#Fireplace Inspections Near Me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bookshelf-in-progress · 2 years

Text

The Turning of the Year: A Cinderella Retelling

In a long-ago year, in a faraway land, there lived a girl named Alena. She lived in the house of a cruel stepmother, who hated her because she was so much prettier than her own daughter, and who made Alena do all the work of the house. Though the stepmother let her eat only scraps and wear only rags, Alena grew only more kind and beautiful as the year's went by, while her own daughter, Vanda, grew ever more coarse and cruel.

Now one December, it became known that the king of the land would host a grand ball in the city upon the eve of the New Year. Alena, like all other girls, wished to attend, and asked her stepmother if she could go. Her stepmother promised that she could, in order to convince Alena to work even harder in the weeks before.

But when New Year's Eve arrived, and Alena asked if she could dress for the ball, her stepmother cried, "A ball? When there is so much work to do? We must cast out the old year! You shall attend no ball before the house is cleaned. If there is even a speck of dust left in this house at midnight, you shall bring bad luck upon us all--and it shall be very bad luck for you.”

With that, her stepmother left the house, along with her own daughter, Vanda, to purchase trimmings for their dresses at the ball.

Scarcely had Alena begun to clean the kitchen when she heard footsteps near the back garden gate. When Alena peered outside, she found an old woman walking alone, her back so bent she could not stand without her staff, and her hair so white the snowflakes seemed dark upon it.

“Good mother!” Alena cried, rushing to the woman’s aid. “Come inside to warm yourself! It is no weather for traveling.”

The old woman took a seat by the fire with thanks, and gladly shared the crust of bread that was the only meal Alena’s stepmother had given her.

“You are good to an old woman,” the stranger said. “Yet that is no surprise, for you have been good the whole year through.”

“You do not know me,” Alena said in surprise.

“But I do,” the woman replied, “for I am the Old Year. You have shown me kindness near the end of my journey, so I will be glad to do what I can to help you in yours. What troubles you, child?”

Alena said with sorrow, “My stepmother will not let me attend the prince’s ball until I have cleaned every speck of dust from the house.”

“That is easily done,” the Old Year said, “for April shall reign in this house for the hour.”

With that, though the woman remained old and bent upon her stool, she also seemed somehow to be tall and straight, young and beautiful, with apple blossoms in her golden hair. In the garden outside, the snow clouds cleared away for springtime sun, and warm breezes blew through the house, gathering all the dirt and dust and soot and spreading it neatly in the gardens outside. While spring reigned, Alena gathered blossoming branches from the garden and placed them in jars around the house. Before the hour was over, the house shone. The old woman then lost her youthful aura, and winter returned to the gardens outside.

Alena thanked the Old Year from the bottom of her heart, but at that moment, her stepmother and stepsister returned. Alena, knowing that her stepmother would beat her for letting a ragged stranger into the house, hid the Old Year in the pantry just before her mother entered the kitchen.

“You lazy girl!” Stepmother shouted, when she saw Alena sitting on the stool near the fireplace. “Why are you sitting when the house must be cleaned?”

“It is clean, Stepmother,” Alena replied.

Her stepmother protested, but when she inspected the house, she found not a speck of dust.

She returned to the kitchen filled with rage, for she did not wish Alena to attend the ball and outshine her own daughter in the presence of the prince. When there, she saw the sacks of grain that Alena had moved out of the pantry to make room for the old woman.

“Aha!” her stepmother said. “You have forgotten the grain! We cannot enter the old year with bad grain. You must sift through every kernel so you can throw out the bad and keep the good. If this is not done before midnight, it will be a bad year for you.”

With that, her stepmother and Vanda returned to their rooms to prepare their dresses for the ball. Alena wept by the fireplace, and when she let the old year back into the kitchen, she told her the new task her stepmother had given her.

“That is no trouble,” the Old Year said. “Dry your eyes, child, for July shall reign in this house for the hour.”

Though the woman remained as old as ever, Alena thought she could also see her as a woman of middle age, with roses in hair just beginning to go gray. Through the windows flew every one of summer’s songbirds--warblers, robins, thrushes, vireos, orioles, flycatchers, tanagers, grosbeaks. At the Old Year’s commands, they opened the sacks, and threw the good grain into the barrels and the bad out the back door.

The gardens outside were lush and green, and Alena spent the hour in the sunshine, gathering strawberries, raspberries, and roses by the armful. The birds finished their work before the hour was over, and then flew out the doorway. The sunshine faded, the snow returned, and Alena thanked the Old Year with all her heart.

Just then, her stepmother emerged from her rooms, and Alena hid the Old Year in the pantry once more. Her stepmother and Vanda were fully dressed for the ball, but they had been so absorbed in their own looks that they had not seen even a moment of the summer that had filled the house.

"The grain is sorted, Stepmother," Alena said. "That means I can go to the ball."

With anger in her heart, her stepmother sorted through the grain, but she could not find one bad kernel to blame Alena for.

"You stupid girl!" she said at last. "Just because the grain is sorted, it doesn't mean your work is done. You have forgotten the mattresses! We cannot meet the new year in beds filled with last year's down! You must empty all the mattresses and stuff them all with fresh feathers before you can even think of attending the ball!"

She forced Alena to drag the mattresses to the kitchen, and then she and Vanda returned to their rooms to finish dressing their hair.

With that, Alena fell to weeping once again. The Old Year emerged and asked what troubled her.

"My stepmother demands I restuff the mattresses before I can attend the ball."

"That is no trouble," the Old Year said. "September shall reign in this house for the hour."

The next moment, though the woman remained old and bent, Alena also saw her as a woman not quite so old, with an elegant bearing and iron-gray hair that was woven with autumn leaves. The light outside became golden, while the plants in the garden grew brown and dry, and the trees bore apples among flaming leaves.

The sky grew dark as the air filled with the sound of beating wings, and in a moment, geese and ducks of every kind filled the gardens. The birds filed through the door, and at the Old Year's command, they pulled the old feathers from the mattresses and replaced them with a few feathers pulled from their own wings and tails and breasts. While the birds worked, Alena went to the gardens and gathered sweet apples from the groaning trees.

When the hour was over, the birds flew away, leaving behind mattresses plump with fresh new feathers. Alena thanked the Old Year with all her heart, then flew up the stairs to prepare for the ball.

Her stepmother met her in the hall outside her bedchamber, her hair dressed and ready for the ball.

"I have finished the work, Stepmother," Alena said, "so I will be able to go with you to the ball."

Her stepmother did not believe her, but when Alena brought the mattresses upstairs, she found them so plump and clean and fresh that she could find no fault to blame Alena for.

"You foolish child," her stepmother said at last, so angry she could barely speak. "You cannot possibly attend the ball, for you have nothing suitable to wear."

"I have one dress," Alena said. She flew into her dark, drafty little room and emerged with a gown that had once belonged to her mother. "This dress will fit me, and it is fit to be seen even by a king."

Her stepmother could see that in such a dress, even old as it was, Alena would still far outshine her own daughter in the prince's eyes. She tore the dress from Alena's hands, and with hands made strong by fury, she tore at the seams until the dress tore in two.

"This rag?" Her stepmother cried. "You cannot attend the ball in something so old. I would not have you come and give shame to us all. You must stay here and greet the new year alone."

With that, she and Vanda put on their cloaks, stepped in their carriage, and departed for the ball, leaving Alena weeping in the hallway.

While she wept, the Old Year came to her side and asked what troubled her.

"I am without hope," Alena said. "Though all the work is done, I cannot attend the ball, for I have nothing but rags to wear."

"Nonsense, child," the Old Year said. "You shall be the finest woman there, for you will be clothed in all the bounty of the year."

The Old Year helped Alena to her feet, and through tear-filled eyes, Alena saw the woman change, so she seemed old and young and middle-aged all at once. In the gardens outside, spring blossoms sprouted beside summer's roses, and autumn's leaves blazed over winter's snow. Sun and snow and wind and rain all seemed to fill the little hall where Alena stood. Her limp hair piled high atop her head and was crowned with the blossoms of spring. Her rags became a gown as soft as the petals of summer's roses, and bright with autumn's crimson and gold. A cloak of winter-white feathers stretched from her shoulders to the ground, and her feet were shod in shoes of winter's ice, which through some miracle neither froze her feet nor melted upon the floor.

"Old Mother!" Alena cried in gratitude, throwing her arms around the old woman. "I cannot thank you enough."

"You have earned it," the Old Year said, "but I warn you that I will fade away at midnight's chime, and when I go, my gifts will disappear. You must leave quickly, child, while time lasts."

With that, another wind, warm and icy all at once, wrapped itself around Alena and lifted her through the window. In moments, she found herself before the king's palace, which was all lit up for the festival.

At the ball, her beauty far outshone every woman there, and the dancers stopped dancing to whisper about this strange foreign princess who had arrived with no escort. The king, seeing her, was enchanted at once, and asked for her hand in the dance. For the rest of the night, Alena danced with no other, and found the king as kind and handsome as all the tales had claimed.

The hours flew by in what seemed like moments, until just as the king led her out toward a balcony, the palace clock began to chime the midnight hour.

"The new year has come!" the king declared, but Alena fled from him, out of the palace, down the stairs, and to the dark and snow-covered city streets. The Old Year's wind--what was left of it--found her and carried her through the midnight sky, but at the stroke of twelve, it faded away, dropping Alena into her house's back garden, clad once more in her rags. A single shoe of winter's ice clung to her left foot--though the Old Year's gifts had faded, winter still reigned, so only that season's gift remained.

The king, when she fled, ran after her, but he could find no trace of where his partner had gone, save one token, dropped in the place where the wind had picked her up--a single shoe made of winter's unmelting ice. The king declared that he would marry no woman save for the one who fit the miraculous shoe, and at the first light of dawn, he left the palace in search of her.

He had not gone far when he came across a girl child, barely old enough to walk, with hair as soft and golden as the sun's first rays.

"Where are you going?" the child asked him, in a voice too strong and clear for one so young. The king knew at once that he spoke to the newborn Year.

"I search for the woman I love," the king said, "though I have nothing to find her save the shoe she left behind."

"I know her well," the New Year said, "for she was a great friend of my mother's. You will find her in a house at the edge of the city, where spring's blossoms sit next to summer's roses and autumn's fresh apples."

With many thanks, the king swept the child onto his horse, wrapped her in his cloak, and sped off toward the far edge of the city. Before long, he came upon Alena's house, and knew it by the baskets of blossoms, roses and apples she had kept by the kitchen window.

When Alena's stepmother had come home from the ball, she had seen the signs of autumn, spring and summer in her kitchen, and knew that Alena had been the princess at the ball. She searched in Alena's room and found the partner to the shoe the prince held, then she seized Alena by the hair and locked her deep within the cellar. As she saw the prince approach, she fetched Vanda--her own ugly, cruel daughter--and perched her near the window with the blossoming roses, with the shoe of ice upon her foot.

The king rode to the house's entrance and presented himself by the main doors. Alena's stepmother greeted him with warm joy and welcomed him inside. While she took the king's cloak and tended to his boots, she did not see the small child toddle from the prince's side and make her way to the room where Vanda sat waiting.

Once there, the New Year reached her tiny hands toward the loaf of bread that Alena had baked only that morning. "Might I have something to eat?" she asked Vanda.

"Go away, little girl," Vanda said crossly. "Don't you know that the prince is here?"

The New Year asked for bread again, and once more, Vanda scolded her. At last, the child began to cry, and Vanda hit her on the ear and sent her tumbling to the floor.

Red-faced and crying, the New Year rose to her feet and told Vanya. "You are a cruel, selfish girl. Your heart is cold as ice, and so it is winter that will reign in this house today."

With her words, all the doors and windows of the room flew open, and a wind as cold as death blew in. Snow blew into the room and fell in drifts upon the floor. Before long, Vanda's lips and hands were blue, but her feet, encased in blocks of freezing ice, were black as coal.

Vanya's screams drew her mother to her side, and the king, alarmed, trailed in after her. He saw the girl with blackened feet, and though one foot wore the slipper of ice, he knew she was not the girl he sought. He feared that these cruel women had done her some great harm.

While Vanya's mother tended to her and sent for the doctor, the king saw the New Year standing in a drift of snow. He lifted her onto a stool, wrapped her in his cloak, and asked her, "Where is the woman I love? You promised she was here, yet I do not see her, and there are no other women in this house."

"You will find her in the one place where winter did not touch," the New Year said, "for her heart is too warm to be touched by ice."

The king waded through the kitchen's drifting snow and opened the door of the pantry. There, he saw all the house's food stores covered in snow and ice, but with not a flake covering the small door that led to the cellar. With a few blows, the door broke open, and the king pulled Alena out into the morning light.

"I have found you at last," the king cried in joy, and knelt before her with the slipper of ice. "You have my heart," the king replied, "and if you are willing, I would make you my bride."

With a smile, Alena said, "I will gladly be your wife."

With joy, the king took Alena to his home and introduced her to his court as his chosen bride. The people were charmed at once by her beauty and her kindness, and before the month was over, she was wed to the king and became queen over all the land. Her stepmother and stepsister, with Vanya maimed and their food frozen, became paupers, because they, in their pride, refused all of Alena's charity. Their cruelty gained them no friends, and before the winter's end, they were found, frozen to death, in winter's snow.

Alena, reigning as queen by her husband's side, became beloved by all the land. She and her husband remained pure of soul and warm of heart, and together they all lived happily for all the rest of their years.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #cinderella #have one last fairy tale #i've wanted to do a new year's eve cinderella #and one that mashed it up with the story of the twelve months that i've liked since i was a kid #i came up with the angle when i woke up the morning of the 30th #and decided i had to pull it together before the end of the year #i had wanted to do a full story but it only seemed to work as a fairy tale #(i also wanted to have the twelve months as separate men like in the fairy tale)#(but in practice hiding twelve men made the story ridiculous)#(and the new year as one woman seemed to work both from the fairy godmother angle and the new year angle)#i hope it's not too boring or trite #i just had to write it as quickly as possible #this was just how it came out so i'll have to go with it

2K notes · View notes

thesunloveschips · 7 months

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

230 notes · View notes

infamous-light · 10 months

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

288 notes · View notes

dulcewrites · 2 years

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

779 notes · View notes

tuliptired · 5 months

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.

32 notes · View notes

mrshipsmcgee · 2 years

Note

I crave some of the classic “random villain kidnaps Peters girl and tortures her in order to get info on him” add in some “Peter shows up at the last minute and goes feral” to make me happy

Yes ma’am. Anything for you my darling 😏

WARNINGS: blood, booboos, owies, hurt

Peter steps into the open window of his shared apartment with his best friends, Miles and Mary Jane. Peter thumbs the switch of the floor lamp beside him before discarding his mask, pausing as his brows lace together - scanning his surroundings realizing his normally warm and inviting home was dark and empty.

No Miles.

No MJ.

They should be up still.. the house should smell like fresh popcorn and the fireplace should be filled with orange flames as Miles and Mary Jane played through their newest video game together.

They always stayed up together for whoever was on patrol.. but tonight something was wrong.

Hair stands up straight on the back of Peter’s neck as he steps deeper into the home, the old wood floors creaking under the weight of each step he took.

He hears a small whimper - MJ’s whimper.

His stomach drops as he crosses the into Miles’ room.

“Shit,” Peter whispers, hot tears forming in his eyes as they fall upon Miles. Peter is frozen, chest rising as he approaches where Miles sat on the ground propped against his bed, crimson blood flowing from his abdomen as he stares up at Peter.

Peter drops to his knees, immediately inspecting the stab wounds on Miles’ stomach. Peter cries, cupping Miles’ face - his normally warm eyes now panicked as he stares at his wounded friend.

“I- I’m okay, Pete,” Miles tries to point to the door. “He has her. Go.”

Peter’s palm drops from Miles as he stands, gritting his teeth, “Where are they?”

Miles shakes his head, “I don’t know Pete. She… she stopped crying a few minutes ago,” he begins to cry. “He came through the window. We- we thought it was you, Pete. I swear. I promise I tried. My powers failed me.. I’m so sorry, Peter. I should have known-.”

“-No, Miles,” Peter interjects, dropping to his knees again and taking his friend’s face in his hands before planting a loving kiss to his forehead. His eyes meet Miles’, “There’s no need to apologize. You’re still learning.. it’s okay.”

Tears run down Miles’ cheeks as he nods at Peter, “I love you, man.”

“I love you, too,” Peter whispers.

“Please, go find her.. He’s going to kill her,” Miles sobs. “She can’t die. I can’t handle another death.”

Peter stands, already stalking towards the door as he cracks his knuckles, “You won’t have to.”

Rage courses through Peter as he nears the cracked door of his bedroom, kicking it open and stepping through the threshold.

“I was wondering if you’d get home before or after I’ve killed them,” a familiar voice comes from the corner of the room. “I’ve been waiting for this day for so long now. I had hoped you’d be here to watch them die. I’m so happy things are working out as planned. You know, Peter - it’s been an awful long time since you’ve watched a loved one die. Hasn’t it?”

“Show yourself, Harry,” Peter growls. “I’m the one you want anyway, right?”

“Peter Parker… such a bright mind, but still can’t figure out the purpose of this all,” Harry let’s out a gravely laugh. “I’m simply doing what I have done before. I’m killing your hope. I don’t want you dead, I want you miserable. I want you to wish for death.”

“Where is she?” Peter asks, fists clenched as his chest rises and falls, “Where is Mary Jane?”

“Oh, the pretty one?” Harry’s voice is playful. “Pete, do you remember what I like to do with pretty women?”

Peter gulps, eyes flickering between rage and sorrow.

“I like to do whatever the fuck I want with pretty women, Peter,” Harry finally steps out of the shadows. “And god damn did I do whatever the fuck I wanted with her.”

Peter charges Harry, hands wrapping around his scaly neck as he begins to choke him, “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Do you know who she cried for the entire time?” Harry laughs as he chokes. “You. And - and you - you weren’t there. You - you never are.”

Peter throws Harry against the wall before slamming him onto the ground, holding him by the collar as he screams, “Where is she?!” Peter’s fist meets Harry cheek, then his jaw, then his left eye, then his throat. Harry gasps for air as Peter pulls away, his face beet-red as he screams “Tell me!”

“Go to the bedroom,” Harry smiles. “I’ll just say that she couldn’t move whenever I was done with her.”

Peter immediately runs to Mary Jane’s bedroom.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he sees MJ laying naked on her toddler bed, “Mary Jane.” He rushes to her side, a scream escaping from his throat as he sees the markings all over her beautiful body. Her body already bruising from Harry’s abuse.

His fingers ghost over her bloodied gut, carved perfectly was

H A R R Y

Peter lets out an anguished cry as his hands hover over Mary Jane, to afraid to take her into his arms.

She wakes, eyes lazily opening as she looks to Peter, “Peter.”

“You’re here,” a small smile spreads across her face, her busted lip ripping more due to her drying lips. She hisses.

Peter cries, “MJ.. MJ, I- I- I’m so sorry. Mary Jane… I wasn’t here to protect you. Or- or Miles…”

“But you’re here now,” she blinks before passing back about due to pain.

He sobs, taking MJ by the hand and planting a tender kiss to the top of her limp hand. “I’m going to take care of this, and then I’m going to take care of you and Miles.”

Peter’s face drops, wiping the tears from his warm cheeks as he steps into his bedroom and grabs Harry by the collar.

Peter’s face is expressionless as he starts to pummel his ex-friend - beating him to the point of being unrecognizable. His fists finally stop as he hears Harry’s skull crunch under his final blow.

The hero stands, staring at his work - the bloodied piece of shit lying dead on his bedroom floor. “No one fucks with my family.”

157 notes · View notes

bonny-kookoo · 1 year

Text

Yoongi: 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬 (3)

In which he just didn't even realize life could feel like this when spent with someone like you.

Tags/Warnings: Vampire!Yoongi, Human!Reader, mentions of 'being high' (drug usage in a way), friends to lovers, blood (duh), red haired Yoongi, Listen I am Jungkook focused but I will put Vampire Yoongi on the menu and you'll better finish your plate

Additional Chapter Warnings: tension, mutual pining in full force

Chapter Length: short/mid

<- Previous | Next ->

♥━━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

"Wow!" You say, almost tripping and falling outside the van, giving Yoongi an almost heart attack as he watches you almost hurt yourself in your hurry. You run towards the campground, inspecting the fairy lights and all the other things already set up by Yoongi while you stayed asleep in the car. "Its so pretty!" You cry out, looking at Yoongi who's bringing another blanket to the chairs around the little fireplace that's not lit up yet.

The sun is barely starting to set, after all.

"I'm gonna start making food now." He informs you, not looking your way as he opens the door to the van. "...you wanna help?" He asks quietly- and you nod, eagerly so, jumping up to stand close to him, awaiting any form of instructions.

It's cute.

"Here, you can cut this." He offers, putting everything close to you inside the van so you can do just that, while he washes some vegetables in the small sink. The space really is very small- his shoulder is pretty much touching yours at a constant, if you were at the same height that is.

But he doesn't mind it.

It feels oddly domestic and comfortable to just quietly be together like this, silent comfort of the other person next to you offering him feelings he's never really felt before. The birds outside, the sound of the knife on the cutting board, or the running water in the sink.

It feels.. surreal.

"Ah!" You yelp, having cut your finger by accident- something he notices immediately, hands on your hips moving you to stand near the sink now where he helps you wash your hand. "Sorry.." you mumble, but he shakes his head.

He's got different problems right now than scolding you.

He's always liked the way you smell, as weird as it sounds. But never has he ever gotten an idea of how your blood smells- and suddenly it breeds thought of your taste in his head, making him swallow thickly as he concentrates on controlling himself. "There, hold it for a bit. I'll get a bandaid." He mumbles, walking around to search for the said item.

He can't be like this, not with you.

"You okay.?" You ask, quietly, hesitantly, and he nods silently. "Uhm.. do you want me to leave maybe..?"

"Why would I want you to leave?" He asks, turning around to look at you, bandaid in his hand as he asks the question he worried about.

"Are you scared of me?"

He's never thought about it, but considering your past, he knows you should be. You've got every right to resent him and who he is, even if his own condition isn't his fault at all. You've had nothing but bad experiences with vampires so far- so it would make sense if you were to be scared right now.

"Of you?" You ask, raising your brows. "Never. Why would I?" You ask, tilting your head to the side.

He's relieved, stepping forward to unwrap the bandaid and secure it around the side of your hand where the cut is located. "I'm glad." He quietly says, almost whispers, fingers gentle as they run over the protective item now secured on your skin. "I'm completely fine. That little bit of blood isn't going to make me go all crazy in the head, don't worry." He chuckles a little.

"No, I wasn't actually worried about that-" you tell him, looking at the way he still holds your hand. "-just... I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, you know?" You explain.

"What would make you think I'd be uncomfortable around you?" He wants to know, walking back to where you've both abandoned your cooking utensils, resuming your activities.

"Hm.. you, I don't know, sometimes seem on edge when I'm around." You say, now more careful with the knife.

"Thats not true." He lies, well aware that he is indeed on edge around you sometimes. "Its just.. I don't want to- aish.." he shakes his head, unsure how to voice out his thoughts. "Just don't worry about it." He finalizes, making you nod your head.

Well- if he's telling you not to worry about it, you won't.

Yoongi knows best, after all.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi imagine

139 notes · View notes

shutuplilith · 1 year

Text

the witch and her cottage, part 3 - geralt of rivia x reader

the witch and her cottage, part 3

ciri's pov. (takes place after the ending of season 1, episode 8. yennifer exists in this, but not as geralts love interest but as his best friend)

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊

The dark floorboards crunch softly under our feet as we finally enter the quaint cottage behind Y/N. With a gentle movement, I pull the hood off my head to get a better look inside. An intricately woven dark green rug stretched across the floor, while lovingly designed knitted and crocheted blankets were artfully draped. In contrast to the cold outside, a cozy warmth emanating from the crackling fire in the fireplace welcomed us inside. The stone walls of the room are decorated with depicting the beauty of nature, animals and breathtaking landscapes in all their glory. Dried bouquets of flowers decorated every corner of the room, giving it an extra coziness and a touch of magic. Hundreds of books piled up everywhere on shelves, tables, in the corners of the room and even on the floor.

Near the fireplace, a majestic dog rests on one of the many blankets. He sleeps peacefully, his mighty chest rising and falling in rhythm with his deep snores. Only when Y/N leans down to him does he raise his head and allow himself to be scratched behind the ears with pleasure.

"Oh, sorry," Y/N replies as she greets Rufus with a tender gesture. "I always have to greet Rufus first when I get home." She shrugs apologetically and smiled warmly." You must be frozen to death. Please, take a seat. I'll put on some water for tea." She points to the chairs around a small table on which lies a blanket embroidered with flowers. Then she stands up to pour water into the kettle over the fire. I join the Witcher and sink down on one of the chairs as I inspect the table more closely. A magnificent leather-bound book lies open before me. Upon closer inspection, I notice that the page is littered with elaborate sketches of creatures of various kinds.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x f!reader #the witcher imagine #the witcher oneshot #geralt of rivia oneshot #geralt of rivia imagine #the witcher x you #geralt of rivia x you #roach #ciri #cirilla of cintra #princess cirilla

28 notes · View notes

samsvenn · 1 year

Text

𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐤 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥

summary: Leon Kennedy was sent to the Sakamaki mansion under the orders of Tougo Sakamaki. However, the intel he’d received proved to be shocking.

1.9k | SFW

A/N: This is set in an alternate universe where the T-Virus/Zombie outbreak in Racoon City did happen, but it was quickly stopped and contained. This Leon is basically Resident-Evil-2-Remake Leon. This is honestly just brainrot and me mashing my current two hyperfixations together :3

Booted footsteps rung muted on the velvet entryway. From the details given by his operating agent, Leon was assigned to stay at a well-known Japanese politician’s mansion. The walls had an antique feel to them and the interior felt oddly gothic.

Leon put down his heavy luggage and tactical backpack on one of the sofas in what looks to be the living room. He went over to the fireplace and sure enough, the wood was freshly charred - Someone was currently in the mansion.

The rain raged on. Its droplets hit the windows like they were tiny pellets of rubber. All that protected him was a black leather jacket and prayers that it’d stop raining soon.

He scanned the room looking for anything useful. Was he supposed to wait? Was it rude to go and investigate? Man, he didn’t have to think about the little details back in Racoon City. All he had to do was point and shoo-

“Are you the man that my father sent?” Leon turned around to see a black-haired gentleman with glasses. The gentleman's perfect posture looked like it’d hurt if he tried to recreate it.

Leon scratched his head, “Father-?”

“My apologies, I meant Tougo Sakamaki, the politician. Did he send you?” The glasses guy stressed the word ‘the’. His rubied eyes scanned Leon up and down, raising an eyebrow at the special agent’s rain-damp hair.

“Oh, yeah. I was told that I’m supposed to stay here.” Leon patted his pockets, taking out his covert, international agent ID card reserved for verifications. Hunnigan, his operating agent, told him to keep it at all times, just in case the Japanese authorities needed to see something official.

The man took the card with his gloved hand and carefully inspected it. He looked at the card, then at Leon, then back at the card.

“Hm, this will suffice. I am Reiji Sakamaki, the second son of the Sakamaki family,” Reiji sat down on one of the chairs and gestured for Leon to follow after him. “My father informed me that there’ll be someone special arriving today. That is all the details I know. It said that you were a government agent. May I ask why they’ve sent you? We don’t usually have someone of your occupation in our home.”

He plopped down softly and sat a comfortable distance from Reiji, “My operations person told me that your father assigned me to be here. I thought he’d be home to give me orders.”

“Hmm… Interesting.” Reiji pursed his lips and stayed silent for a bit. “Unfortunately he’s hardly home due to his schedule. Anyhows, it’d be best if we your things sorted so I’ll show you to your roo-“

“Oi Reiji! Where the fuck did you put my basketball?!” Leon hadn't noticed that there was a second floor near him until he saw the staircase leading up. There he saw a certain red-head with a distinct scowl on his face.

By accident, they both locked eyes and suddenly, the red-head stepped back, away from Leon’s view.

“Uh… That's your roomie or something?” Leon politely asked Reiji, who was pinching his nose.

“Brother, actually.”

“Oh? You guys don’t look alike.”

“You don’t say,” Reiji regained his composure like nothing ever happened with the red-head. “Our father is always away, leaving us a family of six. The one you saw just now was Ayato. We all have different mothers. Ayato is part of the triplets, who are hard to miss, and Subaru is a single child.”

Leon counted on his fingers: three fingers for triplets, Subaru is one finger, Reiji occupies one finger… That only totals up to five people-?

“Is there someone else you didn’t mention-?” Leon held his fingers up, displaying five people.

“-Me. He didn’t include me.” Leon was caught off guard by a blonde who sat directly next to him. He propped his loafers up on the sofa’s sides and his pale arms were spread out like he didn’t have a care in the worl-

…Wait.

Leon didn’t recall another person sitting next to him the entire time he was talking to Reiji.

…

“I would’ve included you, but what’s the point in mentioning a good-for-nothing son? You don’t add value nor do you add anything profound to this family, so it’d be a waste to use a mere gram of air to utter your name.” Reiji scoffed and rolled at the messy blonde.

The blonde’s eyes were closed. His eyelids didn’t open a peek at Reiji’s comment. “Heh, value? Profound bullshit? Are you saying Laito adds those things to this family then?”

“Don’t twist my words, Shu.” Reiji said with a gritted jaw.

“And Kanato, does he add anything ‘profound’ to this family?”

“Talkative today, are w-“

Loud, slow claps caught your attention to a fedora guy. It also stopped the bickering between Reiji and this ‘Shu’ guy. The fedora guy’s eyes were quite feline-like and a smirk spanned his face from cheek to cheek.

“Tsk, tsk, look at you two! Fighting like cats and dogs in front of a guest… Where’s the hospitable atmosphere? You two chased it away~” A sing-song tune came from him. Something in Leon’s gut churned. This fedora guy had a strange aura about him.

“Guest? We have a guest?” A short purple-haired boy popped out of nowhere and brought his face dangerously close to Leon’s. “Why is this one male?”

“Uhh… Ask my mom and my chromosomes.” Leon scratched his head in an effort to give him some sort of answer.

A sharp voice came from a corner, “Why’s everything so noisy today?” A sharp-eyed angry-looking guy walked in and stared fedora guy down.

“Oh my, even the loner emerged~!”

The angry-looking guy took an 8-ball out of nowhere and threw it at fedora guy. “Shut your mouth, Laito!”

‘Laito’ narrowly dodged it, then proceeded to stick his tongue out and giggled. “Ooo, feisty as always!”

“Enough!” Reiji raised his voice, making everyone in the room look at him. All except the blonde guy. “Where’s Ayato? He’s the only person missing.”

“Just yell out ‘tits’ and he’ll come running.” The white-haired guy sat on a seat that was close to blondie. Leon made eye contact with him. It didn’t last long.

On the other hand, though he wasn’t looking at him, the purple-haired guy was staring holes into him. It’d burn his skin if the guy’s gaze was made out of lasers.

“-Who said tits?” The red-head made his second appearance and looked at everyone confused. The fedora guy bursted out laughing and it even made blondie smile a little.

Reiji rolled his eyes and scoffed at the red-head. He interlocked his fingers and locked eyes with Leon. “Now then, let’s all be acquainted with our newest guest.”

Introductions were very brief. At least Leon didn’t have to mentally refer to everyone by hair color now. Though, something had been bothering him for a while. When Ayato arrived, he swore he couldn’t hear his footsteps. The same goes for Kanato too. He just popped up out of nowhere and behind him.

And Shu…

Three people without footsteps.

‘Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern,’ he thought to himself. Something felt very off with the mansion. He was never this mentally perked in any new location.

Unless, of course, it was a dangerous one.

He made a mental note to tell Hunnigan later.

“Do any of you know my purpose here? I don’t wanna intrude on you all without a good reason.” Leon could feel their stares penetrating his skin. It felt predatory. Their eyes could slice tension clean and cut.

“Maybe you’re our new plaything.” Laito rested his head on Leon’s shoulders, not breaking eye contact with the agent. “Father told you to stay, isn’t that enough of an order?”

Were people outside of Racoon City always this touchy? Hunnigan didn't mention it, so Leon had no idea. If he pushed Laito off, then it might make things more awkward than they already are.

“The order’s way too comfy for someone like me.”

Laito pouted, “Do you like danger then? Chasing, running, trying to survive with nothing more but the barest of hope?”

“Danger is what you expect when you have a job like mine. You don’t really have a choice but to endure and keep going.”

“Fufu… We all like the sound of that, don’t we, dearest brothers?” Laito gave everyone in the room a very vague look; one that Leon couldn’t decipher. It sounded bizarrely sinister, but the true question is: was it?

“Laito…” Reiji spoke up and his tone sounded like it had a warning attached to it. “Dinner will be served soon. In the meantime, make yourself at home and sort out your luggage. Our butler will escort you to your room.”

Leon heard muffled chinks coming from the corner of his eye. Turning around, he saw a middle-aged man carrying his backpack whilst his arms looped around his roughened luggage bag. Leon patted his legs, which doubled as a way to check for any items he’d forgotten, when he got up.

After giving a brief thank-you, he and the butler were off. Their footsteps dissolved into the muted floors of the mansion and the rain had started to calm down.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Subaru stopped hiding behind his fringe and looked at Reiji.

“None the wiser. When I got the letter from father, I thought we’d be expecting a new sacrificial bride.”

It was clear that none of them knew what was going on, all except Reiji. Ayato clicked his tongue and sat next to Laito, “Heeeh? Doesn’t that guy already know that any human who steps in here might as well be a sacrifice offering? Why did he send someone from the government or has he bonked his head broken?”

“The agent said that he’s on father’s payroll, orders and all. Looks like father found a new game for us to play.” Shu tilted his head in a comfier position. The Eldest’s tired voice came out like buzzy static. Laito hummed with an amused glee and looked in the direction of where Leon and the butler went. Kanato followed his gaze, before looking back to Teddy’s hypnotic gaze.

: ̗̀➛

After the butler put his things on the ground, Leon whipped his head back to say his things, but the older man mysteriously vanished out of view. There was something wrong with this place. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but what didn’t help was the weird disappearing acts everyone kept pulling. It just didn’t make sense that he couldn’t hear their footsteps.

For years at the academy, Leon sighs at the amount of times he was yelled at for being too loud with his footsteps during training.

Yet these guys could do it easy-peasy?

Leon felt something buzzing in his front pocket. A bright notification popped up in his burner phone. “Condor One, do you read me?” It was his support operative, Hunnigan.

“Mhm. What happened?’ Leon texted back.

He sat on the bed and waited for a reply. The text bubbles kept going on and on, like an infinite loop. In the meantime, Leon patted his pants and checked if his combat knife was still in its hidden holster.

Finally, there was a ding.

“We’ve received intel. Apparently, some older folks saw various girls come into that manor. They all ranged in appearances, but most of them were within highschool range.”

“Noted. And? Where’s the ‘and then, something ___ to them’ part?”

“Quick to catch on. Here’s the part where it gets weird: these older folks saw them enter,” Leon read the next part. He had to blink two times to make sure the screen glare wasn’t playing tricks on him.

“-but they never saw the girls leave.”

And so, the night began.

#diabolik lovers #laito sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #fanfic #leon kennedy

45 notes · View notes

freckle-face-ace · 5 months

Text

Portgas D Ace X CisFem Reader **NSFW **

Your eyes fluttered open in the freezing room. Two warm bodies sandwiched you in. The smaller curled up against your abdomen spooned in by your upper thighs. The larger pressed to your back, arms twisted around your waist face buried in your nape. Despite their closeness, a shiver rolled up your spine. The house from what you could tell was dark, but that of a cloudy day rather than the middle of the night. How many hours had you slept? Your gaze trailed over the Christmas tree, its festive twinkle now mute. The power had gone out along with the fire.

Ace grumbled against your exposed skin arms stretching out and coiling back around you.

"So cold." He whined hooking his leg over your hip in an attempt to get even closer.

"The fire is out." You murmured resettling.

"The furnace?" He questioned.

"Pilot light must've gone out."

It was silent for a few minutes before Ace shifted giving the stone fireplace a pointed look. Goosebumps flashed across your extremities as the blanket was jerked away and your main source of heat disappeared. Ace shivered approaching the stack of logs in the basket near the hearth. Poking last night's ashes away he set fresh logs down, this time pausing the place a starter log in the middle. He didn't plan on wasting time growing a fire like yesterday.

You checked your phone that had been stashed under your pillow. It was almost 2 PM and finally Christmas Eve. Thatch had texted a few times checking each message a tad more stressed than the last. You replied quickly that all was well excusing your delayed response to sleep.

Natures calling urged you from your spot on the floor. Once you gained the nerve you stood turning to glance at the window that normally gave you a full view of the woods behind the house. Snow had piled almost halfway up and appeared to be still steadily falling.

After relieving yourself you stalked into your room to put another layer of clothes on. Meanwhile Ace had a fire started and was in the utility closet trying to light the pilot. He watched mesmerized as the tiny flame quickly devoured the matchstick all the way to his fingertips.

"Ah shit." He hissed stifling the light.

"You aren't fireproof anymore." You commented rounding the corner with Kuma on your heels.

"I know." He huffed.

"Let me see." You softly took his right hand to inspect the reddened skin on his thumb and index finger, "Looks like you'll pull through." You pressed your lips to the barely injured digits.

"Thanks." He breathed watching you tug your boots on, "Where are you going?"

"Kuma has to go. Don't worry he's quick in this weather I won't even leave the porch." You opened the door letting a frigid breeze whip through the entry.

In the evening you cuddled up to Ace, your tablet propped up in your lap watching a movie you had saved. He distractedly let his right hand roam up and down your back. You hummed at the comforting warmth he provided sparing a quick glance at his freckled face. Glaring intensely at the small screen you cradled, he gnawed the inside of his bottom lip.

"Something the matter?" His eyes snapped up to yours at the sound of your voice.

He shook his head, "It's Christmas, right?"

"That eager for your gift?" you chuckled, "Keep in mind we agreed on making something."

He wasn't just excited for whatever you had made, he was incredibly nervous over what you would think of his gift to you.

"I'm sure I'll love what you've made. Even if I don't I'll pretend I did." he smiled earning a nudge of your elbow.

"It isn't quite midnight, but we can exchange gifts if you'd like."

Ace hopped up offering you his hand. Separating to your respective rooms you both gathered your gifts.

Entering the living room after you Ace placed a red, green and white striped knotted rope in front of Kuma and plopped down next to you again.

"Ok, it isn't much," You handed him the small silver wrapped box.

"Stop trying to downplay your effort." He traded his small gift for the medium sized red and gold wrapped box he'd had stashed in his room.

A tingling heat invaded your cheeks as he eagerly tore the paper and removed the box's lid. His short sharp intake of breath set your nerves on end as he pulled the small strand of beads out cupping them gently in his palm.

"It's just like them." He murmured fondly.

You released the breath you'd been holding thankful it wasn't a bad choice.

"I wanted to make a necklace," you reached over the help clasp the bracelet around his left wrist, "But I couldn't find beads here that would work."

"Seriously this is perfect." His smile reached his eyes.

"We'll go get your birthday gift once the roads are cleared," you chuckled, "so you have a phone while I'm on my trip."

He had forgotten about your summit meeting on the first of the year. The fact you insisted on driving to Boston bothered him even if it was just under two hours away. You did it every year, Ace wasn't going to change that.

"Go ahead and open yours." He nudged you.

You deftly tugged at the taped edges of the wrapping paper revealing a white box. Ace was practically vibrating with pride next to you. Gaze darting back to his smiling face and down again, you slipped the lid off. A brown leather-bound portfolio sat neatly nestled into green and gold striped tissue paper.

"A photo album?" You questioned tracing a finger over the stitching along the borders of the book.

"Look." He urged.

You swallowed gently gliding your finger between the cover and the first page, slowly flipping it open. Page after page of worn yellowing index cards sat before you. Each page had two cards perfectly encased in plastic laminate. Ingredients, measurements, and instructions elegantly decorated each. It had been such a long time since you'd seen your grandmother's handwriting, here it was laid out before you faultlessly preserved for all time.

The warmth of Ace's fingers caressed your cheeks pushing away tears you hadn't realized were there.

"I hope I didn't upset you," his tone was low and concerned, "I found the recipe box in the cabinet and thought you might want to keep them safe."

"No no, it's perfect." You breathed, "But didn't we agree to be cheap and make something?"

"I kind of made it. I arranged the cards and the lady at Staples helped laminate and bind the book." he smiled dropping his hands down to remove it, "There's a little stand under here so you can set it on the counter."

You reached up cupping his face and leaned in for a kiss. Lingering for a few seconds he finally registered and began to kiss back eagerly moving his hand into your hair just behind your left ear. You parted gazing at each other lustfully, noses touching, small pants mingling.

"I'll have to give you gifts more often." Ace chuckled wiggling his brows.

_______________

The beads of his bracelet rustled, softly clinking against one another as he combed his fingers through your hair between heated kisses. Your hands traversed his bare chest, exploring the dips and curves of his muscles and reverently caressing the scarred circle that tied him to you.

A low pleased rumble vibrated beneath your digits. Your hips pressed firmly together as you unhurriedly rocked into each other sending shudders of pleasure through both of you. He'd initially not been pleased with the sensory deprivation caused by the prophylactic, but now completely sheathed in your confined warmth it was no longer a thought.

This was not something he'd experienced. Sex was something for release a necessity he only took part in a few times. There was no true desire, no passion, no want to make it last as long as humanly possible.

His rubies trailed over the beautiful creature beneath him - you; neck arched back, swollen lips lightly parted releasing ragged pants. In a moment of rapture, he pulled back and thrust into you, a quick sharp movement eliciting a flustered call of his name.

Ace's resolve nearly crumbled wanting to hear more of that sound.

"Ace." You echoed melodically pushing him closer to the edge ultimately dragging you to your precipice with his quickened pace.

Crescent dimples littered your hips where his grip slipped and readjusted. Long slow thrusts became quick uneven pumps drawing out more lustful sounds. Ace relished in the pure bliss your voice propagated and lost himself in a fit of shudders with one final airy call of his name.

After a few moments of silence snuggled into the raven's embrace, you suddenly shifted to face him.

"What's wrong?" he yawned.

"What time is it?"

Ace shifted reaching back blindly with one arm to retrieve his new phone from the nightstand, "12:26."

"Shit." you frowned, "I wanted to tell you happy birthday at midnight."

Uncontrollable chuckles rumbled from the freckled male as he squeezed you between his arms.

"I think I got my happy birthday." He kissed your nose.

_____________________

"Please call me when you get there." Ace tugged your suitcase out to the car while you opened the passenger side door and folded the seat.

"I promise." You smiled taking the suitcase and cramming it into the back seat, "You won't even notice I'm gone."

"Oh, I definitely will." He chuckled reeling you into his chest.

"Three days and I'll be right back." You stood on your toes to kiss his lips.

After your prolonged goodbye in the driveway, you set off for Boston.

Ace sat on the bed you'd shared most of the day with Kuma curled into his side restlessly tossing his phone in his hands. One hour turned into two, turned into three turned into five with no word from you. He restrained himself to six calls, each going straight to your voicemail.

Raking an anxious hand over his scalp he sighed and put his phone to his ear.

"Thatch, I think something happened to F/N."

#he fell from the sky #fem reader #isekai #lyndsyh24 #portgas ace x reader #whitebeard pirates #x reader #mdni #portgas d ace #one piece

17 notes · View notes