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lemoncrushh · 5 months ago

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Ruin the Friendship

Summary: It's Ella's birthday, and her best friend Harry plans to tell her how he feels about her.

Warnings: None, just sweet, sugary fluff

Word Count: 5.2k+

A/N: Uni!Harry x OC, AU, friends to lovers one shot written in third person, originally from 2019. I think my first plan back then was to include some smut, but as I was writing, I decided it was not needed. I think you'll see why and agree. Also, Liam and Niall are in this one :).

Ella was his best friend. Some people would say Niall was Harry’s best mate, and while he considered that to be true for the most part, if anyone was to ask, he’d proudly declare that Ella took the title. They’d only known each other since the first year of uni, but in that time they’d grown very close, and if Harry was honest, there were things they shared that he didn’t share with the lads.

Not things like details about girls he fancied or the head he’d gotten that one time from Marla Lemons. He could only talk shit like that with his mates, and he reckoned Ella wouldn’t wanna hear about it anyway. But they could have deep conversations well into the night about nothing and anything, musing about life and death and what it all really meant. He’d known Niall for nearly a decade, and while he could chat him up about complete random shit, he wasn’t the type to talk about things like that.

Sometimes it was nice to have a friend to just chat about nothing with.

One thing he’d never been able to tell Ella, however, was that he secretly wanted to be more than friends. He’d never made a move, and other than holding her hand when she was scared at the haunted house or wiping her tears when she’d cried about an exam she’d failed, he’d barely touched her. Something had happened that first year at university that had put them in the friend zone, and he eventually accepted that was just how it was meant to be. At least for a while. But this last year had been different. Something had shifted, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Harry stood in the kitchen, his hand around a red cup filled with some sort of concoction that smelled entirely too sweet. He didn’t really want to get shit-faced tonight, that wasn’t his plan. Not that he really had a plan. But it was Ella’s birthday, and if he had anything to say about it, it would be her best one yet. The last three had been fun as far as he could recall, except for the time some girl Niall had been dating...Lena? Lorna?...had gotten so wasted she threw up on the rug. Ella, being the kind soul she was, insisted on cleaning up, holding her nose with a clothespin until Harry finally pulled her away, yelling at Niall that he should clean up his own girlfriend’s puke. Later that night, sat with Ella up on the roof, Harry had thought about confessing his feelings to her. But it just hadn’t felt like the right time, and given that he was still pretty drunk himself, he was afraid Ella would simply blame it on that and not take him seriously.

So the friendship continued.

“Hey mate, you gonna drink that or are you trying to read your future in it?”

Lifting his head, Harry saw his friend Liam enter the kitchen, walking up to the counter beside him and pouring himself a cup of the same pink liquid.

“What’s in this?” Harry asked.

“Hell if I know,” Liam shrugged before taking a large gulp. “Mmm, tastes like bubblegum.”

“Blech!” Harry sounded after taking his own sip, making a face of disgust. “Nah man, where’s the good stuff?”

“Right here, mate!” exclaimed Niall as he strutted into the kitchen with a case of beer in each hand. Two more lads followed him in, carrying the same. Leave it to Niall.

“Not what I meant,” muttered Harry, walking around them to the living room.

The front door opened then, and another handful of people entered, some he knew, some he didn’t. He recognized Vickie, Ella’s roommate among them and when she spotted Harry she smiled.

“Birthday girl’s on her way,” she announced, setting a bag on the counter. Harry noticed the clinking sound it made which made his ears perk up.

“Harry!” Liam called as Vickie pulled out the bottles of both brown and clear liquor. “I think this is what you were looking for!”

Turning back to the kitchen, Harry eyed the bottles and was about to make a decision when a commotion started behind him. It wasn’t a surprise party, but it seemed every girl in the house had run to the front door to greet Ella when she arrived. Harry stood back, his hands in his pockets as he watched her beautiful smile, the pink in her cheeks when her friends hugged her or wished her a happy birthday.

He contemplated stepping forward to give her his own wishes, but soon thought better of it, deciding he’d give her time with her girlfriends first. Instead he made himself a drink, a proper strong one. At least one, he told himself. He didn’t need to get hammered, but he’d need the liquid courage if this was to finally be the night he told her how he felt about her. While he was at it, he reckoned he’d make a drink for Ella as well. He knew what she liked.

“Happy Birthday Ella!” he heard Liam exclaim over the loud music.

Harry looked up from his drink to see that the lad had beat him to the punch as he offered Ella a red cup of what he could only assume was the disgusting pink shit. He chuckled when he saw her make a face and shake her head.

“Um, no thanks, darling,” she said. “I think I’ll see if Harry has something more to my liking at the bar.”

He felt a warmth ooze throughout his body at both the mention of his name and the fact that she called the simple kitchen island with a handful of liquor bottles a bar. He watched as she took a couple strides through the living room and met him with a smile.

“What’ve we got here, bartender?” she asked.

Harry raised a brow. “Oh am I bartender? No one told me.”

“I’m joking,” she giggled, placing a hand on his bicep. “But can you make me something? I am the birthday girl, after all.”

With a smirk, Harry handed her the drink he’d mixed. “Just so happens I already did.”

A wide smile spread across Ella’s face as she took the cup. “See, this is why we’re besties.”

Harry’s face fell, but he quickly tried to compose himself. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yeah. You bet.”

Besties. Right.

“Hey, Ells Bells!” they suddenly heard behind them. They both turned to see Niall rushing towards Ella, nearly knocking her drink out of her hand when he enveloped her in a hug.

Harry rolled his eyes. He hated Niall’s stupid nickname for her. He suspected Ella wasn’t too keen on it either, especially when Harry’d slipped up once and called her that himself. She’d told him it was Niall’s name and she’d rather just leave it at that.

“Hello, Niall,” she greeted graciously, kissing him on either cheek.

“Who’s up for a game?” he asked.

Harry grimaced, knowing what kind of game Niall had in mind. But if Ella wanted to play…

“No thanks,” she shook her head. “I think I’ll sit it out this year, love, if it’s all the same.”

Niall shrugged. “Suit yourself. ‘s your birthday.”

“Besides,” Ella added with a cheeky grin, “I don’t want to end up like dear Lorna.”

Harry covered his mouth with his hand, nearly spewing out its contents. When he swallowed, he let out a loud guffaw, causing Niall’s cheeks to redden.

“Eat shit, the both o’ ya,” Niall spat before grabbing another beer from the cooler.

When he’d joined the group in the living room, the majority of them cheering at the prospect of a drinking game, Ella turned to Harry, her face flushed from laughing.

“You’re not gonna play?” she inquired.

“Nah, I’d rather not.”

“Wow. Harry Styles is not interested in getting smashed at a party?” she mocked. “Is the sky falling? Did I miss something?”

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Just don’t feel like it tonight. I mean, I’m still drinking. Just...responsibly.”

“Uh huh. We’ll see how you are in an hour or two.”

“Oh we will?” he quirked a brow.

“Yeah. I’ll check in on you, but don’t expect me to hold your hair back when you’re retching in the toilet.”

He chuckled at their playful banter. He enjoyed taking the piss and teasing each other, even if Ella only thought of it as a friend thing. She didn’t need to know it gave him a boner sometimes.

“Styles, you’re not playing?” Liam called from the living room where a large group had gathered around the coffee table.

Harry simply held up his hands.

“It’s early yet,” Ella winked.

Early, indeed, Harry thought. Too early. He wanted this night to be over already, or at least get past the first part so he could possibly get a chance alone with her to give her his gift. He didn’t want her to open in front of everyone else. It was too personal, and if by chance she didn’t react to it the way he hoped, at least he’d only get his ego bruised a bit and not have to suffer a full embarrassment.

Vickie came up to Ella then, along with another girl who’s name Harry had forgotten. They chatted amongst themselves for a bit before Ella turned to Harry, her hand on his arm. Touch number two, he noted.

“Harry, we’ll be right back, Vickie wants to show me something.”

With a nod, Harry raised his now almost empty cup and drained the rest of his drink. He considered making a second, but reckoned he should pace himself if he didn’t want to hear Ella say ‘I told you so.’

He decided to wander into the living room and watch the others playing the drinking game. Sat on the couch, he laughed when Liam had to take a shot, then Ella’s friend Melissa had to take three in a row. Poor girl, Harry thought until she declared she could hold her own.

After a while, he got bored so he walked down the hall, wondering where Ella had gone. He couldn’t imagine there was anything in the house Vickie had wanted to show her. They’d probably gone outside or to her car. The music drifted down the hall as he made it to his room and sat on the bed. He was definitely not himself tonight. Normally he’d be the first one sat on the floor for a game, or at least by now he’d have a light buzz. He just wanted a clear head, he’d told himself. But it definitely wasn’t clear. All he could think about was her and what he was going to say, if he got the chance to say it.

Running his hands down his face, he took a deep breath and let it out. He stared at the floor for a good while, replaying in his mind the scenario he’d conjured up a couple years ago, edited and tweaked over time.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?”

He jumped when he heard her voice. Lifting his head, he saw her standing in the doorway, her gorgeous eyes wide with wonder.

“Hey,” he muttered softly. “Nothing, I’m just…”

Ella stepped into his room. She’d been in there several times, but this time as she sat on the bed, Harry felt himself tremble.

“Something wrong?” she asked. “Did one of those stupid prats out there give you a hard time? Because you know, that’s my job.”

She nudged Harry’s shoulder with her own, trying to lighten the mood. He laughed lightly under his breath, but said nothing.

“Hey. Harry. I’ve never seen you like this. What gives?”

She turned on the bed to face him, her legs criss crossed. Harry picked at his bottom lip. He wondered if this was it. If this was the moment he was supposed to take action. But how? Was he supposed to give her a long speech about how he’d pined for her for years, or was he supposed to just grab her and kiss her?

“This is probably a shitty thing to say,” Ella continued, “but I’m not sure I like this Harry. Not that you’re only fun when you’re drunk, I don’t mean that. But you’re so serious and quiet. It kinda scares me.”

“Sorry,” he said a little too quickly. “Don’t mean to scare you.”

“Something on your mind?” she tugged at his shirt. “You can tell me, you know. I’m your best friend.”

“I got something for you,” Harry finally said.

“Yeah?” Ella beamed. She bounced on the bed excitedly. “What did ya get me?”

“Um…”

“Ella!” the sound was deafening, coming from the living room. “Hey birthday girl! It’s time for cake and presents!”

“Oh!” she eyed Harry who merely shrugged. “Well, you can give me your present now.”

Harry shook his head. “I’ll wait. Til later. It’s…”

“Oh,” Ella mouthed again, her voice a whisper this time. “Okay.”

Ella rose from the bed, pulling Harry by the arm. They joined the party in the living room, the drinking game seemingly at a pause. The cake sat in the middle of the coffee table, pink roses and candles atop, Ella’s name in the center.

“Thank you so much,” Ella blushed, her hands by her chest. “I’m gonna cry.”

“You say that every year,” Niall quipped.

“Hush, you!” Ella poked at him.

Vickie lit the candles and a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ began. Though he sang along, Harry was mesmerized by how beautiful Ella looked in the candle light. His stomach was in knots now, and he knew he had to tell her.

Ella opened her gifts next, giving sincere thanks and hugs to each guest. When it was time to cut the cake, however, Melissa made it known that Harry hadn’t given her a gift.

“What’s with that, Harry?” she slurred, obviously drunk from the game. “You’re her best friend, where’s yours?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat until Ella spoke up.

“He’s saving it for later,” she winked at him.

Good god, how many times was she going to wink at him tonight? Had she done that before? He didn’t remember.

“Ooh,” voiced Melissa in a sarcastic tone. “Excuse me.”

Noticing Vickie could probably use some help, Harry rose from his chair and joined her in the kitchen where she was dividing slices of cake onto plates.

“Oh, thanks Harry,” she said, handing him two plates that were ready to be served.

“I should be doing this anyway,” he offered. “Seeing as I’m her best friend and all that.”

He hadn’t meant for his comment to sound sarcastic, but he certainly noticed it came out that way. When he turned the corner, however, he heard a snort from Vickie, followed by a “yeah, sure”.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, what was that sound for?”

“Go,” Vickie shooed at him. “Serve the cake.”

With a frown, Harry made for the living room where he handed Ella a slice of cake, making sure it had a rose on it, and gave the other to Melissa, despite the scowl on her face.

“What did you mean by ‘yeah, sure’?” Harry hounded Vickie when he returned.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Harry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You’re lying.”

“God, don’t be so sensitive,” she scoffed. Deciding Harry wasn’t moving fast enough, she brought more cake to the living room herself.

“Please tell me,” he urged when she came back to grab the last pieces. “Do you not think I’m her best friend?”

“Oh, certainly, Harry. You are.” Then she lowered her voice before completing her thought. “But you want to be more.”

Harry glared at her, his eyes wide. “What?”

“Oh c’mon, Harry! Everybody knows it.”

“Everybody?!”

Vickie giggled. “Don’t get so bent out of shape. Maybe I exaggerated. But Niall told me about your present.”

What the...too much was going on now, Harry’s mind was in a whirl.

“How does Niall know? I didn’t show him.”

“He found it in your room. Was looking for some shorts or something.”

“Jesus,” Harry mumbled with a sigh.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone else. I have no idea who Niall told, but I reckon it was just me.”

“What the fuck…” Harry dropped his head. It suddenly felt too heavy for his neck. His entire body felt drained, and he thought he might be sick.

“Hey,” Vickie said low, “if it’s any consolation...Ella’s never confided in me about you or anything...but if you were to make a move, I don’t think she’d reject you.”

Biting his lip, he lifted his head. He was afraid to ask, but at this point he had nothing to lose.

“How do you know?”

“Well, I don’t know. But she literally talks about you all the time. I notice how she looks at you. It’s possible it’s just a friend-like fondness because she really does love and adore you. But I swear they look like heart eyes to me.”

With another sigh, his shoulders dropped. He admitted he felt a little relieved. But he was still extremely nervous.

“Thanks, Vickie,” he said.

“Here,” she grinned, “have some cake.”

“Nah. I think I’ll make another drink.” Harry grabbed a bottle and a new cup, filling it with ice.

“Whatever works for you, darling.”

Vickie joined the group in the living room while Harry nursed his cocktail for a bit. He watched Ella with her other friends, her head falling back as she laughed. Taking her final bite of cake, she looked up and their eyes locked. She tilted her head in question before rising from the couch.

“Here we go again,” she smiled as she leant against the counter. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or not?”

“Not,” he managed a grin. “‘Cause nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you over here by yourself? Are you secretly getting drunk so I won’t notice?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. So...how about that present?”

“I told you, I’ll give it to you later.” he replied, hoping his tone was light and playful.

“You’re being mean,” she pouted, resting her chin in her hand.

Harry chuckled. “No, ‘m not!”

“Well, you’re being weird then.”

“Sorry,” he muttered before taking a drink. “I just...wanna give it to you with no one else around.”

“Ooh. I’m intrigued.”

Harry noticed how her bum stuck out and she wiggled it just slightly. It almost seemed like she was keeping time with the music playing, but he wasn’t sure. Whatever the reason, he felt his blood rush to his crotch and he had to take another gulp from his cup.

“Make me one of those?” she asked, her eyelashes fluttering.

Harry obliged, pouring the liquor over ice and adding soda. When he handed it to her and she took a sip, her eyes widened.

“Is this what you’re drinking?”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed.

“This is way stronger than the first one you made me,” Ella claimed.

“Well, you gotta start off slow.” This time it was his turn to wink.

“Bloody hell, Styles, maybe I am getting drunk tonight.”

Ella rarely called him by his last name unless she was scolding him. With her hand on his arm as she took another drink, he suddenly decided he liked it.

The moment was short-lived, however, when his reverie was interrupted by the noise of half the party joining them in the kitchen. Apparently it was refill time, and they all began to freshen their cups or grab beers. They all chatted for a bit, and before long the whole gang was singing a chorus of “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. Harry realized he was enjoying himself, and was remembering it was a party and started to loosen up.

“Feeling better?” Ella asked, her doe eyes smiling up at him as she placed another hand on his arm. How many times was that now? He’d lost count.

He grinned, looking down at his now empty cup.

“Sorry I’ve been…” he didn’t know how to complete the sentence.

“No worries, darling,” sang Ella. “I just like it best when you’re like this. Happy and smiling. You have a dynamite smile.”

Before Harry could respond, her hand dropped from his arm and he suddenly felt a chill.

“Going to the loo,” she whispered in his ear. “Make me another?”

Harry watched her walk away before he refilled both of their cups with ice and made the same drink as last time.

“So did you tell her yet?”

Harry lifted his gaze to see Melissa standing across from him, a cheeky grin spread across her face.

“Tell who what?” he asked.

“Ella,” she rolled her eyes. “That you’re in love with her.”

Harry’s jaw dropped just as Liam and his footie pal Derek gasped.

“Wait...whoa...what?”

Harry searched the faces in the kitchen before landing on Vickie’s who simply shrugged. Then he glared at Niall.

“Don’t look at me, mate,” he held up his hands.

“It’s my fault,” Melissa admitted. “I saw the letter you typed on your laptop.”

“Letter?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Oh my God, there’s a letter?” Niall brought his fist to his mouth.

Harry thought he might be sick right there on the kitchen tile. Rounding the island, Melissa looked at him.

“Honestly Harry, I thought everyone knew. It’s rather obvious, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t think,” conveyed Liam.

“I might’ve suspected,” said Derek.

“I didn’t really know,” added Niall with a shrug. “Until I saw the box in your wardrobe.”

“What box?” piped Liam.

“I only told Vickie about it, I swear,” Niall continued. “I was wondering if maybe there was already something going on and no one told me.”

“You didn’t think to just ask me?” Harry scoffed, his jaw set. “And what were you doing in my room anyway?”

“Bloody hell, Harry!” exclaimed Melissa when he stepped closer to Niall like he was going to clock him. “What’s the big deal? It’s not like she hasn’t been in love with you for years anyway!”

“What?”

All was silent then, except for Ariana Grande who sang from the speakers in the living room as everyone turned to see Ella stood by the kitchen, her face full of shock, bewilderment and disbelief.

“Ohh shit,” someone muttered low.

“What’s going on?” Ella asked, her eyes wide and her fists at her sides. She appeared to be breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. It was Harry’s instinct to pull her away from the crowd and hold her forever, but his feet seemed to be nailed to the ground.

The others in the kitchen quickly busied themselves, the beer and disgustingly sweet punch somehow suddenly the topic of conversation.

“Ella, the birthday girl!” cheered Liam. “What can I get you to drink, love?”

“Melissa?” Ella called, ignoring Liam’s attempt at distraction. “What did you just say?”

“Um...nothing um...important,” her friend stumbled. “I was just reminding Harry here what great friends you are and how it’s a wonder you’ve...never...become...more.”

Blinking, Ella looked from Melissa to Harry. He seemed to be in the same state of shock she was in, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down each time he swallowed.

“Ella…” he breathed, unable to spit out any other word.

“Um...guys…” offered Vickie, coming around the counter with her arms open. “Now might be a good time to open that present.”

She eyed Harry strongly, giving a slow nod of her head. Her hands on each of their backs, she ushered them towards the hallway and into Harry’s room. Without a word, she closed the door behind her, leaving Ella and Harry alone.

They stood in the center of the bedroom, staring at each other and waiting for the other to speak until Harry finally broke the silence.

“Is it true?”

A blush rose in Ella’s already pink cheeks as she bit her bottom lip and nodded. Harry wasted no time erasing the space between them, taking her face in his hands and planting a soft kiss on her mouth.

Startled at first, Ella froze, her hands in the air. Then she soon relaxed, letting her hands fall on Harry’s arms as she kissed him back.

“Ella…” he breathed again when he broke the kiss, his lips nearly still attached to hers. “I’ve...I’ve been in love with you for years too.”

“Since when?” Ella looked up at him with her big beautiful eyes.

“Since...I met you?”

“Liar,” she quipped, stepping back as she tugged on the hem of his shirt.

“Well…” Harry chuckled nervously. “Soon after...I reckon it was that day after the footie game when we were walking back and you asked if I was enjoying school so far.”

Ella glared at Harry, her brows raised. “First year? I don’t think I even remember that.”

“I do,” said Harry. “Very well. You had your hair back in a plait, but the sides were falling down. The sun was starting to set, and I just thought you were the sweetest thing I’d ever seen. I wanted to kiss you so bad.”

Ella hummed softly as she ran her hands up his chest.

“Kiss me again,” she pleaded. “Just like you wanted to then.”

Cupping her face again, Harry tilted his head and brought his mouth to hers. Ella felt the tingles right to her toes, a tiny squeak of a moan escaping her throat. That was music to Harry’s ears, and he eagerly slipped his tongue between her lips, meeting hers with a jolt of electricity. They kissed each other like they meant it, like it was everything they’d ever wanted. When Ella repeated her sound of pleasure, Harry lifted her by her bum and carried her to the bed.

“Your lips are so soft,” he declared, his body pressed against hers.

“Yours too.”

His hand on Ella’s waist, he lifted her shirt slightly until he touched skin. The connection was like fire, an explosion of all the senses. He began to kiss her neck then, feeling her pant beneath his lips, sending his blood rushing throughout his entire body.

“Oh my God, Harry,” Ella moaned. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked with a smirk. “Me too.”

“Really?

“Fuck yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because…” Ella hesitated. “I didn’t wanna ruin the friendship.”

“Me neither,” said Harry.

“So what do we do now?” Ella looked at him with equal parts desire and apprehension.

“Ruin the friendship.”

Ella giggled, causing Harry’s chest to tickle and his smile to widen.

“I guess...if both of us feel the same,” she remarked, “it’s not really ruining it, is it?”

“I suspect not.”

After a few more kisses, Harry rested his forehead against hers as he listened to both of their breathing.

“I should stop,” he groaned.

“No. Why?”

Lifting his head, Harry looked Ella in the eye. She was so beautiful, her pouty lips already swollen from his kisses, her gaze questioning. There were so many things he wanted to do to her, with her. But they’d only just confessed how they felt. Actually, they hadn’t really fully done that. Someone else had let the cat out of the bag.

“Um...let me...give you your present,” he said, sliding off the bed.

“Okay.”

Ella sat up, pushing her hair from her face as Harry rummaged through his wardrobe and pulled out a small box. Setting it on the bed, he cleared his throat.

“So um...there’s a letter that’s supposed to go with it. I was going to read it while you open the gift. It kind of explains it all. But...since you already know, I reckon it’s pointless.”

“No, I’d like to hear the letter,” Ella smiled sweetly.

“Right then,” Harry chuckled nervously while he pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket. Clearing his throat again, he began to read…

Dear Ella,

Four years ago, we met in Lit class. While I didn’t make the best marks, I felt as though I aced it because you were sat next to me. Your love for literature was infectious, and I always left class with a smile on my face. I also began to enjoy your company at football games. It was obvious to me that despite the fact that you weren’t a massive fan of the sport, you came along to cheer on your friends, and I thought that was just a kind thing to do. You’ve always had a compassionate heart and a kind soul, and I reckon that’s why I began to have deeper feelings for you.

As the years have gone by, I’ve tried my best to convince myself that we’re just meant to be friends. I consider you my best friend, and I cherish our friendship more than anything. Many times I’ve wanted to tell you how I really felt, but the timing was just off, or I was chicken shit. I worried that you didn’t think of me in any other way, and being just your friend was better than nothing at all.

I still feel that way, but tonight, on your birthday, I’m putting myself out there and taking that risk. You have my heart, Ella. I want you to be mine, both my friend and my lover. I want to kiss you better than you’ve ever been kissed. I want to hold you in my arms and tell you every day how in love with you I am. You deserve the moon and the stars, the heavens and the entire universe...and I want to be the one to give it all to you.

I pray that you’ll have me as more than a friend, and accept my heart as I hand it over to you.

Yours eternally,

Harry

Dropping the paper, Harry noticed Ella was in tears, her cheeks wet as she tried desperately to wipe them.

“That was the most beautiful letter,” she whispered.

Laying the letter on the bed, Harry sat down next to it and handed Ella the box.

“I hope you like it,” he said.

It was a simple white box, unwrapped but a pink bow adorned the top. When Ella lifted the lid, she gasped. Inside sat a silver charm bracelet containing six delicate charms. She fingered each one before looking up at Harry, waiting for his explanation.

“Here, may I?” he asked, lifting the bracelet from the box.

Ella nodded and Harry unlatched the clasp and wrapped it around her delicate wrist. Ella watched his mouth as he began to describe each charm.

“A book,” he said, touching the first one. “For your love of literature. A football, for all the games you went to.”

Ella smiled, recalling all the great memories she had of watching Harry and his team.

“Two hearts…” he added. “One for your big, kind heart. And one for mine which you now own.”

Without hesitation, Ella lifted her other hand to Harry’s cheek. He smiled back at her.

“And...the moon and the stars…” he finished. “Because you deserve them.”

“Harry…” Ella murmured softly, more tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

Dropping his hands to her waist, Harry pulled her closer.

“Say you feel the same, Ella,” he whispered. “Say you love me too.”

“I do,” she declared. “I so very much do.”

Hope you enjoyed!

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eiightysixbaby · 1 year ago

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I’m ready for fall Eddie. Eddie in warm cozy clothes, sweatshirts and flannels and sweaters that you buy for him because you think he’ll look good in them, beanies that flatten the hair at the top of his head but keep his ears from getting red with the cold. Eddie who loves taking you out to Lover’s Lake on chilly fall nights, cuddling up with you under blankets in the back of his van as rain hits the metal roof. Eddie agreeing to go to a pumpkin patch with you, picking out the perfect ones to carve and holding a cup of hot apple cider with gloved hands, holes cut out halfway up the fingers. Eddie helping you make your Halloween costumes, cutting fabric and stitching and sewing and gluing until they’re perfect. Eddie keeping you warm as he sits beside you at a bonfire at Steve’s house, roasting marshmallows for you and feeding them to you, swiping gooey white fluff from your lips with cold fingertips. Eddie carving pumpkins and setting them up outside of the trailer, lighting them up at night as he sits on the porch to smoke. Eddie who holds your hand through haunted houses to comfort you but ends up being the one who gets scared, pouting afterwards when you tease him. Eddie with flushed cheeks and a red nose, heavy boots crunching dried leaves on the sidewalk, tasting like hot chocolate and candy apples when he kisses you. Fall Eddie fall Eddie fall Eddie.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff

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soscarlett1twas · 2 months ago

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Caleana

↳ Earis and Zaros confess to eachother. ↳ 3k words / also available on ao3! ↳ Content warning for mentions of alcoholism and aphobia (?)

Serulla’s new dawn was not painted in hues of red, orange, or even pink; Instead banners of green unfurled, replacing their old midnight blue, and the kingdom’s crown rested on a new dynasty’s head. The Atha’lin family had won.

Zaros had won.

And you were left in the shadows of a fleeting night.

You could hear the whispers of those who passed you: How pathetic you were for lingering past your welcome. No matter tonight was the first official marker of Atha’lin rule. You were expected to be forsaken, gone before light of the new era hit you. In all honesty, you had expected that as well.

The Ilves earis had little intent on watching the parade of their mistakes. But you found freedoms in no longer being such, no longer the ‘Ilves earis.’ One of which was being able to more fragrantly disregard social conventions. So for one more night, you stayed.

Yet you clung to recesses of the atrium. They were celebrating renewal, but you couldn’t help but feel like they were praising the soon-to-be absence of you. A pit plagued your stomach.

It didn’t help that lime clung to your throat like a paste. It wasn’t an unfamiliar flavor, like the chocolate which also accompanied the western delegates, but it was strangely heavy. A film coated your mouth from the drink – it was unlike any lemonade you’d had before, similarly spiked or otherwise.

You turned your straw, clinking the glass against the cup.

It was strange to be pushed aside. Before, all attention gravitated towards you whether you liked it or not. Light had caught your jewelry into spun gold, a threaded trap for roaming eyes. You were sought and coveted. Single conversations could change social dynamics for months.

And now you were dust, a relic of the bygone. Serulla’s nobles changed their minds quickly, and the karmic weight of that punishment fell heavy. The Atha’lin’s suffered it. Now it was the Ilves’ turn.

Though, there was one benefit to the isolation: romance. Your hand no longer held some great diplomatic importance, and your once-potential suitors fell to the same disinterest of you that you once had for them.

Good riddance.

You took a swig of your drink, disregarding the straw. You still couldn’t tell if you liked it.

As if on cue, the music swelled. Still, nobody danced, idle chatter filling the space where shuffling footsteps might. Two women passed you, arms linked together. One caught a glimpse of you and sneered to her wife.

Maybe it was best to get some fresh air.

You turned away, taking long strides to one of the atrium's many exits. Your hand found a pillar and you curved around it, swinging you into a dimly lit hallway.

You did not need light to navigate. This was your home. For twenty-odd years, you roamed these palace hallways with confidence now unknown to you, a sense of belonging which you never expected to lose. Its towering architecture never frightened you. The ghosts of family members past never haunted you. You were the earis, and everything would be yours one day.

As a child, that ‘one day’ felt like it would never come. Even then you knew it never would, an intuitive sense always imploring that you weren’t meant for the royal life, not meant to be earis.

Your stroll slowed as you took a short stairwell up into an upper-level cloister which overlooked the sprawling gardens. Thick marble pillars held the roof, encrusted with gold and painted in seemingly a million hues. There were no windows – latticework filled the space between pillars, creating an array of shapes for moonlight to pool in across the floor.

You placed your half-drunken lemonade on the banister and walked towards one of the arches, leaning against its, rather thick, sill.

This was an older part of the palace. Early rulers from the Faysel house commissioned the wing, along with the expansive atrium below, to show off their riches. You supposed it worked, though came off as… outdated nearly six-hundred years later.

I suppose we’re both history now, you thought, running a hand along the stone.

What wasn’t old, and in fact had to be quite new, were the flowers. A flowerbed was situated snugly between the lattice and sill, seemingly never in use before today. Strange blooms perked up through the soil. They almost looked like birds.

You squinted to get a better view.

“Admiring the flying duck orchids,” a familiar voice asked. You turned.

Zaros Kymen Atha’lin stood paces away from you. He stood tall in his favored kameez, and if it weren’t for the time you spent together in the Trials, that smirk may have intimidated you. His blonde hair draped across his back with perfectly symmetrical strands pulled to the front. You had always been (quietly) jealous of his grooming – though tonight, your attentions were pulled to the diadem around his forehead. Lattice patterns danced across his skin as he moved to stand beside you, elbows resting on the sill. He used two fingers to prop up one of the flowers.

When right beside you, even in darkness, you could tell how much he was improving. His eyes held a spark they didn’t before, not when he was at the bottom of a bottle every night. Slowly but surely, he was waning off. Something akin to pride tightened your heart.

“They’re reliant on a fungus. It’s not native to Serulla, however. These were specially imported for the sake of,” his free hand waved, “all this. How special am I?”

You huffed. “Well of course, dear Eminence, you are very special.”

“Thank you, thank you. A shame, though. They’ll wither soon.” You glanced at him, his attentions fully on the plum bird. “They don’t belong here.”

“Some things don’t.”

He glanced over at you, painfully aware of your intentions to leave after tonight.

A moment passed in near-silence, the distant yet cheerful whistle of music lofting up to you. They must have started dancing.

“Why aren’t you down there?” You asked faintly.

“May I not say goodbye?”

“You may.”

Zaros shifted to face you, though you held your gaze on the duck orchids. The petals were almost velvety under your touch. “I wish I didn’t have too.”

“You must.” You sighed and dropped the flower, turning to him. “There’s no other choice. And quite frankly, its my own – I’ve long made peace with it.”

“But you made it out of necessity, didn’t you.” Something in Zaros’ gaze softened, turning almost intimate.

“That’s how we all make choices, don’t pretend like either of us have an abundance of free will. You didn’t join the Trials because you wanted to. Still, look how that ended up.” You didn’t mean for the last part to sound so bitter.

“No, I didn’t. And I prayed I would be given some other option.”

“Don’t we all.”

From your peripheral, you saw him smile.

You registered the texture of silk first. Zaros’ hand graced your jaw, ever-so-lightly, sending bumps along your arms. He didn’t even need to shift you. You looked back at him immediately.

“But I think I can give you one.”

“What are you saying, Zaros?”

He sounded breathless as he responded: “Rule with me.”

Your heartbeat stopped and quickened simultaneously, and something in you ran cold. The pit in your stomach seemed to curdle. Zaros long had ideals of a future you’d likely never witness, but this? This was talk of a madman.

Unwittingly, your cheeks doused in warmth.

“Zaros…” You began.

“Think of it,” his voice low and hopeful. “A solution for both of us. You’re able to stay in Serulla, and I’m spared of a life without you.” His touch snaked down to your wrist. His lips grazed your knuckles.

It did not dawn on you that this gesture was meant to be anything but horrific.

Zaros – an old rival, an older friend, your first tryst. Your only tryst. He enlightened you rarely with his words, though often with actions. And the monumental gift he had given you was clarity. Through your attempt at loving him did you realize it was impossible. You were not meant for romance.

And here he was, in all Zaros fashion, ready to break you back down.

He lifted his other hand to cup yours, which had begun to perspire profusely. “Stay, with me.”

“The politics, they’d never allow it—” You were not sure who ‘they’ were, but were willing to invoke anything to shoot this idea down.

“I’m the Eminence. I don’t think anyone has much sway over me,” he chuckled. His expression was dazed.

“What were the Trials for, then?” You muttered. “There can only be one.”

“Don’t you think this could ease us into a new era? Society isn’t going to adapt to Atha’lin rule so easily. Not after decades of rumors. A union of the old and new – Ilves and Atha’lin – could be just the solution.” He was close. You could feel his breath.

“Though, I admit, it is not the reason I ask,” he added playfully. “I’ve never chased the feeling of love. So of course, right when I do want something, it appears. Before I couldn’t imagine a life with you in it, not after our initial falling out. Now I can’t imagine one without you, where we both toil for Serulla, together. I admit, you were the one thing that made it bearable.”

There was a deep-set disturbance within you. It racked your entire body in a profound hollowness, as if you had no skeleton, no organs. You could tell him to back away. You could yell, as you did so often in the past. But this was different. This was a Zaros reborn in what he cited to be your love, not a schoolyard bully or political adversary. He could have nothing to do with you anymore.

But he was here, pouring his deepest confession into a request.

Your hand in marriage.

And you could think of no fate worse.

When you failed to respond, he went on. “I understand your hesitancy,” he murmured and knelt before you. “But earis, my dear earis, the lifetime we spent without each other was our darkest. I haven’t forgotten those late-night discussions.”

Sleep-deprived and bored of studying, the two of you had taken to revealing secrets in the library’s candlelight. Both of you uttered things never once said aloud. Admissions of alcoholism among them.

You also had done things never spoken of again.

The kiss flooded back to you – it was reckless, but as you watched Zaros that one evening, you felt your resolve slip. Maybe you weren’t so hopeless. Maybe romance could be in your future, ironically with the man who’d once convinced you otherwise.

But when your lips had met, it came rushing back to you. The revulsion, not with him, but the act, its implications…

That must have been what convinced Zaros to do this, you realized. You’d tricked him with your own fickle desire.

And your horror slipped into an intoxicating guilt.

“We did it once, do you remember? We could try again. It’s a familiar dance, we just need to follow the steps.”

“We were kids.” You broke on the last word.

Drawling realization dawned on Zaros’ expression as he understood this bashfulness was not a byproduct of flattery.

An eon stretched between you.

Eventually, “I’m sorry, Zaros, but no.” It was barely above a whisper.

When you mustered up the strength to look at him fully, the unravelment stunned you. Gone was the pristine, newly-crowned Eminence, and in his place was a heaving shadow of a man. His throat and chest bobbed to unsteady rhythms. His hair, fraying from their pinpoints.

Gone was the lovesick bleary-eyed king who dreamed again beyond his gardens and politics. You did not know who had replaced him, only that this mask of Zaros’ was one unique to this very moment – one of unadulterated heartbreak, so crushing you almost heard his paper heart crumble.

Now was your turn to take the lead.

“It was never you,” you said delicately, if only because your voice was hoarse enough. “If it were anyone, it would be you. But it’ll never be anyone.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“I don’t really either.” You exhaled, a mockery of laughter. “But I know it to be true.”

You took a steadying breath.

“It felt treasonous to admit that before, but I’m no longer expected to be the next link in my family. Even now, you call me ‘earis’ — it is all I’ve been designed to be. And what is a dynasty meant if it cannot be continued?”

You shook, grappling for the windowsill.

“That expectation, the need to marry was suffocating. I know you’ve felt it, even for someone who’s not only capable of experiencing it, but has. How do you think I felt, unable to? I thought I was nothing.”

‘Nothing’ was an apt word, but far from encompassing. It did not express the loneliness, of watching the world turn to synchronized heartbeats, your own just paces too slow. It did not express the fear of still be propagated up to suitors, your skin crawling in disgust at the idea of actually pursuing their offers. It did not express the guilt to your mother, but even you could barely articulate that.

“Being earis warped my perception of life in many ways. You were the first to call it out. But what you never saw was how I distorted countless emotions into what I thought was ‘love.’ You only suffered from it. I’m sorry, Zaros. I am. For what it’s worth, I thought I did love you. And you’re the only person who made me second guess myself. Because, in truth, I do love you.”

You gently took him by the shoulders, making you face each other fully.

The silence echoed. Static ringing in your ears died down, and you realized just how close you were to tears — hot and pitiful, welled up, ready to eternally shatter your attempt at civility.

You swallowed. For years you’ve lived with a lie in your heart, plastered to your expressions as you feigned flattery and blushes. What was one more conversation? You could hold it together.

But your voice came out pathetic, and you realized that with the denouncement of your title and life, one you swore you hated, your gift mimicry fled you as well. “Just… not in the way you want me to.”

Zaros scanned your face, brows pushed to an expectant furrow. You lowered your gaze.

“You are my closest friend. You alone understand me, understand the Trials, understand everything. I would not have told you any of this if it weren’t for my deep, abiding love for you — but it is not romantic.”

Your breath hitched.

“You are a brother to me. The world whispers about how the Atha’lins may have taken my first, but in truth, they gave me the only one I’ve ever known.“

Your hand relaxed on his sleeve, though the other looped down to grip his forearm.

“Just please,” your voice breaking, “don’t hate me again.”

And in some act of cosmic irony, you finally let him go.

A cool breeze wafted into the hallway. The open lattice chilled, night having fully set in. Even the moonlight seemed to sharpen as its pallor against the flooring turned to a silver. The world had come to a bleary fuzz.

It wasn’t until Zaros spoke that it resharpened.

“I’m nobodies replacement,” he said.

What?

“Mourn however you like, but don’t bring me into it. I never made you out to be my grandmother.”

“Zaros that’s not what I—“

“Don’t.” He raised a gloved hand. Lines stressed his face, and a quiver you’d never seen before attacked his bottom lip. He didn’t look at you.

You didn’t know what to say, how to rebuttal.

“You could’ve just said ‘no’.” His voice broke on the syllable. It took you a moment to process: Zaros Atha’lin, crying before you. “You don’t have to lie.”

You opened your mouth.

“But instead, you still insist on humiliating me – is that the only thing you know how to love?” He reared to look at you. Bitterness poisoned every word that dripped from his mouth. “You’ve lead me on for how many years!?”

“I didn’t know!” You practically screamed it, voice cracking as all restraint left you. “And I’m sorry, Zaros, I am – I never meant to hurt you.”

“But you did, that’s all you’re good for! Taking and taking and taking… some Eminence you would’ve been.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I can believe I,” he kept stuttering over his words, “I diluted myself into believing you would ever change. That you’d ever be worth my time.”

“Is this… are you fucking serious?” Your nails bit into your palms. “Was that all I was to you, some affair? Can you really not believe in us being friends again like you could me swooning for you?”

“I never thought of you as an affair! I wanted us to be together—”

“Well that’s what I want, too! I wanted my best friend back—”

“You want your brother back.” “No! I want you!”

Both of you panted, baring into one another. You realized you kept saying the wrong things. Each time you bordered on what could be a confession, a small spark lit in his eyes.

He was egging you on. If he couldn’t get it his way, he’d find another way for his sick satisfactions.

Leech bastard.

Just as you were about to retaliate once more, Zaros stiffened, as if reading your mind.

“You were right about once thing. There can only be one.” He sounded like he was puking the words up, unwanted but spilled nonetheless. His expression was far more violent. “And for Serulla’s sake, lets be glad it was me.”

He turned away, feet pounding against the floor.

When he reached the stairwell, you saw his figure pick up your cup left on the banister. You looked away before you could see him drink from it.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #zsakuva zaros #zaros atha’lin #aromantic!earis #divider by cafekitsune

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bluemirrorangel · 2 months ago

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Dead poets' society ship headcanons dates + first kisses

I hope you enjoy these, leave a ship or fandom suggestions and I’ll do headcanons for them if you want :)

Mitts:

The aquarium to hold starfish.

They go on walks together in town and try to find the coolest/strangest shop

Their first kiss was on the roof; it was just past midnight and they’d been stargazing because they couldn’t sleep and Meeks was halfway through their bedroom window when Pitts said his name to get his attention, he’d intended to kiss Meeks on the cheek but Meeks turned around too fast so they ended up kissing properly sort of, Pitts wasn’t angled right so he kissed the corner of his mouth and Meek’s glasses dig into his cheeks but they still look back on it fondly.

knarlie:

The arcade

Laser tag

Anything where they can compete against each other

Fun fairs and carnivals, they waste most of their money trying to win each other things.

go to haunted houses and try to freak each other out but end up scaring themselves.

I feel like their first kiss was Kat and Patricks from 10 Things I hate about you, the one at the paintball place.

Anderperry:

The library

They take turns picking out books that remind them of each other.

They spend a horrific amount of time at the cinema.

They took a road trip to the beach one summer; they were only there for a day and it rained the whole time but they managed to find pretty rocks that matched each other's eyes in the rock pool so it’s still one of Todd’s most treasured memories.

Started doing forehead and cheek kisses as a “joke” mainly in the morning or before bed.

Their first real kiss happens after Todd gets off the phone with his parents, they spent the entire call bragging about Jeffery and didn’t ask a single question about Todd even though they hadn’t seen him since he started. Todd was visibly hurt and on the verge of tears, he was spiralling saying that he felt like nothing and no one cared about him. Neil had held him while he cried and tried to tell him otherwise but Todd was single-minded.

He hadn’t meant to kiss him, not then but he needed Todd to understand, to get it. It was short and gentle more of a comfort than a kiss, they’d fallen asleep soon after that tangled in each other and completely at peace.

Chameron:

Late night study sessions in their dorm

Cameron’s up late studying for a test and Charlie’s wide awake playing the saxophone or bongos on his side of the room, he’s obviously trying to be annoying but Cameron has long since gotten used to Charlies 'shenanigans’ and honestly just appreciates the company.

Late night conversations; Cameron’s bone tired and trying to sleep but Charlie won’t let him, bombarding him with random ‘what if?’ questions and possibly fabricated ‘fun facts’ usually ending with Cameron ignoring him or Charlie falling asleep to Cameron’s hushed complaints.

Their first kiss was a dare or some other kind of game forfeit

It’s harsh and rushed, Charlie grabbing Cameron by the tie or the lapel of his blazer and crashing their mouths together to silence the other poet's accusations of him being a coward

It’s more teeth than lips and over in less than ten seconds.

Charlie makes a big show of wiping his mouth, triumph outweighing disgust and Cameron sits there completely frozen, face as red as his hair the surprised voices of the other poets drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears.

Cameron is different after that; less annoyed by Charlie's behaviour and more open to his late-night conversations, sharing his opinion more openly and even asking a few of his own.

And for the first time they fall asleep facing each other.

#anderperry #charlie dalton #dead poets society #gerard pitts #knox overstreet #mitts #neil perry #richard cameron #steven meeks #todd anderson #knarlie #chameron #charlie x cameron #charlie dalton x richard cameron #dps hcs #dps headcanons #dps fandom #dps boys #dead poets fandom

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saturna625 · 2 months ago

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I wanna think about storm chaser!reader and tf141????? (yes, I used to live in tornado valley. I know some of this is unrealistic but I'll make it real enough)

Like maybe Johnny, who watches these absolutely wild YouTubers who chase these massive storms ("Gaz, honestly, take a look at these fuckin' clouds! All spinny an' shit!") And maybe you're the weather predictor, who coaches from the passenger seat as the truck weaves through corn fields, unaware of tf141 within the comment section.

TF141, of course, meaning Twister Force 141, a bit of a nickname for their little weather research team.

Maybe they get so invested that Price pulls a couple strings, and gets satellite view, so the boys can watch both you and the weather live.

Maybe you get a little too close to the tornado, as the county sirens blare in the background, and your audio shorts out. Maybe the boys are on the edges of their seats, seeing you speed headfirst into a storm that is building quicker than your ten dollar weather app can process.

You're too deep in a quick growing storm. None of your tech is working, and you're strapping yourself into your seat, looking over at your best friend who's driving. You don't even know if the camera's still rolling. The wind howls outside, screams so loud you can't even hear yourself yell.

Maybe you hear a gruff voice through your staticky radio, as you see, well, what used to be a barn, crash down in front of you, before disappearing into the murk and dust.

"Throw it into reverse, you muppets!"

Your friend slams on his breaks, and kicks the truck into reverse. You fly backwards as the cameras on your dashboard blink red and green. You're driving blind, and the monster is only growing. A stop sign takes your side mirror clean off, and embeds itself into a tree.

Your friend cuts to the left, turning yall around, and throws it into forward as you build speed, trying to outrun it.

With dawning horror, the team puts together a shoddy storm projection. You won't outrun it.

You, however, have decided to ditch the harness. The haunting sound of a twister, groaning as it builds, lunching towards you. It pulls the roof off a house. A tree flies towards you, and your buddy swerves to avoid it, as you scramble into the back seat.

Soap is so used to watching amateurs outrun tiny squalls, little touchdowns of dust and air, but this thing was processing as E-4.

And you were no amateur.

You call to your buddy to cut left, and drive under the overpass. You're not stopping there. Everyone knows that overpasses are the worst place to be.

You think, somewhere in the dust and wind and debris, that you see a truck pulling a trailer of barrels, but it had overturned. You hoped it's owners were lucky enough to get somewhere safe.

It gets sucked into the storm, and disappears. The sky is swirling black above you, a nightmarish mixture of ink and debris. The truck skids on the pavement, your friend juts off road, as foreign voices coached you out of the storm.

But they were wrong. They're telling him to keep driving forward.

You see the wind shift, in the rolling, whipping grass. The pressure drops, and your ears pop. You stop your commentators explanation to gaze open-mouthed at the sky above you.

"There's.... There's gonna be another one!" You shout at your friend, who seems to pale at your words. "That's good! It'll take the pressure away from that mother over there–" you point. Rain pelts the windshield, but he can make out the shift in the clouds. "They'll fight it out and dissipate! We'll just- I can't fucking see- stop!" You shout, as a house crashes down directly in front of you, but it's too late.

The nose of the truck goes through where the roof had been, burying itself near the chimney. You fly forward and hit the seat in front of you. You think your head knocks against some camera equipment, and the wind howls again, before it all goes dark.

When you come to, you're able to hear the sirens again. The scratchy panic of the radio fills in the rest of the sound, different groups of chasers trying to figure out what the hell they're doing. You no longer hear that European group, though. Maybe you thought it up.

What you didn't know was that, ten miles away, hunkered in the safety of a low level parking garage, the boys cramped around the screen as they watch you pull yourself out of the car. In the unfocused lense, they can tell that you might bruise pretty rough. But in the background, they see the second twister come into view. It's half a mile off, battling out the Mother, as you called it, before suddenly, they both draw back up into the sky, dancing around one another, and then they're gone.

The tornado sirens go out shortly after that, and they hear rain, and thunder, and you– whooping and cheering, and scrambling to find an intact camera.

You thank the audience as your friend joins you at your side. He's probably going to quit after this, you can tell by the look on his face. He was never one for weather anyways.

But it didn't matter. You were usually the driver anyhow.

Simon looks at Price, who looks down at Soap, sketching out the projections, and Gaz, writing all the data down in his uber fancy composition notebook. The livestream ends.

And who knows, there's a ton of storm chasers in town this season. Maybe someone had some people to spare.

(pt2?)

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the-midnight-blooms · 5 months ago

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ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴇᴀʀ ᴜꜱ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader

AU: 1920s au (inspired by Chloe Gong’s These Violent Delights)

word count: 5.1k

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

masterlist

Trope: Lovers to Enemies

The white roses you gifted me, once laid at my feet. You begged I walk on them for every step I took on earth was a punishment against my holy beauty. They are now drowned within the red sea called hatred. I loved you once, your name plastered to me like skin on bone; your every touch thriving through my blood. Every fibre of my being pulsed to you, bowed to you, moved to the beating of your heart. They laughed at me, mocked me even, for being so infatuated with you- and I screamed and swore that you descended from above. That you were deserving of every part of me and now I am as much to you as meagre copper pennies to a rich man. A fool I was for falling for you, a fool I am for being in love with you.

The stars pulled over the surface of the night, blanketing over the scape of the city- the defined curvature of hanok roofs ascending towards the sky as if its goal was to pierce the clouds. The hood of her dark robe billowed in the wind, as she stealthily, she tiptoed across the skyline of houses and buildings of Seoul-rolling aimlessly through the night, haunting the city as she walked by. The night's breath hitched as she perched upon a rooftop, legs dangling over the precipice, staring into the soul of her target. Her fingers drummed against the sheath strapped to her waist, a bejewelled dagger obscured in plain sight. The mansion was large, golden-bricked walls stretching out at least a mile encasing an equally gigantic garden-the scent of freshly mawn grass lingering in the air. The lights in the home had penetrated from the small glass windows, the house itself silent. A few servants sauntered across the large hallways blowing out a few candles, a majority of the masters of the home absent. But the main man of the night, she needed was sprawled across his burgundy leather chair in his bedroom- a book resting on his laps but paying little attention to the literature.

“Do you still want to prove your loyalty to the clan?” Her father's words drifted out to her from the other end of the room. It was as if a steadfast cherry tree blew harshly into her face, at once attacked by the rushing of its petals hitting hardly against her, her soul magnetised by its beauty despite the coarseness of its intentions. As if she could reach her hands out to grab it anyway, so desperate to hold this delicate plant as it would break the thousand curses the universe bestowed upon her.

She would do just about anything to prove her loyalty again, it had already taken her father so long to forgive her for her sedition the first time around. Drawing out her dagger, her the tip of her finger danced along the rim of the knife- it had been so long since she had played the role of the Grim Reaper. Playing with one's life in her hands provoked a sense of glory within that had been dormant for so long. Her target's eyes drew out of the window, she was confident that she was well blended within the night, she challenged his suspecting stare; a smirk pulling at her lips when he shook as his head and turned away- as if to convince himself he was going mad.

But how madly in love had she once been for him? A man who she glorified. Held up on a pedestal. A man whom she loved like breathing. So innate and easy.

Jung Wooyoung. If only she could feel her heart beat to his name again. If only she did not want to kill him for every memory of him that infiltrated her head. The memory of his name falling from her lips coming back to her like the moon did every time the sun dipped beneath the horizon.

On a night where their stars aligned so perfectly, esteemed patrons meandered into the large Keun home. The ballroom was bustling with activity, filled with guests in every nook and cranny. Waiters flooded into the room with tall glasses of champagne and appetisers, the fancy dresses, a cacophony of sounds emptied into the heavy atmosphere.

The distant melody of sombre ballroom tunes echoed within her household as her father entertained corrupt politicians and business men. She had managed to excuse herself from the dinner party that the Keun family held once a year to flaunt their wealth that manifested from the massacre of innocent civilians and moral decay. Though she disagreed with her father’s despotism over the city, at the end of the day she was powerless and succumbed to being his personal mercenary and political tool. Retreating to her balcony, a breath of relief fulfilled her as the cool wind of the night waltzed upon on the surface of her skin. With eyes glazing across the scape of the village, she noticed a figure sat upon the rooftops gazing in her direction.

Wooyoung had been truanting the hanok roofs on that one night, fuelled by nothing but sheer boredom when he stumbled across the territory that he was prohibited against ever entering. Despite this, there was something about the air in Keun territory that tugged at him, perhaps it was the adrenaline junkie within him instilling a sense of euphoria when his life was in danger. It will kill you one day, his mother always nagged but he couldn’t care less. There was nothing or no one to live for. That was until her met her. An angel, as so to speak. Looking out into the city- face etched with a pondering look crossed with exhaustion. Her hair pulled back by a glimmering silver clip, loose strands of hair falling over her shoulders. There was something about her that sparked an interest, an interest transcending further than her beauty. Her stature was familiar to him, as if he had seen that same figure blending into the stars-slipping in and out of the same nightclubs and brothels where astute men who led the country revelled in. Where his father had told him to raise his blade against the men threatening the Jung aristocracy, this enigmatic shadow had gotten there first. He had tried his hardest to follow this mercenary and uncover their identity- but whoever they were, they were clearly sharper leaving no trail of footsteps behind for him to follow. One night, he saw a slight shape to their physique and it was smaller than a man's at that. He found himself staring at a potential suspect, but a resident of the Keun home-an assassin? In fact, she could very well be Mr Keun's daughter. Wooyoung had heard that both families had birthed the heirs to their thrones at the same time and she looked as old as him.

Their eyes met across the night. He waved and she waved back- waving to nothing more than a shadow in a void carved from the depths of her insanity. Or so she thought. For this madman was so allured by her, he needed to see in all her glory. As if he was too a beacon of a dying star, his body drifted towards her- scaling from rooftop to rooftop, then over the garden wall. Her hand drew towards her mouth, she wasn’t hallucinating at all. Who was this man?

Climbing up the walls, his hands finally gripped onto her balcony railing, stumbling backwards. A contented smile settled on his face, so mesmerised by her beauty. Words struggled to leave her lips, he chased as her a child did to a butterfly. She sunk in his appearance, following the curved structure of his nose, fox-like eyes that bored into her own. He was beautiful, there was no denying that.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

“I thought maybe I had died and reached heaven.” Dipping her head, she scoffed. He made his way half way across the village, just to flirt? What was he doing on the rooftops to begin with? Scouting for other assassins targeting her family? Or was he one of them? Cautiously, her hands slowly drew towards the knife strapped to her thigh. “Didn’t know Mr Keun gave birth to a beautiful daughter.”

“Goodness, are you one of my father’s men? Shouldn’t you be patrolling the streets not the rooftops?” She interrogated. There was nothing dangerous about the sky itself, everybody knew the roofs were too unstable and slippery to be walking on. However, this man seemed to defy gravity-the same way she did- when he moved along them. His unfamiliarity struck her hard, she knew her father’s men inside out, wearing the guise of an obedient daughter by day and assailant by night. He grimaced, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the balcony.

“Far from it my dear, I’m your biggest enemy.” With furrowed eyebrows she stared back at him. Biggest enemy? “I’m Jung Wooyoung.” He clarified. The name itself was a taboo in her own home.

"What are doing here?" the softness in her tone had been substituted with a coldness that gave him a slight discomfort. Still, his eyes wandered over to her silver clip that glinted in the night.

"I was looking for the Grim Reaper. I seemed to have found him, or her-rather."

"That's rather a rude thing to say a lady, no?" Perking her head up, Wooyoung smirked-the distance between them gradually closing.

"Depends on perspective."

"So, what's your perspective Jung?" She challenged. Her father's instructions hauled her. 'You are not, and I mean not, allowed to use your knife under any circumstances unless you are covered by a mask. No man should know you are my greatest weapon.'

"That there's a knife strapped to your right thigh." Sneakily his hand hovered above her sheath. His warm breath tickling her face. When did this he get close to her? Did she not hide it well? Her heart pounded as he moved closer to her ear. "Did you not think I'd notice, my precious?" Feeling the weight of his hand dawn upon her thigh, presumably to grab the knife; she grabbed for it before he could blink-pushing his body against the metal balcony. Knife fixed tightly against his throat.

"Why are you here, Jung?" Her words careful and instructive. She had disobeyed her father's orders but it was better than Jung having the upper hand.

"You can't kill me," he snickered. Her knife waltzed over his Adam's apple in a threatening manner. "Ok maybe you can. I really only ever wanted to know who was stealing my jobs. Didn't think it was a gorgeous woman." Of course it had to be that the first beautiful man she met had to be a Jung. The antagonists of her father's story. The Jung's and the Keun's had been old aged rivals for as long as time existed. Rivers of blood drowned the streets in the midst of their rage and envy. From birth both families brought up willing to bequeath god's greatest curse on each other. She had not even as so much seen a face of a Jung, but she recalled her grandma's folk memory of Jung men inhabiting such intoxicating beauty that made one want to abandon all their morals and venerate them under the emblem of desire. She understood it all now, and for years to come to she'd understand it a lot better than that moment they stood beneath the stars gazing into each other before she took back her rationality from the hands of ardour- and shooed him with the flick of her wrist.

“Leave before you get killed. If as so much as a word about me leaves your mouth, I won't hesitate to kill you." To tell the truth, Wooyoung was right to some extent. She couldn't kill him- if she did her family would be the first of people the Jung's would point to and chaos would ensue. The only problem that lied now was he knew who she really was.

"Until next time, my angel."

"There will be no next time." Rolling her eyes, her arms crossed over chest and huffed. As he climbed over her balcony iron grip on the railing as a descended down. Leaning over, she watched him as he climbed back up, cheekily placing a peck on her cheek.

"I prefer you with your hair down." His hand reached around her hair, pulling at the expensive silver clip. Hastily, he climbed down the building again, covertly jumping down; disappearing into the night.

Damn you, Jung.

Later that week, she sauntered down the cobbled roads- woven basket in hand filled with the seasonal fruits that her mother had sent her to collect from Monday’s market. The vendors being close family friends always provided the freshest fruit and a suitable price at that, despite the Keun’s family renown wealthy background. Nevertheless the farmer’s had the protection of the Keun clan, a vow that had never gone unbroken in the two decades since it had been established. A soft hum filled the air as a recognition of a melody she had acquainted her ears to drilled in her head. A figure walked synchronously with her- neck craning only for a scowl to be complacent on her face.

“What are you doing here, Wooyoung? If anyone catches you with me, you’ll be as good as dead.”

“So then I’ll see you tonight, same time, same place as before my precious.” Her steps had faltered, sending her family’s enemy a menacing glare.

“Listen, stay on your turf and we’ll stay on ours. Like it always has been. What do you want, Jung?" Wooyoung’s hand slipped into the inside of his jacket pocket. In his hands held her expensive silver hair clip she had spent the whole week mourning the loss of-a devilish smirk playing on his lips.

“Give it back!” She hissed, reaching out for it, but Wooyoung drew his arm back extending it further away from her.

“Now now, my angel. You can have it back tonight.” He softly whispered in her ear, placing a yet another devious sweet kiss below her ear lobe. The connecting of his lips against her skin was so soft, she could just melt into his touch, goodness it felt like a sin to be so allured by his charms. That night, Wooyoung came in again- perched on her balcony patiently awaiting for her to open the doors. He handed back her silver clip as promised. His hands drifted to her hair, tugging at the white ribbon that held it together, falling over her shoulders in loose waves. Sliding his fingers over her soft locks he tucked a strand behind her ear. The nerve of that man, where did he summon the courage from?

“I told you I liked your hair down.”

“I’m supposed to listen to your every wish now? Leave Wooyoung, and don't come back." She snapped, Wooyoung chuckled, as if unfazed by her indifference to his intimate actions.

“I will once I get my thank you kiss.” Rolling her eyes, she gently pushed the man. Walking past him to place her jewellery box in her wardrobe.

“Can I have my ribbon back?” she questioned, shutting the door to her wardrobe, but remaining in front of it as to keep some distance between them.

“I think I’ll keep it. Then that way I can come back to you every night.”

“So you’ll steal something every time you’re here?”

“Yes, as long as I can to see your pretty face over and over again.”

“Wooyoung.” Her tone firm, meeting with him was already too risky. Falling in love was practically begging for a death sentence.

“Please. Just a chance. One.” He begged, almost getting on his knees. Her mind wrought with conflict, the opposing forces gnawing at her brain. One side was utmost obedience to the Keun name and her father. The other was the desire to love and be loved. To know what it felt like to hold someone, for a life as an assailant deprived her of that. She just wanted to know what real love felt like, was that so sinful of her?

And she had felt it all in the following years her and Wooyoung spent under the cover of the night. Soon, past midnight when she was so sure that her family was asleep- she snuck out of her own home and ventured into the streets of their city into his restricted abode - exploring the large hallways of the desolate Jung estate. One night, a slow classical tune meandered into his room, his arm so carefully ensnared around her waist. Head on his chest, they swayed side to side the stars gleaming down at them blinking in their wake. It was then when he proposed the idea of marriage; her blood ran cold, dreading the day he would ask her.

“We can propose it as a form of alliance to our parents, a truce.” He suggested, prying. Insisting like he was asking for opium. For their love was like a drug he could not get enough of.

“So many years our family have been wrought in this conflict, centuries even. Do you even think they’ll agree?”

“Aren’t you tired of this age old rivalry? I am, I am so sick of it. I don’t want to be running this city, I just want to grow old with you.” Their heads leant together, she breathed in his scent, not knowing it was going to be the last time she was ever going to ever feel this emotion again.

Unbeknownst to them both, and despite their esteemed positions within their clans, the tension between the Keun’s and Jung’s seemed to have strained significantly within the past few months. Their targets stopped being fraudulent associates to important members of the opposing gang, to which both lovers felt limbs staggering when they picked up their weapons. A member of the Keun clan was murdered, thus a life was taken from the Jung clan. An eye for an eye, hand for hand, soul for soul. Bloodthirsty corporals of the Keun’s had once again inundated the streets, their insatiable appetite for violence sewing fear into the citizens of Seoul. Conditions were worsening and once the couple had realised, their meetings had significantly minimised- both heirs had become bound to their empty manors.

“Curse you, and your whole family.” A screech erupted through the walls of the Keun home, her attention snapping away from her cousin-Ki- who was sat in the parlour discussing the details of her engagement. The older woman had finally settled down, after years of defying against marriage, claiming to have her heart set on one man. In the end he never proposed to her. Pressure from Ki's family subdued to accept a proposal from a young, wealthy business owner.

Out of curiosity, she neared the window onlooking the vast garden to find a familiar figure on his knees. Blood dripping viciously from his face, his agonising grunts were muted by the thick walls. Her father’s soldiers continued to attack him-fist connecting with his face with such a brutal force. A breath hitched in her throat as soon as the soldier moved out of the way, the man’s face clear as day through the glass. She launched out of the room, sprinting out to her garden towards the scene. In a flash, before the man could raise his hands again- she flung her body at Wooyoung, encasing him in her arms.

“Miss Keun-,” the guard's voice was interrupted by her father’s voice screaming her name over the lawn, the abrasive dissonance jarring in her ears as she felt his presence eventually looming over her.

“Get away from him.” He instructed through gritted teeth. Stubbornly, she shook her head no as tears streamed down her cheeks, wiping her sleeve across her lover’s face blood staining her silk dress.

“What are you doing here, Wooyoung?” She choked out. A guttural cough escaped his throat, blood spluttering out like a broken engine, lungs screaming for air feeling the burn of a thousand hot knives piercing his skin. Resting his head against her collarbone, he wheezed out of exhaustion her palm gently rubbing up and down his back.

Her father jerked her away from him, the warmth of Wooyoung's body dissipating from her as her skin fulfilled with goosebumps. Stumbling towards her house, she looked back searching for Wooyoung who had collapsed to the ground in the absence of her hold.

“Bring him to my office.” Mr Keun roared. Two soldiers obliged, immediately lifting Wooyoung up to drag him into his enemy’s estate. The door to the office, flung open the heat, which would have once soothed her skin, burned her alive. Her cousin, hot on her heels, entered the study with them encasing her from her father's wrath. Nothing could stop the hatred Mr Keun held for his daughter, the same girl who he raised betrayed their age old conflict. This was not supposed to happen. None of it. Not their relationship being exposed like this. Not Wooyoung being beaten bloody at the hands of her father and certainly not what was going to happen next.

The wooden door blew open again, her lover being thrown into the room. A gasp escaped her lips, she treaded forward as if to reach out to his loving embrace again but the simultaneous tug from her cousin and Wooyoung’s hard stare repelled her away.

“First of all, I’d like to apologise Wooyoung. I know you didn’t kill Mr Seo." Good Lord Mr Seo is dead? Her father's right-hand man? Perhaps in light of her relationship with Wooyoung she had become completely blind to the politics. "My men will pay, and I will compensate for any damages.” Her father’s perception of the word 'compensate' was particularly vague and held varied meaning. Compensate by paying the hospital bill? Compensate by taking a life? Compensate by having Wooyoung choose a member of a Keun clan to beat to death?

“I’ll take no compensation now, Keun, but I will one day. You’re in my debt.” Wooyoung declared, holding his head high. Her father nodded in agreement, drawing away from his desk-stalking towards his daughter. Raising his hands, he struck a blow against her flesh; the sting vibrated under the bubbling of her blood. A yelp escaped from her, eyes meeting Wooyoung’s who had barely flinched at the sight. Mr Keun bunched up her hair, wrenching at it violently.

“Secondly, what affiliation do you have with my daughter?” A silence held within the room. The pain of her father’s abuse engraved on her skin, acuminating at her but she could not help but to think what Wooyoung was going to say. Her eyes held desperation. Free from this torment, please. Give me the life you know I've always wanted.

“Your daughter threw herself at me like every other whore in this city. And who am I to disagree a beautiful face, after all I did not know who she was.” She could not help the tears that slid down her cheeks. A whore. After all those years of loving him, laying her heart at his feet, venerating him- she was just a whore. It was her fault. She should have known that at the end of the day, he was a Jung and she was a Keun. It would never work, their relationship was doomed to fail from the start.

“I would say a little more than a whore don’t you think? It seems you were quite close.”

“What use would I be to her, if my body was too damaged to keep her warm at night?” Profusely, she shook her head as her father stared down at her in disbelief.

"Wooyoung," she sobbed, "Tell them the truth." Oh how disappointed was her father in her now? Had she not been taught to obscure her emotions? Yet here she was, sobbing her heart out-begging for her lover to take back all that he had said. To renunciate their titles together, and live their peaceful life together in a cottage far by the sea and a big family like they had always wanted.

"Remember that you owe me now." Wooyoung turned, reaching for the door handle, exiting the room. Escaping from her father's hold, she rushed after him.

“Fuck you, Jung Wooyoung!" Tears rushed to the forefront of Wooyoung’s eyes, she grabbed his shirt collar-his body oscillating back and forth as she threw all the swears she knew pounding her fists against his unwavering stature. Sinking to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. He brushed her aside, ambling down the hallway with a blurred vision. "Come back, tell them how much you love me." She whispered in her palms.

“Take her to her room.” Mr Keun ordered to her Ki, who bowed to his command urging her cousin to get up from the floor. Few of the servants who had stopped to watch the scene unfold, hastily scurried back to their duties over their master's threatening gaze.

Confined to the four walls of her bedroom, her body sunk between the cotton pillows clouded by the softness welcoming her skin. A weariness tugged at her, Ki stroking her hair.

"How could he do that to me? He said, he loved me." Ki cooed at her cousin, slipping into the covers-holding the younger girl's body as close as she could.

"Tell me everything." Ki encouraged, listening closely and drinking in every word her cousin proclaimed from how they met, their nightly adventures sneaking out of their homes, to Wooyoung asking for her hand in marriage. "He did it to save his own skin, my love. Think about it-he established the debt your father has to him. Had he said he wanted to marry you, Uncle would have murdered him in cold blood right there and then. That would have been all the more reason for a war to break out between our families. He had the upper hand, he played the game and won." Then all she had been to Jung Wooyoung was a pawn to leverage an upper hand against her father. To elevate his position, to make himself more powerful. To ultimately be victorious in this age-old conflict.

Over the years it had taken her time to estrange herself from him, but it proved too difficult since the day he alienated himself from their love, taking the remnants of her soul with him. Regardless, she looked out for the rumours about him, clasping onto every little detail as if she was a beggar seeking morsel. Trespassing the skylines, watching him, yearning for him until all of the adoration transgressed into the same hatred that was embedded within both families.

“What I am about to ask of you, you may place all the heavens and hells curses on me.” Mr Keun declared one evening, as he called his daughter back to his office. He stopped, taking the time to survey his daughter’s features. To see if there was any reminiscence of rebellion or betrayal that still laid within her. “I want you to kill Jung Wooyoung.” The nights breath hitched in its from, the stars still as the words suspended in the thick, tense air. It was almost as if, Keun had penetrated his hand through her body, wrapped his hand around her heart, squeezing the thing as tight as he could for she felt a foreign sense of pain looming within her.

“Won’t that start a war? That could endanger us, we’d be the first people they would point at. Did you pay off your debt?” She rambled, Keun held out his hand-as if it would silence her internal conflict.

“You don’t worry about that. Put your blade through his heart, don’t make it quick. Let him suffer, it’ll make it all the more enjoyable.” He spoke sadistically, the wicked grin on his face terrifying her.

So here she sat, opposite his bedroom, swinging closer to his balcony. Slipping through the doors, her figure remained by the curtains eyeing as Wooyoung blew out at his candles-abandoning his book by the chair. Crawling into his bed, as soon as his head hit the pillow she carefully made her appearance into the room.

"You've never been able to sneak up on me, Miss Keun. What makes you think you can do it now?" He sat up in his bed, a slight look of annoyance resting across his features.

"Maybe it’s the fact that you're completely unarmed and practically asking for it. You could have at least gone to bed with a knife, would’ve made it a little fun.”

“I think it’s fun enough that the woman that I love has come to kill me.” Before Wooyoung knew it, the knife was at his throat against again. The same way it had been when he first met her, though the look in her eyes a million times more crazed than it had been to begin with.

“You don’t get to say that you love me, Jung. After all I was only just your whore.” She spat through gritted teeth. “How would you like to die? Heart or throat?” They said death was predetermined, mapped out for you the second you were born. Here she was, defying the rules of mortality by giving him a choice. As if he had given her a choice when he killed her in her own home, many months ago.

“To die by your hands would be a blessing.” She scoffed, removing her knife from his throat, straddling him so he could not move. Not that he would be able to escape her even if he ran- she was always faster than him.

She remembered the time where she had stolen his beloved dagger, dashing through these very hallways, Wooyoung panting up the steps she raced on hypnotised by her graceful movements. She ran so fast it was almost as if her feet barely touched the floor. An angel floating in the clouds of heaven. How and when did she become anything less to him?

“You didn’t love me, Wooyoung. I was nothing but a pawn to you.” She breathed out, tears rushing to the brim of her eyes. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. He hurt me. “None of it was real, and so if your intention was to hurt me- you won.” The tear rolling down Wooyoung’s cheek charged a sense of resentment. How dare he cry when she was the one in pain?

“I did what I had to do. I may have been your lover, but before that I am the heir to the Jung clan.” For the last time, his hand drew towards her cheek- pressing his lips on her forehead. He smiled, those dimpled cheeks prodding at her morality.

He was denied his next breath when she mercilessly thrusted her dagger into his abdomen. Valves ripping as the blood bursted from its banks, gushing out of his wound like a waterfall. Her gloved hand slapped over his mouth, his muffled screams striking a chord.

“And before being your lover, I am the heir to the Keun clan.” Wooyoung eyes began to droop, her body trembling as his face paled. Kissing away his tears, their heads leaned together in the finality of his receding breaths. “I love you Wooyoung, but not so much that I won’t make you suffer for the pain you gave me.”

Slumping down onto the bed next to him, she cradled Wooyoung’s convulsing body in her arms, his cries echoing into her chest- tears soaking her cloak. His final breath hitched, into the night his last look was her face. Then his last thought was that when his soul awakened, he wanted nothing more than to see her face again- whether it be to plunge a knife through her own heart or live their life by the sea feeling the rushing of the waves lapping against the sand. Their children rushing around chasing each other as they watched. Hand in hand, arm in arm. After all, it was his love that teared them apart.

•••

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘keun’ meaning root

A/N: FIRST POST-FINALS UPDATE!!!! I can finally finish the angst series now 😍 I was supposed to release Mingi’s first but never let them know your next move I guess? I don’t know how to feel about this one, might be a bit crap and may update in the future. Anyways, hope you guys have been well <33

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

#ateez #kpop #ateez angst #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung #ateez fanfiction #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung x you #historical au #lovers to enemies

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ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

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There’s something almost comical about the fact that Ghost lives in a classic horror movie house, Soap thinks.

When Soap is invited to join Ghost on leave at his place, Soap doesn’t hesitate to say yes. It’s a bit embarrassing, looking back, the enthusiasm with which he accepted the offer—but seeing now as Ghost drives up the obnoxiously long gravel driveway to his home, Soap is wondering if this is where he gets murdered.

Like Soap had immediately thought—the house is straight out of a thriller. Deep red brick walls covered in sprawling ivy, windows with chipped white trim and a black roof that needed to be retiled, even a rusted retro bike leaning against the side of the house—it screams I think this will be good for us just days before yet another family is brutally murdered by some evil demon within the home’s confines.

All that’s missing, as Ghost unlocks the front door with a calm familiarity, is the lightning strikes in the background while the door creaks open into a dark hallway.

At the very least, when Ghost flicks on the light, the home seems a little less in disrepair. A little less haunted, if only coated in a layer of dust since the last time he’d been out here.

Soap has to keep himself from gawking at the house’s interior and its vintage decor. It’s very not-Ghost, yet at the same time it very much is.

“Thought the whole dead-man-skeleton-motif persona was just a work thing,” Soap remarks, closing the groaning front door behind him. His other hand keeps a tight grip on the handles of his duffel.

“It is,” Ghost says, perfectly casual. “Why?”

Soap blinks. He shuffles awkwardly on his feet under Ghost’s gaze. “Nothing, I just… you really live here?”

Ghost frowns at him, wonderfully, miserably maskless, and folds defensive arms over his chest. “Yes. Is that a problem, sergeant?”

Soap is quick to shake his head. He has to remind himself that he agreed to be here, and should be grateful for the opportunity even if he’s ninety percent certain he is not making it out of this leave alive.

It doesn’t help that something suddenly thuds upstairs.

“No, it’s no’ a problem at all, just—this place is fuckin’ haunted, LT.”

Ghost snorts, arms falling loosely back to his sides, that calm, peaceful demeanour Soap had grown to know and love mercifully reappearing in place of the dark look that had briefly shadowed Ghost’s face. “It’s not haunted, Johnny. You’re a soldier—shouldn’t be afraid of the sounds of an old house settling.”

“Yeah, right,” Soap scoffs. “Settling is what makes those noises.”

Ever the bastard, Ghost cocks his head. “What noises?”

“Jesus Christ,” Soap mutters under his breath. He rolls his eyes, and tries to ignore the scratching he definitely hears coming from nearby baseboards. “Just show me to my room, then. But if I find bloody handprints on the mirror after I’ve showered or some shite like that, you’re driving me to the nearest hotel effective immediately.”

Ghost’s lips quirk upward. “Whatever you say, Johnny.”

Soap just might have to strangle the lieutenant himself—if he’s still alive by the next day to do so, of course.

#committing to the bit is ghost’s number one job #although there is also the possibility that there is in fact a spirit living there #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap

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cleolinda · 1 year ago

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I grew up in a haunted house and I didn’t notice

This is not a story about boo ghosts or shadow people. If it were, I would have figured it out, at least.

When I say "I grew up in a haunted house and I didn't notice," you have to understand that there was a lot going on with this house. It's not the house that I've written about currently living in, the one with newspaper and soda cans stuffed where insulation should have been, the one with constant home-repair calamities. No, my childhood home was a crumbling pile of red brick built in the 1920s. Narnia was in the backyard, and the back deck was my ship on the high seas. The house was surrounded by banks of flowers, lilies and irises and roses, and it was full of creepy shit I didn’t even blink at. I loved it.

It didn't look haunted, or even particularly historical. It was almost disappointingly normal—I lived on a street with a house that had a turret, for God's sake. No, it was just old and small. There's a lot of pre-Depression houses getting torn down in these suburbs; my town has been awash in construction for the last 20-30 years as people buy up cheap old houses, raze them, and squeeze mini-mansions onto their tiny lots, all to get their kids into a good school system. It gives me a chill to think of it, but yeah, that might happen to my childhood home someday, small and plain and unassuming as it is. My pirate ship has already been renovated into an extra bedroom, the new owners told us.

When we moved into the house in 1983, though—it had clearly been renovated in the '60s or '70s; the wallpaper was hideous, and the upstairs bathroom was carpeted. Shag-carpeted. The house had closets the size of shoeboxes; my bedroom, the one with the peach wallpaper, didn't even have one. The room down the hall had four, including one cut into the wall, under a slanted ceiling tucked beneath the roof, that looked like you'd stash a witch there when the Salem HOA came by. There was a fan in the attic—well, first of all, the attic was just one more room on that upstairs floor. It was directly across from the (carpeted) bathroom, and that room (lit by one ominous, hanging bulb) was just a short corridor with storage spaces on either side, hidden behind big sliding doors. And the fan at the very end was built into the brick outer wall of the house. Like our house was functionally open to the elements, between the blades of that fan. I have no idea what the fuck anyone was thinking when they built that, and how the fuck anyone kept the wildlife out.

We certainly couldn't. Squirrels lived in the roof and bowled with acorns. It was like listening to a pinball machine at night. I have an abject horror of cockroaches because sometimes an adventurous one would fall off the ceiling in the middle night, onto me, while I was trying to sleep. (Like, try to imagine that—you’re awakened from a dead sleep by a vague, paper-light skittering sensation up and down your arm. When Pennywise comes to me, he will show up as a cockroach.) But wait! There was more! We had herds of crickets in the basement that felt compelled to jump at people. Sometimes there were centipedes! Those were polite enough to only come out at night. In the dark.

By the way, that basement was totally unfinished. I don't mean that it just had exposed beams or concrete walls. I mean that the basement had uneven, mostly shoulder-high masonry walls, and then it was just open on three sides, extending under the rest of the house. Like just dry red Alabama earth and rocks and grainy dust tumbling around in this vast, dark—it wasn't even a crawl space, a child could have stood upright in it. This child? Oh fuck no. And the washer and dryer were down there. I had to creep down there, down a rickety plank staircase, past the staring dark caverns of my own basement, through a low-lying fog of aggressive crickets, go BEHIND THE STAIRCASE, and then do my laundry there. There was also a firewood pile by an old fridge, and only God knew what was under that.

None of this was haunted. All of this was completely normal to me. This isn't even the haunted part.

So let's go back upstairs. The ground floor was lovely, homey, fine except for the time the living room ceiling fell out due to water damage. Upstairs was where it got weird. I've talked about being mildly bullied as an unknowingly autistic child; home was where I felt safe. In my bedroom upstairs, I had all those My Little Ponies and my easel with all my crayon-drawn fantasy maps and all the stories I wrote. It didn't matter if roaches fell on me in the deeps of the night; home, that's where I was happy. So when I was a young kid and I felt like a vampire was following me down the hall at night, I assumed I was just being silly.

I was aware of vampires in the 1980s as, like, the Count on Sesame Street (ah ah aaah), and Count Chocula, and Count Duckula on Nickelodeon, and the Bunnicula books that I loved. As a kid, I wasn't aware of movies like The Lost Boys or Near Dark, or any vampires that weren't broad caricatures of the Bela Lugosi look. I loved Spooky Stuff—I'm from the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark generation—but vampires didn't scare me.

But when I had to get up in the middle of the night to go down the hall to the (carpeted) bathroom, I always had the sensation that something was following me as I was going back to my room. Something Dark. Not terribly tall, maybe not even much taller than me. And somehow, I visualized this deep in my mind as a vampire. Kind of a silly one, you know, the white-tie formal wear and the ribbon medal and the cape. I wasn't desperately scared that a Chocula was behind me, but I knew that I needed to get back to my room quick, and, at all costs, I must never look back. I must never look over my shoulder or else I would See It, something silly massing in the dark—and, brother, Eurydice would have been safe with me. Never stop running, never look back.

And I'm sure all kinds of kids develop little superstitions like this. It's probably a developmental thing, like having an imaginary friend (which I also had at some point). Even as a seven year old, I was thinking, This is silly, I'm just making it up (but not looking back costs nothing. Not looking at monsters is free). And I continued to think this, until I laughingly told my younger sister this at Sunday Family Dinner one night. We were both in our thirties at that point. And my sister started crying. Like just staring at me in wide-eyed horror, her eyes filling with tears. And she told me that when she had a bedroom upstairs, there was Something in there.

I won't belabor the exact setup, but at one point, we got it into our heads that we'd like to switch bedrooms, just for a change. I was 14, and I moved to her ground floor bedroom with the flowered white wallpaper and the big bright windows, and she went upstairs and took my room with the peach wallpaper and the cool slanted roof-ceiling (and no closet).

There were three other rooms on that upper floor (and I promise you this is important):

1) One was a small, windowless room that we used as a playroom, with weird cerulean blue carpet and sky blue wallpaper, one dim light fixture, and a little door in the wall that led to dark nothing. Like, you opened it, and you were confronted by a mass of pipes and machinery and just enough space to edge leftwards in the dark. Towards what? Fuck if I know, I sure as hell wasn't going in there. I think it was supposed to be for access to the HVAC system. I don't know. It was fucked. But when I was a young child, I had cooked for my baby dolls at our plastic play kitchen right next to that door, nbd, because apparently you put me in a creepy situation and I just go, yeah, we live like this now.

(I had not ever felt alone in that playroom, but I had also been too young to articulate that. Of course I wasn’t alone! I was with my dolls!)

2) The next room was the (shag-carpeted) bathroom. It had a big mirror over the sink counter, very typical, facing a vertical mirror that was behind the bathroom door. I've heard two mirrors facing each other can create a portal for the spirits, if you believe in that kind of thing. I once did the "Bloody Mary" thing there and nothing happened, idk.

3) The next room was the bedroom with four closets, where an older family member lived with us, and when she moved out, my sister moved to that room.

?) The fourth room, not really a room, was the dark, narrow attic.

So, Grownup Family Dinner at my current house, a few years ago: my sister told me that Something had lived in the Four Closets Bedroom with her. I'm not sure if she actually said it lived in the little Hide A Witch closet or if it was just kind of... ambient. I don't know what it looked like, or if we're talking about ghosts or Something... Darker, or what. I don't think she's entirely sure herself. She doesn't like to talk about it in detail a whole lot. What I know is that she felt it was there, and she had chosen that room to sleep in as a young teenager, and not a lot of sleep was to be had.

"I never really sensed anything, like… demonic," I said, puzzled. "Just the Chocula that followed me." And my sister was like, ARE YOU LISTENING TO YOURSELF??

"What about Rebecca??" she sputtered.

Oh, yeah: Rebecca. (A name I've changed at my sister's request.) I had a friend as a teenager who liked to mess around with ouija boards (AM I LISTENING TO MYSELF?), and we did a session at her house one time wherein we discovered that the ghost of a girl? young woman? named Rebecca lived (so to speak) at my house, and she had been murdered by her boyfriend. How we arrived at these specifics, I don’t remember, but I had told my sister about it because I thought it was interesting, and also, I was kind of a shit. My friend also decided she had her own ghost named Dusty. It was all one big [citation needed, footage not found], but it was also part of our family lore.

So, many years later, my sister told me that she had long felt—without knowing about the Chocula—that there were two spirits on the upper floor of our childhood home: the dark one, and a younger, lighter one. I sat there at the kitchen table and thought about it.

"You know, I did kind of feel like there was someone up there, when I was a kid," I said. "Sometimes I would go into the attic, and it felt scary, but like there was something there watching that was okay? Like having a lamp on in a dark room, kind of. It’s weird, because it’s just a feeling, I remember it very clearly, but I didn’t really question it or wonder."

I thought a bit more.

"Oh yeah—there was also the time I just really felt compelled to go color in the playroom by myself at midnight, and it kind of felt like someone was there."

My sister stared at me, saucer-eyed, pale. Like I'm not sure I had ever seen anyone "go white" until that moment.

"Yeah, I just woke up and had this idea—I was maybe nine years old? That it would be super cool to do stuff at night when I was supposed to be asleep, so I got a flashlight and went into the playroom—"

"IN THE DARK??"

"Well, yeah. If I had turned on the light, someone would have seen it and told me to go back to bed. So I set this flashlight on the floor and got out the crayons and colored in one of my coloring books a while. Maybe the She-Ra one?"

Thinking back on it now—of course I was sitting right by the scary door. I think we all, you and I, saw that coming.

"And I had the same feeling I had in the attic. Like someone was sitting on the floor across from me, friendly, I guess I would say female, and it was cool. Like, it was chill."

My sister looked like she was about to pass out.

"I don’t really know how I could sense this then but not really say anything about it, or even think about it, until now," I said, shrugging. "I’m probably imagining it."

I’ll throw in here that one of the dolls I had in that room was a Raggedy Ann. Like, just for extra hilarity, Wee Cleo is hanging out, coloring, at midnight, with a ghost and a fuckin’ Annabelle.

So: My sister is adamant that our childhood home was haunted. And apparently I was entirely blasé about it (maybe possessed?), but then, I was dealing with a lot of suburban wildlife. My problems with that house were far more immediate. And crawly. Nor can we prove that the house was haunted—I certainly haven’t looked up any homicide records—and I don’t think that Vibes, In Retrospect, are valid evidence on my part. But I find it interesting that I knew what she was talking about. I find it interesting that I was like, "Yeah, that was chill." And I find it interesting that when I went away to college, and I lived in a dorm suite where sometimes I’d be the only person there while my roommates were out,

I remember noticing that it was the first time I’d ever felt alone in a room.

Who was that imaginary friend I'd had?

I asked my sister to read over this, partly because I wanted to see if she’d be willing to describe the Something Dark.

"Oh, I’ll tell you anything you want," she texted back, "but that’s not how it happened."

#part one of two #me for some reason #story time with cleo #tl;dr my childhood home was fucked up and I was hilariously unbothered about it #insects cw #long post #the haunting of jones house #spooky season #halloween everyday #first look on patreon

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strawberrysmootji · 9 months ago

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Chapter 1 | Memento Mori

“Remember you must die”

18+ fic, minors do not interact!

Fic summary: The Red Keep stood tall on Aegon’s hill. It used to house the nobles of the realm in the old histories of Westeros but now it was home to the Targaryen family, tainting its red color with their dark and gloom. The Targaryens were a family plagued with rumors, drama and perhaps even the supernatural. It doesn’t help that King’s Landing has been plagued with murders ever since their arrival. Once a month on the morning of the first full moon a body turns up in the Blackwater Bay and everyone suspects it is the mysterious family living in isolation, safe from the horrors that plague the city.

Your father, a well-known businessman and a lover of mysteries, had received a letter from Lady Alicent Hightower that contained a marriage proposal. She wished to marry you to one of her sons who had both recently come of age like you. Your father itched at the opportunity to unravel the mysteries of the Targaryen family and immediately sent you on your way as a future bride and with a mission: uncover the secrets of the most prestigious family in the kingdom.

Chapter summary: You arrive at the Red Keep. You meet the strange family and try to get along with your distant and secretive fiancé. Meanwhile another body is found in Blackwater bay. (edited) Chapter warnings/tags: Mentions of death, gore, corpses, organs, profanities, canon typical incest, the supernatural, betrothal, family drama, family secrets if any of these things are not to your liking/ are triggering i recommend not to read it! Word count: 5.2k Rigor Mortis Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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“They say the castle is haunted, my dear sister.” Your older brother teased with a large, shit-eating grin. The two of you were being escorted to King’s Landing, the capital of Westeros, in a cramped black carriage pulled by two large black horses. The inside of the carriage was small and you had been practically squeezed up against your brother the whole ride. The cushions were covered in a dark purple velvet while the rest of the inside was painted black.

Heavy rain splattered against the roof and the window of the carriage and you pitied the coachman that drove it. It had been raining all day long. Your mother used to say rain was a bad omen, that monsters were able to lurk amongst the normal people due to the lack of sunlight and the gloomy atmosphere. However, your mother had also been sent to an asylum a few years ago. As much as you wanted to, you never visited, terrified of finding out what they did to her there. It started off with a doctor’s recommendation to visit the seaside to clear your mother’s mind but that coastal visit had quickly turned into a one way journey to the ‘madhouse’ on the Arbor. Despite all of this you were certain of one thing. Your mother wasn’t a lunatic.

It bothered you and your father more than it did your brother. Your brother and you never truly got along. Your older brother was blinded by greed, he was the heir to your father’s company and would inherit everything once your father passed. If anything, it was your brother that was the black sheep of the family. He always preferred the company of his lousy, rich friends over that of you and your parents. You and your father, however, had always gotten along well. He would tell you stories of great mysteries and detectives or sometimes about the world outside of Westeros. You liked stories, whether they were fake or not. Despite all the stories your father and mother had told you, you never believed in the supernatural. You knew the human mind worked in peculiar ways and would often fill in the blanks if someone didn’t understand what they were seeing. Human creativity was both a blessing and a curse.

“I doubt the castle is haunted, dearest brother. They are just ghost stories to keep unwanted visitors away.”

You didn’t even know why your brother had insisted on travelling with you. Perhaps he got a sick kick out of giving you away to a bunch of rich and royal strangers, never to be seen again.

“You’re no fun. I can’t even scare you properly-”

He was cut off by the carriage shaking for a moment and you could feel the left back wheel get stuck in a pot hole. The carriage was slanted and you felt yourself lean towards the lower point. You cursed under your breath and stared at your brother for a few seconds as if to urge him to go check it out but he didn’t move. You crawled over him and opened the door of the carriage and hopped out yourself. You immediately cringed when you felt the mud stain your new proper black boots and the bottom of the skirt of your deep blue dress. You held it up as best as you could and walked around to the back of the carriage to find the coach man inspecting the wheel. The old man was soaked to the bone due to the heavy rain and the pity you felt for him only worsened. “Can’t the horses pull it out?” You asked him as you turned your gaze to the wheel as well. The pothole was rather deep, not to mention slippery because of the dirt turning into a muddy puddle. The old coachman shook his head and took off his black top hat to run his hand through his thin grey hair. “No Lady, someone must push the carriage from behind as well. It is too slippery for the wheel to roll out properly.”

You let out a frustrated groan and stomped back to the carriage door and peeked your head back through the door. Your brother’s gaze fell upon you and he grinned.

“Benjamen, I need you to push the carriage out of the pothole.”

“Why do I have to do that?”

“Because you are a man and you are stronger than me.”

Benjamen rolled his eyes and glanced up and down, scanning your already soaked and dirty attire. His lips curled back up into a shit eating grin and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You’re already soaked and dirty, you do it.”

You groaned at his childish attitude and slammed the small door of the carriage shut. Once you were behind the carriage again you glanced at the wheel and sighed. The pothole was filled with a watery muddy puddle and you grimaced. The coachman’s brows furrowed when he saw you outside again.

‘He pities you’ You cringed at the thought.

“We should move the carriage now. I shall push it.” You replied, trying to seem as calm and confident as you could. You wore your best dress today but it didn’t matter anymore. The bottom of the long blue dress was soiled with mud while the rest of your dress was starting to get soaked. If only you had invested in a waxed cloak.

The coachman reluctantly nodded and walked back around the carriage to sit down at the front and spur the two horses in. Once you noticed the horses trying to pull the carriage you placed your hands flat against the back of the carriage and pushed with all your might. It was tedious and heavy but once you felt the carriage move forward you let out a sigh in relief and kept pushing until the wheel was fully out of the pothole and it came to a halt so you could re enter.

As you stepped back into the carriage you could hear your brother Benjamen snicker at the state you were in. You sat back down and ignored him for the rest of the bumpy ride to the Red Keep. You only listened when he said the city of King’s Landing came into view. The city was old and incredibly large. It had a harbour on the south side of the city where the narrow sea turned into a river and the city was built on three hills. Rhaenys’ hill, where a large abandoned structure stood that once had the name ‘The Dragonpit’. You had read the old rulers of the city used to hold gladiator fights or host trials by combat in it. Now, people believed it was now haunted. You had heard that sometimes disgruntled screams came from the ruin and people avoided it at all cost. The second hill of the city was Visenya’s hill, a tall hill that housed the great sept of Baelor. It was a tall gothic structure with seven crystal towers to represent the seven gods. It was an old building covered in details of the seven pointed star, the main symbol of the religion. Then, finally, there was Aegon’s hill. Aegon’s hill housed the large castle that was called ‘The Red Keep’, your future home. It was a grand structure located on the south east of the city. It had many tall towers that overlooked the beautiful, yet treacherous narrow sea. It was said that ever since the Targaryens took residency in the Keep, the sea had become more wild and stormy as if it was protesting against them.

The carriage entered the city through the north western gate that was famously dubbed the Dragon’s gate. You had hoped the ride would be less bumpy now that you had finally left the King’s Road but you were wrong. It was clear the city structures and the cobblestone roads were neglected, to say it nicely. As you peeked through the window of the small carriage you could see the people living in poverty, especially once the carriage rode onto the street of the sisters and past the city district that was named ‘Flea bottom’, or so your brother had told you. The more uphill the carriage got, the wealthier the city folk became. The streets were deserted due to the rain but you could still peek through the windows of some of the houses and gawk at the interiors or occasionally the people themselves.

They wore dresses like yours, well, the women did. Their lavish dresses that reached the floor were in various colours. Most of them are darker colours but if the fabric was lighter the colours were more muted and desaturated.

The castle gates of King’s Landing came into view and the structure seemed even larger when you stood close to it. The carriage came to a halt and you saw the coachman open the door to let you and your brother out. You saw the family standing in a part of the courtyard that was roofed over, safe from the heavy rain and looking at the carriage in anticipation. As you glanced down at your dirty cloak and dress you could feel your cheeks heating up, your hair most likely looked like a mess as well due to the rain, though it did have time to dry in the carriage. If it couldn’t get any worse you saw a bright flash in the sky followed by a loud rumbling boom a few seconds later.

Benjamen urged you to leave the carriage so you did, finally released from the cramped space. You took in the sight of the family again. A woman, clearly the mother, though still young, stood in the middle of the group. She had beautiful auburn hair braided into a delicate hairstyle. It looked complex yet elegant and if it weren’t for the horrible weather you assumed it would usually be worn with a garden hat or a bonnet. Her dress was large and ruffled. It was black and dark green, which you found quite bold. After all, your nanny had always taught you black dresses should only be worn with light colours and white dresses should be worn with darker colours.

To her right stood an older man who had the same hazel coloured eyes as her. He was a tall man and wore a high black top hat. His entire outfit was dark, from his long frock coat to his shoes. The only white piece of clothing he wore was his shirt which could barely be seen due to his many layers of clothing. Resting under the man’s was a cane with beautiful golden details. You had quickly figured out the two standing in the middle were Otto- and queen Alicent Hightower, your future grandfather- and mother-in-law. It made sense why Alicent felt comfortable making such bold fashion choices. In fact, the rules of fashion might change as soon as one of the richer commoners got a look at her current attire.

The other members of the family all had beautiful silver blonde coloured hair. Next to Otto stood a beautiful girl in a pale purple dress. The dress had many frilly details and ruffles. It complimented her violet eyes well. She was a little plump and her long silver hair was curled and up in a bun that was less complicated than her mother’s bun. You still thought she looked extremely elegant, especially with the white and purple flowers in her hair that served as accessories. Her sweet smile and extravagant dress revealed her to be princess Helaena. You hadn’t heard a single bad thing about her during your travels. Everyone claimed she was a polite woman and saw the good in everything, even the non living things like rocks and dirt.

On the left of princess Helaena stood a tired looking man. His silver blonde hair was unkempt and grew a little past his jawline. His eyes were plagued by dark circles and the mustard coloured double breasted vest he wore made him look ill. The vest had a darked mustard colour stripes and fitted his figure quite well, unlike his jacket. It was too large and boxy, something that would be worn 30 years ago maybe. The mustard yellow colour made his violet eyes look darker and less noticeable compared to the people you assumed were the man’s siblings. Prince Aegon, you guessed. You had heard of his rather… hedonistic ways to pass the time. He would spend his free time with whores and liquor.

On the far right of the group, the opposite side of the tired looking man stood a guard in uniform. The man’s skin was tan and he had dark hair that was combed back. He sported a moustache and a beard, though both were quite short and were only noticeable due to the dark colour of the hairs. His uniform coat was white with silver details and his pants a greyish colour. The man’s arms were large and you assumed he must be close to the family if they allowed him to stand beside him like that.

Finally, the man between Alicent and the guard stood out the most to you. He was taller than most of his family members and had a sharp jawline. He had long straight silver blonde hair like the rest of his siblings and his outfit was dark with hints of green, like his mother’s. Unlike the tired looking man his coat fitted him perfectly. It accentuated his waist and shoulders well and made him look elegant. The thing that stood out the most though was the ‘subtle’ scarring on the left side of his face. It was a thin shaky line that went from his cheek, over his eye and then stopped at his forehead. In the place where his eye was supposed to be was a glass eye but instead of it having an iris and a pupil it was completely white. His left eyelid twitched occasionally, as if it wasn’t used to the glass eye yet. He was beautiful, yet his intense gaze sent shivers down your spine. He was studying your every move, you could feel it. Prince Aemond Targaryen, your future husband.

He seemed rather uptight and strict, the complete opposite of his older brother. Not that you wanted to marry Aegon instead, that seemed like the worse option.

While you took in the scenery of the old castle and the family with their strange features there was no denying that there was something eerie about them.

You could hear your brother behind you step out of the carriage and he followed you as you walked towards the family. As you were to introduce yourself, Benjamen beat you to it.

“It is an honour to meet you all. My name is Benjamin Manderly and I would be delighted to introduce my dearest sister.”

Benjamen politely bowed with an arm tucked over his stomach and you bowed as well. You told them your name and Alicent pulled you under the roofed area in a gentle manner.

“You poor thing, you’re completely soaked.” She cupped your face in her hands and inspected it with a large, proud smile. “You’re truly as beautiful as your father claimed in his letters.”

Alicent turned to look at the guard and nodded at him. “Ser Criston, please tell the maids to prepare a nice warm bath for the poor girl. We wouldn’t want her to fall ill because of this nasty weather.”

The guard sternly nodded his head, turned around and entered the castle. You turned to look back at your brother who was eagerly (too eagerly, in your opinion) helping the coachman unload your wooden trunks from the carriage. You had taken most of your belongings with you, for starters, you didn’t own a lot of large lavish dresses and Alicent had assured in her letter that your future husband would order some for you as soon as you arrived.

Benjamen returned and roughly patted your shoulder as if you were one of his male companions. You winched and shot him a quick glare which he returned with a taunting grin.

“I shall miss you dearly, sister. Make sure you write home so father won’t miss you too much.” Benjamen said and roughly patted your shoulder again.

‘Dickhead…’

“She will be in good hands, Lord Benjamen. We take good care of our ladies.” Aemond replied, the tone of his voice was icy and you could hear the passive aggressiveness in it. He was belittling your older brother and you had to stifle a laugh. It was a clear jab at Benjamen’s rude behaviour towards you. While you tried not to laugh, the tired looking brother let out a snort that he quickly tried to hide with a cough. Both Otto and Alicent sent the two men a warning gaze before looking back at Benjamin who’s cocky grin had been replaced with a scowl.

“Do not fret brother, I will be in good hands and I shall write plenty.”

You, reluctantly, hugged your brother goodbye and watched as he stepped into the small carriage. The coachman sat on his seat in front of the carriage and took off his tophat to wave at you. He spurred the horses on and you watched as the carriage walked through the gates and a loud boom of thunder could be heard again. The gates closed behind them and only now it had dawned on you that you were all alone in a castle with mysterious strangers.

You felt Alicent’s hand gently rest on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry dear, prince Aemond shall take good care of you.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The room they had given you was spacious. It had a dark wood king size bed with pale blue silk covers. The furniture was in the same dark wood and detailed style as the bed. There were many items in the room. In the corner near the fireplace there was a large white porcelain vase with blue-green details painted on it. Instead of flowers the vase held many beautiful and neat peacock feathers. The vase might’ve lacked flowers but the rest of the room did not. The table had a centrepiece with the Bay Rose Rhododendron as its main flower. It made you frown. You walked up to the flower and inspected the pale pink petals. You were no expert in the language of flowers but you knew what this one meant.

Danger. Beware

The other flowers in the piece did nothing to ease your worries. The person that had put together the flowers had made it very clear they wanted to warn you for something.

You opened one of your wooden trunks and rummaged through it until you had found what you were looking for. An empty leather notebook, the dip pen your mother had given you and a regular pot of ink. You sat down at the table where the centrepiece stood and scribbled down the flowers that were in it with the different meanings.

- Afternoon, the fifth day of the first month of the year 1871 -

Bay Rose Rhododendron - Danger. Beware.

Cypress - Death. Mourning.

White Catchfly - Betrayal.

Creeping Cereus - Horror.

You softly blew on the ink in your notebook to make it dry quicker and hid the notebook back into the wooden trunk. Your father had gifted the notebook to you before you left. He was enthusiastic when he had gotten the proposal of queen Alicent to marry you to one of her sons. Not only would this strengthen his business’ reputation but it also meant insight into the mysterious Targaryen family. He wanted you to log your findings in a notebook like the detectives in the stories he told you about when you were younger.

No one knew where they came from centuries ago. It was almost as if they had appeared out of thin air. Your father was rich but compared to him they were filthy rich. Their ancestors had bought the Red Keep and had resided there ever since. It wasn’t until Aegon the Conqueror that their family ruled over the seven kingdoms. The foreign family had taken over the realm with ease and had turned it into a flourishing country with a stable economy…if we’re talking about the rich. There were many rumours about the family. Some believed they were vampires, stalking through the dead of night and looking for their victims in the city of King’s Landing.

Others believed them to be shape-shifting beasts, ghouls, werewolves or even the undead . You had met them only a few hours ago and you could say with certainty that they were neither undead, beasts or ghouls. Not that you believed the other supernatural rumours. All you knew was that their origins lay in a far away country that people here in Westeros weren’t too familiar with.

There were plenty of non-supernatural rumours about them that were equally distasteful. Some said ‘they liked to keep the family pure’. Inbreeding was one of the main things they were accused of but they never confirmed nor denied it. You didn’t believe the rumours and you knew that the people of Westeros liked to ostracise people that were different from them. It would be no surprise to you if the rumour was a product of that.

The most well-known rumour about the Targaryens had to be the one relating to the cases of dead bodies found in the Blackwater bay. No one knew exactly when it started but one thing they knew for sure was that it didn’t happen before the Targaryens appeared in King’s Landing. Well, it didn’t happen before in a pattern.

Every morning after the first full moon of the month a body would be found dead in Blackwater bay. It had been happening for a century at this point and every time it was the same. The body would be found with no eyes and no one could find anything on the body that pointed towards murder. No stab wounds, no bruises, no nothing. Even the empty eye sockets showed no signs of violence. As if someone surgically removed them without a trace.

People didn’t go out on full moons, no one did. Even the animals like house cats or even stray cats found shelter somewhere inside. There weren't a lot of things the people knew about the mysterious deaths, only that they knew the Targaryen family had something to do with it.

“Do you like the flowers, dear?”

Alicent’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed you were staring at the flowers that contained the concerning message.You sheepishly nodded and forced yourself to smile.

“I do, my queen.”

“Please, call me Alicent, dear. I hope you are eventually able to call me mother as well.” Alicent chuckled and walked further into the room and motioned at the centrepiece. “Helaena arranged them for you. She is a wonderful girl, so incredibly creative.” Alicent beamed as she spoke of her daughter.

Helaena seemed so sweet, did she really mean to combine these flowers together to send such a horrifying message or did she genuinely not know? No, it was too much of a coincidence not to know.

“I see you have changed your clothes as well, you look absolutely beautiful. Aemond is lucky to have you as his bride.”

Alicent complimented you with a kind smile. The lady next to you had changed into her evening gown. A fully green velvet dress with many ruffles and layers. Her hair had also been braided into a much simpler style than earlier that day.

“Thank you my queen- I mean Alicent. You look wonderful as well.”

Alicent beamed at your compliment, perhaps she didn’t get them often.

“We shall have dinner in half an hour and afterwards Aemond shall give you a tour of the castle. Take that time to get to know each other.” Alicent spoke and turned around to leave your room again.

When the door closed behind her the only noise in your room was the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace. You rummaged through your trunk to find your notebook again. You needed a more well hidden spot for it, especially since the first findings you had made about the family weren’t particularly positive. You’d hate for them to find it.

You eventually settled on hiding it beneath your mattress. The notebook wasn’t too thick and if it was uncomfortable to sleep on it was a small price to pay. Before hiding it in its designated spot you added a small note underneath the list of flowers.

Princess Helaena arranged it.

Once the notebook was hidden in its spot you sat down on a sea green velvet couch and tried to devise a plan. You knew Aemond’s tour of the castle wouldn’t be enough to explore it to your liking but you didn’t want to make it too obvious you were snooping around.

You had mulled over it during the duration of dinner. Absentmindedly answering the questions the family asked you. Well, it was mostly Alicent and Otto that asked you questions. After a few cups of wine Aegon joined in too but Alicent quickly shut him up once the questions got too perverse.

You were now walking with Aemond through the castle and you had quickly figured out he was a stern man. His long straight hair was braided down his back and tied off with a black ribbon. He didn’t wear his coat inside the castle, only wearing his white shirt with puffy sleeves and a black double breasted vest with silver buttons.

“These are my quarters.” He said with a monotone voice and pointed at the room on the left, not even bothering to show you the inside. You continued to follow him through the hallway. He pointed at the rooms in the hallway that belonged to his siblings Aegon and Helaena. Their names were engraved on a small golden plate attached to the door in swirly letters. He skipped over one room, not even bothering to look at it. You, however, noticed it still contained a golden plate with a name engraved on it. From the corner of your eye you could only barely make out the name.

Daeron Targaryen.

‘Weird.’ You thought. You weren’t aware of a Daeron living in the castle with them. Perhaps he was a cousin or an uncle? You had learned at dinner that Aemond’s half-sister Rhaenyra lived in a different castle with her husband, five sons and two step-daughters, perhaps it was one of them?

You had also learned Aemond’s father, the king, had been very ill for a long time and that he had sent his apologies to you for not being able to meet you this afternoon. He explained that they kept it from the realm so as to not worry the people of the realm.

“You mustn’t enter this hallway.”

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at Aemond. You had exited the stairwell and were a floor above his chambers now. The hallway didn’t have any servants walking through and many of the white candles that lit it were almost fully burnt up.

“Why is that?” Your voice was laced with curiosity as you stared into the creepy hallway. It was long and quite dusty. The silence and darkness sent a shiver through your body but your body ached to find out what was located there.

“These are father’s chambers. He doesn’t like visitors. No one comes here except mother and the doctors.” Aemond replied sternly and gazed at you. You had made sure to walk on his right side so he could see you easily without having to turn his head too much.

“What? Really? Not even you or your siblings?”

“Yes.”

An awkward silence hung between the two of you but he eventually motioned at you to follow him to the next floor. You had only now realised you hadn’t asked him any questions about himself yet and you mentally cursed at yourself for not doing so.

“What is it that you do?” You asked him as you followed him through the hallways of the next floor.

“I plan on opening a doctor’s practice and a morgue in King’s Landing.”

You were unsure on how to reply to that. Being a mortician was a rather dark profession, especially for a prince, but you knew many places in Westeros lacked one. Usually the septs handled all the burials of the deceased.

“I studied medicine and anatomy in Old Town, I have only returned half a year ago.” He must’ve sensed your hesitancy to reply so he continued to speak but didn’t bother to look back at you. His body language screamed dominance and authority. He walked with his arms behind his back in a stiff manner. You simply nodded and picked up pace to catch up with him.

“Do you like it?”

“No.”

‘By the gods at least give me something to work with.’ You internally groaned.

“Why didn’t you like it?”

“I prefer history and philosophy.”

Now that was something you could work with. You loved history and a small smile tugged at your lips when you learned he did as well. At least there was something you and your betrothed had in common.

“What kind of history do you enjoy the most? I enjoy learning about the Old North and The Children of the Forest.”

His eyebrows raised a little in surprise and for the first time he actually turned his head to look at you instead of glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“I enjoy learning about my family history and the cultures of Essos and Sothoryos.”

He paused for a moment before speaking again.

“I didn’t expect you to like history, my lady.”

A grin tugged at the corner of your lips, your hands were now behind your back as well, only your stature was a lot more relaxed than his. It was always easier to converse when the topic was something you enjoyed.

“Well, perhaps I am full of surprises.”

You knew you had to win him over if you wanted a chance at a decent life with a husband that tolerated you. Of course, you couldn’t forget your father’s wishes as well. Investigating this family would be a lot easier with a husband that trusted you.

The rest of the tour of the castle was a lot more pleasant than the first half. He showed you his workstation with medical supplies, located on the base level of the castle. The interior creeped you out a little. In his room were bottled up organs in a mixture you did not know the name of. His supplies were neatly stored in various cabinets and he showed you the books he had to use in his studies, promising you that you were always allowed to borrow one whenever you wanted.

He had also promised to take you on a walk on the castle grounds the next day if the weather would allow it, after all, the storm was still raging outside.

He had dropped you off back at your room after the tour. Wishing you a good night whilst he pressed a soft kiss against the back of your hand. You knew he was only being a gentleman but it still made your stomach flutter. The men in the North weren’t as chivalrous as men in the south.

“Sleepwell my lady.” He said before turning around and walking away, his braid swaying a little from side to side and his footsteps echoing through the empty hall of the castle.

A few maids helped you change into your nightgown and you dismissed them before they could help you into bed. You wanted a little more time writing in your notebook about the first day in the castle. You didn’t want to write much, after all, it would be a shame if you filled it too quickly.

- Night, the fifth day, first month of the year 1871 -

I ate dinner with the family, most of them (Targaryen side) were quiet even after initiating conversation. I met my future husband and he seems like an intelligent man. All of them are quite secretive. The father of the family is ill, no one could tell me about his ailment and no one is allowed to go near his chambers.

Who is Daeron Targaryen?

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Aaaa thank you all so much for reading the first chapter. I had a lot of fun writing and researching for it. I’m still not sure at how many chapters it will have but I'll keep you all updated.

If you want to be added to the taglist let me know! 🫶

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – Taglist:

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #hotd #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond smut #the house of the dragon

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xxnghtclls · 1 year ago

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Permission

Chapter 2

(Chapter 1; Chapter 3)

True Form Sukuna x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depiction Of Violence

Please see Chapter 1 for tags!

The Path To A New Beginning

Gigantic, curved spikes protrude on the roof. The form of a huge opened mouth sitting under the ceiling of a shrine, big teeth standing out. In the middle of it, a big, heavy wooden door. Bones and skulls of cattle and bulls laying around in bulk at the corner pillars of the shrine.

It has been 6 years since your village was destroyed by a mysterious creature, which laid the path for your escape. You survived. Finding shelter in abandoned houses and hiding between pigs and cows in farmers barns. Stealing food from the market, hunting animals in the woods with self made bow and arrow, that has been your life for a good amount of time. Occasionally a farmer allowed you to clear the shit out of cows and horses barns, earning yourself a penny for it. Other times you sat on the street, begging, earning a penny out of peoples goodwill. The years have been rough on you and your body. At merely 20 years old, you looked malnourished and unhealthy, trying to cover it up with a layer of rags. Hiding your face under a hood in case someone from your village survived without you knowing. You would never want to see anyone of that shithole again. In reality though, you felt alone, felt alone for your whole life. You just wished for it to end, to have somebody to cherish, to love, to be loved.

Would’ve death been better? you asked yourself sometimes before you fell asleep. One thing you couldn’t forget though.

Him.

Was he your saviour or death sentence? No matter what he was, you couldn’t forget him, the sight of him devouring a woman of your village, his arms, the veins on his fingers, grabbing that woman’s neck. The blood. The noises. The smell. The screams. Sometimes you woke up in the night, sweating. Nightmares of being that woman and being devoured by him haunted you. Red eyes staring into yours. Fingers grabbing your hair and neck. Four muscled arms holding you tightly.

So intimidating. So... fascinating.

As much as you feared him, you couldn’t deny you were interested in him, his being, his energy. His strength and power, the flames he summoned.

One time you went back to the spot where your eyes first met. The surrounding area abandoned. No one lives there anymore. They say it’s haunted, cursed even. You heard of people going missing or found dead, although the area is empty of people and wildlife. Tiptoeing through the trees like you did six years ago, you spot the area where he was sitting. A dark spot on the ground where his campfire burned marks the spot. It’s still not vanished after all these years.

A different kind of flame maybe.

Slowly moving forward, you made your way out of the shadows of the trees. The step you couldn’t take six years ago felt heavy to take. You sat down on the spot were he sat. Still feeling an ounce of different energy there, you started to cry. You felt an emptiness within you, a lack of something. A lack of purpose. Loveless. You felt the need to take action, to do something, to search... for him.

Leaving the place empty hearted, you started to gather information about the creature. You went around, asking people in the next town and farmers in the next village. Some would not want to give you any information, some talked a bit, sometimes you would even overhear people talking about him.

The first time you heard his name you felt your heart twitch. Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses.

Some worship him as a god or a king, some feel the fear of him in their bones, people say. A monster, the devil himself.

A feeling of longing started to build up in your stomach. Supposedly he lives in a shrine, a days march to the south from your current location, you heard. If you seek him out, maybe you will find your purpose. Either in life or in death.

Gigantic, curved spikes protrude on the roof. The form of a huge opened mouth sitting under the ceiling of the shrine, big teeth standing out. In the middle of it, a big, heavy wooden door. Bones and skulls of cattle and bulls laying around in bulk at the corner pillars of the shrine. Located just outside of a dark forest, it does look scary. At least that must mean that he lives here.

No one else would enjoy a shrine like this.

The warm colours of the sunset touch your skin, standing on front of the place you were searching for. A familiar kind of energy hits your stomach once again. It feels like you’re close to him again. The feeling embraces you, makes you feel dizzy and addicted at the same time. As if he’s grabbing your throat without being there at all, pulling you closer to him. As if these long claws of his slowly stroke the artery on your neck, ready to stab it. The feeling excites you in a weird way or maybe it’s the relief to feel again.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath, you knock.

No answer.

You feel your heart drop.

What am I even doing?

After a long exhale, you decide to sit down at one of the pillars. Waiting. Hoping, that someone would open the doors, to let you in. The energy embracing you earlier not letting you go.

Clouds are getting dark, wind begins to rise, rustles through the brown leaves of October, rain starts to fall. The wet cold creeps into your skin. Drops falling onto the hood of the robe you’re wearing, you shiver. Your body isn’t made for this anymore. You survived long 6 years in similar conditions, but now, however, you’re tired, you don’t know what to do anymore. A part of you wishes for it all to end. Right now. Right here.

“Maybe that’s the night I’m going to die” you quietly whisper. Your eyes fall shut. Seconds and minutes and hours pass.

“Come.” an unfamiliar, calm voice suddenly says. You look up. A white haired monk, not much taller than you, offers you their hand. They must’ve been walking up to you from inside the woods as you have not heard the wooden doors open. Slowly you reach for their hand. After helping you up, they make their way to the wooden door. You feel weak, trying your best to keep yourself up, but to no avail. You fall down. Blackness creeps into your vision. You lose consciousness.

#Permission #xxnghtcll #true form sukuna #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #true form sukuna smut #sukuna x you #true form sukuna x you #true form sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #Permission Chapters

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sketchfanda · 1 month ago

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A Little Moxxie Love Party:Helluva Halloween

An Imp & a Vampire

Moxxie and Millie didn’t usually have much reason to go up to th living world around this time of the year but ion this occassion, they’d decided to take a date night on Halloween up to the surface to see an incredibly rare blood moon. The pair just making their way through the streets and having a nice time overall, it was small wonder most demons took advantage of this event to walk around freely without the need for disguises. However Millie was starting to get "hungry", her studly hubby recognising that distinct gleam of lust in her eyes, always a good indication just how much she needed him then and there and so the two decided to head to an old local haunted house to sate her appetite. The two sneak into an abandoned home, ready to start making out to build up the mood but when an unexpected sound gets their attention, they split up to find he source.

Now you can’t really blame the two for missing the distinct common red flags in horror movie tropes, after all they were demons, not drugged up or drunk horny teenagers. Besides which and yes this may sound ironic, it wasn’t like this place could actually be haunted. Yes obviously the concept of heaven and hell validated the existence o souls snd the afterlife with limbo in between so as far as Moxxie was concerned, how could there be ghosts to haunt the land of the living? So as far as the thespian possum was concerned, thinking to himself as he searched in on his side of thing, this was likely some idiot pulling hoax like in those old HB cartoons or some noisy squatted.

Suddenly Moxxie hears a scream and runs towards to find Millie, looking unharmed yet just standing completely still, staring vacantly into space. As he began trying to get her out of this state of paralysis, he senses a presence, turning to see what could only be described as Elvira, mistress of the dark if she were a thicc sexy black woman, standing on the ceiling. And damn did she have quite the figure on her with the way her dress really hugged that body and yet all Moxxie could think was….that he really wondered if maybe an actual ghost might’ve been easier to handle. Suffice to say, he had a feeling that this was going to be one of those sort of nights.

??:”Hey there cutie, name’s Wilhamena, nice to meet’cha…..”*She playfully spoke, greeting him before she pounces from her spot on the ceiling, pulls him into her arms, gives him a big kiss, and smothers him with her amazing breasts. After a brief bout of putting him through marshmallow heaven & hell, she pries the impboi from her chest, her red eyes twinkling with a recognisable glow of hazy lust, glowing violet and pink hearts fading in and out as she spoke up.*”A little forward I know, it’s just that during a blood moon a vampire's desires shoot through the roof and my husband and daughter have gone away, putting as much distance between me and them as possible. Now her desires have gone wild and she needed to be sated with some erotic passion.

Moxxie knew this was a rock and hard place sort of situation, the easy way or the hard way sort of thing but agreed to oblige the vampiric MILF if she freed his wife from the hypnotic stupor to which she smiled and promised she will do so at sunrise. With that all said and done,she took Moxxie with her as she flew off down towards the basement where a king sized coffin bed waits, throwing the little possum on over snd causing him to land in the the comfy mattress. The imp shaking his head before looking at the MILF vampire as she stripped naked, eyes widening at the sight of that exotic mocha complexion and that thicc, curvy body being laid bare on display. The horny bloodsucking bitch in heat sensually giggling as she shit a wink and a smile, blowing a kiss his way as she struck a pose in her spider-web style lingerie before that too was soon removed to give Moxxie a grand view of her in all her nude glory.

Wilhamena:”I’m flattered you definitely like what you see handsome but seems unfair for me to be the only one naked, don’t you think?”*Soon as she said that, she made her way on over to him, looming like a predator set to corner snd toy around with their prey. Licking her lips erotically as she grasped and started to strip Moxxie of his adorable little outfit, which she had to say made him look oh so dapper. Looking eager like she was unwrapping a present with every layer removed, the boxers left for last as she peeled them off his well toned legs. A gasp of sensual delight as she laid her crimson eyes on his erect cock, looking owl ready for her personal pleasure and to think she would find a little fellow like this to be as well endowed as her husband and thst man was a beast, literally!!*

The next thing Moxxie knew, Wilhamena was all over him as she caressed his thighs while she went all in on performing intense fellatio. Her blood Ruby red eyes glowing with pink lust hee arts as she deepthroated his shaft, licking and sucking as she made the tiny gentleman feel like her mouth was an oral pussy. Her tongue licking away at the length and girth as she played kisses at the base, her arousal being fuelled by the taste if his pre on her tongue. Which only made her want to have this imp fuck her all the more as the blood moon shine through the windows, bathing the basement in quite a sensual crimson glow.

But of course any awkwardness or hesitation on Moxxie’s part crumbled away against the onslaught of Wilhemena’s foreplay, leading him to return the favour. The vampiric hottie feeling like she was seeing heaven as she laid on her back, grasping the imp’s horns as he had his face between her juicy thighs with his mouth latched onto her snatch. His quite gifted tongue working its way into her folds as he drank up her love nectar, making the bloodsucking babe curl her toes and arch her back. Orgasms surging through her as her already high level of arousal skyrocketed, making her want him all the more to make some sweet, hot fuck.

But of course once the mutual foreplay had concluded, she and Moxxie proceeded to get down right to business in cleaning her of her blood moon heat, the sounds of the vampire's scream and moans keeping away any passers by who overheard them. The women among them and the neighbours within the area sighing in envy at how good the MILF must be getting it right now and why the men in their life couldn’t be that good. Some of the younger ones simply thought it was just the haunted looking house proving it was indeed so, but hey ignorance is bliss, right? Especially with all those sounds like a poltergeist was trashing the place but ooh if they knew the truth….

It was more precise to call it a poltergasm and a sexorcism as the basement echoed with the primal rhythm of a vampire woman and her little imp man making red hot fuck. The undead MILF clasping hands with her little gentleman as she rode him cowgirl style, tires bouncing snd ass jiggling to me his thrusting hips. Her dark skin glistening with a sheen of sweat as she and Moxxie showed no signs thus far of slowing down at the slightest. Leaning down to kiss the gifted little love machine passionately before they shifted into another position in their bloodmoon rut marathon.

It was in the midst of their fuckathon that Millie found the hypnosis stun wearing off, the wrath shortstack wondering what happened before she picked up the sounds she knew all too well. Following the noise to the basement where she found her husband balls deep in Wilhamena as he fucked her doggy style, the vampire sex bomb looking her way as she was clearly inviting her to join in. An invite Millie gladly accepted as she stripped and got right into the fray, making it a full on threesome. The vampire MILF drowning in ecstasy as she became the chocolate cream filling in a red imp sandwich going all long into this crimson light soaked night.

By dawn, the sun slowly rising to peek over the skyline, clad in a bathrobe, fully satisfied and back to her more cheerful casual self was sending the exhausted but happy imps on their way, with some new contact information provided to them and Moxxie's face covered with lipstick marks. Suffice to say she already looking forward to the next time around, especially if they knew any ladies her husband could enjoy. Which reminded her, she was definitely going to tell him all the juicy details soon as he and Enid got home. That man could really get going once you got him all riled up.

to say nothing of some of her lady friends who she knew would looove to meet and get to know her new imp friends. Especially Moxxie, who now that she thought about it had seemed quite familiar somehow. As back in her basement boudoir, in a coffin style book case could seen a few dvd and Blu-ray titles which bore the logo of a certain hell based porn company. Proudly stating their main star, known only as….Mysterious M….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lust Resort?!

On this fine halloween night, we find our trio of misfit killers for hire in the living world out on another job, which has them checking out this old abandoned multi-story resort. Their client, a ghost hunter so he claimed, was killed there and wanted revenge thinking it was his partner responsible for sending him to death and who is said to still be holed up there. All the same Moxxie was just looking to get this over and done with, since as has been mentioned before, he doesn't believe in ghosts. There is heaven or hell, there is no in between except the limbo of neither world where you had to do your time as a civil servant….long story there but point was that dead was desd and souls went on rather than linger on The mortal coil.

All the same Moxxie just wanted to get the job done so he and Millie could go enjoy their more personal fun, especially if Blitzo would start making wisecracks about any so called haunting. Honestly it was as disturbing as it was annoying how the guy could take anything and make sexual remarks about it. As they check out the place, floor by floor searching for the guy, they do notice some unusual happenings, something suddenly knocked over, a sudden whisper or howling breeze, but Moxxie brushed them off, this was an old place after all.

Part way through their search, the IMP trio opted to cover more ground by splitting up and looking through sections of the hotel. When he reached what had once been the main office of the manager, Moxxie suddenly found himself grabbed by the hand of an actual ghost!! Suffice to say the little possum was no doubt going to have to reevaluate his world view quite a bit after this as he found himself thrown to a seat which spun around a bit before it settled down. Having face none other than the spectre…herself?!!

Her indeed as Moxxie beheld the transparent ectoplasmic lowing form of a very curvy female ghost who was rocking a hairdo that woild make Marge Simpsons and the bride of Frankenstein blush. Introducing herself as Hellen Gravely, she explained how she was once the chief receptionist of this resort, until she’d died after her husband caught her having an affair with a bellhop. Not her fault the blowhard was a failure in bed and didn’t hold a candle compared to that cutie. Who she felt Moxxie rather reminded her of and how it’d been far, far too long since she felt and enjoyed the touch of a real man….

Moxxie knew a red flag when he saw it as he shot up out of the chair and scrambled for the door only to find it was locked and soon gets grabbed by Hellen once again who proceeds to get right into have her wicked way with moxie. Using her powers as a ghost, she telekinetically stripped his clothes off and mounted him to start getting down on him like a carnival ride. Meanwhile, IMP’s target hears Helen's moans and goes towards the source, getting caught and killed by blitz and Millie who ambushed him as they throw him down an elevator shaft. Listening as he fell down the shaft screaming until he hit the ground with a distinct splatter and crack, signalling the deed had been done.

Once that had concluded, Millie went to go find Moxxie while Blitz in one of his few instances of forward thinking goes to destroy any security cameras that might still be working. He didn’t want a repeat encounter DHORKS if thy so much as caught a hint of evidence they’d been around here and thinking they were planning weird shit with ghosts. Following the peculiar haunting moans, Millie found the manager’s office and found the door locked, much to her annoyance. A quick pick of the lock with one of her knives, she’d kicked it open to find herself witnessing quite the show before her.

Right then and there was her husband, balls deep in a Quite sexy as fuck ghost woman of all things!! Her beehive like hairdo becoming an undone mess like she’d just been soaked in shower, her ectoplasmic face an expression of raw primal ecstasy. It was clear they’d been going at for quite and Millie had come right into a point wherein Moxxie has finally managed to turn the tables on Hellen. Having her bent over the desk as he plowed her plow like the bitch in heat she pretty much was at this point and oh it was clear she was loving every moment of it.

How she was loving it indeed, feeling the raw passion and pleasure she’d not felt in forever since her tragic demise. Those wild, intimate encounters in the arms of her beloved bellhop, that boy had the face of an angel but the cock of a sex god and the drive of a wild beast. It’d had all been such a wonderful thing until that fat lazy bastard had to go ruin it all and kill her to boot!! The sweetheart survived of course but now here she was stuck hanging this place and along came this sweet little possum. So very much like her boy toy and ducked just as good….

Millie knows she should intervene but this wasn’t exactly a life or death situation happening right here. No sir, this was her man once again stepping up like the stud she knew he could be, so Damn good that even the soils of the horny dead wanted some from him. Sensually biting her lip as she shamelessly played with herself, cheering her man on as he kept rocking Hellen’s afterlife. This was definitely Something to share with the gals on the group chat but getting them to believe her was a different story……

Every second and minute passing on with no signs of stopping, the walls and floors were becoming soaked with a different sort of ectoplasm. The ghost woman screaming with wanton abandon as she relished this one final moment of true, intimate sexual passion. And then it finally happened as the imp stud finally came inside of her, his man juice becoming energy which filled snd flowed inside of her. It was truly as a climax Helen finally lets out a rapturous scream as she began to fade away out of existence as if she suddenly seemed to pass on.

Moxxie wasn’t sure if that had all been just a dream, all he knew was that he was naked, covered in Somethjping wet, warm and slimy and oh hey there was his wife. Who of course pounced in him for sloppy seconds, licking and sucking him off clean, all horny from her voyeurism show of her man fucking a ghost woman into the great beyond. The imp couple having a quickie before they were presentable again, Meeting back up with Blitzo who wondered where they’d been. Suffice to say, hey felt it no needed to tell him about wha happened, woild he eben believe it? Back in Hell, sometime after that quite eventful Halloween, Moxxie and Millie were just enjoying some R&R in the office when suddenly get a call on the IMP phoneline. Answering it only to be greeted with the voice Helen herself asking for some more fun. Yeah figures given the circumstances and tricky issues with souls and how they lived and died, she wound up in Hell. Not that she minded since it meant a chance to meet Moxxie again.

It so happened she licked winding up in Pentagram Town where she was now working as assistant manger at the Happy/Hazbin Hotel. Seems Charlie felt she was a good candidate for redemption plus her experience working at a resort made her ideal for such a job. Truly Hell I what You make of it and Hellen was proof of that. How sweet it is….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drain-dead 13?!

Moxxie would say this about Mr.Sketch among a couple of things was that he was a damn better boss than Blitzo and knew how to ensure fair treatment of his employees. Be they part of the production crews or among the many men and women who made up his talent roster, the flaming skull-headed Enigma liked to see those under his wing were taken care of hence why the studio grounds had a wealth of leisure facilities on hand. From a well stocked and catered cafeteria to an Olympic sized swimming pool, even a full on hair and make-up salon with a bevy of beauticians able to make even a haggard Frankenstein's monster looking hoe look like a Franken-FINE!! It was during his first ever trip to said salon of course that he would meet one of its workers, a vampiric Vixen by the name of Vivi whose Wrath sounding accent certainly accentuated her exotic, stunning good looks. Frankly Moxxie should've known it was a red flag when Mr.Sketch, who'd brought him over here personally to get him looking good and prepped for one of his first shoots as a new SFP star, had seemed annoyed that she was among the few available to do the deed.

so of course Sketch had to relent and leave Vivi to handle the job of prettying Moxxie, not that he wasn’t already good for a camera of course but show biz ya know? Shooting her a quick “I’m watching you” gesture, he took his leave as he had other matters to attend to while Moxxie sat in a styling chair to await Vivi getting to work. Suffice to say, he had a feeling she was going to make the most of this opportunity if that big smile on her Ruby red lips was anything to go by. Her sharp fangs gleaming as she licked up a comb and scissors snd got right down to work.

So far so good of course, nothing too out of the ordinary as she started off with a little shampoo and conditioning. Followed up with a simp,e trim and cut of his well styled hair, even giving his horns a little polish an filing for good measure. Then doing the same to his hooves and nails, she was certainly being a professional and doing a damn good job of it. It made him wonder what Mr.Sketch had been so concerned about with the vampire, she seemed friendly enough and that accent of hers reminded him of Millie.

Vivi then instructed him to close his eyes as she draped a warm towel over his face, telling him to relax as she was now going to give him a massage. Seems she was also a spa masseur if that was anything to go by, as she gave his feet a quick rub then moved along his legs. THEN came the every telltales of the zip of his fly being undone, his cock clearly being fished out of the confines of his boxers snd engulfed in Something very wet and warm. Muffled moans vibrating around his shaft as he recognised the distinct sensations of fellatio being done to him.

Yes indeed with the warm towel as a makeshift blindfold, Vivi was indeed sucking Moxxie’s dick, her blue face flushed with a blush of arousal and her Ruby red lips wrapped around his shaft. Eyes glowing with clear lust as she bobbed her head up and down like a lewd metronome. Lipstick marking rings around his the length and girth as she got deeper until she was fully deepthroating him. Purring with delight as she felt the imp’s hips buck out of reflex, working snd riling him up with the need to rut.

The next thing Vivi knew, to her shock and surprise, Moxxie grabbed her Afro like mane of hair and was suddenly piston pumping his hips like a jackhammer. The vampire southern Belle clearly not having expected such a cutie to be such a beast and yet here she was feeling him penetrate her throat. His balls smacking her chin as it seemed her little oral surprise had flipped a few mental switches. Snd yet he had only just begun….

Many of the salon workers simply shook their head in bemusement as they heard Vivi’s sensual cries and moans through the doors of her private parlour. It wasn’t often Vivi had the tables turned in her but would serve her right after how she often had her way with the newcomers. There was a reason why Mr.Sketch had been wary about her, oh she was a talented stylist but she was also still a horny bitch of a vampire. And Moxxie wasn’t the first or last guy she ambushed but he about make her the victim for a change.

Indeed within the parlour, Vivi was getting her unlike world rocked six ways to Sunday, her and Moxxie both naked as he had bent over the make uo counter. Fucking her from behind as Moxxie was grunting nd growling like an animal, grasping those luscious hips of hers. Her blue skinned booty jiggling and clapping with the impact of their loins smacking together. Her face and titties pressed and rubbing up against the mirror as her hair was a mess and her mascara ran like black inky tears.

And how she loved every damn second of it, it wasn’t often Vivi found herself topped like this. She was used to being the predator and the new boy toys hired on the studio her prey, especially the ones who seemed still like inexperienced virgin boys. But this was no scared little vanilla boy here, he was a red velvet devil’s food cake with some major cream filling. And she was about to get a real good taste of it all.

Every few seconds passed into minutes as Moxxie kept fucking her from having her up against the wall to making her bounce in his lap as he sat back in the styling chair. The sugar and honey smooth vampire stylist looking more whorish and slutty than the porn stars when they were in action for a scene, her blue undead booty sporting red handprints from Moxxie spanking it. Orgasms hitting her one after another until she howled as she felt a big one hit from him blowing his load inside of her, chasing her to fall into a naked, sweaty and cum soaked slump on the floor. The imp recovering in the afterglow as he looked at the results of his handiwork, wondering if he’d be in trouble.

Moxxie wouldn’t have to wait long for an answer as the door to the private parlour unlocked and opened, revealing the salon receptionist and Mr.Sketch along with his personal assistant. Deadpan expressions in their face as they glanced down at the shameless, pleasure overloaded vampire. Yeah it was clear they had a feeling she would pull a stunt like this, wasn’t the first or last time. The flaming skullheaded Enigma looking his way as he snapped his fingers.

Sketch:”Pam, get a towel and take Moxxie to the spa, get him showers,then bring him back here and make sure it’s Cathy whi takes care of his styling.”*The assistant nodded as she did just that, leading the towel clad imp off and away, reassuring him he was just fine. The skullhead then looked to the receptionist and instructed her in turn.*”Have this mess get cleaned up then take this treacherous little hoe off to the punishment room. You hear that Vivi? You’re getting a train run on you!! I give you one job and you can’t help yourself can you?”*He threatens the vampire with was clearly going to be some erotic torture. Call it futilebut it was either this or kill her and good stylists were hard to come by.*

Vivi of course considered it totally worth it after a lay like that but she definitely needed another dose of Moxxie love after that. Maybe getting into Mr.Sketch’s good graces would help if she offered the security footage of their rut? As for Moxxie, there was no further incidents after that little Salon liaison but Something told him encounters like that would happen plenty of times. But hey at a porn studio when wasn’t it likely, right?

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deathisararemercy · 2 years ago

Text

Ties to The Past

Death x ghost/soulmate!Reader

“Wait…is it really you, old friend?” If you had any blood in your body, it would’ve run cold. There was no mistaking that voice. The wrinkled old spirit in front of you, the soul who was standing next to the lifeless body in the bed, the person Death had come to reap, was a former friend of yours from when you were alive, years and years ago.

A/N: Sorry for the lack of a post yesterday. After posting something nearly every day for about a week, it felt weird not doing so last night. However, I come bearing a 3k part two to this 2 am post, aka Red String. This story has shifted a bit, but I hope you all enjoy. I have more planned out for this AU. It shouldn't be more than five or six parts, and I'll hopefully finish it by the end of next week, if not the end of this week. In the meantime, this is a little reminder that my requests are open (guidelines in pinned)! Thank you for all the love on Red String!

Part One | Part Two |

“I’m sorry, mi fantasma. You can’t come with me on this one.”

Your eyes widened in shock before narrowing in suspicion. “Why not?” You floated over the wolf’s head, peering down at him. After what seemed like forever, you figured out how levitation worked, and it was now your favorite means of getting from place to place. Being a ghost had its perks, aside from the whole being dead thing.

Death, however, was not tolerating this at the moment. He batted you away with a grim expression on his face. “I can’t tell you.” Seeing your hurt expression, he sighed. “You won’t want to see this particular soul. They’ve done some…unpleasant things.”

You groaned, floating a bit further ahead of him as you gestured around you. “We’re in the middle of a small little seaside town,” you said incredulously. “What kind of ‘unpleasant things’ could this person have done?”

You had a point. The town the two of you walked (or floated) through was the epitome of an idyllic seaside life. The mid-afternoon air carried in from the sea was crisp and smelled faintly of brine. The red roofed houses were full of life and color. People, unaware of Death’s presence and certainly not of yours, called out to one another, selling wares, fruits, and fish, and children raced down to the seashore. Seeing the ocean’s horizon and the endless shades of blue filled you with excitement.

Slowly, you returned to the earth and walked alongside Death on the cobbled road, your red thread growing warmer at the physical proximity. “I’ve seen you work a ton of times before, Muerte. Good people, bad people. Old people, young people. I think I can handle another soul collection.”

“Don’t get cocky now,” he chuckled. He tugged on his hood to further obscure his face, though no one could see him at the moment. “I mean it, cordero,” he muttered. “When we arrive at the house, I want you to stay outside.”

You had died a long time ago. But when you did, your red soulmate thread appeared and connected you to Death. And not metaphorically or rhetorically or poetically or theoretically or in any other fancy way. Your soulmate was Death, straight up. Ever since he cut the silver cord connecting your soul to your physical body, you’ve traveled with the wolf and kept him company. Though he never said it aloud, you could tell he appreciated this, and that a small part of him needed it too.

Wolves are social creatures, you thought to yourself as Death changed the subject to a cat who was shot out of a cannon not too far from these shores. Death loved stories. His tail always wagged a bit whenever you told him a story about your life. Even after you thought you had run out of stories to tell, he always managed to dig up a memory of yours that you had thought you had completely forgotten. It amused and interested him to hear you talk about your life, and it kept you sane too. After all, it must have been…decades since you died. The fear of forgetting your life always haunted you, which was annoying because you were a ghost, and you were supposed to be the haunter and not the haunted.

At least if there was one person you knew you were haunting successfully, it was Death. Your red thread made sure the two of you were never too far from one another, but even without that thread, it would be practically impossible to separate you from his side. If being by his side and providing each other company as the world moved on and on and on was supposed to be your “happily ever after,” you weren’t going to complain.

But you were going to complain if he didn’t let you join him on this one little job. “Why don’t you think I can handle myself?” you asked him one last time. “Don’t you trust me?”

The wolf stopped suddenly. If you had a physical body, you would’ve walked straight into him. You stood in front of him now with a stern glare. The thread felt heavier than it usually did. An unreadable expression was on Death’s face. His eyes twitched a little as he spoke. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“Alright then.”

“It’s that I’m worried for you.”

This wiped the glare off of your face. You faltered. “What?”

Muerte pointed up at the window of the large house you two stopped in front of. “Up there in that bedroom is the soul I have to collect. An elderly person who has lived a life full of popularity, wealth, and status and died peacefully in their sleep during a post-lunch nap.”

“Sounds…pretty nice,” you mumbled. A scowl crossed your face. “So what? You think I’m going to get hurt because I’m going to see a person who lived a full life? I’ve seen plenty before!”

“It’s not just that, mi fantasma,” continued Death slowly. “They did not live a truly full life. They’re alone right now. And no one will know that they’ve died for quite some time. Despite their riches and ranking, no one was truly ever close with them. At least, there is no one they hold close anymore.” He placed a paw on your shoulder. “I have the feeling that they might resist me while I try to do my job, and I don’t want you to have to see me get…” He paused, tilting his head a bit and chewing on the words. “Violent.”

Realization dawned on your face slowly, softening your features. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he nodded. The wolf sniffed the air a bit. “I have to go in now. Stay here, alright?” He gently tugged on the string, warmth filling your bodies. “I’ll be right back.”

He began to whistle his eerie little tune, and in a blink, he was gone. Your thread showed that he was already up in the bedroom. You sighed. You weren’t going to complain. You were going to listen and be a good little ghost and respect his wishes and stay outside.

But you were worried about him.

You had no doubt that Death could handle himself in a fight. He was tall and strong, and his reflexes were terrifyingly quick. Though you’ve seen him use his sickles to cut cords, you knew he could use them very well in a fight. He was an immortal being, for folk’s sake. No one escapes Death. But even so…

A chill went up your spine as you tried to lean casually against the wall of the house and fell through to the other side. You jolted upright, finding yourself in the living room of the house. You could hear quiet murmuring upstairs. Well, you were already inside. One small peek wouldn’t hurt would it?

Right?

There was a loud crash and your chest suddenly burst into pain. “Muerte!” You phased upwards through the floor and found yourself in the bedroom.

Death stood with his back to the wall, startling when he saw you. He didn’t look hurt, but his eyes were burning a violent scarlet.

You rushed to the wolf’s side, hands searching for injuries. “Muerte, are you alright?”

He tightly shut his scarlet eyes before shaking his head and opening them. They were a bit less red, but the intensity remained. “I’m fine. But that,” he said, pointing to the other side of the room, “That’s a problem.”

On the other side of the room was the phantom. They were still connected to their physical body by their silver cord, but their spectral form was fizzling in and out of existence in anger. Black and red, hazy and undefined, its aura was one of nothing but anger.

“Here’s what I think we should do,” Death began as he struck his sickles together. “We- what are you doing?” he sputtered as you left his side and walked up to the phantom.

It screeched and it hissed, and the air around it seemed to burn hot, a sensation you hadn’t truly felt since your death. Everything sounded like static, but you stared intently at where you hoped their face was.

“You’re dead, and there’s nothing you or he,” you added, gesturing towards the wolf, “can do about it.” You glanced at the spirit’s physical, lifeless body. Their wrinkled face was in a grimace. Shutting your eyes tight, you focused on being able to touch the body and shifted the face’s expression to one of peace.

The phantom was less agitated, letting out a small confused shriek. “You can’t go back to your body or the life you used to have. I know it hurts,” you added quietly, “Having to let go. Realizing you can’t wake back up. But that big wolf over there?” You gestured at Death, who stood silently behind you. “He’s a really nice guy. And he’s going to cut that cord of yours and send you off to the spirit world. You’re going to be alright.”

The phantom’s edges began to sharpen, becoming less blurry. It drew closer to you. Behind you, you could hear Death’s low growling. The red thread in your chest seemed to bunch up in a tight knot. You held your breath. And the intense air in the room was gone, and the phantom was no longer a faceless specter, but a spirit more akin to the body in the bed. In fact, that face looked very familiar.

“Is it really you, old friend?”

If you had any blood in your body, it would’ve run cold. There was no mistaking that voice. The wrinkled old spirit in front of you, the soul who was standing next to the lifeless body in the bed, the person Death had come to reap, was a former friend of yours from when you were alive, years and years ago. You had a falling out just before you died actually, if you remembered correctly.

“H-hi..” you said quietly. You offered a small wave.

They didn’t wave back. “You don’t look like you’ve aged a day since…”

“I decided to stick around the mortal plane for a while,” you said lightly, trying to lean back against the wall before realizing Death was behind you. You heard him quickly sheathe his sickles, and he caught you as you stumbled into his arms. But his hands were tight on your shoulders as he set you back up while you laughed nervously. He didn’t let go.

Your former friend blinked slowly. Oh, this was going just splendidly. You plastered a bigger grin on your face as you left Death’s grip and walked around the room jauntily. There were paintings all over the walls of different people with your old friend in golden frames. As you took a look around the room, you realized how lavishly it was decorated with bright cushions and heavy drapery, unusual for a seaside house. “Glad to see you lived a nice and full life! It looks like you had a lot of fun and are- were- erm, doing really well for yourself!”

“I did.”

“I’m kinda jealous, you know. I died pretty young,” you chuckled, enunciating the ‘t’s and wagging a finger.

You cast a glance at Death, who still stood in front of the spirit. His gaze was… questioning. Are you okay? he asked silently with a slight tilt of his head. The red string connecting the two of you tightened.

You shook yours slightly in response, but circled back to your old friend. “But I’m still hanging around and all that. I might not be alive but I feel alive getting to hang out with Muerte everyday.” Oh, what the hell. That was such a stupid thing to say.

The spirit raised an eyebrow. “You hang out with this guy? Isn’t he Death?”

The wolf rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m Death.” He drew his sickles again. “And I think it’s time for you to go.”

“Hold on, hold on. Why are you sticking around him?” Your friend’s brows furrowed. They took your hands in theirs. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Death stiffened as you let go of their hands. “Well, the funny thing is…he’s my soulmate.” You splayed your hands out awkwardly, letting the statement sink in.

The room was still for just a moment. “Your red string. Is connected. To Death?” The spirit said slowly. And then they burst out into laughter. They wheezed, clutching their sides as you stood awkwardly in front of Death. “You?” they laughed. “With Death? Oh, I’m so sorry. That’s some really messed up luck. Fate was not on your side.”

“I’m starting to remember why we had that falling out,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, please. Relax. I just thought you were doomed to die alone without a soulmate. I mean, you remember all those people you’d talk to. You were so desperate to find your soulmate. And you end up dying and this guy is your soulmate? What, is he keeping you captive or something? Come on, let’s just get to the spirit world. Together! Then I can introduce you to all the famous people I met. Maybe one of them will really like you, who knows?

“This entire thing with Death was probably just a mistake. Who could ever love a big bad wolf like him?”

You were ready to punch a ghost in the face, but Death beat you to it. “It’s time for you to go,” the wolf growled, stalking forward.

The spirit raised their hands over their head as if that would stop Death himself. “W-wait!”

With one clean swipe, Death slashed their silver cord. The spirit was freed from their physical body. Death gave them no time to react. With an upwards motion, his sicles cut through the fabric of the universe. The light of the shimmering doorway to the spirit world blinded everyone in the room momentarily. But the light didn’t stop Death. Before the spirit began to process what was happening, he shoved them through the door before deftly grabbing the edges of the ripped seam and pulling it shut. He slashed the air with his sicles to clear the air.

It was all over in the matter of seconds.

He stood still, breathing heavily. His hands gripped his sickles tightly, shaking.

You could feel the string grow taut, and you hesitantly drew closer to the wolf. “They’re wrong, you know.”

He blinked, suddenly remembering you were there. He stepped towards the window, laughing as he looked outside. He refused to meet your eyes. “I know. But I’m Death. They don’t get under my skin. They can think whatever they want. They can’t escape me and they certainly can’t change who I am. I’m fine, really.”

“I hate to break it to you,” you said gently, “But I’m pretty sure you’re lying to yourself right now.”

“I’m not,” Death grumbled. He sheathed his sickles. Looking back at the body on the bed, he gently tucked it in before heading to the door. “Let’s get out of here.” He stomped out of the bedroom, leaving you to follow.

“Wait!”

You quickly ran out to follow him.

“Muerte!”

On the stairwell, his ears twitched a little. He turned to look at you, halfway out of the bedroom door. “¿Sí, mi fantasma? What is it?”

You opened and closed your mouth, trying to figure out what to say. You stepped forward, while pulling him closer by pulling on the red string. “Don’t believe a word they said. I chose to stay in the mortal realm. I wanted to get to know you and I wanted to be there for you. All my life,” you choked out, “All my life, I looked for a soulmate. I met so many people with so many fascinating stories and lives. But even though I wasn’t alone, I still felt lonely.”

“Are you trying to say that you think I’m lonely?” Death teased.

“Yes!” you blurted out. “Yes, I think you’re lonely! But I don't want you to have to be lonely anymore! I don’t think you’re a big bad wolf! You’re- you’re a big good wolf! You’re strong and gentle and- I can’t believe I’m saying this- you are really attractive!”

What.

The.

Folk.

“Oh my fairy godmother.” Your hands flew to your face as you knelt to the ground, unable to process your outburst. “I want to die. Again.”

“I love you too.”

You looked up. “What?”

“I love you too.” Death looked down with a smirk. He bent down, elbows on his knees. His smirk softened to a smile as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “I know what you were trying to say. Thank you… I needed that.” He hesitated. And then he kissed your forehead, gentle and sweet.

The red thread seemed to come alive and your entire body felt like it was burning, but in the best way possible. Without thinking, you grabbed the string and tugged it down, leading Death to your lips. He didn’t object. And for however long that kiss lasted, you finally felt alive again. You could smell the dirt and seabrine in his fur, soft and cold under your hands. You felt the phantom sensations of your heart racing. He was tender and soft, though as you both pulled away, you could see a hungry look in his eyes, as if he were ready to devour you in an instant.

God, you wanted to kiss him again.

“We better get going,” you coughed, rising to your feet quickly.

Death followed suit. “Certainly.”

The two of you walked out of the house and into the street. Death didn’t put on his hood. But your hand did find its way into his. He gave it a small squeeze.

“I love you, Muerte.” You said quietly when you reached the edge of town. The two of you stopped. Dusk was quickly settling down over the seaside town. The two of you stood on the edge of the main road. He gave you a long look, red eyes cutting through the dark. “Do you believe we’re soulmates?”

“I do.”

He said this without hesitation or doubt. And by the look in his eyes, you knew he believed it.

==x==x==

“I must say though, I’m surprised you find me attractive. I didn’t think I’d be your type.”

“Please. I don’t want to die another time out of shame.”

#puss in boots #the last wish #puss in boots death #death x reader #puss in boots muerte #muerte x reader #x reader #.writing

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signed-sapphire · 7 months ago

Text

The Fallen Star ✨ Wish Reimagined

Chapter 3 - The roses

Tw: nightmare, fire, small prick I guess? it's a thorn, swearing as always, it's Asha and by that I mean it's me

Chapter 2

Asha is burning.

She's screaming, she's being crushed. The crackling of fire echoes in her ears, drowning out her own cries.

Everything is bright, but there's a single pair of eyes staring at her from behind the flames.

(Imagine something like this shot from The Owl House)

The creature tilts its head, its expression unreadable. It emits a series of musical tones, like a melody woven from starlight and moonbeams. Asha feels a strange pull, as if the creature is trying to communicate with her through some arcane language she can't quite grasp.

The roof caves in and crashes down, obscuring Asha's view of the figure. The collapse pushes the rubble further into Asha, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

Someone pulls the rubble off her. She wants to yell. Watch out! You'll get crushed too!

They say something. Asha can't hear them. She wants to reach out. Stay with me. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her throat is parched.

Don't go back in! she wants to cry. Someone's in there!

Why are you leaving me—

She wakes with a gasp, something flat and wet catching the inside of her mouth.

Asha hacks. Valentino had accidentally licked her tongue.

She wipes her tongue and takes a moment so her eyes adjust to the darkness. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, she can make out the familiar details of her bedroom. But with it, she can also see the memories of the dream, crisp and fresh in her mind.

The feeling of panic, of helplessness... she won't be able to fall back asleep, not with the echoes of their screams still haunting her.

This was bullshit. She shouldn't be affected this much by a stupid book. It was just a light.

Asha gets up. She does not tremble.

She unties her hair scarf. Valentino raises his head, his cheek fluff smushed flat from the blanket.

Asha smiles softly and pets his velvety ear. Val bleats quietly, and Asha kisses his forehead.

"Stay here, baby," she whispers, grabbing her cloak. “I’m going for a walk. I'll be back in a bit. Go back to bed, okay?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The air is cold, but the crispness is a shock to her system that Asha desperately needs. She decides to head to the gardens.

She smiles softly as she remembers the gardens of her childhood. They had roses there, too. Asha used to paint the white ones red.

Red like fire.

Asha hurries on.

She tucks her hands inside her cloak pockets as she walks across the checkered-grass floor. Asha stops at a pocket of daffodils, walking between them and sitting down, careful not to disturb the petals.

Asha watches the flowers dance in the wind, effortless and elegant. She brushes her hand along a row of them.

Right before she reaches the end, she pricks her hand on a thorn. Asha swears under her breath, pushing back the flowers to see a single strewn white rose laying amongst the crowd.

Asha picks it up and stares at it in distain. At a glance one might gloss over it. Even now, a drop of crimson blood painting the petals, the rose blended in quite well with the daffodils.

But up close, it wasn't fooling anyone.

Asha plucks off the petals and tosses away the thorny stem, watching the wind carry the petals... and something else, too. A quiet conversation, approaching Asha's location.

“Baz, I told you, it’s fine, Dahlia just wanted us all there.”

“Argh, but what if we get caught?” came the responding whisper. “Safi, I– I–”

“Hey, breathe,” Safi whispered. “We’re al– a– ACHOO! Why are there so many flowers?”

“Hehe. We’re in a garden…”

“Heh. Made you laugh.”

Asha rolls her eyes and makes her way out of the flowers, making sure her footsteps are heavy enough to catch their attention.

“Eep! Your nose gives away your lies! Hide, Safi!”

“Oof!”

Asha rounds the corner, and Bazeema hides her face as the bush next to her sneezes.

"Ah. Bashful. What are you doing here?” Asha asks, entertaining the other girl’s silly fantasy.

Bazeema peeks open her eyes and lowers her hands. “H-hi, princess. I- I –”

“Speak properly.”

“I–” The girl swallows. “I like to come to the gardens to get inspiration for my designs,” Bazeema squeaks out. “I’m a weaver. My hijab this morning– I made it myself. I’m actually really proud of the design–”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I don’t care,” Asha says. “What are you doing out at this time?”

Bazeema blinks. “I, um… couldn’t sleep. I was worried about Hal.”

“Pfft. Worried?” Asha smirks.

Bazeema looks firmly at the princess. “Yes," she whispers.

Asha frowns. “Right. Uh. Sorry... that your friend is now depressed.”

“Hal has been through a lot, and yet she still smiles. It’s… a trait I admire about her.” Bazeema’s face takes on a wistful look.

Asha is about to respond, but then the bush sneezes again.

“Welp! Time to go, oh I am rather exhausted! Maybe I need that spindle idea of yours!” Bazeema peeps, ushering Asha out of the gardens. “Thank you for gracing me with your presence, princess! Sweet dreams!”

The gates slam in her face.

Asha blinks.

She entertains the idea of throwing Bazeema out the castle windows.

(Can't find the gif, but Bazeema is the old man that Emperor Asha would punish for throwing off her groove)

“So, you admire Hal, huh?”

“Oh, shush, Safi!”

The sound of footsteps retreat. Asha pushes open the gates.

“That was shady,” Asha says, pulling her cloak hood over her hair and shadowing the two teens.

She sneakily follows the two teens to the chicken coop. She peeks around the corner to see the seven teens holding candles and quietly catching Bazeema up to speed.

“I fell asleep in while cleaning my dad’s armour, and I heard something." Sleepy's voice.

“It nearly killed me!” Gabo huffs. “Abuela told me to go see what was causing a ruckus. That could've been the last she saw of me!”

“Baaaaa!”

Asha covers her mouth with her hand to silence her yelp as Valentino pops up beside her. “Jeez, baby! You scared me!” Asha whispers, pulling the goat close.

Dario signs something, not paying attention to the conversation.

“We trapped it inside the coop, but it’s scaring all the chickens,” Safi says worriedly.

I think they're performing an opera, Dario signs, grinning.

Gabo stares in disappointment at his friend, then moves on. “That’s why we sent you to get Bazeema. You’re worrying about the birds too much when you’re here,” he grumbles to Safi. “They’ll be fine.”

“The chickens probably think it’s a fun surprise,” Hal offers. “They sound like they’re having fun.”

“And why wake us all up for this?” Dahlia yawns. “Dario, put the soap down. Where did you even get that?”

It flew out of the coop! Dario grins. He signs with one hand, spelling out some words since the other hand is occupied with holding the bar of soap. I think the chickens laid it. It smells like apple. Hey, do you think this is related to the S-

"Dario, for the last time, spoons cannot be ingested," Dahlia says, massaging her temples while Safi takes the soap from a frowning Dario.

Simon looks nervous. “Well… my papa’s one of the bookkeepers for the castle. I think I know what’s in there—”

Suddenly, Valentino wriggles out of Asha's grasp.

"Valentino!" Asha whisper-shouts as the goat and runs towards the teens. Dario notices the blur of fluff heading towards him and stumbles back, dropping his candle and colliding with Simon, who's already snoring against the wall.

The impact shakes the wooden support beam, and a pile of baskets falls down on Dario’s head. Bazeema yelps and swats at the baskets, crashing into Safi behind her.

The two fall down, almost knocking over Dahlia, but Gabo pulls her out of the way and stomps out the fire Dario's candle lit.

"Okay, spy! Reveal yourself before I do something I won't regret!" Gabo snaps. Dahlia shushes him.

Asha rolls her eyes and pulls down her hood, stepping into the light. The teens' eyes widen, and they scramble up, quickly dropping into a bow.

All except Dario, that is. He was still peering into the chicken coop.

Hal pulls her friend into a bow.

(I can't find a picture but it's like that part in the movie where the seven teens bowed down to Queen Amaya)

"Threatening a royal, Grumpy?" Asha tuts. "Keep it up and I'll have your friend's precious chickens filleted."

Gabo snarls, but stays quiet.

"Now, care to tell me why you stole my goat?" Asha asks. "And what are you doing by the chicken coops when you should be sleeping?"

"None of your royal business," Gabo mutters.

Suddenly, a burst of sparkles poofs out from the crack under the coop's door.

Safi kicks over a pile of baskets. "Whoops! I am so- so-- ACHOO!" The baskets kicked up some hay in the air. "I am so clumsy!" he laughs awkwardly, sniffling.

"What are you hiding?" Asha demands.

"Nothing! And no one!" Safi says quickly.

"Well, we should all head to bed! You too, princess, your otousan would be very cross if he saw you out this late!" Dahlia smiles, moving to direct Asha away.

There's another poof, and a discord of musical instruments.

"Magnus?" Asha scoffs. "I can deal with my adopted father. Now out of the way."

Dahlia looks desperately at her friends. Asha storms past her, shoving away Hal when she tries to stop her.

The princess yanks open the wooden door. Inside the coop is a crazy sight.

Dario smirks, self-satisfied.

Chickens, dancing, doing ballet

Angry chickens in bisexual lighting

Chickens, shooting out eggs out of PG-hidden cloacas

Chickens, juggling their eggs

And in the center, conducting them all...

The thing was round, with eyes shaped like a sparkle and an oval respectively, five points sticking out of it like little limbs.

Exactly like the symbol on the spellbook in Magnifico’s study.

“Oh, fucking hell," Asha swears.

Chapter 4

Author's Notes

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I hated writing this. I was just stuck, and then I was like, fuck it, I'm posting it because the next chapter I'm really excited to write. Because if I add more, then the cut-off would be... too harsh? I don't know. My phone is broken so I can't create gifs right now akjdkjajksjskjksaj fuck it. Post.

Btw, Star in The Fallen Star looks like this:

With a sparkle on the (our) left and a "regular" oval for the other eye on out right.

GET READY! THIS CHAPTER SUCKED BUT THE NEXT ONE SOMETHING BIG HAPPENS AND IT IS A LONG ONE!

Me to my own writing

#the fallen star au #asha x star #asha #star x asha #disney wish #wish 2023 #human star #princess asha #starsha #the fallen star fic

35 notes · View notes

shesjustanothergeek · 1 year ago

Text

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Fourteen

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the late update. Life has been pretty stressful these past three weeks, but not as bad as before. I finally finished all the required exams to become licensed in what I do, and now I have to wait for the results. I'll probably be starting a job in the coming months, so I might have to go back to uploading every two weeks like before. I'll keep y'all updated. Also, while researching, I realized this story has a cannon time frame. It's 127 AC to 129 AC, so everyone has a definite age. You're welcome. :)

Chapter Warnings: Period accurate sexism.

"He was pointing at the moon, but I was looking at his hand." - Richard Silken, The Worm King's Lullaby.

It was two days before you woke. The stars were sparkling in an endless sea of the night sky, the waning moon reflecting a mirror image of itself over Blackwater Bay. You were surprised no one had come to wake you. It was rude for a guest to sleep the days away in someone's home, but you were exhausted.

So much had happened when you arrived at Kings Landing, resurfacing old memories you desperately pushed down. The pain was too great to sift through, tears heating your eyes whenever you thought of them. It was easier to ignore your hurt and squash it into a hardened cluster of untouched emotions, constantly pushing it deeper and deeper until it cracked from the pressure, exposing it raw.

You went to the great wardrobe on the other side of the guest chambers, wrapping a robe around your shoulders as you headed to the balcony. The small ship with your belongings arrived a few hours after you did, and everything was neatly organized into its designated place as if you had lived there your whole life. You supposed a part of you did, a piece never entirely leaving the haunting red rock walls.

There was a thickness in the air. The heavy humidity clung to your skin, making you feel sticky and damp, sweat accumulating in the warmer parts of your body even with your thin nightgown. Your room was on the upper levels of the palace, overlooking the never-ending labyrinth of sandstone and mudbrick houses. The ones closest to the Keep had tile roofing. Thoughtfully crafted peaks sloped down to let water drain on the rare occasion it rained, but the further you looked, the more you saw that foresight was lost. Straw and flat stones comprised the cupolas as timber support beams stuck out of the foundation, built for longevity and not fashion.

You were mainly awake now, although sleep still clung to your eyelids. A leaf had snuck its way onto the railing before you, a crispy tan color with holes in its body, a sign of the changing seasons. You watched it drag across the intricately crafted banister before being swept away as quickly as it landed. A strong breeze brushed your bare legs, feeling it weave through your long gown; you pulled your silken robe tighter.

Your limbs controlled themselves as you moved to your chamber doors, slowly opening them as you peeked out. As you suspected, the guard was slumped over, the hour of the owl upon him as you slipped out. You still recalled your time in the guest wing, traversing the long hallways to your intended destination.

The leaf reminded you of your brief moments spent at the Godswood. Your fleeting moments had you longing for a genuine opportunity to appreciate the acre of land it stretched on. You never had enough time to truly understand the beauty of it while you were here, caught up in the constant rotation of lessons and duties before your legitimization.

Elm, alder, and black cottonwood grew there, looking over the Blackwater Rush. Your old Septa Mariam had explained the history of a Godswood. You could remember her lecture as you sat in the lesson room, staring longingly out of the pane-glass windows.

When the First Men converted to faith in the Old Gods, after the Pact between the Children of The Forest, they created Godswoods. They were groves within their castles and villages where a single Weirwood, also known as a Heart Tree, would be planted so the Gods could be worshipped. Each tree was carved with a face, said to have been done by The Children during the dawn, centuries before the First Men. Before the treaty was made, while the war was waged between the Children of The Forest and the First Men, they cut down every Weirwood they found. They thought the greenseers of the Children, who could influence plant life and have prophetic dreams, could see through the faces.

The most severe oaths and vows are said before the Heart Trees, believing you are standing before the Old Gods when you do. To break a promise that was noted in the presence of the Gods was a means to a fate worse than death. Septa Mariam did not believe that to be true, going as far as to demonize the unpopular faith for believing in what she said were false idols. The dedication of the Seven was the only truth to her.

You didn't care or know much about religion before being found, only knowing the Seven as that was the most common belief and what the people of Kings Landing practiced. You didn't believe something so transcendent could reside in such a lecherous place, but when you stepped into the Godswood for the first time in years, the wind blowing through your ebony hair, you couldn't help but feel everything was true.

Even in the heart of a secular city, you could feel the Old Gods watching with their unseen eyes, hidden within the rocks and the trees, settled into the blades of grass and dirt under your shoes. Their stares did not frighten you. Strangely, within their watchful gaze, you felt comforted. It felt mystical, a blanket of infinity enveloping your flesh in something otherworldly. You were welcomed in a place full of people who did not want you.

You walked to the Weirwood tree that stood ghastly in the darkness. Its bark was as pale as bone, its leafs as red as the blood coursing through your veins. The slender white branches shook in the autumn wind, the crimson foliage floating onto the sod beneath it.

You traced the tips of your fingers delicately across the truck, feeling its rough texture as you placed your forehead upon it. It had only been a short period in which you resided at the Red Keep, but your mind felt like it had been an eternity. You longed for the smell of brimstone and salt, a sulfuric scent no one besides Aegon the Conqueror was thought to enjoy. That scent was home to you, a place full of family, where you had fond memories of love and belonging. Your heart ached to see them again even though you had barely left.

You wished to ruffle your digits in Luke's curly brown hair, grab Jace by the scruff of his neck, rub your knuckles on his scalp, and pinch Joffrey's cherubic face until he swatted your hands away with his much smaller ones. You yearned to see your kin again. The people here that called themselves were anything but.

Peace had finally set into your limbs as you sighed through your parted lips, the isolation sinking into nothingness. You lowered yourself to the damp ground as you nestled between two winding roots and peered through the gaps of leaves above you, looking into the vast amounts of stars that twinkled in the darkness.

You thought about nothing anymore, staring into the sky as you heard the faint scraping of shoes. Assuming it was just a servant or perhaps a guard, you ignored them, breathing deep into your chest. The clatter of metal against stone rang through the night, disturbing your harmony. Barely audible sounds of dissatisfied rumblings caused you to sit up with a scowl, squinting to see the disturbance.

Almost imperceptibly, you saw the silhouette of a man bent over as he gathered a pitcher off the ground. You knew without a second thought who it was, debating with yourself if you should lend a hand. He seemed well enough as he scooped it up, stumbling to gather his footing. You settled back into your spot, sighing as you nestled your head back onto a pale root.

Just as your body had begun to slip into a relaxed state, the same piercing metal sound happened again, and you opened one unamused eye, sighing.

"Having difficulty?" you questioned with a snark into the night, not moving.

"Fuck," you heard him mumble, a dull thud following.

At that, you finally moved, propping yourself up on your elbows as you glared at him with a hooded gaze.

"Aegon, must I fetch your Mother?" you taunted, a wicked grin burning your cheeks.

Aegon snapped his head from his place on the ground towards you, a surprised look on his face. He believed you were in his mind at first. The cups he had lost himself in filled his head with thoughts of your gentle touch, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you whispered his name. He now knew it was the Arbor Red talking.

"I..." He staggered upwards, brushing his palms on his trousers, recovering quickly, much to your chagrin, "am perfectly well, dear heart."

Your stomach flipped for a reason you did not know. You didn't like how he spoke, uncomfortable with what they made you feel. It reminded you of something Rhaenyra would say, an intimate person you longed to be with again, as your eyes looked anywhere but at the drunken prince.

"You certainly appear so," you commented sarcastically, leaning more weight onto your elbows as you sighed. "Why are you awake, my Prince?" He did not indicate if he had heard you, only gazing into the vast acre of the Godswood.

Despite your voice's calm, almost emotionless tone, the flesh of your bottom lip found its way between your teeth as you sat up, pressing your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. A short silence fell as Aegon gathered his bearings, stumbling over to you as you pulled your legs closer.

He stopped beside your slippered feet, staring at the shaking leaves above, some falling onto the soft grass as a cool breeze swept through the grounds. You couldn't understand why your toes curled at his presence, your hands suddenly sticky and uncomfortable and griping the hem of your nightgown. You wondered if he could sense it, your whole body tensing as he grew bored of the leaves and plopped next to you. You hoped he was too drunk to notice.

You swallowed thickly, the sound loud and audible as you picked at the blades of grass. Aegon didn't hear the loud clicking in your throat, focused on flipping the metal pitcher upside down as the last few drops of Arbor Red dripped onto his pink tongue. Unlike you, he seemed comfortable in the silence, quietly humming to himself as he wiped the excess drink with the back of his hand.

The guilt from how you treated Aegon when you found him crept up your spine, stinging your ears as your face burned at the memory. He was kind to you, albeit obstinate at times, but nothing terrible. He defended you before his mother, the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms! On the other hand, you had spat such vile insults—words he did not deserve within such a vulnerable state. You regretted them deeply, but your pride refused to admit it aloud, your mouth opening and closing with slight intakes of breath as you fought to apologize.

"Why did you not return my letters?" Aegon abruptly asked, distracting you from your inner turmoil.

"I did not receive any."

And that was the truth. No raven from the Red Keep was ever directly for you until Queen Alicent. They were all intended for your mother, father, and the few Lords that spent their time at Dragonstone.

"Do not think me a fool," he spat without warning. "I sent you a letter every moon for a year, and even then, when you did not respond, I sent one to my half-sister, begging her for you to write to me." You stared at him bewildered, your mouth slightly agape as your heart sank. "I just..." he began, cutting himself off as his mouth became wet, "I only wanted to know if you were well. After everything that happened all those years ago, I would expect one to feel a need for comfort and companionship."

Aegon had no intention of belittling you; he only wanted to show you the compassion which you had been neglected of. Your instinct was to deny any need for sympathy, feeling offended that he thought you could not handle yourself, but you realized that was not the truth. The bitterness you harbored for his mother and grandfather had muddled together into a mess of resentment and rage for all who surrounded them, even those who had no part in it.

The moonlight reflected in his glassy eyes as you touched his cheek. You had never realized how pink and plump his lips were until they trembled in the silver lighting.

"I swear to you, Aegon, on the Seven, upon my late mother's grave, that I had no knowledge of the letters you sent me." You had to bite your tongue not to add that even if you did, you wouldn't have written to him anyways. The blinders of anger kept you from reason back then.

You saw how his face fell from the contorted pain your supposed rejection gave him to one of sad relief. "I must extend my apologies then," he said, attempting to move his cheek from your hold. You did not let him, leaning closer to him as you brought the other one to keep him in place.

"No, Aegon. It is I who must apologize." He stared at you in confusion, his light brown eyebrows furrowing together. Rubbing your thumb over the creases between them came naturally to you. You had done it with your brothers when they were upset, tracing over the lines and structure to calm them.

"Despite my lack of patience and disregard for you, you have continually shown your heart bare, and I..." you paused, willing your voice not to crack, "cannot thank you enough. You have only showered me with kindness and hospitality since I have stepped foot in Kings Landing. Even when I did not deserve it, you defended my honor so valiantly it would put my brothers to shame." You smiled, picturing Jace and Luke's faces as if they had heard the Queen call you a bastard. "Although I must admit my confusion surrounding your ravens. I never received any word from you, and I cannot fathom who would bar them from me."

You did have some ideas of who it was and why they did it, but it still upset you, even if you would have burned the letters anyway.

The tension in Aegon's brow loosened at the delicate swipes of your thumbs, shutting his bloodshot eyes in appreciation. He still looked the same boy you left for Dragonstone, though the dark circles on his porcelain skin were more prominent, and his hair was shorter. You watched him tuck his lower lip in his mouth, still quaking. You couldn't stop the way your hands slid back down his face, cupping his jaw in your palms as you tugged his wet lip from between the confines of his teeth, the dry pad of your finger sticking to the soft skin.

He opened his eyes at the movement, his violet irises nearly black to focus in the darkness. You gave a small smile, not fully stretching your face as you dropped your hands, finding his clenching the loose fabric of his trousers; his knuckles blanched as you took them in your own. You inhaled sharply to speak but thought better of it as you shuffled closer to Aegon, the fine hairs on your arm tickling his.

***

You weren't sure when you had fallen asleep within the Godswood, the birds chirping as the morning sun rose above the trees. Your back ached as you attempted to stretch your body, only to find the silver-haired head of a prince on your lap. You didn't remember inviting him to rest there, but you didn't wake him, his pouty lips slightly parted as he softly snored.

Aegon looked so sweet like this, like an innocent child who had yet to discover the atrocities of the world. Your fingers itched to run through his hair, to scrap his scalp until he purred into your touch. This was wrong, and you knew it, having the notoriously hedonistic prince lying like a babe on your plush thighs. You wondered what your father would do if he caught you.

The most obvious answer was that he would be furious, most likely at Aegon, and pull him by the short locks attached to his head and onto the ground. Deamon would spit pure venom from his lips, a fit of anger you had only ever seen him display once before, and then he would turn to you. He wouldn't say anything. He wouldn't need to. You could see everything he wanted to convey in his eyes. There would be a mix of frustration, confusion, and disappointment. You would explain what had happened and try to convince him his wrath was directed at the wrong person.

Aegon was just a byproduct of the people he hated, the green bitch and her cunt of a father, Daemon called them. You would explain that Aegon had no desire to rule nor the capability, even though he had not said that himself. Your father would argue that no man will turn away the opportunity to be the most powerful being in all the realm. Once Aegon understood he could have everything he desired, there would be no refusal. Would a man lost in the desert refuse a drink of water simply because it was not from the springs?

You would agree with your father. He was right, after all. He was always right. Daemon knew of the darkest wants everyone had. He could read people and bait them to reveal whatever he wanted them to. You admired him for that. It was a trait you hoped to possess eventually. You realized then that you needed to find something Aegon would covet more than unlimited power. You had to make him crave something more intoxicating.

A lump formed in your throat as you gazed down at the sleeping prince who had not stirred during your dissociation. You knew that only one thing could sway him from saying yes to the crown, and your eyes burned with tears at the thought.

You inhaled a shuttering breath, willing the water not to spill as you brought a shaking hand to Aegon's frizzy hair, running your fingers on his scalp.

"It is time to wake up, my Prince," you leaned into his ear, gently whispering. "The sun has risen, and there is much to do."

Aegon still refused to open his eyes. He groaned, rolling onto his side and shoving his face below your navel. You grinned, quietly laughing as you lifted his chin to meet your gaze.

The angle you moved him to caused his neck strain, a bright blue vein popping on his milky skin. You could almost see it throbbing as the flesh thinned. Your finger found its way to it, tracing the turquoise line that expanded from his jaw to his clavicle to where it joined the rest of his body. You caught his twinkling lilac eyes in your brown ones, the vessels within them no longer prominent as he blinked sleep away. Aegon sat up, shifting his body weight onto his palm as your finger stopped its movements on the stained undershirt he wore.

He said nothing as he moved to his knees, his free hand cupping the underside of your jaw in the juncture between his thumb and index. His touch was not quite as tender as yours was, squeezing the area tightly, almost as if he was afraid you would turn away. You felt your heart rate quicken, your lungs suddenly telling you to fill them with more air as his thumb stroked your chin, extending to expose the raw flesh from your nervous habit.

You didn't register that Aegon had moved, his face closer than what you would deem appropriate, as your lips quivered.

"You are shaking, little one," he stated, the gravel of his tired voice rumbling in your chest.

"I am?" you breathed, your body feeling powerless.

You wanted to be strong, as you were taught to be. Yank your face out of his grasp and dust off your dress as you left, but you couldn't. He made you weak. One look at his angelic face and your limbs were putty. Your eyes began to heat with tears again, your stomach fluttering with unfelt emotions.

"Princess," a man called from the entrance to the castle.

You jerked away faster than you thought possible, wobbling to your feet, lightheaded. It was only because you stood so quickly, nothing else.

"My Lady," one of the Cargyll twins stood, bowing his head stiffy as you approached him. "I was altered by her Grace Queen Alicent that there is to be a Council meeting at high noon. She wishes for you to attend."

"Thank you, Ser Erryk." A self-satisfied smirk curved your lips as you spoke, partially because you knew what Alicent had to do for you to be invited and the other because you had guessed to twin correctly based on how his blue eyes widened at the correct name. "If you have time, alter my maids that I wished to have a bath drawn. The air here is not what I am accustomed to."

"Why does Mother want her at a Council meeting Erryk," Aegon questioned too late, you already walking underneath the stone covering of the Keep.

You bristled at the informal way he addressed the knight, raising your eyebrows as you turned to watch the pair.

Ser Erryk was stiffer than you when you had spoken to Ser Criston Cole a few nights prior, tensing as Aegon came closer. "I am not certain of the reason, my Prince. It is not my place to question the Queen's decisions."

Aegon scoffed, stuffing his loose shirt into his pants to seem somewhat put together. He turned to you, his face asking if you wanted to spend hours deliberating with a bunch of stuffy, rich old Lords and his mother.

You made no protest like he had expected you would, remembering how much you disliked the small meetings you had to attend for your legitimization. He frowned deeply, childishly stomping as he sat on a wooden bench against a pale red rock wall.

"Do not sulk, Prince Aegon. It is unbecoming. I would hate for you to be in such a sour mood when we meet again." Your face and voice were stoic, but there was a light behind your eyes, only one that Aegon could see.

He crossed his arms, flipping his hair out of his vision as he continued to pout, though you swore you saw a hint of his smile ghost his lips as he turned away.

***

Once your maids of the Keep had brushed and washed your tangled hair, smoothing lavender and clary sage oils into the long strands and on your skin, they put the black tresses into a braided style similar to the one Visenya wore. It was simple yet regal, and when paired with the deep crimson of your dress, a golden three-headed dragon curling around the expanse of your breasts and wide neckline, it was sure to conjure the image you wanted—a fierce Targaryen princess born and bred of fire and blood.

The Small Council had to respect you in the sense of your rank, bowing and calling you a lady of the realm, but that was all pointless, nothing but supercilious words inside the Chamber. Lords would not adhere to the opinions of a woman, no matter if she was queen or not, and with Rhaenyra residing in her self-imposed isolation for the past years, neglecting her courtly duties, it only made things more arduous.

Your father had mentioned Grandsire appointing him to the Small Council in times past, but the positions always bored him. He felt the call to act while the other members sat and only wanted to debate. The world was moving faster than the Lords could discuss, and with how lawless Kings Landing was at the time, Daemon knew only action would fix it. He had created the Gold Cloaks, and after the night of bloodshed and savagery you had heard about when young, he was never allowed a chair again.

A guard had come for you when you were ready, leading you to the Council Chambers.

The doors were already open, and a few men sat discussing amongst themselves. You recognized one, heart-stopping and body freezing, his image forever seared into your memory. Ser Otto Hightower had greyed some, his hair was still the same wiry brown, curly beard brushed neatly as allowed, and hair slicked back with oil. The bronze hand pin poked proudly through his lapel's embroidered deep green fabric.

You felt your lungs shrink, refusing to let you inhale. Your chest began to hurt, your mouth becoming thick and your jaw quivering as you stood in the doorway, your presence so unimportant as not to go announced.

You couldn't think. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't move. All you could do was stare at the man who sentenced your loved ones to death. He shoved their heads on spikes and placed them on the battlements of the Red Keep for all to gawk and ogle. A punishment that was only served to those who betrayed the crown.

Everything seemed to move slower, your eyes focusing and unfocusing on the Lords surrounding the table. One laughed, a man with golden hair lifting his head back lightly to bellow one out. Another sniffled, wiping his nostril with his forefinger and running a hand through his thick beard before continuing his conversation with the nearly dying man beside him.

You were terrified, a fawn left alone in the woods, helpless to watch as a pack of wolves feasting on its mother's corpse. Your instinct was to run from the danger, run as far and as fast as your legs could carry you until all you could see was the top of the Tower of the Hand. You wanted your mother. You wanted your father. You wanted your brothers... You wanted your family. Why couldn't they be here with you? It was high time Rhaenyra took her place as the heir and ran the kingdom instead of the Hand, but she wasn't. She wouldn't. She felt her place was with her family on Dragonstone, eating candied lemon cakes and fish as she taught Jace High Valyrian, uncaring of her future simply because some Houses swore allegiance to her.

Daemon was wise to send you here without telling her. If he had, you were sure she would have attempted to impose her self-ideology and keep you on the volcanic island while Otto Hightower and his daughter continued to run the Seven Kingdoms in their vision.

"Her Grace, Queen Alicent of House Hightower."

Ser Harold Westerling's voice caused you to jump in fright, moving nearly three paces away from the door just in time for Alicent to make her entrance, her hands clasped together.

The Council members all stood from their chairs in respect for her title, but they couldn't help but wander away from the Green Queen and onto the Black Princess, dressed in rich Targaryen red and adorned with golden jewels. You caught the gaze of the black-bearded man, averting your eyes as you bowed to Queen Alicent. She only regarded you with a frown, like you were a frayed string on the seams of her emerald gowns.

She walked further into the Chamber, her back like an iron rod, as she sat at the farthest end of the table. The one meant for the King or the Hand, not the Queen. Her place conveyed a message to the entire room without words, and you made a small expression of disgust as you understood the meaning.

How many doubts for Rhaenyra's claim were planted by Alicent Hightower and not her father?

You finally comprehended how much you had underestimated her sway in the line of succession. You had thought Alicent still had some honor and sense of duty to do what was right, remembering how she could not stand Ser Otto's decision regarding Lyra and Sara. You were wrong. She was just as wicked and conniving as her father, a product of his greed and lust for power. The slight warmth you regarded for Alicent was gone.

During your displeased state of being, you realized that you had not taken the empty seat across from her at the other end of the table. The Lords stared at you, expecting you not to be told what to do as it was apparent. You brushed off their looks as you rolled your shoulders, straightening your posture and taking your place in the oversized wooden chair. A ball was already in its designed hole, reflecting a deep obsidian color as Queen Alicent began to speak.

"I am sure, my Lords, you are all curious about the presence of a new member," she paused, perched on the edge of her wooden seat as she placed her hands on the table. "Upon the orders of Princess Rhaenyra," Alicent lied as you narrowed your eyes at her, "she has sent her daughter as a ward to sit in her stead as the heir." The men all stared at her with wide eyes but kept their mouths shut, knowing it was not their place to question the child of the King.

She nodded to you, signaling she was finished with her short introduction and was allowing you to speak. You flashed a smile at the shocked looks of the grown men, and they all stiffened, a bolt of fear running through them as they saw Daemon sitting before them.

"My mother does send her sincerest regards for neglecting her duty for so long. As many of you know, she has been with child consistently these past years and has felt it unsafe to travel for her and a babe. Most of you sitting here are fathers yourself and I am certain you can understand how tumultuous childbirth can be." You placed your hands on your womb, looking down at the mahogany table with a slightly sad but wistful look, pretending to swallow tears back as you discreetly glanced up to see their reactions.

You had to hold back a snort as they all shared solemn looks, no doubt remembering how the former Queen had lost her life. All men were the same when it came to it, hypocrites and easy to fool with a few sighs and batting of lashes.

"As her Grace mentioned, I am here in her place, and the Princess expects you to extend the same treatment as you would to the heir of the Iron Throne. She has entrusted me with upholding her opinions and desires on matters of the realm." You raised your head, the sorrowful look you had passed now gone as you met each pair of eyes surrounding you. "And I intend to uphold them with unwavering devotion."

Leaning back in your seat, you signaled that you were finished with the introduction, resting your fingers on the shiny obsidian ball before you, but you were not done with your words.

"I realize that it has been some time since our King has set foot in these chambers," you traced the cool orb with your digits. "I, regretfully, have only heard on parchment of his health and wish to be informed of his most recent state."

It felt like all the men could do was stare at you, unable to form coherent thoughts with the upheaval in the order of things. The hand was the first to speak, unsurprisingly.

"The King is well and sends his regards for being unable to attend today. His health has continued steady progress." You kept your eyes down, waiting for the lies to ensue. "Now, I wish to speak on the matters we discussed yesterday of the outdated infrastructure of the Royal Sept. The benches are-"

A scoff left your mouth before you could catch it, interrupting Lord Hightower. "The well-being of the King is not as important as remodeling a sept?" You asked rhetorically, looking at Otto incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Princess," he spoke to you condescendingly, as if you were a fool, "if you wish to inquire about the King's health, I suggest you visit him yourself. We have matters to discuss that you are unaware of due to your sudden attendance."

Otto had practically just told you to silence yourself in much more elegant words. You could barely contain the rage that shook your bones at his rudeness, wanting to jump across the table and strangle him until he turned blue. Instead, you clenched your jaw, settling him with a stare that would kill.

"The King's health is a matter of continued discussion. Should he not be here today? Sitting across from me with his golden crown? Our utmost desire should be to bring King Viserys back to his former self. I believe that takes precedent over the benches in the Royal Sept."

"Your Grace," the frail man spoke, his voice shaking from use during his decades of life. "I am Grand Maester Mellos. I see to the Kings in matters of his health." You nodded to him, waiting for him to continue, his words slow. "I can say with certainty that our King only proceeds to regain more strength and vigor that he had only possessed in his youth." You saw Alicent shift her hands into her lap, focusing on them instead of the old man. "You need not trouble yourself with handled matters."

"Good," you replied with a polite smile, quickly replacing your irritated demeanor as you looked over to Ser Otto. "I will be sure to see him attending the meetings soon, then."

Alicent twitched, her lips tightly pursing as she inhaled deeply. You relaxed lazily in your seat, the wood creaking as you become comfortable in her discomfort. Her anxiety only solidified your conclusion as you saw her pick her nails. They were lying.

You were silent the rest of the two hours the boring lords spoke. Your father's opinion was correct about the dullness of things. It was all frivolous discussion about updating the castle and Sept, replacing the "out dated" tapestries with more modern ones to showcase the future and wealth of House Targaryen. No action. Just talk. You knew that now more than ever, you were needed. If not for the sake of your family's claim, then for the sake of the realm.

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Thank y'all so much for your support!! I'm so grateful for all the likes and reblogs. I hope everyone who has been with me since the beginning knows that you have a special place in my heart, and to anyone who just now tuned in, make sure to leave a comment so I can tag you! I would hate for you to search for your likes or reblogs for the story. I only say that because I hate doing that myself. XD Also, check out the Spotify playlist because I've added new songs and changed stuff around. I am trying to decide which is my current fav. It's either Little Red Riding Hood by Aeseaes or Fairwell Wanderlust by The Amazing Devil, or maybe even Souls on Fire by Mad Gallica. I seriously can't make up my mind!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @fatalewomen, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @adelusionalwriter, @sunny-boy-06

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason :(

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