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earlgreydream · 4 months

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His. | Loki x reader smut

I finally the Loki tv show… this does NOT have any spoilers, it’s set on Asgard with a newly appointed king and his coronation gift…

cw: d/s

“Leave any traces of fear in this room.” The command was clear, spoken sharply by a royal attendant.

Your gaze didn’t leave the fragrant water of the bath you knelt in, the attendant taking care to wash every inch of your skin. Other women pulled fluttering silks from a wardrobe, lying it out for you and finding jewelry to match. So much led to this moment, and yet it didn’t seem real — anticipation and anxiety buzzing in your head. You’d been told once already to contain the obvious fear that lingered in your chest, but the daunting task of doing so seemed impossible when your fate was waiting on a silver platter, the moment you left the private chamber you were being bathed in.

“Come, out of the water before your skin wrinkles,” you were hauled to your feet, wrapped in towels and rubbed down by several girls with movements so quick, you were barely left time to react.

Hands massaged your tense limbs, covering them in oils that bloomed with exotic scents, leaving your skin gleaming. At the same time, your hair was fixed, emeralds — his favorite — twisted into the locks and fastening to bare your neck.

“It’s customary to dress her in white,” a handmaiden spoke of you as if you were not there.

“The prince prefers black.” The will of your all-powerful god silenced any protest, everyone moving to do his bidding.

The women fretted — you had to be perfect for him. They prepared you to be presented to the god, as a divine gift to honor the crown prince of Asgard. You were bathed, decorated, and dressed, all to please the god you were gifted to, an expectation that you’d been bred for. It was a great honor to be taken from the hills, to the castle of the gods, to walk amongst the divine, even if it meant your role was to do as your master saw fit, obeying every command. You had come to terms with it, knowing that upon prince Loki’s rise to the throne, you were the sacrifice — the gift — of the kingdom, a promise of good fortune and favor granted in return.

It all seemed like a far-away, distant dream in a future that would never come. Despite that, here you were, relinquishing your whole self to Asgard’s throne. You had never met the god, and never seen him up close. Of course you’d heard the stories, the wrath and prowess of the young prince, and even seen him from a distance — but being in his presence was something entirely new, before being expected to spend the rest of time at his mercy.

Asgardian silk draped over your skin, so light you wouldn’t know it was there. Your decency was concealed beneath expensive black fabric, hiding what was only meant for Loki to see in the moments after this. The handmaidens’ fussing finally ceased, ending the long evening of preparation.

“Come with me, and do as you’re told,” the woman in charge ushered you forward, opening the chamber doors, releasing you out of known captivity into unpredictability.

You swallowed the fear in your throat, steps silent as you followed her to the throne room, the festivities growing louder as you approached your fate. Before you were given a moment to hesitate, you were led into the cavernous room of gold and heavenly magic.

All at once, it fell silent as soldiers escorted you to the throne. There he was — the god himself, draped over his golden throne. Loki was the only one adorned finer than you, a golden helm atop his onyx waves, wild cerulean eyes that bore straight into your soul.

“Your majesty, a gift in exchange for your benevolence,” the ceremony’s representative from your kingdom presented you to Loki, a hand on your shoulder forcing you to kneel before the throne.

A dangerous smile curved the god’s lips, placing his scepter aside as he rose to his feet.

“A very generous gift indeed,” Loki’s lyrical voice wrapped around your throat, stealing the air from your lungs.

He was impossibly tall and lean as he approached you, toned muscles visible even through the heavy layers of leather and gold that adorned his figure. Loki was no mere prince, but a god of mischief, holding an entire world in the palm of his delicate hand. A dark mischief glittered in his eyes, the gorgeous royal leaning down to look closely at you.

He tilted your chin up, looking him directly in the eye, immediately disarmed and vulnerable as you did so. His expression changed almost imperceptibly, gone from his eyes in a flash as he looked away from you, addressing the court who had handed you over.

Your ears were ringing too loudly to hear what he said, your head spinning. A solider moved to guide you to sit at the base of the throne, at Loki’s feet, when you were suddenly snapped back into the present moment.

“You will not lay a hand on what is mine!” Loki’s shout thundered through the chamber, stopping the man before he could touch you.

The soldier quickly fell back, recognizing the lethal danger of disrespecting Loki. An entire room held its breath, the seconds agonizing, exhaling only when Loki motioned for festivities to resume.

Despite the advice to hide your fear, Loki could practical feel your startled fright. Everything else blurred into the background, the celebration entertaining itself, leaving you and Loki at the center of your own universe.

Loki leaned down with an outstretched hand, his expression softening as you met his gaze. He had not yet spoken directly to you, but you didn’t need instruction to place your hand in his, allowing his strength to move you forward. Loki guided you to kneel at his feet as he resumed his place on the throne, slotted between his long legs.

Delicate fingers gently tilted your chin to look up at him, the touch startlingly gentle, a stark contrast to what you’d been warned of.

“There is a long night of festivities ahead, you may rest on me if you grow weary,” Loki granted you permission to lie your head against his thigh, to sink back into the new shelter.

You gave a small nod of understanding, looking back down as his attention was demanded from another round of celebration.

Despite the dizzying commotion of Loki’s ceremony, your limbs became heavy and keeping your eyes open was a losing battle. Loki peered down at you as you slowly laid your head against his leg, letting your exhausted body rest for the first time.

A fierce desire to protect you swelled in Loki’s chest, suddenly cross with the noise and lights that combatted your sleep. As he continued to entertain offerings of exotic fruits and tributes from his kingdoms, Loki moved a leg in front of you, glaring at anyone who so much as looked too long in your direction.

He couldn’t imagine how drained you were, to sleep through the chaos. Your weight rested against his leg, though you didn’t let yourself fully drift into deep sleep, some part of you making sure that you were upright, not wanting to displease him.

Loki carefully supported you as he stood, lifting you off the floor with godly strength. The festivities continued without him — kings, gods, and valkyrie reenacting stories of battles and playing with magic in the great halls.

He’d had quite enough of the noise and empty affection, and desired nothing more than some quiet time alone with his offering.

“Careful,” he warned softly as you began to stir, strengthening his grip to keep you from falling.

“M’sorry,” you mumbled, your first words spoken in a haze of exhaustion.

“It’s alright, you’re free to rest,” Loki laid you down on his bed the moment you entered the privacy of his chambers.

Golden floors were etched in sweeping illustrations of history and mythology, telling the stories of your god beneath the bed draped in dark green silks. Huge doors opened to a veranda, a summer breeze ruffling the curtains, allowing glimpses of glittering astronomy overhead.

Your mind yearned to stay awake, to learn your surroundings and stay vigilant in the presence of Loki. Despite that, your body screamed for sleep, sinking into the soft bedding he had placed you on.

Loki watched you sleep.

Exhaustion kept your body rigidly still, not moving once the entire night. You stayed curled up in the very corner of the expansive bed, out of reach of Loki, who eventually took his place as the sun cracked the horizon.

The only indication you were real, was the gentle rise and fall of your back as you breathed. As you slept, the frightened expression vanished from your face, softening the your features. Loki couldn’t take his eyes off of you, studying your almost peaceful face.

Loki drifted in and out of sleep, not bothering to wake you after such a late and overwhelming night. You must have been weary, because you couldn’t have been comfortable, making yourself as small as possible at the very edge of the bed, not wanting to take up too much of Loki’s space.

You slowly opened your eyes, sunlight streaming in through the open veranda. The morning seemed impossibly peaceful, despite waking up into a new life of servitude. This didn’t feel like what you’d expected — waking up in a comfortable bed with the warm sun on your face, the scent of breakfast wafting from a huge spread on the chamber’s dining table.

“Good morning, darling,” Loki’s voice was much softer in the privacy of the chambers, without an audience.

You sat up, looking over as he stood from a couch, setting aside a novel. He was more relaxed, wearing loose black linen, his hair tied up loosely.

“Hi,” you whispered, at a loss for words — partially in awe of how gorgeous he was, and partially cautious, as if he were a cobra waiting to strike at any wrong move.

He watched as you observed your surroundings, inspecting your golden cage in the light of day. Loki’s chambers were beautiful, bright, and serene. It seemed so divorced from the perception you had of the god before being let in to the most private part of his existence. Loki moved smoothly throughout the room, delicate hands attached to a lean, muscular body. Loki’s face was sculpted out of marble, so stunningly beautiful it left you breathless. Green eyes pierced straight into your soul, laid bare when he looked at you.

“Eat something,” he gestured to the feast at the table, as if he were the devil, offering food to a goddess to keep captive in his lair forever.

It was your job to obey, your body moving before your mind even considered protest. The shimmering gown you were wearing the night before swept the floor as you walked, Loki admiring how beautiful you were, even slightly disheveled.

You hesitantly took a berry from the table, bringing it to your lips, licking the sweetness off your fingertips. The sight stirred something inside of Loki, his gaze focusing on the contours of your body that were visible through the just-sheer parts of the fabric draped over you.

“Master?” You could feel the weight of his gaze, invisibly drawing you to him.

Loki stepped toward you, pleased as you sank to your knees without any encouragement, easing into his submission. You wanted it, needed it, like your lungs needed air. A shimmer of green made your clothing disappear, baring you fully to Loki’s intoxicated gaze.

“Look at you, fit for a god,” he praised, slowly circling you as you kneeled, appreciating you from every angle.

“Only for you, master.”

“Loki,” he permitted you to call him by name, a request that pulled the corners of your lips up with small satisfaction.

The floor was cold beneath your knees, and your skin began to prick beneath a cool breeze from the veranda. Loki swelled over the recognition that you were his, and his alone. He was hard in the loose linen pants, eager to claim full ownership of you in such an intimate way. You willingly surrendered to him, practically desperate for him to take you, to consummate your submission to the god.

Your hands smoothed up the solid muscles of Loki’s thighs — limbs you wish to be bent over — before clutching the linen waistband and dragging down his trousers. The sight of him hung heavy made your mouth water and your cunt throb, desire swirling in your belly.

“Go ahead. Touch me as you please, I’m as much yours as you are mine,” Loki murmured, realizing you were waiting for permission, to do as you were told.

Long fingers wove into your hair, cradling the side of your head, pulling only slightly as you licked the tip of his cock, sending a shock up his spine.

He leaned back against the wall, smirking as your left palm flattened over his toned abs to brace yourself, pleased that you were trusting his words.

“Gods,” Loki swore when you took him in your mouth, letting him push you down until he was filling your throat.

Pretty tears welled at your lashes at his size, your throbbing need beginning to smear between your thighs. Your free hand worked what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, your tongue dragging up his shaft. He was both long and thick, his skin like velvet on your tongue. It was a feat to take even half of him in your mouth, and you moaned and the thought of him fucking you, and how you’d beg to take it all.

“If worshipping my cock makes you wet enough to drip on my floor, I’ll let you do it every morning,” Loki purred with a grin, clearly taking notice of the effect he had on your body.

“Please,” you whimpered respectfully, dragging your fist up his length, giving your mouth a break.

“I’m close, darling, you’re doing beautifully,” he praised, watching your thighs squeeze together at his words.

“I want to come in that gorgeous mouth, feel myself in your throat.”

You tilted your head back just a bit, both to gaze up into his eyes and to let him in deeper. A low whine vibrated around his cock as his hand wrapped around your throat, gently squeezing.

“Fuck,” Loki hissed, spilling over into your mouth, filling your senses with his salty taste.

“Swallow it,” Loki commanded, and you were all too willing to obey, wanting to please him.

His thumb swiped over your lips, cleaning up the bit of mess he made, kneeling in front of you as you both caught your breath.

“Was that okay?” the question slipped out before you could stop yourself, puzzling Loki.

“Of course, it was perfect. Haven’t you done it before?”

“No, I’ve been kept pure for you,” you answered, earning a profane string of Norse as his dick twitched.

“You’ve made me insatiable,” Loki pressed a quick, messy kiss to your mouth that was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“No!” Loki shouted, standing up, displayed in his full glory to the guard who opened the door.

The furious god stood in front of you, blocking any eyes from catching even a glimpse of your body.

“Get out, now, or I shall have your eyes torn out!” Loki thundered, fiercely possessive over you.

“I’m so sorry, your highness. Odin has called on you—”

A sharp burst of Loki’s magic sent the man flying backward with a yell, the door slamming shut behind him.

“I’m sorry-” you began, as if you needed to apologize for being nude.

“I will never let anyone else touch you, see your body, or covet what is mine.”

A warmth spread through you at the words, taking his hand to stand up. He took a cloth, carefully cleaning you up, before guiding you into a closet that was full of the finest Asgardian fabrics.

“We’ll continue this later, darling, but for now, you’ll accompany me on whatever nonsense I’m being summoned for,” Loki explained, moving to dress himself as he left you to choose what maids had left for your arrival.

You chose green, pleasing the god as you adorned his colors, another sign of your growing devotion. Loki kissed your wrist, before a band of gold appeared in a shimmer, bringing a smile to your face.

He wordlessly led you out of his chambers, a hand at the small of your back. Being with him was intense — but the castle and all of its people was overwhelming. You found yourself leaning into Loki’s side, away from the noise of shouting and chaos of the everyday happenings.

He looked up from the throne to see what was bothering you before pulling you to sit between his legs where you could sink back into him and ignore the noise.

“We’ll leave as soon as I’m finished. Until then, you can entertain yourself by picturing what I’m going to do to your precious little pussy,” Loki whispered against the side of your face, gently nipping your ear.

You shuddered against his chest, feeling him chuckle beneath you as his arm tightened on your waist. Warmth flushed your cheeks and you turned your face into his arm, shy at the filthy words from Loki. He could feel your heart racing inside your ribs, anxious to tear the emerald gown from your body.

You were lost in your thoughts when Loki banished everyone from the expansive throne room, giant doors embedded with gemstones slamming shut, sealing you alone with him.

“Now, where were we?” Loki asked, mouthing hot kisses along your neck and shoulder.

“I believe you were about to fuck me, Loki,” you chirped.

“I love hearing those dirty words on your lips, all for me.”

“Only you,” you promised, closing the gap as he hovered above you.

The kiss was heady, his tongue warm and dominating as he pushed it past your lips. The sensation nearly distracted you from his hands, that were tearing the fabric around your torso, letting it flutter to the floor in shimmering pieces.

“I’m going to fuck you here, on this throne, like a proper king.”

You parted your legs, letting his hand drop between them. Loki smirked into your neck as he cupped your sex, feeling how wet you were, desperate for him as heat radiated from your center.

He didn’t bother to turn you over, perfectly happy to fuck you while you were on top of him, lying on his chest as he sat upon his throne. He glided his cock along your wet lips, only a moment until you were squirming with desperation.

He wanted to hear you beg, but even he couldn’t wait any longer, slowly sinking into you, every inch stretching you impossibly further. The sweet sting made you cry out, your head dropping back on his shoulder when he nestled himself fully inside you.

“You’re perfect for me,” Loki praised through gritted teeth, fighting not to slam into you like an animal. He could feel your walls throbbing around him, muscles burning as they were forced to take the stretch to fit him inside — and you loved it.

You doubted anything would ever feel so good, until his hips started to roll forward, the god fucking you deep and slow, holding your body against his chest. He buried his face in your shoulder, soaking up your squeals of pleasure as he lost himself in you.

Before he even thought to play with you, your cunt began to clench around him with an impending orgasm. Your startled whimper shot straight to Loki’s dick, and he fucked you harder, unable to help himself.

“Come around me, darling, let me know how good you feel,” Loki urged, nearly spilling into you as you trembled in his arms, coming with a scream that echoed off the walls.

“There you go,” he murmured, twitching before he filled you with his seed, painting your insides with him.

Your breaths were ragged and uneven, mind completely foggy in the aftermath. He breathed in your scent as he stayed inside you, preserving the moment for as long as possible.

“I’m yours, forever,” you whispered, as if reading his mind.

#loki smut #loki #loki avengers #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki smut oneshot #loki imagine smut #loki imagine #avengers #marvel #loki fic #loki fanfiction #avengers au #loki fluff

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ew-selfish-art · 9 months

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Dp x Dc AU: Not exactly a meet cute between Jazz and Jason.

Jason's had a long night of beating the shit out of a gang that dared to sell in his territory, the last thing he needs is the Bats on his tail. He can always sense them when he leaves Crime Alley- they watch for him. Waiting for him to fail. It pisses him off.

So Jason shakes his tail, he's pretty sure it's the demon brat, parks his bike, removes his helm and heads into the loudest bar he can find, ditching his mask along the way. There are no camera's and there was no one watching, so Jason just looks like any other angry frat guy at the bar. Well, he supposes that the Leather jacket might be a stand out.

He grabs a drink, and looks at the time. Jason just needs to wait out the chance that a baby bird saw his bike and hope that curfew kicks in before this has to be a 'conversation'. Besides, the music is good and despite all the people, the crowd is pretty behaved.

"Hi! I'm so glad you're here!" A woman approaches, he can tell she's had a few drinks from her walk but her eyes scream sobriety and fear. She's tall in her flats, her hair looks disheveled (from dancing maybe) and her outfit screams 'this is the one fun black top I own'. She's beautiful and her approaching him might've been a wet teenage dream if his suspicions weren't immediately raised.

"I certainly am here." Jason replies, a smirk set into his features easily and as he straightens out his back he can see the three men watching the back of her head like predators. They're wearing super lame white hoodies and coats, like they're organized somehow.

"That's why you're my hero! Always ready to grab me at a moment's notice! Any chance you'll be good to leave after you finish that drink?" Her eyes are pleading but she keeps the same happy smile and joyful tone the whole time.

"Nah, no worries about the drink. It was cheap and I was just getting bored with it anyway. " Jason explains, setting his glass down on the counter. He's mentally photographed the three creeps, "Did any of your friends also need a ride home?"

"Nope! They all got in an uber... without me. So they'll be just fine!" She explains and there is an anger in her eyes that clearly meant she was telling the truth. Her hands are straightening out his jacket collar, making it look like they're more comfortable with each other than just strangers. She lays her hands flat on his chest once her task is completed and Jason feels his throat go dry.

"I'm always telling you to find better friends. Now c'mon, I parked out back." he wraps an arm around her waist, though its not tight, and peers over his shoulder. These guys weren't going to leave without a fight it seems, Dumb, Dumbie and Dumber are all watching her with evil in their eyes.

The two of them walk out and before she can even say thank you, the door swings back open and she's sucker punched one of the assholes and Jason's pulled his gun out for the other two.

"You gents are gunna go home, or you're gonna end up in the dirt. Pick." Jason growls. Not taking him seriously at first, he shoots one dudes foot and the last one standing looks like he might pass out. He picks up his fallen comrades and backs away into the bar.

"For ancients sake those dudes were trying to traffic the hell out of me." She sighs, and Jason holsters his gun.

"Yeah no shit. You okay?" Jason inquires.

"I will be. I'm Jazz, thanks for saving me Hood."

"I'm no-"

"You're literally leaning comfortably on Red Hoods motorcycle that still has his helmet perched on it. No one would do that unless they were suicidal or him." She challenges, but then a look changes in her eyes and she almost looks nervous "But still, do you uhm, wanna get out of here?"

He blinks. She was trying to pick him up? AFTER finding out he was a crime lord??

The answer is that yes, Hell Yes, Jason does want to get out of here. None of the Bats will bother him while he has a civilian, not at the diner he takes her too and certainly not while he's taking her back to one of his safe houses.

Jason had expected one of his siblings to show up in the morning and cause a ruckus. He hadn't planned for a dude to let himself into his kitchen screaming about government agencies tracking Jazz down that wasn't related. Turns out it's her brother and he's floating and no he's not going to explain why he's there or how he found them.

Jazz has a lot to explain to the both of them and it starts with "So I can admit that I have a thing for motorcycle guys-"

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc crossover #dp crossover #anger management ship #anger management #jazz fenton #jason #long post #your honor there is no way in my mind that these two aren't bangin within 24 hours of meeting #the chemistry is there #jazz was being followed by the giw and jason saves her #jazz is literally in love from that point forward #she has a type and he checks all her boxes your honor #danny just wants his sister safe but he will shovel talk the zombie later

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my-writings-and-musings · 11 months

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Transformers ROTB

Fluffy Mirage x Reader

I have no more thoughts, there is only Mirage. I already posted a fic of him to my 18+ blog, but I love seeing this mech being a cute little nerd as well. Please enjoy this fic where reader wakes up at night for a drink and Mirage doesn't want to stop snuggling.

Fair warning there might be quite a lot of ROTB content incoming!

Unexpected thirst woke you from your deep sleep rather quickly, thrusting your bleary mind into an environment it didn't immediately recognize. Panic had no time to set in before you realized you were in your garage, with a thoroughly demolished couch below you and a very affectionate bot snoozing away at your back. The two of you must have fallen asleep after turning off the TV...

Mirage made a small sound at your back before curling more tightly around you, pulling the arm he had under your middle close to secure your back snugly against his front as he murmured something snarky in his dreams. Smiling at the adorableness, you realized rather swiftly that getting up for a drink without waking the sleeping bot would be a challenge. You weren't being held especially tightly, but the soldier was a light sleeper, and the smushed couch remains beneath you were rather noisy when disturbed. Were you not so thirsty, you'd have just settled back into his arms and gone to sleep.

Deciding to try your luck, you began scootching your way downwards to try and ease out of the mech's grip, moving slowly so as not to brush any part of him along the way. Mirage continued to twitch as he dreamt, snoring lightly as you tenderly pushed his arm away from your middle. Once you got free and began inching away from the warm little nest the two of you had created, it occurred to you that the mech had probably pulled you close after you'd fallen asleep but before doing so himself, as the last thing you remembered was resting your eyes while sitting on his lap.

The affection stirred by that thought compelled you to turn around for a look at him recharging in all his adorableness, and you smiled before continuing your crawl. It would be delightful to return to his arms after facing this cold open air...

A loud creak from the smushed springs and wood beneath your knees made you freeze, heart skipping as you looked back in a rush.

Mirage awoke with a start, optics onlining with a few quick blinks before he focused on you and calmed considerably, alarm fading to sleepy confusion. "Babe?"

"I'm just going to get some water, be back in a second." you explained gently, moving in to plant a quick kiss on his forehelm. To your surprise, the speedster pulled you in without a word, hugging you back against his chassis as if you were a cat. Sputtering in surprise, you allowed yourself to be smushed with only moderate flailing, so accustomed to being handled you no longer felt too off put even when caught off guard.

"Nooooo, don't go..." he whined softly, playfully tightening his grip on you as if he never intended to let go. The sleepy antics were quite in character, and you only rolled your eyes as he nuzzled his helm against yours, mussing up your hair in the process. You accepted the affection for a few moments before trying to pull yourself away once more, throat protesting yet again for a drink.

"I'm only going to the kitchen." you reminded him, the door to the room in question quite literally within sight. In just the time he'd taken for these antics you could have been halfway done with your task, thanks largely to the tiny size of the adjoining house, but logic rarely kept Mirage from doing much of anything. In fairness, you'd have been happy to go back to sleep were you not still so thirsty. The lovable bot was very good at cuddling.

"Hmmm, fine..." he conceded with dramatic disappointment, releasing you before crossing his arms and pouting. As soon as you crawled away he upped the ante, wrapping his arms about himself and shivering pathetically and putting on the most over the top puppy optics you'd ever seen. "Brrrr, so cold... hope I don't freeze out here all alone."

"You'll survive until I get back." you promised with a roll of your eyes. Certain he was pouting at the back of your head the entire way, you quickly crossed the furbished garage and slipped into the dark house, using the ample moonlight to guide you through the dark kitchen. After grabbing a much needed glass of water and finishing it with a few greedy gulps, you hurried back to the garage, eyes slightly more adjusted to the dark by the time you opened the door. You doubted the entire affair took more than two minutes.

"Oh, Y/N, is that you? It's been so long..." Mirage said with mock weakness from the far side. Curled up in a pitiful position he'd obviously posed for maximum effect, the speedster shivered as if he'd been left abandoned for hours, the mock pain in his optics barely covering the mischevious delight in their depths.

"I was gone for five minutes." you reminded him with a yawn, wanting nothing more than to curl up in the flattened couch once more. It was surprisingly comfortable for something multiple bots had reduced to a pile of stuffing, but the mech you shared it with probably had a lot to do with that.

"Nearly enough time for me to freeze to death. Now get back here, I need my little space heater." Mirage said, abandoning his act to beckon you over.

"Letting that go because I'm so tired..." you promised, rubbing your eyes as you crawled back onto the couch remains. The mech eagerly assisted you, helping to bring your back against his front just as you'd been before whilst he snagged a spare blanket to lay over your shoulders. Being pulled in close allowed you to feel the subtle warmth that radiated from his own frame, as well as the tender hum of his spark and the gentle caress of his EM field brightening at your presence. When he looped his arm around your front once more, you happily hugged it close, and his demeanor softened all around you.

"Mmm, much better." he purred, curling about you as the both of you settled in once more. Loosely holding his hand, you snuggled against him and began to drift off once more, smiling as he murmured a final goodnight after thinking you were already asleep. "Sweet dreams, bunkmate."

#transformers #maccadam #tf #mirage x reader #rotb mirage #transformers rotb #tf rotb #rotb #human reader #self insert #transformers x reader #x reader #tf imagines #fluff #mirage #rotb x reader #bayverse

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chosokamosbf · 3 days

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ᑎIGᕼT ᒪIT ᗪEᔕIᖇE.

☆ 18+ only/no minors. | jason todd x gn! reader.

SUMMARY: a nsft fic waking up jason from a nightmare by bringing him to the edge

WARNINGs: 18+, (consensual) somnophilia, gn! reader, (jason receiving) oral, nightmares, minor mentions of blood and scarring.

WORD COUNT: 1600+

NOTEs: second person & no plot. ["babe/baby," and no pronouns used to refer to the insert/reader.]

Sprayed over silk sheets of a bed with more than enough space, in your all-consuming unconsciousness, your body managed to wedge itself in close to your boyfriend, where your head is settled right in the empty space of his shoulder. The weather hasn't been kind of as late, and so all fabrics other than the blankets pushed to the very edge of the mattress hours ago are short to combat the heat.

It hasn't helped much. The fan Jason had set up on your side to turn in place is losing the war as you're both covered in sweat. It isn't made any better by the fact he's been using that shoulder to cradle your head from underneath, the rest of the arm resting over your chest.

The deepening of this velvet night is broken to a steady close as he stirs hard enough to knock you out of that position.

You slowly blink the fog from your mind and rub the crust from your eyes with the one arm that isn't being partially buried under his weight.

The city pours in through even the smallest cracks between the curtains, enveloping their own designated areas in multicolored amalgamations of beams formed from sirens and electrified billboards nearby. It seeps over the sheets until it's reached the ceiling, leaving Jason's arms painted in its light, giving a full show of just how much they're twitching.

The other couple in the complex, whom you have gotten to know real well from their screaming matches (as muffled as they may be), seated only a few apartments away, have nothing on how loud his heaving is getting.

His face is turned away now, and you get up on your elbows to find pale lids pinched tightly together, brows in a deep, settled frown. It's not a far cry from what usually makes him intimidating under the helm, but there's a pout pulling at his lips all the while.

Recently, there's been no notable injuries, but his hands have found either one of his arms just to hold them steady and prod his fingers into anyway.

Sometimes your voice is enough alone to call him out of his head with how much he loves it. "Jason?"

He stays in place, and you sit up to speak his name into the night again while your fingertips trail down an arm.

This time around, a groan answers your inquiry.

His forehead is slick with a growing layer of sweat. The white tank top he was just teasing you about after catching wandering eyes earlier in the night is stuck to his broad chest, and barely is it settling with every pant.

"Jason, you okay?"

It's always an uphill race with the few hours of rest he's allowed in between 'work.' Some days are better than others, and this clearly isn't one of them.

If plain intuition is serving you well, it's another nightmare.

Your teeth catch on your lower lip. "Baby?"

Rationality by damned, your voice stays weak as the thought of waking him up properly stays just that, a thought.

At worst, Jason's going to get moody if you interrupt his sleep, and he'll carry that over into the morning. Sure, he's trying to get better at communicating, but leaving behind the go-to of never doing just that has given way to taking hours to open up. Still, he doesn't seem like he's enjoying the dream.

There are a thousand or so possibilities as to what this one is exactly about, and you don't need to be a genius to know that he might head straight to the bathroom to get rid of the nasty pit in his stomach by the end of it. As much as you'll usually do your best to help out yesterday's dinner and hold his hair up if need be, there has to another option.

And there is.

Unconventional as it may be, you've talked about it before. When exactly is a fuzzy memory. At best, it stirred from another night of endless rambling, something to fill the silence when you both were left awake.

Most others he's all by himself when he gets back. It isn't the worst, as long as he isn't bleeding to death. Put away everything and make sure nothing gets on the carpet—a steady tradition. Sometimes, he's left with excess energy, though.

He mostly took the offer with little chance in his mind that he'd use it. The rules were set, and Jason made it clear that it was allowed on either side. Wasn't like he was going to make much use of it anyway.

And technically, he hasn't. Three times over a year or so ago, and each one was a gentle transition back into consciousness before he'd shown just how much he appreciated it: appreciated you.

Carefully, you get his nails to pull away from his skin and settle him on his back again. His shirt has etched up over the night, leaving his stomach and the happy trail growing across to the melt-worthy temps.

Trying hard not to wake him up, you press your head onto his chest, slowly rubbing down on his belly.

Instantly, his breathing stutters.

Even in sleep, he's so gorgeous it hurts to even look at him, not in spite of the stubborn scowl still hanging on his mouth. Those thick eyelashes frame closed eyes. Instead of them blinking awake, his head rolls back over to the side, and the long-since healed gash sprayed over his neck gets stretched into the light peering into your two's home before he's yawning.

And you exhale softly. It feels as if you're breathing in nothing. You swallow hard—once, then twice—and inch your hand past the waistband of his boxers.

He's warm in your palm, and then his breath hitches while you freeze in place.

But Jason doesn't make a move to break your hold on him.

In slow strokes, your hand wrapped around the thick of it glides across, using the pre-cum to make it easier on the both of you. It's not taking much for his cock to start holding up on its own at the attention, but it's taking up the space you need. Your wrist is going to sting in the morning either way, but still.

Gaining more courage, you dare lift your head and softly kiss his cheek.

You form a better grip around it, continuing to kiss every scar and the edge of his lips while your thumb circles the cockhead. A leg swings over another, and the purrs he's basically humming out by now—his lips sealed in his sleep—nearly muffle how the bed creaks when you move to take place between his.

After grabbing the elastic band of his underwear, you slowly pull it down enough for the length to slip free, already drooling and half-hard.

You lean down to slide your tongue down the side to see if that wakes him up, and it doesn't.

The taste of him coats your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks, gradually taking it down till it's almost hitting your throat. The second a groan slips, undiscouraged even through the girth, your hands come around his hips to settle them back down more gently after they subconsciously jerked forward.

Musk overwhelms your senses. Your head tilts up to find through lashes that an arm's moved to rest over his forehead.

Bobbing your head in tune with the same shaky movements moments ago, you suck on the flushed tip, the nib throbbing hot and insistent, pinning your tongue down.

It starts off quiet, but then the breathy moan filling your ears begins to overshadow the whirling fan. What you can't fit down your throat, you use your hands to give equal attention to. Your face slots closer to his taint to kiss at his balls with spread lips.

Thighs flex over and press against either side of your head, clenching and undoing their tense stances every few seconds while the sheets shift with the writhing further up the bed. You grant yourself time to breathe before kissing the head and then trying to take his thick cock back inside.

So deep into the intimacy, your eyes close just to feel a hand in your hair. A sharp tug pulls you off to see the dark curled back over you.

Seeing him from your angle below, there's a thousand things he could do—instead, his nose scrunches up, and rather than rub his own fluttering eyes open, he holds up a hand to block out the stream of light poking through into his space. The other is laid aside as he props himself back onto an elbow.

His voice isn't anything but a slur. "What're you doing?"

"You were having a nightmare, so I woke you up."

Jason's exhaustion rings through the growl that slips. He doesn't need to look at you for long to tug you towards him and press his lips to yours. In a messy drawl, both of your jaws end with salvia glistening over the skin.

They crash insistently onto yours in heated breath.

Although you're definitely going to remember to clean out your mouth in the afterglow of tonight due to the morning breath.

"Don't remember asking for a wake-up call." His breathing stays the same as it has been: heavy while he's pulling you closer to rest his head over one of your shoulders. "But thanks, baby."

White strands of curls stick to his forehead and roll against you. Meanwhile, he's making use of the little space to trace the muscles of your back with the rough pads he has for palms.

He talks against your lips, refusing to pull back even while the edges of his tug at his own.

"You wanna use that mouth again and finish what you started, babe?"

#jason todd x gn reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd #dc comics #gn reader #mine #grabbing and strangling him like bart simps0n. but affectionately #somnophilia tw #somnophilia cw #somno tw #dubious consent #dubcon tw

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writing-for-life · 5 months

Text

Why oh why does our boy constantly lose his helm?

So apparently 1916 wasn’t the first time, but it was also gone in 1840 (or any time leading up to it).

Was it on purpose? Did Johanna ask him for it in exchange for sorting out Orpheus? Was that her boon? So she could mess around with it (sounds like fun)?

What’s going on with him and that thing? Did he and Cthulhu fall out? Too much sexual tension?

I really need to sit down and write that crack fic…

(and in case you’re wondering, I read the letter to Dora in the helm edition)

#the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #dream x helm #murphy and his cool hat #crack ship #sandman #don’t take this too seriously

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 1 year

Text

Gotta be a moron to wanna be a fighter

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’re determined to find out why everyone thinks König is so scary, afterall he’s just some guy that’s taller than most people right? He’s probably harmless! Well, he’s a little scary, but you still like him anyway.

(No use of y/n or mention of gender/race)

Warning: Drinking, sex references

AN: Thank you for being so patient, this chapter has been a long time in the making 💕 Everyone's lovely comments and beautiful art have been giving me LIFE so thank you so much for continuing on with me! Also after this chapter there will be a Chapter 5.5 so to speak that will essentially just be filth without plot so people that read the series for fluff don't need to read it 😇 and people that want more will be indulged 😈 Enjoy! x

Part 5 of A Rocky Start - Full Masterlist Here

-☠️-

It was stupid, you were both aware of it. You’d get in trouble and be marked for life as liabilities if anyone found out, if even so much as one person saw you both and reported it back to Price. Reality was though, that neither of you could bear the thought of ending things. Sprinkle in a little hubris and it was a recipe for thinking you were above it all.

You felt secure in your hiding spot, shrouded in the bodies of the oblivious people around you, protected by the roar of the ramping conversations. Though, when it came down to it, it was more like you were the oblivious ones. All cuddled up close and murmuring to each other through an exchange of soft kisses and sweet promises that you could only hope were more than a shared dream.

You’d leaned as far off the stool as you could, magnetised to him. Body brushing up against König every chance that you could get, running your fingers along his scar torn arm, blinking syrupy slowly up at him and simpering like an idiot. It felt like catching snowflakes in the winter. It felt like König would disappear at any moment, the dream would shatter and he’d fade away and so you had to cling to him like an anchor to keep him in place.

You’d never felt so needy before. Especially not for someone that you held so much tension with, so much mixed emotion. Even under it all, under the whole whimsy of making plans and talking about booking quiet hotels out in the sticks, letting your heads float in the clouds, you could feel the heavy weight of the words you’d yet to let goof. What remained from that night when things had gone wrong.

No matter how much you’d thought about it, you struggled to come to a clear conclusion in your head. A way to navigate past it all - the shifting sands of your feelings. On the one hand some of it still disturbed you and gnawed at the edges of your mind and on the other, you couldn't bring yourself to think that you were much better, that you had the right to criticise him.

You hated to think of him holding onto it all and internalising the words you’d spat out in a moment of panic. You’d made him out to be a monster while your hands were just as bloody as his, you’d acted as if yours dripped righteously because you’d killed your quarries quickly. It was hardly fair - though none of the situation really was.

That’s how you found yourself struggling to speak when König had finally taken the helm and steered you out of calm waters. He wasn’t going to let things go on without some assurance, he needed something from you. Needed to know it wasn’t going to fall apart.

“Almost sounds like a fantasy doesn’t it?” König said, gazing up from his drink and back to you.

“What? Getting some time away together?”

“Mhmm,” he mused.

“We could do it you know,” you smiled. “I…actually really want this.”

He regarded you for a moment with a tilt of his head, his sculpted face set in a stony marble contemplation. He looked like he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t open his mouth past a small pout. He was trapped in silence until he finally took a breath and smiled weakly.

“If we really were to do it…if we really did plan a trip together, spend the weekend away, then I need you to be honest with me. You have to tell me how you really feel about what happened.”

Now it was your turn to pause. You knew where this was going - it was inevitable. You just wished that it wasn’t and you could remain suspended in your little bubble for the rest of time, cuddled up and without a care. Even when you knew that would have been selfish, because it was easier for you to forget what happened, easier for the person that caused the hurt to move past it.

Realistically you were never going to do that to him. Responsibility weighed heavy and it wouldn’t just disappear, you had to take a hold of it and tell König how you really felt. The only way over was through. You just had to hope that he’d have the same view on it all, that he would want to work with you on it.

“You have to understand,” he said quietly, speaking again before you could settle on the right words, “you are the first person that I’ve had feelings for in a very long time. When you told me the other night that you thought I was acting with you, that i was this- this monster of a person, and pretending I cared, it really hurt me. Even despite the kiss we shared that night, and the things we’ve talked about even now…I need to know that you won’t run from me again. I can’t stand the thought of us taking things further and you turning your back on me because there’s a repeat of what happened - it would break me this time.”

It would break me this time.

It was like an icy wave rising out of the depths and drowning you. The cold hard realisation that you’d had more of an effect than you’d realised. König now worried - even after you telling him that you missed him more than anything - that you’d leave him just like that. Even when that was impossible. You’d agreed to meet him even after all that had happened for gods sakes, you were risking your career for him, you were ready to face Price’s wrath just for the chance to see him again and make up for everything. You weren’t giving him up.

“I don’t think you’re a monster König, I never did - even when I said all those things to you… but it’s like I said earlier, my mind isn’t completely clear on it all. There’s still things about that night that make me uncomfortable, I still don’t like picturing you doing things like that and- and well…the laughing - that still gets me,” you said with a sigh, trying your hardest not to break eye contact. “But no matter what though, no matter what has happened and what will happen - I know that I want to work through it with you. I don’t want to run, I want to be right here. I want you to trust me. I know that I fucked up telling you that I thought that badly of you and I know it’ll take some time for you to feel like you’re secure, but we can both reassure each other, yeah? We can navigate through it together because- well because it’s like you said. You have feelings for me and I- uh- I…care about you too, so so much. So much. I won’t let anything get in the way of that.”

His face was a melting pot of emotion. The curve of his lips wobbled between a grimace and a small smile and his jaw kept clenching and unclenching as he processed what you said. He turned the words over in his mind for a minute, his face giving nothing away as he zoned out into the middle distance, transfixed on the rainbow array of bottles behind the bar.

“So how do we move past it?” he breathed.

“I suppose we just try to talk about it more…I’m not sure it's something I’ll immediately forget about, but then I guess you won’t just forget about what I did either,” you mumbled. “We can learn from each other though, and understand each other’s perspectives. Like I said before, we can work through it all. If you want to.”

He nodded and studied the bar again, thinking deeply for a second. König’s face still didn’t betray anything, he was so good at wearing masks he barely needed the cloth to cover what he thought. His hard jaw was set and his pale blue eyes were haunting a deep space far from where you both sat.

It was only when he finally grabbed your hand again, when he wove his work beaten fingers through yours that you knew it would be ok. You knew that he wanted this just as much as you, no matter what. He barely even had to say it, but he did, the words like honeysuckle petals softly tickling at your ears.

“Yes, I think that you’re right. We can do this together,” he murmured, gripping your hand tightly. “You and I will make this work any way that we can. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before and I won’t give you up for anything, not for Price, not for Ghost, not for the world. You’re mine…and I will do anything to keep it that way.”

-☠️-

Barely a week after that night, you found yourself checking into a quaint little hotel in the middle of nowhere, attempting to ignore the Price shaped shadow that stained your peripheral vision. You’d packed yourself into the car and driven off with your hold all, not stopping to look back. It almost felt like you were going back to base again, as if you’d taken on another mission and you were going through the motions, that helped for most of the journey.

It was only when the car had crunched into the gravely drive that it finally sank in that you were really going to meet König. There wasn’t going to be any interruptions or distractions, you didn’t have to silently walk past him in the hallways and feel your chest sink knowing that you couldn’t acknowledge him. It was just you and him, unfettered by rules and boundaries.

In the mouth of the hotel reception, you’d muttered out your details to the stuffy looking woman behind the desk. She’d given you the same feeling some people must have when checking into a prison sentence. She clicked over to you in her perfectly pressed grey jacket and skirt and demanded to know if you had a booking. Her eyes roved over you, her lips pinching together when she asked why you were visiting, and you said you were just taking a trip away with a friend. She didn’t seem to like that very much. Her papery worn hand had stopped scratching down your details in her book, then she’d proceeded to continue again after a brief but unmistakable sigh.

She was onto you. She didn’t even know you, but even she knew you were up to no good. Her beady eyes certainly betrayed her as they narrowed behind her thin gold framed glasses.

The Captain Price in your mind took on a more solid shape, made your hand shake and jingle the keys that you’d been given. What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Sergeant? You had no idea what you were doing, reason had been abandoned for a far more attractive proposition. It was only there at the desk that you realised the full weight of your decision, trying to stay calm in front of the glaring figure before you.

You’d only gotten to leave after being strictly warned that you weren’t to disturb the other guests ‘should you and your friend spend much time in each other's rooms’. You’d nodded with a thick gulp and attempted to smile as you slunk away from her, dreaming up that she was on the phone to Price just as you were out of sight.

You were being ridiculous.

You sighed and trailed your eyes along the yellowing floral wallpaper as you passed it, laughing softly as you realised how paranoid you were being. It was no use worrying about Price now, you’d already committed to the trip, so why torture yourself with seeing him in every nook and corner? With that in mind you walked a little more confidently across the soft pink carpet, eventually making your ascent up the groaning old stairs, keeping yourself focused on not tripping up on the runner rods. One step at a time, soldier, you’ll need those legs to lean on when you’re scrubbing toilets.

The room you’d ended up in was exactly as you’d pictured it after seeing the rest of the hotel. It was as if you’d stepped into the past, something straight from the 1920’s with its old decor and unplaceable draft that permeated throughout the room like it was an extra feature.

The bed looked older than you. The kind that would squeal and shout traitorously at every little movement you’d make and was topped with lacy white sheets complete with multi coloured floral quilt - it clashed with the wallpaper of course. Though it worked with the equally ugly rug in the centre of the room, mangled and worn with age, reaching out its frayed tendrils; almost touching the little desk off to the side and the wardrobe next to it. The bathroom wasn't much better either, all avocado coloured porcelain and tiny enough to accommodate a hobbit and not much more.

It made you wonder how König was going to cope, his almost seven foot frame was going to be like something from Alice in Wonderland. You smirked at the thought and tossed your hold all on the bed, freeing your hand up so that you could fish out your phone and text the number you kept under - mother. Your Latest act of subterfuge. A way to receive messages from König without being found out. You really did feel like a kid again.

You

You’re gonna love this place, big guy ;)

Mother

Any more back chat about my choice and you can go another week without me

You

I’m JUST saying…it’s tiny to *me* so take that as you will

Mother

Size isn’t everything dear ;)

You

You’re so fuckin lame dude

Mother

Is that any way to talk to your mother?

You found yourself cackling at his response and clamped your hand over your mouth, not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself already. The old harpy downstairs probably already thought you were both having a secret affair or something, the last thing you needed was to draw more of her ire. It wasn’t like you could go and explain to her that neither of you was spurning a partner back home, and that you were actually hiding from your Captain turned father. So really it was totally fine for you both to be sneaking around in the countryside together!

She didn’t seem like the type that would like that explanation either anyway.

No. Reality was, you were part of one of the most elite task forces in the world, and there you were hovering above a frilly old bed about to wait for your crush coming home like a propaganda poster. When will my would-be forbidden boyfriend return from Austria? You snorted at the thought and dove into your bag, rustling around in search of your tablet. Things were bad enough without you waiting at the window with your metaphorical tail stuck in alert position - excited for König and fearful of Price and the paranoid possibility of him having a tracker on you both.

Fuck that. You watched TV and tuned out the tinfoil hat thoughts as best as you could manage.

You didn’t have to wait long in the end anyway, not if you were honest with yourself. König had announced his arrival with a thud and an ‘ow, oida!’ and immediately you knew your man had arrived. It seemed unlikely anyone else would be in the corridor, you assumed, banging their head and shouting in German.

Wouldn’t you know it, once you’d poked your head out of the parapet of your room door, you’d laid your eyes straight on him. You emerged from your hiding place and watched as König rubbed his head and looked at the doorway like he’d square up to it. A tiny laugh escaped before you could cover it up when you realised you’d been right all along; the place was far too small for him.

Though he’d never admit to it - that you were sure of. He’d be folding himself in half before he’d admit to being wrong. You’d figured that out when you’d originally questioned his choice in hotel and destination. It screamed home for the geriatric: spend your last years here together, but he wouldn’t hear of it. König had been absolutely adamant he wanted a little old fashioned place out in the countryside, said it was good to stay out of the way of everyone and grant yourselves some privacy, height restrictions be damned.

“Having trouble there, handsome?” You smirked, looking him up and down appreciatively.

He whirled around and faced you, eyes going wide as he realised you’d been watching him. Almost instantly you were admiring him, trailing your eyes over his outfit and his perfectly exposed face.

König was wearing his neck warmer much like usual, though it had been drawn down around his neck - likely to accommodate the nosy old gal downstairs. It fit well enough with the rest of his outfit, tan brown work jacket, white shirt and beat up jeans and boots, but it looked a little odd in the warmer weather. You could only imagine how suspicious she’d been of him, masked up and german, likely two marks against his name. She’d be calling the authorities on you in no time, the neighbourhood watch would be descending down on you from their helicopters if you misstepped even slightly.

“I’m doing just fine, thank you,” König sniffed, leaning his arm up against the top of the doorframe.

“Really? Sure you don’t need a lil pillow or something to strap to your head? Would be a shame if you came back from your time off with brain damage,” you giggled.

“Maybe I’ll avoid it by leaving early then shall I?” he teased, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh c’mon, you know you can’t resist all this” you smirked, tilting your chin. “Besides, it must’ve taken ages to get that big head of yours through the front door, you can’t possibly want to leave already!”

Ignoring the string of muttered German that followed your comment, you closed the gap between you both. Before you could chicken out, you put your arms around him, embracing his big warm body like an oversized plush. König’s muscles tensed at first, reacting like you’d tased him, but he quickly relaxed, letting his own encompass your body before he kissed the top of your head and turned your mind rosy. You could swear you saw blushes of pink cross your vision, eyes clouding while your head went fuzzy.

“Missed you,” you whispered, nuzzling into his chest. “Again.”

“Mhmm, I’d say I did too, but you’ve been so condescending with me,” he murmured, descending into laughter when he caught you glaring up at him.

“Don’t be mean!”

“Alright, alright. I missed you too! Of course I did,” he relented. “Though I think you should be nicer to me, you did make me sacrifice going back to Austria after all.”

He sighed dramatically and suddenly it was your turn to roll your eyes. He’d been trying everything to get you to go to him, but for you it was no dice. The absolute last thing you needed was for Price to see the big Austrian stamp in your passport and turn the national colours in fury. The thought alone was enough to have you going wide eyed and stiff.

“Well I suppose I can be nicer,” you grinned, reluctantly pulling away from him. “We have got two days together, so I’ll have to convince you to stick around somehow.”

“Two whole days, my my,” he said with raised brows. “What are we gonna do with all that time?”

“For starters - hang out without a paparazzi of base personnel waiting to report on the gossip.”

“Not that that will stop them talking. I caught MacTavish over my shoulder trying to get a look at my phone the other day,” he said, shaking his head.

“Really? Did he say anything to you?” You asked, concerned that you’d have to tell him to knock it off somehow without being figured out.

“I stared back at him and he almost died of fright when he finally looked back at me,” he chuckled, his evil laugh making an appearance. “Didn’t stick around long after that.”

“For fucks sake, Soap,” you snorted. “That man’s about as subtle as a canon. Stupid prick.”

“Well what else can you expect from the 141?” König teased, preemptively retreating backwards toward his open doorway.

“Oh, you think you’re a big man firing insults then running away do you?” You asked, folding your arms across yourself.

“Sneaky, please - Im a very big man,” he tittered, cocking a finger gun at you as he disappeared with his oversized rucksack. “I’ll come over to your room in a minute!”

Your earlier assessment was true enough - he was fucking lame. But nevertheless he was the man that you were risking it all for.

“Good luck getting in!” You called, retreating back to yours.

Not that it’d actually be a challenge. You’d gone as far as to ignore a direct order from Price, ignored your own wavering doubts about the darkness that he was capable of and you’d driven five hours just to see him. When it came to König you were a goner. And it was only getting clearer with time.

-☠️-

König had indeed managed to worm his way back into your presence, no matter how much you tried to joke that you were barricading yourself in your room. However, with the promise of a scenic walking route and pub food courtesy of him, you found it in your heart to forgive his earlier comment, giving him a stern look on your way out. He was only forgiven by a slim margin you’d told him.

However as you’d set out and begun to stretch your legs and ease out the travelling aches, you found yourself more and more surprised by how much you were enjoying yourself. The air had cleared and something in the knots of your stomach had come undone. You were Shocked that you were able to forget all about Price, all about the hazards of being together. As if work were just something from a persona that you’d shed. All responsibility and worries scattered in the breeze that shook the tall grass.

It was easy to share his company too. It didn’t feel awkward or like you had to say anything at any particular time. It was natural, just like it was before, when you could talk to him without the threat of Price giving you the sack. Though it struck you like a slap to the face when you realised that it was one of the few rare moments you’d had to talk to each other without being a spectacle, without people watching and commenting. No Soap to tease you about it, no Ghost to pass his judgmental gaze over you both.

That was what made it truly special, it was something just for you both. The place itself turned out to be pretty special too, it was lovely. You had to give König that - even if his hotel was haunted by its judgmental keeper.

The trail was fairly flat, and took you through fields and backroads with only a few sloping hills here and there with plenty of streams that babbled in the backgrounds of your conversations. Eventually you’d come to a little bridge and stopped to take in the view, looking out over the cold spray of the miniature waterfall tumbling down into the river below and past the mossy banks. It rollled down the yellow-green expanse, snaking off somewhere way out to the horizon line.

It was both a noisy, but pretty backdrop that allowed you to get plenty of sly glances in while König was distracted. Your eyes had been tracing his profile like you were trying to paint him. He’d caught you no doubt, the smile that played on his lips told you that much, but he hadn’t made any attempt to stop you looking. He kept staring at the water and had let the quiet lull in your earlier chat remain still.

“I’ve always wondered…do you stare at lots of people like this? Or am I special?”

You blinked back at him and felt blood pool in your cheeks, racing with the rushing water.

“Who says I’m staring at you,” you murmured, leaning against the worn wooden railing. “There’s actually a very nice tree that I’ve been admiring.”

“Oh a nice tree, hmm? I must say, I’ve been compared to a tree many times, but not an awful lot of people call me nice,” he mused, teasingly nudging your shoulder.

“Just me and your mother?” you smirked, firing a shot back at him.

He widened his eyes and tilted his head like a puppy, putting his hand on his chest as if he were pulling the spear you’d buried there out of himself.

“I can’t believe you’re bringing my mother into this!”

“Well, I assume she thinks you’re nice…Sure sounds like it anyway,” you said with a coy smile.

“And by that you mean…?” he asked, eyes narrowing on you.

Your throat could’ve gone dry from the heat in König’s eyes and suddenly his intense gaze felt all too similar to the shake of a rattlesnake's tail. Had you been trying to insult him, you’d have let it die on your lips, but it wasn’t what you were thinking of doing at all. What little you knew of his past, you knew that wasn’t the sort of thing that would go down very well.

“I mean that - judging by the way you sound on the phone to her - she likes to dote on her little precious baby König,” you said with a smirk, “I can always tell when you’re on the phone to her.”

The lit fuse was snuffed out in an instant, and the look in his eyes faded from a warning and into a question. He paused a moment before he spoke again.

“I don’t know whether to be more perturbed that you’ve been listening in on my calls, or if I’m much more interested in finding out how you can tell.”

“I haven’t been listening to your calls! You always answer your phone in front of everyone because we’re all ‘savage’ non German speakers,” you laughed, finally returning the nudge he’d given you earlier. “You make it sound like Price has me spying on you!”

“Maybe he does,” he chuckled dryly, turning to you now. “Maybe you’re perfectly fluent in German and you’re an excellent double agent.”

“Damn it, you’ve caught me! I better tell the guys to come out of the bushes now. Quick Price, get down from that tree before you fall out of it,” you laughed in return, calling out to the fake 141 like they’d really come free from their hiding spots.

König shook his head at you saying something about you being silly under his breath, and turned back to the water again. His body shook the fence with his weight coming to rest on it, one arm propped up so that he could reach up and hold his face in one hand, clearly not used to having it bare as he subconsciously stroked the spot where his neckwarmer would come to. He looked distant for a second, only a fleeting moment, until he swivelled his head back to you and looked at you curiously, raising his brow.

“What is it that makes you say my mother dotes?” he finally asked, giving you a small smile. “If you really are the uncivilised non-german speaker that you claim to be.”

“First of all - you’re so rude. Secondly, its how you talk when you’re on the phone to her, even if it is in German,” you said pointedly. “Your voice always goes all soft and quiet and reassuring like you’re always trying to soothe her…Oh! And you do that thing where you answer all gentle like - ‘hallo, mama’.”

König bit his lip and held back the smile that tried to burst loose.

“Is that really how I sound to you? Like I’m greeting a dying animal? I can’t imagine that’s very attractive.”

“It’s not like that! Your voice goes all sweet and cute,” you replied defensively, sidling up against him.

“Sweet and cute? Niemals! I am not sweet, nor cute,” he huffed, staring you down and rising to his full height.

“You’re very sweet and cute, actually,” you huff, giving his cheek a rub before you can think twice.

Suddenly you’re trapped between the railing and König, the wood creaking out in protest. His heavy chest trapped you fast against him and his arms locked on either side of you, straining as his hands grasped the wood tightly. His hair had fallen over his face and shadowed his eyes, giving them a menacing glint as he continued to look down at you.

“Am I still sweet and cute?” he whispered lowly.

You felt your face burn and your breath shudder. Tremors wracked their way through your legs and you fought to stay on level ground as he forced you down. He wasn’t being either of the aforementioned things you’d said, but he wasn’t being very scary either…

“I’m not scared of you König,” you murmured, breaking the tension and tucking back a rogue strand of his hair. “I still think you’re very sweet.”

He rolled his eyes, sighing down at you like a weary god.

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” You grinned. “You’re sweet to me all the time! Always making sure I have my tea and get to watch my movies even when you’re fidgeting like hell. You booked this hotel just so that we could spend time together without being in trouble at work. You watch out for me, you make me feel safe. You’re so sweet.”

He sighed again.

“Ugh, very well then…I suppose if you really enjoy the whole cute thing I should lean into it more, hm?” he said, a smile slowly creeping across his face. “What do you think, my precious angel? You want me to be sickly sweet with you now? Hm? My Schnuckiputzi? Schnuckiputzihasimausieerdbeertörtchen, my-”

König’s voice purred sweet and high pitched, sounding several levels of unfamiliar as he kept you smushed against the fence with his hand locked to your jaw. His lip jutted out thickly and his eyes went dopey, talking to you like you were a little kitten that he was trying to charm into his lap. It was too much for you, you were overcome with laughter and crying out as he kept up his assault, only pausing when you tried to cover his mouth with your flailing hand.

“Oh my god, you have to stop,” you wheezed, pushing against him. “No more!

“But I’ve barely even started, Schmusebär! I could go on forever,” he laughed, voice muffled by your grasp on him.

“No, please, it’s too much!” you protested.

“Oh, so you’ve had enough? You don’t like the cute thing anymore?”

“I like when you’re cute like you, not cute like that! That’s gross,” you giggled, giving him a playful shove.

“Ok, ok! I’ll dial it back. Anything for my sweet little flower.”

You’d given him a warning look, but he didn’t look in the least bit intimidated - one of the hazards of going out with a guy built like König, he wasn’t going to be scared off by you. Although, you supposed that might’ve been a good thing too.

At the very least he’d stopped after that and you’d enjoyed the rest of the walk in peace. Both of you had become transfixed by the sprawling deer-filled fields and the birds that flew in perfect formations shrieking above your heads. They clouded the skies and brought with them a cold wind that had begun to bite through your clothes and had you leaning into König. Your body brushed against his one time too many and eventually he just rolled his eyes and took your hand in his, firmly dragging you closer so that you could absorb his warmth. It had your heart stuttering for a few beats, still in disbelief that you were really there with him.

-☠️-

After the walk you’d both found a place for dinner, a pub that seemed to have the same interior decorator as your hotel by the looks of it. It had the potential to be trendy with its exposed brick and old iron fireplace, though it was covered in doilies and old horrible paintings and florals - much the same as the hotel.

Despite the gross decor, the food was delicious and the drink even more so after your long winding walk. König had ordered himself a feast, getting a steak pie, chips and mac and cheese, claiming that anything else would have him starving later on. Meanwhile you’d sat with an amazed look as you took slow bites of your burger; watching him devour all his.

“You think that I just got to this size by magic?” he’d asked, taking a big gulp of his beer. “It takes a lot to maintain this.”

“I’m not judging, I’m just amazed that you’re actually eating all that,” you’d noted, reaching across the table to steal a bit of mac and cheese.

“Hey! You didn’t ask if you could have any.”

“Well that’s what you get for going to dinner with someone called Sneak,” you’d chastised.

He’d made a joke about sneaking out and letting you pay for it all, but even after that you’d both melted into the warmth of the fireplace and ordered a few more beers; feeling pleasantly tipsy by the time you had decided to pay.

The wallpaper was growing fuzzy as you’d stared ahead at it and the patterns that had been so clearly defined before were getting lost in the dim light. Your eyes flicked between the swirling shapes and staring over at König, getting lost in the features of his shadowed face, listening out to the consistent rattle of the table as König’s leg gently bounced. Your mind felt hazy, your thoughts danced like the flames reflecting throughout the room, intermingling with the tingles at the back of your skull.

I want to touch him.

I want to trace those scars, I want to feel the curve of his nose and hold his chin in my palm.

I want to hold him, I want to sit in his lap.

I want all of him.

“Is someone a little bit of a lightweight?” he’d teased, noticing the way your eyes drooped.

Your mouth dropped open for a second, feeling heavy as an anvil until you were able to shake yourself out of it. Everything was still fuzzy, your body felt light as a feather and cumbersome all at once. How is he able to talk in full sentences? It hadn’t occurred to you that him being almost twice your size might affect his tolerance, making it far superior to yours.

“Not a lightweight,” you grouched, “Just- just sleepy.”

“Mhmm, I noticed that too, Bierleiche” he laughed, the sound booming rich as pure vanilla in your ears.

“No more names!” you pouted.

“Alright, I won’t call you any more names, but I won’t buy you any more beer either. Let’s get you back.”

You’d protested at this, not really all that passionate about getting to sit up in the stiflingly warm little stoop, but not wanting to part from him quite yet. You knew for a fact that he’d be a gentleman and try to leave you and frankly, you weren’t in the mood for it. You weren’t in the mood for that at all.

However, even despite your moaning and grousing, König got you to your feet and held you up against him until he got you to the hotel. Your feet had marched noisily down the street and you’d loudly commented on the pretty stars in the sky on the way over, but as soon as you’d reached that front door it was like an instinct had flared up inside your body and you were quiet as a mouse. Even drunk, you knew not to bother the old crone that surely waited in the shadows, looking for any excuse to jump out at you.

It wasn’t until you were safely in your room, where König was depositing your flailing body into bed that you finally reneged on your vow of silence. He’d turned to leave, his hand coming down on the door handle and reminding you of a judge's gavel ready to end your time with him. You whined, scrabbling at the sheets so that you could sit up and called out to him.

“König! You can’t go.”

“I think you’ll find that I can,” he’d snorted, tossing you a measured look.

“But, I don’t want you to,” you moaned, patting the bed next to you.

“I thought you were sleepy.”

“I was! Then we w-walked through the cold and it woke me up a bit,” you shrugged, hiccuping through the middle of your sentence.

He sighed and tilted his head, seeming to arrive at a fork in the road. Knowing this was the case, even with your addled mind, you pulled the covers back and patted the spot next to you, doing your best to try an angelic smile. Although, it couldn’t have been half as sweet as you’d wanted it to be with your glazed over eyes and dopey grin.

“I’m not going to do anything with you like this.”

You gasped, clutching at your neck as if there were pearls there to grasp onto.

“I’m shocked that you would incuse me of something like that!”

“Incuse?” he chuckled, letting go of the door handle.

Victory was yours.

“I just want you to come cuddle with me for a minute,” you clarified.

He narrowed his eyes, folding his arms over his broad chest like he could scare the truth out of you. Though you were full of liquid confidence and it didn’t matter what he did, you just wanted to feel him close and have his warm body next to yours. You needed to have him for all the time that you could, grabbing onto every little moment.

“If I come over there I don’t want any funny business,” he warned.

A light could’ve buzzed above your head, the pretend halo that you tried to manifest lighting up the room before him.

“Cross my heart, no funny business,” you simpered.

He laughed at that and finally came over to you, shucking off his boots after you’d grumbled about shoes on the bed. He let you fold over onto him, curling up like a croissant in his arms and settling easily into your nook between his arm and chest.

Even in your clouded mind, the moment was etching itself into your core memory. The smell of hops and cold fresh air, the feel of his big arms wrapped around your body, the softness of his chest and the cotton T-shirt he wore, the feel of his zip scraping your fingers as you carelessly moved your hand to his sternum. It all compounded, had you feeling like you were in a dream, the fuzziness of your head trying to tell you that’s all it was.

“This is real isn’t it?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you put a little pressure on his chest, testing to make sure it really was him.

“Did you take shots while I was in the toilet or something?” he laughed, bouncing your head with the force of it through his body.

“No! It’s that - I just - I can’t believe we’re really here. It’s like you said before - It’s like a dream. And we made it come true.”

He was quiet for a second and tentatively placed his hand on the back of your head, running it over your hair and down your back. The motion completely distracted you from his silence, calming you completely and making you feel as cosy as a lap dog. Suddenly the tiredness was simmering back through your body, melting you like butter.

“I’m happy too,” he finally said, his voice wavering a little. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

“Really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asked, laughing fondly.

You shrugged with what little movement you could muster, pasted to König’s side, and bit your lip. It’s not like you wanted to lie there in a moment of pity and self deprecate, but you hadn’t had the easiest time of it together at that point. You were surprised that he was able to say that it was one of the happiest times of his life.

“Things have been hard. I guess I’m still just shocked that you’ve made such an effort to be with me. It probably would’ve been easier to pick up some someone back home and live a nice little un- umconplimicated life with them,” you said, struggling to even wrap your mouth around the word.

Your head rattled as König’s chest bounced again, his chuckle echoing out across the room. It had you burying your burning face deeper into him, trying all you could to be able to hide your complete embarrassment. You’d prayed that it wouldn’t make him leave, make him think you were too away with it to continue on with the conversation.

However, by that point König was quite tired too. His inhibitions were lowered and he wasn’t in the mindset to leave you alone. Instead he just rubbed your back reassuringly and sighed out the last remnants of his stolen breaths, before his body regulated and his chest rose steadily and surely again.

“If I’d ever been capable of something like that I’m sure I would’ve tried it a while ago,” he finally said.

You frowned and, now that you were composed, swivelled your head so that you could see his face. Your eyes veered away from their place on his chest and landed straight on him, straining to see the distant look in his eyes. You bit you lip.

“How not capable?” you murmured, still battling with recalling how to speak.

“You remember when you first tried to talk to me surely?” he smirked, absentmindedly stroking your hair.

“I remember…you were all grumpy, didn’t wanna talk,” you smiled, blinking slowly up at him.

“I was just so surprised that you were talking to me, I didn’t have anything to say back. It took me off guard that I didn’t have to put on any kind of a front for you to approach. That’s usually how it goes for other people - no one comes to me unless I start pretending, unless I stop being myself, unless I make myself smaller and superficial. It’s exhausting, and I can’t maintain it for very long.”

“But then you offered to make me tea,” you reminded him, face feeling bright with the memory. “You were nice - next time I saw you.”

“I promised myself that if I saw you in the kitchen again that I would make up for appearing so rude. Then you got flustered and stared at me alot, and acted ridiculously cute and forced me to watch Rocky; so now, because you charmed me, here we are. I’m doomed to do your bidding, doomed to follow you t-”

“Hey!”

You batted his chest and did your best to sit up, clambering up his body, huffing and puffing until you were face level with the summit of him.

“I did not force you!”

“You gave me an order,” he shot back with an eyebrow raise.

“Yeah, well you better be grateful you got that order because otherwise you wouldn't have gotten to see a cinnamonatic masterpiece!”

“Cinnamonatic? Is that how it’s said?”

“Shut up,” you groaned, collapsing back down on him, nuzzling into his collarbone.

He laughed breathily and let you settle back into him, holding you against him like a little bird that might fly away. His arms were wrapped tight around you now, and you cocooned into them, growing more and more comfortable and heavy.

“König?” You asked quietly, breath fanning onto his neck.

You felt him shiver gently, shifting in the bed.

“Yeah?” he sighed.

“I think that most people would really like you if you were actually yourself around them. You don’t have to act around people, y’know?”

He lay there quietly, letting your words hang in the air like deadweight above your head, at first you thought that he might’ve fallen asleep, not really registering you. Though when you turned your head to look up at him, he turned his down, looking over to you soundlessly. Even in the dark, you knew his eyes were filled with a blur of memories and feelings he hadn’t even begun to tell you about yet - the things that had made him who he was.

“One day I’ll get you to tell me why you do it,” you vowed to yourself, whispering faintly into the dark.

“Tell you what?”

König’s hearing was, as ever, sharp as a cat’s. He sounded gruff as he answered, like you were veering into territory he wasn’t going to let you explore yet. Though you were just drunk enough that you weren’t too afraid to push a little further, testing the boundaries.

“All the things that made you afraid to be yourself.”

“Oh gott,” he sighed.

“What?”

“I left Austria and somehow still ended up in bed with Sigmund Freud,” he chuckled.

“Don’t deflect!” you moaned, yawning sleepily.

“Apologies doctor,” he said, putting on a fake serious voice. “Perhaps I can start off by telling you about how difficult it was being moved from Austria to Germany when I was little, and tell you I was ruthlessly teased for my silly accent until I started changing it. Then we can move on to the difficult relationship I had with my stepfather and perhaps finish off with you telling me it all sounds rather like I want to sleep with one of my relatives.”

“You got teased for your accent?” you gasped, emotional and tipsy enough to almost shed a tear at the thought of little König being bullied.

König had a habit of divulging little snippets about his past that he’d laugh about, but lamentably very little of them were ever very funny or good stories. That didn’t stop him though, tittering away as he’d told you about someone chasing him with a knife, or when he’d broken his arm after getting ganged up on in a school yard fight or even when he’d been threatened with being kicked out of the house if he didn’t go get a job - the reason he’d joined the German Army.

“Oh don’t get all upset about it,” he groaned. “It was a very long time ago.”

“But why were people were being so mean to little König,” you protested, so choked with emotion you were speaking about him like a little cartoon protagonist. “I don’t like the thought of people being so mean to you, all your stories from when you were young are so sad!”

“Oh you’re such a bleeding heart, how ever did you make it into the military?” he sighed, petting your head like you were little more than a mewling kitten. “Would it make you feel better if you knew that little König grew up to be bigger and taller than all of those assholes and showed them why they shouldn’t have messed with him? Would that help?”

You sniffed and thought about it for a second, imaging his sharp defined bone structure all soft and round with unshed baby fat and those hard narrowed eyes of his all sleepy and dark. He would’ve made quite the sight when he was younger you thought, the kind of face that needed to age into who he really was. A face that’d picked up scars and blemishes like little medals that appeared in certain lights.

“It helps a little,” you huffed, running your hand up and down his chest, sliding your fingers over a rumple in his shirt.

“What would help more? Would it help if I was cute again, would that make things better?”

“No, don’t you dare!”

“Are you sure, Schmusebär? I think it might make you feel better if I remind you that you’re my sweet perfect little baby-”

“I’m better! I feel better!” You groaned, desperately trying to cover your ears with your hands. “Not again!”

He was giggling mischievously to himself, clearly very impressed with his newfound torture technique, clutching at his chest as you wormed away and hissed at him to stop. He bit his lip and folded his arms behind his head, looking thoroughly pleased even while he stopped laughing. Apparently he was quite the gloat when he was self satisfied, and yet this - as you were to find out - wasn't even the tip of the iceberg.

“What does Schmusebär even mean?” you sighed, screwing your face up as you waited to find out.

“Schmusebär? Hm…it means cuddle bear,” he yawned, sounding like an old hound.

“Aw…that actually is kind of sweet.”

“Oh? I’ll have to make sure I avoid using that then.”

“König!” you whined.

-☠️-

Going back to base after those two days together was hell. You’d hoped that König might end up being sent off somewhere else for a time. You’d practically prayed that KorTac would be needed elsewhere for once and that there was something more important than Ex Nihilo. However as with everything else your luck never struck. You were forced to remain in the same confines as him - trying not to let your face completely betray everything that you’d gotten up to in your time together.

However, König didn’t seem to have that agenda. Oh no. He wasn’t worried about revealing too much at all.

About a day after you’d gotten back, you’d been training in the gym with Ghost, getting ready to be sent off on your next mission. You’d hardly even seen König at that point and after your first few hours of trying to avoid shitting yourself - thinking that someone somehow would’ve spotted you both together - you’d relaxed into the fact that everything was fine. Nobody knew about your secret rendezvous and no one ever would. Your heart could definitely resume its regular pace instead of the dizzying frenetic dance it’d decided to beat to.

You’d been running on the treadmill, maintaining a steady speed and focusing on the slap of your feet coming down heavily on the rubber - keeping time with your music. You breathed steadily, in and out, and kept your gaze mostly forward - occasionally watching to see what Ghost was doing as he piled on more and more weight to a barbell. It was therapeutic, the perfect way to forget about your little indiscretion and feel good about seeing Price next. You were practically back to normal!

All until you spotted König in the doorway.

His dark eyes peered out at you from over his neck warmer and he had his arms folded just below the logo of his old Rammstein T-shirt. It was the same one he’d worn on the second day of your trip, the same day you’d spent holed up in your hotel room trying to find a way to take said shirt off. That wasn’t even the worst of it. When you’d glanced below the shirt, you’d come close to tripping like a cartoon when you noticed his grey sweats, ever so close to cardiac arrest. Even before he’d done anything, before he’d even properly come into the room, he was fucking you up.

“Need something?” Ghost growled, noisily dropping the weight he’d been lifting to the ground.

“I was going to workout,” König replied, voice sounding sour as it always did with your team.

“Stop standing there staring like a spare prick and come in then.”

Neither man said anything after that. König narrowed his eyes at Ghost, his arms appearing as if they wanted to fly forward and choke the Lieutenant out. However, in a stunning display of restraint, he kept them at his side and walked over to the weights, depositing himself at the opposite side of his enemy. He was keeping Ghost in his eyeline, and regrettably you as well.

Your heart had noticeably started beating faster, though it had been a while since you’d upped the setting on the treadmill. Your feet pistoned hard on the whirring machine and you were starting to feel every step, your chest aching as your breathing pattern was thrown off. You panted hard and slowed the setting way down into a bare minimum walk, grasping for your water bottle like someone crawling through the desert.

With König’s antics you’d forgotten all about the evil red numbers that flashed on the screen in front of you, screaming out that you were falling behind your goal. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was ensuring your feet didn’t trip over each other now that you weren’t looking where you should be while you ran. Your eyes had just about popped out when you caught sight of him laying on the benchpress, you couldn’t seem to turn away, too transfixed by his powerful lifts and heavy breaths.

After a few sets his arms were already beginning to bulge and before you could stop yourself, your mind wandered off to remembering your weekend together. The feel of his ropey arms as they supported your weight and held in you in place, thick and veiny from the effort of all the…activities you’d been getting up to. You shook your head and gulped when you almost felt your right foot falter, just about toppling your entire body like a badly built jenga tower.

“Sneak!”

You whipped your head around at the shout and looked back at Ghost like a deer in front of a combine harvester. He’d caught you looking. You took a beat before you took your airpods from your ears, shakily setting them down onto the tray so that you could hear your Lieutenant clearly.

“Yeah?” you asked weakly.

“Come spot me.”

Ghost had never asked for you to spot for him before. Frankly, the last thing that Ghost needed was for you to spot him. You were confident he could lift five of you in a pinch, however, you knew he wasn’t really asking because it's what he needed. He knew that you needed to keep your eyes off König - especially while Price was likely to be hanging around.

You walked over and loomed over Ghost, nervously making sure to keep your eyes on him as much as possible. It wasn’t like you could help them wandering a couple times, admiring the way König’s shoulder blades bunched and how his arms swelled out of his T-shirt like they were tearing free. His breath and Ghost’s intermingled, both battling for your attentions, Ghost only winning because you were sure he’d rat to Price if you were being too obvious.

Though, when Ghost finally sat up, that’s when König decided to fight dirtier.

“Pub later?” Ghost asked, his voice disappearing somewhere in the fuzz of your mind.

Your lungs closed off, forgetting how to expel air, holding tight onto the breath you were supposed to let go. A swell of static took over your head and your teeth ached from clenching hard watching König stand up and take his shirt off. His uncovered body betraying the signs of all that you’d done on your second day at the hotel. The distressed and unmistakable scratches that you’d littered on his back, already turning pink as they’d begun to messily heal.

“Sneak?”

You weren’t listening to Ghost anymore, you were too busy fuming about König being so obvious. How could reveal his back like that in front of Ghost, what the fuck was he trying to prove? Your fists balled up with anger and you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hold onto what you felt so that you wouldn’t fall to the embarrassment of knowing that your superior could see your handiwork on König’s back.

“Fuck sake! C’mon.”

Ghost took you away, coming up behind you and shoving your back, manhandling you into the corridor. This was too familiar, you’d thought to yourself. It was just like the mission, you were going to get in trouble again, and this time it was all over - no more warnings. Everything that you’d thought was supposed to be ahead of you flashed before your eyes and you tried not to let the tears that were gathering break loose from the dam.

Your focus trained back on ghost and your nostrils flared faster than they had while you were running. You sputtered for a second, figuring out what to say. Though, you didn’t know what to say, had no idea how to explain yourself.

“Are you alright?” Ghost asked softly.

You frowned, feeling as if you were suffering from a head wound. He looked down at you with soft cow eyes and touched your shoulder gently. What the hell was happening?

“Alright? I- I’m ok,” you breathed, voice lilting as if you were asking a question.

“That was fucking classless that,” Ghost sighed.

“Classless?” you repeated, heart stopping as you wondered what he was talking about.

“Yeah. Taking his fuckin’ kit off and showing you he’s been fucking someone else is a low blow, Sneak. You don’t have to pretend you don’t care with me. I won’t tell anyone, not about something like that.”

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

You paused for a minute, mind catching up with what Ghost just said. He thought that König was trying to make some kind of point, to show you that he was over you. A garbled laugh tried to crawl free from your throat, but you choked it down and looked away, trying to think about anything other than the colossal misunderstanding that was taking place.

“Yeah, I um- I… I’ll be fine, Ghost… but um- maybe I could use a minute, y’know? I’m gonna go for a shower and sort myself out and I’ll uh- I’ll see you at the pub later, right?”

He still looked concerned, but his brows lifted a little. After another reassuring pat on the shoulder he sent you on your way and walked off, leaving you stumbling back to your room like a rambling tumbleweed. You were in complete disbelief at what just happened.

Not only did you get away with your forbidden weekend away together. Now all the guys were going to think König was fucking someone else. The perfect cover.

You screamed with laughter into your pillow once you got back, completely disbelieving that somehow things were working out for once. Luckily for you, luckily for König especially. It was that thought that sobered up and had you narrowing your eyes at the wall in front of you.

König was in big trouble.

Next Part Here

#König #König x reader #könig fanfiction #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare fanfiction #mw2

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yandere--stuck · 8 months

Text

Safety Hazard - Yandere!TFP!Ratchet x Human!Reader

You can't move. Can't speak. Can't even turn your head as you stare straight above you. You're too tired, but can't seem to fall asleep, either. A permanent state of disorientation and exhaustion as you try to make sense of the blue lights shining above you.

You flinch when something cold and metal makes contact with your face, body breaking into shivers as goosebumps pimple up over your skin.

"You are so cute, human…" Ratchet sighs, voice near a purr rumbling throughout his body, even to the singular digit that softly traced your face.

He knows he should use your name, but something about addressing you as 'human' makes something in his spark fizzle and burn. His little human. Almost like a toy, with how you lay so still and pliant on his medical berth.

All his.

The human body is so interesting. What Ratchet finds most fascinating is how susceptible your species is to chemical mixtures. Muscle relaxants and sleeping medicines slipped into a drink or meal before the team is supposed to head out for the day…

Now, he finally has one-on-one time with you. He didn't have the courage to confess to you, yet. And he's even more embarrassed to confess to his friends that he had feelings for you. For a human.

So, really, this is just practice! Practice for when it was finally the right time to confess to you. And when if you rejected him, he would have these memories to sustain him. Or, at least, he hoped they would. He'd done this plenty of times now, after all. Another great weakness of the human mind was that it lacked reliability when it came to accuracy and storage of memory, unlike a Cybertronian's.

A dark pulse of shame at the thought echoes throughout Ratchet's frame. In fact, maybe… Maybe this should be the last time.

"I love you so much," Ratchet confesses softly, as if that makes up for it. Gently, he moves his digit to settle against one of your pliant hands. Reflexively, your fingers flex. A shudder quakes you. The closest thing he can get to holding hands with you.

Part of him holds back because he knows there's so little he can do with you. But, an old bot like him can dream, can't he? Can dream of being young again. Before the war. When he was young, full of life and full of love.

And as much as he knows it will probably never work and that he should stop, he can't help himself. Ratchet wants more of you.

He vents shakily, looking over you as you rest on the berth. Slowly, he lifts himself onto the berth, crawling onto his stabilizers. He towers over you. And it both terrifies and electrifies him. Just being like this, close to you, you in his care, it's the most alive he's felt in years.

He's careful, though. Always, always careful. Careful never to hurt you. Careful to give the correct doses. Careful not to let you on to how he feels. Always so careful. So, so careful, it's exhausting.

Just once. He just wants to take one risk, and it'll be enough to last him an eternity. Ratchet puts all his weight on one servo as he used his other to slowly, carefully, cup your head. Just one, and it'll be enough.

"My human, if you love me back," Ratchet leans forward, daring to close his eyes. "Kiss me."

He lifted you up, nearly locking up as he felt the warmth of your lips on his dermas. You're perfect. So, so perfect. And so warm. So human.

Slowly, his servo roamed down your back, lifting you up closer to him, burying his face against your body as he peppered your face with kisses, sighing happily as he fully descended into the fantasy of you wanting him back, of loving him in return, of you being in control of his actions and not just forgetting this whole thing the moment you reawaken.

He hums as the shivers slowly melt away and you're once again pliant from the warmth of his heating helm and servos. He nearly becomes lost in pressing up against you. Trying to get closer. Closer. As close as a human and Cybetronian can get and maybe closer. Like he wants to hide you inside, keep you close to his spark.

Ratchet remembers himself, shaking the sparkstruck feeling off as he lays you back down against the berth, the mech being extra careful as he clambers down. Thank goodness no one was there to see that, how wreckless of him! No one should climb on a medical berth like that. You both could have gotten hurt…

As he watches you drift off to recharge- 'sleep', Ratchet finds himself lost in fantasies of doing this with you again very soon.

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dragon-kazansky · 2 months

Text

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

You are his lover. When Morpheus was captured, you fell into the deep sleep. He has no idea until he returns to his realm where Lucienne tells him what happened. Unable to help you until he gets his tools back, he is more determined than ever to get his full power back.

{Masterlist}

{Next Chapter}

Warnings: None really. Just the start of the story.

Chapter One - See you soon

☆☆☆

The Dreaming. The place people go to at the end of the day. When they're all tucked up in bed and drifting off, they come here. A realm full of stories and adventures. A realm where dreams and nightmares thrive.

The Dreaming is also home. Home to many creatures and beings. It is the realm of the lord of dreams and king of nightmares. Dream. That is how he is commonly known. Morpheus, to those who really know him. He's Darling to his wife.

His wife. A woman he met many years ago. She was a gift to him. A gift he fell in love with once he learned how to open his heart to her. She has been by his side for many moons now.

This is their kingdom. Their life. Their home.

Now, Morpheus was about to leave his realm in search of a rouge nightmare. It wasn't often anyone left The Dreaming, but occasionally, Morpheus had walked among the mortals.

He stood on the steps of his throne, tools in hand, preparing to make his leave. The Corianthian was free, and he had to stop him. Beside him, his wife stood with his helm in hand. She looked just as beautiful as she always did. Lucienne stood at the bottom of the stairs, a glint of worry etched into her gaze.

"My lord, you are coming back, aren't you?"

"Why would I not return, Lucienne?" Morpheus asks.

"Of course he will come back," you say, looking at your husband. "He will always come back."

Morpheus looks at you with a gentle gaze in his eyes. His hand is being held by your free one. He loves the way your fingers curl around his.

"As powerful as you are here in your realm, dreams rarely survive on the waking world." Lucienne explains.

Morpheus takes his helm from you and puts it on. You take a few steps down to stand beside Lucienne. Morpheus takes his leather pouch out and pours some sand into his palm.

"Nightmares, on the other hand, seem to thrive there."

With a quick gesture, Morpheus throws the sand up, and it swirls around him. You do not take your eyes off him until he is no longer standing on the steps of his throne.

You sigh softly.

"See you soon, my love."

☆☆☆

"My lady, if I may?" Lucienne approaches you as you read in the library. Morpheus had been gone no longer than 45 minutes so far.

"Yes? What is it, Lucienne?"

"If I may say, do you really think it was a good idea to let him go?"

You smile as you close the book in your hand and look up at her. "Morpheus is capable. He can bring our nightmare back home. Have trust in him, Lucienne. He will come back to us soon."

Lucienne offers a smile and nods. She leaves you alone to continue reading. However, the book no longer holds your interest. You look at the ring on your finger.

"Come back to me, darling."

☆☆☆

2 hours have passed. There has been no word nor a whisper about what was happening in the Waking World.

You were sitting on the steps of the throne room, waiting. In your hands, you played with your ring, needing to feel aome aspect of him. The ruby sparkled, but it showed your nothing of where he was.

"My lady."

Jessamy flew in and landed nearby.

"Jessamy."

"He will return. He would never just leave."

"I know. I'm just worried."

The raven cocks her head to the side as she looks at you. She can see the worry on your face. Your eyes focus on the way you turn your ring between your fingers.

"The Corianthian is a complicated being." Jessamy tries to softly remind you. "Perhaps Morpheus is just having a hard tike locating him."

"Perhaps..."

Or perhaps something has gone wrong.

☆☆☆

A whole day passes. Morpheus has not returned home. You're pacing the floor of your chambers. You grow restless with each hour that passes without a word from him. Morpheus has never left you without a word before. He would have contacted you by now.

The worry seeps into your bones as you whisper his name and try to calm your racing mind.

A knock sounds at your door.

"Yes?"

Lucienne comes in and looks at you. The expression on her face tells you that there is still no news.

"I need to find him."

"My lady, you must not leave the realm. Please, rest."

"How can I rest when I don't know where he is? Morpheus would have sent word if he needed mkre time. Something has gone wrong, I can feel it."

Lucienne reaches out to rub your arms gently. She tries to get you to focus on her, needing you to calm down a little.

"I am aware Lord Morpheus would never leave you this long without sending a message back. I, too, fear something may have happened, but we must remain calm. This realm needs a ruler until his return, and he has bestowed that role to you. Please, my lady, get some rest. Who knows, he may be by your side when you wake." She offers you another smile.

You take her words to heart and nod. Lucienne leaves you in your room. You can not help but worry. However, you do as she suggests and get some rest.

You climb into the bed, which feels colder without Morpheus because you, and close your eyes.

"Come home, Morpheus."

☆☆☆

Lucienne knocked on the door to your chambers. No one had seen as of yet that day. It was unlike you to sleep in unless Morpheus had kept you up.

"My lady?" She calls, knocking on the door again.

No answer.

"My lady?" She tries once more.

Still no answer.

"Forgive me, my lady." She whispers as she opens the door herself. She is greeted by the sight of you in bed, fast asleep.

Lucienne approaches the bed. She would never dare enter your chambers without permission before, but it seemed you needed slight assistance in getting up today. Perhaps your heart was saddened by Morpheus not being present and needed the extra rest.

She felt for you.

"My lady, you must wake."

You did not stir.

"My lady?" She frowns as she takes in your current status. Something feels wrong. Lucienne reaches out and touches your hand lightly.

Something is wrong.

"My lady?"

☆☆☆

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. Months turn into years.

Morpheus sits in his glass cage, trapped by the circle around him. Rodrick Burgess did this. He had tried to summon Death but instead received her younger brother. Now he was trapped.

Rodrick Burgess kept Dream down in his basement, stripped of his clothes and his tools. Morpheus had no way to contact The Dreaming. He had no way of contacting you.

His beloved wife. He missed you. He missed the sound of you voice. He missed your eyes. He missed the touch of your hand.

His ring. It was missing. They had stolen that, too.

Morpheus was without you entirely. These mortals had taken him away from his kingdom and away from his wife.

Vengeance.

He needed it.

☆☆☆

A century had passed. Morpheus had seen Alex Burgess grow old. Rodrick had since died, and Alex took over.

Morpheus could only hope his imprisonment would soon end. He had to return home. He had to return to you.

Alex had come down to the basement one last time. He pleaded once more. Morpheus, as always, said nothing. He just watched. Alex used the same words they had told him for decades. It would change nothing.

Alex gets back in his wheelchair and Paul takes him away, the wheel of the chair rubbing away a line from the circle. They had no idea what they had just done.

Morpheus waited.

He watched the two guards currently watching over him. One of them was talking about a holiday. Sun, sea, sand. Perfect. Morpheus looked at him. The guard yawned.

Today was the day Morpheus went home.

Using that dream, Morpheus escaped into it.

In the Waking World, the guard was shooting at the glass of his cage. It cracked and weakened. Soon, it shattered, and Morpheus was able to get out. In his hand was sand that he had taken from the dream. He blew it gently. The guard went to sleep, and Morpheus turned around to enter the portal back home.

But first, he had to deal with Alex.

☆☆☆

Alex Burgess would never wake up again. Eternal sleep was his punishment. For now, that was good enough. Morpheus was free to return to his realm and see the damage that had been done from being away so long.

He mostly just wished to see you again. A century was far too much time to be away from your side. His heart ached to be with you again.

Lucienne knew he had returned. She felt it.

Far out from the gates of his realm, he lay in the sand. Lucienne ran all the way out there to get him. She had never felt such relief before.

She ran over and shook him gently, waking him up. His blue eyes opened, and he saw her familiar and friendly face. He was home.

"Lucienne," he whispered her name.

"Your home, my lord." Lucienne was beyond happy.

"I am." He smiled.

She helps up to his feet. He takes a moment to look around. Lucienne is alone. He can only assume you are waiting back in the palace for him. The thought of seeing your smile again made his heart burst with joy.

The two make their way to the gates. Morpheus opens them. They slow open.

"Forgive me, sir, but the realm, the palace, they are not as you left them." Lucienne says, looking at him solemnly.

Morpheus looks at his realm.

Everything was in disarray. The palace was crumbling, falling apart. The luscious greens that surrounded his palace were gone. The realm looked... empty.

"What happened here?" He asks. His home, his realm, was nothing like it was. "Who did this?"

"My lord, you are The Dreaming. The Dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were, the realm began to decay and crumble."

"And the residents? The palace staff?" Morpheus asks.

"I'm afraid most have gone."

"Gone?"

"Some went looking for you."

"And the others?"

"They thought, perhaps, you had grown weary of your duties, and..."

"What? Abandoned them?" He didn't want to believe such a thing. "Had they so little faith in me? Had my own subjects not known me?"

"If I may, sir, there is one other thing..." Lucienne said, not sure exactly how she was going to break this news to him.

"What is it?"

"It's about your wife, my lord."

Morpheus felt his blood run cold. Had you abandoned him, too? Had you, the woman he adored above all others, lost faith in him?

"Where is she?" He asks.

"Inside, sir."

Morpheus turns back to his palace. You were still here. You hadn't left. He cursed himself for even doubting you. You would never leave him, not willingly.

He makes his way toward the palace, or what's left of it. Lucienne follows him, knowing he does not yet know the full extent of what happened.

"Where is she, Lucienne?" He asks.

"In your chambers, my lord. But sir -" Lucienne doesn't get to finish what she wants to say before he is at your door. He knocks, but there is no answer. He opens the door, ready to scoop you into his arms and never let go of you again.

However, the sight the greets him is far from what he expected. Morpheus swears he hears his own heart shatter.

"No..."

You lay in the bed, peaceful, quiet, asleep. He walks over to the side of the bed slowly and looks down at you. He reaches out to touch your hand.

"How long?"

"My lord-"

"How long has she been asleep?" He looks up at Lucienne.

"I assume, from the moment you were trapped. I told her to rest while we waited for your return. She... did not wake again."

Morpheus turns back to you and caresses your cheek lightly with his finger.

"I will bring all the dreams and nightmares back home." He says softly. "I will fix this." He does not take his eyes off of you. "I will wake you from your dreamless slumber, and we will be together again. I promise," he whispers.

Lucienne can only watch her king gaze at his beloved. She had done everything she could to keep things going in his absence, but she knew this would hurt the most.

The Dreaming would be rebuilt. That much, he was sure of.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @mischievousvillainy - @kpopgirlbtssvt -

#symphony of dreams #morpheus x reader #female reader #the sandman #dragon writes

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humanpurposes · 4 months

Text

We're Born At Night

Chapter 2

Lady Rhaelle Targaryen of Runestone travels to King's Landing to plead for her sister's life, though the King she must bow to is a kinslayer three times over, and the very man who slaughtered her father

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Rhaelle Targaryen (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, eventual smut, politics, mentions of death and war, Aemond is a bit of a dick but that's his job

Words: 5.9k

A/n: I was aiming to post this on Sunday (but a pretty girl said I was cute and I went a bit insane 😌)

“Cheat!”

Rhaelle conceals her delight as she claims the ivory King piece from the cyvasse board. “It is not cheating, dear sister, it is strategy.”

Sunset is not long away. Rhaelle and Daena have spent most of the day in their chambers, waiting, flicking through the small collection of books from the shelf, playing cards and games of cyvasse which all end in the same way, a decisive victory for Rhaelle.

She cannot stomach the thought of food or sweets, cider or wine. She just feels her heart drumming in her chest, pulsing through the blood that runs under her skin. Aemond’s voice is still a whisper in her head and the other faces in the throne room are a blur, like trying to remember details from a dream. She should have been more attentive. The number of potential allies at court might be few but they will be invaluable if they are to advance here.

So they wait. Wait for Lord Corlys to give them some indication that the King has acknowledged their cause, that he has even heard it.

She glances down at her fingers wrapped around the King piece, at the hand he kissed a matter of hours ago. Aemond had been rather welcoming in the throne room, she supposes, at least publicly.

“But you tricked me!” Daena protests, looking in despair over the few pieces she has left on the board.

“I acted within the rules of the game,” Rhaelle says simply.

Daena makes a disheartened but determined huffing sound and starts to set the pieces out again, when there is a knock at the door. Morra answers and returns with Ser Willis, donned in his white cloak, with his helm under his arm and a broadsword proudly by his side.

Rhaelle taps her fingers on the table in front of Daena to get her attention and rises. “Lord Commander,” she says, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Lady Rhaelle,” he greets with a small bow of his head. “I have a request from the King.”

Her heart leaps. Finally the waiting is at an end, but she contains herself. “Which is?”

“His Grace often takes his niece and nephew for a walk about the gardens in the evening, before the Prince and Princess are put to bed. He is unable to fulfil this duty tonight and asked if yourself and Lady Daena would like to take his place?”

She catches Daena’s eye for a moment and sees the same brightness in her gaze, the same hopefulness.

Aegon, her heart whispers to her. Aemond has invited them to meet with their brother.

Ser Willis leads the way, Morra following behind as they head towards the courtyard, to the lowered drawbridge of Maegor’s Holdfast. The halls here are closer than inside the rest of the castle and the windows are smaller so the light is lower. Ser Willis leads them through locked doors and flights of stairs, until they come to a series of apartments that are bright and grand, with wide open rooms and paler stone walls that reflect the light.

At last they come to a room where pale blue is the most prominent colour. The stonework is adorned with images of flowers and dragons alike, and a fire crackles pleasantly in the hearth.

There are two settees in the centre of the room. On the one facing the door, a little girl with silver hair in a light blue gown stares intently at the book on her governess’ lap. Her lavender eyes follow the words as the woman reads to her.

And perched on the windowsill is a boy, a little older, with a wooden knight in his hands. He turns his head when he hears the door open and stares right at them, with his lips downturned and his violet eyes wide and unblinking. He looks like Daena did when she was small, with neatly combed silver hair instead of her dark brown curls.

The governess closes the book and gathers the children to stand before their visitors. “Forgive us, my Ladies, we have been waiting patiently for you, haven’t we children?”

The girl clings to the woman’s hand, staring up at them like she is holding back tears, while the boy stands straight with his hands behind his back.

“Princess,” the governess says, ushering the girl forward, “these are your cousins, the Lady Rhaelle, and the Lady Daena.”

Jaehaera, the orphan Princess, the last of her family save for her uncle Aemond. She had a twin once, and a baby brother. Prince Jaehearys was beheaded only a short walk away from this room, before the eyes of his mother, his grandmother, and his siblings. It was in the early days of the war, a son for a son, at the order of Daemon Targaryen.

The little Princess takes a tentative step forwards, clinging to the sides of her gown as she curtsies steadily and gracefully.

Rhaelle curties low and rises to offer the girl a sympathetic smile, because losing a mother is a terrible thing, a lonely thing, which she knows all too well.

“Prince Aegon,” the governess says next, ushering him forward, “these are your sisters.” There is no warmth to her voice like she has for Jaeheara, but no contempt either, just an unsure sort of bluntness.

Aegon looks between them. “My father’s daughters,” he says softly.

Rhaelle extends a hand to him. Those eyes are so precious, she thinks, the eyes that had to see his own mother burned and devoured by his uncle’s dragon. Her heart shatters for him, for both of them, that they have had to witness so much horror.

“We have wanted to meet you for some time,” she says.

Aegon nods and holds her hand tightly. In the corner of her eye she sees the governess watching them.

Ser Willis and another Kingsguard, Ser Gyles Belgrave, accompany them to the gardens. When the governess goes to follow, Rhaelle holds up her hand. “No need,” she says, “my sister and I should like to acquaint ourselves with her family. We will be no longer than an hour.”

Neither the governess nor the guards protest.

The gardens are nothing like the countryside around Runestone, gravel paths and fountains, rows of carefully trimmed hedges, walkways covered in red ivy and trees that have begun to shed their golden leaves. They stay in sight of the castle, and Ser Willis and Ser Gyles are never far behind them.

Daena is delighted with young Aegon. She runs her hands over his hair, kisses his cheek, asks him about his favourite books and if he has held a sword yet.

Jaeheara was quiet at first but has warmed up, letting Rhaelle take one hand and Morra take the other. Her hand is small, soft and delicate, so much that Rhaelle worries she might break her if she holds her too tightly. She babbles on about the things children do. She says her favourite colour is blue, like her gown and like the sky. She says her governess is teaching her how to read, count and dance, but she wants to learn to sew.

“What would you sew?” Rhaelle asks.

Jaeheara knits her brow in thought. “Butterflies,” she says, “and spiders, and ladybirds.”

“You like insects?” Morra says.

“I can’t decide,” says Jaehaera, “but mother liked them very much.”

Rhaelle so desperately wants to bring her into her arms and hold her close to her chest. “Did your mother sew too?” she asks.

“Oh yes, she had a gift for us every day.” She keeps her eyes on the gravel shifting beneath her feet. “That means she was kind, doesn’t it?”

Rhaelle stops and turns to Jaehaera, bending her knees a little so their eyes meet. A flash of silver catches her attention instead, back towards the castle. She looks past Jaehaera’s shoulder, to a balcony overlooking the gardens. She knows it’s him, if the hair doesn’t give him away the black eyepatch against his pale skin does.

“Your mother was kind to me, when I knew her,” she says, gently.

Jaehaera’s eyes widen. Rhaelle worries she might start to cry but instead she smiles. “Uncle Aemond says she was kind.”

Her heart is humming again and her hands are starting to tremble. He must be watching them, watching her.

A little further down the path, Aegon and Daena are picking blackberries from a bramble bush, giggling as they place them in their mouths.

Rhaelle can hardly help herself but cup one of Jaehaera’s plump little cheeks. “We might find some insects in the bushes, what do you think, little Princess?”

“I often see ladybirds on the bramble bushes,” Jaehaera says. “I think they must like blackberries.”

Aegon calls his cousin’s name and waves at her with one hand, while cupping something in the other. He has found a caterpillar and shows it to Jaehaera. She stares down at its little green body with an endearing wonder, before deciding she wants to hold it too and show Morra.

While the children are distaced, Rhaelle steps close enough to Daena that they can speak softly to each other, without having to lean in too obviously.

“He said he knows all about us from Alyssa,” Daena says, “she used to tell him about us, about Runestone. Then he asked me if she was dead too.”

Rhaelle almost flinches.

“He is not yet seven years old and he has watched most of his family die,” Daena whispers bitterly, glancing towards the guards, out of earshot.

Rhaelle watches them too, far too busy with their own conversation to be listening to them and only sparing occasional glances towards the children. Then she looks back to the castle, hoping Aemond is still there, and he is.

When Ser Willis says it is time for the children to be taken back to the Holdfast, Rhaelle and Daena oblige. Jaehaera’s hands and mouth are covered in purple fruit juice and she is delighted with herself.

They pass under the balcony where Aemond stands as they reenter the castle. Daena and Morra are walking arm in arm. Aegon and Jaeheara are excitedly talking about caterpillars and butterflies and all the places they would fly to if they could grow wings.

Rhaelle sees him though, and catches his lone eye. His face is unreadable, stern and soft, dark and light.

Instinct, a reckless urge that she justifies as a risk, drives her towards a doorway leading off from the entrance hall. Daena and Morra will wait for her in their chambers once the children have been seen back to the nursery. The doorway leads to a hall, then a small winding staircase. She hitches her skirts and climbs it quickly, ensuring not to lose her footing in haste. She feels like she is chasing something intangible and follows it along a gallery, then to the balcony beyond that.

Aemond is still standing there with his hands behind his back and his head tall, looking south, over the gardens and Blackwater Bay beyond that. The noise of the castle does not reach her ears here, only the sound of the wind and the waves rolling over the shore beneath the Keep. In the west the sky burns like fire and in the east it is already getting dark.

She approaches him slowly, her shoes making enough of a noise against the flagstone floor to alert him of her presence, but softly enough so as not to disturb him. She comes to stand beside him on his seeing side, keeping her head straight but watching him, always watching him. “Your Grace,” she says quietly.

The corner of his mouth is curled. Is he smirking? Or is he irritated by her presence? “My Lady,” he returns.

Her hands are shaking. She brings them before her, clasping them together so she cannot fidget. “I had assumed you had other business this evening.”

“You assumed,” he says without looking at her.

“Ser Willis said you invited us to see the children.”

“I thought you might like to.”

“I did,” she insists, turning her head to face him. “I did. I am grateful. Daena and I are both grateful.”

Aemond hums, low and cryptic. It makes her feel weightless for a moment. He finally turns his head towards her. “The boy has mentioned you before, his Royce sisters, each of you.”

Coming from any other’s lips she might have taken her mother’s name as a compliment, and it could almost be that given the softness of his voice as he says it. But something else is written in the way he holds himself, the intensity in his eye, the striking gleam of silver hair falling over black leather: he is a true Targaryen, and she is an outsider.

Perhaps if she looks into his eye for long enough she’ll be able to read his thoughts. She finds nothing, save for an unsettled feeling in her chest and stomach. So she looks away, back out over the gardens. “I am glad my brother is being treated so well,” she says.

“Why should that surprise you?”

She tilts her head and gives him a rather pointed look. She asks herself if she would dare answer that question seriously. He still has the knife on him, maybe he’ll draw it and cut her throat for treason if she presses him hard enough.

Instead he hums a small laugh. “Prince Aegon is my heir until I have sons of my own. You needn’t fear if your brother is being mistreated.”

For now.

Then he adds in a quieter voice, “he is good with Jaehaera.”

Aegon was an older brother after all, and meant to have a younger sister of his own until the outbreak of war.

“The Princess is a delight,” Rhaelle says, “she is easy to love.”

Aemond’s eye lights up and he almost smiles. “She’s a sweet little thing, just like her mother was. Jaehaerys was the same…” he seems to regret this train of thought when he takes a slow breath and frowns to himself.

Rhaelle watches his chest rise and fall, this formidable man, a King forged in a time of war, determined not to crumble in the face of his own grief. She can almost pity him, and perhaps she does when she feels a gnawing sort of feeling knotting and twisting inside of her. She aches for him, for his losses and for her own.

“I see my own mother in many ways,” she says, taking a step into him. Aemond looks to her again, darkly but patiently. “I see her in my sister when she is stubborn. I see her in myself sometimes, all the times I thought she was being overbearing. I see her when I ride through the hills at Runestone. I feel her hovering over my shoulder when I draw a bow.”

Aemond has turned his body to face her now, not completely, just a little. One of his hands rests on the balustrade brought into a gentle fist, and he’s standing close to her, enough that she can hear each breath he takes and smell the leather of his jerkin.

“Because we don’t truly lose them,” she says, “at least I hope not. I can scarcely remember my mother’s face but I still know her love.”

“And that gives you comfort?” Aemond says.

“It does.”

“And what of your father, what love do you have for him?”

His question steals the air from her lungs. What love does she have for him, the man she hardly knew? The man her mother hated. The man who gave her his name and the burden of his legacy. Daemon’s blood runs through her veins as much as Rhea Royce’s does, life beyond death, enduring and damning.

Aemond is watching her intently, waiting for her answer, searching her face for a sign of weakness, but always with that gleam of amusement. Did he look for weakness in Daemon before they mounted their dragons at the God’s Eye? Did he find the fear he seems to feed off?

“The same all girls have for their fathers, I suppose,” is her answer.

“And do all girls love their fathers?”

“As best we can.”

“How diplomatic of you,” he says, smirking. He’s toying with her, testing her like a hunting trap.

“You distrust me,” she says.

He tuts. “I would very much like to trust you.”

“Yet you do not.”

“Do you trust me, cousin?”

It’s like asking if she would trust a snarling beast with a taste for her blood. “You are my King,” she says.

“And as King, it is my duty to identify threats, to my rule and to the realm.”

His gaze does not falter, and so she will not allow hers to either.

“Am I a threat, Your Grace?”

He considers her for a few moments, like he did in the throne room, studying her as closely and thoroughly as a scholar studies an ancient tome. All the while he curls his lips like he has a secret. “My brother was King before me,” he says in a low voice, taking another small step into her. “You are aware of the end he met?”

“Poison,” she says.

“And I took Larys Strong’s head for it, a man who served my mother for many years, who saw Jaeheara to safety during the war, who helped Aegon return to King’s Landing when it was taken from him. I could have all manner of enemies in these very walls, those who might seek to replace me with a child, more easily controlled than I am. Wearing a crown did not spare my brother from death and it will not spare me.”

He can trust no one, he means. A crown has become comparable to a death sentence as of late, and Kings and Queens are perhaps not as invincible as they once seemed.

“You are not your brother,” she says.

“No. What am I then?”

She parts her lips to respond, but she cannot give him an answer. In truth, the thought of being face to face with him, to ask for his mercy had terrified her when she first left Runestone. Aemond Targaryen, the man who started a war when he killed his nephew, who burned armies and put innocent men, women and children to the sword, who killed her father.

She has often wondered how he did it, if the battle was quick, or if it was long and bitter. She has wondered if the dragons tore each other to pieces, or if Aemond had been able to look his uncle in the eye as he claimed his life.

Before all of that he was a child with a gruesome gash in his face, who had tried so hard to hide his pain from her.

He hums cryptically and she feels him lean in closer to her, coming close enough that she can see the imperfections and the details in his face, the lines around his mouth and the texture of his skin. The edges of his scar appear as thin lines now. It is a striking element to his appearance, but other than that, she supposes he is merely a man.

“I have asked you once but I shall ask again: have you come to ask something of me, Lady Rhaelle?”

Lord Corlys would warn her to be patient. There is a strategy that must be employed, a set order in place for making a request of the King. She must be delicate, for Alyssa’s sake.

She spots his hand on the balustrade and places her own over it, barely tracing her fingers over his. She feels his gaze on her all the while. “Our house has been divided for too long. Shouldn’t we seek to heal this rift between our families?”

He watches where their hands meet and lifts them until their palms are against one another. Rhaelle’s fingertips press into the grooves of his fingers, against his warmth and the rough calluses of his skin.

“Hmm,” he says, threading his fingers through hers, closing over her knuckles. “You have a way with choosing your words carefully.”

Naturally. Her survival depends on it. “As must we all, Your Grace,” she says.

He mutters under his breath, like she’s played a winning move in a game of cyvasse, “very good.”

She can still feel him when she returns to her chambers, the gentlest brush of his fingertips and the heat of his hand against hers. She can mistake a gentle draft or breeze for his breath ghosting over her face, the sound of the wind beyond the window as the sound of his voice.

Lord Corlys visits them after dinner. She offers him some of the leftover roast beef but she shakes his head and instead asks for a cup of wine as he makes himself comfortable in an armchair before the hearth.

Rhaelle joins him, bringing two cups with her while Morra carries the decanter of wine. Daena gathers a fur throw, a pillow and a book, and settles on a chaise by the window. She doesn’t usually like to read, especially not at night when she can scarcely see the words.

Rhaelle smiles at her, sceptically. Daena shrugs her shoulders and lowers her eyes to the page.

“I have news from Driftmark,” Lord Coryls says, “Baela and Rhaena have accepted their invitation to the King’s Tournament and will set sail for King’s Landing in three days time.”

This is supposed to make her happy. From what she remembers at their mother’s funeral and the wedding feast, her half-sisters were agreeable enough but still unfamiliar. Baela, the older twin, was a little more forward than her sister, a dragonrider from a young age and it showed. Rhaena was far quieter and more cautious. They must be changed now, being right in the heart of Rhaenyra’s war.

“The King’s Tournament?” Daena’s voice calls from the window.

“Tourneys, feasts, dancing; a celebration to mark the betrothal of the King to Lady Floris Baratheon,” Corlys says, raising his glass.

A romance for the ages: he barged into Storm’s End looking for an army to support his brother’s claim, and she was the most agreeable of four sisters.

“The eyes of the realm will be on the two of you,” Lord Corlys says.

“I do not see why we would attract such interest,” Daena says.

“Aemond still needs to secure his rule. His heir is a child and the son of his brother’s rival. After that his closest competitors for the throne are his uncle’s daughters.”

“My sisters and I have no desire for a crown, Lord Corlys,” Rhaelle says.

“You are Targaryens and you have a claim to the throne whether you desire it or not. That invites challenge. Half the country has been devastated by war and the rest will struggle through winter. I’m afraid your matter will take time.”

“How much time?”

He gestures vaguely with his hands. “You will appear before the King tomorrow. You will renounce your father, your step-mother and your late betrothed. The King will accept, and you will ask only that Lady Alyssa be spared from the headsman.”

“He would have her killed?”

“It is a matter of contention amongst the members of the Small Council, but as I understand it, His Grace has little desire to spill any more blood than is necessary.”

Daena chuckles quietly to herself.

Lord Corlys’ brow raises, but he does not comment on it. “In return for your loyalty, I expect the King to welcome you wholeheartedly into his court. When Aemond and Floris are wed you may be given positions in the Queen’s Household. You’ll be able to stay here permanently, you’ll get to see your brother and sisters often, and eventually you’ll make good matches to rich and powerful husbands, as befitting your royal blood.”

She wouldn’t have her mother’s cousins pestering her about the absence of the Lady of Runestone, eyeing the seat that belongs to her sister. Hers and Daena’s futures would be secured.

“And what of Alyssa?” she asks.

“I will ensure she is kept alive and well, and in time, we may convince the King to release her.”

May convince. The thought does not feel particularly assuring, but what else can she do?

She wakes at dawn the next morning, dresses and readies herself for court as she had done the previous day, taking her sister’s arm as they walk into the throne room. There is no grand entrance this time, they are led to an adjacent chamber and enter through a small doorway that leads them to the far end of the hall.

She and Daena stand to the right, below the steps that lead to the throne, behind the members of the Small Council, Lord Corlys, Lord Tyland, Maester Orwyle, Lord Unwin Peake, Martyn Hightower and his brother, Garmund. These men have no doubt argued over the matter of her sister’s imprisonment. “A matter of contention,” as Lord Corlys had said.

Aemond sits upon the throne again, comfortably poised, and she is amongst the first to lobby him.

Lord Corlys steps forward to announce her as she approaches the Iron Throne. She comes to her knees before him and allows herself to look up. She half expects to find him smiling, but his lips are in a thin line, not amused or prideful, but curious, his eye fixed upon her face.

“Your Grace,” she says, mustering all the courage she can to give her voice a clear demand without pushing too far. “I come before you once again as your loyal subject, to speak for myself and for my sister, Lady Daena.”

Aemond crosses one of his legs over the other, with his arm resting upon the throne, amongst the sharp edges of the blades. He brings his fingers to his chin and tilts his head, a command to continue.

She feels her pulse quicken, the words threatening to catch in her throat as they had done before, but she forces herself through it. “I renounce my late father, the traitor, Daemon Targaryen. I renounce my late step-mother, Princess Rhaenyra and her attempt to supplant the true line of succession. I renounce my former betrothed, the late Prince Joffrey. I–” she catches Lord Corlys’ eye and he nods to her.

She thinks of Alyssa, her brave, beautiful sister, who held her and soothed her when Ser Gerold explained that their mother would never return to them, whose wisdom she worshipped and whose arms she sought comfort in until the day Daemon took her to Dragonstone. Once the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, now condemned to death if Rhaelle does not save her.

“I come before you again, to pledge my loyalty to you, and to our house,” she says, keeping her head down, waiting for the sound of Aemond’s voice or his footsteps.

“Come to me,” he says.

It’s like her body is set alight, heat, fury and excitement rising in her belly, her blood running hot beneath her skin. There is anger too, because she cannot read him, because she cannot tell if this is a show of favour or if he means to insult her somehow. She resents his incessant staring. She resents his cold, impassive nature. She resents the light feeling in her limbs as she climbs the steps to stand before him.

He rises to meet her, his hand outstretched and his lips threatening to break into a smirk.

Most of what she had heard of her father was that he was a jealous and ambitious man. He coveted this seat, held by his brother, promised to his niece, ultimately claimed by his nephew. Daemon killed for it, he died for it, and now she is close enough that she could reach out and touch it.

She places her hand in his and he holds her gently, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. She clenches her jaw as she tries not to shudder.

“I accept your pledge,” he says, then loudly, so the others in the room may hear him. “It is not my wish to punish you for the sins of your family.”

The room hums with curious murmurs, nods of approval and whispers.

“Forgive me,” Rhaelle says quietly, as if this were a private exchange, as if they were not on display before the court. “You asked me yesterday if I had something to ask of you, and the truth is I do.”

Aemond’s brow raises, but the rest of his face is solemn. “Go on,” he says.

“My sister, Alyssa, is currently your prisoner, declared to be a traitor by your brother’s order. Spare her life, cousin, I beg you.”

Suddenly the silence in the hall is tangible. What must they be thinking, the Lords and Ladies before them, the men of the Small Council, Lord Corlys?

She does not spare a glance for any of them. She tightens her grip on Aemond’s hand and when she looks into his eye she does not plead for pity or sympathy. She is a Targaryen just as much as he is, with fire in her blood and pride in her heart.

“Lady Rhaelle,” Aemond says, “you are the acting Lady of Runestone.”

“I am, Your Grace.”

“You do a fine job of it, so I understand?”

She hesitates. She ensures the castle, its lands and people are kept well. She advises Lady Arryn when it is required of her. “As best I can, Your Grace.”

He leans in closer to her, close enough that she feels his breath on the shell of her ear and her neck. “Do away with modesty, it is a waste of my time,” he mutters. When he pulls away the corner of his mouth is curled so that it could almost be a joke. “Lady Rhaelle,” he announces, addressing the room, “in return for your loyalty to the crown, I hereby grant you the title of Lady of Runestone and all its inheritance.”

The room applauds this decision but Rhaelle is struck by dread. She looks to Daena, equally surprised, equally powerless. She looks to Lord Corlys, who seems to accept this too. The faces of Lord Tyland, Lord Unwin, and the Hightowers are less pleased.

She turns back to Aemond and keeps her voice low, “Your Grace, I cannot accept–”

His grip on her hand becomes a painful one as he turns his face in towards her. “You will accept,” he says with a cold fury. “While I am moved by your devotion to your sister, she must remain a prisoner and forfeit any and all claims she was previously entitled to.”

His face is dark and severe and her stomach drops like she is standing at the edge of some great height, one step away from a fall. She might be wise to fear this side of him, she thinks, but she is tempted to refuse him, to take that final step from the edge if only to see what anger he can truly unleash. She’d take pride in it, and maybe it’s her Targaryen nature, but suddenly something in the back of her mind thirsts for chaos.

It is her choice to make, but her life and the lives of her family will be at risk if she makes the wrong one.

And so she must choose her words carefully, unsure if it will bring her closer to her goal or drag her further from it.

“It would be an honour, Your Grace.”

Rhaelle and Daena dine alone that night. She is starving, but then the meat is brought out, a cut of roasted lamb, rare meat still on the bone that bleeds when Morra starts to carve it for them. It repulses her. She cannot even look at it. She downs a cup of apple cider instead and manages a mouthful of bread.

Daena can see that something is wrong, but does not question her.

Morra, on the other hand, offers her more cider and something that might be softer on her stomach. “Blackberries?” she suggests with a kind smile.

“Please,” Rhaelle mutters.

Morra brings her a small bowl of them, dusted with sugar. At first she is thankful for how refreshing the taste is on her tongue, until she looks down at her fingertips and sees them stained red.

She forces her hand away from her lips in a sudden jolt of movement, and in her haste knocks her fork to the floor with a jarring clatter of metal against stone.

It doesn’t matter, she thinks, starting to wipe her fingers against her napkin, but the red will not fade. She tries harder, dragging the fabric against her skin until it almost burns, but it won’t come out, it will not–

“Lady Rhaelle?”

She throws her napkin down on the table and covers her mouth, fighting the urge to gag. “I’m fine,” she tries to whisper, “I feel unwell is all.”

“I’ll draw you a bath,” Morra says.

Rhaelle shakes her head. “No, I just…” but she cannot find the words. She cannot decide what she needs.

“Come, sister,” Daena says, having risen from her seat and come to place her hand on her shoulder. “I think you need to rest.”

Rhaelle lets herself be led away into her bedchamber. Daena helps her to remove her jewellery and lays out a night shift on the bed for her. Once Rhaelle has undressed, she reaches for the pins in her hair.

“Let me,” Daena says softly, and Rhaelle’s hands fall away. Daena’s touch is unsure but gentle. She would never have had as much practice at doing another’s hair, not as the youngest sister, but it is a welcome comfort.

Rhaelle stares at her reflection in the mirror as Daena brings a brush through her hair. She watches candlelight and shadows flicker over her face, over both of their faces. Their eyes look dark in the lowlight, almost black, like their mother’s, not the striking violet that makes them their father’s daughters.

“Do you think the Gods will punish me for this?” she utters.

“Punish you? Whatever for?”

She swallows thickly, her vision starting to blur. “I offered a hundred men at arms to Lady Jeyne to fight in the war. I could have offered more. I could have mounted a horse myself and met our father at Harrenhal. I could have written to Rhaenyra and asked her to send Alyssa back to Runestone. I could have offered men to defend King’s Landing, or to hold Dragonstone. There is so much I could have done, and now I have forsaken our family, our own blood because I was too weak to do anything before–” she gasps to catch her breath. The tears have spilled from her eyes now, they sting against her cheeks and taste salty and bitter on her lips.

Daena’s hands vanish from her hair. Rhaelle instead finds herself cradled in her sister’s arms.

“Alyssa is our family,” Daena says. “It was not Daemon Targaryen who protected us when mother died, it was our sister, it was our cousins, it was House Royce. We remember, you taught me what that means.”

Daena presses a kiss to her head and strokes her hand over her hair, like Alyssa used to when they were girls, like the way she has always imagined her mother would. “Aemond will favour our cause,” she whispers. “He has to. He has to.”

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 4 months

Text

𓅨 Eros: Chapter One

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son’s death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Warnings: Language, Time Travel.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

Word Count: ~2.9k

Masterlist | Next

You spent a lot of time staring at the throne adjacent to the intricately carved marble one depicting the helm of Dream of the Endless. It was more feminine, carved out of the same marble as the Morpheus’, but designed with a softer touch. It was a marble forest, twisting branches and flowers that were inspired by Fiddler’s Green, your fingers always ended up tracing little grooves and bumps absentmindedly.

“Hey boss lady,” You turned your head in time to see Matthew fluttering his way up to your shoulder. His feet clutched the fabric of your sweater and shuffled his wings, looking at the two thrones. “You know you’ve been married for like, two months… right?”

“Distinctly,” You answered dryly, having very vivid memories of your wedding night. You hadn’t left the bed for three days, and then couldn’t walk right for three weeks. Morpheus had been very smug with the way you hobbled around, while you felt like crawling into a hole in embarrassment. You’d married a voracious Endless that aspired to paint every millimeter of your body with his love, and ensure that everyone knew it. “But it’s not like I was born knowing I was going to marry an Endless and become the queen of a realm.”

“True, true,” Matthew echoed with a bob of his head. “But ma’am, has anything actually changed in your life? Ignoring the fact that you live here now…”

You thought about Matthew’s words. Not much had changed in your life save your happiness. You had only ever really felt happy when visiting the Dreaming, so there wasn’t much you missed in the Waking. The people in the Dreaming themselves had always gone to you for advice now that you thought about it. They felt confident speaking to you about their problems… so you had been their queen long before you became their official one.

“No, nothings really changed… and it’s just a title,” You mused softly walking towards your throne and running your fingers along the warm marble. Warm and cool, just like you and Morpheus. You were an unusual pairing and not one that you’d think would work in the first place. “Alright, I’ve stared at the thrones for long enough, it’s time to go outside and touch some grass.”

“Ya know I think Lord Dream could touch some grass time to time,” Matthew muttered from your shoulder. “He’s been kinda uptight lately.”

“Probably cause of all the changes, you know he likes things certain ways,” You said dryly, thinking back to all the arguments you’d gotten into with him just because he was being a giant dunderhead who didn’t want to listen to you and pretended that your opinion and decision didn’t matter.

“Yeah you might be onto something,” Matthew chirped in agreement. Exiting the palace, you wandered through the gardens while letting your fingers brush along the flowers and bushes of the garden. “But at least he’s trying!” Matthew added, trying to be positive about his boss.

“He got pissy with me because I wanted to take a walk in London by myself after we had lunch with Hob,” You couldn’t help but point out. “It was London, in the middle of the day when families were having picnics!”

“And we both know humans can be assholes,” Matthew reminded you. “The boss doesn’t have a lot of good experience with mortals to go off of.”

“Pretty sure I have more experience in the human department than he does?”

“Point,” The raven agreed, taking off and swooping through the limp branches of the weeping willow in front of you. You passed beneath the little tunnel of gnarled branches carefully grown and kicked out your foot. You’d been feeling antsy lately, cooped up and in need of stretching your limbs. Maybe you’d go for a swim? Morpheus didn’t exactly like you swimming in the Ocean of Dreams, but you and the entity had a pretty good relationship and she didn’t try to drown you when you went swimming. “He’s still gonna throw a tantrum.”

“And I dare you to say that to his face,”

“I’ll pass I like having feathers… and living in general...” Matthew shuddered to think what Morpheus’ reaction would be of learning he’d said that.

“It would be funny though,” You giggled to yourself, imaging the initial confusion that would cross Morpheus’ face… then perhaps just a hint of an eye tick, then the whole: you dare… Your husband was entirely too predictable at times and you found it very amusing. You were deaf to Matthew’s disgruntled grumbles and continued walking, not realizing that your feet were carrying you towards the beaches of the Ocean of Dreams.

“Holy shit,” Matthew’s curse behind you jarred you from your thoughts. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had caused him to curse, the Ocean of Dreams was churning in unhappiness. High above violent waters were storm clouds, flickering with lightning and letting out echoed of thunder. “Uh, you ever seen this before ma’am?”

“No,” You informed the raven, trying to see if you could feel what was wrong to have the Ocean of Dreams so agitated. “Matthew return to Lucienne, speak with her about this matter. Surely she has a clue.”

“Right on it, boss lady,” Matthew called before surging into the air and flying back to the palace as fast as he could. While Matthew was doing as you asked, you quickly hurried up to the waters edge. Oh yes, something had agitated the Ocean of Dreams, she was not happy. Without hesitation, you strode into the cold water, determined to figure this out. Morpheus was away on business, you could handle this, you could handle this.

When you were waist deep, you dove deeper, fully submerging yourself. The water, while a usual chilly cold, seemed to be colder than normal. Even the currents were stronger, more aggressive. You tried to look around for the physical manifestation of the Ocean in the form of your shadow figure, but you couldn’t see her anywhere. A smattering of bubbles escaped your lips as you sighed in frustration and swam further towards the depths. In your efforts to hunt down the physical manifestation of the Ocean of Dreams, you failed to notice that the currents were getting far too strong for you to swim through.

Now, you didn’t need to breathe oxygen thank to Morpheus making you immortal… but it wasn’t exactly comfortable holding your breath, or accidentally inhaling the salty water. So when your body began getting tossed and turned like you were in a hamster ball and it was being shaken, you started panicking. Floundering, the water around you began shifting from chilly cold to warm… and then back again. Cold. Warm. Cold. Warm. Cold. Warm. Your arms cartwheeled through the salt water until the temperature stayed warm and a bright light appeared. The storm must have finally disappeared!

You kicked your way towards the surface, hoping that Lucienne would know why the Ocean of Dreams had gotten so upset and the weather so irritable. The moment your face broke the surface you knew that something was very wrong.

First, it was way to hot for you to be in the dreaming. Second, it didn’t sound like you were in the dreaming. Third? When you opened your eyes you were most definitely not in the Dreaming!

“Ah shit,”

You spent a solid five minutes panicking about the fact that you were most definitely not in the Dreaming anymore. Morpheus was going to go ballistic when he found out. Then your panic increased because you didn’t know where you were, and you were in the middle of an ocean! At least you could see land, but it was a distance away from you. Still coming to grips with what you were dealing with because hello, some magic fuckery had just occurred and you were not kosher with it, you paddled towards a weird looking boat in the distance.

As you grew closer, you could hear shouting in a language you didn’t quite understand, and the sounds of screaming. Focusing on the words, the power Morpheus imbued within you shifted the strange words until you could understand them. Greek. A child had fallen overboard. Your eyes dropped to the water and you spotted a dark haired child splashing around violently. You didn’t think twice about quickly swimming towards the child as they disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Dipping back below the oceans surface, you swam your way over to the squirming child, a girl. She was wrapped up in a beautiful white cloth that was currently hindering her ability to swim. You made to her and wrapped your arms around her thin body before looking up and kicking your way back to the surface. When your head broke the surface, you made sure you pulled the child up so her head too, was above the choppy waters.

She was clutching your forearm in a death grip, nails digging into your flesh. You were glad that she wasn’t trying to claw her way on top of you. Spitting out ocean water you’d accidentally swallowed, you began carefully side stroking your way over to the odd boat. You weren’t sure what was going to happen, given that people didn’t just appear it the middle of the ocean. As it turned out, luck was on your side and the greeks who hauled you and the little girl up onto the ship were entirely convinced that you were some lost noble… all because of of the clothes you wore.

Apparently only the rich and noble people of Greece could afford to wear purple clothing.

The boat was taking the little girl, a daughter of one of the nobles in Athens (how the hell did you end up in Ancient Greece?), home after visiting her aunt in Crete. She’d accidentally tumbled over the side and now refused to let you go for fear of a repeated event. So you were awkwardly standing around in your ‘strange clothes’ while the little girl held onto you like a baby monkey. At least when the boat docked at the harbor of the ancient city of Athens, in all its blazing glory, you were offered a cloak to cover your strange clothing.

Clearly the little girl you’d rescued came from a very rich family, because the carriage that you’d been herded into was lavish. You sat inside it while warriors on horses surrounded you, and spent a good twenty minutes trying to think of what the hell you were going to do, let alone say, because this was way out of your realm of expertise.

“What is your name?” Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Well, they already thought you were some lost noble or princess… might as well play it off as some greek god blessing or something… hopefully the gods wouldn’t be too upset with you. Not that they would be able to raise hand towards an Endless’ wife…

“You may call me Elpis,” You told the little girl. “What is yours?”

“Kynna, are you the great spirit Elpis mama told me about?” Soft brown eyes gazed at you with such reverence, you wanted to say yes and make her dreams come true. But you couldn’t exactly claim to be someone you were not. You stroked your hand over her still damp hair.

“I’m afraid it is only a name sake,” You replied, lifting your gaze to see several grand buildings pass by as the carriage rattled and shook. “I was lost at sea but the gods brought me to you.”

“Well if you’re lost… you can just live with us while we find your family!” Kynna exclaimed with a wide beaming smile. “Panathenaia is starting tomorrow, they’ll be lots of parties and pretty dresses, and we get to give a new peplos to Athena!”

“I don’t think that will be up to me,” Your words didn’t hinder the excited babbles of Kynna, and while she continued to talk animatedly, you mulled over what you were going to say when you got to your destination.

You didn’t have to say much, the greek noble woman of Kynna’s family, along with the other aristocratic women from surrounding families living in the housing surrounding the communal living space and baths, were entirely convinced you were an aristocrat who had some how fallen overboard and lost most of her memory. You were fine playing amnesiac as it meant less questions. You just had to get used to a different lifestyle while you tried to figure out what the hell had happened to you.

A circle of woman around your age, Merope, Agapia, and Helike, had taken you under their wing while servants scurried about in preparation for the Panathenaia. Your modern clothes had been ditched for a silk peplum that draped around your body and showed skin in several places, and you’d been adorned with a multitude of jewelry by Kynna’s father for saving his little girl. In essence, you looked exactly like the woman everyone thought you to be: Elpis, a greek aristocrat with amnesia.

You’d spent the first couple of days hiding out in Kynna’s household, not sure of yourself and not wanting to make trouble for the family, but your trio of new friends had convinced you to come out to the communal space on the promise of seeing several handsome men and enjoyable drink and food. Eye candy and snacks, you were down for that. So you were walking with your gaggle of friends and contributing to the objectification of several fine greek men who had arrived home for the Panathenaia, when Merope had wanted to visit the sun room to see what special guests had arrived.

“Oh I heard Theos returned from Sparta looking for a wife.” Agapia gushed as she combed her fingers through her hair.

“Forgive me for not immediately fawning over this Theos… who is he?” You asked as Merope and Helike giggled.

“He’s Athen’s most prized warrior, competed in the last Olympic Games and won several events.” Agapia explained to you as your group walked beneath a trellis tunnel of roses. She went on to explain, in detail, every millimeter of the specimen known as Theos and by the time Helike was telling Agapia to stop drooling, you were very interested in seeing if this Greek was as handsome and strong as he sounded.

“Oh don’t stop now, you’ve gotten me interested,” You mused with a soft laugh while passing a group of men who eyed each and everyone one of you. Your laugh was like a gentle bell softly ringing and easily drew eyes. Helike rolled her eyes, Agapia was oblivious (far too busy drooling), and Merope fluttered her eyelashes but stayed silent.

“I am sure there shall be a man at the festival who willwin your hand, Elpis,” Agapia said while holding her hands to her chest. “Because while we all know that you’ve got heads turning, you appear to have very little interest in those we have crossed paths with so far. Mark my words, you shall find someone you desire by the end of Panathenaia.”

You rolled your eyes, you’d humor the women. They’d been so kind and generous to you despite you being a total stranger… but it wasn’t like you could admit that you were already married, and didn’t even belong in this era.

“As you say, Pia,”

“Oh, I can’t believe it!” Merope gasped quietly the moment you entered a large room with many lounging chairs and dozens of greeks laying about. You hummed in question and looked at her. “Lord Oneiros has decided to be in attendance!”

Something perked up within you at the mention of Oneiros, and your head snapped to the dark haired beauty in confusion.

“Sorry, did you say Oneiros?” You asked, your voice coming out in an odd tone. You’d heard that name before, when Morpheus had assisted Calliope upon hearing her call. She referred to him as Oneiros. Morpheus was Oneiros. How could he be here? The girls gathered around you and gestured to a corner of the room. Your eyes followed and you felt your heart freeze your chest. This wasn’t possible, was it?

How could it be that your dark and broody husband, was sitting in the corner of the room dressed in robes of black, complete with a laurel crown perched upon his midnight curls? You trembled in place, fighting against the urge to charge forwards and throw yourself at him because you really missed your husband and just wanted to go home. But as you gazed at the Dream Lord, you began picking up on his mood, his temperament. He was surrounded by a cloud of pain that you could feel in your heart, deep within his beautiful blue eyes was a raw hurt that nearly pulsated from his being. Oh. Oh fuck. Ancient Greece… Calliope the Muse… Orpheus. As if feeling your stare, sharp blue eyes shifted and met yours. No recognition could be found within their depths. He didn’t know you. But he was intrigued.

“I wonder who the lucky women will be this year,” Agapia softly wondered, the other two agreeing with her sentiments. “They say he is a voracious lover, indulging in the delights of many before finally picking the ones he desires.”

A dark eyebrow rose ever so slightly accompanied by the smallest of smirks, and something within you cracked. He was Morpheus, but he wasn’t yours. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and quickly tore your eyes away from those of the Dream Lord.

“We should fill our bellies before the rest of the men arrive, the gods know they’ll eat it all,” You rushed out, your heart pounding in your chest painfully. Herding your friends in the opposite direction of Oneiros, you were desperate to get away from the being that you, one day, would call yours.

Date Published: 12/30/23

Last Edit: 12/30/23

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