Sooooo I dunno where this came from, but I thought it was kind of neat. (It could just be me though, I'm not sure.) It's really short too, but I like it.
Let me know what you think :)
Somewhere between then and now, you'd fallen in love with a dragon instead of a handsome prince. You've fallen in love with a monster. Dragons are seriously misunderstood creatures.
Like a lot of young children, you used to be terrified of the monster under your bed. You wouldn't be able to sleep until daddy (and only daddy, because mum didn't do it right) had inspected your entire room for the monster that you were convinced lived in your bedroom, and slept under your bed.
It wasn't until years later, when you realized that there was no such thing as the monster under your bed-that it was only a figment of your over-active imagination, that you stopped being afraid. And only then did you realize that perhaps it wasn't the monster that you were afraid of. It was the fear you felt in itself that scared you.
Nothing is more frightening than realizing just how scared you really are, after all.
And somewhere around the time you received your letter to Hogwarts you stopped being afraid.
You'd pictured yourself married by now. Pregnant with your first child. Starting a family and a life with the man of your dreams.
You're very own Prince Charming.
Instead you're just barely getting through life. The war, despite its happy ending, hadn't given you the future you'd hoped for and that everyone else expected. Instead, life dealt you hand after hand after hand of bad cards.
And instead of finding yourself married to a handsome prince willing to give you the world, living in a cottage by the ocean with a white picket fence, you're laying naked in a bed that doesn't belong to you feeling dirty and exposed. He isn't a prince. He isn't even a peasant in the fairytale you'd created in your head when you were a little girl. He's the dragon-the loathsome, fire-breathing dragon that keeps you locked in a tower for no good reason.
Of course he doesn't really keep you locked in a tower, or even in his bed for that matter. You can leave whenever you want and he doesn't ever expect you to come back. But you do.
And you're hoping, praying that your prince will come to rescue you.
Everybody warns you. They tell you, straight up, what they think about him. About you AND him. It's a mess. It's wrong and it's ugly and it disgusting. But then, you already know this. You'd figured that much out on your own months ago.
But he's manipulating-and even though you know he's manipulating you, you fall for it anyway. The lies. He's so good, in fact, that at the time it seems like a good idea-like it'd been your idea all along. Not to mention he's sexy and delicious as fuck. And so fucking talented.
Time and time again you find yourself waking up in his bed, tangled in his sheets and his warm body. Time and time again you lay there, awake, with his arm thrown over your stomach and his head buried in the crook of your neck. And then he wakes up. And you scramble to your feet, cursing and yelling. You call him a dirty, slimy pig and he yells back at you to "look in the fucking mirror". So you try to slap him, but he catches your wrist in his fingers-because he knows its coming. And then he's attacking you with his lips and his arousal and it feels oh-so-good when he throws you on the bed and rips your clothes off all over again. It's angry and it's lustful and it's passionate. It's animalistic and feral.
You count the bruises and the teeth marks when you get home later-much later because you have about three more rounds before lunch. And you smile.
It's twisted, you think, how you enjoy this. How you enjoy HIM.
And you wonder, even if your prince comes to rescue you-on his white horse and his best uniform-would you follow him away from this dragon?
You watch him from across the bedroom, lounging on his bed while he paces back and forth in front of the fireplace , talking to a client over the Floo. He's wearing nothing but sweatpants, his top shirtless and pale in contrast to the dark walls of the room. His hair looks brighter in the light of the flames.
He's angry, frustrated about something the client wants or doesn't want. He's growling, yelling and swearing. He's dangerous. And yet somehow, he's beautiful. Somehow this fire breathing dragon is the most beautiful creature you've ever seen.
He isn't all that bad, you think. He's got moments, however faint and inconspicuous they are, where he can be sweet and caring and kind. He doesn't come right out and claim it like most-like a prince would-because he's a dragon; he's cold and dark. But it's there. It's the way he looks at you some mornings, his eyes soft and his expression tender. It's the way he holds you at night, like he's never gonna let go. It's the way he ravishes you-gives you bruises and marks-and then kisses you softly on the forehead before drifting off to sleep. You figure that he probably doesn't even know he's doing it.
You clutch the sheets against your chest, trying to find warmth despite the fire burning across the room, and you find yourself wishing for his arms. He looks at you then, turning away from the fire and crossing the room. It's like he reads your mind, crawling under the covers before slipping his arm around your waist.
And suddenly you're no longer waiting for Prince Charming.
There was a time when you hated him, loathed him for everything he stood for. And he, you. There was a time when being at each other's throats meant something entirely different.
When you were little you were afraid of creatures like him. Dark. Dangerous. Hypnotic. You would've screamed until your daddy came in to chase the monster away; your knight in shining armor. Oh, if only that little girl could see you now, you think, watching him as he talks sports and politics with your daddy. You've never told your parents about the history you have with him, because you know that your mother will tell you to stay away from him, and your father will chase him away. And you don't want him to go anywhere. You're a damsel in distress, sure. But this time you don't want to be saved.
Because somewhere between then and now, you'd fallen in love with a dragon instead of a handsome prince. You've fallen in love with a monster.
But then, as Hagrid used to say, "dragons are seriously misunderstood creatures".