her husband's neck. Stroking the rough skin with a soft hand. It was funny enough, but Naerys felt much calmer now. Looking back on the day the princess had realized that she had let others draw conclusions for her now. Conclusions that only one man could provide.

“I will go to Driftmark.” She tried to sound absent-minded as she said it. Continuing to trace over her husband's scars, threading her fingers into his hair. A storm cloud came over her husband. Naerys could not contain her smile at seeing her uncle's reaction.

Daemon noticed it, but he made no comment as he fell to his knees to kiss the top of her crown before burrowing his silver head into her neck. “I am yours you stubborn girl. I am no one, but yours as you are mine.” The man was exhausted. A day of pointless fighting had worn them both out. “We will go to Dragonstone. I’ve had enough of this city and it’s gossip.”

“I could lose it.” Daemon tensed up once more underneath her fingers. He removed himself from her neck. Violet eyes met a pair of amethyst orbs. It was bad luck to speak of such things. Especially in the early days, but the thought gnawed at her. So many things could go wrong. Naerys never considered herself a very lucky person.

“Ao issi daor nykeā jaes kepus.” Daemon was a man. He behaved as if he were a dragon, but he was still a man and Naerys was a mere woman. They were flesh, blood, and bone. They could not bend fate to suit them. Mortals had their limitations. The king talked of prophecies, but Daemon was little better with his blood obsession.

“Your mother doubts you byka zaldrīzes.” Her husband bent down to place a kiss on her still flat belly. “She worries too much.” Lifting up to face her once more Daemon grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. Lending her the strength that had left from her body. “Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys. Iksā emare ñuha riña. Īlva riña. Iksi jāre lenton.”

Naerys was too tired to argue with her husband. There was still plenty to sort out, but the day had been long. The princess let herself be petted as she drifted off into a dreamless wonder. She would worry about their future in the morning when her head was clear.

Translations:

Kosti sagon biare kesīr: We can be happy here

kepus: uncle

Ao issi issa vys issa byka mēre: You are my world my little one

Kostilus kepus: Please uncle

Ao issi sīr gevie byka mēre: You are so beautiful little one

Ao drējī issi vēttan syt issa: You truly are made for me

Ao issi daor nykeā jaes kepus: You are not a god uncle

byka zaldrīzes: little dragon

Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys. Iksā emare ñuha riña. Īlva riña. Iksi jāre lenton: You are my wife. You are having my child. Our child. We are going home.

Ao3 Link:

Tags:

@misssilencewritewell @parizparis @thanyatargaryen @i-love-morally-gray-characters @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bubblebuttwade

#daemon targaryen x targaryen!oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x black!oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #the rouge prince #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targeryan #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd spoilers #hotd x fem!reader #hotd x oc #houseofthedragon #hotd fanfiction #daemon x reader #daemon x oc #bnhotdfic

[sunblockbabe]

tutor!nanami x reader

Contents: fluff, vague and brief description of a minor injury, 2.5k words

Trapped in the library by next week’s econ midterm, your phone buzzes with endless notifications about your friend’s house party that was happening tonight. Watching your phone light up with every alert out of the corner of your eye is pure torture. Your pencil is clenched in your hand as you bite your lip, forcing your gaze to stay on your practice exam in front of you. 

If you had been alone at your table, you would’ve been on your phone answering messages and calls ages ago, and most likely would’ve been out of the library doors already to rush home to start getting ready with your roommates. The only thing keeping you in your seat was Nanami.

He had started tutoring you weeks ago. You had been tearfully venting to your friend about how hard your economics class was, about how you were on the verge of a failing grade. She had told you about how one of her brother’s friends, a few years older than both of you, was in the masters economics program at the university. Desperate for solutions, you jumped on the offer of her getting his number from her brother, and a few text message exchanges later, he agreed to meet you in the library three days a week to tutor you.

You immediately thought he was attractive the first time you saw him. Despite his always-serious expression and tired eyes, or maybe in cause of those features, you saw how handsome he was, with his neatly styled blond hair and intelligent brown eyes. His professional style of dress was alluring as well, every single way he presented himself was so much more put-together than any of the guys you had the displeasure of running into on campus or in bars. 

However, you were quickly broken from the trance of your first impression when you realized he was taking his role in teaching you very seriously. 

Nanami was a strict tutor with little patience for any slacking off. He made things make more sense for you than any lectures or your endless attendance to office hours had, but was stern whenever your focus would wane and you’d reach for your phone. 

One time he had even gone as far as to confiscate it. 

“Hey!” You had exclaimed when your phone was suddenly plucked from your hands. You were just about to press send to your roommate’s message asking for relationship advice. You had always hated her boyfriend, arrogant and entitled, and was going to tell her to at least put their relationship on pause after his latest fuck up.

“Miss l/n.” Nanami pulled the phone further from your reach when you moved to grab back your phone, and you fell back into your seat with a huff. You hated when he addressed you like that.

“I was literally only on it for a second.” You argued, fixing him with a glare that he returned easily.

“In the last forty-five minutes you’ve been on your phone ‘for only a second’ about twenty times.” He said, looking completely unimpressed as he set it down on his side opposite of you. “You need to focus on this assignment.” 

“I’m already half-way done, just let me finish my text, my friend needs something.” You looked to the side to catch one last glance at your poor, neglected phone before Nanami leaned forward, his large figure blocking your view. 

“I volunteer my time to help you with your studies and answer your questions. I have many other things I could be doing instead of sitting here in this library with you but I choose to help you. For free, might I add.”

You had cowed a little at that. It was true, though in your defense you did bring him a coffee whenever you stopped by the campus starbucks on your way to your tutoring sessions, though you had a feeling Nanami was not in the mood to hear your counterpoint. 

You had given him one last mournful look in a bid to get your phone back, and Nanami’s mouth pursed into a straight line, and he leaned further forward to drag your notebook to rest in between you two. 

“Question two is wrong. Explain your thought process to me.” 

Your phone vibrating again shakes you from your reverie, and out of instinct you reach for your phone. 

You sneak a glance at Nanami. He’s hunched over his textbook, pen in hand as he diligently annotates the pages. He looks tired, black circles rung under his eyes. 

He lets out a sigh and runs a large hand over his scalp, musing his usually neat hair, and some fringe falls into his eyes as he leans back. 

You freeze for a second, hand halfway reaching for your phone, afraid he was moments away from catching you. 

But he just settles back into his original position, long and slender fingers messing with the corner of the page he’s finishing.

In the clear, you snatch your phone off the table, trying as discreetly as possible to check your notifications. 

You have missed facetime calls from your friends, and numerous messages as your roommates tried to convince you to leave the library. People didn’t need to twist your arm to convince you to go out, and you were already considering if Nanami was engrossed enough in his studies that you could sneak out without him noticing. 

Just as you open your roommates group chat to a photo of them cracking open a bottle of wine, your phone is wretched from your hand.

You let out a gasp of surprise, and raise your head to see Nanami leering at you, your phone clenched tightly in his hand.

His jaw is clenched, as he sits facing you, elbows resting on his knees as he leans forward. You realize that at some point in the night, he had loosened his ridiculous polka-dot tie so that it hung loosely around his neck. His tired eyes are trained on you, and you swallow nervously, heart beat picking up a little as you can’t help noticing how hot he looks, nevermind that he’s mad at you. 

“Sorry.” You murmur out, feeling embarrassed at getting caught. Your hands fidget in your lap a little.

“Focus.” He nearly hisses out, settling back in his seat as he silences your phone and puts in the pocket of his slacks. “When you finish your practice test I’ll check over your work.” 

“Sorry.” You whisper again, and Nanami gives you a quick sideways glance as you return your gaze to your exam.

Without the distraction of your phone, it takes less time to finish the last pages of your practice sheets. The pages are sprawled all over the table in a random order, and you decide to organize them before handing the pages into Nanami. 

Tapping the pages into a neat pile with your fingers, you get up to go to a nearby table with paperclips and staplers.

Picking up one of the staplers you attempt to staple the pages. After a few tries and your pages remaining unstapled, you realize that the stapler is jammed. 

With a grumble, you balance the stack of papers in one hand as you prop the stapler between one hip and your hand, trying to unjam it.

Fidgeting with the stapler, you struggle to fix it. Clumsily, you press your ring finger under the tip of the stapler, when you feel your papers begin to slip from your other hand, you accidentally squeeze as you move to catch the pages. A sharp pain immediately shoots through your finger as the stapler partially ejects the staple, piercing the prongs of it into your finger.

With a gasp, you drop the stapler and yank back your hand as the stapler clatters to the floor and your exam pages scatter across the carpet.

With your back to him, you don’t see how Nanami’s head immediately lifts up at the sound of your startled noise.

“Ow…” You whine under your breath. 

You grasp your finger, watching as two small punctures slowly begin to ooze blood. It hurts, and you feel tears begin to well in your eyes. 

You take half a step back before you bump into someone behind you.

“I’m sorry…” You begin to apologize to whoever you bumped into as you turn. You quickly look up from Nanami’s chest to stare at his face, surprised by how fast he had gotten up without you noticing. 

Nanami’s brow is just barely creased as he stares down at your hand. 

Wordlessly, Nanami gently grabs ahold of your injured hand, lightly pressing a thumb into your palm to keep your hand unfurled when you try to clench it in pain. 

Blood trickles down your hand and you watch it, small tears clinging to your eyelashes. You’re too embarrassed to look up, feeling silly. 

“C’mere.” You hear Nanami say softly. Moving his large hand to instead grasp you by the elbow, he guides you back to your seat, stepping closely besides you.

“Stay here.” He says to you once you’re sat, and you nod with a sniffle as you watch him leave.

You try to wipe away your eyes while he’s gone, mortified by the thought of crying in front of him. You’re sure that he dislikes you, and would probably scoff at your sensitive display. You take a shaky sip of your water, pulling yourself together.

After a few minutes, Nanami returns. 

“I got some bandaids and alcohol wipes from the front desk.” He says as he sits across from you, knees spread as he leans forward. “Show me your hand.” 

Shyly, you reach your hand towards, and Nanami gently grasps your wrist, bringing your fingers closer to his face. 

Keeping a hold of your hand, he opens the alcohol packet with his other hand and his teeth, and you watch him transfixed, thankful he’s still examining your hand instead of seeing you obviously gawking at him.

You flinch back a little when he brings the alcohol pad close to your bloodied finger, pulling slightly in resistance, and Nanami keeps a loose grasp of your hand.

“I’ll be gentle.” He murmurs, and your heart rate picks up at the low timbre of his voice. 

Transfixed, you nod your head rather numbly. 

“Here’s your phone back.” He briefly leans back and releases your hand to retrieve your phone from the table, handing it to you. “It’ll distract you from any discomfort.”

You thank him absentmindedly as you take the phone and his hand re-envlopes yours.

Despite having your phone back, you choose to watch him press the pad to your finger,and you let out a low hiss at the burn.

“‘M’sorry.” He mumbles, and when you glance at him you see him staring at you already, a soft worry taking hold of his face at your pained expression, and you suddenly feel speechless.

You manage a slight shake of your head.

“It’s alright.” You say, but it sounds so quiet that even you can barely hear it, but Nanami still nods at your words. Feeling heat course through your body, you bashfully begin pretending that you’re looking at your phone.

After a few moments he removes the alcohol pad from your ring finger, and begins to wrap your finger in a bandaid.

You watch him as he works, ignoring the notifications illuminated on your phone screen. 

It’s a simple task, but like with all things, he’s timely and systematic, treating your hand with the same attentiveness that he holds when he studies his textbooks. 

But despite his efficiency, his warm hand, despite its roughness, is soft as he holds your’s, delicate and small in the comparison of his light grasp. 

All too soon Nanami finishes cleaning and wrapping your finger, but his hand doesn’t leave your own. Looking up, you see that he is keenly staring at where he touches you, an unreadable expression on his face as he remains unaware of you watching.

You swear you feel him brush his thumb along the side of your hand before he lets go of your hand.

Shifting in your seat and shutting off your phone, you act like you hadn’t just been intently watching him. 

“Thank you.” You tell him as you both stand up. His face betrays nothing as he turns to gather the first-aid materials from the table to discard them, the thickness of the air clearing as he becomes as stoic as he’s always been with you.

“You’re welcome.” He says simply, and he glances at you from the corner of his eye as he throws away the trash in the trash bin at the end of the table. “I think that’s enough studying for tonight. I’ll take your practice exam home and look over your work, we can review when we meet on Monday.” 

Dazed at how quickly the intimacy of the moment had vanished you agree as you nod your head, beginning to gather your items. If you hurry home, you’ll still still be able to get ready in time to uber with your roommates to the pregame. 

Still feeling a little awkward, you sling your backpack over your shoulders and grab your water bottle, careful not to put too much pressure on your injured finger that still throbs slightly in pain.

“Bye, Nanami!” You give him a little wave.

His brows furrow and you pause.

“Did you walk? I don’t see your car keys.” He asks.

You shrug your shoulders

“Yea, but it’s only a fifteen minute walk to my apartment, it’s not far.” You reply.

The sun is close to finishing its descent, and you can tell that it’s getting increasingly darker outside. The walk is safe enough, but you usually try to avoid walking home alone at night, you hadn’t expected today’s study session to have lasted as long as it did. 

Nanami shakes his head.

“I’ll walk you home, it’s safer than letting you go home by yourself.”

You feel yourself panic a little. As much as you’d love to finally get to spend time (as insignificant as a short walk home is) with him outside of your study sessions together, you don’t think your poor heart can handle anymore proximity with him tonight.

“That’s kind of you to offer, but you don’t need to give me a ride home.” You try to politely decline, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to another. “It’s a safe walk home, I’ve done it plenty of times at night.” You explain.

Nanami finishes packing his belongings and bends down to pick up your forgotten exam, giving you a stern look as he straightens again to his full height.

“You shouldn’t be walking anywhere alone at night at all.”

“But-” You try to shoot back.

“I kept you here longer than our normal sessions, I owe you a way to get home safely.” He says with a tone of finality, and you know it’s hopeless to argue further with him, his mind set. 

You let out a sigh.

“If you insist...” 

“I do.” He says and begins walking towards the exit.  

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami kento

[murder-cookie-dust393]

I saw the yandere hcs for lord Oyster and I saw the ending of them comforting and thought it was kinda cute so I'll bite for hcs! I got an idea for a type of reader I don't see often but I find the trope interesting. May I ask for hcs of a yandere clotted cream x poor reader?

Bonus little addition to reader if you want: maybe, to make it by, reader works really hard...day and night...and often neglects themselves, like they skips meals, barely sleeps due to a mixture of work and stress, work themselves to the bone just to make sure they have a roof over their head and food on the table?

Just always curious how yanderes react to a love like that lol! Sorry if this sounds weird! Just stumbled upon the idea of poor reader and thought it was interesting!

YOU DONT UNDERSTAND- I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO THOUGHT THE POOR MC TROUPE WAS INTERESTING.

[disclaimer: I’ve never had such a situation so I’m just going off of other people’s experiences]

Tw: spying through documents..?, Hierarchy misuse(?), Clotted gaslights ppl

• Let’s say MC is like a cook or something for idk any form of public gatherings. They work their arms off trying to quickly get lots of food cooked- that tastes good enough.

• Even if more they have lots of co-workers, they still have to do so much to have enough for so many people. Hell, they’re still cooking to keep making enough while the gatherings go on.

• Clotted Cream found a little defect in his food, maybe a dessert that was a bit undercooked. So he quickly sneaks into the kitchen to tell one of the chefs, just so they could fix the food before anyone makes a commotion. After all, he is a very kind-hearted, empathetic consul isn’t he…?

• He ends up talking to MC, showing the small defect. To his surprise, MC is panicking like crazy, afraid of losing their job. They quickly go out to the foods and take the tray of the desserts with a defection and shove it in the oven. They’re thanking him greatly, bowing a few times.

• Clotted Cream notices their hands look a little wrecked, with a few bandages over their fingers. “…Say, are your hands alright? They look to be in a quite- rough state.”

• MC is surprised at the question, answering that they have to work a lot to get the food out in time.

• Clotted Cream ends up talking to them longer than needed, and he’s- interested to say the least. He wonders what they’re life is like, given he was adopted into a noble household.

• Clotted Cream ends up scouring through official files to scour more information about them…He ends up seeing all the bills MC is paying, it could be literally anything: debt, medical, whatever. He feels an odd sense of pity? Or is it…something more humane?

• He ends up throwing himself into a hole of complete curiosity- and soon obsession. He wants to know more about their life, how they survive their endless hours of work. He works endless as well- but not in the way they do.

• At every public gathering, [where they’re serving food] he’s talking to them more than he is to the guests, always asking questions about their life and how they’re doing.

• At some point, he can’t take it anymore, seeing them suffer to keep their surviving. So one day, MC finds that all the bills they had to pay are just gone. Paid for. It confused them.

• The next day, MC goes over to the bill issuer, questioning things. Which the bill issuer responds, “Oh, a cookie came in and said he was your fiancé so he paid them all for you.”

• MC, absolutely flabbergasted, tries to question the bill issuer, wondering who the cookie was. But the bill issuer didn’t know. Only noticing he had green eyes. He’s in a disguise.

• MC goes back home, confused af. For one thing, they don’t even have a fiancé, and two, they don’t even know who this dude is.

• Meanwhile, Clotted Cream is laying in his bed, giggling like some girl that has a stupid school crush. He couldn’t believe he managed to get away with it! Not that it would matter, he could easily trick people into thinking the two of you were engaged.

• A few days later, when MC comes home from a long day at work, they notice literally ALL of their stuff is packed up. And guess who comes out from the closet with clothes in his hands? That’s right, sir fucking Clotted Cream.

• Before MC can even question him, he pressing a kiss to their cheek and smiling. “I’m just getting everything ready for you to move in with me! Don’t worry darling, this is the last of everything.”

• MC can try everything to question and defy him, but he’s just pulling the “I’m sir Consul, I can ruin your life. Now love me.”

• Poor MC, going from poor to confused and weirded out.

• If MC is compliant, he’s a needy mf, who’s super affectionate behind closed doors. Constantly giving them hugs and compliments.

[Ok- ngl this was self-indulgent. I would say this is my longest post on here lmao]

- Celina

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #yandere cookie run #cookie run x reader #crk x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere crk #blurbs #DONT LIE WE ALL LIKE CLOTTED #clotted cream cookie #Yandere cookie run kingdom

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Week in Review (March 3-9, 2024)

Shin Ultraman took an eternity to reach home video, but Godzilla Minus One will proceed as a more reasonable pace (by Japanese standards). Toho will release roughly one billion different editions on May 1, with Amazon- and Godzilla Store-exclusive physical bonuses both on offer. Godzilla Minus One/Minus Color is included with some of the pricier versions, or you can buy it as a standalone Blu-ray or DVD.

The black-and-white version of Shin Godzilla, SHIN GODZILLA:ORTHOchromatic, also hits Japanese home video on May 1. Like Minus Color, no 4K edition, just Blu-ray and DVD. A handful of new bonus features about ORTHOchromatic are included.

As is standard for Toho, none of these releases will be English-friendly. But given the films' popularity (and the lack of any legal way to watch Minus One since it left theaters), expect bootlegs to circulate at light speed.

Unsurprisingly, Godzilla Minus One cleaned up at the Japanese Academy Awards, with eight victories out of eleven nominations: Picture of the Year, Best Supporting Actress, Best Cinematography, Best Screenplay, Best Editing, Best Sound, Best Art Direction, and Best Lighting. That's one more than Shin Godzilla, and pretty much guarantees that the Toho Godzilla series will keep the prestige pictures coming. Strange times!

We'll see if Minus One can also capture Best Visual Effects at the American Academy Awards tonight. The Creator remains its biggest competition. The Gareth Edwards film is better-positioned by the usual metrics, with a second nomination for Best Sound and five wins at the Visual Effects Society Awards, but the enthusiasm gap for the films themselves may prove decisive. I'll be doing a much lengthier analysis during Wikizilla's Oscar stream tonight, which will start at about 6:00 PM ET, an hour before the ceremony begins.

Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire tickets may not be on sale yet, but Cinemark theaters have rolled out the above merch (much more efficiently than Target and Walmart have rolled out the toyline, if my local theater's any indication). I have a suspicion those plushies will be worth a mint a few years from now, small as they are; don't know about the other stuff. I bought the larger popcorn tin when I saw Dune: Part Two on Thursday. The promo image is deceptive, as the green area is transparent plastic and the Titan image is on the opposite wall of the tin, so that popcorn's either defying gravity or being held up by a hidden insert. There are Kong and Skar King variants as well, the latter revealing his height (318 feet). Poor Shimo; being the "secret" villain really narrows the amount of merch you get.

The other interesting GxK news this week (apart from the endless TV spot variants, which I'm not even trying to keep track of) is a collaboration with the American Red Cross, of all institutions. Donate blood, platelets, or AB Elite plasma from March 25 to April 7, get a free T-shirt. And for completion's sake, I'll mention the Roblox and Call of Duty cross-promos too.

Chibi Godzilla Raids Again, an unexpected delight last year, is getting a second season starting April 3. The official site revealed that Minilla is joining the cast, while those silhouettes to his right look like Titanosaurus (unjustly neglected in recent years), Gigan, and Gabara. Expect to follow the first season in being uploaded to the GODZILLA OFFICIAL by TOHO YouTube channel with English subtitles.

Here's another chance to watch Tsuburaya and Toei Animation's Kaiju Decode short, originally released in 2021. (It goes away at the end of the month, because every Japanese studio is apparently hellbent on making short films ephemeral, so download it now.) It's the basis for a recent mixed reality game for the Meta Quest 3 and Meta Quest Pro, hence its return to the spotlight.

UniVersus, a collectable card game predicated on pitting characters from various franchises against each other, is going all in on Godzilla after offering a couple of Minus One cards through highly convoluted means last year. They're releasing a couple of Godzilla Challenger Series (preconstructed decks) on June 21, one based around Godzilla and Mothra, the other around King Ghidorah and Rodan, with Mechagodzilla thrown into the mix for both. I've never played this game in my life, but the prospect of a shiny Godzilla card with James Stokoe art is sort of tempting.

#kaiju week in review #godzilla minus one #shin godzilla #home video #oscars #chibi godzilla raids again #godzilla x kong the new empire #king kong #kaiju

[rosewaterandivy]

2. make plans to break plans

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumass reader

Warnings: no use of y/n - reader goes by Trouble instead, depictions of high school, cursing, dumb group chats & contact names, references to Vine memes, mention of a broken engagement, sad girl hours

A/N: Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance. Here’s 3.1K of Steve and Reader’s ~feelings~; feedback and reblogs are appreciated, enjoy!

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Then - Fall term, November

The end of the day finds you hunched over your keyboard, furiously typing back a reply to some helicopter parent. You blow out a puff of breath and hit ‘send’ as your door creaks open.

“Hey,” Steve greets pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. He sets his hydroflask down on your desk with a clang and leans against a nearby desk. “You ready?”

“Yeah, gimme just a sec,” you say, logging off for the day. Turning back to your desk, you give him a small smile and shove a few things into your backpack. On Tuesdays and Thursdays the two of you worked at Tiger Library, aka extended tutorial sessions in the library. The extra pay was decent and it allowed you both time to keep up with any grading or lesson planning that had gone neglected during the week.

You rearrange a few items on your desk before swiping a stack of essays to hopefully grade. Steve hits the lights after you, while you nudge the door open with your hip, elbow pressing down on the door handle and balance a backpack dangerously close to slipping from your shoulder. 

“Gimme,” he tuts, index finger looping around the strap sliding from your arm, “S’okay, I got it.”

You hum in assent, turning to take the stairs down to the first floor, Steve hot on your heels. “Thanks,” you try to keep your voice level and impassive passing through the corridor. Steve keeps a respectful distance as you stride through the doors of the library. 

Something is wrong, but he can’t guess as to what. You’d been off all week; since your weekend bender, really. Nance had dropped you back at The Hideout to get your car and once she’d returned she beelined directly to her room and didn’t say a word.

Nancy rarely has such a visceral reaction to anything, so whatever you had divulged to her was enough to crack the surface of her rage. Having been on the receiving end of it before, Steve knows it’s endless. 

But the question remains, why haven’t you said anything to him? You’re friends, thick as thieves and have been for god knows how long. Yes, you’re an unfiltered, oblivious dumbass with poor emotional regulation skills, and he hates that at times. But you are his friend; and Steve currently wants to throttle himself for allowing you to go radio-silent for the better part of a week.

He sighs, for what feels like the millionth time today, he’ll let you be. 

For now.

Students have claimed tables and chairs for the evening, notebooks and laptops scattered here and there. Chairs pulled up as teens arranged themselves amongst their cliques, catching up on the latest gossip since the final bell rang. 

Making quick work of Vickie’s computer you set up shop, decidedly ignoring her post-it reading ‘Dumb & Dumber - don’t mess with my shit!’ Steve slides in the circulation desk behind you, depositing your backpack at your feet. Silently, you prize the post-it from the monitor with two fingers and pass it to Steve who reads it with a snort.

He snaps a quick photo to send to the ‘elite meeting’ group chat and tosses it into the trash. Queueing up the collaborative playlist for the night, you call out, “Okay team, this is our final Humanities night at Tiger Library before the fall break, so you know the drill.”

The students turn to the circulation desk, conversations falling to a murmur. Steve crosses his arms and leans back against the built-in bookshelf, he gestures between the two of you with his index finger, “Ask either of us a math or science question and you will be vacated from the premises.”

A few laughs and snickers ring out here and there.

“Yeah,” you concur, “Harrington will suplex you into next week and I’ll post it to the school’s socials.” 

That shuts them right up. 

“Furthermore,” you continue, “The collab playlist is live for tonight and if any of you turkeys forces me to listen to anything that would make your friends and parents ashamed to know you,” you pause, eyeing a few kids menacingly, “I will force everyone present to listen to ska for the rest of the session. Got it?”

Steve shudders and shakes his head, “That is not an idle threat, by the way. She’s done it before and it was god awful.”

Announcements made, you and Steve sign off on a few seat-time papers for the credit recovery kids and settle in for the night. You open your texts to find a notification from Eddie in the group chat. Reading through Harrington and Buckley’s responses, you tap out a reply to Eddie’s question. 

💫elite meeting💫

bandcamp 👿: why is my paladin not at Hellfire you schmucks?

god’s fav 😎: spill the tea, sis.

dingus 👽: ooh, if he’s breakin out the yiddish he must be pissed!

trouble 👁️👄👁️: it’s like you don’t even read your emails eds.

god’s fav 😎:  whaddup, i’m eddie, i’m 28, and i never learned how to fuckin read ✌️

 bandcamp 👿: shut up.

During tutorial nights, someone from the group would be assigned to take care of dinner for whomever else was stuck on campus. Nancy had made a laminated chart and stuck it to the loft’s fridge, y’know, like any completely sane person would do. 

You huff a laugh and open your insta feed, clicking on the invite in your messages. ‘Steve has invited you to eat at Chipotle today!’ You select your regular order, tacking on some chips and queso for good measure. 

After a while, a student shyly approaches the circulation desk with a worn copy of The Catcher in the Rye and a worksheet in hand. You give her a reassuring smile and invite her to take a seat. As you’re reviewing the questions she’s struggling with, Eddie storms into the room searching for Mike.

“Wheeler,” he bellows, startling the students from their conversations, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The student at your side jumps in her chair at the sheer volume of his voice. “Oy, Munson,” you hiss, “Can it!” He fixes you with a perturbed glance and strides over to Mike’s table to tear him a whole new asshole.

Managing to get the students back on track, you talk through the more complex passages of the text with the girl, directing her back to the questions when appropriate, and send her off with a friendly wave.

Returning from his circuit around the library, Steve dramatically slumps into the chair at your side, letting out a long-suffering sigh. He shoves his glasses up to his hair in an effort to scrub at his eyes. “What’s got ya down, clown?”

He blows a raspberry and rolls his eyes at your quip. “See that table by the windows?”

“Yeah,” you nod, noting the giggling group of girls, freshmen, if you had to guess. Sneaking side-long glances at Steve before blushing profusely and turning back to their friends. “Ooh, they seem struck by you!” you tease, letting your voice twang in a southern affectation.

“Don’t encourage them!” he admonishes, “They wanted help with geography, I don’t even teach that,” he sulks. 

“Steven,” you gasp, “Don’t tell me you never learned to read a map, you are an educator!”

Steve fixes you with a glance, “I’ll have you know, it all gets very confusing in Europe after the dissolution of the Soviet Bloc.”

“Don’t you teach AP World: Modern?”

“Yeah, you know that.”

“A-are you indoctrinating the students, Steve?” you needle him, earning an exasperated huff in response. “Snowflake,” you tsk reproachingly, “Trigger warnings! War on Christmas!” 

The taunting continues until Eddie approaches the desk. With a too-wide smile directed at Steve, you cut your eyes across the library to where Wheeler sits trembling like a leaf.

Mike looks well and thoroughly abashed after whatever Munson just lectured him about. Sinking as low in his seat as he did during the parent conference facilitated by Assistant Principal Bauman. Munson had clearly laid it on thick. 

Chains jangling against his hip, he sits on the desk. “Hey there, big boy,” he purrs winking at Steve, causing him to blush and sputter. “Light of my life,” he croons addressing you, “A thousand apologies for young Wheeler there,” he nods at the dejected teen in question, “It will not be happening again.” Raising his voice to a louder pitch, hollers out, “Not on my watch!”

“Yeah,” you goad him, waggling your brows, “On god, no cap?”

He stares at you as if you’d grown another head, and leans down to your level. “What fuckin’ Tik-Tok nonsense is that now?”

A notification pings from someone, Steve probably; grandpa that he is, he refuses to silence his phone like a normal person, no matter how many times you show him the focus or do not disturb function. 

He throws his keys at Eddie, who catches them before the ring of metal can brain him in the face. Steve pouts as Eddie jangles them triumphantly walking out the door, “Be back in five, hot stuff!”

Steve sends you an annoyed look, “Please tell me that wasn’t directed at me.”

You take a loud sip from his hydroflask and grin, “No, you’re big boy and I’m hot stuff,” you chide. “C’mon now.” Like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

“So,” he mutters escorting you to your car later that evening. “Are you ever gonna spill what went down the other night?”

“Huh,” you kiss your teeth with a wet click, bag slung haphazardly across your arm. “Thought Nance would’ve cracked by now.”

“What d’ya mean?”

You kick at the rocks scattered along the blacktop, refusing to meet his eyes. “Well,” you sigh. A grunt, a huff of breath before you tug at the strap of your backpack and admit flatly, “He, uh, ended it.” You hold up your left hand and wiggle your fingers in proof, and sure enough, no engagement ring in sight.

Steve never truly understood what people meant when they said the phrase ‘seeing red’ until now. Granted, he’d been knocked on the head more than most in his time, but even with the concussions he still had enough sense to know that you were the real fucking deal. And any asswipe that thinks he can do better than you is sorely mistaken.

He should know.

Willing himself not to vibrate with rage, he slings an arm across your shoulders and pulls you to his chest. You sniffle and press your forehead to his neck, he smells clean and comforting like cypress and vetiver with the faintest whiff of laundry detergent. 

“M’sorry honey,” he soothes, voice soft and low, subtly rocking from side to side as you fail to stop the tears from falling. “I gotcha, it’s okay.”

Naturally, you completely lose your shit in the school parking lot while Steve holds you. And truthfully, you’re more frustrated than anything because you’d been trying so damn hard to keep it together this week. You thought you’d been doing pretty well, too, until Harrington used his dumb best-friends-forever powers of perception.

Unbeknownst to you, everyone’s been desperately trying to keep their cool. 

Nancy was tight-lipped about the cause for your bender last weekend, but occupants of the loft were distinctly aware of how rigidly she held herself after dropping you off. Completely glued to her phone in case you needed anything at all and going so far as to out-law rom-coms for seemingly no reason.

His anger is simmering now, bubbling just under the surface because hell if he’s going to let you see how affected he is. True, he was never the biggest fan of your fiancé, well, ex-fiancé now, but he seemed like an okay guy. 

Clearly not.

A wet sob claws its way from your throat as Steve draws you closer, his hand cradling the back of your head. He’s doing his best to comfort you, but there’s only so much he can do in the parking lot of Hawkins high school. 

He pulls back briefly to look down at you, searching your face for any signs of discomfort. “Wanna crash at the loft?” He asks, voice hushed, as if he’s afraid to spook you. You glance over your shoulder to your car parked a few spaces away, eyes wide and wet. 

Steve feels like he’s lost all language. Doesn’t know any words because you’re stuttering, cursing, and sobbing against his chest like he’s never heard before. He’s at a complete loss as he shepherds you toward his car, opening the passenger door and sliding you into the seat. He has to pry your fingers off from the way you’d latched on to his shirt. 

As the door closes, he grabs his phone and types out a quick missive to let the roommates know what’s coming.

🫰freeloaders🫰

steeb🖕: nance, a heads up would’ve been nice

bucko 🤠: 👀

nwa 🔪: oh shit.

dumbass🤘 : stop talking in code nerds

steeb🖕 has changed the name of this group from 🫰freeloaders🫰 to 👊 fight club👊

steeb🖕: trouble is crashing with us, it’s bad guys. like, defcon 1

bucko 🤠: isn’t that the lowest level of defcon?

steeb🖕: not the time robs

nwa 🔪: her fiancé broke it off, that’s why she got shitfaced. didn’t want me to say anything until she was ready

bucko 🤠: what a piece of shit

dumbass🤘: i’m gonna need his name and address, ss# is a plus but not a necessity 

bucko 🤠: eddie NO

steeb🖕: eddie YES

nwa🔪 has ‘liked’ this message

“Sorry–” you whisper hoarsely, “I’m–sorry–”

Steve’s mouth falls open, so fucking helpless and confused. “There’s no need for that,” he assures you, “You didn’t do anything hon.”

You’ve barely gotten out of the shower, hair damp and dripping on the tiles of the bathroom. You stand in the doorway, dressed in an oversized Warped Tour shirt from ages ago, one bare foot scratching the adjacent ankle. 

Steve had to coax you to shower after arriving at the loft, your face puffy, smeared with tears and snot. Once you had been safely stowed in the shower, Nancy went into crisis-management mode. Delegating tasks to everyone in proximity to her and speaking in hushed tones with your parents on the phone.

Robin was in charge of securing a sub for you tomorrow (and, let’s be honest, one for Eddie, Steve, and herself as well), Eddie was researching moving companies and doing some mild internet sleuthing about your ex, just for his own research purposes, which left Steve on babysitting duty.

You start crying again, hiding the tears in your palms and dropping to the floor, curling up. Shit. Shit. Shit. Steve’s losing it. Can’t even keep you happy for two seconds–which he knows is the easiest job in the world because you have attention span of a goldfish and will laugh at anything.

He’s still perplexed when he drops to the floor with you, splaying his legs around your body, wrapping his arms around your back. His shirt is basically soaked through, sopping with your tears but that doesn’t deter you. You burrow into his chest, hands crawling up his shoulder blades, fingertips digging in enough to bruise, and you cling to him like a lifeline. Steve’s chest swells in pain for you, a hurt he feels down to his bones. You’re shaking with sobs and shivery hot in his arms.

Unable to soothe your tears, Steve gets to work and slides an arm down underneath your legs to secure you against his chest. “Okay honey, hold tight,” he breathes, scooping you up as he rises from the cold tile floor. You press your face further into his chest, sinking so deep into his hold he thinks you might fall right into him. Another choked sob as you nod.

He carries you down the hall and into his bedroom, all dark and quiet. Steve lays you down atop his sheets where you continue to sob fitfully, eyes blooming with fresh tears. He reaches over your body, takes the far edge of the sheet and pulls it around, tucking it beneath your back. He does the same to the other side and soon enough, you’re wrapped snugly in its cocoon. Only your head is visible.

And he knows you’re sad, and it’s very fucking real. The kind of sadness he felt when Nancy crushed his heart to smithereens back in high school. That, but times a thousand.

“How’s that?” he says, breaking the silence now that your cries have died down. “Better?”

You blink at him after a while. Your head jerks a few times, eyes pointedly cutting to the open space on the bed next to you.

Steve shucks his shirt, volleying it to the hamper, and slips in chuckling at the way you inch your body closer to his. His arm falls to rest against your hip, “Okay honey,” he whispers over the top of your head, “Better now?”

“Mmhm,” you sigh, pressing your forehead to his chest once more. “Stevie,” you rasp, voice muffled, “Can you stay?”

“Yeah,” he says right away, fingers sketching along your side, a crease of worry forming between his brows. “‘Course I’ll stay honey, long as you want.”

Steve spends another couple of hours with you, settling down in hopes that you’ll eventually drift off to sleep. He pulls a movie up on his phone, something with little emotional labor because you’re more than likely spent for the week. He lays next to you on the bed, propped up by a pillow or two, his free hand tracing calming circles against your hip. After the credits roll, your swollen eyelids begin to slip shut.

He stays for a little longer, just until your breathing evens out and he knows you’re asleep. As gently and slowly as he can, Steve gets out of bed careful not to jostle you awake and makes his way to the living room. Everyone’s awake and lost in their own little world, it’s quiet save for the sound of clacking keys and mouse clicks. 

Settling against an armchair, he clears his throat and says, “She’s asleep, for now.”

“How’s she doing?”

He shrugs, because isn’t that the million dollar question. Steve couldn’t begin to guess at that thoughts rattling through your brain. But he tries anyway, “Uh, not great.”

Silence settles around them once more. Steve stares wordlessly at the ceiling and grits his teeth loud enough for everyone to hear. He inhales a deep, steady breath and it feels like the only one he’s taken in hours.

And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to fall back on a familiar feeling. To push past all the anger and hurt; the tinge of his own failure he tries not to associate with you, struggles to do that most days, too. 

Behind the darkness of his eyelids, there is strangely so much light.

A semblance of hope.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #fanfiction #stranger things #reader insert #the kids aren't alright - rosewaterandivy

[itskindofidontknow]

What dreams know about love?

Chapter 4

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?

Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected

TW: Explicit sexual content, lost of virginity, p in v, consent is here but pleasure is not.

"Don't you think it is too much?"

"Not at all, m’lady. It is your wedding, nothing is ever 'too much'." Eoster sheepishly smiled, pressing her hands against the white sheer corset that the Seamstress was adjusting. Her wedding dress. Long silk skirts covered by tulle made of stardust, reflecting the bright sunlight that entered through the windows. Looking at her reflection at the mirror, it seemed like Eoster was shining. Inside, she truly felt like she was. Shining, happy, excited “It’s all happening in such a hurry. Dear Desire, do you think I am rushing it?” She bit her lip. There has only been one year. Yes, their letters were full of passion and devotion for each other, and Love never felt such affection, but still, a year was so little. Rushed and desperate mortal’s relationships always ended badly… Shouldn’t she wait more?

Before that boring conference of universal manifestations, both were only distantly aware of each other's existence. Some dreams were heavily influenced by her works and some lovers were heavily influenced by their dreams. One could say that they were nothing but distant work colleagues. That night, however, thanks to Desire, they were both formally presented to each other.

Love did not take much of it, since she was in the middle of hiding from a group of extremely boring and arrogant suitors that wanted a place in her dance card. Desire was certain that being accompanied by Dream would keep away the suitors. Eoster was not sure of that, even though Lord Morpheus didn't have the friendliest of faces, definitely not an entity she would cross, some of her suitors couldn't, for their life, read the room. He didn't seem to care for Love either. Different from most, which Desire would later say in confidence, that he lost his words in presence of such a beauty, like Love’s. She did not believe in it. But she did think it could be true disinterest. After all, the Dream King could have any maiden he wanted, he didn’t need to court someone like Love.

In truth, Dream’s thoughts were in Calliope, wanting to return to her, and get away from the conference. He was also skeptical about Desire’s sudden approach and poor excuse of 'helping their friend dodge suitors'. Desire had no friends.

The brown haired queen didn’t think much about their meeting until a few weeks later when she received a dove, a letter written by Lord Morpheus himself, ddressed to her. Daily, Love received suitors’ doves. She kept them all, feeding her ego with those sweet words and praises. There were some terrible poems and sonnets, but she knew they were well-intended (Not all of them, some of them had sinful propositions that Love prefere to ignore). His letter, however, was different, it didn’t praise her beauty, or compared her to the stars, neither had any vulgar proposition. It was a simple apology regarding the unattentive way he treated her in the conference.

Love was afraid the Dream King would have the wrong impression if she responded. She knew she had to say something, but what exactly? She didn’t want to sound like he owed her an apology, but she also did not want to dismiss him, saying it was nothing. Unsure of how to proceed, Love went to Desire of the Endless, not only they were Dream younger sibling, they were one of her best friends and also someone who Love considered as the older sibling she never had.

The Love Queen adored working with Desire, it was not only easier but much more pleasing to see two souls being together in perfect harmony, tenderly hungry for each other, not only they had carnal lust but also affection and devotion. Desire also was a great friend, always helping her escape suitors, and entertain her afternoons, making her company in the Garden.

For Desire, it was more like having a puppy than a friend. The wide-eyed innocent persona of Love was something she considered fun to have around and mess with. It was amusing to see her blushing complexion with every dirty comment and prank, or pretending to know about topics they knew she had not the slightest idea whatwas about.

Desire was the one that encouraged her to respond in an affectionate way. ‘Believe me, little dove, my brother does not send letters to anyone’, they said. And Love started to wonder about Lord Morpheus intentions. She caught herself thinking about why they hadn't met before. How could she have gone without a proper introduction for so long? He was a gentleman, attractive, and dutiful. A suitor that she might actually consider, besides, they worked close. Love started to daydream about the projects they could do together, the wonders they might provide to mortals.

Waiting for his answer was pure agony. Love was starting to give up any hope, thinking he only was being polite since she was friends with Desire. But when a dove came with the Dreaming’s seal. Love was caught by a surprise relief she felt on her chest. She was longing for a response. The correspondence did not stop for over 365 days. Anxiously she waited for every dove, always thinking that he might grow tired of her.

The palace staff quickly learned that if their Queen was nowhere to be found, she would probably be hiding in her winter’s garden, sitting in the balcony, eyes lost in the pink sky's horizon, wishing for a dove with a letter. Lord Morpheus' letters made the difference between a melancholic and a blissful afternoon. Elijah could cancel any engagements Love had when his letters arrived, since she would spend the rest of the day, with the head in the clouds, trying to imagine what he was feeling when writing to her, if he was thinking about her reading his letter. She giggled alone and reread every sentence, trying to imagine all he described, wondering if one day she might be invited to his realm. If he wrote fifty pages of letters, it wouldn’t be enough.

Eoster fell deeply in love. His letters flooded her senses, filled her nights and brightened her days. They developed some distant companionship, and Love never felt a connection quite the same. During this time, every mortal felt love in a newfound intensity, their creativity sprouted, the kisses were tender, the embraces longer, the partitude hurted more than a knife through the heart. The Garden flourished in plenitude, the flowers were vibrant, the grass greener and softer, the air was warm with light breezes. She never received so many young ladies and lords in waiting, she gladly taught about the ways of the heart. And when he proposed, Love had to contain herself otherwise mortals would probably explode of infatuation.

Desire looked back to her with a cheshire smile, seeing all those questions going through their friend’s head. They langley raised from Love’s bed and walked to the young maiden hugging her from behind. “Never, my darling. Look at you, look at your Garden. Both blossoming in happiness. Such happiness cannot be misleading. Besides, he was the one that called for a True Marriage.” Love squeezed Desire’s hand while taking a deep breath.

A True Marriage. The oldest type of union, and one of the rarest. If one is not sure of their love, they would never call for one. All the other ordinary unions are annulled by a True Marriage, nothing is above it. An unbreakable bond, written in golden permanent ink in Lord Destiny’s book. Unchangeable, no matter what the circumstances, twist and turns, or paths one chooses. It’s more than just a ceremony or names on a piece of paper, it’s an exchange of souls and hearts. One holds the life of the other, and gives its own life in exchange. The vows of a True Marriage are not to be taken lightly.

The only way to terminate a True Marriage is by terminating life. And when one half dies, part of the soul and the heart of the other half also dies. If Morpheus wanted to marry her under these ancient laws, he was as certain of his feelings as she was of hers.

The Seamstress pushed Desire out of the way, getting on her knees to finish the hem of the dress. “Don’t stay in the way if you don’t want to get pushed, m’lady-lord”. Desire rolled her eyes at the old woman. If one of Love’s cupid had done this to an Endless it would be considered a serious offense, but The Seamstress didn’t belong to any realm, she didn’t go by any set of hierarchy, she was old, how old Love didn’t know, but she had more wrinkles than anyone could count, along with a sharp tongue. “There you go, m’lady. All is done.”

The old woman gave Love’s waist two friendly taps, before getting up proudly looking at her creation. “My queen, I can’t say that I know the King of Dreams, but I know about wedding dresses.” The seamstress has been designing and sewing them for eons “And if our Lord Morpheus does not put a stained glass window of you in his palace. He is a fool.“ Desire and Love looked at each other, before laughing. And Love jumped and pulled the Seamstress into a hug. “Oh Seamstress! I promise, as Queen of Love, that if we decided for a wedding party, you shall have a invitation, you’ll be my guest of honor” The old lady was thrown off by the sudden movement, but welcomed the hug the Queen gave, and throw her hands in the air dismissing the invite. “I thank you for the invitation m’lady, but I sew, I don’t go to parties.”

Two knocks came from the door before Elijah popped his head in the room. “Excuse me, blessing from the Garden, Seamstress and Lady-Lord Desire.” He politely acknowledged the two others in the room before addressing Love “My Queen, it’s time.”

She said her goodbyes to the Seamstress, who remembered her that all her nuptial nightgowns were already sent to the Dreaming, and to Desire, who promised her a visit after the honeymoon, which made Love said wouldn’t be necessary, she could visit her in the next day, to which Desire whispered smiling into her ear “Darling, darling, trust me, you will not want to leave your room” Love gasped over her friend answer, but rolled her eyes. Desire was always full of little games to make her anxious.

Elijah spent the last entire week trying to learn everything he could to prepare for a True Wedding. There wasn’t much literature available and the whole ceremony was kind of a mystery. All he gathered was that both Lady Eoster and Lord Morpheus would be invited to Destiny's realm, where it would happen. No guests, no celebrations, just the two of them. Elijah really wished Lord Destiny would allow at least one witness (preferable one cupid, more specifically, him) to accompany Lady Love. After all, the King of Dreams was his sibling, but Lady Love was going on her own. “I am not on my own, my dear cupid. Soon Lord Morpheus will be my husband, and Lord Destiny, my brother-in-law. '' She pointed it out to Elijah. “Yes, my Queen of course, but Lord Destiny is already Lord Morpheus’ brother, by blood” Love stopped in the middle of the pink marble corridor, trying to calm her cupid down. She knew he only meant the best, but the rules were the rules, and she did not want to upset Lord Destiny, even before becoming his in-law. “ Lord Destiny will not be there as Lord Morpheus’ brother, he is the only one that can seal a True Marriage. Please, worry not, my cupid. All is well.” She reached for his hand, squeezing it, before looking in his doubtful eyes.

“Take some time to rest, after all, when we get back, you will also have the Prince of Stories to worry about.” Love tried to lighten the mood, she could not have her own worries and Elijah’s, hers was already overwhelming. “I will be glad to be able to worry for my ladyship and lordship.” He smiled before she asked to enter the Garden of Forking Ways.

Mist covered her eyes, Love squeezed her eyes trying to get a better view of her way. There was only silence, she tried to understand if she was inside the palace or in the actual gardens, since the mist was so dense, she couldn’t see the palm of her hands.

Naturally, she jumped when the deep voice of her host cut through the silence, echoing "Welcome, Queen Eoster, Lady of the Four Loves, Princess of Springs, and Ruler of the Garden of Lovers." As stoic as Love remembered. She made a deep bow "Lord Destiny of the Endless, blessings from the Garden, it's an honor to be accepted in your realm" she couldn’t tell if he heard her, until following a long silence, he said it "Follow me".

Love did as she was told, as she kept walking, her vision adjusted to her surroundings and she realized she was walking in the hallways through his empty palace. Light was getting more scarce, and when he opened a door to a room and made way for her to come inside, there was no light at all, only darkness. If she squeezed her eyes she could see some sparkle of her dress, she questioned herself if Morpheus would be able to see it as well. Maybe she did overdo it. "Lovers, offer your hands to one another" Her heart beating fast, within the silence, Love was certain Lord Destiny would hear it.

She hesitated for a moment. "The eyes do not need to see what the heart already is familiar with." Destiny answered her question before Love could even vocalize it. She offered her open hand to the void in front of her, she felt a cold palm under her hand. As they touched, Destiny continued. "Bonded by life. Terminated by death. Remember spouses, golden ink will tell your tales, but if red ink stained your pages, half of your spirit is the price to be paid.”

Feeling his cold hands against hers, brought Love some relief. Although the lady of springs was certain he was going to be there, to have this assurance, to actually feel him, was something else. They were pen pals turned to pen lovers, but never actually met, until today. It was unusual, but Lord Morpheus said it, and Lady Love agreed that longing made the heart grow stronger. And the bond that they developed, some couples spent eternity failing to build it. Now, they would have the whole eternity to make their longing for each other, worth it.

"If your hearts are true to your feelings, you may now say the sacred vows" Destiny said, his voice sounding permanent as their vows would be.

The beautiful and eternal vows. Dangerous for the weak of flesh and heart. Once they said it, there was no return from it. Love could feel the air thickening, her mouth was dry and she could feel the cold sweat in her hands. Maybe it was the pressure of it all, maybe it was the power of the old rite manifesting along them. She squeezed her fiance’s hands. ‘Give me strength, my love’ she thought, wishing Morpheus could read her mind.

“One soul. One heart. One life. As you are mine and I am yours. I embrace your darkness and worship your light. By the laws written in the Book Before Time, I concede to you my life and devotedly take yours, for I have no essence, no will, no present, past or future if not yours.”

The dense air was suffocating, she could smell blood and iron mixed. Ancient powers. Her head and feet felt light. It was difficult to breathe. She was doing everything she could to keep concentrating “Why can’t I hear him?” Love asked breathlessly, her chest burning. Destiny took, what seemed to be hours to answer “The ears do not need to hear what the heart already knows.” She weakly nodded “Hold onto your loved one, burden him with the weight of the soul, give your regrets, your happiness, your…” She tried to obey, focusing on the instructions, concentrating on what to do, but Destiny's voice drifted away, like she was under deep water drowning trying to hear him speak. Until she didn’t.

When Love returned to herself, the air was no longer thick, nor was it difficult to breathe. The darkness was still there, but that, she realized, was due to her closed eyes. And when she opened them, jumping afraid she might have somehow slept through her own wedding, she fell into the ground. What an embarrassment! Quickly she tried to get up, but her legs failed and her palms got sored from the impact. Her thoughts were only in getting up fast, before Destiny noticed, before Morpheus noticed. How could she do such a thing in front of her husband and her brother in law? She squinted her eyes trying to adjust to the light. ‘Light?’. There was no light. Before, there wasn’t. She blinked. Now, It was too bright. This…Where was she?

Love looked up, facing the surface she felt from. A bed. A room, she was in a room. And It wasn’t Destiny’s realm. Neither it was hers or Desire’s. She supported her elbows in the mattress, raising herself, throwing her body against satin black sheets. It smelt different. She looked to the narrow tall windows from where she could see the grayish skies. Looking around the room, it was a bedroom, but there wasn’t much furniture. A nightstand, a dresser, a tri-fold standing mirror, and the bed.

Love was still in her wedding dress. Her head hurted trying to remember what happened. One minute she was holding hands with her future husband, saying vows…the other. “ My Lady, you are awake” A strange lady entered the bedroom. She didn’t hear her knock. “I am Lucienne, my lady, Lord Morpheus’ librarian '' Love turned her face to the woman. “Lord Morpheus brought you to The Dreaming. A True Marriage can be quite overwhelming.” If she didn’t have bigger concerns, Love would’ve thought that the lady was terrible at small talk. But she was still confused “ You fainted, right after your vows and…Lord Morpheus brought you to the Dreaming. Where you are, right now”. The dark skinned woman explained, as the Queen frowned, raising her body from the covers, and even though she was feeling dizzy, she kept herself sitting. The Dreaming.

His realm. Their realm.

“Here my lady.” The woman gave a cup of a red liquid to her. Love had no idea what it was, but its warm and floral smell was convincing enough to make her take a few sips. Her throat was dry. “Where is he?” Love said before clearing her throat. Her cloudy thoughts started to clear and panic grew inside her “ Is he worried? Please you must tell him that I am well.” Lucienne frowned, taking a few seconds to observe the woman in front of her. From what Lord Morpheus told her, Lucienne imagined an unapologetic seductress, evil grin without an ounce of remorse, very similar to his sibling Desire.

Instead, the Queen was a young woman with lily white skin, green puffy eyes full of worry and the voice hinted with panic. She looked full of innocence, worry and beauty. It was not even a compliment to say it, it was more of a fact “He is well, my Lady. “. It also made a bitter sense to the librarian, on why her king wishes to see her in person in his room, instead of just banishing her forever. He would not let an ambush like this go unpunished.

Morpheus was fine. Furious yes, but well, in terms of physical integrity. He thought Calliope had called for a True Marriage. Not Lady Love. In fact, he only met the queen on one occasion, and she was with his sibling. Probably when they decided to trap him in misery. Lucienne hated that her lord had put her, of all his creations, to deal with his wife. She was not cut for this. Especially when they seemed more lost than mischievous.

“Lord Morpheus sent me to see if you were already awake. I did also send a raven to inform the lovefolk about your whereabouts. I didn’t mention your state, as I didn’t want to worry them. I hope I didn’t step out of my place“ The woman lowered her head in respect. Love was quickly to leave the tea in the nightstand before reaching the librarian’s hand and pulling her into a tight hug “Oh dear Lucienne, you have my eternal gratefulness!” The librarian froze in shock with the sudden and expansive reaction. Love broke their hug only to look into her eyes “Elijah would probably be banging on this door if you had told him.” She jokingly said with a smile. The librarian gave out a sympathetic smile, before darting her gaze uncomfortably.

“Yes? My dear, is there anything else? I hope nothing happened to Lord Morpheus. I surely hoped that I didn’t embarrass him.” Eoster could see the distressed look in the librarian’s face. Love would never forgive herself if anything had happened to her husband. “No, my Lady, Lord Morpheus is fine. He wishes to… see you.” Love followed The librarian’s eyes to the other side of the bed. One of her nuptials gowns perfectly extended. “It arrived early, my lady. I believe Lord Morpheus, want you to…” She left the sentence unfinished, hopeful that the queen would understand.

Eoster opened another smile, face brightening, laughing as she grabbed the fabric and jumped out of the bed, dancing with the fabric, stumbling in her wedding dress.

Lucienne tried to reach for the queen to avoid an accident, but the lady was fast, crossing the bedroom in front of the mirror, trying to undo the tight laces in her back. It didn’t even feel like a few moments ago, she was passed out in the bed. “Lucienn, please help me undress. One should never make a husband wait for the nuptials” As they undid the laces in the back, and got Eoster out of her underskirts, the Queen couldn’t stop talking, which was very different from what the librarian was used to. Dizzy, Lucienne only nodded and gave polite smiles, thank goodness the brown haired maiden didn't expect answers. She was affectionate, talkative, and exceedingly happy. It didn’t match what one would expect of someone who scammed others into marriage. It matched what Lucienne expected of a young maiden absolutely infatuated by her husband, anxious for her wedding night.

Lucienne didn’t know how to feel. Lord Morpheus said she should be careful with Love, but Lady Love was swirling in the corridors, giggling, holding Lucienne by the arm as they were the best of friends, and taking every opportunity at a reflection surface to fix her hair, or her nightgown while walking from her quartels to meet her husband. Love took a deep breath as Lucienne knocked in the door, and gave a final smile and a squeeze in the hand, as the librarian opened the door and Lady Love closed.

Something wasn’t right. That woman was not an evil seductress that had her fun tricking the prince of stories, someone who enjoys playing hurtful games so he could never be truly happily married to his muse. In truth, Lucienne never saw anyone more transparent, guiltless and pure than Lady Love. In fact, she looked like the perfect fit for being misled.

As the door closed and Eoster saw Morpheus, hands in his back, with his usual black attire, happiness filled her heart. She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, pressing a soft chaste kiss in his lips. She waited a few seconds, but he didn’t respond. Neither did he embrace her. Embarrassingly, Love untangled her arms, letting her hand slide through his chest. Morpheus gave such a cold look at her hands that she quickly dropped them to her sides, entangling her fingers, giving a embarrassed small laugh “Pardon me, my lord husband for keeping you waiting”, She offered a small courtesy, thinking that probably he was displeased with her delay. Also giving his queue, to tell her to drop the formalities as they were husband and wife in the purest form. But he didn’t.

They stayed silent for what seemed hours. Morpheus waited for Love to admit what she did, to drop the maiden-in-love act, to take the blame. But she kept stupidly looking at him, he was tense, taking every fiber of himself to not oblige her to admit her sins. He knew Desire and their likes weren’t ever gonna repent, but to keep the act? Why? Why continue this farce? Why prolong his misery? Wasn’t forbid him to take his muse, his true love, as his wife, as the true queen of the Dreaming, enough? ‘Brother, why the long face? You were always moping around about your tragic romances and Eoster was infatuated by you. I only gave her a helping hand. Attending to one’s true desire. Performing my duty. And knowing Love, she will be more than eager to please you’ Morpheus could almost hear Desire’s purring voice from early, when he saw who his bride was and went to his sibling's realm to get some answers on this madness.

He wished to forget that his sibling was family. He wished to cut their throat and spill blood and not care by the mayhem within it.

He turned away from the maiden, walking to the bed. She and Desire came up with this, didn’t they? If Eoster wanted to forcefully be his wife, engaging in treacherous schemes without caring for his feelings in the first place, he wouldn’t care for hers. He couldn’t. How can she call herself the Lady of Love, if she doesn’t respect the love of others, putting her desires in first place?

Eoster followed with her eyes, his way near the bed, as he took his coat off. Her cheeks started to burn, and a sudden fear grow in her stomach. She avoided looking at him, trying to memorize their bedroom. It didn’t have anything special. Narrow tall windows, that let the greyish lights enter the room, it had no dresser, nor tri fold mirror. Love started to realize that Lord Morpheus’s palace was very minimalistic. He would probably be overwhelmed by the amount of art and decoration the bedrooms the Garden had.

Love kept distracting her with decoration thoughts to avoid the uneasiness that was starting to grow in her stomach. Morpheus was…different, from his letters. In them, he was infatuated to say the least, but now, he was cold. He barely acknowledged her, and was already unfastening his belt.

They never talked about carnal unions in their exchanges, the subject felt too intimate to discuss over letters, but she dreamed about being in his arms, heat reaching her core through her inner thighs, hot kisses spread along her curves, Dream molding her for him only and only him. Just like the most lustful and devoted mortals. And she knew he thought of her too, his letters gave hints, but never were explicit.

Love kept herself untouched for her true love. For him. And now, the queen was having second doubts, as he was treating it less like a sacred union and more like an obligation. As he was only expecting her, so they could get over it. “My Lord, I-” Love started to say, when he interrupted her “Lay down.” He looked over his shoulder, indicating the bed. The brunette took a deep breath fearfully looking at the mattress, covered in black satin sheets. She slowly walked to the edge, sitting while smoothing her long white satin nightgown, looking down at the lace pattern in her mid thigh, drawing with her fingers, feeling her cheeks and chest burned in apprehension.

“Lay down.” He said in a low impatient voice. She raised her head as he repeated, he was still fully dressed. She knew what was going to happen and searched her husband’s eyes, looking for some sympathy, some kindness, to embrace her and soothe the fears away, but instead she found his deep blue pupils, those everyone used to say you can see the whole universe, and saw nothing.

There was nothing there for her. He was acting as it was nothing for him. As she was nothing. He was about to take his wife's virginity, to make her entirely and only his. She didn’t know how to question him or how to tell him she did not want them to perform a martial duty, she wanted them to make love.

Lost without words, and feeling his annoyance, she did as told, laying on her back, curls spread in the mattress while she stared at the dark ceiling, knees strongly closed together. “Lady wife” Love raised herself hopefully for some remnant of the man she got to know through the letters. It didn’t go unnoticed that he kept the formal titles between them, but at least he was talking to her. “Are you untouched?”

She felt her face burning. Straightforward. Her husband was very straightforward. She barely nodded her head, feeling somewhat of embarrassment. Love knew it was pathetic to feel embarrassed of something her husband would soon discover, but at the same time, this Morpheus, made her feel like a stupid child.

He took a few seconds, processing the information. “ Waiting for true love, Lord husband”. She hesitantly said it, shrugging it off. It seemed sacred once, but now, it sounded silly. Still she looked hopeful to him, opening a sweet smile as he got close. “This won’t be good for you”. Her smile dropped, It was the last thing he said before grabbing her by the waist pulling her toward him. Eoster let out a surprised gasp. Her head hitted the mattress as she slid in his direction.

Love glanced at her husband, starting to pant, her thoughts scrambled in a pool of hysteria, panic grew into her as she heard the sound of pants being unfastened. Love kept waiting for him with her knees on her chest, as he wasn’t holding her. She lowered her eyes to see why was he taking so long, and caught him stroking himself. “Husband, I can-” She started to offer, when Morpheus let out a frustrated groan, cursing as he turned to look at his wife that resembled a frightened dove, she looked down to the mattress.

He grunted before reaching to the hem of her nightgown, ripping the thin fabric, exposing her all to him. Surprised, Love automatically covered her breasts. Morpheus took her hands out of the way, and she stayed bare under his gaze, hands to her side. He couldn’t deny, she was beautiful. Long silky legs that were going to be his to grab, small pink breasts with hard nipples that desperately wanted to be touched, pink full lips that could scream his name, and beg for him to do sinful things to her. Desire said that Love would be eager to please him, she would probably do as he told her, he could have her anywhere, anytime. His cock twitched at the thought and he stroked it faster, throwing his head back. But wasn’t really Lady Love he imagined doing ungodly things with. It was really Calliope. Love was only there to perform the duty she desperately wanted.

Her husband went back to stroking himself in a pace he seemed to like, squeezing his eyes shut. Love couldn't possibly be more embarrassed. He wasn’t even looking at her, and she didn’t understand why. Was she not what he expected?

Love turned her face away, pressing against the mattress, holding a sob in her throat, and closing her eyes, shivering feeling cold without anything to cover, she didn’t realize how cold the bedrooms could be. She opened her eyes when she felt her husband positioning himself upon her, supporting his elbows on the sides of her head, spreading her uncooperative knees apart. He was still semi-dressed, only his erection exposed, she felt the tip against her folds, as he slowly teases her slit. She could feel her insided clench in anticipation. She was too nervous, swallowing hard and looking at him in desperation. She wasn’t ready.

She knew she needed to be ready, her body was shivering and without even realizing she was gasping scared "Please my lord be gen-" She begged breathless, right before he thrusted deep into her, ignoring the wimps and the way her body tried to squirm away, as he hold her down in place. Love throwed her head back, feeling him stretch her insides. Tears reached her eyes. He didn't give Love anytime to adjust, sliding down and pounding deep into her again. “Pl-please husband” He kept a slow but deep pace, ignoring her loud cries. It wasn’t only unpleasant, it was a burning pain.

Nothing felt as it should feel. She knew her husband was right, it wasn’t going to be good for her. First times usually weren’t. But there were ways to make it more pleasant. Her husband did not seem interested in them. Love knew Morpheus was almost as old as his sister Death, he knew ways to make it better. He just didn’t want to make it pleasant for Eoster.

Tears started flowing down her cheeks. Her arms reached for embracing him, but Dream took both of her wrists, putting them above her head. The grip was firm, too strong, it would leave a mark. "Did you not want to be my queen? " He spitefully whispered into her ear, he didn’t bother looking at her. “Then you take it like a queen.” As his pace grew faster, he took her knee up his shoulder giving him more access to her. She turned her face away pressing against the bed, tears overflowing her eyes, making the vision hazy, her body felt numb, moving with his shoves, sometimes a wimp leaving her lips. Her head felt dizzy, even worse than before.

Morpheus didn’t take long. He spilled his seed inside her, as Love felt him going soft against her. He deflowered her. She was his. Their marriage consummated. And still, Love felt worse than she ever felt. The happiest night of her life and she felt used and dirty, like a courtesan. As he slided out of her, the queen stayed a few seconds in the same position. She didn’t want to move, afraid it would all make it real. She tried to think about how she felt earlier. It seemed like centuries, even if it was a few moments ago, she could not bring herself to feel like before. “Cover yourself, wife” He said as she heard him dress again. "Are you not staying? " Love turned her head to look at him.'' He didn't answer. Something did happen. Something she did. It must be, they got married, he hold her hand, he brought her to the Dreaming. She did something to ruin it. She must have done it.

The Queen reached for the sheets, wrapping herself onto them "Hum, my lord, did I do something wrong? Did I displease you in any matter? Because I can do better, I will learn to please you." He was on the other side of the bedroom, she went to him trying to grab his hand, to beg him for an explanation, any explanation " Please, why are you treating me like this? Why did you change? The let" He snapped his hand out of her, angrily getting closer, staying inches from his wife. "Spare me, wife, of your innocent act! Do you take me for a fool? " His voice hatefully roared to the whole room, and she flinched scared, he didn’t hit her, but sounded furious. She never thought the man who wrote her all those love letters would ever hit her. The man of the letters would also never disgrace her like he did. And still, here they are.

Morpheus took a deep breath, recomposing to his cold self. "I am finished with you. You may now return to your quarters. " Returned to her…These were her quarters! They were husband and wife, they shared a bed! " But I am your wife! " She screamed back, appealing to reasoning. "Indeed, you are, you made sure of it, didn’t you?.” Love looked confused, why was he saying those things?What was the meaning of them? “I pray you tell me husband, I know I can be naive sometimes, but I will do my best to understand, please, where is this coming from?” Morpheus couldn’t believe it. She wanted him to humiliate himself, to admit he falled into a trap, that she and Desire deceive him. He would not let her have this taste.“As my wife you shall do as you are told" She tearfully looked at him “Husband, please, I-” Abruptly he interrupted her, with a tone above the regular “Must I repeat myself?”. She fell silent. Walking past him, she still faced him, one last time, her green eyes asking for forgiveness, even though she didn’t comprehend what she did wrong. He took a glance at het, before turning away. She was still wrapped in the same sheets, as he opened the door, and slammed it closed right behind her.

Love leaned against the door, as she took her breath, before another lump began forming in her throat and she started crying. She did not want to cry in front of him, but she couldn’t contain the tears nor the sobs. Her knees felt weak, still feeling sore, something wet dripping from her, she couldn’t tell if it was his seed or her blood. Used and discarded. She slided against the door onto the ground, not able to support herself. Inside Morpheus could hear his wife crying, but he was not convinced by her act.

It was Lucienne, who heard the lady sobbing and went to her aid. She had received orders to not help her, however, and she thought that when Lord Morpheus reflected upon the subject, he would also agree, she couldn’t let the Queen of the Dreaming, undignified, wrapped in sheets, crying against the door of her husband, like a common whore. She guided the Lady back to the quarters, Lady Love didn’t even know where to find. The librarian helped the queen get into her bed, and offered to send someone to prepare her a warm bath, but she refused. The librarian couldn’t help but noticed the blood stains in the covers Eoster was wrapped. She didn’t want to condemn Lord Morpheus, but…

“ Lucienne?” Her queen whispered, as she grabbed the hand of the librarian that finished tucking her in. “Yes, my queen?” ‘My Queen’, she never expected to be Queen of anyone other than the lovefolk. “ Can’t you stay with me? Lord Morpheus he… I never sleep alone.” The look on her queen’s eyes almost broke Lucienne’s heart.

In a platonic and innocent way, Love’s ladies and lord in waiting were often sharing her bed. It was a common practice in the Garden to have close friends, sleep in the same bed. Truthfully, the only scenario where friends did not share a bed, was when one of them was to receive a lover. Then privacy was expected. “ I’m afraid I can’t, my lady. I’m sorry” Love whimpered while holding her hand. “Please, I am alone.” Lucienne could not stay. She was already disobeying explicit orders, and Lord Morpheus was not in the mood to have his limits tested. “My Queen, try to rest, please.” Against Eoster wishes, the Librarian gave her a sorrowful smile, slowly freeing from the delicate hold of Lady Love, her hand felt soft in the mattress, as she had no more strength. Lucienne couldn't think of any words that would ease her pain, so she left.

In a strange room, on her wedding night, alone. Love realized Dream did not even see her wedding dress. The Seamstress in all the eons of knowledge was wrong. It would never have a stained glass with her image in the Dreaming.

The Lady of Love then turned to her side, doing the only activity she found herself doing in the Dreaming: Crying.

@littlemoistcarrot

@lokigirlszendaya

#the sandman #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless fanfic #morpheus x reader #morpheus x wife #morpheus x ofc #dream of the endless x reader #lord morpheus #eoster #queen of love #sandman netflix #what dreams know about love?

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Two

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Sexual themes. Word count: ~2.5k

Chapter summary: Daemon battles with self doubt and Melessa makes a bold proposition. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have.

Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

Daemon’s thoughts are filled with Melessa when he awakens, his hand lazily slipping beneath the bedclothes to relieve his arousal. Images of shining flaxen hair, rosy petal soft lips and wide cerulean eyes cloud his mind as his fist moves rapidly up and down his hardened cock. 

This is the second time since their meeting in front of the tapestries that he has found himself in this predicament. He’d feel embarrassed were it not the only thing preventing him from marching through the halls of the Red Keep, throwing open the door to her bedchamber and tearing her asunder as he presses her into the mattress.

The memory of the scent of almond oil and rosewater burns hotly in his nostrils. He imagines breathing it in as he presses past her maidenhead, hearing her girlish cries of discomfort as he molds her to him, ruining her for any other man, making her irredeemably his. It’s this that finally sends him toppling over the edge, his skin flushed and breathing ragged, ropes of pearly spend painting his fingers and stomach.

He reaches across to the bedside table to retrieve a cloth and begin cleaning himself up. It’s in this moment of post-peak clarity that he wonders if she’d be better off if he just left her alone. She is such a sweet, delicate little flower. What could the Rogue Prince possibly offer her? It is not in his nature to play the role of the white knight swooping in to save the fair maiden. Would she really have it that bad if she were to simply marry Aemond? A life of predictable neglect awaits her, no doubt, but at least it is one that is safe and comfortable.

No. He is Daemon Targaryen - he takes what he wants, and he wants Melessa. He knows she wants him too, even if she doesn’t realise it yet. He has never been one to shy away from a battle and she would be his most victorious triumph yet. His family have taken so much away from him over the last two decades. It is about time he took something back; they owe him that much.

It is almost noon when Daemon walks out into the training yard. A crowd has gathered to watch Aemond spar with Alicent’s personal guard, Ser Criston Cole, an obvious show for the sake of the visiting Tyrell family. Daemon can’t help but notice with a smirk that Rhaenyra and her sons are absent from the gaggle of spectators. How thoroughly unsupportive. 

As Daemon observes, he is struck by the skill with which his nephew fights. There is a fluidity to his movements which is surprising, considering his impairment. However, it is not Aemond that he is here for. His eyes scan the crowd and he spots it; long, pale blonde hair gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. Melessa. He moves closer, pausing when he sees the portly figure of her father, Moryn, standing beside her. Perhaps not the best idea to engage her in idle chit chat while he is present.

Daemon studies Moryn. He is far too short for a man and obscenely plump. His balding head bears the remnants of graying mousy brown hair, and Daemon wonders if it all migrated south to position itself within the ridiculous mustache which adorns his upper lip. He is quietly grateful that Melessa takes after her mother, and cannot help the titter that escapes him at the thought of this beastly man rutting atop the poor woman.

Looking around, he captures the displeased gaze of Otto. The older man stands facing the spectacle before him, yet his eyes are narrowed with contempt and focused solely on Daemon. Cunt. Daemon sends him a quick wink which causes him to bristle, turning away with a scowl. If only he knew.

As Aemond works to drive Criston backwards, the crowd shifts and disperses, making way for their movements. Daemon is delighted to find himself finally standing next to Melessa.

He takes in her downcast expression, the glassiness of her eyes and tight line her usually full lips are set into. She is bored. Smug satisfaction blossoms across Daemon’s features as he looks down at her with a wry smile.

“Hello again.”

He cannot help but notice the way her face animates as she looks up at him, her blue eyes practically light up as those soft petal lips curve upwards. So she does feel the same way.

“Daemon,” she breathes happily.

“Is your betrothed keeping you entertained? You look positively riveted.”

She sighs, looking away and fidgeting with a lock of her hair. “He hasn’t looked my way once. I doubt he even knows I’m here.”

Of course he doesn’t. She is nothing more than an obligation passed onto him by his mother. Aemond is unable to look beyond his own self interest far enough to notice the beauty of the Highgarden rose before him. Lucky for her, he does.

Feigning concern, Daemon pouts slightly. “Oh? Are you not spending much time together?”

Melessa’s eyes flicker cautiously at the people surrounding them, and she lowers her voice as she speaks to Daemon. “The words you have spoken to me since I arrived here outnumber everyone else’s combined.”

“A pity,” he responds, voice filled with mock sympathy. “Perhaps there is still time for you to find a better suited match? Someone who can help you blossom from the pretty little bud you are now into a beautiful flower.”

“And who might you suggest?” she asks, eyeing him curiously.

He is about to open his mouth to respond when he catches sight of Otto and Moryn making their way towards them. Shit.

“Another time perhaps, my lady.” 

He nods to her, carving a swift path through the crowd, eager to avoid the insufferable presence of his brother’s Hand. He is not yet ready for Melessa to meet the side of him that Otto evokes. She’d be lost to him before he even has her, such is the rage that man inspires.

Daemon does not see Melessa for the rest of the day, but her absence allows him to put into action a plan that has been brewing inside his head ever since she admitted to Aemond’s neglect of her.

He has a servant fetch him a dozen red roses from the gardens, arranged neatly in a bouquet. A heavy-handed gesture, considering she is from Highgarden and likely sick of the sight of the damnable things. However, he feels the message he intends to include more than makes up for such thoughtlessness.

“To a beautiful bud: I hope you find someone that makes you bloom.”

He smirks to himself as he re-reads the scrap of parchment, rolling it up and tucking it into the bouquet. Just innocent enough for plausible deniability should anyone question his intentions - a simple congratulatory gift from the Prince’s Uncle, absolutely not a ploy to suggest she have him instead.

Daemon waits until the following morning to seek Melessa out again, holding the bouquet behind his back once he finds her. Predictable little thing she is, he knows exactly where to look for her. She sits on a stone bench in the gardens, leaning slightly back on her palms. Her pale hair falls in soft, loose waves down her back as the delicate features of her face are turned upwards towards the sun, eyes closed as she basks in its warmth.

She is doubtless missing the lush greenery of home, so the Red Keep’s gardens provide her a much needed sanctuary from the barren stone labyrinth that is King’s Landing. Dragonstone is even more desolate and gray than the capital. He wonders how she will fare on an isle where nothing grows.

Tendrils of doubt niggle at him as he watches her. She is so full of girlish exuberance. Is he really being fair in pursuing her? Will a life with a battle-hardened man twice her age not snuff out her carefree innocence? He supposes it will die a slow and painful death surrounded by the Hightowers and their miserable brood, anyway - a blossoming flower slowly being strangled by invasive weeds. He can at least offer it a quick and relatively pain-free end.

Clearly aware she is being watched, Melessa opens her eyes, turning her head to face him.

Daemon cannot help but feel a little irritated that he has been robbed of the opportunity to initiate the encounter, such has become the dynamic of their relationship; he enjoys catching her unaware. He knows deep down that his irritation stems from embarrassment. He is not usually one to stand around gawking, and yet he has been caught doing just that.

His entire demeanour visibly softens, his shoulders relaxing and a faint smile playing upon his lips the moment he sees her light up in his presence. The apples of her cheeks look full and positively velveteen as she grins excitedly. The lack of demureness would surely earn her a scolding from a septa. It is improper, vulgar even, for a lady to smile like that at a man, and yet he is delighted by it. He has made her look like that, no one else, just him.

“A pleasure to see you again, petal.” The pet name is saccharine as it tumbles from his lips and he is quietly pleased when she doesn’t recoil at it.

“And you, Daemon,” Melessa replies, rising from the bench and walking towards him. The grin has left her face, yet her eyes continue to shine with excitement. “A wonderful morning to be in the gardens.”

“Yes, quite,” he smirks. “I’d heard a radiant flower had rooted itself here and had to come and see for myself.”

“Oh, really? Might I help you find it?” She cocks her head, her pretty face a mask of curiosity as she gazes up at him wide-eyed.

Daemon has to suck his teeth to suppress the laugh attempting to force its way out of him. Precious little darling doesn’t understand his innuendo at all. How sweet. His eyes travel the length of her body appreciatively before returning to her face.

“Yes, let’s walk,” he decides. It would be far better to bestow his gift upon her away from prying eyes. He is beginning to feel foolish standing with one arm obscured behind him.

He takes the liberty of placing his free hand on the small of Melessa’s back as they walk, smirking to himself when she makes no attempt to stop him.

“I have something for you,” he says, coming to a stop and turning to face her once he is satisfied they’ve ventured far enough away from the Keep.

Daemon produces the bouquet from behind his back and sees her grin for the second time that day. The excitement in her eyes is palpable as they shift from the bouquet to his own gaze. He inhales sharply. That bloody grin. There is something wickedly dirty about it, and the worst part is that she is wholly unaware of it. It leaves him longing to press her up against the nearest wall and do everything in his power to wipe it from her face. The lust it stirs within him feels almost suffocating.

“They are beautiful. Thank you.”

The sincerity of her gratitude makes him feel like he has just gifted her the stars in the sky. Daemon stands a little straighter, basking in her gratitude. 

She reaches to take the roses from him and he lets her, taking note of the fact that she doesn’t wait to be offered them. Typical behaviour of a spoiled highborn lady. Impatient little thing, she is. It is nothing that can’t be fucked out of her, though.

“I suspect you have been overwhelmed by gifts from my nephew since your arrival, but I wanted to show a token of my own appreciation.”

He watches as she circles a dainty index finger around the petals of a rose. He cannot help but wonder if she touches herself with such care. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other as the thought causes his cock to stir in his breeches. Melessa’s voice snaps him out of his reverie.

“He hasn’t, actually,” she says solemnly, still focusing on the flowers. “Aemond and I don’t spend time together unless it is arranged by his mother or grandfather.”

Daemon is thoroughly unsurprised by her revelation. Aemond doesn’t strike him as the classically romantic type, likely never making her grin the way that he has twice. He likes to think that that is a smile that’s just for him.

“You must be positively bereft,” he teases. “I am glad I am able to make up for his most tragic shortcomings.”

He watches as she plucks the note from between the flowers, taking the bouquet back from her so that she may unfurl the parchment between dainty fingers and read it. If she catches the meaning behind his message, she does not show it.

She fixes him with a steady, unblinking stare, full of seriousness. “Perhaps you could make up for all of them?”

Daemon swallows thickly. Hot prickles of panic dancing along his spine, in spite of his stoic exterior. “And how would you like me to do that?” 

He already knows what she is going to say, but there is a small part of him that is hoping she won’t. Her next utterance hits him harder than any strike from a sword ever has.

“I could marry you instead.”

The jut of her jaw, the look of determined defiance that is almost a silent challenge brings him back to fifteen years previous. “Take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife.” He’d felt the same dread and panic when Rhaenyra had propositioned him, and he had fled. Could he do the same to Melessa? It would be cruel to abandon her after having pursued her so avidly and actively encouraging her distaste for Aemond. But at the same time, is marrying him instead really the right thing for her?

“Is that really what you want?” he asks, searching her expression for any hint of hesitation. He sees none.

“Yes.” Her reply is instant. “I have enjoyed your company far more than I have enjoyed Aemond's. We are a better match. I know you have the power to make it happen.”

So, the delicate flower is fearless. Daemon is quietly impressed by her. He has run from what he wanted once before. He will not make the same mistake again.

“Very well,” he says, passing the bouquet back to her. “I shall make it so.”

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