#Fireplace Inspections Near Me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iamgonnagetyouback · 1 month ago

Text

childhood sweethearts and paper rings ⋆˚࿔

synopsis ⭑.ᐟ james potter x reader where you both realize your love through paper rings

warnings: fluff overload, pining, a sprinkle of angst but resolved quickly, excessive paper rings

word count: 3,438 words

inspired from: (a bit) ➺ paper rings by taylor swift ♡

author's note: childhood best friends to lovers is james potter’s ultimate trope. argue with the wall

navigation┆james potter masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

James Potter was seven years old when he decided that he was going to marry you. He didn’t understand much about marriage—only that it meant you’d be together forever, which sounded like the best thing in the world. After all, you were his best friend, and if forever wasn’t you, then who else could it be for?

The Potters and your family were close friends, and most weekends, you were bundled into the fireplace to floo to their house. James would meet you on the other side, grinning wildly and already tugging your arm to drag you outside. The two of you were inseparable, whether you were building forts in the garden or chasing each other around with toy brooms.

“Sunny, you’re supposed to catch it!” James exclaimed one summer afternoon as he tossed a quaffle your way. His glasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them up impatiently.

“I’m trying!” you yelled back, laughing as the ball sailed past your outstretched arms. You were too busy giggling to notice James running to retrieve it. He came back with dirt on his knees and his hair even messier than usual.

“We’ll practice until you’re as good as me,” he declared, puffing out his chest in mock importance.

You scrunched up your nose, sticking your tongue out at him. “What if I don’t want to be good at Quidditch? What if I want to be the best cake-eater in the world?”

James grinned, his own cheeks turning pink. “Then I’ll be the second-best. We can do it together.”

By the time you were eight, James had discovered the fine art of crafting paper rings. It started when he saw his mum making origami flowers for a party. Naturally, he wasn’t allowed near the good parchment—but his dad handed him some scraps, and the rest was history.

The first paper ring James gave you was lopsided, crumpled at the edges, and had a faint ink smudge from where he’d tried to draw a flower on it. You’d accepted it with wide, delighted eyes, slipping it onto your finger like it was made of gold.

“What’s this for?” you’d asked, holding it up to inspect the crooked folds.

“It’s…” James hesitated, suddenly bashful. “It’s a promise. You’re my best friend, and I’ll always be there for you.”

You grinned so brightly he thought his chest might burst. “I’ll always be there for you too, Jamie!” you chirped, and the name stuck, much to his parents’ amusement.

At nine, you and James built a treehouse. Or at least, you started to. James had insisted on using magic, and after much begging and wheedling, his mum had charmed a few planks of wood into place.

“It’ll be our secret hideout,” James said as you hammered nails into the rickety ladder.

“For what?” you asked, holding the ladder steady. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, and there was a streak of mud on your cheek, but you couldn’t have been happier.

“For… secret plans,” James decided. “Like how we’ll sneak extra pudding without anyone noticing.”

You beamed. “And maybe we can put all the paper rings here too. Like a treasure chest!”

He thought that was the best idea ever.

By ten, James had made you more paper rings than either of you could count. Some were decorated with little doodles, others with clumsy attempts at flowers or hearts. You kept them all in a shoebox under your bed, treasuring them like the precious artifacts they were.

One rainy afternoon, you and James sat cross-legged on the rug in his room, watching the droplets streak down the window.

“Sunny,” James said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Do you know what love is?”

You tilted your head, considering. “Not really. I think it’s when someone makes you really happy. Like my mum when she bakes my favorite cookies.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think it’s when someone does things for you. Like… like when you gave me the bigger half of your pie last week.”

You grinned, your toothy smile making his cheeks heat up. “Then I think love is when you gave me your scarf when I was cold.”

He grinned back, lopsided and bright. “Maybe love is when we’re best friends forever.”

When you turned eleven, everything began to change. A letter arrived, delivered by an official-looking owl, and James practically dragged you across the room to celebrate.

“We’re going to Hogwarts together!” he exclaimed, lifting you off the ground in his excitement. “This is going to be the best year ever!”

You squealed, clutching onto him as he spun you around. “Jamie, I’m so excited!”

Later that day, he gave you another paper ring. It was neater this time, folded carefully with gold-trimmed parchment he’d begged off his mum.

“This one’s special,” James said solemnly as you slipped it onto your finger.

“Why?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Because it’s the last one before Hogwarts,” he said. “But I’ll make you loads more when we’re there.”

You beamed, clutching the ring to your chest. “Best friends forever?”

“Forever,” he promised.

And that was the thing about James Potter. Even when he didn’t fully understand what love was, he knew one thing: it was always going to be you.

At Hogwarts, you quickly became part of the infamous Marauders. James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and you. Whether it was sneaking into the kitchens for late-night snacks or plotting pranks on the Slytherins, the five of you were inseparable.

James had a knack for getting the group into trouble, and you had a knack for talking your way out of it.

“It’s not my fault Snape looks so funny when his robes turn pink,” James argued one day, as you all hid in an empty classroom after a particularly successful prank.

“You used an entire bottle of dye,” Remus pointed out dryly, though he was biting back a smile.

“Totally worth it,” Sirius said, high-fiving James.

Peter chuckled nervously. “Do you think he’ll ever figure out it was us?”

“Who cares?” you said, laughing. “Jamie, you’re brilliant.”

James beamed at your praise, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face.

But while James was fearless in most things, there was one subject that turned him into a bumbling mess: Lily Evans, although you understood the feeling, cause she was gorgeous.

“Merlin’s beard, just look at her,” James sighed dreamily one afternoon as the five of you sat under a tree by the Black Lake. Lily was a few yards away, reading a book and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re staring again,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

James turned red. “I am not!”

“You absolutely are,” Sirius chimed in, smirking. “If you’re going to pine, at least do it with some dignity, Prongs.”

“I’m not pining!” James protested, though his voice cracked slightly.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “You drew a heart with her initials in your Transfiguration notes yesterday.”

“I did not!” James said, horrified.

Peter nodded enthusiastically. “You did. I saw it too.”

You burst out laughing, leaning into James as he groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Jamie, it’s okay to have a crush. Especially if it's on Evans. I do too but the difference is you’re terrible at hiding it.”

“You lot are the worst,” he muttered, though he couldn’t hide the small smile creeping onto his face.

Despite the relentless teasing, you were always James’ biggest supporter. When he finally worked up the courage to ask Lily out in your fifth year, you were the one who gave him the pep talk beforehand.

“You’re James Potter,” you said firmly, gripping his shoulders. “You’re charming, funny, and completely brilliant. If she doesn’t say yes, it’s her loss.”

James smiled nervously. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you said confidently.

And even though a small part of you felt a twinge of something you couldn’t quite name, you pushed it aside. Because James was your best friend, and you’d always be there for him—just like he’d always be there for you.

It happened gradually, so slowly that you didn’t notice at first. The paper rings, once a constant in your life, became fewer and fewer. By sixth year, they stopped altogether. You told yourself it didn’t matter—after all, you and James were still thick as thieves. He was busy with Quidditch, the Marauders, and his relentless pursuit of Lily Evans.

But deep down, you missed them.

Then one day, an owl from your parents arrived during breakfast in the Great Hall. You tore open the envelope eagerly, only to feel your stomach drop as you read the letter.

The treehouse at the Potters burned down.

Your chest ached as you reread the words. The treehouse, your secret hideout, the place where you’d kept all the paper rings James had ever given you—gone. Reduced to ashes.

You left the Great Hall in a daze, clutching the letter as tears blurred your vision. It wasn’t just a treehouse. It was years of memories, laughter, and promises that now felt lost forever. You needed to tell James. He would understand.

You found him in the courtyard, a broad grin on his face as he spoke animatedly to Lily. She was laughing, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and for a moment, you hesitated.

Then you saw it: a paper ring in his hand. Your heart clenched painfully as he turned it over in his fingers, showing it to Lily with the same excitement he’d once reserved for you.

You felt a lump form in your throat. It was silly, really. You’d known for years that James fancied Lily. You’d encouraged him, teased him, supported him. And yet, seeing him with a paper ring—your paper ring—meant for her…

It felt like losing a part of yourself.

You turned on your heel and walked away before he could see you, the letter crumpled in your hand. As you hurried back to the common room, you tried to push the image from your mind, but it clung stubbornly.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. Maybe Lily had finally agreed to a date. Maybe the ring wasn’t even for her. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

But the ache in your chest told a different story.

You didn’t sleep much that night. The weight of the treehouse’s destruction—and the memories it held—pressed heavily on your chest. When morning came, you dragged yourself to breakfast, your usual bubbly demeanor dimmed.

James was already there, sitting with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, recounting some Quidditch play. He caught sight of you as you approached, and his grin faltered.

“Morning, sunny,” he greeted, nudging the bench beside him. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

You plopped down next to him, twisting the edge of your sleeve. “James… the..the treehouse, it burned down.”

His face froze, confusion quickly giving way to shock. “What?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

You handed him the crumpled letter. He read it, his expression shifting to heartbreak. “Our treehouse? The one we built with my mum’s old cushions and all the fairy lights?”

You nodded, your throat tight. “All the paper rings… they were in there, James.”

For a moment, he just stared at the letter. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you like they used to when you were kids, and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting the familiar scent of parchment and pine comfort you.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t think—I didn’t realize—”

You missed the way his breath hitched, his soft oh of realization. Missed the quick glance he threw across the table to Lily, whose knowing gaze met his. Her lips curled into the faintest smile, as if she understood something neither of you had quite pieced together yet.

But you were too caught up in the hug, too lost in your own heartbreak to notice anything else.

James Potter was not one to do things halfway. The moment he realized how much those paper rings had meant to you, he made it his mission to bring them back into your life in abundance. It started small—a single paper ring folded neatly and tucked into your Potions book during class.

“James,” you whispered, holding it up with an amused smile. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Trouble’s my middle name,” he whispered back, grinning mischievously before turning back to Slughorn’s lecture like he hadn’t just slid a tiny masterpiece of folded parchment into your life.

But James Potter didn’t stop at small. Soon, the paper rings started appearing everywhere. One in your bag during Transfiguration. Another tucked into your scarf at breakfast. A stack of them slid under your pillow one night. He even charmed one to float down from the owlery like a paper snowflake as you walked past.

The grandest moment came during Defense Against the Dark Arts. James, thinking he was being discreet, crept over to your desk mid-lecture to slip a particularly colorful ring onto your parchment. Just as he leaned down, a shadow loomed over both of you.

“Ahem,” Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the room like a knife. The class went silent, every head swiveling to witness James Potter caught red-handed.

James straightened, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Just delivering a very important piece of classwork, Professor,” he said smoothly, holding up the paper ring as if it were a prized essay.

McGonagall’s lips twitched, though she worked hard to suppress a smile. “Very well, Mr. Potter. But if I catch you again, you’ll be writing lines until your quill runs out of ink.”

“Yes, Professor,” James said solemnly, though his wink to Sirius betrayed him.

As McGonagall turned back to the blackboard, you swore you saw her glance over her shoulder and wink—wink—at you. For a moment, you questioned your sanity.

By the end of the week, you had more paper rings than you knew what to do with. You didn’t have the heart to throw them away—not after all the effort James had gone to—so you started collecting them in an old chocolate box you found in your dorm.

Every night, you added the day’s rings to the collection, tracing your fingers over the creases and folds as you smiled to yourself. It was ridiculous, really. They were just bits of paper, after all. But each one felt like a tiny promise—a reminder of a boy who made the world brighter simply by being in it.

It was another morning at the Gryffindor table, and James was unusually quiet. Normally, he’d be drumming his fingers on the table, bantering with Sirius, or laughing at something Peter said. But today, he was poking at his eggs, lost in thought.

Remus noticed first. Of course, he did. “You haven’t mentioned Lily in a while,” he remarked, raising an eyebrow. “What happened? Did she finally hex you into silence?”

Sirius barked a laugh, and Peter snorted into his pumpkin juice. But James just shrugged, looking nonchalant.

“Oh, yeah, about that,” he said casually, as if he weren’t about to drop a bombshell. “Well… that’s not happening.”

Your fork clattered onto your plate. “Really?” you blurted, a little too loudly. You immediately ducked your head, heat rushing to your cheeks.

James smirked, but it wasn’t his usual mischievous one—it was softer, more thoughtful. “Yeah, she kind of pointed out that I might have feelings for someone else.”

The table went silent. Even Sirius, who rarely let anything keep him quiet for long, was staring at James in surprise.

“And?” Remus prompted, leaning forward like he already knew the answer.

“And I realized… she was right,” James admitted, his voice quieter now.

“Oh,” you said softly, trying to ignore the way your heart was racing. “That’s… interesting.”

“Yeah,” James said, turning to look at you with a curious expression. “It is.”

For a moment, his hazel eyes seemed to search yours, like he was trying to figure out if you knew what he meant—if you felt the same.

But before he could say anything else, Sirius, who clearly couldn’t handle the suspense, interrupted with a loud, “So, who’s the lucky person, Prongs? Don’t leave us hanging!”

James flushed, the tips of his ears turning pink as he grabbed a piece of toast and stuffed it into his mouth, muttering something unintelligible.

“Oh, come on,” Sirius teased, elbowing him. “Out with it, mate!”

But James just shook his head, laughing nervously. “Not telling,” he mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

The conversation shifted after that, Sirius dragging Peter into a heated debate about whether or not owls secretly judged their owners, and you found yourself staring at your plate, your thoughts spinning.

You didn’t know what to make of James’ words. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Was it… you?

You glanced at James out of the corner of your eye. He was laughing now, teasing Peter about his messy handwriting, but there was something different about him—something softer.

You pushed the thought away. It couldn’t be you. Could it?

The Owlery was quiet, save for the soft hoots of the owls roosting in their perches. You had just tied your letter to your parents onto a barn owl’s leg, stroking its feathers as it took off into the morning light. Beside you, James was doing the same, his handwriting as messy as ever but filled with his usual warmth and charm.

As his owl soared into the sky, you lingered by the ledge, watching the horizon. James leaned beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, the kind that came with years of friendship. But you couldn’t stop thinking about breakfast, about what he’d said, and about the way he’d looked at you.

“So,” you started, your voice soft, “this… someone else you might have feelings for.”

James froze, his hands gripping the stone ledge. “Oh,” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual. “That.”

You turned to face him, your heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, that.”

James rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “Right. Well…” He hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” you asked, taking a step closer.

He glanced at you then, his hazel eyes searching yours. “Because, well because it’s you,” he said quietly.

The words hung in the air, delicate and trembling. You stared at him, your mouth slightly open in surprise. “Me?”

“Yeah,” James said, his cheeks flushing pink. “It’s always been you, I think. I just… didn’t realize it until Lily pointed it out. And then when I thought about it—about us—it just made sense, you know? You’ve always been there. You’ve always been you.”

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “James…”

“I know it might be weird,” he said quickly, misinterpreting your silence. “And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just thought you should know, because I—”

“I feel the same,” you blurted out, cutting him off.

He blinked at you, his mouth hanging open. “You do?”

You nodded, a shy smile spreading across your face. “I do.”

For a moment, James just stared at you, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, slowly, his lips curled into the biggest, brightest grin you’d ever seen.

“Brilliant,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You laughed, the sound light and bubbly, and he joined in, his joy infectious. Before you knew it, he was stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours.

“I, uh, don’t have a proper ring,” he said, his voice nervous but warm. “But…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar folded strip of parchment.

Your breath hitched as he gently slipped the paper ring onto your finger, his touch lingering. “There,” he said, his smile soft and a little shy. “Perfect.”

You looked down at the ring, your chest swelling with warmth. It was so James—simple, sweet, and utterly wonderful.

“Perfect,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

When you looked up, he was already watching you, his hazel eyes filled with something so soft and tender it made your knees weak.

“Does this mean you’re stuck with me?” you teased, your cheeks aching from how hard you were smiling.

“Forever, if you’ll have me,” James said, grinning.

And as the owls cooed above and the sunlight bathed the two of you in gold, you knew you would. Forever and always.

#dividers by enchanthings #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter fluff #james fleamont potter #james fluff #ivy writes ⋆.˚#james potter drabble #james potter fanfiction #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #dividers by bernardsbendystraws

607 notes · View notes

stepintimechimneysweeps-blog · 2 years ago

Photo

What is Level 2 Chimney Inspection?

Level 2 Chimney Inspection is crucial for the safety of your chimney. Learn what it entails and the importance of this inspection in maintaining the integrity of your chimney. Get all the details on Level 2 Chimney Inspection here.

#Chimney Inspection #Level 2 Chimney Inspection #Level 2 Chimney Inspection Cost #Level 2 Fireplace Inspection #Level 2 Chimney Inspection Near Me #Level Two Chimney Inspection

0 notes

onlyhereforthestories · 2 months ago

Text

Ours (Alessia Russo x Reader)

Day 20! My first Russo fic? This was another cheesy one to write, I think this time of the year gets me in my feels. Not long to go!

The glow of the Christmas tree lights filled the living room with a soft, warm ambiance as you placed a tray of paints and brushes onto the coffee table. The soft hum of holiday music played in the background, blending with the occasional crackle from the fireplace. Alessia, who had just returned from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate, raised an eyebrow when she saw the collection of art supplies you’d gathered.

“What’s all this?” she asked, handing you a mug and taking a seat on the floor beside you.

You grinned, reaching for one of the plain, round ceramic ornaments from the box. “I thought we could make some decorations together. Something special for us to hang on the tree every year.”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she took one of the ornaments from the box, examining it thoughtfully as if planning what she could do with it. “You mean, something for us to laugh at in five years when we remember how bad we were at this?”

“Speak for yourself,” you teased, grabbing a brush and dipping it into the paint. “I’ve got big plans for mine.”

Alexia chuckled, leaning closer to inspect your work. “Oh? Big plans like what? Scribbling our initials on it?”

“Very funny,” you shot back, though you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “Watch and learn, Alessia Russo.” You said as you turned your back to her slightly.

You began painting in earnest, starting with a simple heart shape in bright red at the centre of your ornament. Alessia, meanwhile, selected her paints with a surprising level of focus from someone who laughed this idea off a second previously, furrowing her brows as she considered which colours to use.

“What are you going for?” you asked, glancing over at her.

She smirked, tilting the ornament in her hand to show you the start of her design. “A masterpiece, obviously.”

The “masterpiece” in question was a series of uneven lines and smudges of green and gold, but the pride in her expression made you smile.

“You’re so modest,” you quipped, nudging her shoulder playfully.

As the evening went on, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, dipping brushes into paint and laughing over your attempts to create something meaningful and cute. Alessia’s focus wavered quickly; every time she made a mistake, she would throw her head back and laugh, claiming it added “character.” At one point, she accidentally dipped her sleeve in the paint, leaving a streak of gold across the table.

“Oops,” she said, holding up her arm with a sheepish grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, grabbing a cloth to wipe up the spill. “At this rate, you’ll have more paint on yourselves than the ornaments you are making.”

She shrugged, grabbing a smaller brush and adding a blob of white to her design. “It’s abstract. I’m an artist. Don’t all artists get covered in their artwork.”

Your evening continued like this for the next 30 minutes, you and Alessia exchanging playful comments or sharing your attempts at art on the decorations you were making. All your ornaments slowly took shape, bright, cheerful designs, one for which featured the date of your first Christmas together and a little snowflake on the back as created by yourself. Alessia, on the other hand, had abandoned any pretence of a cohesive design. Her ornaments had become a chaos of colours and swirls, one was all green with a tiny football painted near the top.

“You’re going to hang that on the tree?” you teased, gesturing to her mess of a creation.

“Of course,” she replied, holding it up proudly. “It’s a reflection of my soul: messy, colourful, and full of love.”

You laughed, reaching over to add a little star to the edge of her ornament. “It’s perfect,” you admitted.

When both of you finished your next ornaments, you set them aside to dry and reached for the next blank ones. Alessia surprised you by grabbing your hand, stopping you mid-motion.

“Wait,” she said softly, her expression suddenly serious.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what had shifted. “What is it?”

Alessia hesitated for a moment before taking one of the blank ornaments and handing it to you. “Let’s make one together,” she suggested.

“Together?”

“Yeah. Like you know, both of us working on one. Something that’s really ours.”

Your heart warmed at the suggestion, and you nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “I love that idea.”

You scooted closer to her, holding the ornament between you as you decided on the design together. It started with a big, bold heart in the centre, with your initials inside. Around the edges, you added tiny stars while Alessia painted little footballs and a small Christmas tree. Every few minutes, your hands would brush, sending sparks of warmth through you.

At one point, Alessia paused, holding up her brush with a mischievous grin. “Hold still,” she said.

“What? Why?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she swiped a quick streak of red paint across the tip of your nose.

“Alessia!” you exclaimed, laughing as you grabbed a brush of your own.

A quick, playful battle ensued, with streaks of paint finding their way onto your cheeks and Alessia’s chin. By the time you called a truce, both of you were a mess, your faces streaked with colour and your hands covered in smudges. You had placed your shared ornament down on the table before you retaliated so that it wasn’t part of the faux war.

“Okay, okay,” you said, still laughing as you leaned back. “I think the ornament’s supposed to get painted, not us.”

Alessia chuckled, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “It’s a work of art either way.”

When the shared ornament was finally complete, the two of you held it up to admire your handiwork. It wasn’t perfect in its own way, the lines were a little uneven, and the colours had smudged in a few places, but it was undeniably yours.

“I love it,” Alessia said softly, her voice filled with genuine affection.

“Me too,” you agreed, setting it gently on the table to dry.

You spent the rest of the evening cleaning up the mess you’d made, trading kisses and light hearted jokes as you worked. When the ornaments were dry, you carefully hung them on the tree together, stepping back to admire how they looked amidst the twinkling lights.

Alessia slipped her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. “These are going to be my favourite decorations each year.” she murmured.

You leaned into her, your heart full. “Ours,” you corrected gently.

She smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Ours,” she agreed.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine

209 notes · View notes

wh1msic4lwasab1 · 10 months ago

Text

“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡”ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

synopsis: diluc using you infront of the other maids

tags: exhibitionism, fr33use, vulgar, explicit, i’m not getting into heaven

wrd cnt: 640+

a/n: lord have mercy on my SOUL.

Being Dilucs maid is the best thing that could have happened to you. He wanted you and you fully. Sure, he had plenty of other maids but they could never posses him with the same feelings you gave him. And he made that quite clear.

He’d check your work every now and then, and tonight he was watching as you swiped the dining table. A few other maids were cleaning around the place, some in the lobby, or the wine cellar, and some replacing the wood in the fireplace.

He walked up behind you, inspecting your work.

He took a finger and swiped it across the wood, “Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers trailing up your thighs. “Now, I want you to bend over the table and lift your skirt.”  The boldness of his words left your face in a deep rouge of red. Everyone was in the room, yet you did as he said, the cool wooden surface pressing against your stomach as you lifted your skirt, exposing your lace panties to the room. You could feel the other maids' eyes on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as Diluc's hand came down on your bare skin with a loud smack.  “I think it’s time you took a small break”, he growled, his hand coming down again and again, the sting turning into pleasure with each strike. “Do you want that dear?.” He pulled your panties off and left them at your ankles, one large hand on your ass while he played with your folds, spreading them apart and coating his fingers in your juices.   You moaned in agreement, your arousal dripping down your thighs as he continued to spank you, the other maids' gasps and whispers only adding to the heat in your core. But Diluc seemed unfazed, his attention solely on you and the pleasure he was giving you.

“You did such wonderful work for me today.” He says, “You’re so wet, do you like it when they watch you? They’re all staring at your wet cunt.” He whispered against your ear, hunched over and grinding his clothed cock on your rear.

You can only nod and drool around the fingers in your mouth, sucking on them as you look behind you to meet his eyes, the same ones he just put in your hole moments ago.

He chuckled, reveling in the sight of your sluttiness.

“You want them to watch you take my cock?” he asked, his voice husky with desire.  You nodded, bracing yourself as he positioned himself behind you, his hand gripping your hip as he pushed into you with one smooth thrust. You cried out at the feeling of his size filling you, your head spinning with pleasure and the thrill of being used by him in front of others.

“I expect the rest of you to keep working.” He announcement, the flock of women turning their faces and moving their dusters around.

Diluc's pace was slow and steady, his hand on your hip guiding you as he slammed into you over and over again. You could hear the other maids mumbling behind the tables and overlooking down from the stairs or second floor, but all you could focus on was the intense pleasure radiating through your body.  His words only added fuel to the fire, and you could feel yourself nearing your release. You dug your nails into the wooden table, trying to hold on as Diluc's thrusts became more urgent.  “You’re close aren’t you,” he growled, his hand reaching around to rub your clit. “Cum all over my cock, I know you want to. You’ve done it plenty before. Show them what a little slut you are”.   And that was all it took for you to come undone, your body shaking with pleasure as Diluc continued to thrust into you, riding out your orgasm. He soon followed, his body tensing as he emptied himself inside you in a deep guttural moan, fucking all his cum inside your hole before watching it drip out onto the floor.

He picked the first maid he could see hiding behind the curtain to clean it up.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

#jo’s posts #diluc #diluc smut #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc fanart #diluc x y/n #genshin impact #genshin #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin fanfic

883 notes · View notes

sofisweb · 1 month ago

Text

　₊　　　˙　　⠀⠀✦⠀　　　˙　　₊ In the Dark

summary: You and Rick get into a bit of a mess on a supply run and find a cabin to stay the night in.

Suggestive towards the end, implied sexual stuff (nothing tho cause i can't write), mention of Daryl (once), age gap implied, NOT PROOF READ 𓈒⠀　˙　　₊　

　₊　　　˙ reader x Rick Grimes 𓈒⠀　˙　　₊

　˙　　₊　setting: whenever (i wasn't thinking about it) ˙　　₊　

₊　　　˙　 Word count: 1476

“Fuck - it’s cold..” I stuttered out as me and Rick finally busted the lock open off the cabin door. My hands were shaking, not just from the cold but from the rush of adrenaline still coursing through me after the herd we narrowly escaped. We had both gone on a supply run - the group was running out of supplies fast and there was a town nearby so we’d decided to go and check it out.

And a random herd had come up so we had to run - getting no supplies, ending up soaked from the sudden rain and awfully tired. Trip definitely went as planned.

Rick opened the door with his flashlight in hand and gun in the other , the light cutting through the darkness to scan for any threats. The last thing we both needed were more walkers. “Let’s see what we’re workin’ with.” he muttered out, his voice steady but still equally exhausted. I walked in beside him, my grip on my weapon loosening as I let out a small sigh at the sight of the cabin being clear..except for the mice.

“Cosy.” I said, my voice laced with sarcasm as I looked around the small cabin. I kicked the door shut behind me to prevent even more rain coming in. “I seriously should’ve just let Daryl go on this run with you.” Which caused him to let out a small laugh in reply. I noticed Rick’s eyes landing on a fireplace with some firewood already in there and he looked back at me, “We’ll manage.” He responded with a firm tone. “You alright, kid?”

I just responded with a small hum and nod.

And one of my first thoughts was to check how gross the bed was- walkers, mice and bugs - my top 3 list of ‘things i hate’ and thankfully - it was clean .. clean enough for me not to have a heart attack. I placed my bag down on a nearby table, along with my gun.

Rick was probably saying something to me while i was checking out the clean rating of the room as all i heard him say was ‘get your clothes off’

“H - huh?” I called out as I looked back at him at the fireplace, “I said if you keep those on ya’ gonna freeze.” and I swallowed back a shaky breath and just responded with a nod, raising an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume I have anything else to wear under this.” I muttered jokingly to myself as I unzipped my uncomfortable jacket and Rick huffed a small laugh, kneeling to inspect the fireplace. “You know that modesty ain’t much of a priority if ya’ a popsicle.”

I rolled my eyes in response - one of my priorities was my jacket and jumper , I'd probably just die if they were ruined and the cold had already made my fingers too stiff to argue. I tossed my jacket onto my bag before I peeled my jumper off, a small sigh of relief escaping my lips as I escaped that uncomfortable feeling.

I ran a hand through my wet hair as I looked back over at Rick, watching him work at the fireplace as he struggled to get the fire going. His shoulders were tense, his wet shirt clinging to his back- He eventually got the fire going and warmth started to faintly fill the room, Rick sat back on his heels, brushing damp hair out of his face. His eyes flicked to me, lingering for a second too long before he spoke. “Better?” “Yeah.” I nodded with a small sigh in response and I headed over to my outer-clothing and moved it near the fire. “I gotta dry this.” And he let out a small nod and chuckle in response, “Yeah - I should probably do that too.” And he followed my actions as he grabbed his jacket off the ground and placed it beside mine.

“We’ll probably have to stay here for the night- head back at first light.” And I nodded in response. I sat down beside him, my knee brushing against his for a moment. We both stayed silent for a while- unsure of what to do or say and just embraced the warmth and the fire crackling filled the room.

Rick eventually spoke up as he looked over to me. “Ya’ handling this better than most would.” I blinked, surprised and spoke up once more. “What? Handling a mouse-infested cabin?” I laughed out softly and a small smile crept up on his face as he shook his head in response. “Guess so- but, not what I meant.” “Out there...the herd, the run. You kept your head. Did what needed doin'. That ain't easy, not for anyone." His words made my chest tighten in a way - that I would never admit and I shrugged. “I guess I did learn from the best.” and I looked back at the fire.

Rick looked at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as his gaze dropped to the fire. “I mean it,” he began, a small sigh escaping his lips as he looked over at me.

“Feel’s like I can trust ya’.” He murmured, “Ain’t a lot of people I can trust nowadays – but you? I can trust you.” I seriously didn’t know what to say- I know it was just a small compliment , was it even a compliment? Whatever - my heart began beating faster than it was when we were running from that herd before and I could feel my face start to heat up a bit. Before I could find my words his hand reached out, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear and his hand lingered for just a moment, his thumb brushing softly against my cheek. “Ya’ tougher than you give yourself credit for.” his voice drooped just a little bit.

And I thought he would’ve..well- kissed me, but his hand moved away and I felt a bit disappointed and he gave me a small smile. “You can rest, I’ll keep watch-” “-you sure?” And i knew there was no point in arguing, i stood up with a small sigh and nodded. “M’kay. Goodnight.” “Goodnight Y/N.”

–

A few hours - minutes, whatever had passed and I stayed awake hoping that if i kept my eyes closed I'd eventually drift off to sleep.

I couldn’t sleep and I had to hold back stirring and rolling over every minute with Rick in the room. I had that moment in my mind playing over and over again like a broken record.

My mind started to wonder when Rick was going to sleep- maybe he probably already had, just against a chair on the floor. Just as I was about to call out his name I paused as I felt the bed dip slightly behind me. At Least he actually got in the bed- last thing he would’ve wanted was back problems from sleeping on the floor, right?

And I decided to stay silent, I thought that maybe if he knew I was awake he would’ve left.. My eyes fluttered open as I felt him shift closer and as his arms carefully wrapped around my waist. “I know ya’ awake..” he whispered gently into my ear. “Oh.” I sighed out- thankful he didn’t pull away and I shifted closer to him. He groaned softly, burying his face in the side of my neck and his arms squeezing me slightly as he pulled me closer, pressed up against him. His warmth against my back was a stark contrast to the cold that had clung to my skin all night, and I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as he held me close. “How’d you know I was awake?” “Kinda easy to tell when ya’ tossin’ and turnin’ all the time.” I let out a small sigh and bit my lower lip, feeling a little embarrassed."Sorry," I murmured, but he shook his head, his chin brushing my shoulder. “Get some sleep.” He murmured against my neck, pressing a gentle kiss as his thumb traced absent patterns on my hip. “You too.” I murmured in reply as I turned around to fully face him, his leg slipping in between mine - just as I was about to say something I could notice the look in his eyes in the faint light and without another word he closed the gap between us,

His lips brushed against mine, urgently but gently as if he’d been holding back for farr too long. My hands automatically trailed up his chest, my arms wrapping around his neck.

Rick picked me up slightly, groaning softly into my mouth as he lowered me under him.

“Guess we’re not gettin’ much sleep tonight.” He murmured with a small smile. "Guess not."

deadass dont know why this took me so long to write i need more motivation

#౨ৎ sofisweb #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fanfiction

88 notes · View notes

bunbun-mochi · 1 month ago

Text

Taken Care by a Dragon

Dragon Sylus x MC

Warning: fluff, mentions of menstruation, mentions of SA(Sylus thought his beloved got SAd, however no SA had happened), myth spoilers

Word Count: 1167, no proofreading

Preview: Sylus didn't understand how a human body works, let alone how a female body. One night, when he returned back to his cave, he smelled blood, fearing for his beloved safety, he quickly did what a logical person would do, treat the wound.

Note: I took inspiration from an artist, Qiao Han from REDnote.

The sun had long set. The moon shone brightly in the night sky. Some stars shine brightly while some dimmer. The cold air blows onto Sylus' face, gentle and cool. He soared in the night sky, his eyes scanning the land, hunting down anyone who dared to trespass on his property. Anyone who dared to disrupt his beloved's sleep. He flew another lap around his territory before flying back to the cave where he called home.

It used to be his prison, the very place he hated. However, now, he started to like the place, so much so that he called it his home. Although, it wasn't his idea of what a home looks like, but in his heart, wherever his beloved is, is his home.

He gracefully lands on the end of the cliff, toward the cave. The surroundings are peaceful and quiet, with only the sounds of crickets and owls in the far distance. He walked ever so quietly, not wanting to wake his beloved up.

The closer he was to the cave, the more he scowled. It was hard to detect, but it was faintly there. The smell of iron. He has been through battles and hell, he knows exactly what the smell is. Blood.

He quickly enters the cave, ready for a battle to protect his beloved. However, there is no threat. At the corner of the cave is a fireplace, lighting up the place. In the middle, lay a sleeping figure, cured up in a blanket.

Sylus walked toward the bed, eyeing his beloved, scanning for any wounds. When he found none, he walked around the cave, trying to find the source of the smell. Each time he walks around, it keep coming back to her.

Concerned, he walked over to his beloved and gently shook her awake, "What did you do?" His deep voice echoed in the cave.

His beloved stirred and mumbled incoherent words before going back to sleep. He shook her again, "What. Did you. Do?" He asked again, more stern this time.

She rubbed her eyes, "What?" Her voice sluggish from just waken up.

"I asked what did you do?"

She blinked at her lover, "I don't know. I want to sleep." She sounded slightly frustrated for being stirred awake for this. She turned around and went back to sleep.

"I smell blood on your body."

Her eyes immediately snapped open from what he said. She slowly got up and turned toward him. Then she scowled and pushed him away. The size difference between the two lovers, she barely managed to move him while she is shoved slight back, nearly hitting the pillow if her elbow didn't catch her. "You smelled wrong! And stop smelling me!" She yelled before pulling the covers over her head and flopping back to bed.

After a few moment, she heard her lover slowly step away from the bed. She stayed under the sheet, a bit guilty of what she did to him. The more she waited, the more guilty she became. She was about to flung the blanket away and ran after him to apologize when she heard a quiet clank near her.

She slowly peeked from under the blanket and saw Sylus holding bandage and an ointment on the floor, next to the bed.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Treat your wound." He said matter of factly.

She sat up immedietly, "No, no, I'm not hurt!"

Sylus narrowed his eyes at his beloved, "I can smell the blood from your lower region." Her face immediately went red. "You probably got a cut on your leg without realizing. Go back to sleep, I'll treat it."

She shook her head, "No, no, I'm not hurt. I'm sure."

Sylus didn't listen and threw the blanket across the bed. He gently grabbed her leg to inspect but she tries to stop him. "I'm serious, I'm not hurt."

Sylus still holds her leg, "Fine, at least let me inspect your body to make sure."

His beloved frantically shook her head, "No, no, please no!"

Sylus slowly let go of her leg. He kneels down, looking into her eyes, "Why won't you let me check?" Then he leans in, as if trying to pinpoint the location of the smell. It came from... between her legs.

He immediately leaned back and looked at his beloved. First, he was confused about why would the smell come from there. Then he saw red. He was angry.

Someone must have done something to her. Someone must have violated her while he was gone and she was too ashamed to tell him. His hands curled into a fist.

His beloved immediately sees the change in his behavior, and quickly tries to soothe her lover, "I'm not hurt, I promise."

"Who did this to you?" Sylus asked. His voice was deep with anger, ready to explode at any given time.

She blinked, confused, "Who did what to me?"

"Did someone hurt you while I was gone?"

She shook her head, "No, no-"

"Tell me who they are. I will rip their heads from their shoulders and place them outside the territory for all to see. Now tell me. Who. Is. It."

Fearing her lover might go out of control, she sighed, "No one came here. No one dared to come here. It's normal and I'm going to bleed for about seven more days." The more she explains, the quieter she gets.

Sylus narrowed his eyes, "You have that much blood in you that you can bleed for seven days?"

His beloved sighed deeply before explaining to him what she was experiencing, in every detail. How she is going to bleed, how the pain is, to why she would bleed.

Sylus listened to her patiently and when she was finally done, he asked, "So you're saying that you're bleeding means you're fertile?"

His beloved's face immediately turned red and slapped his arm. "I'm going back to sleep!" With a huff, she turned around, grabbed the blanket over her body, and flopped onto the bed.

She listens to the footsteps walking out of the cave. She sighed, glad that she had stopped a massacre, but sad that he had left her. However, she didn't have to be alone for long as footsteps came walking back to her. She continued to close her eyes, pretending to sleep. Then she felt something soft and heavy covering her body. She opened her eyes and saw she was covered in another layer of blanket. Behind her, she felt someone behind her, an arm wrapped around her waist.

"You did say you'll feel pain for those seven days so heat and company tend to lessen the pain. I shall do that for you." Her lover's deep voice spoke behind her.

She smiled and snuggled closer to her lover, feeling content. Her lover gently rubs her stomach, as if he is trying to soothe her pain.

"Thank you," she whispered.

A gentle kiss on the back of her head as if saying 'you're welcome' from her lover.

If anyone is curious about who the artist is, they're in REDnote, their REDnote ID is 95288235980. I did not ask if I could share their art, so I won't be posting it. Please check her out. She makes Sylus really hot.

@madam8

dividers, templates, headers, and banners are from @uzmacchiato

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus fic #qin che #sylus fluff

140 notes · View notes

wild-lavender-rose · 1 year ago

Note

Can I have Legolas and Will Turner separately kissing the reader's scars after seeing them (From battle,abuse, or near death experience not self harm) 🥺

For Legolas-

"What's this from?" Legolas touched your arm.

You looked up from your book to find Legolas looming over your place in a chair by the fireplace, firelight catching on the silvers and greens of his uniform. You lingered in him for a moment, taking in his beauty. Then looked to where he touched you, to the scar his fingers traced over. "Orcs." You returned to your book.

"It must have been painful."

"You should have seen the orcs." You smirked and turned a page. "Sadly, they did not live long enough for their wounds to heal."

You could hear the smile in Legolas's voice. "I'm sure not." He leaned down and kissed the scar.

There was a thunk of his satchel hitting the ground, then your beloved came to sit in front of your chair. This was not an unusual occurrence. Legolas often sought your presence at the end of his day. What you hadn't expected was for him to slip his shirt over his head and hold out a pale, muscular arm for you to inspect. "Matches yours."

Book forgotten, it slipped from your lap as you leaned forward and ran your hand along the long scar. "Orcs?"

"Goblins." Legolas smiled softly as you kissed the scar, slow and sweet, savoring his warmth.

"Must have been painful." You looked up at him, entranced by his eyes in the flickering light.

"No longer." His fingers found the back of your neck, gentle, steady, bringing you close for a kiss you readily returned.

For Will-

You closed your eyes and tried to breathe, fingers stilling on the buttons of your shirt. You were exhausted and wished for nothing more than sleep, however you were so tired your fingers kept fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. Having already removed your gun, hat, and shoes, the shirt was the last thing to go before you could sleep in some sense of comfort in your undershirt.

You had just resolved to give up when familiar footsteps sounded outside your door. A pause, soft knock, and Will stepped inside. "The crew is still celebrating," he closed the door behind him, locking it with a soft click. "They'll probably be up all night."

"Good for them." You rubbed your eyes, swaying unsteadily as he approached. "Do you need something?"

"Uh," Will nodded to your bed. "Are you about to sleep?"

"I was attempting to," you fumbled irritably with your shirt and yawned. "Can't, can't get my shirt off."

Will's smile was gentle. "Here," he crossed to you, the closeness making your heart skip. "Allow me."

"It's fine," you took a step back and tripped, sure to have fallen had not Will caught you by the arm.

"Steady," Will smiled as you laughed at yourself. "You're exhausted."

"Unbelievably." You smiled up at him, the expression fading as his fingers found your buttons. "Will,"

His fingers paused. "Allow me to help."

"I don't...I'm not," your face grew hot, gaze falling down to his chest. "I have...I'm not pretty."

"Love,"

"A life...A life of a pirate is not always kind." You closed your eyes against the shame, only you were so tired it made you want to doze off standing up so you opened them once more.

"Listen," Will touched the side of your face and brought your gaze up to his once more. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life. But, you will think me ugly."

"Never." Will pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Never, my love."

You hesitated but did not refuse when he began to unbutton your shirt. His movements were slow and careful. Will kissed your nose, your cheeks, your lips as he worked, the sensation intoxicating. When your undershirt and arms were revealed you expected disgust to cross his face. Instead, you saw nothing but sadness and love.

"Darling," he breathed, fingers brushing along the scar on your collarbone, then over to the scar on your shoulder. The scars were everywhere, marring your tanned skin.

"Ugly?" You asked.

"Beautiful." He responded, leaning down to kiss along the length of each scar.

Fanfic Masterlist

#legolas #legolas x reader #legolas greenleaf #legolas x you #legolas fanfiction #legolas fanfic #will turner #potc will turner #will turner x reader #will #potc #potc will #will turner x you

858 notes · View notes

writteninsunflowers · 3 months ago

Text

Attitude Adjustment 🌶️

Soft meditative music plays through the ceiling speakers; sounds of harps, flowing water, and tropical birds. A calming scent of lavender wafts throughout the first floor of the Aizawa mansion. If anyone were to enter, they’d assume the occupants were enjoying a relaxing night in or trying to decompress from a stress-filled day. Add the warmth from the fireplace and the sugary aroma of homemade hot cocoa. They may also assume the owners are bundled up near the fire, sharing warm chocolatey kisses and whispering loving words to each other.

You know that old saying about assumptions, that “to assume is to make an ass out of u and me?”

Yeah... Cross the threshold and step further into the living room and you will realize your assumptions are bullshit. You and Shouta are on separate sofas, neither of you speaking. You pop your gum annoyingly while inspecting your manicure, making a mental note to schedule an appointment for a fill. Dark eyes glare icily at the side of your face, fuming at your behavior. Usually, you’d greet your husband with a hug and a kiss, followed by a list of tasks you completed throughout the afternoon. Tonite, you ignore him with a roll of your eyes. Once again, Shouta returned well past midnight after telling you he’d be home no later than 6 pm, requesting to keep dinner hot for him. That was the second lie he’d told you this week, the first being that you would finally get your much-needed alone time at the vacation home in the islands. You were tired of being ignored, well past tired of begging for Shouta’s attention. All you wanted was a few days when your husband was still lying beside you when you woke in the morning. Is that too much to ask?

When you and Shouta started dating, you didn’t mind when Shouta was busy. You were a nurse at the county hospital and friends to spend time with. On your off days, Shouta would send what he called play money to spoil yourself and in turn, you would cook him dinner, sing him to sleep, or dress his wounds when he’d visit. Now that you’re married, you see Shouta less and less, growing bored of shopping and lonely with nobody to talk to. Of course, you did voice this to Shouta and he repeatedly fed you the same tired, “I know kitten. I promise we’ll spend time together soon.” You had even tried to make new friends, your old friends disowning you after you and Shouta married, but none of the new acquaintances last too long once they notice the two bulky bodyguards tailing you everywhere. Frankly, you had given up a lot when you married Shouta. His occupation as Kingpin of the state’s most dangerous mob did not give you much freedom. You could go anywhere you please if your bodyguards Hitoshi and Katsuki were with you. You loved ‘Toshi and Kats’ like family and treated them as such, you just missed your old life. You missed making your own money and feeling like you made a difference with the many patients who visited the hospital. No, you don’t regret marrying Shouta and you understood that your lack of freedom was for your protection. You missed having an actual conversation even the talks with your barely-there mother, though you'd talked two or three times a year. Nonetheless, you remain the loving housewife. You mind your business, tend to your garden, deep-clean the mansion weekly, and cook twice a day for yourself, your husband, and his employees.

“Don’t you hear me talking to you,” Shouta grumbles with a grab to your face, which is returned with a tsk, jerking out of his grip.

“Fix your fuckin’ attitude, Y/N, I’m not in the mood.”

“Whatever…” “Y/N…,” he warns. “Shouta…,” you parrot with a loud pop of your gum.

Shouta sends you a warning glare, patience dissipating slowly, eventually snapping once the snarky “fuck you,” leaves your lips. He grabs your neck, lifts you to your feet, and backs you against the wall. He leans toward your face, adding pressure to your neck while maintaining eye contact. “What’d I say about your fuckin’ mouth, Y/N?” He watches your eyes flutter, your expression unchanged. “What gives you the impression that you can talk it me like that, hmm? Go ahead, speak up.” Shouta could feel his heart pound in his ears. He'd had a long ass day. He had to execute one of his best men after discovering he had been squirreling away money and guns from the warehouse, and to make matters worse, he had to make it look like an accident as well as pretend to be mournful in front of the man’s family. He later comes home hoping to relax, only to be met with an attitude from the one person he needed the most.

“No problem princess, I know how to fix that attitude.”

You look up at your husband, cheeks warm as you fight to get comfortable on your knees. The rug rubs harshly against your skin, pulling a hiss from your gagged mouth. Wetness sticks to your thighs while you leisurely try to reposition yourself, afraid to lose your balance and fall on your aggressively spanked ass.

You had never experienced this side of Shouta. You have met angry Shouta, but that anger was never pointed toward you. Had he always been that damned heavy-handed? And why did the spanking make you wet? There was so much to unpack about the man you married. You’d fucked plenty and he had never spanked you like that.

The sound of a zipper brings you back to the man in front of you, your eyes following his hands as he undresses. The man steps closer to remove the ball gag and tosses it on the bed behind you. "Remember what I said, no talking unless you’re apologizing for your bratty behavior.” He watches you nod then taps his dick against your lips. “Open,” he commands, grunting once spit-covered lips wrap around him. He immediately slides deeper into your mouth, sighing as the head taps the back of your tongue. Your tear-filled eyes stare up at Shouta obediently, fingers flexing behind your back; reminding you that you are unable to touch yourself due to the restraints. You settle for squeezing your thighs together, wiggling your hips to relieve the pulsing in your clit. Shouta notices because he pulls himself from your mouth and tugs you to your feet by your hair. He positions you on the cool sheets and places your hands above your head, hooking the cuffs onto the headboard.

You can feel the heat from your husband’s laser-focused eyes on your skin, causing you to shuffle uncomfortably. You watch him step away momentarily, your eyes widening when he powers on a large vibrator in his hands. “Sho…,” you begin before whining as he slips the gag between your lips once again. Shouta smiles smugly as he presses the toy to your clit, smile widening wickedly at the pained squeak you release. He watches your legs kick out as he increases the speed by a level, then clicks it three more times, the vibrator now at its highest setting. Drool dribbles around the obstruction between your lips and drips down your chin as your eyes roll back, legs quivering. You tug at the handcuffs, body indecisive on whether to press against the toy or pull away. You’re eventually allowed a moment to catch your breath when Shouta pulls the toy away, stepping away again to grab something from your closet. You watch him return with straps that he attaches to the poles of your bed, tugging them to test their security. Once Shouta catches your eye, he smirks. You try once again to fight against the restraints on your wrists, begging around your gag as Shouta strides toward you. He catches your feet as you kick toward him.

“Now you have a choice here, sweetheart…you can be a good girl and take your punishment, or you can continue to be a brat, and I can pull out something much worse than this.”

Worse?

What could be worse than being cuffed and tortured into overstimulation?

Your muddled brain couldn’t produce anything worse than that at the moment. Honesty, the toy, and ankle restraints had surprised you, didn’t even know that Shouta had those things in his possession. You had always respected his space and privacy and never went into the locked drawer of his nightstand. Just thinking about what else Shouta could conjure up as punishment made your head spin with confusion and arousal. A hard smack to your spread thighs brings a whimper from your spit-slick lips. Your eyes travel to the man near your feet as you finally relax allowing him to attach the straps to your ankles.

“Good girl.” “Once your punishment is over, I’ll remove these.” Nodding your head with understanding, you breathe slowly to relax your tauten body, cursing internally once the vibrator is placed on your sensitive clit.

You are not sure how many orgasms Shouta has wrung from you, losing count after the eighth one. Your clit is swollen and sore, your legs quivering like cold Jell-O, with a puddle of your juices under your ass. Sobs and hiccups fill the room, tears, and drool coursing down your face. Your body is wound so tight that you barely feel your husband slip his fingers inside of you until he rubs at the sensitive spot at the roof of your sopping pussy. Your eyes roll back again as your body arches from the bed, toes curling painfully. Your body hums in painful pleasure as you moan wearily, so far gone that you hadn’t noticed that Shouta had removed the ball gag from your mouth. Black and gold acrylics dig into your palms as you gasp and stutter breathlessly, curses mixed with calls of your husband’s name. Ineluctably, your thighs try to clamp around Shouta’s arm, foggy eyes watching his face as he fingers you faster. Dark eyes travel down your trembling frame, humming at the surprised gasp that escapes when his fingers now stroke in a come-hither motion.

Shouta notices the pained expression on your face. Those beautiful eyes that he loved so much, filled with tears, smooth skin reddened from overexertion and heat. Your husband internally applauds you for taking your punishment so well. He does feel a little bad though, he has never had to discipline you. Deciding he’d give you a little break, Shouta removes the restraints from your wrists and ankles. He moves to kiss your face softly.

“Breathe for me, kitten…y’think you can give me one more?”

You respond with a weak nod, heavy arms wrapping around his neck, just as he pulls your legs around his waist. In one swift motion, Shouta buries himself inside of you, groaning at the feel of your quivering walls enveloping him, soaking him with creamy slick juices. “S-Shit…so wet,” he rumbles, hips now snapping harshly. Shouta hisses as your nails drag down his bare back, his hips stuttering momentarily. “S-Sho mm…fuck baby ple-please,” he hears from beneath him. He casts his eyes downward, taking in the sensually debauched appearance of his lover. Smoky orbs explore your face, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He notices the slight twitch of your eyebrow when he strokes just right, the way your teeth drag across your bottom lip, and how your edges have puffed up from all the sweat.

Oh, he is definitely paying for another hair appointment.

“I-I’m sor- fuck!” You moan out with a twitch of your already trembling thighs, a telltale sign of your impending orgasm. You clutch at the man’s back, leaving a trail of angry red. “I’m sorry, Sho…B-Baby I’m s-sorry…just wanted…,” you sob. Shouta shushes you, kissing away your tears, strokes unsteady as your orgasms crash into you simultaneously. Shouta empties his cum deep inside of your gummy walls, gasping as his dick throbs and spurts out what feels like gallons of cum. He pulls out slowly plopping down next to you, breathing slowly to calm his racing heart. He peeks at you, eyes widening as he lifts your arm, letting it drop heavily against the sheets. “Damn, she passed out,” he mumbles before leaning over and kissing your forehead. He rises to walk to your en suite, quickly washing the sweat and cum from his skin, then wets two towels for you one to wash your body, the other to cool you down. He later maneuvers you to the opposite side of the bed to wipe you off, then cleans and puts away the toy and restraints. Shouta leaves your bedroom for a few minutes to grab water, returning to nudge you softly. “I need you to drink some water for me, love and I’ll let you go back to sleep.” He helps you sit up against the headboard, holding the glass to your lips as you drink. Once you’ve emptied your glass, he finishes his water before he tucks you into his chest, instantly falling asleep.

You wake to the sound of running water, your eyes moving toward the open bathroom door. You rise from the bed with a stretch, groaning as your aching limbs scream at you. Walking slowly to the en suite, you expect to see a silhouette of Shouta in the shower and a pressed suit hanging on the nearby hook. Your eyes fall to the wall clock, noticing that it’s two hours past the time that Shouta leaves for work. “Sho, you ok,” you call as you step further into the bathroom, finding your husband kneeling by the tub, a bottle of bubble bath in his hands. Once you’re within reach, he pulls you into a soft kiss, hands soothingly rubbing your thighs. “Mornin’ love,” he mumbles, as he reaches to turn off the faucet. He stands to remove his robe, sighing once his lower body touches the water. “Come join me, beautiful,” his hand outstretched to help you climb in. You wince as the hot water touches your achy legs, soft sighs leaving you as you settle across from Shouta.

You both sit in comfortable silence as your husband massages your legs and thighs, the man smiling at your soft moans of relief. Soon after, he pulls you on his lap, looking back and forth between your eyes, chuckling at the concerned look on your face. It had been a while since Shouta had been able to appreciate you. When was the last time that you two had shared a bath or even just relaxed?

“I love you. I don’t tell you that enough and for that I’m sorry.”

You smile at his words, leaning in to kiss his nose. “I love you more, Shouta, and m’sorry for my behavior yesterday.” The man shakes his head, tracing your bottom lip with his thumb. “I am the one who owes you an apology. You have been asking for alone time for months and I neglected to take care of your needs. I deserved the attitude you gave me.”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate you for sticking by me. I wouldn’t’ve blamed you if I came home one night and you were gone. I…” You silence him with a kiss, smiling. “Sho, I love you so much and can’t imagine life without you. I may get mad at you, but I could never leave you.”

Shouta presses your foreheads together, whispering against your lips. You eventually leave the bathroom an hour or so later after sharing more kisses and a slow session of lovemaking. Once you’ve had a quick brunch, you return to your bedroom to pack for a surprise vacation, filled with smiles, laughs, and plenty of makeup sex. This vacation becomes a routine three times a year, something both you and Shouta need and deserve. Shouta was happy to see you happy and made sure to follow the famous saying faithfully, Happy Wife, Happy Life.

“Thank you, Sho,” you whisper into your husband’s chest as you lay in the bed, the sound of the beach waves slowly lulling you to sleep. “Anything to make you happy, love.”

#mha #aizawa shouta #black reader #bnha #melanin #cross posted on ao3 #aizawa smut #aizawa shota x reader #smut #fluff

68 notes · View notes

thesunloveschips · 11 months ago

Text

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 8: Conflict

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Powers. The fight between the newborn fae. Elain's first prophecy.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

****

Nyra looked around. The room she had been given had crimson walls and her bed was a very large one—large enough that all four of the sisters could sleep and they’d still have space. Wooden nightstands stood on either sides of the bed and the large ceiling to floor window towards the left. The entrance to the room was at the farthest left hand corner of the wall to her right.

Empty bookshelves stood tall and proud on the wall facing her, flanking a fireplace with two armchairs for a casual evening. There was also a table with bare minimum stationary and a chair. She did not recognise the decorations hanging on the walls. Two of them on each wall.

Nyra removed herself from the bed and found a door leading to a very luxurious and spacious bathing chamber. She also discovered that the wall to her right was not actually a wall but had a sliding door. She opened the sliding door and found neatly folded clothes and gowns. She headed to the windows which had a handle opening to an unnecessarily spacious balcony with a few plants.

She walked towards the edge and found that the building she was currently in was at a great height. And down on the earth below, a city sprawled with structures of different colours with streets snaking between them. There were open spaces and she could actually see the fountains, street lights, shops and people as clear as though she was right there. She could even read the names of the shops and the contents of their display boards. Far beyond, she saw the sea.

“Lady Nyra.” At the sound of her name, she flinched and took a step back. Nyra looked back and saw Nuala.

“What is it?” Nyra asked, not knowing what to do now. Should she be afraid? Should she ask this lady something? But what should she ask? She didn’t even know the first thing about this place to be having doubts. But this lady had just told her that she was in Velaris and Feyre ruled the Night Court with Rhysand. Feyre was High Lady.

“Is that Velaris?” Nyra asked quickly. The fae smiled and joined her near the railing.

“It is, indeed.”

“Will you tell me something about it?”

“A city of dreamers built ages ago—for dreamers, built by a dreamer. There are different parts of the city where the arts are promoted but the most prominent is the Rainbow. The High Lady would probably give you a tour if you asked.”

Nyra remained quiet and then she looked at the fae. “You’re not Nuala, are you?”

The fae’s eyes widened just a bit before she composed herself. “My name is Cerridwen. Nuala is my twin. She stepped back for some work.”

“And what about my twin?” Cerridwen tilted her head in confusion. “Nesta Archeron, my twin. And Elain Archeron, my younger sister.”

“Your twin and the High Lady are waiting for you outside. Lady Elain is in her room right now.”

“Thank you.” Nyra turned and headed inside. As she marched towards the door, it opened from the outside to reveal Feyre. The youngest dashed towards her sister and hugged her but Nyra couldn’t find it in her to reciprocate. She felt her sister tremble and eventually start crying but Nyra felt far too empty to care for Feyre.

“Where are the others?” Nyra asked plainly. Feyre released her from the hug partially, horrified at the similarity between Nyra and Elain. Nyra repeated her question again and Nesta emerged at the door. Something sparked in her eyes as she saw her twin. “You…”

Nyra removed herself from Feyre’s arms and headed towards Nesta. She took her face in her hands and inspected her. The pointed ears, the sharper face. Nesta had become devastatingly beautiful. It reminded Nyra of the days when Nesta dolled herself up for parties just so she could enjoy the music and dancing. Once upon a time, Nesta was steel and now, she had been forged into a blade. And Nyra released her face.

“You’re fae.” Nyra's voice held her disbelief. She released Nesta's face, not understanding why her twin felt so unfamiliar. She did not know this person. With Nesta's appearance and amplified beauty, Nyra felt like she had lost her twin.

“So are you.” Nyra froze at that. Nesta panicked, not understanding what was happening. For the first time, Nyra seemed to be losing something personal.

“Why?” Nyra whispered. She had already started feeling like Nesta was another person. Like she had lost her twin to some strange world. And now, she was also there in that strange world. Nyra felt something come alive within her. Something that had never been there before but it felt like it had always belonged within her. And like a beast waking up after almost an eternity, it rumbled within her. The tears welled up in her eyes. Why are we in yet another place where we don’t belong?

Nesta gathered her in her arms and held her tightly. Nyra cried and the twins descended to the ground. They remained unbothered by the spectators, most of whom had retreated silently.

Nyra felt so exhausted. Everything was a mess. She had never belonged in the life she was born into. Never understood why she was born in a world where woman was limited to matrimony and breeding and child rearing.

And she did not even understand the world she was now forced into. She did not even want to understand but she would have to. To learn the way of life here. But she did not want that. She felt too tired for all of it. She did not even agree to this.

And the bloody Cauldron. It took something from her and gave her something else. It violated her. The woman in there gave her too much of everything she never wanted. She felt like she’d been in there for ages and maybe that was true. Nyra looked at her hand and summoned a bit of power. Lightning thrummed at her fingertips, exactly as much as she had summoned. She had been taught how to control the power by that strange woman in some strange way.

Nesta saw the lightning on Nyra’s fingers. “You have power?”

Nyra looked up at Nesta and then at her hand. She summoned the lightning again and raised her hand.

“I didn’t get this power. It got me.” Nyra spoke and stopped manifesting it. She then stood up, offering a hand to Nesta to help her up. “I want to know what you saw.” Nyra began. Nesta stepped back, removing her hand. “Please.” Nesta did not ignore her plea. She could never ignore Nyra. And so, she held out her hand and Nyra grabbed it.

There was so much. She felt so much. Like a thousand knives stabbing her and tearing her flesh apart. Like a fire burning her soul to extinction. But Nesta did not burn easily. She clawed at whatever force that had pushed her down. Her nails found something and she struck it hard. The flame subsided and Nesta loomed over that force, grabbed it by the throat and took a bite. She relished in the resulting scream, the taste of cold liquid in her mouth.

But then another scream pierced at her. Nesta looked around, thinking it was another prey to hunt. But it was something else. Someone else. Was that her? A body with long golden brown hair and that pale skin floating. Was that her? That person’s eyes were shut tightly as though she was in agony. The woman screamed again.

Nesta watched a figure rip the girl’s chest with her bare hands and a light was released. Upon closer inspection, the figure had an expression of cruel enjoyment. But the light that appeared out of the girl’s chest material into another figure—a woman of pure light. The girl struck into the one who tore her apart and ripped its head off and threw it away.

More figures materialised. The woman readied her stance like a warrior, preparing for a battle. A spear of some sort materialised in her hand and she used it for her first attack. Nesta watched as the figure eliminate everything and everyone and bathed in the black blood of her foes. Once she was done, the woman looked at her and came near. It was Nyra. Her twin's eyes were closed and she wore no clothes but the light her skin emitted ensured her nakedness was not all that visible. And that wasn't even light. It was just a faint glow with lightning crackling all around her. Nesta recognised her sister in awe and anger. Nyra gently raised her hand and placed it on her chest, pushing her down some abyss.

The next thing Nesta remembered was rising from the Cauldron. Threatening the King, pushing away Lucien, taking Elain, looking for Nyra and losing consciousness at some point after arriving at another location.

“That’s what I remember.” Nesta spoke once they had exited her memories.

Why was it so natural for her to use these powers? To control them was one thing but to use them was completely different. When she had lived her entire life as a powerless mortal with death looming far too close then why was power so real? As if it was inherent? The beast within her rumbled again.

"What was that?" Nesta asked. Before Nyra could say anything, Nesta had touched her bare hand. And she was suddenly transported to another place.

It was completely dark. Nesta looked around for a source of light. And two blue orbs lit up at the same time. Appearing as though they had been unveiled. The blue light blinked once and a deep growl echoed all around. Nesta looked at the orbs and silver glowed in her eyes. The roar of a beast made everything tremble. Nesta felt the smooth embrace of something like a blanket. It wrapped itself around her waist and tugged her back.

"What was that?" Nesta was now breathing heavily. Her eyes were still silver but she was back in the House of Wind. Nyra was in front of her, her blue eyes glowing. Nesta had the horrifying realisation that the blue orbs she had just seen were Nyra's eyes and the growl was hers. But what terrified her to the core was when she recognised the roar of the beast as her own.

"You know what it was." Nyra replied. The twins now sat on the ground properly.

Nyra had recognised the beast Nesta was the moment she saw the silver eyes. Gods, they were beasts now and not just fae. She didn't even know if there were any fae who were just fae. She sighed. "What the hell did we get dragged into?"

"I'm sorry." Feyre's voice reached them. That was when the twins remembered that she was still there. "This is all my fault."

"Where is Elain?" Nyra asked. "Is she like us?"

"Yes. I'll take you to her room. Before that..."

Nyra looked at her, waiting for her to continue. Nesta spoke. "You're wearing a nightgown. Take a bath and dress up. We'll meet Elain soon. She's fine. Physically, at least."

Nyra frowned but she made no move to oppose. She stood up and entered her room. Nesta followed her in.

"I can't use that." Nyra whispered. She remembered how she pulled herself up to rise from the Cauldron. The Cauldron's liquid felt like acid on her skin, tiring her before she could even step out. Something had helped her get out. But before she could care for how she got out of the Cauldron, she was consumed by the thoughts of how she did not want to enter the bath tub. The image of it filled with water made her flinch.

"I know. There are buckets and mugs." Nesta headed towards the taps where the buckets and mugs were. While she waited for the warm water to fill the buckets, she watched Nyra look at her reflection in the mirror with the fascination of a child.

"I look young." Nyra poked her cheeks and grabbed them before letting go. She touched her arms and turned to see her hair. "My hair looks better." She grabbed them in her hands and admired how soft they had become. Her hair was a cascade of rich golden brown the Archeron sisters shared. Each strand seemed to catch the light and hold it for a moment, before releasing it in a warm, inviting gleam.

"You're healthy." Nesta spoke. "The healer said your body is completely fine. No illnesses. Everything is perfect. That's the only thing good about this situation." Her voice was soft as if she couldn't believe her own words. "My gods, you're okay." Nesta wiped her eyes before the tears could escape.

"I... I'm.. healthy." Nyra looked at her reflection. For so long, she had seen a sick face look back at her. How many years had passed since she had seen a healthy Nyra reflect in the mirror? She touched her cheek and held her hair. "I'm okay."

Nesta beheld Nyra as a fae. Her sister had become divine, glowing with health and power. Her eyes spoke of ancient mysteries and Nesta felt like Nyra's transition had been something different from what she and Elain had gone through. And she felt like she could not speak, not because her sister had rendered her speechless but because Nyra had become overwhelming in every aspect.

Nyra undressed and proceeded to bathe. Nesta sat at a distance now, handing her the bottles of liquids and gels for her skin and hair. Her twin had truly come into her element. She wore her beauty like a customised dress, measure to fit only her. Nesta had believed Nyra could truly attract suitors had her health permitted it. But now that they were fae, not only was she in good health but she looked ethereal. Once Nyra was done bathing, Nesta went to the shelf opposite to the bathroom mirror and took a towel and bathing robe.

"Dry yourself. I'll get a dress for you." But Nesta knew that Nyra was not that good at toweling her hair and that she'd have to do it herself.

She walked over to the sliding doors of the wardrobe filled with clothes for Nyra. Rhysand had provided Nesta and Elain with a similar room. She looked at the gowns and found a grey silk gown with leaves and flowers threaded in a darker shade towards the bottom. The skirts were not as wide as their gowns from the other side of the wall. It was a gown not too fancy but not too plain.

Both Nesta and Nyra looked at Nyra in that gown. She looked very different when she wore it. Like she was meant to be immortal. And then they looked at each other. "You look good."

"I wish I felt good." Nesta took her by the arm and made her sit on a stool before the mirror. She dried her hair and began brushing it gently.

The twins exited the room where Feyre and Cassian were waiting for them. They were talking to each other and leaning against the wall facing the door when they saw them. The pair immediately stood straight and ceased their whispers. Feyre moved forward. "Come with me."

And the four of them headed towards Elain's room. It was only two doors away. Feyre watched with bated breath as Nyra and Nesta entered the room. Elain sat on an armchair near the window, looking outside.

"Elain." At the sound of Nyra's voice, she turned to look at her immediately. Brown eyes widened and Elain stood up and walked over.

"When can we go home?" Elain asked hurriedly. "I have to get married." Her eyes glossed with tears. "I have to go home."

Nyra watched her sister cry in front of her and yet she couldn't find it in herself to hug her. Her own tears silently ran down her cheeks. Elain sobbed too loudly, too heavily, too much that she had started hyperventilating. Nyra did not process as Nesta took Elain's hands into her own and made her sit on the armchair. She was barely aware of Nesta leading her somewhere in the room and helping her sit.

Feyre and Cassian had been kicked out of the room and Nesta locked the door, walked over to Elain. Nyra was now looking outside the window, not caring about how Elain cried over getting married and wanting to go home.

"Do we even have a home left?" Nyra whispered, but her sisters heard it.

"What do you mean?" Elain cried out in agony.

"Fae and humans don't coexist. Even if we go back home, will we be welcome?"

They knew the answer to that. They had discussed that when Feyre had become fae. "Feyre had a home even when she had become fae."

"Feyre had us. Who do we have now that we're like this?"

"Father. Graysen. Lord Nolan. I'm sure they will understand." Elain sounded desparate.

"Father might. Graysen and Lord Nolan will not." Nesta shot back, logic taking over after her remembering her own analysis of these three persons.

"Why do you keep saying such things?" Elain had now raised her voice. "Neither of you want to go back. Why would you? You had nothing on the other side."

"We have nothing here!" Nyra shouted back. "What do we have here? Do we have anyone we can trust here?"

"We have Feyre." Elain retorted.

"They took us because they wanted to get to her. They took us because we hosted those meetings with the queens." Nesta snapped.

"At least, we're not dead!"

"Is this better than death?" Nyra asked coldly. She did not like Elain at the moment. She did not like anyone. "Is being tossed into that gods damned bathtub better than death?"

Nesta and Elain did not answer. They did clench their fists. Nyra watched them, wishing she could feel pity but she felt nothing. She compared their own situation with Feyre and realised that their younger sister had people and a future in Prythian to look forward to before she even became fae. Nyra looked at the moon in her palm. The three of them had no friend, no future, no home at the moment. And it slapped her in the face too many times for her liking.

"I don't know what either of you saw in there but I remember exactly what I saw. And I would've rather died than go through that." Nyra's voice had lowered. She had started spiralling into the whirlpool of her memories from inside the Cauldron.

"Of course, you'd rather die." Elain muttered, looking outside the window. The sea she could see remained tranquil unlike what was happening inside the room.

"Elain!" Nesta snapped. Nyra looked at Elain, waiting for her to continue. Challenging her to continue. She felt a tremor on her nerves, readying her for a verbal spat. The thrill of it shot down her spine and she watched her sister, like a predator poised to kill.

"Of course, you'd rather die." Elain repeated, louder and unafraid. "You were waiting for death ever since you fell ill." This was not enough. Elain only had to say more for Nyra to get the opportune moment.

"And why wouldn't I? With those disgusting medicines and chest pains and spitting blood at any given moment. Why wouldn't I choose death over all that?"

"You're a bloody coward." More. Nyra was waiting for more as she gave another answer, inviting Elain's words. Her words were still not sharp enough.

"Of course, I'm a coward. If I had any more nerve, I would've slit my own throat the moment I found out I'd probably never recover." Nyra knew that both of them were being selfish. And just a bit more and Elain would lash out.

"Enough!" Nesta shouted. Nyra glared at her for her interruption. Nesta knew exactly what she was doing. She was baiting Elain. Nesta was the one who struck first. Nyra was the one who waited for the right time. Both of them were different types of predators, but predators regardless. And Nesta knew that and felt this had to stop. "This is not what we need right now."

"I'll tell you what I need right now. I need to go back."

"To a place where you'll be hunted for being fae?" Nesta questioned, hoping Elain would see the reason she saw.

"To the place where I had a chance at a future."

"Graysen and his father are going to kill you." Nyra warned, not because she was worried about it. She would wield whatever power that her body housed against anyone who hurt her sisters but Elain had been sheltered far too long. She had to learn even if it was through the hard way. How much of a hypocrite was she at this moment?

"You don't know that. He wanted to marry me. I..."

"His affections for you are insignificant compared to his hatred for the fae." Nesta immediately began lashing out the moment she figured what Elain was going to say. About how she had given herself to her fiancé. Nesta paused and breathed. She wanted to stop but she didn't know how. The only thing she knew was to continue. "He wanted to marry you because you were the most convenient option. A face pretty enough for him to be smitten and the money from your dowry. Money to be used for Lord Nolan's fae-hunting quests."

Nesta only stopped speaking once the killing blow had been landed. She looked at Nyra, hoping that her twin would reprimand her like she had always done. Nyra did not and sat down looking at the skies.

"Say something." Nesta spoke.

Nyra looked up and met her gaze. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Anything!" Nesta wanted to be reprimanded. That was the only punishment for the sin she'd just committed.

"How about the fact that we don't have anything or anywhere to go, hm? All because we have pointed ears, meaninglessly amplified beauty and powers with no purpose and glowing eyes."

"No, no, no, no, no, no..." Elain kept on repeating that one word.

"We don't have a place to return to. We don't have a home. Is that what you wanted me to say?" Nyra attacked again.

The sound of the door being banged reached them. "Nesta! Nyra! Elain!" Feyre screamed. "Open the door! Please!"

"Go away, Feyre!" Nesta shouted back.

"Please! We can talk about this!" Feyre yelled desparately. Nesta marched over to the door, determined to give her youngest a piece of her mind. She opened the door to find a crying Feyre. Rhysand stood behind her solemnly and Nesta was quick to glare at him.

"Why are you here?" Nesta coldly asked Feyre.

"Nesta! Please! I'm so sorry about this. All of it. I-" Nesta raised a hand to command silence. Feyre stopped speaking.

"Why are you sorry?" Nesta asked.

"This is my fault. I am the reason why you were kidnapped and Made."

"We're not idiots, Feyre." Nyra spoke. Nesta moved to the side to reveal her twin. "We know you're not at fault for this mess." But Nyra did not sound kind. She sounded distant as she walked over to the door. "But we don't want to be here."

"You cannot be human again, girl." Another voice spoke. Nesta and Nyra stepped forward to see who it was. The twins noted Azriel, Cassian and Morrigan standing against the wall and Amren taking a step towards them. "We are the same. What is inside you is now trapped in this body, forever."

"Don't lump us in with the likes of you." Nesta snapped. "You can be released from your body. We can't."

Nyra's blue eyes shone with the power she now possessed and Amren took a step back. "The fact that we can see that your real form means that you can be released and regain it. On the other hand, we were thrown inside the world's most disgusting bathtub and our real forms were altered. Do you understand the difference? Your skin, the one that we see, is like a wrapping paper over your real skin. Our skin was ripped apart and remade."

Nyra felt rage, ready to take over, lightning crackling on her fingertips. What she did not notice were the shadows that had reached for her hand, dancing with the lightning, ready to strike wherever she commanded.

Azriel, despite his best attempts, could not completely control his shadows. Why the fuck was he even trying to control them when he felt every part of him wanting to accept her rage and hold her hand through it? To let her wield his shadows and strike anywhere and everywhere. Was that what she wanted? How easy it would be to hold her hand and raise it? To watch her lightning and his shadows dance. And why should it be restricted to their hands when every inch of their bodies could indulge in it?

Would lightning strike whenever she felt the mating bond? Would it strike if she were to ever accept it and offer him food? Would it strike during their first kiss? He would peel off her clothes and take his time before entering her. Would lightning strike him when he gave her an orgasm? The anticipation of it definitely struck him like lightning. His chest tightened. The leathers now felt stuffy. He had to loosen it before he ripped them off and grabbed his pretty little mate.

Meanwhile, inside her own head, Elain felt herself drawn into a black hole. She crumbled under the storm that had started. And under the gust of the winds and the thunder that rumbled all over, she found light and tried to walk over. She felt her hair and skirts be blown by the wind, fighting to be attached to her scalp and her dress respectively. But the closer she felt to the light, the more she felt warm.

Nesta and Nyra looked over to Elain who was now next to them. Their younger sister's eyes were now completely white as she spoke. Nyra was startled to see this for the first time while Nesta took a cautious step closer to Elain.

"Stars and night."

"Flames and steel."

"Lightning and shadows."

"Greens and fire."

"Elain!" Their sister's eyes fluttered and closed before her body dropped from where she stood.

****

TAGLIST:

@waytoomanyteenagefeels@impossibelle@esposadomd@starswholistenanddreamsanswered@judig92@bunnyredgirl@sh4nn@a-frog-with-a-laptop@kattzillaa@ronnieglennn@wallacewillow0773638@forgiveliv@justdreamstars@donttellthecats@cat-or-kitten@jojodojo02@wandas-dream@evylynny@weasleyreidstyles@stqrgirlies-blog@why4anne@acourtofdreamsandshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe@macimads@footyandformula @noelli-smv @mqlfoyelf @thehighlordishere @slytherintaco @spideytingley @deeshag @footyandformula @nebarious @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @prettylittlewrites

286 notes · View notes

infamous-light · 1 year ago

Text

Happiness Has Two Hands

Alcina Dimitrescu x Gender Neutral Reader

AO3: Happiness Has Two Hands

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: While reorganizing the library, an unexpected secret of yours slipped out. Lady Dimitrescu's daughters couldn't resist the temptation to exploit this newfound knowledge.

The library, an expansive realm of knowledge and discovery, stood silent, interrupted only by the gentle rustle of pages from the book Daniela immersed herself in and the occasional crackle of the fireplace where Cassandra reclined. The scent of leather and aged parchment filled the air as you were engrossed in the meticulous task of reorganizing several books. With a careful hand, you retrieved each book, ensuring it found its rightful place among its literary companions.

As you focused on the titles and subjects of the books, Bela moved past you, her footsteps echoing softly against the carpet.

Bela, having walked past you, found herself near a shelf adorned with dusty volumes, her fingers delicately trailing the worn spines. The low light from the antique chandeliers caught the subtle glimmer in her eyes as she ran her hands over the weathered covers. She occasionally plucked a book from the shelf, inspecting it with a thoughtful gaze before returning it to its place.

Cassandra, on the other hand, lounged on a sumptuous chaise near the grand fireplace. The gentle crackling of the burning logs created a lullaby, coaxing her into a peaceful nap. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic pattern, and the warmth from the fire cast a soft glow on her features. The occasional flutter of a page turning nearby added a serene ambiance to the room.

Daniela was nestled in a cozy alcove with a particularly intriguing book in her hand. Her eyes were alight with wonder as she devoured the words on the pages. However, in her typical fashion, her attention wavered, and without warning, she closed the book with a resounding thud.

She sprang to her feet and abandoned the book on the velvet-cushioned chair. She began to wander the aisles, drawing closer to your location. Her eyes flickered over the shelves until her attention was ensnared by another book. She reached up, her fingertips tracing the detailed illustrations that adorned the cover.

As Daniela stood on her tiptoes to reach for the book, her sudden imbalance knocked over the nearby pile of books you were reorganizing. You instinctively lunged forward, your hands darting out to catch them mid-fall. Daniela, still regaining her balance, reached out to steady herself. In the process, her fingers brushed against your side in a fleeting moment of unintended contact.

The giggle that ensued broke the library's silence, drawing the attention of Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. Their eyes met across the room, sharing a moment of shared amusement at the unexpected turn of events.

“Are you ticklish?” Daniela asked slyly as she turned to face you.

“N-No,” you stammered, a subtle nervousness betraying your attempt at composure. “You just caught me off guard. That’s all.”

“Caught off guard, you say?” Bela quipped, a teasing glint in her eyes as she made her way toward you. “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

Cassandra, intrigued, decided to contribute to the lighthearted banter. "Well, well," she chimed in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It seems we've uncovered a secret that you neglected to share with us. How rude.” She feigned a pout in your direction.

“Indeed, a most unbecoming secret to keep from us.” Bela tsked, her voice carrying a tone of mock disapproval.

"Quite dreadful, isn't it?" Daniela remarked with a raise of her perfectly arched eyebrow. "Our dear servant hiding such interesting secrets from us,” she continued, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the coffee table nearby. Daniela leaned forward, her eyes shining in amusement. “What other surprises do you have to hide, I wonder?" She tilted her head in mock curiosity. Her grin suggested that the discovery of your ticklish nature had sparked a newfound interest in unraveling more of your delightful secrets.

"Well, now that we know the secret, what should we do about it?" Cassandra mused, her smile growing wider.

"I believe a closer examination is in order." Bela added with a smirk.

With a shared sense of purpose, they closed the distance, their laughter resonating throughout the library. Leading the charge was Daniela, intent to catch you in her clutches. Her fingers wiggled in the air, eyes gleaming bright with excitement.

"Let's see if our diligent servant can withstand the ticklish scrutiny." Daniela declared.

“Don’t you dare.” You warned, your voice laced with a nervous edge as you backed away from them. However, the twinkle in your eye betrayed the fact that, deep down, you were ready to embrace the impending ticklish onslaught.

“Aw, come now, little one. We only want to have some fun.” Bela crooned as she approached you with measured steps, her gaze fixed on you.

Cassandra, quick on her feet, circled from the other side, her fingers poised like a dancer's pirouette. “We won’t torture you much.” She emphasized the last word with a sickeningly sweet grin.

Pausing, you took a hesitant step back. Bela, ever watchful, noticed your uncertainty, and her lips quirked upward into a knowing smile. "You can try to run but you won't get very far."

Taking your chances, you spun on your heel and sprinted, intent on making a swift exit through the library’s main door. Unfortunately, your escape attempt was short-lived. Within a few steps, a pair of hands grabbed each of your arms and pulled you back with surprising strength. The momentum sent you tumbling onto a nearby chaise lounge.

In a matter of seconds, all three girls had you pinned down. Daniela had a firm grip on your ankles, rendering any escape attempts futile. Bela straddled your hips and hovered over you with an air of amused superiority. Meanwhile, Cassandra, positioned above you, had your wrists pinned on either side of your head, leaving you effectively trapped.

As you lay on the chaise lounge, their laughter filling the air, Bela leaned in, her smug smirk widening. "I told you that you wouldn't make it far."

Bela had her fingers poised above your sides. "Shall we see how ticklish they truly are?" She teased; her fingertips were tantalizingly close to your ribs.

Panicking, you began to plead. "Anything but the tickling, please!”

Cassandra, still holding your wrists, interjected, "Begging already? We haven't even started yet."

With a swift and coordinated effort, they began their ticklish onslaught. Bela's fingers glided over your sides, provoking fits of laughter, while Daniela's touch on your ankles intensified the sensory assault. Cassandra, maintaining her hold on your wrists, watched on with a twisted sense of glee.

Bela’s fingers skittered over your sides before deciding to venture into a more ticklish area.

Wearing a sly grin, she directed her attention to your underarms. Her nimble fingers launched a tickling expedition that elicited a new surge of laughter from you.

At the same time, Cassandra seized the opportunity to explore your forearms with devious delight. Her fingers traced intricate patterns along the sensitive skin.

“Please, stop! It tickles!” You cried out in hysterics, laughter bubbling uncontrollably as their fingers continued their merciless assault.

“That’s the point.” Cassandra chuckled, observing your disheveled state.

Amid the ticklish chaos orchestrated by her sisters, Daniela decided to add her own unique touch to the playful assault. She crouched down and removed your shoes, exposing your vulnerable feet to the impending tickle onslaught. As Daniela's fingers descended over the soles of your bare feet, a new wave of laughter erupted from you.

“No, please! No!” You gasped between fits of laughter, the strain on your stomach becoming more pronounced as the tickling persisted.

“Aw, are you out of breath?” Daniela mocked with a teasing lilt. “Poor thing.”

Amidst the laughter, you couldn't help but wriggle in a feeble attempt to evade the relentless tickling. The girls, however, were quick to adapt to your movements, maintaining their grasp and intensifying the ticklish sensations.

"Trying to squirm away, are we?" Cassandra mocked as her fingers trailed up your forearms.

In an abrupt and unexpected move, Bela’s fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt and made contact with the sensitive skin of your lower back. You gasped at the sudden sensation, a burst of laughter escaping your lips. Her fingers traced along the curves of your lower back, and you attempted to shake her off, but your efforts were met with amusement from Bela. Chuckling softly, she reveled in the sight of you squirming under her touch, the dance of your movements adding an extra layer of joy to the impromptu tickle fest.

Taking note of your reactions, Daniela abandoned your feet and shifted her attention to the area under your knees. Her fingers slid up your calves, coming to a deliberate pause at the bend of your knees.

“Wait, no, not the knees!”

But it's too late. Daniela's fingers teased along the delicate skin under your knees, unleashing a cascade of ticklish shivers through your body. Tears streamed down your cheeks as the sensation overwhelmed you.

“You're absolutely adorable like this,” Daniela said, her words accompanied by a wide grin. “Breathless and squirming uncontrollably, it suits you.”

“They do look cute like this.” Bela commented. Her fingers, light as a feather, traced unpredictable patterns along your ribs. The action elicited a sharp yelp from you.

As the tickle torture continued, the doors of the library swung open, drawing the attention of everyone. Lady Dimitrescu stepped inside and came to a halt as her gaze fell upon you all. She arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow, her expression a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“What is happening here?” She asked, her tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Lady Dimitrescu’s heels clicked throughout the library as she approached the scene with measured poise. The corner of her lips quirked ever so slightly as she gazed down at you. You lay there amid the scattered books, breathless, with your cheeks flushed from the exertion of laughter.

“They dared to withhold a secret from us, Mother. It turns out they’re very ticklish.” Daniela said with a playful glint in her eyes.

“Oh?” Lady Dimitrescu tilted her head to the side.

Acting on a sudden mischievous whim, Daniela extended her finger and poked the sole of your foot. You squeaked at the unexpected touch.

“Please, my Lady! Help me!” You pleaded, the desperation in your voice reaching a high note.

A low, melodic chuckle rumbled from Lady Dimitrescu. She regarded you with an amused yet contemplative expression. To the surprise of everyone, she reached down and allowed the tips of her fingers to graze the side of your ribs. The gentle touch prompted an immediate eruption of giggles from you.

“No! Please!”

Lady Dimitrescu chuckled. “I never realized you had a ticklish side, my dear. Though, I must admit, finding this out has been rather entertaining.”

“You’re evil.” You playfully accused while catching your breath.

“I know.” She said with a self-assured smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Come on, girls. Release them. I believe you’ve tortured them enough.”

With that, they reluctantly relinquished their grip, freeing you from the clutches of their ticklish assault. They all gave you a grin as they left, each one giving you a lingering promise to continue the encounter. As they sauntered out of the room, their laughter lingered like a melodic echo, fading away.

A gentle touch on your shoulder interrupted your trance, drawing you back to the present moment.

“I believe it’s my turn to indulge in a bit of playful torment.” Lady Dimitrescu announced with a smirk.

As her words hung in the air, a blush crept up your cheeks and you couldn’t help but gulp at the prospect of being under her mercy.

#alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil fanfic #lady dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

298 notes · View notes

dulcewrites · 2 years ago

Text

Unnerved

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (kind of lol), implied aegon targaryen x reader (wc: 3.1k)

Summary: Being at court is a game, and your favorite opponent is a certain long haired Prince.

A/N: I sort of adapted this from my fool me once series. I got an idea of the reader being slightly more ambitious. But then realized that would change the story so this kind of a new one lmao. Some elements are from like Aemond being married (this time to Floris Baratheon) and possibly cheating 👀. But anyway just wanted to explore Aemond and reader being haters but also having crazy sexual tension. *insert something smart about Aemond hating someone that is a mirror of him*

The heavy fabric of your dress seems to drag more than usual.

The extra care given to your appearance hopefully will not go unnoticed. The gown is your most expensive. A deep blue Lyseni cut dress with beaded bodice, and silk sleeves that slip open and ripple like water.

Walking the halls of the Red Keep is at night is not something you frequent. Working up the courage was always something that made you falter. But the result would make it worth it.

You bite back a smile when you see Ser Arryk not near his post. For a moment you consider knocking, worried that Aegon may be in the room with someone. The thought never bothered you till recently. A surge of confidence overtakes when you just open the door instead.

The fireplace in his is uncharacteristically blazing at this point. You stop in your tracks when you notice long legs extending from chair near the fire. Long silvery blonde hair catches your eye, and your heart sinks. Before you can turn around to make a beeline towards the door, an eye flick towards you.

“My Prince,” you bow your head softly. “You are back from the trip.”

You try to keep you voice bright, and unassuming but you are sure disappointment colors your tone. Aemond gives you sly smile.

“Come to look in on my brother, I assume,” condescension laced through his voice. He gestures to the book in your hand. There were days Aegon did enjoy hearing you read, but most of the time the conversation dissolved into other things. He would start at the seats in his room, you at his desk… till the you ended up on his bed. Faces close, and whispers soft.

“Yes, Prince Aegon always enjoys hearing about the histories.”

Aemond’s polite disposition drops, and he lets out a short laugh. “Right, I am sure he enjoys hearing about the histories from you.”

You feel yourself falter. An unnerved and unprepared feeling burst in your stomach.

But a lady is never those things. Not ever. Your mother’s voice rings in your head. A true lady never worries. The best of them can turn negatives into a positive.

You put on the sweetest smile you can and nod.

“This week we read about all about Maegor the Cruel.”

Something flashes behind his eye that you can’t quite put your finger on. He hums softly, giving you a once over. Inspecting your dress, your hair, your face. The hair jewelry holding back your hair starts to feel like it is digging into your scalp. Not feeling comfortable standing and letting him dissect you, your feet lead you to sitting in the chair opposite him.

“I do hope Prince Aegon is well.”

“What you mean to ask is where is he,” Aemond corrects. “He was not here when I arrived. He may be out on a late-night joyride with Sunfyre. Perhaps wandering the Street of Silk for another type of joy.”

You say nothing, laying the book flat on your lap. It should not shock you. Aegon is not getting that from you. You know Aemond does not believe that by the false innocuous way he mentions his brother’s indecisions. Every bit of attention Aegon puts elsewhere is a win for him. He decides to twist the knife more.

“I bet the discussions you two have are ravishing,” Aemond replies sarcastically, leaning back further in his chair. It only makes you more aware of your posture. More of mother’s words - Back straight, chest out, and head up my dear girl. “Aegon has always been known for his ability to hold a riveting conversation.”

“I think you underestimate your brother. He retains information quite well, and loves to debate,” your hands trace delicately over the large book.

Aemond’s eye doesn’t leave yours. The enjoyment wiped from his face. He just stares soberly.

“You know the sad part is that I genuinely think you believe that. You think you will be able to carry on like this. Pretending this all for companionship and light reading.”

Your eyes drift to the fire. A part of you wonders what it would be like to just stick your hand in it. Would there be excruciating pain or would the numbness that you force into you mind spread through your body? The old wives’ tales Aegon tells of Targaryens being fireproof pop into your head. Maybe that is where Aemond’s gall comes from; the inability to burn the way others would. You wish you could test the theory. What a sight it would be to see him engulfed in flames.

Aemond lip curls a bit. “But at least you can pretend with the best of them. First born sons deserve the best, even the best whores.”

The harsh words are strangely tinged with pity.

“Tis a shame, the way court changes a girl.”

Your eyes snap back to him. “I am not a girl, my Prince. The same way you are not a boy.”

The two of you are the same age. The superiority in his voice is not needed nor appreciated. You must bite your tongue not the bring up the stories of youth Aegon has told you about. His life has been court fodder many times over. It would be too easy to bring up the strife a young Aemond had to go through. Too unladylike to bring up the little boy you know is still tucked under the bravado.

He would revel in taking you out of yourself.

“You could get out of it, before it is too late,” he pushes the subject more. “Marry some lord and be swept away from here.”

The possibility sounds nice. Away from court, away from your family. Maybe a different version of you would agree with Aemond. Acknowledge that being at court, that striving for more has stolen something from you. A life of simple monotony away from the Red Keep sounds lovely. But you are not a different you. You were made and pushed into the world in your parent’s image. Simple is not enough, monotony is not enough.

“I appreciate the advice,” you smile calmly. “But I would miss everyone too much to do that just yet. I would miss Prince Aegon, along with Princess and the children. As well as you and sweet Floris.”

Aemond stands abruptly at the mention of his sister and wife. The light from the fire reflects on the side of his face. He looks like something out of a fairy tale. You are sure he wants to look intimidating but looks more ethereal if anything. He shares that trait with his siblings.

He goes to leave without another, but a sudden urge washes over you.

“Wait, my Prince,” you set the book in the chair and go to where he is near the door.

You wet your thumb slightly, watching his eye linger on your mouth.

“You have a little rogue there.”

Your thumb traces over the vein on his neck, and you feel him stiffen under your light touch. You flinch a little when his hand grabs your wrist firmly. For a moment, you don’t trust your instinct fearing your boldness has taken you to a point you cannot tip toe back from. You become acutely aware of blade resting snugly against his hip. He could slit your throat easily. But you have seen him training; he would go for a more gruesome approach if given the chance. Slow and painful.

Instead, he gently placed your hand at your side. His hand making a route from your wrist to the delicate tips of your fingertips. There is a coldness left when he lets go.

He leaves without another word.

“I will tell Prince Aegon you stopped by,” you lie as you call after him.

Aegon does eventually show up. Riding gloves on, and cheeks splotched, pink from the cold. He goes on and on about something Sunfyre did. You sit, pleasant and accommodating, the way men like him want. Hanging of every word as if you would die not hearing the next one spill from his lips.

Despite the dragon drivel, your mind does not drift often, liking the easiness that comes with speaking with an agreeable Aegon. But when it does, it only fixates on one thing.

First sons deserve the best… even the best whores

“She is not pregnant, Your Grace.”

The maester seemed nervous to tell the Queen. Aemond bites back a breath of relief when the words come out, eye fighting to go back to outside the window next to the wall where he leans. Floris’ face scutches into a frown.

Alicent chews on her cheek in clear aggravation, a tell Aemond can pick up from years of noticing his mother’s ticks. But like any good diplomat, she quickly replaces the disappointment with smile towards Floris.

“Well, it can take time,” she tries to give a good-natured shrug. “No reason to worry.”

Alicent had gotten good at giving her kids the same empty placating statements sprouted to her by her own father. Everything is going how it should. No need to worry. You will be fine.

They do not believe her the way she does not believe Otto. She can at least say she knows her children well enough to see they do not believe it. Alicent is sure her father still deludes himself into thinking his halfhearted attempts at warmness work.

Even the smartest man in the Seven Kingdoms can be mind-numbingly daft at times.

The maester and Alicent jump into words of encouragement and ideas to help a seemingly upset Floris. Aemond assumes he should join in, comfort his wife but his legs don’t catch up with what his brain tells him is best. Instead, he stares out of the tower window, a flash of deep red and black catching his eye.

He sees you walking through the castle with such sure steps, in perfect tow with his sister. A creep of bitterness works its way up Aemond’s throat. The way you have encroached into the inner fabric of his family leaves him feeling uncomfortable. As if you were always meant to be here. A harmless addition, but he knows better. There is nothing harmless about the way Aegon looks at you.

The only vindication he gets is his mother’s shared hesitance. But in the end, he knows Alicent is too tired to say anything unless true harm is being done. Even she can appreciate Aegon having a singular focus for once, even if it not his wife. And she is undoubtedly fond of your strait-laced yet kind nature. You knowing your place makes all the difference. But Aemond sees hints of boldness and rashness.

It feels odd watching a woman not of his family so garishly wear the color that matches the walls of the castle. But too terribly fascinating to look away from. The black dress with Ruby red trimming sits off the shoulders elegantly. Your hair pulled up showing off a swan like neck that he has only seen on his mother.

Poised, well-read, quick witted, and all wrapped up in a pretty package. You are the ideal vessel for a royal bastard; he knows you see it too, you are too bright not to. A perfectly placed temptation.

He knows his brother is foolish enough to try it.

Mindlessly, his hand goes to his throat. The touch is not the same as yours. His sword withered hands nothing like the dainty soft one that danced across his nights ago. He swallows thickly.

“Aemond, are you listening,” his mother voice breaks through his thoughts.

He nods. As he pushes himself from the wall, he swears he can feel eyes looking up at him.

— — —

Aemond starts to wonder if all his thoughts will be tinged with violence and paranoia.

Simple ideas can be quickly shifted into something morbid. He does not when it started. After he lost his eye? After watching Aegon and Helaena get married? After learning about get married himself. It is easy to have this to turn into dust and ashes in this family.

Though Floris is a welcomed difference. The right amount of different yet bland enough that his thoughts on her dissolve into nothing. Sweet, and palatable; things could be far worse he guesses. He could be stuck with far worse. She lets him do as he pleases. Finds ways to occupy herself that has nothing to do with him, a comfort.

When he hears laughter coming from their chambers, he assumes she must be with one of her ladies in waiting. He internally groans at the small talk he must make with them. Pretending to care about whatever court gossip they dither on about. But when he walks in he sees a table full of tea and treats.

“My love,” Floris hops up from her seat, a bright smile on her face. A warmer disposition than the one she had been sporting since the news of not being with child.

Before he can reply, the person in the seat turned away from he springs up with equal vigor.

“Prince Aemond,” you curtesy, polite smile on your face.

For today, the cold, silk targaryen-esque garb had replaced with a lace emerald green and gold gown. Coils falling in way that create a halo around you. He should add chameleon to the list of attributes. The transformation is remarkable. The typical icy demeanor being washed away with a young, sheepish, and girly smile.

Aemond bites back a sneer. His body feels like it vibrates whenever you are near. He has not figured out if it is anger or something entirely different.

“We were just having tea,” Floris looks at you then at the wine on the table, and you two share a knowing giggle. “Chatting away.”

He waits for the moment you finally excuse yourself, but it never comes. The two of you continue to whisper and giggle as if there is an inside joke no one else will be in on. He tries not to focus on it as he takes off his riding gloves, and cloak.

A guard comes into the room asking for Floris. He sends a prayer to the Gods that his wife will take you with him. But all she does is tell you that she will be back soon.

“Did you have a nice ride,” your voice rings through the room. Aemond lets out a deep sigh, turning from the clothing cabinet. He turns to find you lounging in the chair, goblet in hand.

He doesn’t answer, just stares at her leaning against the wardrobe.

“I have always thought about it,” your lips are stained red from the wine. “Taming a dragon, riding a dragon. Your wife is very lucky.”

Aemond blanches at the image that passes through his head. The vibrating feels like it is starting to radiate inside to outside. You down the rest of the wine.

“I am assuming she had ridden on Vhagar with you.”

She had…. once. Aemond had assumed it would romantic or a deep connection would be had. His at the time future wife meeting his first friend. She threw up afterwards, politely saying that she would never want to do that again.

Dragons are not for everyone.

“Maybe my brother will finally put you out of your misery, and let you ride his.”

Your lips curl into a cruel smile. “I would like that. I hear one good ride always clears the head. I am sure you have needed that lately.”

Aemond frowns not understanding what you mean.

“Floris was telling me about your problems. Do not fret Aemond, impotence is very natural while under pressure,” your eyes travel down his body, and you give him a fake pout in pity.

Aemond is sure he is about to lunge at you. His vision goes red for a second. “I am not impotent,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Nothing of what my wife and I do is any of your business.”

He shouldn’t feel the need to explain himself to you. Insolent girl with too much time on her hands, and too many ideas in her head. Aemond slightly curses his brother for being the reason you even come around. You hold your hands up innocently.

“Your wife invited me to tea, and she brought up the conversation. I am only now trying to extend my support.”

Aemond always thinks the people around him are too trusting, too open. Helaena is painstakingly warm to whoever shows her an ounce of kindness. Aegon is easily swayed with pretty faces or a sense of camaraderie. His mother’s whole being shuts down at the sound of compliments. Floris is alone at court, in need a friend. You meet all of their needs in ways he cannot begin to. You know it as much as he does.

He should feel upset at his wife, but he doesn’t even have the passion to do that.

So, all he can do is focus on how you bring on a nagging tug in the pit of stomach. How he trusts absolutely nothing you do. How embarrassed he feels about you knowing any intimate details about him.

“But if I could give some advice,” you get up from your seat, walking towards him. “If your wife is not doing the trick, perhaps thinking about other things may help. Something that makes the blood pump a little faster.”

Aemond’s throat bobs. He glares, trying to think of cruel insult to dismiss the notion, but he finds his mouth dry and his tongue heavy.

The moment is interrupted by Floris coming in with a smile. “What did I miss?”

The transformation happens again, Aemond thinks. The low voice you had put on, and the hazy look in your eyes instantly go away. You turn to her with a chipper smile.

“I was just telling Prince Aemond about how I am looking forward to going to the orphanage with you, Princess Helaena, and the Queen on the morrow.”

You lock arms with her, and all Aemond can do is watch.

Wretched girl.

—— —

Later that night, when he feels Floris’s lips on his neck, and her hand working down his chest. He tries to think about how lucky he is. Floris is pretty, and kind. He has bolstered his family through the marriage. It should make him happy.

Despite himself, he finds himself thinking about other things. About berry red wine-stained lips, and a perceptive mind. A wet thumb tracing where his wife’s lips are. Heat pulls in the pit of his stomach at the thought of you wanting to ride a dragon. That night he cums harder than expected.

Maybe second sons deserve the best too.

#this weirdly being one of the fav things Ive written and I did it in like a couple of hours wimfksnf #like once an idea stick… it is STUCK I fear #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen imagine #prince aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond fic #hotd aemond #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x fem!oc

778 notes · View notes

tuliptired · 9 months ago

Text

He's Good People Ch.3

Chapter 3: I Didn't Mean to Take Up all your Sweet Time (I'll Give it Right Back to Ya, One of These Days)

Pairing(s): Gn!reader/Ray, Gn!reader/Egon, Gn!reader/Winston

Summary: (Winston centric, briefly Egon centric) To get out the firehouse, you 're invited for a day out on the town with the "common man" of the Ghostbusters, and he won't stop opening doors for you

Warnings: Reader wears masc presenting clothes for like one paragraph

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE :((( hope a longer update makes up for it!

read it on Ao3!

It was fairly late into the night. You felt weird about going to bed while none of the others had returned, like you were overstepping. You were content with being curled up in a chair as Egon annotated a book in the dimly lit lab. He had offered you one of the many works from his personal collection, but the words started to lose their meaning after the first handful of pages. Maybe he ought to read it to you, instead. You set the book aside, much more interested in watching him. He had his sleeves rolled up again, fairly unnecessary because he was only working with paper and pencil.

He discarded his work for the second time that day, looking over at you. The need for sleep was creeping up on him, as his eyelids sat low and his gaze remained soft.

"I´m sorry for boring you."

"I´m not bored. Are you tired? You don't have to stay up with me."

He put the pencil back into a mug full of others. He rose from the workbench, opening the book to a heavily noted page. Crossing over to where you were sitting, Egon joined you, holding it open for you to see. There were large, square photos of terrifying looking sculptures. Upon further inspection, they were really just recreations of exotic animals. A boa constrictor, an alligator, a giant salamander, a…platypus. Behind each of them stood a Victorian era man, beaming with self-worth at the spectacles surrounding him.

“See him?” He pointed to the man. “That’s Benjamin Fairhooke. He had a penchant for imported animals. And too much money. So much so he had the theater near your building constructed to show them off.” He turned the page to a large spread of the theater in the late 1800’s, advertising an oddity show.

“They started showing plays and operas soon enough. But everyone knew how passionate he was. Piranhas-in-the-bar sink, frogs-on-the-staircases-passionate.” There was a photo of Fairhooke next to a woman. Despite her exquisite clothing, elegant features, and extravagant jewelry, she had a fairly sour expression, while he still beamed at the camera, an iguana in his lap.

“That was his wife, Claira. Their marriage was falling apart while ticket sales peaked. They held their son’s wedding reception in the lobby of the theater.” He had a grainy photo bookmarked. There was a newlywed couple, normal. Claira’s in the background, though. Not happy her son was just married, but instead staring down the barrel of the camera like it was a gun.

“She had just found Benjamin in a parlor, tending to a snapping turtle. She got so mad, she took the shovel from the fireplace and managed to decapitate him in 10 minutes.” Holy shit.

He could feel your shock. “I know. She left him there for the rest of the night. They searched for weeks, until they found his body. She told them everything- just not what became of his head. His animals went missing, and his kids wanted nothing to do with the theater. Local legend says that the souls of his then neglected animals are still searching for Claira. Anywhere she could be. But it fell into obscurity. Everyone who believed in it died at the turn of the century.” He shut the book.

“So. The ghosts of a bunch of critters are running around my block, looking for his murderer? And one ended up in my washing machine?”

“Essentially. I’ve wanted to investigate since I heard the story, but it was always word of mouth. I only just found it buried in an anthology of neighborhood ghost stories in Ray’s store.” He sighed, getting up and placing the book back into its place on his shelf. “He was pretty excited about my findings. He always is. But he’s been dragging his feet about it.” Egon looked worried, if not at least a bit frustrated, as he took a seat back next to you, knees touching unintentionally. You could understand, this was his longtime friend, after all. This all seemed very perplexing to him.

“Maybe he’s just scared? Of what he’ll find?” The words really don’t serve much purpose other than to soothe his nerves- they don’t convince you, even as they fall from your lips. Ray was a discerning and generally happy man, but he was still brave. He wouldn’t be a paranormal expert, a Ghostbuster if he was scared of what he loved.

You could tell his fears were still there. You placed a hand on his, silently grateful as you felt that they were still the same hands you held earlier.

“I promise, the moment I can get back into my apartment I’m gonna look for the key.”

There was the predecessor to a smile, before he had a look that read as accepting defeat. “I apologize for you being stuck with us so long. Only a day more.” Before you could protest, tell him that you’re having a wonderful time and you’re sorry for being in their hair, you heard cursing downstairs, followed by heavy steps approaching, making you jump.

Ray and Winston joined you upstairs, covered in thick, oozing slime of some sort. Winston held a smoking machine like the one Ray had after cleansing your house, only this time a bit more scratched up.

“It wasn’t a mannequin at all. God-damned-ghost-komodo-dragon on its hind legs. Sprayed us bad- we hosed ourselves off 6 times on the way home.” Winston tried wiping the slime moving from his glove to his wrist off on his pant leg, only making the viscous substance spread more.

Ray didn’t look angry, but he wasn’t bouncing off the walls. “This is big. Y’know that old theater-”

“I already explained it.”

“You’re kidding.”

‘’No. I explained Fairhooke, Claira, the ghosts. All of it.”

Winston could feel the start of a petty back and forth, so he discreetly asked you to follow him. He laughed and shook his head as he went down the steps to the very bottom of the firehouse. You had seen this room when Ray brought you down for pajamas, and you recognized the door he had peeked into, but not what was on the wall. A large, red electrical looking panel stared back at you.

“Ray taught me how to do this when I was new here.” He went through the motions of showing you how they used it to hold ghosts. You were glad he took the extra step and explained what it really did under the surface, because lord knows you were puzzled.

“He even made a rhyme. ‘When the light is green, the trap is clean’”.

“Does this make me part of your team now?” You complain, purely jokingly.

“You don’t wanna be? I wouldn’t mind.” You had to hand it to him, he had a charming way of disarming you. He didn't give you time to respond, as he made his way to the laundry area. He came back with new pajamas, softer looking ones.

“I hope these are a little more personable.” He handed you a light purple t-shirt, and dark purple sweatpants. There was thought behind these, definitely not something they had laying around in the hamper.

You smile at the consideration. “Thank you.” He returned it, very white teeth and all. He gave you privacy to change, and was peeling his suit off upon your return. It looked incredibly uncomfortable, the mire of today´s job trying to stick to his skin. He finally got the soiled jumpsuit off, and it stuck to the floor like a glue trap. As he stuffed it into the industrial washer, another one tumbled out a laundry chute and onto a pile of dirty, but not slimy, clothes. He sighed, carefully picking up the soiled suit and garments and placing them in, too.

“What is it, anyway?” You watched on as he poured a cocktail of different, unmarked liquids, which you assumed were non FDA approved cleaners for these kinds of unconventional stains.

He pressed the washing machine closed, turning a few knobs and pressing a few buttons. “Ectoplasm. As graceful as it sounds.” You follow him, as he makes his way back up the steps.

“Like sticky skunk spray.” He stops in front of the sleeping quarters, and it gives you a moment to wonder why exactly you were still following him. As you start to mull over it further, he places his pointer finger over his lips.

“We oughta get out of here tomorrow. Ray’s gone to bed without dinner. Bad sign. It’s not pretty when he and the professor get into it.” He explains, voice hushed.

“Are they okay?”

“They will be. Ray stresses for a day, but he always apologizes, ‘cause he’s scared to lose his friend.” Winston smiles familiarly, thinking of the men he’s grown to know well over the past 5 years since his initial hiring. You can’t stop the spread of warmth under your skin as you think, too.

“Kindred spirits. I hate to see them both so worked up.”

“They can’t help it. They’ve got a new distraction running around.”

You don’t have time to process it, again, before he’s halfway back down the steps to the first floor. You lean over the railing, just as he passes Janine’s desk.

“Where are you going?”

He doesn’t stop walking, until he reaches the exit. “I promised my mom I’d stay over. Be up early tomorrow, ok? I’ll take you on a joyride.”

“Goodnight,” you wave, as he gives you a two finger salute, letting the door shut behind him.

You can’t really sleep- you don’t want to, anyway. Egon’s still upstairs, Peter’s with Dana, and Ray’s in bed by himself. As tempting as it is to go up there and console him, you really don’t want to come off as pushy. So, you had an apron tied over your front, sleeves rolled up and gloves on as you worked to scrub the slime out of blanched fabric. What a night.

The stickiness was seldom coming off, but you noticed progress. It would bubble and sud with the soap, but it was nothing a frequent rinse didn’t get rid of. The only problem was that it was thick, and it sat deep in the absorbent material. You lost track of the hours you spent, going down the line; Soaking, scrubbing, rinsing, scrubbing, rinsing, soaking- over and over. The need for sleep left you, as this housekeeping mystery kept you unwilling to give up until it was completed.

There was a click of the heavy door, and your thoughts of finishing the task as you feverishly scraped a suit against a large washboard suddenly ceased. Winston stood at the door, dressed and holding 2 cups of coffee-shop-coffee.

“Good morning,” his face was both impressed and fearful. You figured this was enough, as most of the slime sat mixed with now greenish water in the large sink. You carefully transferred it to the dryer with the others, and peeled your gloves off.

“Goodmorning,” you wiped some soap off your cheek with your wrist.

He handed you a cup. “You think you deserve a shower after all that?” You walked out the laundry with him, the warm liquid having the opposite of its desired effect as it made you the slightest bit sleepy.

Your shower was quick and to the point. In the few days you’ve been there, your towel has had a permanent residence on a hook by the door, a fair distance from the other 4. You figured this would have to be your second day in the blue sweater, but you didn’t mind all that much. You managed to wash it as well the night prior, so it was dried and fluffed as it waited for you.

Winston ran into you on your way out the bathroom, something dark in his hands. He unfolded it, and stepped behind you to put it on your shoulders.

“What’s this?” You whipped your head around to watch his movements.

“Had to pick this up from my mom’s, too.”

It was a dark purple jacket, the sleeves needing to be cuffed by him in order for your hands to appear. You could see a wide, black stripe wrap around the back and little pinstripes around the collar. You knew Winston was a more eccentric dresser than his coworkers, the brightly colored laundry telling you so, but to take something so nice from his mom?

“I can’t take this, She doesn’t even know me.”

“It’s mine. And it’s going to a good cause.” He drops your wrist. Taking a step back, he examines his work with a hand on his chin, an unsatisfied look on his face. He figures out what’s wrong, as he grabs the zipper from the bottom and pulls it up, the blue of the sweater underneath now hidden. There’s a pleased smile on his face as he takes another step back, before starting down the stairs.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the car,” and he disappeared.

While you were excited to get out again, to have some sort of normalcy for a day, but the urge to check the kitchen overtakes your legs. Your heart feared for the worst, you peek across the threshold, and you could’ve died then.

Egon was at the little table, pancakes, eggs, and coffee on two plates in front of him. The thing was, yours was untouched. He sat there, hands in his lap, face unreadable, until he noticed your presence. He didn’t light up, his features didn’t change, but you could’ve sworn there was a slight, upward twitch of the inner corners of his eyebrows. You felt a sort of nausea wash over you, that settled in your chest as you thought of what to say.

Walking towards him felt condescending, as if you were increasing the parameters of whatever obviously negative emotion he was feeling, but it was the proper thing to do. You folded your hands in front of you, unthreatening. Benevolent. He looked at you through his eyelashes, like a wounded animal.

“I’m sorry. That I wasn’t around this morning.” To anyone else, this would seem melodramatic. A meal skipped out on between 2 people who have known each other for 2 days. But the way there was a flash of forgiveness, that you saw so often in the downcast faces of those young men and women around a coffee pot, weeks after their indulgence of passion. One of them did something. And the other so desperately wanted things to be okay again. They’d be engaged. You saw it on the faces of teenage actors, as their parents commented on a poor performance, before bringing them ice cream. It was the small injustices, from the people that you loved.

He opened his mouth to speak, before a honk from the garage cut him off. Winston was calling you, the unfortunate timing making you cringe.

“I’m sorry, again. I won’t be gone long.” He didn’t respond as you retreated to the door.

You reluctantly disappeared out the room, before appearing one more time.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

You take your leave down the stairs, the garage door open as the Ecto-1a runs idly. Winston leaned over, opening the passenger door for you. Settling in with a huff, he turned to you as you pulled your seatbelt on.

“Ready?” When you nod, he pulls the car out the garage, and onto the street. After a few minutes of driving from the firehouse, he reaches for the glove compartment, his hand emerging with a cassette in a purple case.

“Hope you don’t mind Mj,” he grins as he slides it into the car’s slot. The singer’s voice fills the car, and he eventually joins in. He has an amazing singing voice, honestly, and you’re too compelled to take pleasure in his gaiety as he drives.

“The Jackson 5: Jackie, Tito, Marlon, Jermaine, and Winston,” you tease him. The city’s awake with you, as children took their lessons on the blacktop of the school’s playground, and grandmother’s bought fruit placed in their foldable carts. A handful of dogs howl as your highly decorated car passes by.

“I could never take Michaels place,” Winston crosses his heart, the cassette starting to play a Stevie Wonder song. He nodded his head along to the beginning of “Signed, Sealed, Delivered”.

He enjoyed himself for the whole song, even roping you into joining in. Eventually, he turns the volume down a few notches.

“What music do you like?” He questioned, nodding in acknowledgment as you listed off your current favorites. As he waited at a red light, he skipped a few songs, claiming that you’d like this one more after the inventory you gave him.

You take another look around, as the setting gets more and more unfamiliar to you. “Where’re we going, anyway?” You tilt your head.

“Right now, I’m thinking the music store. But I have other ideas, too.” He pulls up to the curb of an aptly named record shop, shutting off the engine and opening your door from the outside before you could protest. The inside was fairly simple, musical equipment sitting on shelves behind a desk, records stretching around the perimeters of the room, and cassette tapes in the square middle.

The layout intrigues you, as your brain pings at recognizable albums. You shy away from Winston, flipping through a few records in your favorite genre. He reappears at your side, a small box of blank tapes in his hands.

“Are you recording something?” You continue to browse. He shakes his head.

“You’re gonna need your own tape to play in the car. We all have one.” He peers over your shoulder casually, taking in music he’s never heard of. You shake your head apologetically, fearing the effort it’ll take. He picks up an album you’d been eyeing.

He turned to look at you, eyes earnest and eyebrows slightly raised. “Make space for yourself.” Simple words. He wasn’t asking a lot from you. But he was speaking to you- I want you to survive. I want you to live.

You have nothing to do but nod your head, no point in protest. He has a pleased smile, and examines the album a little more before putting it down. Something else catches his eye, and he brightens, mouth open in awe. There’s a full stack of reddish yellow squares, and he spins around to show you, eyes twinkling like a little kid.

“Tommy! I thought you didn’t carry Hendrix!” He chides the man excitedly, flipping the album around. You stand behind him to read the song list as well. Tommy merely shrugs.

“Best guitarist since Berry,” he proclaims to you. “Absolutely insane sound.” He had such a look of delight on his face. It was different from Ray’s- it wasn’t analytical, he probably didn’t know everything he could’ve about what he loved, but that only made him love it more. Winston’s joy was simple, but it wasn’t unimportant. As he talked on about the man he looked up to, his soft eyes crinkled, a wide smile meeting them.

“I wasn’t allowed to play him.” He pulled out his wallet, paying for not only his newfound treasure, but the empty cassettes and your own personal favorite. “Not when I was at home, or when I was deployed.” Tommy handed him the items in a plastic bag. “But I paid my neighbor a nickel to let me when our parents weren’t home. I lost a lot of commissary that way, when I got older.” His story had a boyish tone to it, as he held the door open for you. He wouldn’t stop opening doors for you, insisting on it as you got in the car.

“Are you hungry?” His question makes you recall the other companion you’d forgotten at the firehouse, your heart filling with cement. You agree to lunch, knowing he really wouldn’t let you refuse.

Your next destination is a little restaurant, the area busier as midday approaches and working class America is looking for something to eat. When you enter (and he holds the door), there’s a teenaged boy behind the counter, packing orders and taking cash. The interior is smaller than you assumed, as the floor is taken up by the buffet-style kitchen behind the spot to order, and a few tables and chairs. It smells amazing, though, and the menu looks even better. Winston watches you pridefully as you marvel over what to get, before his voice breaks you out of your stupor.

“Know what you want?”

“I can’t decide. It all sounds great,” you confess, the idea of choosing making your head hurt.

Winston chuckles at your response, guiding you to a little table and making you wait there as he chooses for the both of you. After letting some highschoolers get in front of him so they could get back to school before the hour ended, you see that he’s an exceptional conversationalist, becoming instantly acquainted with the people in line with him. He asks them about their day, listens intently, and when asked about his own he gladly replies with “day out with a friend,” pointing to you. You give a bashful wave to him and his newfound comrades.

He speaks familiarly to the kid at the register, counting things off his fingers, and even slipping him a bill that was definitely not a part of his total. He soon has two styrofoam containers in his hands, steam rising out the slight openings. He opens yours for you, the water vapor and aroma hitting you like a punch. There’s greens, mac and cheese, and fried fish staring you down as your eyes widen. While you were stuck in your hypnosis, he reached over, cutting your food for you.

It was like you died and went to heaven, before being sent back to finish your plate. You almost absentmindedly held onto the table to keep you tethered to the Earth.

“You guys have kept me fed all weekend,” you say between rushed bites. It’s true- this is the best you’d eaten in a while. You swallow. “I can’t remember the last time I was able to stop and make actual food.”

“Egon treats you to breakfast, I treat you to lunch.” He raises his hands in a shrug. “Good?”

“Amazing,” you chew. “You seem to know this place well,” you suggested.

“I take lunch here everyday,” he wipes his mouth on a napkin.

“I can see why. Is it a favorite?”

“No, my favorite is the Jamaican lady down the corner.”

You raise an eyebrow, setting your fork down as he blissfully kept eating. “But…you know everyone here, they know you, you come here every day.”

He blinks. His tone is slightly quieted. “I know. But the owner’s trying to put his daughter through college. Any penny I can give to him counts.” He talks as if the act of selflessness was the simplest thing in the world. It amazed you, how easily kindness and servitude came to him. In your short time with him, he was nothing but humble and friendly with everyone he interacted with. The small smile that spread on your face was one of admiration, and genuine mystique at the kindly man across from you.

You chatted for a bit longer, about growing up, your families, before you were both finished. He tossed your trash, and bid the teen at the register goodbye before walking you back to the Ecto. Once inside, you couldn’t help but lean your head against the glass, your lack of sleep the previous night manifesting after eating so good.

“I think that knocked me out,” you tried hard to suppress a yawn in your throat as he turned on the ignition, soft rumbling making it harder.

“There’s a word for that,” he laughed. That was the last thing you could remember, before waking back up. The car was still parked in the same spot, and as you sleepily looked around, Winston sat in the same spot, peacefully reading a small book. Your stomach dropped as you noticed the time- nearly 3 o’clock.

“I am so sorry,” you stumbled through an apology, sleep still sticking to your panicked words. He simply took his reading glasses off, eyebrows raised as you rambled.

‘I don’t mind. I had my book.”

“I didn’t snore, right?” Your skin burnt.

He paused. "It made a good ambience.”

You threw your head into your hands, Winston snickering at your expense as he started the car again. He drove out the area, sidewalk now full of families coming from school and work, in addition to teenagers loitering for a bit before they headed home. The scenery became less cozy and residential, and slowly became more retail, tall buildings advertising clothes and businesses. You recognized it as being your downtown area- albeit the parts you felt too low-income to pursue.

“What’s next?” You wondered if there was dried drool on your chin.

“I doubt anyone is talking to anyone back home.” Winston bit the inside of his cheek. He kept his eyes on the road, thoughts behind his eyes. He had a bittersweet look on his face, before speaking again. “When we didn’t have anything to do- or any spare money to do it with, my mom took my siblings and I to the department store.”

You’ve heard quite a few personal stories in the last few hours. Maybe it was his way of connecting. You decided to probe. “What’d you do?”

His face softened a bit, recounting the positive parts of the memory. “All types of fashion shows. Found future gifts to our dad. Made our mom promise to find us shirts just like the ones on the rack- and she did. We pretended we were the richest kids in the world. Preacher’s kids, we weren’t…terribly poor. But there were reminders. Mom made it better.” He smiled fondly, despite the car being stuck behind a bus.

The car moved forward. “I’m sure she’s the reason you turned out so well.” The car suddenly stalled, and you were honked at from behind. Eventually, you were parked against the busy sidewalk of a wide, tall building. The sheer size was enough to intimidate, as you still sat in the car, gazing at the top of the structure as he had the door handle in his hands.

You were estimating the floor count, before you felt a hand grab yours. His palms were soft, slightly calloused, but warm nonetheless. He looked down at your conjoined hands, before simpering back up at you. “So you don’t get lost.”

As Winston guided you through the bustling floor, your anxiety was substituted for security. The makeup counter was absolutely packed, as were the prom dresses upstairs. That made a fair amount of sense, as the school year would be ending soon. While on the escalator, you can see all the patrons, hurrying in and out with their bags. At the top, something in the toy section catches your eyes. Winston lets himself be led over.

“What a find,” you take a rectangular box off the shelf. It’s a nearly identical Smokey the Bear plushie, just a newer model. There’s a tribute to the old one printed on the back of the packaging. Winston watched as you reveled in the coincidence.

You remember his presence, and the lack of context he has for you suddenly admiring a children’s toy. “Ray sleeps with an old one. Smokey’s seen better days.” Winston smiles as you place it back on the display.

“Why not get it for him?”

You shake your head swiftly. “I’d be dishonoring your mom. I thought the point was to not spend money?”

He picked the bear back up. “She also says that you can’t take money to the grave. Maybe it can be a goodbye present? We can find something for Egon and Peter, too.”

You think on it. At this rate, there wasn’t much for you to repay their kindness with. Well-thought-out gifts paid for with Winston’s money will have to do, for now. You agree, before disembarking to a clothing department. You end up in the men’s section, articulate and hip pieces you couldn’t even dream of affording. Winston gazes up at the flashy, electric purple suit vest on a mannequin, as you sit back on a chair behind him.

“You like that one?” You sit up.

He puffs out a laugh at the outfits' pure hedonism. “It’s a lot. Even for me.”

“And you want it,” you rise, skimming the racks for the matching pieces in his size as he protests. You wordlessly hand them to him, and he surrenders, disappearing behind the entrance to a men’s dressing room. In the meantime, you’d look for Peter’s gift. To be fair, you knew him the least out of the 4 men. But Winston had told you he messed around too much in the lab, and lost his favorite tie to a small fire. He apparently never had time to replace it, and Winston could remember the exact brand, style, and color, so you figured he could single out the one you were looking for out of a short stack of silky, red fabrics.

As you waited in a warmly lit lounge area by the fitting room, he emerged, holding his arms out and up to model it for you. The satin of the cream colored undershirt fit around him nicely, the bright vest even coming in at his waist a bit. He had the full ensemble on, even down to the suede loafers. He looked like a moviestar, even if he was too humble to actually admit it himself, the price tag swinging underneath his arm.

“It’s something,” He looked at himself in the mirror, hands on his square hips.

“It’s great, that’s what it is,” you say honestly.

“You like vampire-soul-train?” He turned.

You put your hands up defensively. “I love vampire-soul-train.” He continued to look indecisive about it, confidence visibly falling. “Are you gonna come back for it?”

“Where would I wear it to?” He peeked at the price tag one more time, dropping it like it burned his fingers.

You shrugged. “You don’t need an occasion. Sometimes it’s just fun to dress up. Ask Janine.”

He laughs. “I guess you’re learning from the best.” He looks down pleasantly surprised at what he’s seeing on the floor. “If anything, I’d come back for the shoes.” He looks at you through the reflection in the mirror. “Did you find anything?”

You look around at the dozens of clothes behind you. “I guess not.” There’s a lot to choose from, and a lot of bright colors fighting for your attention. It’s all a little overwhelming, looking at clothes you’d fall in love with and never buy. You end up standing in the middle of the department, scratching your head swimming with uncertainty, until Winston taps you on the shoulder.

“They have it in your size.” So you matched.

“We look like a magic act,” you tease him, remembering Peter’s tie situation. After he pinpointed the correct match, you admired yourselves a little longer- at least until the staff were tapping you on the shoulder and asking if you needed anything, courteous smiles twitching as they watched you saunter around in their merchandise.

You looked at more things in different departments- jewelry that you tried to convince Winston to re-pierce his ears for, home decor you’d have if your place was bigger. Eventually, he gladly paid for the 2 gifts, the large bag in which they were placed sitting next to you at an ice cream counter. As you ate, you both came to the conclusion that Egon deserved a decadent little chocolate cake from the dessert store you were at, and you hoped it would keep in the fridge overnight.

“You ready to go home tomorrow morning?’ He put his spoon in his mouth. Butter pecan. You groaned lightly. You wanted to give them their space- and their money back, but it was like the ending to a pleasant dream, going from companionship and a warm place to sleep in a hard time to a now-damaged apartment and job fairs.

“As ready as I can be. Thanks, for putting up with me this weekend.” You put your spoon down.

“You won’t get rid of us that easy. We’ll be there to help you clean up.”

“The 4 archangels. I promise, when I get back on my feet I’m finding new ways to repay you all.” He dismissed your offer.

“It’s the minimum. Louis’ office was in the boiler room for a bit, you know.” He lightened your guilty mood. As he smiled, you noticed the now dark bruise against his jaw. Impulsively, you reached out and manipulated his face gently.

“Does it still hurt?”

There’s a crash from the first floor. You both rush to the balcony railing, watching as people run to the exit, as feral growls vibrate around the large store. Winston grabs your hand again, though less tender now, running down the steps of the now disabled escalator against waves of people running up instead. When you reach the bottom, you watch in terror as an angry alligator destroys the store. As you looked on, you could see that the tail of the beast was vaporizing in front of you, as it hissed out a slime like the one you worked to wash out early in the morning. This wasn’t just an escaped animal. It was a ghost. Winston came to this conclusion at the same time that you did, pulling you towards the exit and to the Ecto.

“Should we call Peter and Ray and-”

He opened the door to get his equipment. “They won’t get here in time. And they won’t have any of this.” He grabbed a proton gun, staring down at it before sighing. “I’m gonna ask you to do something very dangerous.”

Your eyes flickered down to the weapon in his hands, before your mouth fell open. “Absolutely not. Dr. Spengler said that it was ‘unregulated units of atomic energy.’” He ignored your protests, putting the proton pack onto you. He pulled the belt tight around your waist.

“It’s easier than you think,” he said hurriedly, adjusting the straps on your shoulders. “Have you ever flown a plane?”

You stare at him, eyes blown and wide, before burying your head behind your hands. He pries them off gently, placing them each on different points of the gun. “Well then it’s just like driving a car. You shoot the ghost with this, okay? Just keep holding onto him, and I’ll open the trap for you. We’re gonna do it, and we’re gonna do it together.”

Before you could revel in him talking you through it, he’s pushing you inside. Herds of frightened customers cling to the walls, out of the way of the ghost, and make room for you and Winston as they quietly whisper to each other that help has come. The alligator is ripping up a display, the woman in the ad subsequently dressed in Victorian style dress. Winston creeps up towards it slowly, before advising you to stay behind one of the makeup counters.

“I’m gonna tell you when. When I do, hit this button. That’s all. Okay?” You purse your lips, nodding, and crouching despite the nerves being felt in your weak legs. He leaves you behind, the ghost with its back turned as it tears up the poster. From your hiding spot, you can hear it notice him, growling loudly as it charges. He signaled you, and you popped up like a toy, shaky fingers igniting the stream.

He did the same, exclaiming loudly as you immobilized the spirit. He advised you to raise it up slowly, as the phantom flailed around.

“What now?” You called over the volume of the particle accelerator whirring like crazy on your back, separated from your skin by a spring jacket and a sweater. He didn’t have an answer.

He hesitated. “You didn’t manage to grab a trap while you were out there, did you?” You could have fainted. You saw his stream falter. “I’ll be right back. Keep holding him- I’ll be two seconds!’

His stream stopped, as he sprinted out the door, nearly slipping on ectoplasm in the process. The ghost thrashed harder, trying to resist the force suspending it in the air. You felt like the weight of holding up an adult alligator suddenly, and your arms couldn’t keep up with its fight. Your stream gave out for a split second, and in that time it was free, and on the floor. It locked eyes with you.

Your cry for Winston echoed throughout the department store- hell, throughout the city as you ran as fast as your legs could take you around the floor once, then up one of the escalators. You skidded to a stop at the end, as the chaos of the escaping crowd managed to knock down a large glass case, sending glass all over the floor. Your momentum didn’t stop you soon enough, and you slid over the shards before falling to the waxed floor. The ghost got closer, sending your heart to your toes as it opened its mouth, expelling a wave of noxious green slime. You saved your pride, ducking out of the way at the last second. You only had a moment to celebrate your triumph, as a quick movement of its ghastly tail reminded you of its ability to interact- and harm, the physical world.

You got back on your feet, before noticing Winston run back inside out of the corner of your eye. You needed to get back downstairs, but all of the possible ways down were blocked. A large decoration swung from the ceiling, reaching fairly low to the ground. The ghost was creeping closer, teeth bared. If you die, please let your soul haunt the firehouse.

Your nerves steeled themselves for you, hesitating on the ledge, before taking your literal leap of faith as the ghost lunged forward. You squeezed your eyes shut, only opening them when you felt your sweaty palms make contact with the course rope. You slide quickly, before remembering you actually had to catch the violent apparition. You reach weakly for the gun swinging behind you, forgotten, and feebly aim your gun at the glass part at the railing where it watched you. The glass shatters in its wake, and as you continue your ride down the rope, the ghost is caught in your stream, the speed at which you’re moving dragging it through the air. You reach a safe enough distance to the ground, letting go of your hold on the rope and dropping on your knees unstably.

Winston’s been watching from the floor, regaining his strategy as the ghost hovers ahead. He sets his stream on it, and kicks a trap directly below. Your ears are ringing, and your heart’s beating at a thousand miles a minute as he calls on you to lower the spirit. With diminished resistance, the ghost is caught in the trap, smoking rising to the ceiling. The entire store is quiet. The smoke reaches the alarms, setting off the sprinklers, and the hostages erupt in celebration.

Winston lays an arm around your shoulder, speaking low into your ear. “I told you, it was easy. You’re amazing.”

But you're still in a daze, and Winston recognizes it as he gently guides you to the car, avoiding reporters and even a few policemen. Before he takes you to the passenger side and aides you down into the seat, he raises your hand for everyone watching the news in the tri-state to see.

“Y/N came, saw, and kicked its ass!”

You don’t say much as he drives back to the firehouse, siren on. You suddenly startle back to consciousness, turning to him in disbelief.

“I caught a ghost.”

“You sure did.”

You laugh weakly, rubbing your eyes. Your laughter picks up, before it turns hysterical. You crank down the window, sticking your upper body out in ecstasy. This was the most alive you’ve felt in your entire adult life, and you let everything in the car’s path know.

“I caught a ghost!” You cry out as the Ecto drives through the city’s streets.

34 notes · View notes