#oc appearance survey | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

damneddamsy · 1 month ago

Text

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part ii)

a/n: such a cute chapter seriously, kooky Claere tries very hard to fit in and nearly succeeds

Cregan Stark felt an unexpected warmth stir within him as he stood at the cold threshold of Claere’s chambers that morning. She hadn’t noticed him yet, past her table overcrowded with steaming choices for her finicky appetite, her attention fixed on her slumbering dragon outside the frosted window. It was the first time, in weeks, he had seen Claere appear so... alive. Always, she remained untouched by the glow of the fires or the company of others. Yet here, framed by the muted sunshine, she was no longer the spirit of assumptions, but something more tangible—more real.

Her ivory hair, neatly brushed and woven into elegant braids, glinted in the soft morning light. A rare flush graced her ashen cheeks, lending an unexpected warmth to her pallor, while her lips, usually discoloured, now hinted at a shocking vibrancy. Her thickset leather gown, tailored to fit, cinched snugly to her form, warding off the biting winter chill. One could question her sanity or wisdom—but never the timeless beauty that clung to her like a second skin, untouchable and undeniable.

"Leave us," Cregan announced, breaking the quiet spell that lingered in the room.

The subtle command had Claere's handmaidens hurrying to obey, scurrying as they retreated from the room. Only one remained—the worried young girl who had raised her concerns to him—hesitating for a breath as she passed him.

"My lady is yet to break her fast, my lord," she mentioned before slipping away, casting a fleeting glance at Claere as though she feared leaving her alone.

Cregan’s gaze wavered on the closed door before shifting back to his wife. Claere’s violet eyes met his unflinchingly, but there was something delicate beneath the surface, a thread of tension woven through the air between them.

He divested his weighted fur cloaks and sword, then turned his attention to the table. He surveyed the spread before him—an abundance of food, more than enough to feed a small army. Golden loaves of bread, platters of roasted meats, a tray brimming with two hot pies, and rich, steaming pots of chicken porridge adorned the surface. Yet, despite the lavish display, it all felt strangely hollow.

His brow furrowed as he took in the untouched offerings. “This is more than enough for a feast,” he said to her, casting a sidelong glance. “Yet you’ve chosen to starve yourself.”

She was gaunt enough, pale enough—he could not bear the thought of her fading further into herself. Claere did not spare him another look or a reply, tucking her knees under her chin and continuing to stare blankly at the grey skies beyond.

"Come, try this. The venison is one of my favourites, the best you’ll ever taste," he attempted, his voice quieter than he intended, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile silence between them.

He skewered slices of the tender meat and placed them on her plate. "Especially rare this season. Smoked to perfection."

It was met with nothing. She didn’t move, didn’t even blink. It was like talking to a marble statue. Cregan’s tolerance waned, but his determination remained. He tried again.

"Perhaps some fruits from the capital?" His eager eyes flickered over her pale frame. She had grown up surrounded by the opulence of King’s Landing, maybe something from her past would awaken her hunger.

At last, a response—her gaze shifted, just barely, in his direction.

"Apples, cranberries. Oranges from Dorne," he murmured to himself, unaware.

That caught her. Her violet eyes brightened, if only for a second. Her head turned ever so slightly, just enough to show she had heard him. It was a faint glimmer of interest, the smallest shift in her otherwise impassive demeanour. Cregan seized the moment.

"Yes. Blood oranges, all the way from Sunspear," he continued, his voice gentle, as though coaxing her from some distant reverie. He reached for the bowl of oranges, their vibrant colour standing out amidst the endless grey.

"Sweet and ripe." He peeled one slowly, letting the tangy scent of citrus fill the room. "The taste of sunshine, I hear," he remarked, cutting into the orange and setting a few slices on her plate beside the untouched venison.

For a moment, the room held its breath.

He sat beside her, not prodding further, allowing the zest of the fruit to permeate through the chill in the air. It waited as a peace offering between the two of them. Although his hands itched to reach out, to grab her, shake her, force her to acknowledge the danger of her disinterest, he held back, knowing that force was not what she needed. Not now. He would start slow; small.

The moments stretched on, though his patient gaze never left her.

Then, slowly, almost unnoticeably, Claere reached forward. Her fingers touched one of the slices, and she brought it to her lips. The smallest trickle of juice touched the corner of her mouth, and something unspoken shifted between them. Another followed and another, until the orange slices disappeared.

Cregan said nothing, only watched, as though witnessing some small, hard-won victory. He reached for a second orange, peeling it with care, and setting the fresh slices in front of her.

"I don’t eat meat," Claere said suddenly, her voice clear as day, shattering the silence.

He blinked. For a moment, the absurdity of it all struck him. This was Claere Velaryon—the mysterious princess they all feared, who, in their minds, feasted on flesh like some beast from old Valyrian folklore. The one who terrified even her own attendants.

And here she was, delicately picking at oranges, refusing meat, no more grotesque than a rose bracing against the cold.

It hit him then—why she had not eaten a morsel at their wedding feast, why she never showed face at suppers, why she had been refusing to eat all this time. She wasn’t what they claimed, made of stone and shadows. She was simply, achingly, human.

Cregan stifled an amused grin, the irony too sharp to ignore. "Duly noted," he murmured, glancing at the untouched venison beside her. "I’ll take that."

He took her plate and switched his empty one with it. He managed to fill it with natural foods on the table—bread, butter, and fruits. Certainly, Northerners depended on their beef and mutton rather than daily grains. Anything hot and juicy to bear the brunt of the cold.

Whilst silently biting into a slice of buttered bread, Claere continued to scrutinize her drowsing dragon through the windowpane. Luna could’ve been mistaken for a snowy cliff by the treeline, her silver scales tough enough to brook the battering breezes outside. It should have been awake by now, trilling for Claere to come join her. Yet, peculiarly, the she-dragon continued to doze through the day.

Cregan followed her gaze, a frown tugging at his features. "Did you fly too far last night?" His concern edged through his voice. "It's been asleep too long."

Just then, Luna unfurled her leathern wings, flapping away the snow before digging her snout back into the earth. Steam sizzled off her throat and belly, a spot of the everlasting fire she harboured.

Claere took her time to respond, her voice almost proud. "She is overfed."

He scoffed under his breath. "That beast could swallow half the North, and still—"

"I took her out to hunt, my lord," she interjected, her tone soft but deliberate. "Just this morning."

His hand froze mid-motion, tightening ever so slightly around the knife as her words settled in.

"You took her to hunt," he repeated, glancing at her once he’d wrestled his wrath back under control.

She nodded, matter-of-fact, as though she were recounting an uneventful ride instead of defying his explicit orders. To Cregan, it was a quiet betrayal.

"You flew alone? Down to Castle Black?" His voice dipped into treacherous waters, barely containing his growing irritation.

"We only rode a little past Last Hearth, never crossed the Wall," she responded patiently, her tone so measured it made his irritation feel misplaced. "Luna caught some wild boars there. I reckon she’ll be sated for a few days."

Her calm, composed words felt like a blade twisting in his side. The frustration simmered beneath the surface, no longer containable. He leaned back, tossing the half-sliced apple onto the table with a heavy thud, the act punctuating the helplessness he felt. There was no forcing her, no bending her will—just standing by, powerless, as she made decisions he could neither influence nor control.

"Have I defied you, my lord?" she asked abruptly, her violet eyes watching him closely, an unexpected spark of interest flickering within them.

Claere held his gaze, unblinking, unperturbed by the smoldering in his eyes. There was no trace of fear, no hesitation—just that infuriating calm that always seemed to shield her from his concerns, as though the dangers of the world brushed past her without consequence.

He inhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to dispel the misplaced rage bubbling up. She hadn’t crossed the Wall; she hadn’t endangered herself, not in the way he feared. She had simply done as she had always done—navigating the wilds with a certainty that unnerved him.

He sighed despite his frustration. "No, you have not."

He reached for a cluster of cranberries, carefully plucking them from the vine and placing them onto her plate, trying to make the gesture feel routine, almost tender.

"You are the Lady of Winterfell," he continued. "You have as much right to defiance as I do."

She studied the crooked smile tugging at his lips, her brows drawn in thought, as though she couldn’t quite decipher the mystery before her.

"Do I not repel you?" she asked quietly, her voice betraying the faintest trace of genuine curiosity.

Cregan furrowed his brow, caught off guard by her question. "Whatever made you think that?"

Her fingers touched her chest as if pointing out the obvious. "You think me mad. The way the others do."

Realization softened his expression. "If that were true, I would not be here." He paused, his gaze more intent now. "Just as the moon is to the night, you are, to me. Distant, yet always prevalent. I have come to be curious."

A slight frown creased her forehead. "Curious?"

"About everything," he said, the softness of his smile deepening. "I want to know everything."

The silence between them grew thick, loaded with things unsaid. She wasn’t accustomed to being seen this way—not with such intent. For so long, she'd been surrounded by whispers and wary glances, all feeding into the myth of her coldness, her distance. But now, here was Cregan Stark, looking at her not with suspicion, but with inquisitiveness. That simple admission seemed to unnerve her.

"You want to know everything?" she echoed, disbelief threading through her voice.

He leaned in slightly, the firelight casting flickering shadows on his face. "Yes."

Her gaze dropped to the plate of fruit he had arranged with such care. Her fingers toyed with the edge of a piece of bread as if contemplating whether to trust him with whatever weighed on her mind.

"There is not much to know," she murmured. "Everything is plain in sight."

His smile returned, warmer this time. "Then you're not as impervious as you appear."

Her lips parted as if she were about to say something, but hesitation froze the words in her throat. For a brief moment, it seemed she was on the cusp of revealing something that had been buried for far too long. But just as quickly, the moment passed. She closed her mouth and turned her gaze away, her hands folding neatly in her lap, retreating back into herself.

Cregan watched the subtle shift, the way her posture tightened ever so slightly, the way her eyes retreated into that familiar, distant place. He had nudged the door open, but only a crack. It wasn’t enough to draw her fully into the light, but it was something. A start.

"You don’t have to tell me everything right away," he said gently, his voice shaking with laughter. "It will take time. And I will be here until then."

She looked at him then, a faint expression—almost like fondness—ghosting across her features. There was a tenderness in her eyes, nonetheless guarded, yet undeniably present. She gave a small nod, her voice quiet and uncertain.

"Perhaps one day, my lord," she promised.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Her gaze drifted back toward the window, back to Luna, her sleeping dragon. She seemed lost again, caught in her daydreams, her thoughts wandering far beyond the walls of Winterfell. Cregan leaned back in his chair, watching her in silence, his gaze tracing the curve of her face and her breath's steady rise and fall. Luna and Claere, both wrapped in an ancient mystery he was only beginning to understand.

The barriers between them had not yet fallen, but a door had been opened, however slightly. For now, that was enough.

For the first time since their marriage, Cregan allowed himself to believe—perhaps, just perhaps—there could be something more than the looming noose of duty between them. Something honest. Something soft.

As winter’s dawn closed in, Cregan’s quiet affections for his wife burgeoned like an arrow loosed from a bow, swift and certain. As she was known to the people of Winterfell, Lady Stark remained the same distant figure veiled in cold beauty, a foreign wife to their lord, a creature of dragon lore. She made no effort to blend into their world, and they met her aloofness with cautious smiles and bowed heads, unsure whether to approach or retreat. Claere drifted through the castle like a morning mist, silent, elusive, always keeping to the shadows, never quite a part of Winterfell’s daily rhythm.

But unlike the rest, Cregan began to take notice. Rather, it was incredible to watch unfold.

Beneath the layers of distance and impassion, there was another side to her, subtle and easy to overlook if one wasn’t paying attention. Claere was still unfamiliar, avoiding scrutiny and taken by the darkness, yet she had begun to tend to her littler assignments as a lady of the keep. It wasn’t grand or overt—there were no loud declarations or public displays of command—but she moved with purpose.

She listened more than she spoke, and when she did, her words were often strange, riddles of foresight that left the common folk wary. To the unsure blacksmith, who sought her blessing for a new forge, she meekly said to him—"Strike iron before the bell tolls twice. On the third, the flames will consume more than metal."

Whispers continued to follow her wherever she went: the dragon witch, the phantom of King’s Landing. Still, Claere remained unfazed. She attended her duties with modest accuracy, stitching herself into the rhythm of Northern life, even if it repudiated her.

Gradually, some saw her walking the cold halls, her footfalls deliberate, attending to the tasks that had once been left to the servants. Lord Stark had heard whispers of her wanderings of late—through the kitchens in the early hours, startling the cooks who were not accustomed to their lady appearing so near the hearth. She frequented the stables, her pale eyes watchful of the stablehands, though she never interfered. Most strangely, she had taken to visiting the kennels where the pups—the direwolf cubs born just before the first snowfall—played.

It was an odd sight to behold: Lady Claere, who rarely engaged with the people of the keep, standing among the yapping pups. She never knelt to pet them, never extended a hand to ruffle their fur. Instead, she would watch, as if the simple act of being near them was enough to quiet her mind. The small, wriggling wolves nipped at her skirts, tugging with playful insistence, but she remained still, observing them. Understanding them.

"They are quite fond of you, my lady," the kennel master remarked one day, eyeing the scene with amusement.

Claere glanced down at the pups nipping at her fur-lined cloak, her expression unreadable. "Then why do they attack me so?" she asked, her voice lilting with dry bemusement.

The kennel master chuckled, tossing scraps of meat at her feet. The pups immediately abandoned her skirts, their attention fully captured by the morsels. They tumbled over one another, growling and yipping as they fought for the food.

"I hope that answers your question, my lady," he said, his grin widening.

She looked at the scramble of bodies and fur, her lips pressed in a thin line, as though she was still unsure.

And on the rarest of occasions, Cregan would find her by the ancient weirwood tree in the godswood, her hands clasped to her chest, staring into the carved face of the old gods. The white bark seemed to cast her in a radiance, a lone figure amidst the snow-covered branches. Her eyes, those pale violet eyes, seemed lost in thought, as though she communed with the far beyond, elsewhere.

Likewise, her deeds—those small, almost invisible deeds—spoke volumes. Cregan had once found a handkerchief waiting for him in his study after a particularly gruelling day. The little fabric was sloppily stitched, the pale blue thread forming what he could only assume was meant to be a dragon—Claere's touch, unmistakable. Despite the uneven embroidery, he carried it with him always, tucked close to his chest beneath his leather coat of plates. It was the smallest of gestures, but to him, it was the great deal of effort she had put in for him.

But formality, he decided, did nothing for them.

One night, he summoned all the courage he had left, sweeping into her chambers with a boldness that surprised even him. He found her sitting near the hearth, her slender fingers too close to the flames, seeking heat from the piercing frost that had begun to seep into Winterfell's very bones.

"I would like to," Cregan began, his voice betraying a touch of nervousness beneath its usual strength, "sleep here tonight."

She turned to him, startled, her violet eyes dashing briefly to the bed. She blinked, slowly understanding the meaning behind his words.

Her lips parted, and she spoke with faint surprise. "You desire an heir."

Cregan's heart lurched in his chest, his eyes widening in shock. "No. No, princess," he half-laughed, quickly stepping forward, his voice dropping to a gentler tone. "You mistake me. I want no such thing from you."

She remained quiet, her gaze searching his face for meaning. "You do not?"

"I do, of course. In time, yes. Heirs." He scratched his jaw nervously. "I implied that I merely..." He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. His hand moved toward her, hovering in the space between them before finally resting gently upon her cold hand.

"I simply want to be close to you. No titles or expectations. You and I."

Claere stared at his hand on hers, the firelight dancing across her face, her expression caught somewhere between bewilderment and awareness. She had never imagined such a request from him. To her, as preached by her mother, marriage had always been about duty, obligation, and the future of his line.

"You mean to sleep here," she repeated, her voice softer now, doubtful.

"Aye, I do," Cregan replied, his hand still resting over hers, warm against the cold of the room. "I would like to be with you, as we are. If that would please you."

Her eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite place—an emotion she rarely showed. Vulnerability, perhaps. She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the flames.

"Very well," she whispered.

Then on, he cherished those quiet nights spent by her side, even while she remained true to her unstinting oddities. For all that surrounded her, she had, in her own way, become his constant.

The gentle strumming of her harp in the dead of the night became Cregan's personal lullabies, even if was hair-raising to the rest of them. He found her wandering through the corridors in the small hours, her movements slow, as though she drifted through her dreams. It should've unsettled him—the sight of his wife, half-asleep and roaming as if the world outside fell to nothing at her feet. Whenever the night sky beckoned her, she would climb the ramparts, sprawling herself across the ancient stone, her hands and eyes tracing the constellations. Sometimes, in the earliest hours of dawn, he would wake to find her already gone, Luna’s shadow a fleeting blur in the sky as she took flight.

"The court grows restless, my lord," the maester had said cautiously one time, his voice a quiet murmur as they stood in the Great Hall. "They believe Lady Claere's patterns... worry the people. A lady shouldn’t wander alone, especially not at such hours."

Cregan's rubbed at his brow, frustrated. "What would you have me do? Chain her to her chambers? Berate her like a child?"

"They mean no harm, my lord," he continued, trying to tread carefully. "You appease her too much. Her place is—"

"Her place," Cregan interrupted, his tone final, "is wherever she chooses to be."

He couldn’t bring himself to curb the parts of her that made her who she was. She wrought no trouble to anyone. Besides, stopping her could bring about dire consequences he knew little about.

One evening, after hearing her footsteps echo along the parapet walls, he quietly followed. Of course, for a dragonrider, such a height would not bother her, but his heart raced faster at the reflection of slippery death. Claere was already there, gazing up at the stars with a look of quiet reverence. He carefully lay beside her, trying to see the sky as she did, wondering what enigmas it held for her.

"Do you see them?" Claere asked, not turning to face him.

Cregan followed her gaze, his breath clouding in the crisp cold air. "Their radiance comes to nought with your presence," he said in all honesty.

Her eyes still fixed on the heavens, simply nodded, offering no smile, no warmth—just that silent acknowledgement that always seemed to deflate him.

"Untouched," she told him, an awed confession, "since I first laid eyes on them. Even in King's Landing and Dragonstone. Here. Yet they tell me a distinct story every night. Of old, of the things yet to come."

Cregan found himself leaning closer on his elbow, her calm conviction tugging at his control. It was easier to touch her nowadays, never past a soft squeeze of her palm or shoulder, but nevertheless, he basked in her liberties to him.

He traced her hairline by her temple, tucking a curl behind her ear. He was afraid she was going to melt right through his fingertips, vanish into steam.

"What do they say to you tonight?" he asked.

"Iā gēlenka qogron," she replied, her Valyrian tongue as smooth as the silks she wore, getting across his skin like a breathy caress.

He shook his head. "I can't understand your language."

"A silver lining."

For the first time in a while, she looked at him, a faint smile playing at her eyes, like two streaks of comets in the night. An elfish smile spread on his lips, his soul wrecked and decimated at the mere sight of it. A softness that she allowed just for him.

The aforesaid silver lining came on two fronts, both owed to his good wife, though neither understood immediately.

The first glimmer of change came as Claere sat by his feet one evening, quietly weaving another garland of winter roses upon a vine. He wondered what significance it was to her, why she had taken a liking to such an absurd, sweet thing. It was rare in these parts, yet she always had a throng of them every fortnight.

Instinctually, he reached out to gently touch the back of her head, brushing his fingers down the silvery hair that was left loose from her plaits. That gesture was enough to impart the warmth from the chill around them. Then, without turning to him, she spoke softly; suddenly.

“You could grow things here. Even in the cold.”

Cregan frowned, tilting his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

She did not answer right away, her fingers hesitating on loops of the vines, thinking. "Like these roses. They rise out of the ice."

He flickered his gaze to the withered flowers in her pale hands.

“The hot spring beneath the castle,” she sounded off. “It could heat the glass. Protect the plants.”

“Glass?” he asked, perplexed, trying to piece together her words.

She saw her nod, turning her head just enough to catch the slope of her nose and bow of her murmuring lips. Such a distracting sight.

“A house of glass. With the heat from below and light from above, you could grow food. Even in the blackest winters.”

Cregan sat back, stroking his lip, unsure if she was speaking in riddles again or if there was some truth hidden in her quiet musings. A glass house? In Winterfell? He mulled over her words long after the conversation ended, unseeingly staring at her sleep, wondering if she saw something he didn’t, or if it was simply another of her cryptic thoughts, floating like a wisp of fog, impossible to catch.

Days passed before the idea began to take shape in his mind, the pieces coming together as he considered the hot springs that ran beneath the castle, the ancient warmth that had always been a part of Winterfell. The more he thought about it, the more her words made sense—elusive at first, yes, but not impossible.

“She has clever foresight beyond her years, my lord,” one of the builders remarked when Cregan indistinctly shared the concept, the man’s eyes widening at the simplicity of it. The Glass Gardens, so it was named.

“To grow fresh produce in hard frost… it could change everything. But it will take great labour, and the men—”

"Insignificant," he interrupted, anticipating the instant objections. "Use every muscle we have, builders and stewards alike. Stop at nothing. Winter is coming."

A heavy silence draped the great hall as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell sat together at the head of the long table, their presence commanding every eye in the space. The low light of the hearth flashed, candles careened, casting long shadows against the weathered stone walls, the flickers dancing across Cregan’s gruff yet relaxed features and Claere’s hypnotic beauty.

The hall was teeming with people, the sounds of clinking plates and jovial laughs—lords of vassal houses, bannermen, and their ladies—but not a soul dared to question their sights. They watched, breath held, as the husband and wife dined in quiet harmony after weeks of isolation. Yet, the silence wasn’t strained. There was something subtle between them, implicit but unmistakable, a warmth that didn’t need words to be discerned.

Claere, shrouded in a grey fur-lined cloak, a gift from Cregan, picked at the peas on her plate. To those watching, she remained in her customary quietude, never quite fitting into their climate. But Cregan saw something else. He could sense the effort in her posture: the way she held herself more present tonight, despite her usual evasive manner. She wasn’t quite comfortable, but she was trying. And he was prepared to help.

Cregan’s watchful grey eyes, sharp as winter but softening with each glance, rushed often to his wife. Though she barely touched her food, he noticed her little, doubtful movements—the way her fingers skimmed the rim of her goblet, the way her eyes lounged on the stagnating hearth, her mind a million miles away.

He tore a piece of bread and placed it on her plate, a routine gesture between them now. He gently squeezed her hand over the table, bringing her back to reality.

"You must eat something," he murmured, meant for her ears alone. There was no force in his words, only a gentle concern from his growing care.

Claere’s violet eyes flickered toward him, surprised at first, but she didn’t resist. She took a small nibble of the bread and sipped the spiced broth, hesitant under the weight of so many eyes upon her. Yet, when she met Cregan’s gaze, just for a heartbeat, something shifted. An unassuming smile tugged at his lips, softening the edges of his usually stern features.

The tension in the hall, once thick with curiosity and judgment, began to ease. The subtle exchanges between the lord and his lady had not gone unnoticed by their audience. How his smile grew when she looked at him, a rare sight for those who knew him.

It wasn’t until a shift in the crowd drew the noble couple's attention—an approaching woman with two small children clutching at her skirts—that the atmosphere around them began to change.

In their small hands, they carried something bright—gleaming in the candlelight like polished stones. As they came closer, Cregan's brow furrowed in confusion. The sight of what they carried made him lean forward, his voice low with disbelief. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Bless me. Are those...?” he drawled out in wonder.

The woman’s hands shook slightly as she stepped forward, her eyes darting nervously between Cregan and Claere.

“Lord Stark,” she stammered, her voice trembling. She strained a pleading gaze at Claere. “This is too generous of a gift, my lady. We cannot accept this."

In her hands, and those of her children, were dragon eggs from Luna's most recent clutch—small, vibrant, coloured crimson and green. The sight of them made the hall grow quieter as if the very air had thinned with the enormity of the gesture. The children, however, clutched the eggs to their chests, unwilling to part with them. Their small hands curled protectively around the gleaming shells, eyes wide with the wonder of it.

Claere’s gaze flicked to the children, and then to the mother. "They earned them."

"They are unaware of what these symbolise to your bloodline," the mother refused. "Dragon eggs don't belong in the hands of people like us."

“Are you to refuse gratuity from your lady?” she said, with the quiet authority that left no room for argument. Claere regarded the children with a measured gaze, her expression still cool.

"They are gifts for your family. I owe the little ones a keepsake for their bravery today."

"Bravery?" Cregan questioned.

"We helped her locate Luna's clutch, m'lord," the young girl confessed in a mumble.

"And Lady Stark let us keep some of them," the young boy finished. "We found five so far."

"Two out of five is scarcely anything," Claere subdued the stressed mother. "I have plenty to spare."

The children, despite their mother’s soft pleas, clung tighter to the eggs, their fingers wrapped around them as though the treasures belonged to them alone. The mother’s face flushed with embarrassment, her hands trembling as she tried to gently pry the eggs from her children’s grasp.

“But, my lady, this is—”

Claere’s attention had already drifted to her plate. Her expression tightened for a brief moment, something unspeakable crossing her features—a subtle unease she hid from the hall, but not from Cregan. Ever observant, caught the unease settling into her posture, the slight tightening of her fingers around her goblet. He saw the far-off look in her eyes, and his heart sank.

Claere, at that moment, glanced down at the eggs in their small hands, and her gaze seemed to shift—becoming distant, as though she were looking far beyond the walls of Winterfell. Her eyes briefly lingered on the older boy, trained right through him, a flicker of foreboding.

Sensing this, Cregan squeezed Claere's thigh to summon her attention. When he did, he gave her the most infinitesimal shake of his head, searching her eyes. For a quiet moment, she remained frozen in place, still cold-eyed, as if deliberating some far-off future.

But then, with the smallest exhale, she relented. The tension in her shoulders melted, and her gaze gentled. Turning back to the woman, Claere’s voice was soothing now, in a way that almost made her seem more benevolent.

“Your son will grow strong,” she said, softly touching the boy's head. “He will see many winters, and live long." Then she nodded at the girl. "So will she. Great things await in their morrows."

The woman’s eyes filled with gratitude, her children clutching their eggs close as they looked up at her in awe. She bowed deeply, her voice cracking with emotion.

“Thank you, milady, truly," she said profusely. "Thank you.”

As the woman and her children backed away into the crowd, their wide-eyed wonder a stark contrast to the stunned silence that had settled over the hall, Cregan relaxed into his chair, his gaze still fixed on Claere.

He was the perfect blend of amusement and concern. “You mislike lying," he claimed.

Claere, still staring after the departing family, shook her head, her expression contemplative. “No,” she said, her tone almost introspective. “I do not care for it. The truth is simpler.”

Cregan arched a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smile as he sipped his ale. “You avoided the truth."

"Akin to deceit."

He set down his mug with a sigh. "Fair enough. Whatever did you see?"

Her eyes tightened, toying at her sleeves as if thinking over revealing this to him. "The boy will live long... but he will be sentenced to takeing the black for assault. His path is laid."

Cregan absorbed her words, and the dinner noises got louder. He rubbed a hand down his mouth, nodding to himself.

"That boy's future is his to shape," he relieved, his eyes locking on hers. "No sense in weighing down tomorrow with troubles that haven’t come. Perhaps knowing less will allow him to make other choices."

She quirked a side of her lips to an imperceptible smile, a shared understanding evolving between them. "Perhaps."

He gently caressed the back of her head. "Maybe don’t make this a habit. I don’t fancy sharing my ale with a doom-monger every night."

Her laugh surprised him. It was soft, barely more than a breath, like a secret that had slipped free—genuine, and entirely unexpected. Cregan blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear it.

"You laughed," he noticed breathily.

Claere paused, her brows drawing together as though she hadn’t noticed it herself. “Did I?”

He nodded, still watching her, his eyes softening. “Aye, you did. A sound like that could warm even these old stones."

She looked down at her lap as if trying to recall the moment herself. Her fingers resumed their nervous picking at her sleeves, but there was a faint flush on her pale cheeks, a subtle shift in her usual guarded demeanour.

“I suppose I did,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Cregan leaned closer, nudging her arm, gentle but teasing. “Well, don’t stop now. I think I'm rather fond of it.”

Claere’s thin lips graced a vague curve, so sweet and humble, though she quickly turned her gaze away from him, her fingers smoothing the fabric of her dress.

Gently, unable to stop himself, he reached out, cupping the side of her pale cheek. This time, she did not flinch or shy away. Instead, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to lean into his touch, indulging in the warmth of his hand, even if just for a fleeting moment.

For Cregan, it was another crushing triumph. For Claere, it was the first time she permitted herself to feel something other than the cold isolation that had surrounded her since arriving at Winterfell. And for those watching, it was a glimpse of an undue union slowly becoming more than mere duty.

There it was: Cregan's second silver lining, with far less fanfare and more consequential than the first. A quiet tempest of affection began taking root in the frozen North, thawing what had once seemed unreachable—the first warmth of spring after a long winter.

187 notes · View notes

onlyswan · 1 year ago

Text

summary: in which you always get what you want and jungkook is dying to kiss you.

> idol!jungkook x reader / fluff!! a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

> content/warnings: jimin cameo!!, a photobooth, oc gets a little hot & bothered bcs jk is a menace lol (they both are <3), touches a biiit on toxic relationships but this is pure fluff and yearning :p (the ex oc mentions is the same as the one mentioned in the first meeting drabble)

> songs: bad - wave to earth / just like magic - ariana grande

> in which masterlist!

note: just a sweet and silly drabble of jungkook being hopelessly whipped for oc before they even became official *to intensify the seven mv brainrot* no i didn’t plan this 🥲 + hehe this was only a week before the first kiss :p reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !! <3

—

“you really came!”

you run towards jungkook with a wide smile that reaches your eyes. the bag hanging on your shoulder swings and strikes your hip due to your excitement, but you could care less about the clinking of coins when there’s a bright star leaning on a lamp post, smiling back at you.

you stand before him as he straightens himself up, puffs of a fleeting cloud appearing as you pant lightly. “dummy, it’s so late. i told you to go to bed. aren’t you tired?”

“exactly, it’s so late.” he emphasizes your words to scold you, concern dripping from the tone of his soft voice. “of course i had to come.”

he tips his head to the side, sparkling eyes drinking you in as if he didn’t just see you the other night.

“you’re so adorable today.”

“thanks. is it because of this?” you happily scrunch your nose at the compliment, tugging at the strings of the brown knitted ear warmers wrapped around your head.

it is near midnight. drowning in the warmth of his bed to flee the freezing season, jungkook should be comfortably resting at home. however, he just had to look for your name in his contact list despite being absolutely knackered… and somehow he ended up here, because if he has been trading his sleep for work all these years, then he can also trade it any day to spend his midnights with you.

an endeared grin spreads on his face, rosy cheeks numb from the cold. “hm, teddy bear.”

a gust of silence passes by as your inquiring eyes survey the white plastic bag hanging from his hand, the company logo stamped in the middle of it familiar since childhood.

“what’s that? are you sick?”

“me?” he points at himself in confusion, shaking his head. “i’m not, though?”

“then why do you have-”

“ahhh- ah!” his face lights up as he is reminded of the other reason he came to you. he slaps his forehead with a chuckle. “i almost forgot.”

jungkook, although still a little shy around you, tries his best to initiate eye-contact when either one of you speaks to avoid giving off the impression that his mind is someplace else when you’re together. however, the mission becomes difficult when you meet his gaze wide-eyed, and he is… breathless.

“you haven’t been feeling well so… uhm, i got you vitamins and more medicine, just incase. here.”

your heart feels like it’s been wrapped in a cozy blanket meant to thaw the winter that has overstayed its welcome, spreading warmth and giddy sparks all the way to the tips of your fingers. you’re relieved that you wore gloves today; he didn’t get electrified when you took the thoughtful gift from his cold hand.

“really? even vitamins?”

the original plan was only to take a peek, but a word written in bold and colorful letters prompts you to bring out the cough medicine for a better look.

oh, jungkook.

you quickly slide it back inside the bag, a laugh accidentally slipping from your mouth. you press your lips into a thin line to suppress the rest of them bubbling in your chest.

“yah, why are you suddenly laughing? did i buy the wrong one?” he questions, nervous about his suspicions being correct.

he follows up with a matter-of-fact tone.

“you said you only like syrup when you have a cough, because it’s soothing.”

“it’s so sweet that you remembered that but…” you giggle, eyes watering as your body quakes with the intensity of it. the image of the packaging flashes in your mind, and you sniffle. “this is for babies.”

“but syrup is really for kids? are they not?”

his doe eyes are shining not with condescension but genuine innocence, and it makes this a whole lot funnier for you.

“yeah, i mean…” you pause as a puzzling realization washes over you.

oh my god, does this mean that this entire time… he’s been thinking that you gulp down bottles of cherry-flavored cough syrup for two-year-old’s? and he didn’t question that? at all?

“i guess you’re right. but they also have one for adults. i was drinking that.”

“huh, that’s what they gave me. and i just assumed-” he gestures at the medicine you’re grasping in your hands before he freezes.

with the clear view of it, he finally discerns how silly of a mistake he has made.

“i must be out of my mind today!”

he breaks out into a fit of laughter, putting a hand over his aching belly.

it’s a sound that has been evoking an inexplicable joy in you since the first time you heard it; a sound that you often miss lately. you still need to remind yourself not to stare at him for too long, scared that he’d be able to read these thoughts from a simple look at your face.

“still, it’s pink. and i bet that tastes better?”

you nod your head in agreement, pulling out the medicine once more to study the directions of use. “with the dropper and everything, i bet it’s a better experience.”

“shit, it- it even has a dropper?”

“i told you! it’s for babies!”

“babies?! no, no. this isn’t it. this won’t do.” he furiously shakes his head as he waves his hand in disapproval, crossing the distance between you to seize your wrist. “let’s go- come with me. let’s go back to the pharmacy. i’ll exchange it for the right one.”

“nope.” you refuse his demands with a smirk, stubbornly breaking away from his grip. “i don’t want to. i’ll keep this.”

“____, come on!”

“but you already gave it to m- jungkook!” you squeal when he makes a move to steal the item from your hands.

out of reflex, you hide them from him behind yourself. and unsurprisingly, that doesn’t deter jungkook’s endless supply of friskiness. he chases you as he reaches for your back, and you carelessly stumble multiple steps backwards to escape him. whimpering at the unexpected impact, you finally reach a dead-end, trapped between a wall and the boy who’s been making your winter a little less blue. your forehead lands on his chest, defeated, and he keeps you steady with a secure hold of your arms.

a harmony of breathy giggles imbues the silence of the deserted sidewalk.

“what are you even going to do with it? you can’t drink it anyway!”

you lift up your head with a drawn-out whine.

you can’t give him an answer.

to be honest, you’re just as clueless as jungkook is.

“ehhh?” he mimics the sound you made with an amused expression painted on his face. you’re too damn adorable for your own good, and it’s doing very dangerous things to his heart. “will you? are you a baby?”

the rhetorical question is a bait that you choose to bite.

“not really, but i can be your baby.” you shrug, melting him with a coquettish smile.

“ah, i see… is that term of endearment your type? you want to be mine?”

his teasing grin puts his dimples on display, and you desperately want to run back into your apartment just to spend a full minute screaming into your pillow. you’re thoroughly convinced that you’ve never felt more attracted to a person than you are to jungkook. this is bad news. you don’t know to what lengths you’re willing to go so that he could stay in your life for as long as you want. it’s terrifying and exhilarating.

“just to set the record straight, you want me to be yours.”

“and if i do? then what…? are you confident you can handle me?”

every nerve connected to your heart is a wire most alive when you yearn to bare it for another.

“try me.”

his hazy eyes falls to your lips and he goes a little crazier than he was the other night. it’s infuriating that you manage to make them look so soft and so inviting despite the frigid air. it’s dizzying, how his face is only inches away from yours and as always, you smell so sweet, just right. he wonders if you taste the same.

jungkook is dying to kiss you.

the thought has been plaguing his mind, haunting his dreams both day and night. he keeps screaming at himself to just fucking do it, but as much as he is impulsive, he doesn’t want to be the guy who catches you off guard. he doesn’t want you confusing your feelings for him with adrenaline. he wants the moment to feel right. he wants you to see that he’s sincere, and he’s nothing like those bastards who took you for granted…

selfishly, he wants this to be something real, co-existing with the fear of pushing you into a tornado of chaos that is his life.

his heart is pounding violently, he’s afraid it might jump through his sweater. the right moment feels like it could be right now, and he knows you feel it too. he observes your breathing getting heavier, and one of your restless hands has freed itself to grab a fistful of his sleeve.

your lips slightly part, and he doesn’t know if it’s the anticipation, or you did it on purpose to rile him up. he figures his jimin-hyung is right; he would be a fool if he allowed you to slip out of his hands. but truth be told, he’s the one wrapped around your finger.

fuck, fuck, fuck. he is doomed.

a pin drops and he is doomed.

his ringtone rattles the silence and slices through the tension between you. disappointment flashes across your face, and you visibly flinch at its loudness. you’ve grown to despise the incessant noise of telephone calls since moving to your apartment, one of your pet peeves jungkook is yet to hear about. panicked and irritated, he scrambles to dish out the vibrating device from the depth of his pocket.

“it’s… it’s my manager. but it’s fine, i’ll handle it.” he informs you quietly as he rejects the call, opting to send a text explaining his whereabouts.

a pang of guilt shoots through your heart.

“you can go home, it’s okay… i can take care of myself.”

“mhm-hm.” he shakes his head, still busy typing away. then, out of nowhere, he looks at you to properly plead. “don’t send me home yet.”

your eyes flicker to watch a piece of ice fall on his shoulder, white contrasting the black fabric of his jacket. another one lands on your hand, and then your collarbone. the stinging coldness, another thing that makes you flinch tonight. you look up to face the snowfall fiercely coming down, and it seems that the heaven opened up the sky to scold two lovesick teenagers tangled in a modern-day dalliance.

goddamn it, you curse.

“are you kidding me?” you grunt in frustration, eyebrows sharpening your previously dazed eyes.

jungkook barely manages to tap the deliver button before you begin dragging him to the roofed entrance of your apartment building.

“stay here. i’ll just grab an umbrella real quick.”

“okay.”

once he confirms that you’re out of sight, he releases a loud sigh, exasperatedly kicking a non-existent ball on the cemented floor.

“fuck! fuck! why? why do i move so slow? ah- they can’t just kill the mood like that. why-” he squeezes his eyes shut, pinching his nose bridge and putting a hand over his hip, so upset he can’t even speak straight. “we almost… shit, this is driving me insane… she hates me. she must hate me right now. i’m done for.”

—

the aggressive slam of the front door rings throughout your apartment, and you’re about ninety-nine percent certain you disturbed the sleep of a neighbor or two.

“then what?” you grumble to yourself, followed by a desperate cry. “then kiss me! do i really have to do everything myself?”

after grabbing the biggest umbrella you own from the basket you have beside your coat rack, you head to the kitchen where you leave behind what jungkook bought you.

eventually, your overthinking leads you to a bitter conclusion.

“does he not want something more? is he playing with me?!”

and if it was any other person, you’d be fine with that but… your gaze lands on the bottles of vitamins and cough medicine, and you sigh to regulate the accelerated beating of your heart.

“but i think i can finally do this right.”

your voice comes out above a whisper, and the verbal declaration alone fuels the hope in you.

you’re confused whether it’s a sign of luck or childishness. maybe the compensation for being well-acquainted with loss, or good karma if you decide to push it some more… but you always get what you want. despite the blood, sweat, and tears; even during the instances that you do give up, the universe somehow finds a way to arrange matters in your favor.

except you don’t want to give up on this just yet, and you don’t intend to just stand around waiting for the universe work its slow burn magic.

because you look out your bedroom window, and jungkook is squatting on the floor with his head in his hands, looking distraught as if he just lost the lottery and he was only a digit off.

you might be unsure about your label, but he sure wanted to kiss you pinned up against that wall.

—

jungkook casually steals glances from you every now and then. you’ve been softly humming to christmas songs as the ice underneath your feet crunches with every step you take, influenced by the heavy snowfall despite the holidays being long gone.

when you came back, he thought you’d be giving him the cold shoulder, reminiscent of when you got pissed off at a hair stylist not even a week ago (that day, he learned that you’re grumpy when sick, grumpier when jealous). but instead, you lent him a white fuzzy scarf to keep him warm.

“where are we going?” he asks, unaware of your destination.

he’s just been following your lead for the past five minutes or so. he only knows that you’re going someplace that will satisfy your midnight cravings, as you mentioned over the phone earlier.

“i haven’t told you?” you wince. “just mcdonald’s. i’m craving their fries… hmmm, and chocolate sundae.”

“sundae? but you have a cough.”

“i’m all better now! that’s why i’m getting it!” you keen with excitement.

except jungkook is worried. at home and at work, he has many people fussing over him when he’s not feeling well. most of the time, you only have yourself to rely on. he doesn’t like thinking about your past boyfriends, but he hopes that they took care of you when you would get sick. as for the future, he hopes that he’s there.

he perks up when he sees the pharmacy store he’s been thoughtfully scanning both sides of the streets for, recognizing the lightbox signage. “let’s stop here. i’ll buy you your adult syrup.”

“jungkook,” you giggle airily, pulling at his jacket to motion him not to go near it. “i just told you that i’m not sick anymore.”

“it’s better to be prepared.” he reasons.

the snowfall has ceased. he transfers the umbrella to his other side, freeing his hand to hold yours and tug you along with him. he childishly pretends to not hear your protests.

he’s not showing it, but he must be embarrassed about earlier. you can’t help but to smile from ear to ear, watching his back as you’re left a few steps behind, the two of you tied together by his warm and protective grip of your hand.

“jungkook,”

your voice is calmer and quieter. he whips his head back, concerned eyes twinkling from the blaring headlights on the road.

“i’m thirsty.”

—

you’re blissfully unaware of jungkook falling in love with you from the opposite side of the table.

thoroughly engrossed with the movie-like scene outside the glass wall, you’re clutching an apple juice box in both hands, plastic straw stuck between your lips as you take baby sips. he probably sounds like a broken record, but there’s something different in the air tonight, and you’re twice as pretty in his eyes.

“i can sue you for that, you know?”

he drops his phone in shock. he chases it in pure panic as it clashes with the table before tumbling down to his lap. when he puts it down, the screen is already black, a desperate attempt of hiding the raw evidence of his offense. he smiles back at you sheepishly, cheeks and ears flushed after being caught red-handed.

“aren’t i cute? you already made it your lockscreen, haven’t you?” you tease, eyes flickering up to him as you begin stabbing at the chocolate sundae with the little plastic spoon to mix it.

“made what my lockscreen? no, i didn’t!” he strongly denies, holding up his phone to show it to you.

“plain black, really? what happened to gureumie?”

you send him a look of distaste.

“just makes me believe i’m really your lockscreen and you change it to something random before you come see me.” you say in a sing-song voice, shivering with delight after you lick your spoon clean of the sugary treat.

“don’t start. yours is your class schedule!” he retorts with a laugh, which goes up in volume when you slap his hand away for attempting to steal from your fries.

you scowl at him with a displeased pout, dipping a fry into the sundae before popping it in your mouth. “get away. i’m hungrier because you took so long.”

the effect of having your cravings satisfied is instantaneous. it was absolute hell, being sick, albeit it was only a cough accompanied by fatigue. it’s simply no fun being an adult and having no one enter your room every two hours to check up on you. for the first time in the past week, your brain is completely flooded with happy chemicals, and you feel like a little kid kicking their feet with glee.

“it’s not my fault! they had to do something to the ice cream machine… i-i think it stopped working.” jungkook stutters, stuffing his mouth full with a spoonful of his strawberry sundae.

of course, it’s the ice cream machine. it’s always the ice cream machine.

with a gasp, you weakly slam the empty juice box on the table. “wow, i almost didn’t get what i came here for.”

“but you did. ‘cause you’re with your lucky charm.” jungkook cheekily winks at you, and you long to kiss that stupid grin off his face.

—

“holy shit, he’s kneeling down now. kook, he’s begging- look-”

jungkook is convinced he has never seen your eyes this big. he looks at you dumbfoundedly, cheeks full as he chews a huge bite of his burger. you release a sigh, reaching over to turn his face to the side.

outside, just a few feet away at the opposite direction his body is facing, he discovers an angry tear-stained woman sitting on a bench and a man crying on his knees infront of her.

he swallows, tilting his head. huh, so this is what you were watching earlier when you didn’t notice him arrive with the food. funnily enough, this isn’t considered an unusual occurence in such a populated city.

“i knew it. he’s cheating, he’s definitely cheating.” you squint at the scene, shooting daggers in your mind. you rely on muscle memory as you continue to munch and dip your fries in the sundae without bothering to look anymore.

they were still arguing when you gave jungkook your undivided attention, but the shift in the atmosphere captured your interest again when your peripheral vision caught him on the ground.

“how do you know?”

“he panicked and snatched his phone away when she touched it. that’s why they started fighting.”

a sick feeling in your gut deflects your eyes away from the forlorn couple, the salt and the sugar in your food starting to taste bland on your tongue. on the other hand, it seems that it’s jungkook’s turn to be absorbed in them.

“oh, that makes sense.” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows furrowing as he frowns. “seriously, i’ll never understand cheaters. why… would you go out of your way to hurt a person who’s special to you?”

and because of that, his food are left to be unsupervised. with the hopes of resparking your appetite by stealing a taste of something you haven’t had in over a year, you scoop up a small bite of his strawberry sundae.

“that person isn’t special anymore, or maybe they never were in the first place.”

“but if you’re loved by that person, even if you don’t feel the same way anymore, shouldn’t they still be special to you in some ways?”

he returns to his previous position, and the passion written in his eyes like constellations makes you want to believe that maybe the world isn’t a lost cause. it’s a breath of fresh air — the new point of view clear as day infront of you. jungkook is your best friend, it dawns on you then and there.

a best friend who sends you pictures of the sky. a best friend who won’t let you roam the midnight streets with melancholy. a best friend you want to kiss and hold hands with.

“they should, but they’re horny assholes who don’t think about stuff like that.”

“ah, then what a shame.” he chuckles with a scornful shake of his head, finally going back to devouring his burger.

it’s silent for a few beats.

right now, you like the strawberry flavor more than the chocolate. it tastes better than you remember. it’s rekindling an old flame.

“are you that type of boyfriend? who gives out their password?” your voice is rife with interest as you casually steal another spoonful of jungkook’s dessert.

“of course, i don’t mind. i have nothing to hide. i just have the most random photos, and like a thousand voice memos… but… how do i say it?” he pauses to organize his thoughts, eyes pointing towards ceiling. “uhm, it can get uncomfortable, and hurtful… if they always thoroughly check everything. i don’t know…”

“no, i get that. my ex was doubtful of me all the time and it was tiring. giving reassurance is important, but so is having boundaries… never forget that, understand?”

you radiate with so much tenderness, he finds it so easy to listen to every word that you say. but since you already understand the importance of balancing those two things, can he just forget about it and admire your face?

“is that why you broke up with him?”

you pucker your lips in thought, playfully twirling the plastic spoon between your fingers.

“i guess so? he… he just sees me as a bad person. and i was starting to believe that i am.” you decide to put it lightly, scoffing when the mortifying memories of him floods your mind. “when i had that epiphany, i broke up with him right away. we just weren’t good for each other.”

jungkook utters your name, mellow and sweet, like a serenade.

you’re reminded that he sings for a living.

“hmm?”

“i don’t know what happened between you but… when i say you’re a good person, i’m really being sincere.”

during the fall, talking about your past relationship made your heart feel unbearably heavy.

but tonight, it’s winter. jungkook holds out his little spoon to feed you a bite of his strawberry sundae, and you accept it without thinking.

uh-oh.

you peer up to him shyly.

“and because you were so kind to me the first time we met, i don’t mind you being a thief.” he fondly strokes your hair, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your body vibrates with giggles. “aigoo, you eat so well. good job, ____.”

—

“where you are taking me? this isn’t the way home!”

jungkook has an arm around swung over your shoulder, gluing you to his side as you walk together. the last time you checked the time, it was 1:27am. the stores you brush past are already lights off, locked up, and the sidewalk is mostly dead and quiet.

“i really like taking photos, you know?” he grins, sounding thrilled, and you glance at him with suspicion in your eyes.

“i’m very much aware. and so?”

you yawn not long after, leaning some of your weight on him as tiredness seeps into your overused muscles. you’re awfully sleepy, and cold. you can hear your bed calling out your name from kilometers away.

“so we’ll take some together.”

from a distance, you immediately recognize the famous photobooth only several buildings away from the noisy night life of the long rows of bars and nightclubs.

you feel your knees go weaker.

oh, you’re in very serious trouble.

—

curse jeon jungkook.

curse him and his muscular thighs.

“sit here?” he pats his lap as an invitation, looking up to your motionless figure still standing infront of the closed curtain. “or do you want me to stand behind the chair?”

curse him and his intoxicating perfume and his arm wrapped around your waist.

“four photos and… we’ll print… two copies.” he thinks out loud, face so close to yours as he taps on the screen infront.

curse the stupid person who decided to only put one small stool in this small photobooth.

you won’t dare to make it obvious, but your heart is doing somersaults. you realize how arrogant you were for whining about him not kissing you yet, because here you are trying your hardest not to squirm as you’re sat across his lap.

unconsciously, you embrace the scarf he took off close to your chest.

it’s… been quite a long, torturous while of being deprived of physical touch. and you like jungkook. you like jungkook so much that despite hating cramped spaces, you flash the camera a sweet smile while playfully squishing his pouty face in your hand.

“oh, oh, that’s right!”

a yellow lightbulb appears above his head. he bounces his legs to capture your attention, his arms tightening around your waist to prevent you from falling off.

you cross your thighs to subtly squeeze them together, a poor attempt at putting out the fiery tingles spreading throughout your body. you swallow thickly. he needs to fucking sit still. your self-control is running thin.

“act angry at me and i’ll put it as the first picture, okay?”

“huh? why?”

“so i’ll always remember that you got annoyed at me for dragging you here.”

“and i’m still annoyed!” you slap his chest with a frown, glaring at him exactly as he imagined you would.

his mischievous grin stays when he faces the camera, winking and throwing up a peace sign as the flash goes off.

when the timer starts again, he rushes to reach for the floor, sticking his hand in the paper bag from the pharmacy.

“for the next one- stay still-”

you’re completely clueless. your vision remains fixed on him until he reveals a bunch of pink ribbon hairclips on his big palm.

“where did you get these?” you blink at him.

he only shushes you as he removes the earwarmers from your head, thoughtfully fixing your hair before carefully adorning it with the ribbons as fast as he can.

“the ice cream machine wasn’t broken, was it?”

“shhh, we’re running out of time.” he rebukes you to mask his bashfulness, teeth sinking in his bottom lip as he focuses on arranging the ribbons symetrically.

“are these mine?”

“yours.” he confirms absentmindedly. he backs up to inspect his work, but he only ends up thinking to himself is it right for someone to be this beautiful?

the time runs out before you can deem yourself ready. the camera captures jungkook trying to tame your baby hairs, and you, watching him with a faint smile of affection.

“what do we do now?”

he shrugs. “let’s do whatever we want.”

“wow, i can finally do what i want?” you reply sarcastically. “i thought you were prepared for this.”

“three seconds!”

since you’re already smiling in the other two photos, you figure that it’s your turn to pout in the last.

the number ‘1’ appears on the screen, and you feel him pull you closer than you’ve ever been.

curse jeon jungkook.

curse him and his hand on your neck and his soft lips pressed to your cheek.

—

“you’re sneaky.”

“you’re one to talk.” jungkook replies, and you roll your eyes.

he chuckles to himself as he scans his copy of the photostrip under the street lamp beside the photobooth. on the other hand, your back is resting against it, your arms crossed over your chest. you take a fleeting glance at him, secretly smiling to yourself because he looks so happy.

yours is tucked in between the pages of the book inside your bag.

later. you can look at it later when you’re a little more sane and the ghost of his lips stops lingering on your skin.

“i don’t just let myself get kissed for free. don’t you know that?” you heave a dramatic sigh, feigning annoyance. “but since you bought me new clips,”

you turn your cheek to stare at him, but you instantly break the eye contact when you see how he looks like an excited puppy when he’s amused by you.

“…i’ll let this pass.”

“i think i just found the motivation to make more money today.”

you crack up at his words. “shut up!”

god, you’re getting swayed by his antics. he has too much hidden underneath his sleeve. you need to up your game.

a breeze sweeps across the earth, and you sniffle as you stuff your hands in your pockets. it’s getting colder and your battery is draining rapidly as the clock ticks. you die a little inside when you think about the consequences of your late-night adventure. there has to be time for you to squeeze in a nap between school and work, right? right? unbeknownst to you, jungkook takes notice of your weary state. he crosses the distance between you to wrap the ear warmers around your head.

“tsk, you’re going to catch a cold.” he whispers, loosely tying the straps under your chin. he reaches for a ribbon, but then pauses to ask for permission. “do you want to take off these now, so you won’t fall asleep on them? these are kind of sharp.”

“stop taking such good care of me.” you say half-jokingly, starting to remove them on your own. “i might get used to it.”

this upsets jungkook, it seems.

his lips are in a permanent pout as he answers, eyebrows knitting together. “what’s wrong with that?”

you only shake your head with a vague smile.

—

JK :

4:11am

[sent four photos]

credit GCF if you post on insta

got it?

you’re welcome !!!

4:13am

hehe you must be sleeping now right?

you better be !

4:18am

the truth is i’m a bit shy to tell you this in person but ... thank you for being someone i can spend time with comfortably and for always making me smile. i really like you a lot .. i mean that sincerely too

sweet dreams ____ :)

—

“goodnight, jungkook.”

you stood on your toes to kiss his cheek, painstakingly chaste yet sinfully calculated. he was left all alone in the empty hallway of your apartment floor, too stunned to remember and return your scarf.

it is not the first time you did that, but his mind is reeling like crazy tonight — the corner of his lips is still stained with the graze of your lips.

a rhythmic knock snaps him out of the electrifying memory.

“jungkook-ah,” a freshly-awoken jimin raspily croaks out while he rubs his blurry eyes. “did you bring home anything?”

is this becoming a routine now? him visiting at an ungodly hour in the morning; jungkook sitting up without a word to retrieve the snacks from under his bed.

“thank you.”

he receives an appreciative pat on the back before jimin grabs one of the diamond-shaped biscuits you earnestly made a whole tray of, enough to go around for seven people. he nibbles on it as he flops down on the mattress, planning to sleep here some more until it’s time to prepare for work.

however, his drowsiness gets pushed to the back burner when the photostrip beside the maknae’s pillow attracts his attention.

“yo, jungkook! is this from tonight?”

“hyung! be quiet!” jungkook whisper-shouts.

“the staff didn’t mention a photobooth to me. is this a secret?” the late-night visitor whispers back to humor him.

the bed creaks as he chases the printed memories from jimin’s grasp, who seems to have gained enough energy to tease him, heartily giggling as he rolls away to the edge of the bed.

“yah, you’re so cute together?!”

jungkook’s bunny teeth pop out as he’s unable to resist a satisfied beam at the flattering remark. damn right, they do.

pulling out a pillow from behind him, he playfully hits jimin with the huge bundle of cotton. “hyung, finish eating and go back to sleep. we have that thing later, remember?”

“you’re hurting my feelings. what happened to telling your hyung about your crush?”

—

“wait a second- i’m still confused. you sprinted to the fashion boutique before ordering?” jimin flips over to lie down on his stomach, speech muffled by the biscuit between his lips.

“they close at midnight, so i had to run there first.” jungkook explains as he reseals the tupperware. weirdly, he only feels the ache in his body now that he’s talking about it. “they really like things like that.”

“you’ve told me. so how long do you plan on keeping that in here?”

his gaze lands on the paper bag labelled ‘CHANEL’ on the other side of the room, and he makes a pained expression, still agonizing over whether he should give it to you or not.

“but don’t you think it’s too much? maybe i should save it for their birthday.”

“be honest with me. do they even know you’re courting them?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook one shot #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

2K notes · View notes

goddessofvalyria · 3 months ago

Text

RIDE OR DIE pt.1 | Aemond Targaryen x fem!oc

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen is the owner of a famous strip club, the Blue Pearl. One night he visits the club and asks for the best girl, unaware of the consequences of his choice…

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Maddy with long brown hair and blue-green eyes, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, SMUT, sexual tension, sex, sex, sex, Modern Aemond in Modern AU.

English is not my first language, be kind <3

This is my Masterlist

Words: 4122

The Blue Pearl is buzzing with its usual electricity, the low hum of conversation mixing with the sensual rhythm of the music. Tonight, though, there's a different kind of tension in the air. Word has spread quickly among the dancers that Aemond Targaryen —the elusive, powerful owner of the club—has made an unexpected appearance.

The dancers steal glances toward the VIP section, where Aemond Targaryen sits, his presence commanding the room without a word. He's dressed in an immaculate black suit, his silver-blond hair slicked back, the eye patch covering his left eye only adding to his enigmatic allure. He surveys the club with a cool, detached air, but there's a sharpness in his gaze, a sense of control that radiates from him.

Madame Sylvie, the woman who runs the girls, is quick to act. She approaches Aemond with the confidence of someone who’s been in this business for years, yet with the respect that his position demands. "Mr. Targaryen," she greets him, her voice smooth. "What can we offer you tonight?"

Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver as he responds, his voice low and authoritative. "The best girl you have."

Madame Sylvie nods, not missing a beat. "Of course, her name is Maddy"

She knows exactly who he wants, who the best is. Without another word, she gestures for Maddy.

Maddy is the club’s jewel. With long, flowing brown hair and mesmerizing green-blue eyes, she’s the sexiest, most sought-after girl at The Blue Pearl. Her beauty is unmatched, but it’s her confidence, the way she moves, that truly sets her apart. Men pay top dollar for just a few minutes of her time, and tonight, she’s about to perform for the boss himself.

As the song "Ride or Die Pt. 2" begins to pulse through the speakers, Maddy steps into the private room where Aemond is waiting. The space is dimly lit, the flicker of red led casting a warm glow over the luxurious surroundings. She’s dressed in a stunning set of lingerie—an expensive bra and thong adorned with Swarovski crystals, loose hair, high heels amd each movement sending a shimmer of light dancing across her skin.

Maddy knows the stakes are high tonight. Aemond Targaryen isn’t just any client; he’s the owner, the man behind the empire that is The Blue Pearl. But she doesn’t let it show. With a sultry smile, she begins to move, her body swaying to the rhythm of the music. Her dance is a seductive blend of grace and raw sensuality, every step calculated to entice, to captivate.

Aemond watches her with an intensity that makes her skin tingle. He’s silent, his expression unreadable, but his eye never leaves her. There’s a predatory edge to the way he looks at her, as if he’s assessing every detail, every movement. Maddy can feel the weight of his gaze, the way it seems to strip her bare, even more than the delicate lingerie she wears.

She twirls and arches her body, the crystals on her outfit catching the light, reflecting the opulence of the room. As she drops down low, her hands sliding up her thighs, she locks eyes with Aemond. For a moment, the world outside the room ceases to exist. It’s just the two of them—the dancer and the boss—caught in a dance that’s as much about power as it is about pleasure.

Aemond’s expression remains stoic, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture, a slight leaning forward as if he’s drawn closer by an invisible force. Maddy notices, and it fuels her confidence. She knows she has his attention, knows she’s living up to the reputation that Madame Sylvie has built around her.

The song reaches its peak, and Maddy’s movements become more fluid, more intense. She’s a vision of temptation, her body moving in ways that are both hypnotic and provocative. She ends the dance by crawling slowly toward him, her eyes locked on his, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

As the last notes of the song fade into silence, Maddy rises to her feet, standing before Aemond with a poise that belies the heat of the moment. She doesn’t say a word—she doesn’t need to. Her performance has said everything.

Aemond finally speaks, his voice as cool and composed as ever. "Well done, Maddy" he says, his tone carrying a note of approval that’s rare from him.

Maddy smiles, a small, triumphant curve of her lips. "Thank you, Mr. Targaryen."

Aemond stands, his tall frame towering over her as he reaches into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a thick envelope, placing it on the table beside her with a finality that suggests their encounter is over. But as he turns to leave, he pauses, looking back at her with that same intense gaze.

"I’ll be seeing you again."

With that, he’s gone, leaving Maddy standing alone in the private room, the soft glow of the red lights still flickering around her. She exhales slowly, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Aemond Targaryen might be the boss, but tonight, she had been the one in control.

As the door to the private room closes behind Aemond, Maddy takes a moment to compose herself, the adrenaline from the dance still buzzing in her veins. The thick envelope filled with money he left behind is a reminder of the power she holds, but it’s the lingering tension in the air that captivates her thoughts. There was something in the way he looked at her, a flicker of something more than mere approval.

Just as she’s about to leave the room, her phone buzzes in her clutch. She pulls it out, surprised to see a number she doesn’t recognize. Instinctively, she knows who it is.

"Maddy," comes Aemond’s low, controlled voice when she answers. His tone sends a shiver down her spine.

"Mr. Targaryen," she replies, letting her voice drop to a husky purr. "Did I leave you wanting more?"

There’s a pause on the other end, a silence heavy with intent. "Come to my office" he commands, but there’s a softness in his voice that wasn’t there before. A hint of something more personal, more vulnerable.

Maddy smiles, a slow, knowing smile. "Are you asking, or are you telling me?"

Another pause, longer this time. "I’m asking," he finally says, the admission sounding like it costs him something.

She feels a rush of satisfaction. "I’ll be there in five minutes."

The walk to Aemond’s office feels longer than usual, each step echoing with the unspoken tension between them. When she reaches the heavy, oak door, she hesitates for just a second before pushing it open. Inside, the room is dimly lit, much like the private room, but there’s a different energy here—something more intimate, more charged.

Aemond is standing by the large window that overlooks the city, his back to her. The moonlight casts a silver glow over his form, highlighting the sharp angles of his shoulders and the precise lines of his suit. He doesn’t turn around when she enters, but she knows he’s aware of every move she makes.

Closing the door behind her, Maddy saunters across the room, her hips swaying slightly with each step. She knows how to use her body, how to command attention, and right now, she intends to use every ounce of that power.

"You wanted to see me?" she asks, her voice silky smooth as she stops just a few feet behind him.

Aemond finally turns to face her, his expression unreadable, but there’s a tension in his posture, a tightness in his jaw that betrays him. "I wanted to talk" he says, but his voice lacks its usual firmness.

Maddy tilts her head, letting her hair cascade over one shoulder. "Is that really all you wanted, Aemond?" she teases, deliberately using his first name, stripping away the formalities.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on hers, as if searching for something he can’t quite find. The intensity in his eyes makes her heart skip a beat, but she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she takes a step closer, her hand reaching out to lightly brush against his chest.

"You were watching me so closely during the dance," she whispers, her fingers tracing the edge of his lapel. "I could feel your eyes on me, like you were trying to memorize every move I made. Did you like what you saw?"

Aemond’s breath hitches, and for the first time, she sees a crack in his composed exterior. "Yes," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I did."

Maddy smiles, a seductive curve of her lips as she closes the distance between them. She can feel the tension radiating off him, the way his body is taut with restraint. Her hand slides up to his neck, fingers lightly grazing the skin just above his collar. "Then why don’t you show me?"

He looks at her with a mix of longing and hesitation, the usual confidence in his gaze replaced by something more raw, more exposed. "Maddy," he begins, but his voice falters. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "Please."

She raises an eyebrow, her smile widening. "Please, what?"

There’s a vulnerability in his expression now, a need that he can’t hide, no matter how hard he tries. "Please... kiss me."

The request is soft, almost desperate, and it catches her off guard. She hadn’t expected him to surrender so easily, but there’s something disarming about it, something that tugs at a part of her she didn’t know existed.

But Maddy doesn’t let the moment slip away. Instead, she leans in slowly, letting the anticipation build as her lips hover just inches from his. She can feel his breath on her skin, warm and unsteady, and she knows she has him completely under her control.

When she finally closes the gap, her lips brushing against his, it’s soft at first—tentative, almost tender. But then Aemond responds, his hands coming up to grip her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens. There’s a hunger in the way he kisses her, a desperation that surprises her, but she matches it, letting herself get lost in the heat of the moment.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, and she feels him shudder beneath her touch. The power shift between them is palpable, the dynamic from earlier now reversed. He might be the boss, the man who runs The Blue Pearl, but right now, he’s the one begging for more.

When they finally pull apart, both of them breathless, Maddy looks up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. Aemond’s eye is dark with desire, his usually controlled demeanor completely shattered.

"Is that what you wanted?" she whispers, her voice laced with both seduction and something softer, something she hadn’t intended to show.

Aemond nods, his grip on her waist tightening slightly as if he’s afraid to let her go. "Yes," he breathes. "But it’s not enough."

Maddy’s smile returns, a slow, seductive curve of her lips. "Then I guess we’ll just have to see where this goes" she murmurs, leaning in to kiss him again, this time with all the intensity she had held back before.

Because in this game of power and seduction, she knows she’s already won.

୭̥⋆*。

The next evening arrives with an unexpected twist. The Blue Pearl is closed for the night, its usual lively energy replaced by an eerie stillness. No patrons, no music, just the empty halls of the club shrouded in darkness. But for Maddy, the night is far from over.

Madame Sylvie calls her earlier in the day with a specific request. "Maddy, Mr. Targaryen wants you tonight," she says, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. "He’s willing to pay handsomely for your time. It’s just one more private dance."

Maddy hesitates, glancing around the cramped apartment she shares with her older sister and their sick mother. The bills are piling up, and the money Aemond Targaryen offers could make a difference. With a deep breath, she agrees, knowing this isn’t just about the money—it’s about something deeper, something that has been building between them.

As the evening comes, Maddy prepares herself, slipping into a simple, yet provocative outfit—nothing but black heels and a delicate thong. Her long brown hair cascades freely down her back, a sharp contrast against her bare skin. Tonight, the stakes feel higher, the tension thicker.

When she arrives at The Blue Pearl, the silence inside is almost deafening. The club’s usual pulse is replaced by an intimate, almost surreal atmosphere. The only light comes from the dim glow of the overhead fixtures, casting shadows that dance across the empty floor.

Aemond is waiting in the center of the main room, seated in a leather chair with an air of calm that belies the tension simmering just beneath the surface. He’s dressed in a dark suit, his sharp features highlighted by the faint light. His presence fills the room, commanding attention even in the silence.

Maddy approaches him with deliberate slowness, the click of her heels the only sound echoing through the space. When she stops in front of him, she sees the way his gaze rakes over her body, the hunger in his eye unmistakable.

Without a word, the music begins—a slow, sensual beat that fills the room, creating a private world for just the two of them. Maddy starts to move, her body swaying to the rhythm, every motion deliberate and controlled. She knows what he wants, knows the power she holds over him, and she uses it to her advantage.

Her dance is a blend of elegance and raw seduction, every movement designed to entice. She can feel Aemond’s gaze on her, the way it follows her every curve, every turn. There’s a tension in the air, a charged energy that makes her heart race. But she doesn’t falter. Instead, she loses herself in the dance, her body a perfect instrument of temptation.

As the song reaches its midway point, Aemond shifts in his seat, his hand subtly gesturing for her to come closer. There’s a command in his motion, but also a plea—an unspoken request that she can’t ignore.

Without hesitation, Maddy steps forward, her eyes locked on his as she climbs into his lap. She straddles him, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric of his suit. Her hands rest lightly on his shoulders, her face just inches from his. The tension between them is almost unbearable now, a taut string ready to snap.

Aemond’s hands find her waist, holding her as if she might disappear at any moment. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but the desperation in it is unmistakable. "Please, Maddy… kiss me."

There’s something in his plea, something vulnerable and raw that cuts through the air. For a moment, Maddy just looks at him, seeing not the powerful owner of The Blue Pearl, but a man stripped bare by his own desires. She hesitates, feeling the gravity of the moment.

Then, without another word, she leans in and presses her lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, almost tentative, but it quickly deepens, fueled by the pent-up emotions between them. Aemond responds eagerly, his grip on her tightening as if afraid to let her go.

The world around them fades away, the music, the empty club—all of it disappears, leaving just the two of them lost in the moment. Maddy can feel the intensity of his need, the way it mirrors her own, and she gives in completely, letting the kiss consume them both.

When they finally pull apart, both are breathless, their faces flushed with the heat of the moment. Aemond’s eye is dark with desire, his control shattered, replaced by something far more primal.

Maddy smiles, a slow, sultry curve of her lips as she leans into whisper in his ear, her voice barely more than a breath. "Is this what you wanted, Aemond?"

He nods, his voice hoarse as he replies, "Yes, but I want more."

Her smile widens, and she kisses him again, this time with all the intensity she’s held back. Because tonight, there are no rules, no boundaries—only the raw, unfiltered connection between them. And in this moment, they both know there’s no going back.

Maddy is excited, on top of him she feels the center of her legs moist, the wet thong and Aemond's fingers, exploring her naked body. Aemond moves her hair behind her back, she on top of him is a divine vision. Maddy moves her hips over those of her boss, she feels the hard erection in his pants. She starts to unbutton his shirt, she kisses him on the neck, Aemond's chest is hard and with defined muscles, his toned arms. Between her thighs she is soaked, it almost hurts her, she continues to kiss him while Aemond with both hands squeezes her breasts and stimulates her already sensitive nipples. Maddy moans under his touch, she whispers his name and he encourages her to do so by increasing his movements.

Aemond sighs, he is so excited that his masculinity hurts. Maddy looks at him with hungry eyes, moves her hands to his belt who nods and ends up taking off his boxers and pants. His erection is big, hard, veiny and his balls are sore and full. Maddy wraps her hand around his length and moves it gently, slowly she gets up from him kneeling in front of him.

"Look at me, Mr. Targaryen" she whispers persuasively, then she licks him, takes him between her lips, all the way to her throat. She sucks him all the way down, between her legs she feels so wet it's hard to bear. She wants to put a hand between her thighs and pleasure herself, the man under him is simply extraordinary, beautiful, dangerous. Maddy squeezes her thighs together, rubbing them. Aemond notices this and even though he is lost in pleasure, he signals her to get back into his arms. Maddy nods, Aemond brings his hands to her hips and slides her thong off. "You're so wet" he whispers, but then he gets up. "Sit on the chair" he orders, she does as he orders. Aemond kneels in front of her and then he bury his face into her wet thighs.

She can’t stop it, it feels too good.

She can’t help but sob under him, watching him desperately as his hips begin to grind against her face, his nose hitting your bundle of nerves each time. Without warning, his long index finger slides inside her, eliciting a small cry of pleasure, mixed with a little pain from the sudden stretch. His finger begins to pump in and out of her gently, his lips trying to ease her pain and apparently it works.

“Aemond, Aemond, oh, Aemond!”

Aemond makes her come on his lips and fingers, Maddy's legs tremble with pleasure. "Sorry" she whispers embarrassed, but Aemond retorts. "You have nothing to apologize for, pretty girl" he stands up, Maddy stands up and looks at him: naked, with his hair loose, the body of a God.

Aemond offers her his hand, Maddy stands up, his hair covering her body in such a sensual way. Aemond sits on the chair, invites Maddy to climb astride him. "Ride or die, remember pretty girl?" he teases her, takes his erection covered by a condom in his hand and Maddy slowly climbs into his arms, lets herself go down on him. He is big, invasive, fills her up to her ass. She rides him, places her hands on his chest, Aemond tightens his hands on her thighs. She is wonderful, heavenly, she is simply his.

The way her pussy grips his cock and tightens around him makes him lose his mind, hitting deeper and deeper inside her until, finally, he hits that spot that makes her scream his name and moan loudly. Maddy begins to see stars with him hitting that spot over and over again, making her completely drunk on him. She feels an incredible knot in her belly as she moans under him louder with every thrust he gives her.

"So fucking good, so fucking tight for me" he praises her.

"Oh god, Aemond" Maddy whispers against his neck holding him tight before her pussy tightens around him. "From today, you will perform only for me" Her own words and the feeling of her nails scratching his back send him over the edge itself, burying his face in her neck, biting her as he comes and fills the condom, releasing his hold on her.

The once-empty club now feels like the most intimate place in the world, their connection deeper than either of them expected.

The soft light from the overhead fixtures casts a warm glow over them as they lie together on the plush seating in the center of the main room. Aemond holds her close, his arm draped around her, his breath still ragged from their lovemaking. Maddy, nestled against his chest, feels a strange mix of contentment and curiosity.

For a while, they just lie there in comfortable silence, but eventually, Maddy’s gaze drifts to the patch over Aemond’s left eye. She hesitates for a moment, then softly asks, "Aemond… will you take off the patch?"

Aemond tenses slightly, his body going still beneath her. It’s a vulnerable request, one he’s not used to. He’s quiet for a moment, and she can feel the conflict within him. But then, with a slow exhale, he nods and reaches up to remove the patch.

As the patch comes away, Maddy’s breath catches in her throat. Where his left eye should be, there’s a brilliant sapphire, glowing faintly in the dim light. The gemstone is beautiful, mesmerizing, yet also a stark reminder of something painful.

She reaches up to touch his face gently, her fingers tracing the edge of the sapphire. "What happened?" she asks softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Aemond looks at her, his expression more open than she’s ever seen it. "My nephew… when we were younger, he assaulted me. It was a cruel game, a show of power. This…" He gestures to the sapphire. "This is what was left."

Maddy’s heart aches for him, for the pain he must have endured. But more than that, she sees the strength it took to survive, to wear that sapphire as both a reminder and a shield. "Aemond," she whispers, "you’re wonderful. You don’t need to hide this from me."

Aemond’s eye searches hers, looking for any hint of pity or disgust, but all he finds is acceptance. It’s a rare thing for him—someone seeing beyond the scars, beyond the wealth and power, to the man underneath.

In that moment, something shifts between them. Aemond, who is always so controlled, so guarded, lets down his defenses completely. "Maddy," he begins, his voice softer than before, "would you go out with me? A real date, just you and me."

Maddy blinks in surprise, taken aback by the simplicity and sincerity of the request. "Aemond, I… I’m not rich. I don’t have anything to offer you."

Aemond silences her with a gentle kiss on her lips, pulling back just enough to speak. "I don’t care about that, Maddy. I care about you."

Her heart flutters at his words, and she feels a warmth spread through her chest. She’s spent so long believing that her worth was tied to what she could offer, what she could earn, but here is Aemond, the man who could have anything he wants, choosing her for who she is.

Maddy searches his face, looking for any sign that this is just a game, but all she sees is sincerity. Slowly, she nods. "Okay," she whispers, "I’ll go out with you."

Aemond’s face breaks into a rare, genuine smile, one that lights up his entire expression. He leans in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss, this time filled with a softness and affection that’s different from the hunger they shared earlier. It’s a kiss that speaks of promises, of possibilities, of something real and lasting.

As they pull away, Aemond rests his forehead against hers, his hand gently cupping her face. "You are so dangerous and beautiful" he murmurs.

Maddy smiles, her own hand reaching up to cover his. "You're so sweet."

In that quiet moment, surrounded by the remnants of their passion and the stillness of the club, they both realize that something new has begun—something neither of them expected, but both are willing to explore.

And as Aemond kisses her again, this time with all the love and tenderness he’s kept hidden for so long, Maddy knows that this is only the beginning of their story.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemondtargaryenedit #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #house targaryen #aemond smut #aemond x reader #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x female reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen smut #smut #dance of the dragons #house of the dragons #aemond targaryen #aemond kinslayer #modern au #aemond targaryen fanfiction #modern aemond

151 notes · View notes

valaenatargaryensdragon · 1 year ago

Text

A Dragon's Wedding

pairing: Fanon!Halaena Targaryen x Male OC

summary: The wedding of Helaena and Rhaegal is finally here. And so is the wedding night.

Word count: 5,5K

Warnings: Fluff, incest, mention of alcohol, mention of blood, smut, P in V, Fingering, Cunnilingus, Slight breeding kink

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

The air in Rhaegal's chamber was charged with anticipation. The grand stone walls of Dragonstone cast a cool, muted light on the scene within. Rhaegal Targaryen, the soldier prince, stood before a polished mirror, his mismatched eyes capturing a flicker of excitement he would never admit to anyone.

One eye was a striking amethyst, inherited from the Targaryen line; the other, a piercing shade of blue, a unique feature shared with his mother. His tall, lean figure bore the marks of a warrior, a testament to his years of rigorous training. Silverlight, his sword, hung proudly on his belt, a symbol of his skill and valor.

As he stood in front of the mirror, Rhaegal's platinum-blonde hair cascaded down to just below his shoulders, its shimmering strands the color of dragonfire. He had chosen to leave it loose, refusing the intricate braids and embellishments favoured by others on this momentous occasion.

In the corner of the room, his chosen servant, a trusted figure who had been by his side through countless battles, worked diligently to fasten the intricate clasps of his royal wedding attire. Rhaegal's preference for privacy was clear; he had allowed only this one male servant to assist him in this most intimate of moments.

Rhaegal maintained his stoic demeanour, his face an unreadable mask. He was a soldier prince, after all, and emotions were best kept hidden, especially on a day as significant as this.

As the servant carefully adjusted the royal cloak bearing the Targaryen sigil on his shoulders, Rhaegal couldn't help but steal a glance at the ornate wedding attire laid out on the bed. It was resplendent in shades of crimson and black, meant for a princess of House Targaryen. Today, Helaena would become his wife, his partner in the intricate dance of politics and power.

While excitement bubbled beneath his stoicism, he held onto the discipline that had guided him through countless battles. Rhaegal Targaryen was ready, but he allowed no one, not even his future bride, to see the depth of emotion that lay beneath the surface.

And so, as he prepared to embark on this new chapter of his life, the soldier prince stood tall, a symbol of strength and composure, ready to face whatever challenges and triumphs lay ahead in his union with Princess Helaena Targaryen.

The room was filled with a quiet sense of purpose as Rhaegal's servant finished fastening the last clasp on his royal attire. The cloak, bearing the Targaryen sigil, lay perfectly across his broad shoulders.

Rhaegal, with his platinum-blonde hair framing his strong, chiseled features, surveyed his reflection in the mirror one last time. He nodded, satisfied with his appearance, though his mismatched eyes held a hint of apprehension.

"Thank you," he said to the servant, his voice measured and controlled. The servant bowed respectfully and exited the room, leaving Rhaegal alone with his thoughts.

With practiced precision, Rhaegal slid Silverlight into its ornate scabbard, feeling the familiar weight of his sword. It was a companion he had trusted on countless battlefields, and today, it symbolized his readiness for the intricate political battles of the Targaryen court.

As he turned away from the mirror, his gaze landed on the wedding attire laid out for Helaena, a resplendent vision of crimson and black. The sight reminded him of the significant role they were to play in the intricate dance of the Targaryen dynasty.

Rhaegal's stoic facade remained firmly in place, but deep within, he couldn't deny a surge of anticipation. He knew that today marked the beginning of a new chapter in his life—one that held both challenges and triumphs. His marriage to Princess Helaena was a political alliance, but he couldn't help but wonder what the future held for them as husband and wife.

With one last glance at the mirror, he took a deep breath, his resolve unwavering. Today, he would stand before gods and men, pledging himself to Helaena, a princess of House Targaryen. As the soldier prince, he understood the importance of the union, and he was determined to fulfill his duty with honor and dedication.

Rhaegal exited the chamber, his steps steady and measured. The ceremony awaited, and he would face it with the same composure that had guided him through battles and challenges in the past. The soldier prince was ready for the next chapter of his life, even if the depth of his emotions remained hidden beneath his stoic exterior.

As Rhaegal stood ready, the weight of tradition and duty pressed upon his shoulders. His mismatched eyes, one amethyst and the other blue, held a depth of determination as he prepared to marry Princess Helaena Targaryen, a union that would bind two Valyrian souls together.

But Rhaegal was adamant that their marriage would honor their Valyrian heritage. They were dragons, descendants of the old Valyria, and their union deserved to be celebrated in the ancient Valyrian way.

In the chambers where Helaena awaited, a sense of quiet reverence filled the air. The ceremony would be performed before the crowd in the Throne room, a sacred place that had witnessed countless Targaryen unions.

Rhaegal, in his resplendent attire, made his way to the Throne room, where the room buzzed with excitement from the guests who were probably witnessing a Valyrian wedding for the first time. The quiet murmurs of guests could be heard as they gathered, eager to witness the Valyrian wedding.

As the ceremony began, the Valyrian words of binding echoed through the air, resonating with centuries of tradition. Rhaegal and Helaena exchanged vows in the ancient tongue, their words carrying the weight of their house and their legacy.

The hushed gathering of Targaryen family and trusted allies watched in awe as the Valyrian wedding ceremony unfolded. The air was filled with the weight of tradition, and the Valyrian words of binding echoed through the Throne room.

The Valyrian ceremony continued with the offering of ancient Valyrian symbols—a silver chalice filled with the purest Dragonstone wine and a dragon's egg, symbolising the fire and blood that flowed through their veins. As the sun's rays filtered through the leaves, casting a warm glow over the couple, they each took a sip of the wine and touched the dragon's egg, a powerful symbol of their bond and destiny.

Rhaegal and Princess Helaena Targaryen, their amethyst and sapphire eyes reflecting the ancient lineage of Valyria, exchanged vows in the venerable tongue of their forefathers. Their words carried the resonance of centuries of Targaryen history, binding them together in a union that was as enduring as the Valyrian steel their house prized.

With half of Westeros as their witnesses, they sealed their vows with a kiss, a symbol of their commitment and love. The Targaryen sigil, a crimson dragon on a black field, was emblazoned on their garments, a testament to their shared heritage

With the blessing of the measter, the Valyrian ceremony was complete, and Rhaegal couldn't help but feel a profound connection to Helaena as they stood together before gods and men.

But they were mindful of the complexities of their world, where the Green Queen held sway. To honor both their Valyrian heritage and the political realities of their time, Rhaegal and Helaena decided to host a second ceremony, a Seven wedding, for the benefit of the Green Queen and her court.

After the Valyrian ceremony, the couple, still resplendent in their regal attire, where the Seven wedding was to take place was the same as the Valyrian Wedding.

Rhaegal's eyes, held a subtle blend of tradition and compromise. He understood the necessity of diplomacy in their world, and so he would entertain the Green Queen with grace and dignity.

The Seven wedding unfolded with the grandeur and opulence that was expected in the Targaryen court, pleasing the Green Queen and her supporters.

Through the day, Rhaegal and Helaena navigated the delicate balance between honoring their Valyrian roots and appeasing the political forces at play. It was a testament to their adaptability and strength as a couple, bound not only by love but also by the intricate web of Targaryen politics.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over Dragonstone, Rhaegal and Helaena, united in both Valyrian and Green ceremonies, faced the future as husband and wife. Their love, their traditions, and their compromises were the foundation upon which their journey would unfold, a testament to the complexities of their world and their enduring commitment to each other.

The Throne Room of the Red Keep was transformed into a grand banquet hall, its towering iron throne overshadowed by the opulence of the occasion. The long, feasting tables were adorned with rich crimson and black banners, the colors of House Targaryen, and dragon motifs adorned the walls.

Rhaegal Targaryen, resplendent in his crimson and black attire, did not leave the side of his new wife, Princess Helaena Targaryen. She was a vision of Valyrian beauty, her flowing gown as ethereal as dragonfire, her eyes shimmering with joy.

The guests, an assembly of Targaryen kin, noble lords, and ladies from various houses, gathered to celebrate the union of the soldier prince and the princess. The atmosphere was filled with excitement and anticipation as they enjoyed the lavish feast.

As the evening progressed, Rhaegal led Helaena to the center of the Throne Room, where a space had been cleared for dancing. The couple stood together, their eyes locked, lost in the moment as they prepared for their first dance as husband and wife.

The soft strains of a Valyrian melody filled the air, and they began to move gracefully across the polished floor, their movements synchronised as if they had been dancing together their entire lives. The Throne Room seemed to fade away, leaving only Rhaegal and Helaena in their world of shared happiness.

As they danced, their connection deepened, and Helaena couldn't help but blush whenever their eyes met. Rhaegal, always composed and stoic, found himself enchanted by her beauty and grace. He whispered words of affection and love, meant for her ears alone, as they swayed to the music.

Slowly, other couples joined them on the dance floor, celebrating their union and the joyous occasion. The Throne Room came alive with the revelry of lords and ladies, their laughter and merriment echoing off the stone walls.

Rhaegal and Helaena continued to dance, their love and unity on display for all to see. In that moment, surrounded by the grandeur of the Red Keep and the warmth of their guests, they knew that their union was a cause for celebration, a testament to the enduring strength of House Targaryen.

As the night wore on and the feast continued, Rhaegal and Helaena remained inseparable, their bond deepening with each passing moment. Their Valyrian wedding had marked the beginning of their journey as husband and wife, and the celebration in the Throne Room was a testament to their love and the joy it brought to those around them.

In the Throne Room of the Red Keep, Rhaegal Targaryen and Princess Helaena Targaryen took to the center of the polished floor, bathed in the soft, flickering glow of dragon-themed candles. Their eyes locked, and they began to dance to the enchanting strains of a Valyrian melody.

Amid the grandeur of the Throne Room, Rhaegal leaned in, his voice a tender whisper that only she could hear over the music.

"You look radiant tonight, my love," he murmured. "Every star in the sky must be jealous of your beauty."

Helaena blushed, her smile brightening. Their movements were graceful, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony as they danced.

"And you, Rhaegal, are the most dashing soldier prince to ever grace the Red Keep," she replied with a fondness in her voice.

As they twirled, Rhaegal continued to whisper, his words filled with humour and love.

"Do you remember the time we met in the courtyard, and you tripped over your own gown?" he reminisced. "I thought you were trying to impress me with a dance move."

Helaena giggled, her laughter like a melodic tune. "You caught me before I could fall flat on my face."

Their laughter mingled with the music as they danced, their worries and the weight of their roles momentarily forgotten.

"Of course, I couldn't let you face that humiliation alone," Rhaegal chuckled. "It's a soldier prince's duty to save princesses from tripping mishaps."

Helaena's eyes sparkled as she remembered that day. "And you did so gallantly."

Their banter continued, Rhaegal ensuring that their minds were focused on the joy of the moment, not the expectations of their wedding night.

"And speaking of duties, my love," he said softly, "let's not think about the wedding night just yet. Tonight, we celebrate our union with joy and merriment."

Helaena nodded in agreement, her gaze locked onto his. "Agreed, Rhaegal. Let's savour this moment and the love we share."

As they danced, their whispered jokes and words of love created a bubble of happiness around them. The Throne Room seemed to fade away, leaving only the soldier prince and the princess in their world of shared laughter, love, and celebration.

Amid the splendour of the Throne Room, Rhaegal and Helaena's dance continued, their steps perfectly synchronised to the Valyrian melody that filled the air. Their eyes remained locked, and the world seemed to fade away as they danced together.

Rhaegal's voice, soft and filled with devotion, found its way into the quiet moments between the notes of the music.

"I promise you, Helaena," he whispered, his gaze unwavering, "I will protect you until the end of my days."

Helaena's heart swelled with emotion at his words. She knew what he meant, though the name went unspoken. It was a vow of love and commitment that extended beyond the dance, beyond the festivities of this night.

In that moment, she felt safe in his arms, secure in the knowledge that Rhaegal would always stand by her side. She smiled, her eyes shining with unspoken gratitude.

Their dance continued, and Helaena chose not to mention the looming uncertainties that hung in the air. She knew that with her father's passing, the realm teetered on the brink of war, a reality that could not be ignored. But tonight was for celebration, for love, and for the promise they held in their hearts.

As they moved gracefully across the floor, their unspoken understanding and the bond they shared deepened. It was a testament to the strength of their love and their willingness to face an uncertain future together.

In the midst of the joy and laughter that surrounded them, Rhaegal and Helaena's dance carried with it the weight of their unspoken vows and the unbreakable bond that would carry them through whatever challenges lay ahead.

As the hours of celebration unfolded in the Throne Room of the Red Keep, revelry and merriment filled the air. The festivities seemed endless, but the joyful atmosphere took an unexpected turn when Aegon, fueled by the excesses of wine, made a brash announcement.

"It's time for the bedding ceremony!" Aegon declared, his voice slurred with drunkenness.

The revellers, caught off guard, erupted into cheers and laughter, as was the tradition in many Westerosi weddings. However, the atmosphere quickly shifted when some of the more enthusiastic guests began to approach Rhaegal and Helaena, intent on taking part in the customary undressing of the bride.

Rhaegal, ever protective of his new wife, swiftly pulled Helaena away from the advancing guests. With determination in his mismatched eyes, he guided her through the maze of well-wishers and out of the Throne Room.

They arrived at the chamber they were to share from that night on, a haven of privacy away from the revelry. Rhaegal's stance was unwavering, and his voice held a firm edge.

"No one will enter this room," he declared to anyone who dared to approach. "I'll cut off the balls of anyone who attempts to step across this threshold without our consent."

His words were a stark reminder of his authority and his determination to protect Helaena's dignity and their shared moment. The threats hung in the air, a clear warning to those who might seek to invade their privacy.

Inside the room, Rhaegal closed the door behind them, creating a barrier against the world outside. He turned to Helaena, his expression softening.

"No one will intrude on our union," he assured her, his voice gentle. "We decide when and how our wedding night unfolds."

Their love and respect for each other were evident in that moment, as they stood united against the expectations and pressures of tradition. Together, they were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead as husband and wife, on their terms, in their own time.

In the dimly lit chamber, Rhaegal and Helaena stood facing each other, the weight of the evening's events still hanging in the air. Helaena, poised to undress as per tradition, hesitated at the threshold of their new life together.

But Rhaegal, ever considerate and attuned to her emotions, gently placed a hand on her arm, stopping her.

"We don't need to do anything tonight," he murmured, his mismatched eyes filled with understanding and love.

Helaena, overcome with emotions, felt a surge of gratitude and affection for her husband. In that tender moment, she leaned forward and kissed him straight on the lips. Their kiss was a sweet, heartfelt embrace, a testament to the depth of their connection and the love that had blossomed between them.

As they pulled away from the kiss, their eyes locked once more, and Rhaegal's hand gently cupped her cheek. In that moment, they understood that their love would guide them through the complexities of their world, and their wedding night, as significant as it was, could wait for a time when their hearts were ready.

In each other's arms, they found solace and comfort, a sanctuary of love and understanding. As they prepared to embark on the journey of marriage, they knew that their bond would be the foundation upon which they built their life together, a testament to the enduring strength of their love.

Much to Rhaegal's surprise Helaena deepened the kiss, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek, fingers moving through the very little stubble he let grow. Her lips were so soft and tasted of strawberries from the tarts he watched her eat happily during the feast.

"Hel, we don't have to" Rhaegal tried assuring her again. She smiled pulling away a little. Rhaegal thought she would stop then but what surprised him when she began undoing the bodice of her dress.

"But I want to" She muttered, blushing furiously. Seeing the tremble in her hands, Rhaegal reached over taking both of her hands into his and pulled them up to kiss them both.

"Alright, but do tell me to stop when you feel uncomfortable or in pain or just simply want to stop" Rhaegal did not proceed from there until she gave him a nod.

Rhaegal leaned down claiming her lips gently, not wanting to overwhelm her anymore. He let go of her hands to wrap them around her waist instead and pulled her closer to his body. Helaena's hand moved to hold his muscular biceps as she tried to imitate the way his lips moved and kiss him back.

Rhaegal with careful movement began removing Helaena's heavy wedding dress, one piece at a time until she was left only in her linen. He groaned at the sight of her perky nipples peaking through the white fabric. A small spot was also present at the front of her linen showing her arousal.

"You look delicious, dōna vaokses" Sweet spider. Rhaegal murmured with his gruff voice. Helaena clenched her thighs at the sound of his voice, at the nickname he had given her, sweet spider? Her favorite insect? It was too much.

"Kepus" Uncle. Helaena whispered her plea. Rhaegal smiled sweetly down at her. He crouched down slightly to place his hands behind her thighs before standing up again straight. Helaena squealed a little as he pulled her up with him, her legs moved to wrap around his waist for support and her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She blushed when she heard laughter behind the door, people were listening in on them.

"Ignore them, dōna vaokses" Rhaegal whispered. Helaena nodded slightly and looked down at him instead of the door. She leaned down and captured his lips with her own missing the feeling of his lips.

Rhaegal moved towards the bed and gently moved to kneel on it before laying her on her back on it. He remained on top of her. His hands moved down to feel her thighs pulling them off his waist, his hands grabbing at them, kneading the flesh wanting to feel more of her soft skin.

His lips trailed down to her neck, placing gentle kisses, she deserved nothing but kindness, she was a gentle soul. She deserved nothing but the best.

Helaena's breathing picked up as Rhaegal trailed down to kiss down to the neckline of her linen. A gasp tore through her lips when his fingers ripped the edges and ripped it right down the middle. Rhaegal chuckled at her reaction and looked up watching her face. Her eyes looked dazed almost. Her fingers ran through his loose hair, playing with the strands before grabbing a fist of it gently and pushed his head closer to her flesh.

Rhaegal obeyed and resumed kissing down to her breasts. They were perfect, she was perfect, that was all Rhaegal could think of. His lips trailed around her right breast before taking her nipple into his mouth. She moaned arching her back wanting to shove more of the flesh into his mouth. His hand moved up her bare stomach to grab the other breast and give it some attention.

"Kepus" Helaena whimpered. Her hand trailed down to his shoulder pulling him closer, frowning when she realised he was fully clothes still.

"Too much clothes" She whispered. Rhaegal let go of her tit with a pop. He sat up on his knees and began unbuttoning his shirt. Helaena watched with hooded eyes as Rhaegal shed one piece of clothing after the other.

"Gevie" Beautiful. She stated, sitting up to run her fingers from his shoulder to his belly, where it was littered with scars he gained through the years.

"You think so, dōna vaokses?" Rhaegal asked with a teasing smile. Helaena noticed that she had spoke out loud, blushed furiously. Rhaegal claimed her lips in a second pushing her back to lay fully on her back again.

"You are much much more Gevie, sweet Helaena" Rhaegal muttered against her lips. He slowly slid down littering kisses in his wake. Helaena's head fell back when he reached her breasts again.

He gave them the loved they deserved, kissing, kneading and littered them with bruises for people to see tomorrow, he will make sure she will wear one of his many gifts, a dress with a low neckline to show his marks off. So men would back away and never even think about coming near his wife ever.

His lips continued down to her belly, he pushed his tongue in her belly button teasing her. Helaena moaned, her fingers grabbing at his hair when he wet a sensitive spot she did not know was sensitive in the first place. Rhaegal smirked in victory and moved on.

He kneeled down on the floor, face to face with her crying cunny. He pushed her knees apart to show more of her beauty. Helaena's breath hitched in her throat, raising her head to watch his reaction.

Rhaegal winked at her before diving in. His tongue licked a long strip up her slit. Helaena's head fell back again on the mattress, she has never touched that area before, having been warned many times by her mother before.

Rhaegal found her swollen pearl with ease, it was just very swollen and ready to be devoured. He sucked at it earning a loud moan from Helaena. He moved down prodding at her hole with the wet muscle of his tongue.

"Kepus" Helaena begged. She sounded so sweet, she sounded so desperate. Rhaegal did not make her wait and pushed his tongue inside of her. Moaning at the taste of her cunt, the vibrations sent shockwaves through Helaena's body.

"You taste so sweet" Rhaegal complimented. He moved one of his fingers to touch her whole. Her whole body tensed at the feeling.

Rhaegal shushed her before slowly moving his finger inside of her. Tongue toying with her pearl to ease the discomfort. Helaena's grip on his head tightened but she did not protest. Rhaegal waited for her to stop him but after a couple of minutes it was obvious she was not going to.

"Good Vaokses" Spider. Rhaegal praised, he wiggled his finger inside of her in search of the rough spot all women had but not all men found.

The second he touched it Helaena's whole body jerked in shock. She has never felt such pleasure before in her life. Rhaegal slowly pushed a second finger inside testing the waters. Helaena's legs tried to close around him but his free hand pushed her leg open and she forced the second one open.

His tongue resumed it's torture on her pearl, he wanted this experience to be as pleasant as possible for her as it will be for him. His cock was throbbing but he did not touch it, no he wanted it to last and he will try as hard as possible to make it last.

"Helaena" He muttered against her pearl. Helaena's body jerked with the vibrations of his voice. Her breathing grew even more shallow.

"So full" She whimpered. A buzzing like feeling started taking over senses. Rhaegal smirked victorious as she orgasmed on his tongue and fingers not even knowing what was happening.

"So good" She cried, her back arched off the bed. Rhaegal's ear buzzed with anticipation he could barely hear the cheering outside of the room.

"Good Vaokses" Rhaegal pulled away from her cunt and climbed on top of her. Helaena looked at him with eyes full of love. He couldn't help but kiss her, she was just so beautiful. She moaned when she tasted herself on his lips.

"Ready?" He asked her. Her eyes trailed down to his throbbing length, eyes widened at the sight. She gulped but nodded her head either way.

"Tell me to stop if you want me to" He reminded her. Helaena took a deep breath and nodded.

Rhaegal groaned as he grabbed the base of his cock, he was sensitive even to his own touch after refusing himself pleasure for so long. He placed the tip on her pearl rubbing it slightly, moaning slightly at the feeling of her flesh on him. Helaena placed her hands on his shoulders preparing herself mentally.

After gathering enough of her wetness to cover his entire length he began pushing in the tip. Helaena groaned at the feeling, his fingers were nowhere near as big as his cock, even just the tip. He pushed himself inside of her inch by inch. Groaning when she latched her teeth to the flesh of his shoulder, but he did not dare complain because she was in much more pain than him.

"Uncomfortable" She whimpered. "So full" Rhaegal stopped all movement once he was full sheathed inside of her tight virgin cunt. He wanted to cry out with pleasure at the feeling but held himself back.

"Fuck" Came the word out of his mouth involuntary. Helaena nodded slowly giving him permission to continue. Rhaegal let out a loud moan by accident when he pulled out and pushed back. Helaena tensed when she heard the cheering yet again but soon forgot all about it with the rocking of Rhaegal's hips.

"More" She begged, eyes growing teary with pleasure. Rhaegal obeyed her, he was like a puppet now, he was fully cunt drunk, he was her slave and she knew nothing of how to control him. If she asked him to kill the whole world, he would mount Vyraxes and burn the world for her.

"Fuck, tightest cunt I've ever fucked" He groaned in her ear. Helaena's moans grew in volume, her arms pulling him closer, in search of his lips to silence herself.

Rhaegal lost full control at the taste of her lips, his hips went from rocking to fully slamming against hers. His hips snapped with no rhythm except lust desire.

Rhaegal swished his spit inside of his mouth before pushing it inside of her mouth. Helaena moaned not expecting to find spit swapping attractive but her body spasmed with the pleasure of it.

"Close" She whimpered against his lips. Rhaegal watched her face contract with pleasure. Her legs began shaking by his sides, her hands holding fists of his hair or flesh, eyes rolling back.

"Come on dōna vaokses, come on my cock" Rhaegal encouraged. Helaena cried loudly, body shaking, head falling back. Her cries turned to screams of pleasure, she wanted to stay in this moment forever.

"I'm gonna fill you up to the brim, you will be dripping my cum for weeks" Rhaegal growled. Helaena wanted nothing else, she found nothing else more desirable.

"Fill me up, kepus, give me a child, kepus" She cried. Rhaegal had half a mind to cover her mouth so no one would hear, those words were for his ears alone but then he wanted the entire world to hear, he wanted them to know who she belonged to.

"You want my child?" Rhaegal teased. One of his hands trailed down between their bodied finding her pearl. He tweaked it with care and love. Helaena let out a surprised scream, a scream Rhaegal was more than happy to go deaf listening to.

"Yes let me make you a kepa, kepus" Father, uncle. Helaena cried. Her beautiful curly platinum hair was around her head like a halo and Rhaegal wished for their children to have her hair shade instead of his. Hers was more beautiful, despite the little difference.

"Kepus" She begged, body spasming with a third orgasm. The tightness of her walls threw Rhaegal over the edge. He let out a deep growl as he spilled himself inside of her, painting her walls white. He hoped his cum would take and make them a beautiful child.

"Kepus" Helaena whispered. The cheering outside grew in volume when they could no longer hear their moans or the bed banging against the wall.

"Shhh, dōna vaokses" Rhaegal shushed her. He kissed her forehead as he pulled out of her red and swollen cunt. Helaena sniffled a little at the movement. Rhaegal moved to help her out of the shredded linen she wore still. There on the bottom was her innocence blood.

Rhaegal caring not for modesty walked over to the door and opened it a smidge to keep Helaena's naked form hidden, behind the door stood a group of men from other houses including Aegon, the queen and a smirking Daemon and maester.

"Leave" Rhaegal ordered throwing the linen in the face of the maester who pulled it away with disgust. The crowd cheered at the sight of the blood, not like Rhaegal's sweaty face and wet hair was enough proof of what was happening behind the door or the noises and moans.

"I said leave!" Rhaegal yelled when no one moved. The crowd still cheering did not grow disheartened but moved to leave the couple. The queen stayed a little longer trying to look into the room but Rhaegal slammed the door in her face after saying quickly "She is alright".

As Rhaegal retreated to their shared bed, the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm ambience in their chamber, they settled in, their hearts still racing from the emotions of the day. Helaena, exhausted and on the verge of sleep, welcomed Rhaegal's comforting presence.

Rhaegal curled up beside her, his arms wrapping around her as they lay in each other's embrace. He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, his lips barely grazing her skin.

"Rest now, my love," he whispered, his voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet of the night. "Close your eyes, and let the dreams carry you away."

Helaena's eyes fluttered closed, her body relaxing against his. She listened to the cadence of his voice, feeling safe and cherished in his arms.

Rhaegal continued to whisper, his words filled with promises of a bright future, a future where their children would be silver-haired like them, beautiful like her, smart and intelligent like her, and strong like him. His hands moved gently across her stomach, his touch a silent prayer for the children they hoped to bring into the world.

"You and I," he murmured, "we will build a life filled with love, laughter, and the pitter-patter of little feet. Our family will be a testament to the love we share, a legacy of House Targaryen."

As he spoke, the weight of the day's events seemed to lift, replaced by the anticipation of the life they would create together. In the quiet of the night, their hearts beat in unison, and the promise of a future filled with love and family guided them into the realm of dreams.

Wrapped in each other's arms, they embarked on this new chapter of their lives, their hearts full of hope and love, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

414 notes · View notes

aylacavebear · 1 month ago

Text

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 16

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 3374

Warnings: Angst, suspense, emotional situations, The Tension is Growing, Fluff. (You might need the tissues for this one.)

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter - 16

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallways as Dean, Benny, and Crowley rushed towards your room; spurred on by Dean’s sudden burst of intuition, he knew you were in trouble. One moment, he had been standing in the study with the others, and the next, a sense of foreboding had taken hold of him, driving him to take off toward your room for no apparent reason.

His heart pounded in his chest, a wild, desperate rhythm that matched the flurry of his thoughts. Worry and concert sent adrenaline coursing through every nerve in his body, propelling him forward. Dean was the first to reach your door, throwing it open in a panic.

The sight that greeted him—the empty bed and the curtains swaying slightly in the breeze from an open window—sent a chill down his spine. It was as though the world had suddenly gone cold and dark, the air thick with the absence of you.

“Damn it!” Dean cursed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail, every shadow, every flicker of movement, searching for any sign of where you might have been taken or by whom. The sheets were rumpled, and a pillow lay on the floor, but other than that, the room looked untouched.

Crowley appeared behind him, his expression grim as he surveyed the room. “They were quick,” he muttered, moving to the window and looking out at the grounds. He knew he should have anticipated something like this; the other men on the grounds had only been a distraction to keep the hounds and his security occupied while the real threat made its move.

“Sir, you’ll want to see this,” Ketch stated, now standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

Dean tore his gaze away from the room and followed Ketch, a sense of dread settling in his stomach. He could feel his pulse racing, his hands trembling slightly as he walked down the hallway. Each step felt like an eternity, the air thick with tension and unspoken fears. He could still feel you, so he knew you were alive, but that wasn’t what he was worried about most.

The three followed Ketch back down to the main room, then to a side room where there were three other men, their faces illuminated by the glow of computer monitors. They were all watching the footage, their eyes glued to the screen as they went through the recordings.

“I didn’t think he’d send his best, but I should have,” Ketch told them, pausing one of the recordings from outside your room.

On the screen, it wasn’t just one man; it was a strike team, led by Asmodeus, the Vaught family’s tactical security lead. Alastair was there too, with two others, Ramiel and Dagon. It was the best the Vaughts had. Dean’s jaw tightened as he watched the footage, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and fear. The precision with which they moved, the seamless coordination of their attack—it made his blood boil. His hands clenched into fists at his side, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

They’d come in through the window while you had been in the study, then hid in the shadows, waiting. The alarm linked to the window had never gone off. Once you sat down on your bed, Alastair approached you silently and, with a swift, practiced motion, injected something into your neck that knocked you out instantly. They then lifted you gently, as if handling a fragile doll, and slipped back out the window.

“Olivia has already been taken into custody and is being questioned,” Ketch informed Crowley, his tone cold and efficient. “I’ve also already sent out two security teams to retrieve your guests from earlier.”

“Good. Now, to make a phone call,” Crowley replied, his voice calm but tinged with a steel-like determination. He was pleased at how quickly his security team had gotten the job done. His next focus was to get his informant to find you before the end of the following day.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town…

You woke up in a dimly lit room, your head throbbing and your body aching from where you had been roughly handled, or perhaps it was whatever you’d been injected with. You weren’t quite sure. The smell of dampness and decay filled the air, making it difficult to breathe. As you tried to get up, you realized your hands were bound tightly behind your back to the chair, and your legs were tied to the chair at your ankles, restricting your movement. Panic rose in your chest like a wave, but you fought to stay calm.

For a moment, you thought about calling out but decided to stay silent, listening instead. The sound of dripping water echoed somewhere in the distance, a steady, rhythmic plink that seemed to amplify the silence around you. Your vision was still a bit blurry from whatever had been used on you to knock you out, but you could still make out the faint outlines of the room around you. It reminded you of an old abandoned brick building. No light came in through the broken or nonexistent windows, and you let out a sigh of relief that it was still nighttime.

As you shifted a little in the chair, the ropes dug into your wrists, and you winced slightly at the burn against your skin. Your mind raced with thoughts of how you could escape your new predicament. You didn’t even have your phone on you and were still in your pajamas, which only added to your vulnerability. As your vision cleared up, you took in more details of wherever you’d been taken.

It was clear that it had been planned. To your left, you saw a desk with a small lamp on it, casting a dim, flickering light across several pieces of paper strewn across it. The immediate area around the chair you were tied to had been completely cleared of any and all debris—not even a tiny shard of glass or metal could be seen on the floor. The door on the wall on the far side of the room was closed, but you couldn't tell if it was locked.

The nightmare you’d had back at the bunker taunted your thoughts, only making your heart pound harder in your chest. Now you were worried about Dean and whether or not he was safe or if the Vaughts had gotten him too. You forced yourself to take slow, deep breaths, reminding yourself that you were more level-headed than this and could figure it out, slowly calming yourself down.

Back at Crowley’s Mansion…

In one of Crolwey’s lavish sitting rooms, Ellen, Sam, John, Mary, Bobby, and Jody were gathered. Each of them was tense; Ellen paced the room, her fists clenched, while Sam leaned against the wall, arms folded tightly. John stood beside Mary, their faces a mix of worry and annoyance. Bobby and Jody sat on the edge of their seats, their eyes darting toward the door each time someone passed by.

When Crowley, Dean, Benny, and Ketch entered, the atmosphere became even more charged. Ellen immediately moved and confronted Crowley, her eyes blazing with anger. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with fury.

Crowley met her gaze, unperturbed. “Relax, I’m handling it,” he replied cooly, his tone dismissive.

Ellen’s face flushed with anger. “Handling it? She’s been kidnapped, and you’re telling us to relax?” She took another step toward Crowley, her voice rising. “If anything happens to her—”

“Ellen,” Dean interjected, his voice strained but gentle, trying to calm her down. “Crowley made some calls. We have to be patient, even if it’s killing me too.”

Sam pushed off the wall, his voice firm but tinged with frustration. “Patience? We’re supposed to sit here and wait while she’s out there with the Vaughts?”

Jody nodded in agreement, her eyes dark with worry. “We can’t just sit around and do nothing. We need to take action.” Crowley raised his hands, a gesture meant to placate them. “I assure you, we’re doing everything we can. The police and FBI have been notified, and my contacts are on the lookout.”

Ketch moved to the window, his gaze fixed on the grounds outside, watching as the shadows danced in the moonlight. He berated himself silently for not being more prepared for something like this. He wasn’t happy at the fact that Crowley had left finding you to someone he wasn’t too keen on trusting.

Unable to shake his worry, Dean walked over to the whiskey and poured himself a glass, his hand shaking slightly as he lifted it to his lips. Even with the distance between you, he could feel you—feel your fear and confusion, and it tore at him. He took a deep drink, hoping the alcohol would settle his nerves and dull the connection he felt with you. But nothing could ease the sense of dread gnawing at his heart.

Mary, noticing Dean’s distress as only a mother could, moved closer to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “We’ll find her, Dean,” she said softly, her voice filled with conviction. “We won’t stop until she’s back with us.” Dean nodded, his jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain his composure. “I know, Mom. I just… I should have told her a month ago, and maybe things would be different.” His voice broke slightly, and he took another deep drink of the whiskey, his eyes glistening with unshed tears he refused to let fall.

“We’ll find her, son. We’re not gonna let the Vaughts get away with this.” John added, his voice gruff but supportive.

Crowley glanced down at his phone, seeing a text come in. A pleased smile found its way to his lips—It was subtle, a mere twitch of his mouth—but it was enough to give away his satisfaction. He stayed quiet, though, knowing that the news was not yet conclusive, but it was a lead nonetheless.

Back in the Abandoned Warehouse…

You had continued to struggle against the ropes, binding your hands behind the chair. Each movement tore at the skin of your wrists, but the sting of pain was a small price to pay for the hope of freedom. The fear that had initially gripped you was slowly draining away, replaced by a fierce sense of determination.

You gritted your teeth and pulled harder against the binding, your frustration and annoyance fueling your efforts.

I can’t just sit here and wait to be rescued. I have to find a way out of this.

With each tug and twist of your wrists, you swore you felt the ropes loosening, ever so slightly. The room around you was silent except for the distant sound of the dripping water, a reminder of the isolation and danger you were in. But you refused to let despair take hold. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, using your anger and frustration as a source of strength.

Suddenly, the sound of muffled footsteps pulled your attention toward the door on the far side of the room. Your heart raced as fear and anticipation flooded back in a rush. You glanced at the door, then quickly returned your focus to the ropes, working frantically to loosen them.

What if it’s them coming back? I have to get out of here.

The footsteps grew louder, then stopped just outside the door. You held your breath, your eyes fixed on the door, but it didn’t just open. Whoever was on the other side was picking the lock, and you furrowed your brow with confusion for a moment. Then, the door began to creak slowly open as a figure stepped into the room.

“Hey, princess,” a female voice drawled from the shadows. The figure stepped forward, revealing a woman with dark, wild hair and a mischievous grin. She wore a leather jacket and black boots, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and determination.

You had no idea who she was or even why she was there, and all you could do was stare at her, confused. She quickly approached you and pulled a dagger from her boot. “You got yourself in quite the mess,” she commented sarcastically as she cut the ropes holding you to that chair.

You barely had time to process what was happening. The moment she had the ropes cut, she grabbed your hand and began leading you quickly to the door. Your mind was racing with questions, but there was clearly no time to ask them. She seemed very insistent on getting both of you out of there, quickly.

“Who—” you started to say, but she cut you off with a sharp look.

“Not now. We need to move,” she said, her voice low and urgent.

You quickly went to the desk and scanned the papers sitting there. There has to be something useful, or it wouldn’t be here. The woman followed you, only giving you enough time to grab one piece of paper before she grabbed your hand and led you out of the room. You did manage to shove it into your pocket as the dimly lit hallway came into view. Her grip on your hand was firm, guiding you through the dimly lit corridors of the abandoned building.

Being barefoot wasn’t helping, and you winced as you stepped on the debris scattered across the floor. The pain of small cuts and bruises on the bottoms of your feet was a reminder of the urgency of the situation. As you made your way through the building, you could hear distant voices and the sound of footsteps approaching.

We have to hurry, you thought, fear and adrenaline driving you forward.

She practically dragged you over to a sleek black car parked nearby. “Get in, we don’t have much time,” she told you quickly, worry laced in her words as she slid into the driver’s seat.

You scrambled into the passenger seat, your heart pounding in your chest. She had the car started before you even got the door closed behind you. “Buckled up,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

As you fumbled with the seatbelt, she pulled the car out of the empty parking lot, the tires screeching as she accelerated down the street. You glanced back at the warehouse, half-expecting to see your captors chasing after you. The city lights blurred past the windows as the woman navigated the streets with practiced ease, her eyes focused on the road.

“Who are you?” you finally managed to ask, your voice still trembling slightly from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

She glanced at you, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Name’s Meg. Crowley called in a favor. You must be pretty important.” Meg replied, her tone laced with a touch of amusement. “He doesn’t cash in a favor for just anyone.” She returned her attention to the road, her grip on the steering wheel tight, her demeanor calm and composed.

You nodded, still trying to process everything that had happened. “Thank you. Do you know if Dean is safe?” you said softly, your voice filled with genuine gratitude but also laced with worry.

Meg’s expression turned serious, her eyes flicking toward you briefly. “I was only told about you. Crowley didn’t give me any other details,” she answered plainly, her focus returning to the road and the cars around her.

Your mark burned, not realizing it was your connection to Dean, but you didn’t press the topic further. You looked out the side window, watching the city lights flicker and fade into the distance. She’d gotten you out of that place, and for that, you truly were grateful. But now, your thoughts kept drifting back to Dean and the nightmare from the bunker.

What else is he keeping from me? The question lingered in your mind, gnawing at you like an unsolved mystery.

Meg stayed silent during the drive, the car filled with the soft hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city. She didn’t even turn on the radio. Your gaze was fixed on the passing scenery, but your thoughts were focused elsewhere, trying to piece together the missing parts of the puzzle. It was like a car just waiting for the battery to be connected—the answers were so close, but you couldn’t seem to grasp them.

The sudden stop of the car jolted you from your thoughts, bringing your focus back to the present. You found yourself at the familiar wrought iron gates of Crowley’s estate. Four guards were posted at the gate, their eyes scanning the area as Meg approached.

They recognized the car and quickly waved it through once the gates opened. As the car passed through, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. You were safe, at least for the moment.

Meg parked near the steps and killed the engine. “Let’s go, princess,” she said, her tone light but urgent, as if there was more going on than you were aware of.

You nodded, your movements still a bit stiff from the ordeal, and slipped out of her car. Meg joined you only moments later, her posture relaxed yet alert as she scanned the area one last time. The sky was just starting to lighten with the early hints of dawn, casting a soft glow over the estate as the two of you ascended the steps.

Before you could reach the doors, they burst open, and Dean rushed out, taking the steps two at a time. Relief and worry were etched across his face, his eyes searching for any sign of injury or distress. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if he were afraid to let go.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The relief in his voice was palpable, and at that moment, he decided he was going to tell you everything: no more secrets and no more waiting.

You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong, a reassuring rhythm that helped ground you. “I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt. “Meg saved me.”

Dean glanced over at the woman, recognizing the name but not her, before pulling back slightly. His hands rested on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes, searching for any signs of distress. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I should have told you everything from the start. No more secrets, I promise.”

You let out a sigh of relief, thankful he’d finally fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle that had been your life. Meg had already headed inside, leaving the two of you alone on the steps. The early morning light cast a soft glow around you, and the quiet of the moment felt almost sacred.

As Dean reached down to take your hand, you winced slightly, which caused him to frown with concern. He gently lifted your hands, inspecting the cuts and irritated skin from where you had struggled against the ropes. “Let’s get these cleaned up,” he told you softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Without warning, Dean scooped you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You let out a surprised squeal, followed by a chuckle. “You could have warned me,” you teased, already feeling far more relaxed, knowing that he was safe and that they hadn’t gotten him too.

Your squeal had brought a small, relieved smile to Dean’s lips. Having you in his arms finally soothed the storm that had been raging through him since you’d been taken. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.” Dean didn’t care if you chose to reject him after, but first, he was going to tend to your wounds—wounds he felt he could have prevented if he’d been upfront from the beginning.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 17

Story Master List Main Master List

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @jamerlynn @jackles010378 @bruhidkjustwannaread @onthehuntforshinies

@chriszgirl92 @angzls @xolivvies-cornerxo @certainsaladstarfish @onlyangel-444

@nancymcl @muhahaha303 @suckitands33 @kr804573 @justrandomthougt

@suckitands33 @mxtansy @scarletqueenx @krazykelly @roseblue373

@whimsyfinny @ladysparkles78 @aaathazagoraphobiaaa @hobby27 @perpetualabsurdity

@cicibunbuns @n-o-p-e-never @vanessa-boo @foxyjwls007 @uoberpmollah

@xolivvies-cornerxo @certainsaladstarfish @kdadss @bitchykittenconnoisseur @reignsboy19

@bonbonnie88 @ghostieghoul711 @flamencodiva @kayleezee @stillhere197

@lexasaurs634 @enamoredwithbella @winchester-whiskey @brandinicole911 @swaggyemily

@megs-gadom @dianawinchester03

If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment

57 notes · View notes

starogeorgina · 1 year ago

Text

Twin flames

Warning: Swearing, age gap

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen OC

1.01

Notes: Viserys and Alicent’s children have been aged up to be aged 20+

Tears trickle down your face as you try to stifle a sob with the sleeve of your dress. The satin material covering your wrists appears darker than the rest due to your dampening it by wiping your eyes. If you weren’t in the library, you would have ripped the sapphire dress to shreds. Like most of your clothing, your husband had it specially made to match the gem in his eye, rubbing salt on the wound that was your sham marriage.

It was moments like these that you wished time could stop, at least for a few moments, to fully decompress the events that had taken place within the last twenty-four hours.

The previous night, you’d laid awake waiting for Aemond to return from riding on Vhagar, and when he eventually did, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. It was a telltale sign he’d been with his whore; not that you cared much about who he stuck his cock into; it was simply because you had an agreement that on his part he’d failed to keep.

“You’re never going to put a babe in me, are you?”

His silence was the answer he was too much of a coward to say out loud. Not having a child after four years of marriage made you a failure in the eyes of your family, not that your mother would ever believe it was due to your brother not wanting to consummate the marriage; of course the problem must have lay with you. There were many nights you thought about going to your other brother's chamber, you knew Aegon wouldn’t refuse to fuck you. The following morning, things got worse. Your uncle Daemon arrived from Dragonstone to visit his brother, your father, King Visery, and his mere presence had put Aemond in a more foul mood than normal. A lord from some house you’d never heard of before was stupid enough to question Rhaenyra’s son's heritage in front of the rogue prince, resulting in his being fed to Caraxes.

It was bittersweet seeing your uncle being so overprotective of your eldest sister and her sons when your own husband was most likely making you the butt of his own jokes.

Deciding you needed a distraction from thinking about the Lord being burned alive, your mother's shaming, and your husband's rejection, you survey the dusty books until you find one of your favorite historical books. 𝒜𝑒𝑔𝑜𝓃 𝐼'𝓈 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. Sighing, you go to the chair in the darkest part of the library and begin to read.

—

“Isn’t it a bit late for reading Adele?”

Getting a fright, you almost leap from the chair. One hand rests on your racing heart while the other grips the book tightly. Frowning, you look over your shoulder to see your uncle staring down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Still startled, you only manage to speak one word, “what?”

“Is it not Adele?”

Of course, he didn’t even know your name. You look back down at your book and say, “No, it is not.”

“I’m just jesting with you,” Daemon says, coming to the other side of the chair. He crouches down so he is level with you. “I’m very aware of who you are, Princess Adela. I’ve heard many things about you over the years; the tales of your beauty have not been exaggerated.”

You keep your head lowered so he’s unable to see the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Thank you.”

A few moments of silence pass before the prince speaks again. “You’ve been crying,” he says, “do you wish to share your troubles with me?”

“Troubles aren’t something I share so freely, uncle.”

Suddenly he cups your face gently, and his thumb brushes your bottom lip from the left to the right, only stopping when it reaches the corner of your lip, gently touching the scar that runs down to the bottom of your chin. “It is wise to keep your own counsel, but tell me, what fate awaited the fool who dared lay a hand on you?”

You shudder at the memory. A phantom pain forms in the scar on your face and the hidden one on your forearm. You had heard many stories about your uncle's adventures in life, your favorite being the battle of the stepstones, so naturally you felt embarrassed to admit it was your own brother who hurt you by accident during a stupid argument.

You clear your throat. “You were right, uncle; it is rather late for reading. I bid you goodnight.”

“Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?”

“No, but thank you for the offer. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You leave the library feeling slightly flushed and head towards your bedchamber, hoping the knights and servants who surveyed the halls didn’t see how red your cheeks were. Daemon was more handsome than you remembered, and although he had only touched your face to get a better look at your scar, goosebumps still prickled across your body.

You need to find yourself another distraction before you let your mind wander too far.

—

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯; 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥; 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘥. 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.

𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵.

𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘖𝘭𝘥𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤; 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴.

“𝘔𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦!” 𝘈 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩�� 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥. “𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨.”

“𝘐𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴,” 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘴. 𝘗𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺. 𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘶𝘴? 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥? 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸.

𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘑𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺. 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦; 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘸𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘱 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴; 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭. 𝘐𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘤 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘥.

“𝘚𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦.”

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴. “𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦? 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦.”

“𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘛𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦.”

“𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢’𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦'𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴, “𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱. 𝘖𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.”

#house of the dragon #Daemon Targaryen x you #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fandom #house of the dragon fanfic #Twin flames #Daemon Targaryen #daemon targaryen/you #daemon targaryen fanfic #Daemon Targaryen x fem oc #Daemon Targaryen/oc #Daemon Targaryen x oc

831 notes · View notes

moonlightequin1 · 10 months ago

Text

TWISTED WONDERLAND YUME/OC-SHIP FAN SURVEY: "the most popular characters to yume/self-ship/oc ship with" ✨

Hey Twisties! I decided to create a detailed Twisted Wonderland survey to see who are the most popular characters to yume/oc-ship with in the international side of Twisted Wonderland's fandom!

This fansurvey will end at the start of TWST JP's 4th anniversary which is March 18, 2024! So go ahead and throw in your submissions! FEEL FREE TO REBLOG AND SHARE THIS WITH YOUR FRIENDS!

‼️ WARNING HEADS UP‼️

If you are a TWST EN only player, please read the intro of the form since this will include SPOILER characters who have appeared! There WILL BE name-drops. Even if the form is long, please read everything before submitting.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland fan survey #twst wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland oc ships #twst x reader #twistedwonderland #just ray ~ posts

151 notes · View notes

frogskelton · 6 months ago

Text

Part 1 (maybe)

I should not of marked that survey for a week, didn’t know I could just mess a if whenever. But anyway, if another if that gets for votes than the mal and Alejandro one, I’ll prob make that too.

But like, I luv fanon Mal, like he’s so silly and goofy (where he writes oc x shadow the hedgehog.)

Another thing, forgot to mention in the Alejandro all star redesign post, I think it is such a waste that he never appears as a robot in roti except for the one moment where they show the cast in ep 1. Like he can just be muhahah and silly evil, being Chris petty assistant who might be trying to push him in the toxic waste. It also would of made him being revealed as the robot as all the most satisfying. If it were up to me he would be a reoccurring character in roti cause extra drama by being petty and had a moment where it was revealed in the final, or if that might distract from the final conflict, then the semi finale.

76 notes · View notes

theelizamanelli · 2 months ago

Text

Tengoku

Reina Iyashi wants a normal, mundane existence until Satoru Gojo takes a special interest in her uncanny ability to bring people back to life (or so Itadori says) and offers her a job as his assistant at Jujutsu High. Tags: 18+, satoru gojo x female oc, boss x assistant, golden retriever x black cat, forced proximity, slow burn, romance, smut, fingering, dom/sub tendencies link to all chapters link to ao3

——————————————————————————————————

Note to reader: you're welcome.

——————————————————————————————————

Chapter Twelve

——————————————————————————————————

The young girl slid the door closed, the opening dwindled as Gojo grinned - shooting Reina an encouraging thumbs up before disappearing.

Her face hardened, she took a few steps backwards and leaned against the wall. The girl stood at the door - steadfast, piercing Reina with a dutiful stare as if to convey a warning: don’t try anything.

She crossed her arms with a sigh, closing her eyes. Gojo had been requested by a Jujutsu “Higher Up”, as he called them, to discuss his recent work. Reina was unsure what it was in reference to but from what she had gathered of this executive group - it was unlikely to be in Gojo’s favor.

Peering at the girl, she observed her eyes shine as she flicked her blue hair over her shoulder. Reina scrunched her face, wondering what could have possibly happened to render that reaction.

“Kasumi?” called out a weathered voice from inside, the girl straightened - sliding the door open before entering.

“Gakuganji-sensei?” she responded, placing her hands behind her back.

Reina took a step forward, attempting to survey the room. An elderly man clad in a nagajuban sat directly across from Gojo, leaning forward slightly with a look of irritation on his face.

“Could you please get Satoru and I some tea?” he requested, not removing his eyes from Gojo who sat reclined - an arm draped over the back of the couch.

Kasumi bowed before exiting, she closed the door with a click before shaking her head in excitement - her feet tapping back and forth.

Reina shot her a look of confusion before leaning back against the wall. She returned quickly with a tray containing two cups and a teapot. Entering the room again, Reina tilted her head to the side - Gojo appeared as calm as before.

Reina nodded in confirmation, returning to her relaxed position as Kasumi resumed her rigid stance.

A silence spread between the two, Reina furrowed her brows, “Yes?” she inquired impatiently.

The girl’s eyes widened in response, “What?” she asked, looking around. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You want to, though,” she uncrossed her arms and took a step towards her. She gestured with her hands to get on with it.

“Are you really Satoru Gojo’s assistant?” she whispered.

Reina rolled her eyes, “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”

——————————————————————————————————

Satoru Gojo

——————————————————————————————————

“What a waste of time, accepting good citizen awards and rescuing local pets,” Gakuganji spat, shaking his head at Satoru.

He stared at his nails, his legs crossed - bouncing lightly, “There are worse ways to spend my days,” he responded.

“There are also better ones,” he stated, taking a sip of his tea. “I highly recommend using your talents to achieve more fruitful goals.”

“You’ve said this before,” Satoru turned his head towards the door with a sigh. “Honestly, old man, I really don’t care.”

“You should take care to mind your tone when addressing your elders, boy,” Gakuganji warned, setting his cup down. “It is insolent, narcissistic, and destructive Jujutsu Sorcerers like you th-”.

At the volume increase, the door roughly slid open hitting the frame with a thwack.

“I’ve heard enough,” stated Reina, stepping into the room.

Directing her attention to Gakuganji, she pointed a finger at his face, “You should take care to mind your words to the man who has sacrificed his life for the good of the people.”

“Excuse me?” he sputtered in response, standing to his feet.

Satoru quickly straightened, positioning himself next to Reina who hadn’t moved - her finger still pointing in his direction. He softly put his hand on hers, guiding it towards her side.

“You heard her, old man.” Satoru directed Reina out of the room, though it was clear she had more to say. He pushed her lower back slightly to inch her further into the hallway before turning back.

“You’ll regret that!” rumbled Gakuganji.

Holding onto the door as he leaned through the opening, Satoru responded, “I’m trembling,” before strutting back to Reina.

They exited the building, she rambled the entire way to Jujutsu High. Satoru occasionally caught a few words: “heinous”, “disrespectful”, “ungrateful” chief among them.

He slid his hands into his pockets, leaning his head to look at the sky - a slow smile spreading across his face. He had to admit that a low, warm feeling had spread through him at the sight of Reina’s defense.

One that went straight to a place that made the back of his neck hot.

——————————————————————————————————

The shop filled quickly, the clinking of glasses and sizzling of the teppanyaki floating through the air.

“That’s a stupid plan and you know it, Itadori!” Kugisaki yelled, a piece of fish hanging from her chopsticks as she waved it in his face.

“Oh, come on! It’s not so bad!” He replied, excitedly recounting an option for how to exorcize the curse they were investigating that night. It was their first independent mission, and it was apparent that they were determined to perform well.

Fushiguro shoveled rice into his mouth, chiming in occasionally to provide an additional strategy.

Reina observed the interaction fondly, laughing at how animated Kugisaki and Itadori would get - pulling Fushiguro into the dramatics.

Gojo intervened, grabbing Fushiguro by the neck to pull him into a side hug - earning him a sideways glare. He laughed in response, rubbing his face against his hair.

Itadori sat to the left of Reina, she leaned over and muttered, “They are rather close, aren’t they?”

“Fushiguro doesn’t have any parents. I guess Gojo-sensei is the closest thing,” Itadori whispered in response with a shrug.

Leaning back, Reina observed the two - noting that Fushiguro would often act annoyed but the moment the antics ended he would look at Gojo with a fondness in his eyes.

She smiled softly, taking a contemplative sip of her drink

“You like Gojo-sensei, don’t you?” whispered Kugisaki from her opposite side.

Reina choked, coughing before wiping her mouth, “What?” she responded - her voice squeaking.

“That’s what I thought,” she replied thoughtfully, returning to her food.

Standing outside of the restaurant, Gojo encouraged them to do their best and sent them off with a light-hearted “Don’t embarrass me.”

Itadori, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki pierced him with a steel stare, pumping their hands into the air with a “We won’t let you down!”

They began down the street - intermittently waving back to Gojo who dramatically returned their gesture.

Reina caught herself laughing at the interaction. He was a good sensei, despite his idiotic tendencies. She reasoned that though he didn’t need it, he deserved to hear praise - when earned and within reason.

“You’re a good teacher,” she mumbled, placing a hand on the back of her neck as she looked out into the street. “It’s obvious your students love you.”

Gojo faltered momentarily, his eyes roaming over the pink coating her cheeks.

“Be careful, Iyashi, this sounds dangerously close to you liking me,” Gojo responded, arching an eyebrow - a grin crossing his lips.

“Just trying to get you into a good mood before I request a raise,” replied Reina, dropping her arm to her side as she stared at him indignantly.

He chuckled, “Well, in that case - we have a job to do.”

——————————————————————————————————

“What are we doing?” asked Reina. The two were crouching behind a bush, Gojo peering over the top of the shrubs.

He shushed her before responding in a whisper, “It may be their first mission by themselves but I would be the worst sensei ever if I let them fail.”

Reina rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her hand as she balanced her elbow on the top of her thigh. The next thirty minutes were spent following the three at a distance, ducking behind poles or flattening themselves to the sidewalk.

They slid into an alley, walking slowly - the three were on the other side of the wall, investigating the bridge. This meant the two were safe from their eyes for now.

“The great Satoru Gojo watching over his students like a mother hen,” she clucked with a grin. “I wonder what your fan club will think.”

He paused, straightening himself in an exaggerated manner, “They will recognize how paternal and thoughtful I am.”

Reina shook her head, starting for the end of the alleyway.

Gojo quickly pushed Reina against the wall, her cheek pressed against the brick.

“What ar-” She started but was quickly cut off with a gentle cover of his hand over her lips.

Itadori’s voice slipped through the air, a quick padding of sneakers on concrete slowly faded.

Gojo made no effort to remove himself from behind Reina, his hand dropping from her mouth to softly grab her chin. She could feel her heartbeat pound in her ears.

“He’s gone, Gojo,” Reina whispered, her voice uncertain. “You can move now.”

“Do you want me to move, Iyashi?” He whispered in a low voice. A shiver traveled down her spine. Her breath hitched as his other hand slowly slid from her hip to the top of her thigh.

He leaned forward, his lips pressing to her ear, “Have you been thinking about me in that office of yours?” Her eyes fluttered closed. “Touching yourself?”

Her head felt light, her breathing quickened. She wanted desperately to tell him yes, to beg for him to touch her but she couldn’t find the words - her pride getting the best of her.

“You know, I wanted nothing more than to slip that pretty little dress off in the back of that town car,” He lightly rubbed his thumb on her thigh. “And it would have taken one word of encouragement for me to have taken you in that inn.”

Reina breathed hard, her fingernails digging into the brick. Gojo re-adjusted, his mouth now pressed to the opposite ear.

“You’ve given me such a hard time. Being this pretty.” He kissed her softly on the nape of her neck. “And this flustered. With all your praise. Your sweet teases. I only have so much restraint.”

A moan threatened to escape her mouth, she swallowed it with a hum.

Gojo slipped his hand from her chin to her throat, squeezing lightly, “You’d be such a good girl for me, Iyashi. Wouldn’t you?”

Reina’s eyes rolled back, she pressed her ass into his groin - arching.

He chuckled, leaning back to slide his fingers from her neck slowly down her spine, “I can tell how desperate you are to be touched.”

Gojo tightened his hands on her hips, pressing himself roughly into her with a groan. He slid his hand to her front, caressing her inner thigh.

“I could make you feel so good,” he purred. “Is that what you want?”

Reina whimpered at his words, opening her legs wider.

Leaning forward, his hot breath on her ear, “I want to hear you, Iyashi.”

“Please, Gojo,” she whined.

Gojo slid his fingers under her skirt, drawing soft patterns along her underwear. His other hand massaged her thigh, slowly moving towards her ass.

“Exactly what I thought,” He murmured. “Such a good girl.”

His finger slowly slipped underneath the fabric, sliding into her wetness.

Gojo groaned, “All of that for me?”

Reina moaned in response, pressing her skirt into his groin.

He grinded against her, “Is this what you want?”

Reina nodded, her cheek brushing against the brick. He swiped a finger over her clit - eliciting a gasp.

“Your words,” he softly reminded, rubbing slow circles.

“Y-yes, yes.” Reina’s eyelids fluttered, her head dizzy.

Gojo slid a hand up her side until he reached the nape of her neck, grabbing a fistful of her hair - pulling her back to where she could see his blindfold. “I’m savoring every second of this, Iyashi.”

“Until I’m done taking what I want,” he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. “And then - when you’re begging for it - I’ll give it to you,”

Reina bit her lower lip, her orgasm building at the sound of his words. She was frantic for more contact, one hand pressed to the brick and the other reaching back for Gojo. Reina gripped his pants, pulling him to her.

“Just like that, Iyashi,” He groaned. “I want you desperate.”

His pace quickened, he let go of her hair for a second to lift the blindfold before returning his grip.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “I want to watch.”

Reina broke the moment her eyes met his, her breathy moans filling the air, “F-fuck.”

Her knees buckled slightly, Gojo let go of her hair to grab her hip - steadying her.

“Gojo-sensei?” Itadori called from the other side of the alley, jogging in their direction.

Reina straightened up quickly, turning in the opposite direction.

“Is that you?” he smiled, oblivious to Reina’s unusual actions. “Did you follow us?”

Gojo raised his hand in a wave, “Yuji! What kind of a sensei would I be if I wasn’t ready to help if you needed me?” he asked, touching his hand to his chest. “How did it go?”

Itadori recounted the mission as Kugisaki and Fushiguro meandered in their direction. The excited murmurs of the two building as Reina smoothed her skirt and joined the conversation.

The four walked ahead, Kugisaki pushing Itadori playfully as Gojo conversed with Fushiguro. Reina trailed behind, her legs unsteady - she fought to walk a straight line. The back of her neck burned, she pressed her hand to it in an attempt to cool down.

Lifting her chin, she watched as Gojo broke from the rest - lingering close to her. She sucked in a breath as he turned her way.

He lifted his fingers to his lips, sucking them into his mouth.

——————————————————————————————————

chapter thirteen

30 notes · View notes

angstywaifu · 4 months ago

Text

The Lost Sister - Part 39

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Ophelia Riorson)

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

Minutes later we’re all stood with our dragons on the ridgeline, surveying what awaits us below. There was a high chance none of us would walk out of here, but we couldn’t leave those people down there to die. Leadership wanted to test our loyalty, see where we really stood. Which apparently was flying to Eltuval and leaving everyone here to die. If that’s how they wanted me to prove my loyalty to a cause that hide the truth and lied to it’s people then fuck them. We we’re trained to fight and protect our people, not let them die.

”Promise me you’ll run if this starts going south.” Garrick says quietly from behind me, somehow approaching without me noticing.

”You know I can’t do that.” I say as I turn my head to look at him. “If today is the day I meet Malek, then today is that day. I’m not running. And I know you aren’t either.”

He nods slowly. “But at least one of us could survive this.”

”And then what? I go back to Basgiath where they’ll lock me away or kill me? No thank you.” I say as I turn back to the town below us. “We can do this.”

Out of the corner of my eyes I catch the look he gives me. He doesn’t think we can make it out of this. At least not all of us. If two can level a whole city… What could four do? I honestly didn’t want to find out, my hand tightening around the dagger’s Xaden had given to me as we left the garrison. And even if we did survive…. what would await us back at Basgiath? Another thing I didn’t want to find out. But depending how this went, those we’re our options. And I felt like either way I wasn’t surviving.

”I hope you’re right.” He says solemnly as he looks at me.

”I hope so to.” I say quietly.

We have to go little one. Mealladh informs me as the others start to mount up.

Garrick must receive the same information from Chradh, nodding his head slightly before turning to me. Both of us look at each other, not sure what to say to each other. Neither of us wanting to say goodbye, because we don’t want this to be goodbye. But there’s a chance it could be. There’s a chance this could be. Garrick pulls a small box from a pocket on his jacket, shoving it into my hands before pulling me into a quick and deep kiss as our dragons huff behind us.

”Just in case something happens…. hold onto this for me. And if I don’t make it….” He whispers against my lips.

”No. You will make it.” I tell him sternly as I grip onto the box.

I try and fail to shove the box back into his hands before he turns and mounts Chradh. Leaving me to safely place the box in the pocket of my flight jacket, before I turn and mount Mealladh. She wastes no time, and as soon as I’m seated and secure she launches into the air as Chradh and Fuil follow us as we dip into a deep dive down into the valley. My eyes scan the perimeter, looking for anything we could use to our advantage. Below us the screams of people fill my ears as they try and rush to safety beyond the outpost gates.

Have the others found anything yet? I ask Mealladh as we soar past a tower which I’m pretty sure has a venin stationed on top.

Not yet. Mealladh informs me solemnly.

We needed to find something fast. The venin we’re already proving their strength. Most of the town already in ruin. And who knew when that Wyvern we had spotted would return. As if on queue two Wyvern appear over the tree line, one heading for Violet and Tairn, the other heading straight for us. I’m hit with a wave of familiarity as I see the Wyvern properly for the first time. It’s colour is almost identical to most of Mealladh, the only exception to being the red tips to her wings, tail and horns, as well as the bright white alone her back. But if you weren’t looking at how many legs she had and just saw her fly above, she could almost be mistaken for the Wyvern heading straight for us. Mealladh throws us into another drop as the Wyvern skims past us, the heat of it’s flames narrowly missing us as I see blue light up the sky above me. I turn to see it disappear beyond the tree line again. Clearly I wasn’t it’s focus right now.

Soleil and Fuil have found a mine entrance we can evacuate everyone out. Mealladh informs me as we do another loop of the outpost.

Get me close to the ground, I’ll help them get everyone out.

She gets us as low as she can, banking as I time my jump perfectly, rolling to break my fall as I land on the ground. Around me everything is in chaos. People are rushing everywhere, trying to get their loved ones and get out. Debris lines the street from the various buildings the venin have already attacked or destroyed. I look up to see Garrick and Bodhi further up the street directing everyone down to me, towards the mine entrance. To my right the street is in chaos, these people not knowing where to head for safety.

”Down here!” I yell out to them, the ones closest to me looking at me as I point towards the mine where Liam and Soleil are ushering people in as quickly as they can.

I run further into the street, shoving through the crowd as best I can, trying to get more people to follow the rest. But between the screaming, the roars of the dragons and Wyvern they barely hear me. A stray bolt of lightening not helping as it hits a nearby building, showering us in debris. I need more people to help me direct them to safety. But everyone else is too focused on getting to their own safety to help. Wait. I don’t need more people. Not real people anyway. I close my eyes and focus as I reach out with my mind as I’m hit with the over whelming feeling of panic and fear. I imagine the street is lined with other riders, all yelling and telling them to head to the old mine shaft where it’s safe. Immediately I feel a slight dip in the panic of those around me. The slight bit of hope that there’s a way out not too far away. I open my eyes to see the townspeople helping each other. Directing those they can along with the fake riders I’ve called upon. Good, we can get them to safety. I rush down more streets, helping those who have fallen or gotten injured along the way. Passing them onto other townspeople who can help them get to that mine. Before long the streets start to empty as they all make their way down.

Soleil and Fuil are dead. Mealladh’s grim voice speaks in my head. You need to get off the ground and back to me.

What happened? I ask, as I come to a stop in the middle of the street.

Venin draw power from the ground. One of them started channelling and killed them. I need you to get somewhere I can land little one. There’s another one not far from you. I can’t have you meeting the same fate.

Where? Where is it? I demand.

I need to make sure Garrick is safe. If it’s near him.

Mealladh goes silent, clearly hearing my thoughts.

Tell me it’s not near him! I yell down the bond as panic sets in.

I can’t do that little one.

I immediately break into a run as I shove my shield up, heading back towards the street I’d seen him on when I’d first landed. But when I get there he’s nowhere to be seen. Bodhi also missing. I look back down the the mine to see the ground drained of its colour. That must be where the Venin had drawn power. It’s as if it drained the life out of everything. I need to find him and fast.

I turn back to where I had seen them both earlier, running up the street that heads towards the centre of the outpost. Above me Tairn flies over head, trying to get the attention of the Wyvern heading towards where I’m running. The direction I am certain Garrick and Bodhi are. Finally I make it to the centre of outpost, and right in the centre is Garrick. His daggers gripped tightly in his hands as he faces off against the Venin standing in the middle of the rubble that use to be the tower. It’s attention shifts to me, and I feel my magic flair in response as his red eyes meet mine.

The same feeling I’d had when we crossed the border of the wards coming back. Almost as if responding to the Venin in front of me. Garrick follows it’s gaze, his eyes widening as he see’s me standing there. And that’s all it takes for the Venin to make it’s move. Their hand directing the Wyvern soaring over us to head right for Garrick.

It feels as if everything slows down as I watch two Wyvern bank towards us. Towards Garrick. Their mouths opening just like a Dragon’s before it unleashes it’s fire. And I know just like a Dragon’s there is no surviving it. I reach out as if I can pull or push him out of harms way, out of the danger that is fast approaching. Reaching for that part of my signet that can. But instead I feel something else. Something else rushes through me, a cold dead feeling rushing through me instead. It almost feels like…

Death.

This is what I imagine death would feel like. The cold, dead feeling rushing up through me from the ground before it ripples out through my hands, extending towards the Wyverns behind Garrick. It almost looks like smoke… no shadows as it leaves my body and traverses over the centre of the outpost. Just as I see the blue glow ignite in the back of their throats, the shadow passes around Garrick and meets it mark on the Wyverns. Instantly the Wyverns howl in pain as their bodies start to shrivel up as they drop to the ground. Their bodies disintegrating into a cloud of dust as they meet the ground.

The venin turns to me, their red eyes wide with shock as they stare at my shaking hands. Just like I am. What was that? What had I done? The cold, dead feeling still lingering in my body. Almost as if it had drained the life out of me as well. And I think it has. Something isn’t right. Something is very wrong. The cold feeling getting worse by the second. Before a burning feeling starts in my stomach. I lurch forward as I start coughing uncontrollably. Something wet hitting my hand as I go to stifle it. As I remove my shaking hand from my mouth, I look down to see my hand is covered in blood. My body going finally giving into the cold and dead feeling that has consumed me as I fall into darkness.

”OPHELIA!”

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books @side-angel @wolfbc97 @just-an-ace-elf

#fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing #garrick tavis x reader #garrick tavis #garrick tavis imagine #garrick tavis x oc #the fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing x oc #fourth wing imagine

41 notes · View notes

themotherofhorses · 11 months ago

Text

paloma: first meeting

— simon "ghost" riley x oc!silentdove reyes.

summary: he's not annoyed, per se, but ghost is just not really in the mood to chit-chat with the american airman scurrying around the base. at best, he tolerates them.

(or the first exchange between ghost and his montanan woman.)

warnings: none, aside from explicit language.

note: okay, so despite this being an obvious OC-insert series, i invite anyone and everyone to read it :D this is actually my first time tackling an OC-insert fanfic (as well as writing ghost) so im still trying to get the rhythm of things.

dividers by: @saradika

paloma (masterlist) | main masterlist

[2021]

Simon Riley won’t ever admit it — never aloud, anyway — but every time he steps foot on American soil, he feels more akin to a wolf draped in sheep’s clothing.

In his mind, he sticks out like a sore thumb. He is not a hero, really; unlike the lot teetering around the military base he is currently stationed at for the next five or so weeks, he is less flesh and blood, and more a phantom. Or something along those lines. Actually, that could explain why there is such little traffic aimed his way. But he doesn’t particularly care. His schedule lacks the room to voice any complaints.

Right now, his main concern is doing his job, and doing it right.

Two weeks back, Price had him fishing out his passport tucked away inside his bedside table. “Fancy a two month getaway to the States?” Great Falls, Montana, to be exact. High west, nearing the border of Canada, and surrounded by land he’s only ever seen in those silly ass spaghetti western movies.

The view is nice, he’ll admit. Beautiful, even. Exhilarating. He now understands why they refer to Montana as “Big Sky Country.”

Malmstrom is much smaller than he imagined, and homier too. The Air Force base is nestled within the city’s east side, offering its own museum and park. He’s quite grateful for the latter; the trails allow for his nighttime walks when the nightmares prove too shitty to sleep.

Great Falls is pretty as well. Price would like it, maybe Garrick too. He knows the two are big on history, and almost every inch of the city is drenched with some memory belonging to the old frontier days.

Upon arriving, the yanks provided him with his own private office, housed in the back of the 341st logistics readiness squadron. It’s nothin’ fancy, really, just a wee room furnished with a dark mahogany desk, two windows, a steel cabinet, the Montana flag to his left, and the American to his right.

Again, he’s not one to complain. Something’s something.

Earlier, one of the higher-up airmen, a Staff Sergeant Benson (he believes is the name), had handed him a folder jam-packed with a shit ton of mission statements — logistics, strategic planning, reports of previous global concerns, and reviews of the base’s Minuteman III intercontinental ballistic missile. All the documents are dated in a time range varying between two months ago to 0800 this morning.

In the back of his mind, he can already hear Price chuckling.

“Have fun, Simon.”

Bloody bastard.

So now, Ghost sits hunched over the desk, feeling a little too damn big for it. All the paperwork is strewn about messily around him, with sticky notes, a pen, and some other random shit of his. No one has yet to visit him; until that happens, he feels little need to remain organized.

His boot taps against the floor. “—Initial efforts to clean polychlorinated biphenyls (PCBs) from launch facilities at Malmstrom AFB are ongoing but seeing success…” Ghost reads under his breath. PCBs? That’s nice to hear.

“...after PCBs were detected on surfaces in launch facilities at all three of the command’s missile wings.”

PCBs. Polychlorinated biphenyls — man-made and highly toxic, consisting of carbon, hydrogen, and chlorine atoms. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he flips onto the next page.

“We know they’re present on what appears to be otherwise pristine surfaces, due to the survey—”

—a sudden knock interrupts his reading.

With a curse on his tongue, Ghost sets down the report. He quicks a sneaking glance at his watch. 1342 hours. He’s due in a meeting at 1700.

“Come in.” His voice sounds low and raspy, the two words sounding more like a growl than a greeting. He’s not annoyed, per se, but Ghost is just not really in the mood to chit-chat with the American airmen scurrying around the base. At best, he tolerates them.

(In his mind, they’re all little Graves, ready to stir up a headache.)

The door slowly cracks open.

“Lieutenant Riley?” A female voice calls out — soft and cautious; Ghost’s chin drops against his knuckles. “Apologies for the disruption, sir, but I have some additional paperwork I need to drop off with you, at the request of my superior.” He grunts, and the airman then steps into his office, quickly shutting the door behind her before meeting his eyes.

It is entirely unlike him, Ghost knows, but his brain almost short-circuits right then and there. Two dark brown eyes, framed by thick lashes, peering up at him. Shit. He’d always thought brown was such a pretty eye color on a woman, but hers stretched further across common compliments.

Both of ‘em — they held no animosity, no uneasiness or fear, nothing.

That, itself, is quite fucking bizarre. He’s not used to that.

Ghost is .... well, Ghost. He knows the mask he is always donning on his face isn't exactly a sign of welcomeness. Just his mere presence is enough to startle the living shit out of rookies, baby recruits, wide-eyed sergeants, and the like. There is something inherently unnerving when you are unable to get a good reading of the person you're standing across from.

She’s brave, he thinks. Or merely oblivious to who he is.

“Here you go, sir,” the airman says while placing the packet of new documents down on his desk. Her lips are shaped prettily, plump and shining with a fresh layer of gloss, and across her nose is a splatter of faint freckles. Under a different circumstance, maybe he would’ve taken the time to try and count them all.

Ghost swallows hard, incapable (for what feels like the first time in his life) of mustering up an appropriate reply. “Ah, thank you, ma’am.”

The airman's brow lifts.

“Reyes,” she then corrects him with a kind smile, gesturing to the name badge sitting above her right chest pocket. Sure enough, in bold military lettering, reads Reyes. “My name is Senior Airman SilentDove Reyes. I am actually a cryptologic linguist analyst here on base; but sometimes I run errands for others, when not needed for a translation, of course.”

There is a slight chirp in her voice that Ghost picks up, along with the way she casually rocks back and forth on her feet. She seems awfully young, no older than 22, possibly 23, but even that's cutting it; a kid, compared to him. Maybe 5'7, with dark hair pulled back into two tight braids that fall at her belted waistline.

A stark contrast compared to him.

He's oddly curious now — about her age and first name and those long braids and why she stands before him, calm, collected, and sure — but he knows damn well this is not the time nor place for any questions. Both of them are on the clock, and it is likely she’ll need to report back to her supervisor soon.

He offers her a curt nod. “Well, thank you again, Reyes,” he states, keeping his voice flat.

“You are welcome, sir.” She turns to leave, but when her hand latches onto the doorknob, Reyes glances over her shoulder at him, “—oh, and Lieutenant? If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

–

The successful cleaning came after a bioenvironmental team at Malmstrom AFB …. Malmstrom AFB .. consulted with engineers and ….. and medical experts on the cleaning …. cleaning processes and–

–and agents most likely to effectively remove the chemicals….

He knows his mind is wandering off, in desperate search of that pretty senior airman from fifteen minutes ago. “Bloody fucking hell,” Ghost grumbles, leaning back in his chair. His head lolls back as he blinks upward, studying the ceiling overhead. The texture is popcorn, a creamy color, with a simple fan jutting down. One light bulb, probably a recent replacement.

Fuck. He doesn’t need this shit. Not one bit.

Five more weeks and he’ll be gone from here.

Ghost rechecks his watch, feeling a bit peeved at the time. 1411. He has several more hours until he can leave all this work shit behind for the evening, and maybe catch a short walk before hunkering down for the night. He doesn’t like sitting down for too long; it causes him to become restless. Agitated. Overthinking.

He doesn’t want distractions. He doesn’t need ‘em. Distractions ruin work ethic; clouding up the mind while fucking up all sense of responsibility. Price will have his ass if he – somehow – becomes compromised. And he'll never hear the end of it from Johnny.

Settling back into the paperwork, he decides that he won’t allow himself another second thinking about all that – the American airman and her pretty brown eyes and high cheekbones and first name.

Something tells him that’s easier said than done.

117 notes · View notes

paradox-valleyy · 15 days ago

Text

Lost and Found

Pre-canon rdr2 x Teen!fem!oc

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Word count: 2,5 k

Notes: Gangs first appearance 😋

The days had rolled by, and Jolene had spent nearly all the money she’d earned from Dr. Avery. She knew she should have stretched it out longer, maybe saved a few coins for the harder days, but the temptation had been too much. Johnson’s store, with its shelves of chocolate bars, canned peaches, and sweet candies, had been too good to resist. For once, she’d paid for what she took, and Johnson had been grateful, giving her a nod of approval when she laid down her coins.

But now, Jolene was out of money again, her stomach already grumbling as the night crept in. She wandered toward the saloon, hoping to make a bit of coin the only way she knew how. As she pushed through the saloon doors, the place was packed, the usual smoky haze and noise rolling over him. Townsfolk were leaning unsteadily against the bar, drunk and laughing. A table was set up for poker, while other men sat with half-empty bottles, chatting loudly with friends or staring dully into their drinks. Around the room, the women who worked the saloon fluttered about, eyeing men with practiced sweetness.

Jolene had learned a thing or two from those women. They were tough, and they’d seen enough to know a hard-luck case when they spotted one. They were kind to her, in their way. When she approached one of them, offering a boyish compliment and a downcast look, the sympathy worked like a charm. A few of them reached into their pouches or aprons, handing over coins with knowing smiles.

“Here, darlin’. Don’t go spendin’ it all in one place,” one of them teased, slipping her a few more coins.

By the time Jolene had collected a grand total of two dollars and thirty-two cents, she thanked them and slipped to a quiet corner, surveying the room. She scanned the crowd, sizing up which man might have a bit more cash on him than others. That’s when she spotted two men by the bar, a pair she hadn’t seen around town before. A rare sight.

The first was an older man, maybe in his fifties, with sharp, well-defined features and steel-gray hair. He was lean, almost wiry and his eyes were soft but, missed nothing around him. The other, perhaps in his forties, was more solidly built with black hair, a thick mustache, a red vest, and a pair of gold rings on his fingers, that set him apart from the usual townsfolk.

They leaned against the bar, talking and occasionally laughing, drinking whiskey with the ease of men who were no strangers to saloons. It was clear from their clothes and their confident air that they were new here. And new men in town often meant new money.

Jolene waited, watching as they drank and slowly became more relaxed. A half-hour passed, and the whiskey was taking effect; they were speaking louder, their laughter coming easier. Deciding the moment was right, Jolene slid through the crowd, lifting a stray wallet from another patron along the way before slipping toward the black-haired man in the red vest. She reached for the pocket, fingers brushing the edge of a wallet.

She was just about to pull it free when a drunken voice bellowed from across the room, “Joel, you goddamn thief! Where’s my wallet?”

The shout was enough to freeze the saloon. Jolene’s heart leapt to her throat as she turned, only to find the black-haired man’s gaze fixed on her, realizing all at once what was happening.

With her hand still inside the man’s pocket, Jolene did the only thing she could think of—she yanked the wallet free and bolted. She dashed toward the back door, hearing the uproar behind her, chairs scraping as people got to their feet. Jolene didn’t dare look back, but she could hear three sets of footsteps close on her heels.

As she hit the door and spilled into the alley, she cursed under her breath, feeling the frantic burn of adrenaline in her veins. She raced toward the stable, hoping she could cut through, jump the fence, and vanish into the dark before any of them could keep up.

Just as she approached the fence, she risked a glance over her shoulder to see who was chasing her. That second was all it took—her foot caught on a loose plank in the dirt, and she went sprawling face-first onto the ground, her nose slamming into the dirt and gravel. Pain shot through her face as she tried to push herself up, but rough hands grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

The first man, the one who’d shouted, William, was a burly townsman, red-faced with a mixture of anger and whiskey. His fist came down hard, catching Jolene on the jaw and sending fresh pain jolting through her.

“Give me back my damn wallet!” the man demanded, voice slurred with drink. Jolene, holding back a grimace, pulled the wallet from her pocket and handed it over, too dazed to argue.

The man looked like he might throw another punch, but a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. “That’s enough,” came a calm, measured voice. “You got your wallet. There’s no need to beat up the boy.”

The man cursed, spat in Jolene’s face, and staggered back toward the saloon. Jolene coughed, tasting blood, and rubbed her jaw as she looked up to see her unexpected saviors: the two men from the bar.

The black-haired man studied her, looking her up and down. “You make a habit of lifting wallets around here?”

Jolene glared back, feeling defiant despite the ache in her jaw. “Only when I’m hungry,” she muttered, reluctantly holding out the man’s own wallet.

The man took it back, flipping it open and checking the contents with a casual glance. “How old are you?” he asked, a trace of curiosity in his voice.

Jolene spat some of the blood from her mouth, her voice bitter. “Twelve, I think.” She lied.

The two men exchanged a look, something in their expressions shifting. The older one with the gray hair, whose gaze was soft, finally spoke. “So, no family, then? You’re an orphan?”

Jolene said nothing, just held their gazes with a challenging glare. They didn’t need to know her life story.

The black-haired man sighed, tucking the wallet back into his coat. “Relax, kid. We’re not here to hurt you. Just maybe don’t try to pick our pockets again.”

A flash of frustration crossed Jolene’s face, but she couldn’t hold back a smirk. “If that drunk hadn’t yelled my name, you wouldn’t have even noticed.”

The two men laughed at that, surprising Jolene. The black-haired man seemed amused, giving her a nod. “Fair point,” he said, still chuckling.

It fell quiet for a moment, and then the black-haired man extended a hand. “Dutch van der Linde,” he said. He tilted his head toward his companion. “And this here’s Hosea Matthews.”

Jolene, feeling awkward, gave a slight nod and took Dutch’s hand, letting the man pull her up and muttering, “Joel.” She looked away, scuffing the dirt with her shoe, but Dutch only laughed softly.

“Figured as much from the way that fellow hollered your name back there,” Dutch said with a wry grin. “So, Joel, you from here?”

“No. I live… nowhere, really. Just here and there. I sleep where I can find a place, and sometimes when people start recognizin’ my face too much, I move on.”

Dutch and Hosea exchanged another glance, nodding slightly. There was a flicker of understanding between them, as though they’d seen this before.

After a pause, Dutch’s eyes glinted with an idea. “Well, tell you what, Joel. How about we go back to the saloon? I’ll buy you a meal—on the condition you talk a bit more. Maybe even tell us about this town and its… characters.”

Jolene hesitated, sizing them up. She knew these men weren’t ordinary travelers. Outlaws, she guessed, but something about them felt different. They didn’t strike her as the type to waste their time on pickpocketing coins; they were the kind who’d hold up a bank and take every last cent if it suited them. But for tonight, the promise of a meal outweighed her caution.

“Fine,” she said, her stomach growling at the thought. “But I don’t talk about everyone. Only the ones that don’t kick me when I’m down.”

Dutch grinned, satisfied, and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Fair enough, Joel. Let’s get you something to eat.”

With that, they headed back toward the saloon, where the noise, the smoke, and the night awaited them.

Jolene was devouring the steaming bowl of stew Dutch had bought her, each spoonful a rare treat after days of stale bread and dried meat. Bits of stew clung to her chin as she talked, eagerly spilling all she knew about the town between bites. Dutch and Hosea sat across from her, leaning in, their faces attentive, but their eyes watchful.

“There’s this one guy, Mr. Finch,” Jolene began, the name dripping from her mouth with a note of contempt. “Filthy rich, at least for around here. They say he’s got a few hundred thousand stashed away, mostly from cattle deals and a mining venture he sold off a few years back. His house is out a ways from town, all by itself.” Jolene paused to take a bite, savoring the taste before continuing. “He’s got a wife, but she’s strange. Never leaves the house, never talks. I only see her starin’ out the window, big eyes watchin’ like she’s afraid of somethin’. Folks say she was pregnant three times, but each time the baby didn’t make it.”

Dutch exchanged a glance with Hosea, a silent message passing between them. Jolene didn’t notice, too wrapped up in recounting the local gossip. She lowered her voice as she continued, not wanting others nearby to overhear.

“Mr. Finch? He thinks he’s better than everybody here,” Jolene muttered, scowling. “But he keeps the bank full and gives plenty to the church, so no one says nothin’ against him. Everybody just goes along with it.” She stuffed another spoonful in her mouth, chewing with a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

Dutch leaned back in his chair, his hands relaxed on the table, a calm smile on his face. “Interesting fella, this Finch,” he said, more to himself than to Jolene. “And what about the bank, kid? How much is in there most of the time?”

Jolene swallowed. “Pretty full, mostly,” she said with a sly grin. “People here don’t trust carryin’ too much cash around, so they all keep it there. Not that it does ’em much good, but that’s how it is.”

She glanced up, seeing Hosea and Dutch watching her closely, and feeling bold, she continued, “The sheriff here, he’s a real piece of shit. Was married four times, if you can believe it. Every one of ’em left him, ran out or worse. Last wife… well, she up and killed herself. He don’t work with bounty hunters neither, likes to keep things his way. And when he catches me takin’ something, he doesn’t hold back with his fists.” Jolene clenched her jaw, her anger visible despite the bruise already turning purple on her face.

Jolene finally set her spoon down, wiping her face with the back of her hand, and looked directly at Dutch and Hosea. “Why you want to know all this anyway? You two thieves or somethin’?” She grinned a little, though her eyes held genuine curiosity.

Dutch smiled, unruffled by the question, and leaned forward, his voice soft yet edged with humor. “Let’s just say we’re travelers, and we like to get a feel for the towns we come through. Easier to make friends that way, you know?”

Hosea, leaning back with a faint smirk, added, “Sometimes the less someone thinks they know about us, the better.” He raised an eyebrow at Jolene, who was looking at him with her head cocked slightly, not fully understanding but sensing the undercurrent.

Jolene’s fingers toyed with the spoon, glancing between them. These weren’t ordinary men; that much she’d already guessed. They had a way about them, a calmness she hadn’t seen in others, like they were used to being in control. Despite her best efforts to appear tough, the interest on her face was clear.

Dutch’s gaze softened as he took in the girl’s bruised form and scarred forehead. “Look, Joel,” he said, keeping his tone gentle but steady. “You seem like you’re good at gettin’ by, finding your way in a world that ain’t exactly kind. Hosea and I? We know a thing or two about that life too.”

Jolene’s eyes flickered with interest, and she crossed her arms, leaning back. “So you are thieves,” she said, as if confirming her own suspicions.

Dutch only chuckled. “We’re… liberators,” he said with a grin. “We take from people who wouldn’t miss it and don’t care about folks like us.”

“Or you,” Hosea added, with a hint of sympathy in his voice. He eyed the bruise on Jolene’s jaw, the lingering evidence of the rough life she was accustomed to.

Jolene took a long breath, weighing her next words. Part of her wanted to ask what they had planned, whether they’d bring her along or show her their way of doing things. But another part, the part that had survived on her own up until now, held her back, cautious.

Instead, she muttered, “Well, whatever you’re doin’, just don’t think this town’s easy pickin’s. Folks here are nosy, and they don’t take kindly to strangers who don’t fit in.” She glanced away, pretending to brush dirt from her shirt.

Dutch and Hosea shared a quick, amused glance, appreciating the girl’s quiet warning.

Dutch reached into his coat, pulling out a few coins. He tossed them onto the table, the clink of metal catching Jolene’s attention. “Here,” he said, nodding toward the money. “Enough for another meal or two. Think of it as payment for the… insight.”

Jolene looked at the coins, hesitant. She didn’t like taking charity, but she also knew enough to recognize an opportunity when she saw one. She snatched them up with a muttered “Thanks.”

Dutch rose from the table, straightening his coat. Hosea followed suit, giving Jolene a nod. “Well, kid, stay out of trouble—least till we’re gone,” Hosea said with a grin.

As they turned to leave, Jolene called out, surprising herself. “If you need me again, I’m usually around town.”

Dutch paused, a thoughtful smile crossing his face as he exchanged a glance with Hosea. “Alright” he said, looking back at Jolene with a spark of interest in his eyes.

Dutch considered her words, his mind already working. “Good to know. Thanks, Joel.”

With a final nod, Dutch and Hosea turned and headed down the stairs, leaving Jolene alone. She sat back, absently rubbing her bruised jaw as she thought over their conversation, a faint thrill of excitement mixed with a sliver of worry.

She didn’t know what Dutch and Hosea planned to do in this town, but she had a feeling things were about to get a lot more interesting.

20 notes · View notes

swayingluv · 8 months ago

Text

Prey of Hell - Chapter 1

Alastor x Buné (OC) Chapter 1: The Happy Hazbin Hotel Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Word Count: 5195

Seven years. Alastor had been gone for seven years, abruptly leaving everyone in his life alone. There weren't many people in his life, but those few people included Buné. With that came conflicting emotions, they had become extremely close during those years since he had arrived in Hell. She couldn’t exactly call herself mad or upset, more so confused.

So, now she stood alone in her territory during extermination day, which she had faced by herself for the past seven years. This wasn’t a difficult task for her, for she had climbed her way up the ladder, obtaining the title of an Overlord. She never took interest in such frivolous statuses because titles meant nothing to her, she was only interested in doing as she pleased and living for pure amusement. Buné had many different types of sinners’ souls in her possession, but she rarely felt the need to use them. Just knowing she had someone’s life in her hands was enough for her, never find a situation to use them for violent activities. However,

Buné watched with a grin on her face as she observed the situation unfolding below her, sitting atop a building’s roof. She swung her legs off of the side, kicking them back and forth in enjoyment. Sinners below her repeatedly got pierced by angelic spears, angels flying down and mercilessly killing anyone they saw. Her eyes ticked back and forth between angel and sinner, wondering how someone could let themselves be so weak. They didn’t even put up a fight, only trying to run and escape those that attacked them. On the other hand, sinners were fighting sinners. Buné thought this was incredibly stupid, they were on the same team. For now, at least. It was angels versus sinners, and sinners were fighting amongst themselves. They must be mad!

Buné couldn’t help but laugh a little at the sight, of sinners losing their cool over another extermination, as if there hadn’t been one yearly for Satan knows how long. She had enough of just waiting around, deciding to stand up on the railing and before she could even think about it, she jumped. Pulling out her whip, she swirled it into a circle as an aerial net appeared beneath her, catching her easily. As she bounced, she adjusted herself, landing on the surface of Hell, and began humming as she walked around.

Everything was on fire. The extermination had only a couple of minutes before the angels were ordered to return to their heavenly paradise. Buné looked left and right and the poor souls that were struggling to keep themselves alive. She tilted her head in thought, wondering for a moment. She stopped in front of a young sinner, appearing to have arrived in Hell not too long ago. The sinner lay on the cold sidewalk, breathing heavily with blood covering multiple wounds. Her hair was long and disheveled, fox ears sitting on top of her bright orange hair. Her clothes looked as if she were from the modern times on Earth, for Buné had no clue what she was wearing. She must be so lost and confused, so Buné decided it was the perfect time for a deal.

Buné put her whip back into its holder, crouching down to the level of the young sinner, who was gradually losing her life. She gave her a wide smile, showing off her sharp teeth. “Oh my, looks like that one hurt!” Buné said, poking at a wound on the sinner's shoulder. The woman flinched and groaned, not having enough energy to scream out in pain. Buné retracted her hand, giving her a closed smile.

The young sinner looked up with one eye at Buné. Her green eyes narrowed as she quietly hissed in pain. “Fuck you.” She said, trying her best to get up from the ground.

Buné let out a loud laugh at how ironic the situation was. “How rude! You know, you should be nicer to people that could very well help you. Now I’m not so sure I want to!” She said, surveying the sinner as she tried to get off of the cold and hard sidewalk of Hell. After a few seconds of no response, Buné’s eyes lit up. “You know, you don’t have to go to double hell just yet, you not-so-sly fox!” She told her, quickly poking her nose as the sinner gave out another low growl of pain.

The fox demon looked up at her, eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean?” She asked, her voice low and raspy. She was obviously in a lot of pain.

Buné gave a sweet smile, although her eyes were completely unreadable. “I can help you live to see another hellish morning, but you must help out with my beloved circus from time to time!” She offered out her hand, thick and black antlers gradually rising from her head, knocking her hat off to the ground. The fox demon looked up at her in confusion and anger, somewhat unwillingness.

“And if I don’t?” The young demon asked, her eyes filled with uncertainty and caution. Her fox ears pressed back against her head and her fur became prickly, debating this choice that could affect the entirety of her eternal afterlife.

Buné withdrew her hand, giving the woman a shrug. The antlers that were once on her head, almost like a jackalope, disappeared as she picked up her hat that had fallen to the ground. She looked down on her as if she were nothing but an insect; she didn’t care if she lived or died. “Then I guess you’ll just have to lay here and slowly die with no one around you! Such a tragic ending to such a gorgeous, young lady, wouldn’t you say?” Buné snickered, beginning to stand up. It was almost as if she was trying to bait the sinner in, giving her no choice but the one in front of her.

The fox demon hissed in pain and shook her head. “Fuck, fine!” She looked up, noticing a glimmer of something flash in Buné’s eyes as she heard those words. Her bunny ears twitched, a smile forming on her face.

Buné crouched down once more, those antlers appearing once more. Her eyes glowed a violent pink and seams of stitching began to make themselves present on her limbs. She reached out her clawed hand, offering the poor sinner her hand. “Oh, perfect! We have an arrangement then, yes?” She said, giving an almost terrifying smile. Everything around her seemed malicious, including what appeared to be a ring of pink fire manifesting itself in between the two of them.

The fox-like sinner huffed and shook the rabbit demon’s hand through the ring of fire, confetti bursting from the ring as the deal was sealed. The fire grew brighter than ever and then died down, the rabbit demon giggling with delight. As everything returned to normal, the young sinner tried retracting her hand, only to jump in surprise as Buné’s hand fell off and remained in the fox demon’s hand.

The ginger sinner gasped and her eyes widened, looking back and forth between Buné’s hand that was now off of her body. Buné stayed silent for a bit, looking just as surprised as the poor woman on the ground. Then, out of nowhere, Buné burst into laughter. “Oh my gosh, I really got you! You should have seen your face!” She laughed, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. The fox demon snarled and dropped Buné’s hand. After she had stopped laughing, she picked up her own hand and put it effortlessly back onto her wrist. “Isn’t that such a breathtaking party trick?” Buné giggled, picking up her hat and putting it back onto her head, for the antlers were no longer present.

The fox demon was speechless, only managing to get out a small response. “Right…” She trailed off, silently crying in pain from the injuries that were still very much present. “Aren’t you going to help me?” She asked, looking up at Buné.

“Oh, my apologies! Of course!” Buné responded, tapping the large wound on her shoulder. “Poof!” She said, the wound being stitched just as Buné’s own limbs, a bright pink seam being formed on her shoulder. As Buné did the same to the rest of the fox demon’s injuries, the young sinner felt herself become lighter and more energetic. Buné finished up, standing and giving her a bright smile. “I always keep my end of deals!” She announced, offering the sinner a hand so she could get up.

The sinner took her hand, standing up and nodding towards the rabbit demon. “Thank you.” She murmured, getting up.

Buné grinned widely. “But of course! Now, I do need some assistance back in my circus, so you better prepare yourself to work lots !” She informed the young sinner, pointing in the direction of a large pink and white circus tent. “Now, I will meet you there later! Cambion, my dear assistant, will be there to welcome you into our little family. I will return later, at least I hope so!” Buné giggled, shoving the fox demon into the direction of the giant circus tent.

She scurried off, leaving Buné alone to once more travel in peace. She continued on the same sidewalk, looking at the results of the extermination. Many were dead on the streets, fire was as present as ever, and screams were heard for miles. The scent in the air smelled like one of burning flesh and decaying bodies, causing Buné to recoil in disgust. Nonetheless, she continued down the sidewalk, hoping to perhaps find another unfortunate sinner clinging to life.

Buné paused after walking for a bit. Ahead of her was a group of sinners gathered around a store window, presumably streaming something on the multiple TVs that sat inside. She tilted her head in confusion, walking closer to the cluster of demons that watched whatever was presented on the television. Her heels clicked against the concrete sidewalk, watching a few demons turn their heads, noticing Buné approaching. Even fewer of them began to awkwardly start walking away once they saw who was approaching them. After all, not everyone knew who she was, and that was completely fine by her.

Buné looked up at the TVs once she had caught up to the crowd, seeing an interesting scene unfold. The channel was 666 News, a news station used to broadcast to the entirety of Hell. Katie Killjoy, the host of the station, as well as her partner, Tom Trench, were discussing a certain passion project with the Princess of Hell, Charlotte Morningstar. Buné immediately became interested, listening to this.

“Well,” Charlie began, clearing her throat. “as most of you know, I was born here in Hell, and growing up I always tried to see the good in everything around me.” She continued, Katie Killjoy stabbing an insect that was crawling on her desk. Buné recoiled in disgust at this. Gross.

Charlie continued with her segment. “Hell is my home and you are my people. We- we just went through another extermination.” She sighed before continuing her speech. “We lost so many souls and it breaks my heart to see my people being slaughtered every year. No one is even given a chance!” She beamed, slamming her fist onto the desk. “I can’t stand idly by while the place I live in is subjected to such violence! Sooo, I’ve been thinking. Isn’t there a more humane way to hinder overpopulation here in Hell? Perhaps we can create an alternative way to change souls through… redemption?” Charlie continued, asking rhetorical questions to the people around her. “Well, I think yes! So that’s what this project aims to achieve! Ladies and gentlemen, I’m opening the first of its kind, a hotel that rehabilitates sinners!” She stuck up her arms, inspired and ready to show everyone what the hotel could do. There was a painful silence that followed after her little monologue, Buné no exception to allowing this silence to continue. Charlie continued to ramble on about her hotel, earning a laugh from Buné.

Buné giggled quietly to herself. Oh, what an interesting idea! No one would even actually consider redemption, but this could be fun! placing her hands behind her back as she continued watching the TV segment.

Charlie continued with her little rant, starting with a sigh. “Look, every single one of you has something good deep down inside. I know you do.” Her eyes then lit up with an idea, causing Buné to tilt her head in confusion at this. “Maybe I’m not getting through to you,” Charlie smirked, standing up the table, and snapping her fingers. All of a sudden a piano appeared and she was sitting on it, reaching her hand out to a mysterious light. Then, she began singing. Singing? Huuuh? Buné thought, observing as she continued to explain her idea through song. It was painfully long and somewhat embarrassing, but Buné couldn’t help but laugh at her naiveness.

Everyone else joined in laughing, all collectively agreeing that the idea was silly and it would never work. Buné giggled along, but something told her that this would be the start of something amusing. If she could get something to amuse her, she would wholeheartedly help with it. Buné decided then and there to start making her way to the hotel, not bothering to watch the rest of the broadcast. She began walking casually down the sidewalk, the hotel being quite the walk away. Buné pulled out her phone, quickly dialing Cambion, her assistant who helped manage the circus with her. As he answered the phone, he could hear her smirk through the call. “Cambion, be a dear and take care of the circus for me, as well as that young demon I picked up earlier today! I’m afraid I have some… matters… to attend to!” Buné giggled, hanging up the phone and humming as she walked down the street, filled with flames and garbage.

───────── ∘°𖤐°∘ ─────────

Buné shortly arrived at the very hotel that was presented on the television back at the window, causing her to hum in delight. She skipped up to it, looking at how run down and almost sad the hotel looked. Buné grinned, knocking on the door. She waited a few moments before the girl on the TV opened it, her eyes widening. Charlie shut the door quickly before Buné could speak, causing Buné to let out a “Hm?” and tilt her head. She heard Charlie on the other side, talking to someone named Vaggie.

“Now Stellar Buné is here, Vaggie! What do we do?” Charlie asked, panic lacing her voice. Buné smiled to herself, honored that the princess knew her name. Another voice was heard in response, but Buné couldn’t make out what it said. Then another, and the quick opening of the door, cracking it slightly. Charlie answered once more.

Buné gave her a sweet smile, looking up at Charlie. She was shorter than her, although not by much. “Hello, princess! My name is Buné, although I think you are familiar with me through my marvelous circus shows!” She cheered, taking off her hat and giving Charlie a bow.

Charlie laughed awkwardly, giving a half-assed smile. “Yes, I do! What, uh, brings you here?” She asked, keeping the door cracked slightly.

Buné beamed at her response, already knowing exactly what to say. “I’d love to help you with your silly hotel! I’d say I’m quite good at this whole entertainment thing, and I could provide that to your guests!” She offered, giving her a bright smile. A voice could be heard in the back, one that sounded all too familiar.

Charlie sighed, opening the door completely. She kept a smile up though, presenting the hotel lobby to her. “Welcome to my Happy Hotel, Buné!” She encouraged, moving her hand to show the room.

A static pricked at the air, creating a sense of uneasiness. This caused Buné’s ears to twitch, looking around the lobby. Before she spotted the source, a familiar voice spoke up. “Oh, Buné, dear!” The voice said, Buné immediately connected the dots.

“Alastor?” Buné questioned before locating him, standing near the center of the room. Her eyes lit up and she ran towards him, hugging him with a giant smile on her face. “Oh my, it’s been so long! Seven years, yes? That’s far too long to disappear without saying anything! Why were you gone? And why was it for so long?” She began, Alastor hugging her back with a laugh. Buné pulled back, eyes narrowing at him, still holding his arms. “Most importantly, why didn’t you tell me? Such a boring seven years alone might I say! No one was able to commentate my circus quite like you could!” She frowned, her rabbit ears drooping at this.

Alastor’s eyes were wide with amusement as he laughed. Buné released her hold on him, backing up slightly. Alastor leaned down and gently patted her head. “Don’t you worry about anything of it! Maybe one day I’ll be able to inform you, but that day is not today.” He chuckled, standing up straight once more.

A feminine-looking spider demon was sitting on the couch next to a moth-like woman, their eyes darting between Alastor and Buné. The woman’s eyes were wide, almost as if her jaw was on the ground. On the other hand, the spider demon’s mouth was closed but was just as confused as everyone else. The spider demon spoke up after a few long seconds of awkward silence. “You two know each other?” He asked, pointing back and forth between the two demons.

Buné’s eyes lit up and she giggled. “Why, yes we do! Alastor and I go way back, even to our living days! His radio shows were always so amusing to tune in to.” She explained, putting her hands on her hips with pride. She nodded her head after finishing her explanation, looking over to Alastor as he began to speak.

Alastor looked down at Buné and gave her a wide smile, looking back to the two on the couch. “Such a charmer, Buné is. I announced for her dashing performances! She is quite an interesting woman, as well as the most outlandish death possible! I do remember reporting it, a tragic tale indeed.” He spun his microphone around and rested his hands atop it.

Buné looked away in embarrassment, sighing into her hand. “You really must stop mentioning that, Alastor! You know I’m not proud of it.” She shook her head and looked up at the other people in the room.

Alastor did the same, realizing they were rambling on about nonsense once more. “I do apologize! Back to business.” Alastor started, making his cane disappear into thin air. He hummed as he walked over to Charlie who was still awkwardly standing by a broken couch. He spread out his arms before leaning down to Charlie’s height. “So, where is your hotel staff?” He asked, a huge smile present on his face like always.

Charlie looked away and fiddled with her hands. “Uhhh… well,” She stammered, looking over to the moth woman. “Vaggie?” Charlie said shyly.

Vaggie gave a death glare towards Alastor, narrowing her eyes in suspicion and anger. She then flicked her eyes over towards Buné, who threw her hands up defensively and flashed a smile.

Alastor laughed as he adjusted his monocle, staring right back at Vaggie. “Oh, you’re going to need more than that.” He said, walking over to the spider demon who was sitting at the ‘welcome’ area. Alastor leaned down to the sitting demon, reaching out his black and red hand. “And what can you do, my effeminate fellow?” He asked, the typical sinister grin on his face.

The spider raised one eyebrow in curiosity, looking down at Alastor, below his belt. “I can suck your dick.” He smirked, responding with mischief in his voice.

Alastor froze, no telling what was going through his mind. A loud shatter noise was heard, creepy enough. He then laughed out a second later. “Ha, no!” Alastor shook his head and walked off, the spider demon smiling with pride in his act.

The spider demon laughed, huffing out. “Your loss.” He shrugged and leaned his head on his hand.

Alastor walked over to Buné, who was contently standing in the corner with a smile on her face. Buné glanced around the room, meeting Alastor’s eyes again. “This place is rather dull! I feel as though we need more staff and most of all, more lights! Add some sparkle in here.” She jested, a mischievous grin on her face. Buné then clapped her hands, pink sparkles coating new lights that appeared out of thin air. “Poof!” She giggled, walking around the room as she took in the new lighting.

Alastor nodded in approval, walking over to the fireplace. “I’m afraid only that just won’t do! I suppose I can cash in a few favors to liven things up.” He offered, snapping his fingers. The fireplace cleared itself of any dirt and a fire was started, an ash-covered critter being dropped into the fire. He walked over, leaned down, and picked up the entity by what was presumably a shirt. The creature quickly opened its eyes, looking around the room. Charlie, Vaggie, and who Buné learned was Angel Dust, were now surrounding the fireplace, observing with curiosity. Buné smiled once she realized who it was that he summoned. The ash then cleared itself off of the small woman with a funny sound, revealing a tiny and very cute little maid.

The radio demon leaned in closer to the crowd, still holding the woman. “This little darling is Niffty!” He then dropped Niffty, in which she landed on all fours.

Niffty stood up, introducing herself. “Hi, I’m Niffty!” She gave a little wave, looking around at everyone there. “It’s nice to meet you! It’s good to see you again, Buné, it’s been so long! It’s been a while since I’ve made any new friends.” She then looked confusedly at everyone, wagging her finger between everyone back and forth. “Why are you all women?” She frowned, picking up Charlie and looking underneath her.

Vaggie took this offensively and wielded her spear for whatever reason. Angel Dust raised his arms in surprise. Niffty continued, “I’m sorry, that’s rude. Ohhh, man! This place is filthy.” She began running around the lobby, grabbing bugs and other things. “It really needs a ladies’ touch. Which is weird because you’re all ladies, no offense.” She shrugged, grabbing a duster out of nowhere. “Oh my gosh, this is awful!” Niffty ran around the room, dusting and ridding the place of cobwebs. She let out a series of “nope”s, continuing her cleaning.

Buné laughed at Niffty’s tendencies, she thought it was so strange. “Oh Niffty, you are just the oddball I remember you as!” She smiled, looking over to the sound of another person appearing.

“Woah, the hell? What the fuck is this?” It was a cat-like creature, almost taking the appearance of a bat. He wore a top hat and overalls, with very big eyebrows. Buné quickly realized who it was and she rolled her eyes. Husk pointed to Alastor in annoyance. “You.”

Alastor was quick to retort. “Ah, Husker my good friend! Glad you could make it.” He cheered, placing his hand on Husk’s shoulder.

“Don’t you ‘Husker’ me, you son of a bitch. I was about to win the whole damn pot!” He growled, pointing to the stacks of cash that disappeared in front of him.

Alastor smiled, clearly getting on Husk’s nerves. “Good to see you too!” He quipped, leaning down to Husk.

Husk facepalmed, sitting down. “What the hell do you want with me this time?” He hissed.

Alastor put his arm around Husk’s neck. “My friend, I’m doing some charity work, so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services! I hope that’s okay?” Alastor asked, but Husk already knew the answer. It was rhetorical, it had to be okay.

Husk looked at Alastor with anger. “Are you shittin’ me?!” He growled with hatred.

Alastor gave a closed smile to Husk. He gave a hum, “No, I don’t think so!” A laugh track played in the back, Alastor letting go of Husk.

Husk pointed his finger at Alastor, his red wings spreading themselves. “You thought it would be some kind of big, fuckin’ riot just to pull me outta nowhere?! You think I’m some kind of fuckin’ clown?!” He yelled, shaking his fist with anger.

Alastor tidied up his coat, placing his hands behind his back. He blinked slowly, obviously hiding a laugh. “Maybe!” He replied, another laugh track playing in the back as he walked away.

Husk lowered his head and crossed his arms. “I ain’t doin’ your fuckin’ charity job.” He boomed.

Alastor appeared behind Husk, causing Husk to jump in surprise and he widened his eyes. “Well, I figured you would be the perfect face to man the front desk of this fine establishment!” He nodded, pointing his microphone to the front desk, which had alcohol in the back. “With your charming smile and welcoming energy, this job is made for you!” Alastor continued, walking over to the bar. “Don’t worry my friend, I can make this more welcoming, if you wish?” He held out both of his hands, making a bottle of cheap booze appear atop the bar, giving a smirk.

“What, you think you can buy me with a wink and some cheap booze?!” Husk accused, picking up the bottle of alcohol, and looking at it. “Well, you can!” He admitted, swiftly drinking the bottle. He moved to the bar, standing behind it.

Buné’s eye and ear twitched as she realized Husk too would be staying here. She ran over to Alastor, grabbing his coat, and pulling him to the side. “You are such splendid help, but did you have to bring… that cat here?” She asked, pointing to Husk.

Alastor gave her a grin, shrugging his shoulders. “I couldn’t think of a better face to be tending to the bar here! I do apologize, I know how much you dislike our feline friend.” He replied, looking as Angel Dust tackled Vaggie.

Buné sighed, shaking her head and facepalming. “I suppose you’re right, but that still doesn’t change the fact that he could become vicious any moment!” Her bunny ears drooped onto her head, letting out a sigh.

Alastor let out a laugh, grabbing her shoulder. “Oh, dear, you are quite silly sometimes! Even if he does attempt to attack poor you, I wouldn’t allow it! I still have him under contract, after all.” Alastor leaned down and smiled at her before returning to the crowd. Buné shrugged and followed him.

Angel Dust was already flirting with the new bartender, which was no shock to Buné. Charlie leaned onto the bar and ecstatically introduced the hotel to Husk. “Oh my gosh, welcome to the Happy Hotel! You are going to love it here!” She beamed with excitement, leaning over to Husk.

Husk took his booze off the corner and backed up a little. “I lost the ability to love years ago.” He said, taking another chug of the bottle.

Alastor approached Charlie and Husk. “So, what do you think?” He grinned.

Charlie ran up to him excitedly. “This is amazing!” She squealed, rubbing her cheeks with her hands.

Vaggie was to the right of Alastor, annoyed. “It’s… okay.” Was all she said.

Alastor pulled Charlie and Vaggie into a hug, laughing loudly. “This is going to be very entertaining!”

Buné let out a laugh as well, prancing over to the three of them. “Quite! Finally, the amuser gets amused for once!” She giggled.

Alastor nodded and raised his hand, shoving Vaggie out of the way. His outfit then turned into a tuxedo, a hat adorning the top of his head. He took Charlie by her hands and twirled her, beginning to dance with her. He then spun his hand above her and transformed her outfit and hair into one that was popular during the 1930s. He grinned and took Buné’s hand, transforming her outfit into her old flapper outfit that she wore occasionally on outings with her friends. She gave a smile of enjoyment, watching Alastor sing and transform the hotel and everyone else into something more lively. Alastor’s shadows appeared as well, taking Buné’s hand and offering her a dance.

Not too long after this began, it ended quickly. The door exploded and Niffty was hit by it, sending her flying. Buné gasped and looked at Niffty, everyone else staring at the door in shock. Everyone returned to their normal attire, peeking out of the hole in the wall. A giant machine was floating through the air, a serpent demon located inside of it. Alastor tilted his head which cracked creepily.

“Ha! Well, well, well. Look who it is harboring this Strymon freak! We meet yet again, Alastor.” The demon declared, reaching his hand out of his war machine.

Alastor tilted his head in confusion, looking at the demon. “Do I know you?” He asked, causing the serpent demon’s hair to fall.

“Oh, yes you do!” He hissed, backing into his machine. “-And this time, I have the element of surprise!” With that, a large gun made its way out of the giant war machine. Pink clouds filled the area as it presumably charged up, causing Alastor to snap his fingers. “I’m so evil!” He let out an ‘evil’ laugh, just as a hole formed underneath the machine.

Alastor’s tentacles appeared out of said hole, grabbing the machine and throwing the snake around inside of it. Buné looked up and let out a laugh as screams were heard, she thought they sounded goofy. Alastor continued his work and blew up the machine, his forehead glowing with an X on it. Buné stared at the machine as it disappeared, her mouth slightly agape. “Well, don’t you think that was a bit over kill , haha!” She awkwardly laughed, looking around at everyone else.

Alastor switched from terrifying to his normal demeanor in a second. “Well, I’m starved! Who wants some jambalaya?” He turned around and held his arms out, a wide smile on his face. “My mother once showed me a wonderful recipe for jambalaya!” He began walking back to the hotel, still talking about the recipe. “In fact, it nearly killed her! You could say the kick was right out of Hell!” Alastor laughed, not giving up on his jokes. “Oh, I’m on a roll! Yes, sir, this is the start of some real changes down here. The game is set. Now, stay tuned!” Alastor murmured, a lightning bolt striking down at the sign of the hotel, changing it from the Happy Hotel to the Hazbin Hotel.

Buné smiled as she walked back into the hotel with her new friends, excited to see what could happen with this strange group of sinners and the Princess of Hell. As she walked in, she shot a glare toward Husk, who didn’t pick up on it.

50 notes · View notes