part one of the prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series
part two - and what of your love? ▪︎ masterlist
themes: angst, angst, angst, dragonrider!reader (though her house is not stated)
The reader is Aemond's lover, but when the civil war broke out, she sided with the Blacks, supporting Rhaenyra's claim to the throne. One night, she and Aemond meet, and attempt to make the other see reason.
You begin your descent, willing your dragon to lower herself to the ground. You see Vhagar from a distance, and notice that Aemond is already waiting for you below.
He had sent you a letter, requesting to meet in this secluded field, the place so familiar and dear to both of you, where you've spent hours upon hours together.
Aemond, your dearest love. Now, also, your enemy.
When the civil war began, you naturally sided with Rhaenyra, whom you believe to be the rightful heir to the throne. This drew you and Aemond apart, two star-crossed lovers on warring sides. You knew he would never abandon his loyalties, as much as you wish his loyalty to you would be even greater. A reason why you agreed to meet him now, is that you wish to convince him towards your objective. And, well, you desperately missed him.
You dismount from your dragon, your boots roughly hitting the ground. Aemond stands calmly, waiting for you to come closer.
You stop a few feet away from him. He may have been your lover, but you now have reason to be wary of him. He makes no move, staring at you intently, his arms still at his sides.
"Aemond," you say his name, missing the way it sounds.
He loosens his stance a little, "You came."
"Of course I came."
"Hmm," he makes his usual noise, "I didn't think you would."
You take a tentative step forward, still keeping your guard up, "You are still my Aemond."
This breaks him, so he strides quickly to you, and envelops you in his arms.
"My love," he mumbles against your hair, "I have longed for you."
"As I have you, my love," you feel home in his arms.
You break apart, but his hold on you remains, keeping you close.
You move your hand to caress his face, and he leans into it fondly.
"I wish we didn't have to be apart," you whisper truthfully.
"We no longer have to be. You must come with me," he says fervently.
"Come with you?", you ask, confused.
"You must abandon your allegiance with the Black Queen. My brother Aegon is the rightful king..."
"Aemond," you start to protest.
He continues, "He is the rightful king. This was my father's dying wish."
"Aemond, you know in your heart that he would have never wished Aegon be king. His chosen heir has always been his firstborn daughter Rhaenyra. What your family has done is treason! You must listen-"
"My mother swears that those were his dying words," he pulls away from you, "so do you mean to call my mother a liar?"
"No, I'm not saying that!", you start to become frustrated, "but she must have misinterpreted his words. He was barely of sound mind in his final days. He may have been rambling or he may have believed himself to be speaking to someone else."
"So now you insult my father!", his tone grows menacing, and he paces in frustration.
"Aemond, you know me. And you know I have good reason to believe what I believe."
He takes a deep breath, and looks at you, "I will not abandon the rightful cause. I will not turn my back on my family."
Your heart sinks at his words. Although you already expected that this would happen, you still hoped.
You try not to shed a tear, but it's a struggle, as you feel that this may be the end of what you and Aemond have.
"Aemond, please," your voice breaks, and his face falls at your expression. He may be angry, but he still loves you more than anything. He doesn't enjoy seeing you in pain.
"I don't wish to fight you," his voice softens, and he reaches for you once more, "come back with me. Marry me, and be my wife. Stand by me and be my strength, my love."
"Aemond," a tear falls down your face, and he promptly rubs it off with his thumb, "I can't do that."
"Don't you love me?"
"I love you," you say, "I love you."
"Then please, come with me," he gets on one knee, and your heart breaks, "Marry me."
"My love," you lower yourself down to him, taking his hands, and he leans his forehead against yours.
Tears streaming down your face, you kiss him. Using all of your love, you kiss him. He returns the kiss passionately, gripping your face, whispering I love yous, in between.
It takes all of your strength to pull away, and finally say, "I love you, but I have to go."
You can't bear to look at his face, and you don't look back as you walk away, leaving him kneeling on the ground.
As you begin to leave, and your dragon takes flight, you hear him.
Aemond Targaryen raised his head, and screamed desperately and savagely toward the night sky.
You were gone, and so was his heart.
💔💔💔
This was again written in a rush, in a matter of minutes, after watching way too many Aemond edits 🤷♀️
without you, I would not be (Daemon Targaryen x f!Reader)
An outsider growing up alongside the Targaryens, the reader is like family. For Daemon, maybe even more. She gets injured one day, and his affections finally come to light.
word count: 1.6k ▪︎ masterlist
themes/warnings: protective!daemon, friends to lovers, fluff, cursing
series coming soon!
Daemon was fuming. He was a collected person by nature, content with allowing chaos to simply unfold, especially if he had a hand in it. But now and again, his fire reveals itself in acts of passion or calculated transgression. The prince, albeit admired by all, has earned quite a reputation that made him intimidating. Powerful. An alluring enigma.
And in that moment, as he rushedly strode through the hallways, he was beside himself with anger. You had been hurt.
You, the object of all of his affection. His heart’s eternal flame. Not that he ever told you this, of course.
Daemon liked keeping his desires close to his chest. He did not act upon them unless he was sure, and he’s always been sure of you. But for the first time, he was unsure of himself.
He knew what he was, impulsive and dangerous. And you… you were too good for him. Perfect.
All these years, you had grown up alongside Rhaenyra, becoming like a beloved elder sister, and a most-trusted friend and ally. Being an orphaned princess of one of the great houses of Old Valyria, the Targaryens took you under their wing. You became family, almost a Targaryen yourself.
Daemon had also become a close figure, a constant protector and somewhat more than a friend. He liked to press you, infuriate you at times, but you knew it was all out of love. Rhaenyra liked to tease you about her uncle’s apparent admiration for you, but you always pushed it aside.
Surely Daemon doesn’t see you that way. Nearly each night, he had his pick of the finest men and women in the kingdom, the paramour of all those who came and went by his quarters in the late hours. Why would he desire someone younger, someone quite inexperienced as you?
Still, you hoped. Because deny it as you might, you still saw. His lingering gaze, the way his hand gently tightens on your waist, the playful remarks. If it all confirmed what Rhaenyra insinuated, then you wanted him too.
That morning, in one of the combat exercises in the courtyard, you convinced them to let you join in. It has never been customary for princesses to engage in such activities, but you enjoyed them. You enjoyed the rush that swordplay gave you.
This was another reason why Daemon and yourself grew so close. He would train you in secret, away from prying eyes, and over the years, your improvement can mainly be attributed to him.
However, as much of a great swordswoman as you have become, you had been injured that day in the courtyard. You had taken a misstep, which resulted in Ser Criston running his sword over you arm, a long gash running down its side. The Kingsguard hurriedly took him away from you, but you commanded them to stand down. It was a mere accident, after all.
Afterward, you sat in your quarters, being tended to by the maester. Rhaenyra joined you there, too, making sure that you were alright.
“Make sure you sew that nicely,” she said, hovering over the maester, “I don’t want her stitches to suddenly come apart.”
“He knows what he’s doing, Rhae,” you said affectionately, flinching a little at the needle going through, “It should heal quickly, anyway. It wasn’t that deep.”
“We should put that Ser Criston through the ringer,” she pointed out, “Have father conduct a beheading in the next ceremony.”
“Oh yeah, it’s been quite a long time since the last beheading. We have been left wanting,” you smile, going along with it.
A moment passes, and when you see the shocked expression on the maester’s face, the both of you exploded into a fit of laughter.
This was how you and Rhaenyra always have been. Two mischievous peas in a pod. Sisters, truly, not by blood but in heart.
Suddenly the doors flew open, putting a pause on the light-hearted moment. Daemon stood there, his expression unreadable.
“Dear uncle,” Rhaenyra greeted him.
He said nothing, and walked over to you, letting his fingers gently drift across your arm.
“The state of it?” He said curtly, not even looking at the maester.
“The wound itself should be fully healed in around three weeks, my prince. Although,” the maester pauses, “the scar will stay.”
“And,” he said, slowly this time, “which incompetent fuck was responsible?” His eyes meet Rhaenyra’s.
“The great Ser Criston Cole, uncle,” she said, mirth in her eyes, “He has been temporarily dismissed from his post, but he should be back with us after a while.”
“Temporarily dismissed?", he breathed out, incredulous, “He should be permanently dismissed from living.”
You let out a laugh at that, glancing at Rhaenyra who raised her eyebrows at you, “It’s okay, Daemon. It was only an accident. I highly doubt a simple injury warrants anything more to be done. Besides, he couldn’t have done anything more to me if he tried, thanks to you.” You reassured him as he moved away, alluding to his guidance in constantly honing your skills in combat.
“I know that, my sweet girl.” He stood gazing out the window, and you realized that he hasn’t met your eyes since he stormed in. But that term of endearment that he assigned to you made you feel warm, and it always has, since he first used it some time ago.
“There,” the maester exclaimed, standing up, “all done. I will be visiting you tomorrow to examine it again, princess.”
“Thank you, maester,” you addressed him, as he bows, and promptly leaves the room.
Rhaenyra sat closer to you, and inspected the stitches herself. Seemingly satisfied, she stood up, “Alright, well, I nearly forgot I have something to attend to in… uh…”
“Now?” you questioned, as she did not mention anything before.
“Yes, didn’t I mention? My father needs me I believe,” she walked to the door, but just before reaching it, she turned to you and winked.
“Rhae,” you whispered, confusion visible on your face.
Before you could add anything, she left, bidding you and Daemon goodbye.
A long silence followed, Daemon resolute in his post by the window.
“Daemon,” you said, trying to get his attention, “what are you thinking about?”
“All they told me was that you were injured. No one bothered to tell me of the extent of said injury, or of your overall condition, or of who inflicted it upon you and how.”
He turned around to face you then, hands clasped in front of him, “That was all – ‘Princess y/n has been injured, my prince.’ That was all I got. The blubbering messenger couldn’t even answer anything I threw at him about it.”
“It’s not anyone’s fault, Daemon. I didn’t even know that you would be alerted,” you said, “I apologize if you had been inconvenienced.” You knew that Daemon had been away from King’s Landing, assigned to facilitate an alliance with one of the houses in the north.
But you didn’t know that Daemon had assigned his people to keep tabs on you, to regularly keep him informed of how you were doing. If anything of any importance were to happen, he wanted to know right away.
And now, it had, all thanks to that fucking Ser Criston. Daemon wanted to take Caraxes and order him to roast that mongrel alive. All because of a simple injury, as you had so kindly called it. He could not even justify it to himself, but he would do it.
He would do it for you.
You did not understand why Daemon seemed so livid.
“Daemon,” you tried to calm him, “it’s okay.”
“No,” he declared, voice rising, “It’s not okay.”
He slowly made his way to you, and kneels, intertwining your hands, and resting them on your legs. “Something happened to you, and I wasn’t here.”
You two had always been close, so you were not entirely taken back by his actions. But this had an unspoken gravity about it. It feels like more.
His white-golden locks fell in front of his face, as he rested his head on your knees.
“Daemon,” you ran your fingers through his hair, admiration rippling through you.
“If something worse had happened,” his grip on your hand tightened, “I don’t know what I'd do.”
Your heart swelled at that. You had the same sentiment towards him. If anything were to happen to Daemon…
“Somehow I think,” you placed a gentle hand on his chin, bringing his eyes to meet yours, “you would be okay in the end. You are a Targaryen, after all.”
He rose, and sat next to you, keeping your hands together.
“You don’t understand,” Your breath caught in your throat, as he stared at you, “Without you, I would not be.”
It was true, as you had perhaps always known.
He has always been your Daemon.
You allowed yourself to bask in the glow of the moment, until he reached for your face, and slowly, glided his thumb over your lips.
He leaned in, and your lips touched. Still at first, but falling into gentle yet needy caresses, your face tightly held in his.
The room seemed to spin, and your injury was forgotten.
There was only him, his lips dancing with yours. This was a dance with a dragon, one whom you would let engulf you completely.
You broke apart, still ever so close, and smiled warmly at each other.
A moment later, he leaned down to place a kiss on your stitches.
“Hmm,” he looked at you cunningly, “well, time to break Ser Criston’s balls.”
You let out a laugh, and his eyes light up at the sound, at the expression on your face, which he has always loved.
Pls don't stop wiring for daemon anytime soon! I love that you write for the two pining for eachother. Can you write one where daemon is just so in love with her and praises the ground she walks on but they aren't together yet ?
She is my heart (Daemon Targaryen x f!Reader)
Daemon has always gone for what he wanted. The objects of his passion, he would inevitably possess. But you are different, in that you weren't his. Not yet. But he was already yours. Completely.
themes: pining, friends to lovers, whipped!Daemon 😏 ▪︎ masterlist
"Well?" Your soft inquiry reached his ears, "What do you think?"
Daemon snapped back into attention, having drifted away in thoughts of you. You had entered the room, clad in a beautiful new dress, one that displays your house sigil in an intricate pattern. The dress was something to behold, but you...
"You look absolutely ethereal, princess."
You blushed, not expecting such a straightforward comment. "Thank you, Daemon."
Daemon was your closest confidante in King's Landing. You had known him for years, and he's always been there through every significant event in your life.
You trusted him completely, as he did you. He had built quite a reputation for himself - Prince Daemon, the Rogue Prince. Dangerous, unpredictable, wild. But with you, he was just Daemon.
You rarely saw this dangerous side of him that everyone spoke of, except in some instances where he became quite protective of you. Daemon, when around you, always seemed content. Only you could drown out his anger, and quell his worries. The life that he was born into was an endless parade of politicking and strategy, but one thing that mattered more than all that - more than power, privilege, glory - was you.
"My father had this made, because as you know, I shall begin my courtship ceremony in a fortnight."
"Already?" Daemon started to worry. Was the dreaded event that soon?
I'm about to lose her, Daemon thinks, but how can I, when she might never have been mine?
"Yes, well, it is my duty to marry into a great house, even though that's not really what I desire."
"And what do you desire?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.
"All this makes me feel like a pawn in some game. If I am to marry, I would like it to be with someone who truly loves me, and whom I love in return. Not just some political arrangement."
Daemon takes your hand, caressing your fingers out of habit, "If the choice was all yours, do you have anyone in mind?"
"Someone I love?" you looked up at him, as he absentmindedly played with your hand. You knew the answer to that, and he did, too.
"Yes, that would be ideal," Daemon said, smirking then, but his tone is wholehearted, "someone you love, someone who would do absolutely anything for you, someone who would burn the whole world down for you, if you only said the word."
You heard his words for what they were, "I do."
He brought up his hand to your cheek, "Darling, so do I."
_____________________________
"Are you sure, brother?" King Viserys sat quietly in his chambers, while his brother fervently made his wishes clear to him.
"More than anything," Daemon's voice did not waver, "Wed her to me. I love her, brother. For me, she is the only one there ever was. The only one there will ever be. I love her as you loved Aemma. Issa ñuha prūmia."
Viserys looked at his brother fondly, knowing that he spoke the truth. From what he has observed himself, you and Daemon were made for each other. Daemon had never seemed more adamant, more certain about anything before. Without any agenda, without need for compromise. He only truly wanted you.
"Very well," Viserys smiled, squeezing Daemon's shoulder, "she shall be yours. Although, I have a feeling that she already is."
Hello! Could I request a scenario where Daemon somehow winds up in the modern world and is taken in by a nurse!reader?
this world was never meant for a fire like yours (part 1/5)
Daemon Targaryen x modern-f!reader / nurse!reader
word count: 4k
main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist
series synopsis: After a fatal injury on the battefield, Daemon wakes up in a foreign land - our world (where GoT / HoTD does not exist). He meets the reader, a nurse who tends to him and helps him navigate everything. They grow close, and slowly, but unequivocally, fall in love.
themes/warnings: slow burn, jealous!daemon, cursing, some violence
112 AC, Westeros
He feels it. Slight at first, then the pain becomes almost unbearable.
Daemon feels the sword pass through his torso. A sudden intrusion of steel, one second it was buried in him, and the next it was being pulled violently out.
There’s no way, he thinks, seven fucking hells.
He feels enraged, and it must have shown, because the knight who had so luckily impaled his sword through him, started to back away in fear.
He starts to feel everything fade away, white spots beginning to blot his vision. The sun suddenly feels excruciating, the heat burrowing into his head, and not in a good way. Daemon was a Targaryen, born out of fire, and one way or another, likely destined to go out in flames. But this heat, was hell.
Everything was burning, and he presses his hand down hard, trying to stifle the outpouring of blood from his ribs, but it does nothing to help.
I’m going to rip you apart, Daemon thinks, angrily straggling towards the knight, using every bit of his remaining strength.
One strong, determined swing, and the knight’s head rolls down on the ground.
Daemon falls to his knees, and he hears those in his army start to notice.
“Prince Daemon!” he hears several voices exclaim in a panic, hurriedly drawing closer to him, but they were being impeded by enemy knights.
The pain was still there, but Daemon starts to feel numb, almost eerily calm.
Oh gods, he thinks, this is it.
A deafening screech echoes throughout the skies, and a large looming beast flies overhead.
“Caraxes”, Daemon determinedly says, raising his voice one last time, “Dracarys!”
Then everything is ablaze. Screams reverberate all throughout the battlefield. Daemon could hear his army start to cheer, gaining the upper hand due to dragonfire.
Caraxes flies down to his master, but it was too late.
October 2022
Daemon Targaryen was gone.
His eyes fly open. He remembers the heat, the excruciating pain through his torso, and hurriedly looks down to inspect the wound.
He was lying down still clad in armor, so he strips his breastplate off, and sees the bloodstain pooled on his undershirt.
Lifting the shirt up, he sees a fresh wound just below his ribs. It was certainly painful, and still raw, but it didn’t look like he just had an entire sword go through him.
What the… Daemon sits up, trying to find any more evidence of the fatal wound. Perhaps it was on another side? Maybe it had partially healed? But how? He remembers that moment as if it just happened, and it certainly feels that way.
He shouldn’t be alive. He was sure, that was his end, as excruciatingly mediocre of an end as he might deem it to be.
He puts his breastplate back on, and gets on his feet, nausea coursing through him. He begins inspecting his surroundings. It’s dark out, and he is in some sort of alley, although nothing resembled anything he’s ever seen before. This sure as hell doesn’t seem like the afterlife.
A loud wailing sound echoes from somewhere, and he glimpses a white carriage-looking thing rush past the road, a glowing blue and red device atop it. He makes his way in that direction, and bumps into an unsuspecting man who was holding something up to his ears.
“Get the fuck away from me,” Daemon curses, grappling with the unfamiliarity of where he was.
“Okay, sorry, dude,” The man nonchalantly raises his arms, and walks off.
What did he just call me? Daemon thinks.
Everything was loud, and he almost found it unbearable, the pain in his head burning white-hot.
You walk back to your apartment, your trusty coat over your blue scrubs, after finishing a long shift at the local hospital. Now, you want nothing more than to take a shower, change into cozier clothes, and make a quick meal.
Where the fuck am I?
Making the turn onto your street, you see him.
He almost looked alien, given the setting he was in. Dressed in medieval-looking garb, with a full body of armor. His striking white-blonde hair caught your eye.
That can’t be his natural hair color, you think in passing. You notice that he was loitering right in front of your building, and he looked lost. His gaze was jumping from one thing to another, as if everything was new to him.
He must be insane, you think, and shit, I would have to pass right by him.
You walk faster, determined not to catch his eye. It could just be your imagination, but the sword hanging by his belt looked all too realistic.
You reach your place, trying to keep your head down, and fumble in your bag for your keys. When you finally have it in your hand, you hear a clanking noise behind you, and you swiftly turn around.
The blond man had fallen down on his knees, his arm hanging onto the street fence, a few feet behind you. You now have a clearer view of him, and see the unmistakeable sign of pain across his face.
He’s hurt. Your instincts kick in, and you rush to his side.
“Hey, hey,” you kneel down beside him, and you hear him mumbling incoherently.
“What's wrong? Let me help,” you implore him, and you hope that it wasn’t all a ploy, and that he wasn’t someone dangerous.
“I don’t know where I am,” you hear him say. He looks so pale, clutching his torso. You notice a spot of blood spreading from his undershirt, and you mutter to yourself, “Oh shit.”
“Come with me,” you struggle to help him up, “I’m a nurse, and my place is right here. I can help you.”
“A nurse?”, he mumbles, as if unfamiliar with the term. You grunt under his weight, as you walk him to your building door.
“You’re not some goddess, are you?” he whispers, groggy eyes studying your face. The comment catches you off guard, and you’re not sure how to respond to that. In normal circumstances, that question might have made you blush, but you were preoccupied by his potential injury.
It takes you around 5 whole minutes to drag him up to your door, as opposed to the usual 20 seconds, after which you plop him down on your couch, your body feeling strained.
You run to your room to retrieve the necessary medical equipment, and when you return, you find him passed out on your couch.
Daemon's eyes flutter open.
Who are you?
A pleasant smell wafts from the kitchen, and he raises his head a little, taking in the room he was in. It seemed small, with the kitchen right beside the lounge area where he was lying down.
Are these servants quarters? The prince thinks, as he attempts to sit up.
You hear him moving from your spot in front of the stove, so you tentatively greet out, "Hey, you're awake."
He looks at you up and down, trying to place you, "You're the woman from the street."
"And you're the man from the street," you walk over to him, "Are you a cosplayer?" You had been genuinely curious about his garb, among many other things. You could not deny his striking, roguish beauty, for one.
"Am I a what?" He asks, almost angrily. He notices that he was only in his undershirt and trousers, his metal armour stripped off and neatly piled in the corner of the room.
"Oh yeah," you follow his gaze, "I had to take the heavy parts of your costume off of you so I could thoroughly inspect your wound, which is now sewn up nicely by the way. You would have to apply an antibiotic daily so there won't be an infection, and I can give you a whole bottle-"
He rises, groaning loudly, clutching his side, "Where am I? How do I go back to King's Landing? I'm sure they're looking for me."
He sways a little, and you place an arm around him, keeping him steady, "You should sit down."
"Look, I appreciate your help but I really don't think I belong here," he spits out venomously, shrugging off your help, "Actually, I should be fucking dead."
"Who are you?"
"Who am I?" He asks, as if expecting you to recognize him. You briefly wonder if he was some celebrity or something. Was he coming from a movie set, hence the armor?
"I am Prince Daemon Targaryen, the first of my name, Commander of the City Watch, one of the last great dragonriders, wielder of Dark Sister, and brother to King Viserys I himself."
"Oh." So he is insane.
You take a deep breath, in an attempt to stay calm as this shit show unfolds before you. This is what I get for being a good Samaritan, you think.
"Well, Prince Daemon," you take a step closer, and hold out your hand, "I'm y/n. Are you hungry? I’m making some pasta.”
December 2022
“Some what?”
It had taken some time, for both you and Daemon to become acquainted with each other. The fact that he almost never left your apartment certainly helped. He was there when you woke, and he was the last person you greeted before you went to sleep.
You and him had gone through the motions – you eventually convinced him to visit the hospital that you worked at, so that he could get a more thorough check-up, and that experience was stressful, to say the least. You could tell that he seemed apprehensive and a bit scared, even. When the doctor tried to use any “strange object” on him, as he so called them, he had lashed out. Another worrying thing was that Daemon did not have any medical records, nor did he appear on any system. He simply did not exist. And you should know, you checked everywhere.
He told you his story, one so fantastical and so grand that you're unable to wrap your head around it until today. You hoped it was all true, that there was something so extraordinary out there. Battles, and kingdoms, and dragons, and sorcery. Things only present in the fantasy novels that you so loved.
It sounded a lot more exciting than the often dreary world you were living in, although you knew you were quite lucky with your lot. Working a job wherein you actually get to help people, and living independently in a small but homey flat that you have personalized to your liking.
A flat that has been invaded by an undeniably charismatic, brooding, potentially crazy, apparent Prince from “one of the last great families of Old Valyria”. Wherever that may be.
Daemon was someone who had a regal air about him, which somewhat validated his claims. In nearly two months of observing him, you could tell that he was highly intelligent, and calculating. And he acted like he was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted, which you first chocked up to plain entitlement. But he didn’t possess the rudeness and lack of self-awareness that usually came with it.
He occupies your thoughts, much more than you’d care to admit. And as you walk back after another shift, you find yourself looking forward to being home, largely in part because of Daemon.
Nearing your door, you become alarmed at the unmistakable smell of smoke coming from inside.
"Daemon?" You hurriedly enter, and find out that the smoke was coming from your kitchen.
"Fuck!" He stands in the kitchen, arms desperately trying to wave the smoke away.
"What are you doing?" You rush to take the pot away from stove, its contents charred and probably inedible. You throw it onto the sink, dowsing it in water.
Feeling relieved, you lean against the counter, wiping sweat from your brow.
"That wasn't meant to happen," Daemon says under his breath.
"Oh yeah?" You motion to the remains in the pot, "what were you making?" He had never done this before, but he would shadow you in the kitchen sometimes, learning the names of the dishes, and the equipment you used.
"I was trying to make the thing you cooked that first night. Pasto."
You stare at him, trying to decipher what he said, and when you realize, you burst in a fit of giggles. The word sounded comical coming from Daemon, who stands dejectedly in your small kitchen.
"Do you mean pasta?"
"Oh," A crooked smile graces his lips, as he shrugs, "That's what I said."
"Sure," you smile back, "you know what, I'll just sort all of this out then I'll make some pasta. Alright?"
"Thanks, love." He says, before he walks over to the couch.
Oh, hell. Why does he have to call me that? Your thoughts race, as you feel your cheeks redden. You didn't want to feel anything for this stranger who might walk out of your life just as spontaneously as he walked into it.
Suddenly, there's a strong knock on your door.
"Y/n? Is everything okay? I smell smoke."
"I'll get it," you motion to Daemon, and open the door to find your neighbour from across the hall, Tom.
"Hey," he leans by the door, a concerned expression his face, "where's the fire?", he adds lightly.
"Oh," you laugh dryly, "just a bit of a cooking hazard, is all. All sorted out now. Sorry to alarm you, Tom."
His eyes land on Daemon sitting on the couch, and he whispers to you, "That guy's still here?"
You had told him that Daemon was a family friend from out of town who needed a place to stay for a while. Tom didn't seem to like the idea, once telling you, "I don't know, that guy seems sketchy. He stares at you a lot."
You had dismissed that notion. Although, yes, you did think Daemon was sketchy, but more so in the beginning. He has since grown on you, and you had learned to accept how different he was. If he believed that he was from another world, then you wanted to believe that, too.
"Yeah, turns out he needs to stay longer."
"Oh, really?" Tom seems annoyed, and you assume it's only because he's being a protective friend, "he's not paying a share of your rent, though, is he?"
"No, but that's not a problem. I want to help him, so it's okay," you try to convince him, and he starts to relax, shoulders loosening.
"Okay, well, I was just checking in. By the way, would you like to see a movie with me this weekend? If you're not working, that is," he asks, and this wasn't the first time that he tried asking you out. The last two attempts, you had genuinely been busy working.
"Uh, well, okay," you decide, because why the hell not? You need something to distract you from the sullen Prince who nearly tried to burn down your kitchen. That handsome, infuriating, mysterious...
"Great!" Tom grins, breaking your thoughts, "I'll come by here before then, so we can decide on the movie."
When you end the conversation and close the door, you turn to see Daemon looking your way, then he says, "I don't like him, he looks at you far too long, sometimes."
Well, what a coincidence. He feels the same way about you, you think.
You sit across each other, as per your routine, coming home and eating a meal together after you’ve spent the day working and he has been reading through your 'magic box'. Your new laptop, that is. Daemon proved to be a highly adaptable person, and he’s been eager to learn everything he can about the world in which he has apparently been forcibly transferred to.
You briefly wonder why Daemon would be bothered about Tom, in that way. Deep down inside, you hope he was jealous, but before you let wishful thinking run rampant, you head over to the kitchen, and get to work.
After the first week or so of intense denial and anger at his situation, he had calmed down, and he learned to be civil to you. As he should - he is freely staying in your apartment, after all. You had taken long walks outside together, introducing him to things such as traffic lights, concrete buildings, buses, coffee shops and the like. One notable moment was when he spotted a helicopter in the sky, smiled softly to himself, and confided in you, “How I wish I could ride a dragon again.” You had gotten lost in the innocence in his expression, that sincere wistfulness, and you hoped that he would someday get what he wanted. Although, your heart sank at the thought of him leaving you.
There would be bleak moments, now and then, like when you had found him on the floor of your room, head in his hands. He had discovered the bottle of wine you kept in the shelf, which lay empty beside him. Your laptop had been discarded, a visible crack on the screen, after he had thrown it down in frustration. His voice broke when he spoke, “That thing is not giving me any answers. It doesn’t know how I can go back home.”
You heart ached for him, so you sank down, and pulled him into a hug. He froze at first, not used to such contact, but relented after a while. You held each other, until he whispered, “I’m sorry about your magic box. If I had any gold with me, I would get you another.” You reassured him, taken his hand, and given him one of your books to read. He had since read all of them, eagerly prompting discussions with you after every book.
“This is delectable, as always, y/n.” He says, in between bites, “How were your hours today as a healer?” Healer was apparently what they call a nurse where he came from.
“Quite alright,” you respond, “learned anything new today?”
“I have been… looking for a suitable position around these parts.”
“A position?”
“Yes, a source of funding, you might say. I can no longer just accept your food and lodging, and not contribute anything of use.” He says sincerely, and you appreciate it.
“Alright, and what have you found?” you ask curiously, knowing that Daemon has grown quite restless as of late.
“Apparently there’s something called an auto shop just 5 minutes from here, and they’re looking for a mechanic. Someone that can help mend carriages, I mean, cars. I’ve walked over to the place, and the owner is willing to accept me even without documentation. He‘s also willing to teach me everything about the craft.” He explains, audibly pausing before words that he still finds to be unfamiliar.
“That’s great, Daemon,” you say, knowing that among all modern technology, he found vehicles and aircraft to be especially fascinating.
“Yes, I shall return there tomorrow,” he takes a sip of his drink, “What was that I heard that Tom ask you about? Something about a movie?”
“Well, you know all about movies by now. He’s asked if I would like to see one with him. Something like a date, actually.”
“A date? So that means you will spend some time together?” he asks, and you could hear the distaste in his voice.
“That’s right. But, a date can have some romantic intention behind it, which I think is what he wants.”
“Romance? With him? Surely, you don’t consider him a worthy prospect,” His tone is sour. Is that jealousy, or does he simply dislike Tom as he is?
“You know, he’s not so bad,” you try defending Tom a little, “and anyway, it’ll be casual. Nothing serious.”
“I do hope he has no plans of bedding you,” he says offhandedly, roughly chewing his food.
You almost choke on your drink, taken aback by his sudden statement, “Daemon!”
“What? It’s a founded concern. You are a very beautiful woman, and he seems dim-witted enough to think himself worthy of attempting such a thing.”
The compliment stifled your embarrassment, and made you feel something else entirely. He had said it so easily, as if he wasn’t expecting anything in return or flirting mindlessly, and was simply stating an observation.
“Well,” you swallow, trying to find the words to say, “I doubt that will happen anytime soon. I don’t see myself and him, in that way, yet.”
You see him scowl at the last word, and you feel slightly pleased. Prince Daemon Targaryen may actually be jealous, and that means… “He likes me.” You freeze, having voiced out your thought.
Daemon’s eyebrows furrow, missing your point, “Well, of course he does. Why else would he try his hand at being with you?”
Daemon had been mulling over many things, and admittedly, most of his thoughts concern you. He would think of his current predicament, and find himself pleased that it was you he had been saddled with. If it were anybody else, Daemon might have found some way, some miracle, to bring a dragon to this chaotic world and burn everything down. You made it all bearable.
He liked waking up with you every day, although you don’t share a bed, with him still being designated the couch. He looked forward to your arrival from work, the quiet apartment feeling less droll with your presence. You had patiently shown him your world, even though he knew it must be a drag for you to answer his ceaseless barrage of questions. He found you a pleasant companion, to say the least, but lately, he has also noticed other things.
He would feel his heart quicken, when your hand would touch his arm, his hand, his shoulders, when you would teach him how to use your modern appliances. He found himself admiring your smile, the sound of your laughter, at how you had managed to be good-natured and pragmatic about the whole situation. Even if it must not be easy for you to have a madman like him dwelling in your home.
He enjoyed the way you would talk to him about your favourite books, and ideas. How your eyes would light up while you spoke of the things you love.
But also, he had started to notice your bright eyes, the sensual swell of your lips. The smoothness of your skin, your womanly shape, your backside…
“Daemon?” you snap your fingers at him, “I think I lost you there.”
“Oh yes, sorry, ” he leans back.
“I asked what you would you like to do after dinner.” Seeing him also having finished, you pick up your plates, and walk over to the sink.
“I’m not sure,” he stammers a little, and you wonder what he was so lost in thought about, “I can clean those.” He points to the dirty dishes.
You shake your head, “It’s alright. It’s my turn anyway, you did the dishes last night. We can find a new movie to watch?”
He looks at you for a long time, and continues to do so, as you begin your task.
Soon after, you hear him stand, and say, “Sure, we can do that.”
You sense him walk over, stopping just behind you, his warmth just inches from your back, and before you can ask why he was standing so close, he lays his head on your shoulder.
You don’t want to move, so as not to displace him, as he steadies himself with one hand on the counter beside you. This feels good, this feels right.
“Daemon,” you whisper softly, desperately trying to continue your task even though your heart was racing.
“I’ve missed your presence,” he confesses. You want to turn around and wrap your arms around him. You want to finally know how his lips might feel on yours.
But for now, you hold back, content with this, how he feels. How he has slowly been warming up to you. Perhaps, there will be more, another time.
You smile widely, your expression mirroring exactly how you feel, “I’ve missed your presence, too, Daemon.”
end of part one.
This was meant to be a oneshot, but it got too long -- so part two coming soon!
And yes, part 2 will be 18+
Thanks for all the love on "without you, I would not be". I'll be writing a longer Daemon series soon 🖤
Hi, I was wondering if would you be able to do something where the reader is with Morpheus when he tells Nada he still loves her? Only if you’re comfortable with writing about Nada or just angst in general ofc
Only you can set alight the fire in me
pairing: Morpheus x reader
warnings: allusion to smut, angst
summary: Reader is the half human, half immortal (take your pick - goddess, angel, witch, etc.) soulmate of Morpheus. When they come across Nada in hell, Morpheus makes a confession that the Reader simply doesn't like, to say the least.
Main Library
When I found out that he came back, I was elated.
It had been nearly a century since I last saw my beloved Morpheus, who suffered captivity in the wretched hands of Roderick Burgess. I tried everything in my power to free him, but even I cannot stray from the rules of magic.
I was able to communicate with him several times, and each time I had strained my power completely, to the point where he discouraged me from attempting to do so.
I knew that I just had to wait. Somehow, someday, my love would come back to me.
And he did.
He came back different, broken. But in my arms, he was still the same. I could sense a rage had developed within him - against his captors, from finding out that most of his subjects had left, from losing Jessamy.
From being away from me. I could also see that he tried to temper it down, for my sake, simply being content with basking in the glow of our reunion.
"My love," he whispered, voice breaking. We held each other for the longest time, Lucienne having excused herself much earlier to give us some space. Whispering sweet nothings, and promises of devotion repressed through the years. Sitting there in his throne room, almost wrapped in each other's skin, I never wanted to let him go.
"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," he breathed against my skin, nose nuzzled in my neck.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. They did this to you."
"But all of that caused you pain. You have no idea how," he runs his fingers down my arm, "badly," his hand now gently moving up my knees to my thighs, "... I needed you."
"Morpheus," I whispered, voice getting caught in my throat, "welcome back."
His lips crash to mine, gentle yet demanding, and all else was forgotten.
--------
Of course, there was much work to be done. My love had been robbed of his tools during his time in captivity.
We ventured off to London to retrieve his sand from Johanna Constantine, whom I've grown quite fond of, due to her tireless wit and devil-may-care attitude. I made a note to catch up with her another time.
And now, where else would we be but in the cold, depths of hell -myself, Morpheus, and his new raven Matthew, determined to take back his helm from a demon. Being here feels excruciating, as if hell is pricking through my damn skin. The ceaseless tortured screams of the damned don't do much to help, either.
Morpheus firmly holds my hand, as we follow Squatterbloat through each cursed area of hell. I was distrustful of the demon immediately, knowing that their kind was prone to acts of deceipt and malevolence, no matter how mild-mannered they may show themselves to be in the moment.
We start to climb the cells of the damned, a sprawling block of dreary towers covered by a sky of smouldering fumes. We pass cell after cell, and I try to avert my eyes from every tormented soul, as I don't think I can bear it.
"Take heart, my love," Morpheus squeezes my hand, sensing my discomfort, "We'll be out of here soon."
"I know," I try to focus on him, and nothing else, "Let's get your helm, and get out of this hellhole."
"I am grateful that you came with me. You give me all the strength that I need." He lifts my hand, and leaves a loving kiss.
"I would go anywhere with you, my love."
"Aww, you guys are so cute." Matthew intervenes, "It almost made me forget that we are literally in hell. Almost."
"Well, I nearly forgot that you were flapping about with us, Matthew. Almost." I turn to him playfully.
"Ha-ha," he responds dryly, "Leave it to you two to get all loved-up in hell, of all places."
Matthew and I had gotten into a routine of friendly banter, ever since Lucienne assigned him to be Morpheus' new raven. I appreciate the reprieve that it offers in this situation.
"Just walk on, you two," Morpheus says, feigning disinterest, but I could tell he was amused.
We walk on, and I dread the view that surrounds us, but I dread coming face-to-face with Lucifer even more.
I shuffle closer behind Morpheus, when a strained voice echoes from inside a cell.
"Kai-ckul?" A woman breathes heavily, peering through the jarred bars of her entrapment. "Dream Lord?"
Morpheus halts. He recognizes her voice.
"It is you." Her eyes well up in tears. I can't even imagine what she is going through.
"I greet you, Nada." Morpheus responds, his grip loosening on my hand.
So this is Nada. Morpheus had once revealed to me all of his past lovers. He said that he didn't want to hide anything from me, he wanted me to know what exactly being with him entails. All the good and the bad that came with it.
"But now, there is only you. There will only ever be you, my love. If you'll have me," I remember that he had said to me then, eyes ablaze in passion.
I stay silent as they speak, even when Morpheus drops my hand entirely.
Then I hear her ask, "Do you not still love me?"
I feel myself tense at her question, and Matthew and I exchange a knowing look.
A moment passes, and I assume that he is simply choosing the right words to reject her, while still being considerate.
Until he responds, "It has been 10,000 years, Nada. Yes, I still love you."
Her face lights up in realization, and I try to steady myself, disappointed at what I just heard.
"But I have not yet forgiven you." he turns away from her, and starts walking.
"Come, my love. Come, Matthew." he calls out to us, gazing straight ahead.
"You," Nada's eyes find mine, "are with him?"
"Yes," I answer weakly. I don't wish my words to bring her any further pain.
"He loves me," she grips the bars of her cell, as if wanting to break them off, "He said so himself. One day, he will forgive me and we will be together once more."
"I'm sorry," I don't know what else to say, feeling empty inside from hearing Morpheus' confession.
I walk faster to catch up with Morpheus, with Matthew promptly following behind.
Morpheus reaches for my hand, but I pretend that I don't notice and say, "Let's go. I've just decided that I really hate this damn place." I walk past him.
"That's rough," Matthew quips beside me.
"Tell me about it."
--------
We succeeded, as I believed we would.
Triumphant, and helm in hand, Morpheus, Matthew and I made our way back into the Dreaming.
I had been so afraid for my love when he engaged the Ruler of Hell in combat, that I nearly forgot the exchange that he had with his former lover.
Nearly.
Upon returning, Lucienne greets us with a relieved smile. However, she looks as if she's thrown off by my expression.
"Is something wrong?" she asks me in concern.
Everyone looks at me expectedly, but I'm not really in the mood to share so I just shrug, "Not at all, I'm fine. I'll just head to my library."
Morpheus tries to catch my eye, but I am already heading off. He calls out to me, "I'll be with you shortly, my love."
I enter my library and feel a sense of calm wash over me. Morpheus had constructed this library just for me, and it contains only the books that I love, as well as the ones that I have yet to read but am bound to love afterward.
This room is but a single proof of his efforts to win me over, and that he did, but now I can't help but wonder if I am truly special, or if he had achieved similar feats for his past lovers too. Perhaps he had, and normally I would be fine with that, but then again, he said that he loves her. Does he still love all of them? If he does, then his love will never be just for me.
The door flies open, and he strides in, unbothered and unaware of my thoughts.
He sits next to me on this plush, dark gray loveseat, but I don't look at him.
"Something's wrong?" he asks slowly, "Something's bothering you, my love. Tell me."
"You love her."
"What?"
"You still love her. Nada." I turn to him so he fully see the extent of my emotions. Maybe I am overthinking things, but his declaration of love didn't sit well with me.
"I..." he seems at a loss, choosing his next words carefully, "I will always have a love for her, yes. But it's different with you, of course."
"How so?"
"What do you mean? You know how important you are to me. You are everything." he reaches for my hands, eyes imploring me to understand.
"Morpheus," I pull away, and pace the room, "what if I had encountered any of my exes - Aeneas, Gabriel..."
"Don't mention those names in front of me," he cuts me off, his voice darkening.
"What if I meet them, and tell them I still love them?" I press on, as he looks up at me, brows furrowed, "How would you feel then?"
"You wouldn't dare do that, my love," he stands, adding the term of endearment in a slightly menacing tone, far from the usual doting one.
"That's how I feel!" I raise my arms in exasperation, "I mean, do you still love all of them? Your past lovers?"
"It's not the same. I am an Endless. It's almost impossible for me to simply get rid of old ties. My love runs deep for whomever I devote myself to. With Nada, she's an extraordinary woman... but she's nothing compared to you."
I find it hard to wrap my head around it, and take a few deep breaths. If he thinks that flattery, and a couple of sweet lines will completely diffuse the situation, he is sorely mistaken.
"I'm sorry," he reaches out to me, and I let him wrap his arms around me tightly, "I'm sorry I said that, and that it upset you. I do have a kind of love for all my former lovers, but all that pales in comparison to my love for you."
"I don't know," I mutter against his chest, "what to think."
"Then don't." He leans down, and kisses me. I try to stay angry, but he kisses me harder, moaning low and deep against my lips, and I lose myself in him.
His hands run down my sides, settling on my waist, pushing my back down onto the loveseat.
He proceeds to kiss my neck, biting a trail along the way.
"No one else can kiss you like this," he rests his forehead against mine, and runs his fingers down my chest, "No one else can touch you like I do. You're mine."
I wrap my fingers around his wrist, halting his movements, "And you're mine. Don't ever tell a former lover that you love them ever again. Not like that. I understand the extent of your compassion for each one of them, but you wouldn't want me to do the same to mine."
He gazes at me for the longest time, before a soft smile emerges on his lips, "Understood. And I'm yours."
He kisses me again, and again, and again.
Endlessly.
The end.
first oneshot/request done! It's not as angsty as I intended but hopefully it's got enough 😂
Yes, I do take requests, for Morpheus, Corinthian, and potentially other characters in other fandoms too. Drop me a message!
And, Ineffable's next chapter will be out in a couple of days. Corinthian will be making an appearance - I simply couldn't resist.
Could I request a fluffy Anakin x General Reader? (He's a Force spirit in this one)
Reader is very uncertain in their place in the world, as they are about to be an adolescent; they're scared of failing their peers/family. Anakin then decides to give them some long-needed advice.
as I believe in you
pairing: Anakin Skywalker x gn!Reader
word count: 1k
summary: you are anxiety-riddled prior to taking on a vital mission. Luckily, your confidante, Anakin Skywalker, is there when you need him the most.
You stood in your quarters, staring at your reflection in the mirror.
Deep breaths, you think, just calm down.
It's been happening more frequently now. You would simply be going about your day, maybe heading downstairs to help train the new group of recruits, joining the others in the dining hall, standing on a balcony overlooking D'Qar. It doesn't matter when or where.
The thoughts simply rush in. And they were, unrelenting, to say the least.
They would make you want to pause and just not do anything, not feel anything. And normally, you would get over them fairly quickly.
But the pressure can be too much to bear.
You were a perfectionist, having trained every day for years, and your hardships only fueled your drive even more. So you quickly rose through the ranks, becoming the youngest General in the Resistance. You were also one of the remaining few who could harness the power of the Force.
Soon, you will lead a rescue mission to one of the outer planets, and reclaim a rebel base that has been overtaken by the First Order. This is something that you are determined not to fail, especially since two of your closest friends had been taken hostage there while on a surveillance run.
Deep breaths, you think again, and try to center yourself. Drowning out all the noise, inhale, exhale.
You reach out to the Force, and try to find him.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
The very first time, he found you. You had been training by yourself at the foot of a mountain, and your efforts seemed to bear no fruit. You couldn't even raise a single rock off the ground without it suddenly falling back down, or catapulting away.
You yelled into nothing, the sound echoing through the trees. Back then, you weren't particularly skilled at combat or strategy, nor were you a good pilot. You knew you couldn't be a healer or a builder, either. Of course, by now your skills have been honed to a certain degree.
But at that age, all you had going for yourself was your connection with the Force. And even that was failing you.
You fell to your knees, but then, you hear him.
"Y/n," the voice said, seemingly coming from nowhere.
"Who's there?", you stood up, aware that someone may have seen your moment of vulnerability.
"Y/n," the voice repeated, "You have great power within yourself. All you have to do is breathe. Steel yourself. The Force is all around you. Believe in it."
"I'm losing my mind," you laughed dryly, looking around and not finding the source of the voice.
But then you see it. See him. An almost opaque, hazy figure a few feet away from you. Unruly, shoulder-length hair, wearing a dark tunic you recognized to be Jedi attire.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Anakin Skywalker," the figure declared.
"That's not possible," you responded. Maybe you truly have lost your mind. You knew that Anakin had been one of the great Jedi, if not the greatest, and his sacrifice proved to be the impetus that defeated the Empire.
"Oh, but it is," he said, amused, " I am here, if you can see me."
"A Force ghost," you breathed out, realizing what he was.
"Yes," he moved closer, "I can see that you're in distress, but you shouldn't worry. The Force is strong with you."
"Is it?" you asked, not believing him one bit, "Perhaps you made the wrong assessment. I'm nobody."
He smiled, "Nobody is ever just nobody, young one. Especially not you. I can feel it."
"How are you even here? Why are you speaking to me?"
"I suppose I had sensed you, and the Force brought me here. Maybe it thinks that you needed me. Nevertheless, one can never fully explain the workings of the force. It simply is. It's everywhere. It's there if you only reach out."
"I am reaching out," you told him, "but maybe I'm just powerful enough. I'm no Jedi like you."
He looked like he was trying to decipher you, "I used to be like you. A lot like you. Young, driven, and full of dissatisfaction and frustration."
"Really? You?"
"Yes. Maybe I can help you. I can teach you how to be one with the Force, as best I can."
You stared at him, long and hard, in disbelief that the Anakin Skywalker was offering to train you. And who were you to refuse his help?
"Okay," you agreed, feeling a sense of hope for the first time in a while, "Where do we start?"
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
You close your eyes, and think of him.
Anakin, you think out, I need you.
"I'm here." you open your eyes, and see him standing behind you in the mirror.
You turn around, calmer now, his mere presence assuaging your anxiety. He has grown to be more than just a mentor to you, but a friend.
"You're afraid," he says gently, sensing your emotions. He was always so in tune with how you feel.
"Yeah. I've got a lot on my plate right now, Ani. But I don't think I'm ready."
"Maybe you aren't," he says, and you fail at hiding your disappointment, your face visibly falling as a result.
"But when will we ever be ready? One can train all their life, but still not feel prepared for what's coming. The only way to truly know, is to try. To take the leap. You have to believe in yourself, as I believe in you."
"You do?
He nods, and he lifts his hand. You lift yours too, parallel to his. This is how the both of you feel each other, and when you do, there is nothing else. Only the two of you.
You breathe, feeling greatly calmer, more in tune with yourself. I believe in me, as you do, you think.
"Thank you," you smile at him, lowering your hand.
"Always."
The end.
I did enjoy writing this! Anakin is one of my all-time favourite characters 🖤 (I hope I got the Star Wars references right, since I haven't seen the films in a while)
Story Masterlist
Summary: The Corinthian and the Reader have been together for quite a while, and her friendship with Adonis, one of the dreams, puts a strain on their relationship
Warnings: angst, jealous!Corinthian (well, if this needs a warning on its own), some smut / nsfw!
Word count: 1.1k
.... and yes, I did envision Hayden Christensen as Adonis. But feel free to see him as whoever you wish 🔥
"I'm glad he allows me to be here with you," he says, face nuzzled against my neck. I know he's pertaining to Morpheus, his apparent creator and Master, though he isn't particularly fond of that term.
"If anyone should be my Master, doll, then it's you. You can do absolutely anything to me." he whispered low and deep, one night. I suppose it's not hard to figure out what happened after.
"So am I. And even if he wouldn't have, he'll have to deal with me." I say proudly. I know I'm just a human, but if something came in the way of being with my Corinthian, then I can be formidable, too.
"And that's why I love you," he shuffles on top of me, knees on either side of my thighs, and he lowers himself so we lie chest to chest.
He kisses me passionately, and I get high on his scent. That scent. So distinct it can only be him.
He takes my shirt off slowly, savouring the moment, then promptly throws it on the floor. I reach up and take off his glasses, admiring his raw beauty.
He smirks, then ever so torturously, licks a line from my hips up to my chest. He then grabs a breast in each hand, and grinds his pelvis down on mine.
I moan loudly.
"You're so fucking beautiful, baby."
"Hurry up already," I hear myself blurt out suddenly, and I grind against him even more.
"Easy there, honey. Great things take time."
And so we take our sweet time, and he's right - it's all worth it.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
In the Dreaming, he finds me. He finds me every time.
Now, I dream that I am in a little cabin, nestled in the woods, and everything seems so perfect. We sit in front of a burning fireplace, on the coziest couch, a navy blanket shared between us.
Then we hear a knock on the door.
I shuffle out of the blanket to open it, not knowing who it could be. Anything can happen in the Dreaming.
He reaches up to me in protest, "Nooo, don't leave me."
I smile fondly at him, "You little baby. Just a second."
Two figures greet me at the door. Merv, a caretaker of Morpheus' castle, and Adonis, one of the Dreams, who is tasked with creating and fulfilling romantic scenarios in people's dreams. Understandable, considering that he looks every bit an Adonis as his name implies.
He's also grown to become my friend, in my exploits in the Dreaming.
"Merv! Donnie! Hello, boys," I say warmly, genuinely pleased to see both of them, "To what do we owe this pleasure?"
I shuffle out of the way, so Corinthian is also in view.
"Hello, beautiful," Adonis says, always the flirt, and he enters the cabin and pulls me into a hug, "I've missed you."
I hear Corinthian cough loudly behind us, having gotten up from his spot on the couch.
"Hello, Corinthian." Adonis greets him.
"Adonis." Corinthian replies curtly, "Getting too close to my girl there, pretty boy." He spits out the last words, definitely not meant to be a compliment.
"I'm always happy to see my friend. Especially one as beautiful as her." Adonis responds, not missing a beat.
I wrap an arm around Corinthian's waist, feeling his temper rise, and try to calm him down.
"Down, Donnie." I tell him, although I am amused by his directness. He was made to be full of charisma and adept in coquetry, so I know this is just how he naturally is.
"Yeah. Down, Donnie." Corinthian mumbles low in chest, and turns to look at me. I just know he doesn't like that I've made a nickname for Adonis.
"I sense some hostility," Adonis quips smoothly, "Don't worry, Corinthian. I wouldn't do anything to y/n." He pauses, but he's yet to deliver the blow, "Nothing she wouldn't want me to do, of course."
Corinthian surges forward in a swift motion, stopping just a few inches away from Adonis. "You better watch yourself. You're just some dream. Whereas I... am the worst of all nightmares."
"Well, I have something to say," Merv interrupts, "if the both of you are done with your little pissing contest."
"Thanks, Merv." I say, grateful for him stepping in.
"Dream Lord wants to see you, Corinthian. He says it's something urgent. You may have to leave your sweetheart here for a while."
"Urgent?" Corinthian echoes, "Can't I bring y/n with me?"
"Nope," Merv places his hand on his hips, and adds to me, "Nothing personal, of course. It's just a matter of confidentiality."
"I understand." I reply, raising both hands for a second, and turn to Corinthian, "You've got some work to do, honey."
He moves close to me, and plants a kiss on my lips, one that lingers long, as if to show off to Adonis.
"I won't be long," he whispers, forehead against mine.
"Lucky for her, I'll be here to keep her company." Adonis says, almost gleefully.
"What?!'" Corinthian's head whips up, "No you fucking won't."
"I'm afraid he has to, Corinthian." Merv says, "Here's the thing, and this is also why Lord Morpheus needs to see you. There's been a little uprising with some nightmares out here, and it'll only be safer if she has someone with her."
"Even if it's this peacock Adonis," Merv then claps a hand on Adonis' shoulder, "Besides, she's familiar with him already."
"Fuck," Corinthian curses, clearly frustrated with the whole thing.
Adonis smirks in satisfaction, but says nothing, like he's already achieved what he wanted. He winks at me, and I raise an eyebrow as if to say, Don't.
"We're operating on a strict timeframe here, Corinthian." Merv says, impatiently.
"Can't you stay with her?" Corinthian asks him, in a last attempt not to leave me with Adonis.
"I've got duties myself, boy. I can't play babysitter."
"It's okay," I gently place my hands on Corinthian's face, "Trust me. You won't take long, and I'll be just fine."
"I do trust you," he says, pressing a kiss to my palm, then glances at Adonis, "Him? Not so much."
"I'll play nice." Adonis raises his hands as if to appease him.
Corinthian takes a deep breath, then walks to the door, "Let's fucking get this over with."
They leave, and I am left in this cabin with Adonis.
He smiles at me, and I already know he's got something up his sleeve.
Oh, boy.
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I was Corinthian-inspired today, so here you all go! :)
And this can have a part two, if enough people ask for it, so let me know in the comments!
Just a snippet of something I’m working on... a oneshot perhaps
[redacted] was very handsome, with sly green eyes and warm brown hair, so it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship to pretend to be interested, and he would be dead before he tried to do anything in the end. So she turned again, pretending to be looking out at the crowd, instead glancing carefully over back at the man.
His head was tilted, a small smile on his face, and he wasn’t trying to pretend that he wasn’t looking at her. Celaena raised a brow, but coyly smiled and looked him up and down before meeting his gaze, to which he responded with a wink. She just shrugged and started turning, inviting him over with her eyes before looking away completely.
It wouldn’t be long now before he walked over.
She returned to scanning the crowd, casually looking over the groups of people laughing, drinking, dancing. She saw someone stumble back into the room, rubbing his nose. Cocaine then. Unsurprising.
But then the crowd parted and her eyes landed on someone. Someone she’d seen before, his dark green eyes and silvery blonde hair unforgettable. Her smile dropped while his turned into a smirk.
