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whatsnewalycat · 5 months

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Once in a Blue Moon

One Shot // Dieter Bravo x HotelStaff!F!Reader

Description: You're the only person working when a Christmas blizzard rolls into town and snows you in with a notoriously difficult guest, Dieter Bravo.

Rating: E (Explicit 18+ Only)

Word Count: 12.9k+

Tags/Warnings: one shot, slight dub con elements (power imbalance, isolation, alcohol) although both parties are enthusiastically consenting, hotel guest x hotel staff, blizzard, Minnesota because that’s my best friend, dieter generally being an ‘if you give a mouse a cookie’ ass bitch, kinda enemies to lovers???, Christmas, loneliness, palm reading, food and eating, cannabis, conspiracy theory mention, fluuuuuufffff, smut, dirty talk, a dash of conflict, painting stuff, power outage, poverty mention

Note: Merry Crisis! This is part of a secret Santa gift exchange and a present for my dearest Syl (@all-the-way-down-here @im-sylien). I hope you enjoy!! Have an excellent holiday, friend ❤️🎄

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 2:00 PM

“We are right in the bullseye for what people are already calling The Great Christmas Storm. Blizzard Warnings remain in effect throughout most of Minnesota until Tuesday morning. Forty to fifty mile-an-hour winds, combined with an anticipated twelve to twenty-four inches of heavy snowfall, are expected to create whiteout conditions, making travel dangerous or impossible in the Blizzard Warning areas. If you must travel—”

You kill the engine and look up through the windshield at Blue Moon Manor. The white exterior of the three-story Tudor Revival mansion seems to glow in contrast to the dark clouds hanging overhead. Some rich guy built it as a family home in 1905. It stayed in the family for over a century before a property management company scooped it up. Now the ornate family heirloom is a boutique hotel. Go figure.

You open your car door and grab your backpack from the backseat, swinging it over your shoulder as you step out of the vehicle. As you walk up the path to the staff entrance, snowflakes start floating down from the gray, low-hanging clouds like teeny-tiny feathers, landing on your cheeks and nose, melting on impact.

So it begins.

You press your security code into the door lock, waiting for the quiet beep-beep-beep of approval before shoving the door open to the back office.

Your coworker Jenna looks up at you when you enter giving you a nod of greeting as she zips up her jacket, “How is it out there?”

“Just starting,” you drop your backpack on the built-in bench and take off your stocking cap, shaking out your hair as you ask, “How’s it been here?”

“Let’s just say I’m ready to go home and drink some wine,” she snorts, “Should be a piece of cake for you, though. 202, 203, and 101 checked out early because of the storm, and the check-in today cancelled.”

“Storm of the century,” you mutter, “Merry fucking Christmas.”

“I hear it’s gonna get nasty. Do you really have to stay the whole time?”

You wave her off as you peel off your jacket, “It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry I can’t cover some of the shifts.”

“Really, it‘s fine,” you insist while hanging up your coat, “Bossman said he’d pay me double time to stay ‘til he gets back to town.”

“You’re goddamn right he’s gonna pay you double time.”

Trying to change the subject, you go over to the daily checklist, “Ok, 202, 203, and 101 are gone,” you frown, running over your mental tally of guests, “So, what? Just 302?”

“Just 302. Lucky you.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” you roll your eyes, then look out the window at the snowfall, heavier now, “You better head out before you get stuck here with me and Mr. Fluoride Mind Control.”

“I suppose,” she sighs, grabbing her purse, “Well, have a Merry Christmas?”

“You too,” you smile and meet her eyes as she extends her arms and beckons you closer. You groan, but accept the hug, face pressing against her puffy winter coat.

When she steps back and starts towards the door, she tells you, “Don’t have too much fun now.”

“I’ll try not to,” you snort, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” she calls behind her as she opens the door, letting in an icy-cold draft of snowflakes before closing it behind her.

You sigh and wiggle the mouse on the computer. The second you do, the service bell dings.

“Fucking already?” you mutter to yourself as you follow the floorplan through the kitchen, into the formal dining room, then finally arrive at the archway to the parlor.

You find the man staying in Suite 302 leaning against the grand piano, thrumming his fingers on the shiny surface.

Wearing pajama pants and a grubby t-shirt, chestnut curls shooting up every which way, he sighs and taps the call bell again. The shrill ding makes your eye twitch a little, but you paste on an amenable smile, “Mr. Bravo, how can I help you?”

He spins towards you and looks at you over his sunglasses, dark eyes flicking up and down your body before settling on your face, “Can I get some towels?”

“Of cour—”

“And can you do that thing where you fold them into animals?”

You furrow your brow and tilt your head at him, lips parting to ask what he means, but he preemptively answers.

“Some hotels fold them into swans or elephants or whatever. You know what I mean? Towel animals.”

There’s no way he’s not fucking with you.

“I, uhh…”

He raps a knuckle on the piano, then saunters off, calling back, “Thanks, you’re the best!”

You stand there for a moment, mouth agape as you watch him disappear up the stairs, thinking: No fucking way I’m doing that.

And yet, half an hour later, you’re sitting in the back office watching a YouTube video on how to fold two towels into an elephant.

Following along with the step-by-step, you make the legs. Easy enough. The head ends up looking like an uncircumcised cock with wings, though. You set it on top of the legs and take a step back, glancing between your creation and the video’s example. As a final touch, you stick a couple googly-eye stickers on it.

“Good enough,” you sigh and tuck the microfiber monstrosity under your arm.

When you arrive at Suite 302, you pause for a moment, turning your ear towards the door. You hear the old wooden floor creaking as he walks around humming to himself. It smells like paint and skunk spray.

You swallow your buzzing nerves and knock on the door, fidgeting a little as you wait.

Inside, a fit of coughing erupts, and he chokes out, “Hang—on—”

His footsteps squeak across the floor to the kitchen. Clink of glass. Water faucet. The coughing stops for a few silent seconds, then he groans and the footstep squeaks grow closer.

A cloud of weed smoke bitch slaps you when the door to Suite 302 swings open.

He frowns at you, crossing his arms in front of his broad chest as he leans against the doorframe, “Hey, uhhh…”

“I got your towels,” you smile, presenting the towel elephant to him.

His eyes drop to the elephant, then he raises his eyebrows, “What is this?”

“An elephant?”

He glances between you and the elephant, flattening his mouth into a line before telling you, “Looks like a dick and balls with googly-eyes.”

The force you use to hold down your laughter makes you snort.

So fucking professional.

Your eyes meet his. An amused smile graces his lips as he takes the elephant.

“Anything else I can get for you?”

“Yeah, can I, uhhh… can I get some snacks? Something sweet, something savory.”

“I’ll see what I can find,” you nod, peering over his shoulder into the hazy room, “Just a reminder, we don’t allow smoking.”

“Oh, it’s not cigarette smoke.”

“I can smell.”

It goes straight from your brain out your mouth, drenched in sarcasm. So fucking professional.

His eyebrows shoot up in a surprised expression.

“I apologize, Mr. Bravo—”

“Oh, fuck that. Don’t,” he chuckles, waving off your stammering, “Call me Dieter, by the way. Mr. Bravo makes me sound like a fucking… karaoke machine.”

“Ok,” you chuckle, then put your customer-facing demeanor back on and tell him, “I’ll go see what we have for snacks. Let me know if you need anything in the meantime.”

He pushes off the doorframe, giving you a nod of acknowledgment as he steps back into Suite 302 and closes the door.

You return sometime later with a silver serving tray hosting a variety of cheeses, dried fruit, olives, spreads, and crackers. When you knock, he hollers to leave it outside the door, so you do.

The remaining daylight you spend cleaning.

Blue Moon Manor has eight suites: one on the first floor, four on the second, and two on the third. Working from the bottom up, you rid the recently vacated units of dirty dishes and trash, then collect the linens and haul them up to the laundry room on the third floor.

By this time, the serving tray you left outside Suite 302 has disappeared. The pot smoke, however, dissipated throughout the entire level. It seems even stronger than the last time you were up here. Almost like he completely disregarded your polite reminder of the no smoking policy.

You decide to table the issue temporarily. If he was still smoking by the time you returned to take his dinner order, you’d remind him again.

The prospect of confronting what your boss referred to as “a very important client” intimidates you, though, if you’re being honest.

Not that you’re particularly intimidated by him as a person or anything.

Sure, he has an IMDb page and some awards, but beyond that, he’s just another entitled guy.

It’s more so the influence he has on your employment that intimidates you. Sometimes your feral mouth speaks before your poorly-domesticated brain can articulate a proper response. If you were to say something combative, and this guy complained to your boss, you’d probably lose your job—a loss you cannot afford.

When it’s time to take his dinner order, you gather yourself before knocking on his door, repeating your script in your head as you wait. Then the door swings open and you’re absolutely blindsided.

He answers while wringing his hair out with a towel. It’s one of the two you brought him earlier. You can tell because there’s still a googly-eye stuck to it, pupil shaking around inside its little plastic dome. The other towel clings to life around his waist, parting to show off a slice of his tan thigh.

Regrettably, you follow your knee-jerk reaction to ogle him, looking him up and down before returning to his expectant eyes.

This results in an uncomfortable staring contest, where you’re trying to make your mouth work and he’s trying to figure out what the fuck you want, as made evident when he asks, “Do you need something?”

“Dinner,” you blurt out, then shake your head, “Sorry, I mean—What’ll you be having for dinner, Mr. Bravo?”

“What’re the options?”

“Chicken roulade or salmon.”

He groans, throwing his hair-drying towel over his shoulder.

“Do you guys have any normal food, or does it have to be upscale bullshit?”

You pause to once again gather yourself, and in that two-second silence he decides, “I’ll take the chicken roulade.”

“Dining room or room service?”

He shrugs, looking over his shoulder into the suite, then back at you, “Dining room.”

“Fabulous. While I’m here, can I take your tray from earlier?”

“Let me get it,” he mumbles, closing the door. While he’s gone, you go over the lines you rehearsed, and when he opens the door to hand you the tray, you tell him, “Just as a reminder, we don’t allow indoor smoking—”

“Look, usually I open the window and use a doob-tube, but, uhhh… the weather outside won’t allow it. I don’t want the wind to fuck up the crank windows.”

“But still—”

“And not that it’s any of your business, but I have a medical condition that I treat with cannabis. This is prescribed to me—”

“What? I’m not—”

“Besides, it should be legal—”

“Ok, you know what? Fine! Smoke away, but don’t be surprised when the manager fines you for it, plus the cost of extra cleaning charges.”

He crosses his arms and straightens his spine, “I can live with that.”

“Great,” you snip, taking a big step back, “Dinner will be ready at six.”

He closes the door a little harder than necessary and you stomp down to the kitchen, fuming the whole way.

Lucky for you, dinner prep involves flattening chicken breasts with a meat tenderizer, which helps tame your frustration. As you follow the recipe, sprinkling seasonings and feta cheese onto the breasts and rolling them up like neat little sleeping bags, potential consequences for your outburst run through your mind. Bad review, getting canned, all that.

Maybe if you hadn’t been dealing with this guy’s shit for the past two weeks, you would’ve been able to handle the situation with a level head. But his haughtiness is fucking grating. He can’t just answer a question or make a simple request. It has to be a whole production that makes it clear: he thinks he’s better than you.

By the time you finish cooking, though, you come to peace with the fact that you’ll probably have to kiss his ass to rectify the situation.

When the grandfather clock in the parlor chimes six times, you plate the chicken roulade and bring it to the dining room, slightly surprised to see him already seated at the table.

“Mr. Bravo,” you smile in greeting.

“Dieter.”

“Dieter,” you repeat as you set the plate down on his place setting, “Can I get you anything to drink? We have a Sauvignon Blanc that would pair well with the chicken—”

“I’ll take it.”

You go to the sideboard and find a bottle of wine. As you pour him a glass, he wrings his hands together and glances around, “Anyone else coming down?”

“Just you.”

“What about you, where do you eat?”

You shrug, setting the bottle down beside his glass, “In the kitchen.”

“You could eat out here.”

“Oh. It’s fine, sir. Really, I don’t mind.”

His nose wrinkles up under his sunglasses and he shifts in seat. You study him for a moment, sensing an air of loneliness about him.

“Unless you want me to join you.”

He shrugs, “Seems silly for both of us to eat alone.”

“So true,” you nod, clasping your hands together, “I’ll uhhh… I’ll be right back.”

When you return with your plate, you sit across the table from him. An uncomfortable silence settles in the room. The kind that makes your skin feel too tight and amplifies every little noise. The chewing, the utensils clinking, the wet swallows, everything seems ten times louder than reality.

Clearly, it’s not just the two of you in this dining room. There’s a third guest, the giant invisible elephant wedged between you.

He finishes his glass of wine and pours another, asking, “Do you want some?”

“I… shouldn’t.”

“Uh-huh,” he raises his eyebrows, looking at you over his sunglasses, “Do you want some anyway?”

You consider it, squishing your face to one side with indecision.

“I won’t tell on you, sweetheart, I promise.”

Your eyes flick to his, finding a sort of amused playfulness there.

“Fine,” you smirk and push back your chair, going over to the wine cabinet to grab a glass, “Just one.”

“No one’s twisting your arm about it.”

You return to your seat and reach across the table to grab the bottle, pouring only a small helping.

“Cheers,” he holds up his glass.

You mimic the sentiment and take a big sip, then tell him, “Mr. Bravo—”

“Dieter.”

“Dieter,” you nod, glancing at your wine glass, “I, umm… I apologize if I was rude earlier.” You meet his eyes and shrug, “If I’m being completely transparent, my boss will have my ass if the whole third floor smells like weed when he comes in next week.”

He watches you as he absorbs this, face inscrutable.

“But if you want, I can show you the back patio. You can smoke out there all you want, I really don’t care about that part.”

Leaning back in his seat, he takes a swig of wine, then says, “Fine.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” you smile.

“Uh-huh,” he sets down his glass, wiggling around a little as he tells you, “For the record, you weren’t being that rude. Well, maybe a little, but… I don’t mind. Suits you better than the bullshit customer service thing you do.”

You blink at him, biting your tongue, then return to cutting your food and making small talk, “Well, I hope you didn’t have any big plans for the holidays. Traveling might be tough the next couple days.”

He shakes his head, “Not doing it this year.”

“Not doing Christmas?”

“Nope. What about you? Do you celebrate Christmas? Any plans?”

“You’re looking at ‘em,” you gesture around the room with your wine glass and take a sip.

“No shit, you have to work?”

“I’ll be working until the storm passes. Tuesday at the earliest, by the sounds of it.”

“Yuck. You guys have a staff bedroom, or do you get to stay in a suite?”

“I have my pick of the empty suites.”

He pokes the food on his plate with his fork, “Which one are you picking?”

You chuckle a little before answering. Maybe it’s your imagination, but you detect a certain vibe coming from him. Not only that, but he’s attractive in a way you’re not entirely immune to.

“I think I’m gonna try a new one each night,” you tell him, “101 for sure, maybe 301 and 203. Not 201–“

“Oh well obviously, fuck 201.”

“Obviously,” you laugh, shaking your head.

He smiles at you, sparking heat at your center, then both return your attention to your food. The rest of the meal passes in a much more comfortable silence. Not wanting to overstay your welcome around a guest or veer further into unprofessionalism, you rise as soon as you finish.

“I’ll get out of your hair, but if you need anything, ring the bell. I’ll be around.”

“Sure,” he studies you over his sunglasses as you gather your dirty dishes, his jaw ticking back and forth, then he says, “Hey, thanks for keeping me company. It was nice.”

You want to tell him you thought it was nice, too. Or maybe say something about how it felt like a mildly off-putting but not entirely unsuccessful first date. Not at all what you assumed it would be like.

Instead, you give him a polite smile and nod, “Of course.”

—

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:00 PM

DING

You look up from the cribbage game on your phone at him, just a few strides away but apparently oblivious to your presence. He fidgets with the sleeve of his high-drama fuzzy jacket, shifting his weight from side-to-side. Waiting.

“Hi—”

“Holy shit!” He startles, gripping his chest, “Where the fuck did you come from?”

Before you can stop it, you snort out a laugh, then cover your face reflexively, “I’m so sorry Mr.—”

“Dieter.”

“Dieter,” you nod as you rise to your feet, stuffing your wide grin into a neat smile, “How can I help you, sir?”

“Call me a fucking ambulance for the heart attack you just gave me,” he jokes, shaking his head, then takes a step towards you, “No, uhh… I was gonna step out to smoke, do you wanna join me?”

“Oh—umm,” you chuckle a little, briefly considering the offer before politely telling him, “No, thank you.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” you glance down at his feet, clad in mismatched socks and crocs, “But here, let me clear off the back patio so you don’t have to stand in the snow.”

He shrugs and follows you through the parlor into the dining room, where you tell him, “Just give me a minute, I’ll put my stuff on.”

“Take your time,” he murmurs, going over to the sideboard, “Is this fair game?”

“Help yourself.”

“Do you want one?”

He flips over a lowball glass on display and sifts through the decanters of liquor, plucking out a bottle of finely aged whiskey. A drink sounds good. But the prospect of this virtual stranger fixing you a drink makes you uneasy.

Does he know that it’s just you and him under this roof for probably the next few days? Between the offer to smoke you up and pour you a drink, is he intentionally trying to intoxicate you? Or is he just being cordial?

You realize he’s staring at you, waiting for a response. Heat rises to your face. Shaking your head, you tell him, “I’m fine, thanks.”

He uncorks the decanter and turns to pour whiskey into his glass, so you dismiss yourself to the back office.

After bundling up in winter gear, you grab a shovel, then start towards the dining room. You stop short in the kitchen. The motherfucker walked right past the STAFF ONLY sign and started rummaging through the fridge.

“You’re not supposed to be back here.”

He glances back over his shoulder at you, “Why not?”

“Because—well, because—”

“Can you make me grilled cheese?”

He straightens and closes the fridge door, turning to face you. You, clad in your coat and boots and hat and all that shit, holding a shovel, just blinking at him, mouth agape.

“Right now?”

His jaw shifts to one side as he genuinely considers the question.

“Can I shovel first?”

“Sure,” he shrugs.

“Thanks,” you mutter, then trudge past him into the dining room.

He follows along behind you, through the hall to the back door, asking, “Do you have tomato soup?”

“Probably. Want some with your grilled cheese?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

When you twist the door handle and yank it open, a knee-high snow drift topples over at your feet.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss and flip on the outdoor light switch to peek outside. A strong gust of wind knocks you back a step, carrying a flurry of shimmering, swirling snowflakes. Your cheeks sting at the icy cold sharpness of it, eyes watering in protest.

What a fucking nightmare.

“Forget it,” you huff, slamming the door closed. You prop the shovel against it and turn to Dieter, pulling your gloves off, “I don’t care, can you just use the doob-tube and turn on the fan in the bathroom?”

“The fan doesn’t work.”

You release a big sigh, tugging off your hat as you lean on the wall and kick off your boots, “Of course it doesn’t. Alright, plan C.”

—

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:45 PM

The range hood’s fan roars to life.

“Have at it,” you tell him as you walk over to the sink and unlock the window, pulling it up a few inches.

Dieter pulls a palm-sized wooden container from his coat pocket and leans back against the stove, twisting the top open. A one-hitter pops up from one of the two barrels of the container. He takes it and stuffs it into the dugout, “So, what, we’re all trapped here until the storm passes?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest and shrug, “Theoretically.”

“Figures,” he mutters, then pinches the pipe between his lips. He pulls a pink lighter from the pocket of his fuzzy coat and brings the flame to the other end. The tip brightens to a glowing ember as he inhales.

“I thought you didn’t have any plans.”

He holds the smoke in his lungs and croaks out, “I don’t,” before turning to blow the smoke into the fan intake.

“Are you upset that you’re snowed in with me?”

“It has nothing to do with you, sweetheart” he glances at you, then takes another hit.

“Ok, let me rephrase,” you shift, casting your gaze to the floor, trying to conceal the warmth blooming beneath your skin, “Are you upset that you’re snowed in?”

He shrugs, “I don’t like being stuck places. Especially another fucking hotel.”

“Whadda you mean?” you frown.

Your question hangs in the air while he takes another hit. He grimaces and steps over to the sink beside you, tapping ash from the little metal pipe with his lighter, then returns to his place at the stove and packs another onie.

“Did you ever watch the documentary Beasts of the Bubble?”

You shake your head.

“Don’t, it’s dogshit,” he snorts and takes another hit. On the exhale, he asks, “You know that I’m an actor, though, right?”

You nod.

“Right, well, long story short… Early COVID days, I was out in England shooting a movie and they wouldn’t let us leave the hotel.”

You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, sensing heavy dramatics on the horizon.

“They wouldn’t let you leave the hotel?”

“My friend—well,” he wrinkles his nose, “Yeah, my friend. She tried to escape, got her fuckin’ hand shot off.”

“Holy shit, seriously?!”

“Yeah, Lauren Van Chance. Pow! Shot right off. Fucking brutal,” he shakes his head and takes another hit. As he blows the smoke into the fan, he coughs a little, then shakes his head, “Anyway—wait, why am I talking about this?”

“Because we’re snowed in.”

“Oh—yeah. I dunno, feeling like I can’t leave… my therapist said it’s a trigger, I guess.”

“I get that,” you search his face, watching him frown at the one-hitter. Apparently satisfied with how stoned he is, Dieter releases a relaxed sigh and sets the onie down on the counter.

“If it’s any consolation, I promise I won’t shoot you if you try to leave. Like… I don’t know, you might need some snow shoes or whatever, but you could—”

He waves you off, “Eh, it’s fine. It’s just a thing, you know? Makes me feel all fuckin’ cagey and on-edge. Restless.”

You lick your lips and nod, glancing at the floor before you look at him, “Anything I can do to help?”

“Bud helps,” he shrugs, “Talking helps.”

“Does grilled cheese help?”

It takes him a moment to understand what you’re asking, but when he does, he chuckles, “Grilled cheese is basically a fucking Xanax.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then let’s get you a grilled cheese.”

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 10:00 AM

“The Department of Transportation has declared a state of emergency, and urges people to shelter in place as snow will continue to fall in the Twin Cities and across most of central and southern Minnesota through tomorrow. Overnight, some places received as much as 10 inches, with 40 mile-an-hour winds creating drifts—”

DING

Regrettably, your heart skips a beat.

You tuck your phone into the back pocket of your slacks and cross the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door into the dining room. When you get to the parlor, you find Dieter fiddling around with priceless antiques displayed on the shelves of an ornate built-in bookshelf. He glances over at you, “Hey.”

“Good morning, did you sleep ok?”

Nodding, he pulls his attention away from the bookshelf and takes a step towards you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, “Did I miss breakfast?”

“No, what can I get for you?”

“Denver Omelet?”

“Sure,” you clasp your hands together behind your back, “Hashbrowns? Fruit? Anything to drink?”

“Yes, yes, and yes—coffee, water, orange juice with pulp.”

“Down here or in your room?”

“Here is fine.”

“You got it,” you smile, walking back to the kitchen. The creak of his footsteps mimic yours on the old hardwood floor, so you think he’s going to sit at the dining room table, but the duo whine of the swinging kitchen door takes you by surprise.

You turn to face him, “Oh, you don’t have to—”

“May I?” He holds up the wooden onie box.

“Sure,” you nod, clicking the range hood on, then go to crack the window open.

The soft murmur of the radio fills the silence while you prep his breakfast and he smokes. You absentmindedly hum along to the Christmas music, dicing a green pepper, an onion, and some ham. By the time you approach the stove to start cooking, he’s tucking the paraphernalia away in the pocket of his pajama pants.

“Have any big plans for the day?” He asks as he goes over to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup.

“Ahhh, well… I think I’m gonna knock out some tasks that are hard to do when we’re busy. Inventory and deep cleaning, things like that. What about you?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter, “Gonna try to keep plugging away at painting ideas.”

“Oh yeah? What’re you painting?”

“It’s uhhh… it’s part of a series I’m working on, capturing the essence of interesting hotels across the country.”

“Really? That’s—that’s actually really cool. I love that. And you chose Blue Moon Manor?”

“Well yeah,” he sighs, looking around, “It’s gorgeous. The original features are well-preserved, all the intricate woodwork and craftsmanship. It’s unique, I like it.”

“I agree, it’s a special place.”

“I’m just… I don’t know, I’m stuck at the starting line, not sure what to paint. I haven’t found anything here that feels right yet.”

You look between him and the menagerie of omelet fillings sizzling in the pan, “Have you seen any of the other suites?”

“In pictures.”

“If you want, I can show you around today? All the vacancies are made up pretty. You can poke around and see if you find any… I don’t know, inspiration, or whatever.”

“Yeah?” He grins, “That would be… yeah, fuck yeah, that would be amazing.”

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 2:00 PM

You may be in trouble.

Not the kind of trouble punishable by anyone but yourself, but still.

What you mean is that you think you might have a crush on Dieter. Or, more honestly, what you mean is that you know you have a crush on Dieter.

This revelation occurred to you about halfway through your impromptu tour of Blue Moon Manor.

You were standing in the sunroom of Suite 203 while he wandered around, jotting down notes and taking pictures on his phone. The snow fell heavy outside, coming down in thick wet clumps that made it difficult to see beyond the border of the property. Everything blanketed in a pristine, shimmering white.

A deep sense of isolation plummeted your heart to your feet. Christmas Eve, when people all across the world gathered with loved ones, and you were working. Not that your empty one bedroom apartment missed you much. At least if you were there, you could lay in bed eating raw cookie dough while watching your comfort tv show. Throw yourself a proper pity party.

So, there you were, wallowing in your circular loneliness, going around and around the drain of self-pity, when Dieter approached you.

“Hey, you alright?”

You snapped out of your trance and looked at him, finding something very earnest and knowing in his eyes. It surprised you. He didn’t strike you as the kind of person who generally cared about what others were feeling.

“Yeah, just… thinking about how much I’m gonna have to shovel,” you chuckled, brushing off his concern.

“Sorry, you just looked… I don’t know, kind of sad.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him with all the sincerity of someone whose pants were on fire.

“Uh huh,” he studied you for a moment, then looked down at his phone and shook his head, releasing a big sigh, “I think I’m ready to move on.”

“Alright, follow me,” you pushed off the window and walked past him. As you did so, you misjudged your space and brushed up against him.

Pure negligence or subconscious desire, you’re still not sure, but the contact was a static shock. This quick jolt of heat that made you gasp and jump away from him, stammering, “Oh shit. Sorry, I, um—”

He chuckled, a handsome, dimpled smile stretching across his face, “It’s fine.”

“I’m embarrassed,” you blurted out. As if it wasn’t obvious enough.

“Don’t be,” he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, “Accidents happen.”

“Ok,” you laughed and buried your heated face in your hands, then regained your composure and said, “Ok, let’s see Suite 201.”

“Is that the shitty one?”

“It’s not shitty,” you snorted, starting towards the door, “It’s perfectly fine, just not as glamorous as the rest of them.”

“Uh huh. Like the ugliest Miss America contestant.”

“Sure—”

“Or the uhh… the smallest blue whale.”

“Yeah, I mean—”

“Suite 201 is to this hotel what Def Leppard is to glam rock.”

“Wow, ok,” you laughed, ushering him through the doorway into the hall, “Yeah, I think you got it.”

The whole dumb interaction is all you can think about. It plays over and over again. That look, the accident, Def fucking Leppard. The rush of excitement you feel when you see him or even just think about seeing him.

It is undeniable.

You have a big fat crush.

So fucking professional.

For what feels like the hundredth time, you lose count. You toss your clipboard down on the stack of fluffy white towels in defeat, scrubbing your hands over your face.

Maybe a cleaning project would be more productive. The first floor common rooms need dusting, or you could scrub the floors, or prep dinner, or blah blah blah… god, it all sounds so fucking boring.

Curiosity prods your heart.

You tiptoe through the laundry room, out into the third floor hallway, and linger there for an indecisive moment, listening to the low bass of his humming to himself and the thick pulse behind your ears. A few cautious steps towards Suite 302 reveals a DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from the doorknob.

Rejection takes the shape of a stone in your mouth, heavy and hard and cold as you swallow it down. It settles uneasy in your gut.

Dusting it is.

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 6:59 PM

Every minute that drags on feels like an eternity.

The grandfather clock in between the library bookshelves mocks you.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

Begins to sound more like:

He-doesn’t-like-you

You glare at it, then down at your phone, swiping away a low battery warning to continue playing cribbage.

Outside, the wind snarls. Blue Moon Manor groans in resistance, and you wriggle deeper into the sofa cushions, telling yourself: Five more minutes then I’ll check on him.

It’s so dumb.

Really, you know how it sounds.

But not once has he put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign. For two weeks, he has been consistently demanding, never letting more than three daylight hours go by without asking for something.

As soon as you let yourself feel some affection for him?

Can’t get far enough away from you.

He-doesn’t-like-you-DING! DING! DING! DING!—

You sigh at the clock.

—DING! DING! DING!

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter.

The lights die.

All white noise drops except the crackle of the fireplace, howling wind, and ticking clock.

“Fuck.”

Two floors up, something clatters to the ground, then Dieter hollers something unintelligible.

Well, he seems chipper.

You climb off the couch while googling power outages in the area.

Footsteps thud down the steps onto the first floor landing.

“Hello?”

“I’m in the library,” you call, not looking up from your phone as you text your boss.

His steps draw closer, then there’s a light in the doorway.

“This place is so fucking creepy in the dark, Jesus Christ,” Dieter hisses, “What’s the deal?”

You squint up at his dim figure, “Storm took out the power. I texted the manager to see if there’s a genny.”

“Genny?”

“Backup generator,” you turn on your phone’s flashlight, “Sorry for the inconvenience, I’ll go see if I can find some lighting if you wanna wait here—”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, sir—”

He gestures for you to lead the way, so you start towards the back office with Dieter hot on your heels. Once inside, you go over to the desk and pull open a drawer, fish out a headlamp, and slide it around your head. When you press the on button, a beam of light shoots from your forehead onto the desk.

“Cute,” he teases.

You look at him, unintentionally shining the light in his face.

He steps back and shields his eyes, “Jesus!”

“Ope. Sorry sir,” you stifle a laugh, grab a second headlamp from the drawer, and hold it out to him, “Do you want one?”

Grumbling under his breath, he takes it from you and slides it over his fluffy hair, then turns the light on.

“Ok, this is pretty sweet,” he admits as he starts wandering around the room, “I feel like a miner or something.”

“There should be a tote in here somewhere that has a bunch of candles,” you tell him as you start rifling through cupboards. When the search comes up empty, you try the closet, where you find a big purple tote labeled CANDLES.

“Here we go,” you pull the heavy container out into the room.

“Want me to carry that?”

The offer holds about as much conviction as a drain holds water. He leans back against the desk, plucks a pen from the pencil cup, and starts doodling on your daily checklist. Barely interested.

“No, I got it.”

You lift it and shuffle past him, slightly demoralized, then immediately bump into the doorway, “Oop.”

His headlamp blinds you, making you wince, then he chuckles, “Here.”

Dieter pushes off the desk and steps towards you, laying a gentle touch to your shoulder.

When you forfeit the tote, you notice the dark smudges dried onto his hands and forearms.

“Were you painting?”

“Yeah,” he awkwardly adjusts his grip, then starts back the way you came. You follow behind him, trying to aim your light at the ground by his feet.

In the kitchen, he says, “It smells good in here.”

“Probably the roast I made for dinner,” you pause for him to maneuver through the swinging door into the dining room, “I can get some for you after we get the candles going.”

He holds the door open with his foot and waits for you to pass through the threshold before setting the bin down on the dining room table.

“Thanks,” you say as he steps aside.

The white candles come in three shapes: pillar, votive, and stick. All of them unscented, so when you pop off the lid to the tote bin, the only thing you can smell is wax and dust and old flames.

You grab a half-melted pillar and ask, “Hey, do you have a lighter?”

He rummages through his pockets and pulls one out, then takes the candle from you. The flint sparks into a tiny flame that he holds up to the wick until it ignites, casting a warm golden glow onto the walls and ceiling. You pass him another pillar. The pads of his fingers brush against your hand when he takes it, sending your heart racing.

“Hopefully this isn’t a uhhh… weird or alarming thing to ask—”

“Oh god, what?”

“Is there anyone else here?” He lights the pillar and hands it to you, “You’re the only other person I’ve seen around.”

You take the lit pillar and set it down shrugging, “There, aren’t umm… no, it’s just me and you.”

“Oh.”

Where hyper vigilance should be, that old warning to not take candy from strangers, or not to turn your back on a man you don’t trust, something hungry and loud starts to grow. A devastating need for him to creep closer. For him to cross the boundary of what might be considered moral or right in such a situation. To touch you in ways that inspire heat between your thighs.

He doesn’t, though.

He just helps you light candles and strategically place them around the common rooms on the first floor, uncharacteristically reserved. You both remain quiet while you go about doing this, but the silence isn’t entirely uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence that feels more like a peace treaty than a punishment.

Your phone buzzes with a notification, and you pull it out, reading the text message out loud, “We don’t have a backup generator.”

“Shit.”

“And power might be out until Tuesday.”

“Tuesday? Are you fucking serious?”

“I apologize, sir—”

“Don’t do that,” he scoffs, shaking his head, “That whole… hospitality voice thing.”

The words come out sharp and bitter.

Your blood pulses hot, and you hear yourself say, “I’m a hospitality worker, exactly what tone of voice do you expect I use?”

“Like I’m a person, not a fucking client or whatever. I’m so sick of that shit, everywhere I go people kissing my ass,” he goes to the sideboard and flips over a glass, pouring whiskey while attuning his voice to a feminine, mocking tone, “Oh, Mr. Bravo, sir yes sir, do you need anything? Do you want a snack or a nap, do you need to be swaddled, do you want your dick sucked?”

He pauses to take a swig of the liquor.

Meanwhile, steam might as well be coming out of your ears. Just fucking boiling with rage, needling the red danger zone.

“I hate it. You all talk to me like I’m a goddamn toddler, it’s so fucking annoying—”

“Oh, fuck off. I’m annoying?”

He leans back on the sideboard and blinks at you, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

Stomping over to the liquor display, you pour a drink and seethe, “Ever think that maybe if you didn’t act like a fucking toddler, people wouldn’t treat you like one? I mean, for Christ’s sake, dude. You literally take a nap every afternoon and demand we cut the crust off your sandwiches. Last week you threw a temper tantrum because we put tap water in your sippy cup.”

“Ok, first of all that was a water bottle. And, have you ever tasted the water here? It’s disgusting. Not to mention the fucking—”

“The fluoride, I know,” you roll your eyes, “I know I know I know. It’s gross and contains fluoride and tastes like blood or whatever the fuck—”

“I did not say it tasted like blood,” he quips, pauses to take a sip, which you mimic, then he adds, “It does, though, for the record.”

“My point is that… If everywhere you go smells like shit, maybe you should look under your own shoe. You dig?”

For a moment, you can’t read him. He stares down into his glass, twisting his wrist around in a way that draws attention to the thick-banded rings on his fingers. Then he glances up at you, a smirk playing on his lips, “That’s perfect. Can you just talk to me like that from now on?”

Your head jerks back, and you let out a little scoff, “What, like a bitch?”

“No,” he chuckles, “Like… I don’t know. Real. Real-er, anyway. You seem cool. You, though. Not your toothless, sanitized worksona.”

“Jesus,” you scoff into your glass, shaking your head, “I’m not sure what to say to that.”

“Anyway. I just mean… talk to me like I’m a person, not a fucking guest or whatever.” When you look up at him, he shifts a little and adds, “Please.”

You hold his gaze long enough for your stomach to flip, then chicken out, dropping your eyes to your glass, “Sir yes sir.”

He lets out a chuckle, shaking his head, “Uh-huh.”

You appraise the remaining whiskey in your glass, then tip it back, wincing at the burn as you set the glass down.

“Do you want me to bring some candles up to your room, or will you be dining down here?”

“Will you be joining me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah, of course,” he shrugs, “If you’re not busy.”

“I think I can squeeze you in,” you tease.

His tongue pokes out to wet the seam of his lips, then his smirk breaks out into a big, boyish smile, “You think so, huh?”

The innuendo makes itself clear. Your face heats up and you snort, “Shut up.”

“Hey, you said it, not me,” he raises his hands defensively, following you as you start towards the kitchen, “Is it cool if I smoke?”

You push through the swinging door, holding it open for him, “I can’t turn the fan on.”

“Uh-huh,” he ambles over to the counter beside the sink and casually hops up onto it, “Is that a yes or a no?”

After taking a moment to weigh the pros and cons, you sigh, “Just… blow it out the window, ok?”

So he smokes while you pull the roasting pan from the oven and prepare two plates, piling on potato wedges and green beans and hearty slices of roast beef. You wrap up your activities simultaneously, then move back to the dining room.

While you set the table, he goes over to the wine cabinet and asks, “Wine?”

You hesitate, once again contemplating the pros and cons of answering in the affirmative. If the wine goes to your head, you could make a mistake. On the other hand, maybe it would help untangle your knotted stomach. Make it easier to converse with him.

“Don’t feel like you have to say yes,” he adds when he notices your trepidation.

“Fuck it, why not?”

So fucking professional.

With his back turned to you, he surveys the bottles displayed in the wine cabinet, “Pinot? Cab?”

“Actually, I was thinking of breaking out the 2016 Cos d'Estournel.”

He looks over his shoulder at you, “The what?”

“Left side, second row from the bottom,” you point to it from across the room, “Dark bottle, white label.”

Once he finds it, he lifts it from the rack and studies it, “Cos d'Estournel. Ritzy stuff,” he sets it on the table between your seats, “What’s the occasion?”

“What is this, a role reversal?”

He grins at this. Then, as if committing to the bit, he strides over to pull out your chair. When you raise your eyebrows at him, he smirks, “Humor me.”

You roll your eyes a little as you sit down, but truthfully, your heart stutters.

Dieter walks back to the cabinet and picks out two wine glasses, “So? The occasion?”

“I don’t know,” you frown, “Well, I mean, I do know, but it’s hard to explain.”

He doesn’t say anything as he twists a corkscrew into the wine bottle and yanks out the cork, then pours the rich red wine into one glass, and the other.

“It’s just… I don’t think I’ve been in a situation like this before. It’s strange. The storm, the holiday, the manor, the-the you.” He smirks, sliding a wine glass over to you, and you give him a nod of thanks, “I feel like anything could happen or nothing at all and I wouldn’t be surprised either way.”

Again, he doesn’t respond, but a thoughtful expression creases his face as he takes the seat across from you. Not sure what to make of it, you ask, “Does that make sense?”

“I know what you mean, yeah,” he leans back in his chair and swirls the wine around in his glass, meeting your eyes from across the table, “The possibilities within the confines of these walls are endless.”

The way he looks at you conjures impure thoughts. Hand between your thighs, nails digging into his back. Bending you over the table and pulling your hair.

You raise your glass in the air, “To the possibilities.”

“To the possibilities.”

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 9:30 PM

You sit at either side of the lush Victorian sofa in the library, cashmere blankets draped over each of your legs. Illuminated by the warm glow of candelabras and the crackling fireplace, you flip through a book on palm reading while Dieter draws in a sketchpad.

For a while, he seemed quite engrossed in the project. Brow furrowed, hunched over the pad of paper as he scribbled. But with each monotonous tick-tock-tick-tock from the grandfather clock, he starts to stir more and more.

He finally tosses the sketchpad down beside him, leaning back and letting out a long groan, “I’m so boooorreeeeed.”

“Drama,” you tease, peeking over your book at him, “Can I do anything to help?”

“Can I open another bottle?”

“Go for it.”

Dieter jumps to his feet and clicks on his headlamp. The dancing beam of light fades out of sight as he walks into the hallway.

With a sigh, you look down at the book and try to continue reading, but keep losing your spot. Your attention instead is drawn to the fireplace. Its flickering flames seem to pull you into some kind of a trance, coaxing out bite-sized daydreams and nightmares, trying to predict what will happen when you and your fresh new crush start drinking in the dark.

What happens if we get drunk? Would we fuck? Would we fight? Would he be mean? Or pushy? Would I make a fool of myself?

You sit here for a while, letting these tiny fires burn out in your brain, so engrossed that you barely notice Dieter mosey back into the room.

“Hope wine is ok,” he says as he clicks the headlamp off, then he sets out two wine glasses and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the coffee table.

“Of course, sir.”

He snorts and shakes his head while leaning over to twist a corkscrew into the bottle.

“Sorry. Habit.”

“Don’t sweat it, sweetheart,” he yanks the cork from the bottle, then pours out two servings, “What’ve you there?”

“Hmm?”

“The book.”

“Oh,” you hold it up to show him the cover, “Cheiro’s Palmistry for All.”

He holds out a glass to you. You set the book aside and take it from him, crossing your legs to get more comfortable.

“Palm reading?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “I don’t know, it seemed interesting.“

“Have you ever been to a palm reader?”

Shaking your head, you take a sip of wine. Then another. A warm buzz tingles on your tongue and you ask, “Have you?”

He nods, “Yeah. Well, kind of. I dated this girl who dabbled in divination,” he takes a big gulp of wine, then sets his glass on the coffee table and moves closer, gesturing for your hand, “Here.”

“You know how?”

“I picked up on some stuff,” he shrugs.

Leaning forward, you place your glass next to his and bring yourself closer, extending your hand to him.

He holds it like a fragile thing, gentle but steady, “Is this your dominant hand?”

You nod.

Smoothing a thumb over your palm, he coaxes you to unfurl your fingers. His skin is warm and soft on yours as he examines you, thick fingers tracing the creases of your palm.

It feels nice. Intimate, almost. No thanks to the wine and ambient lighting.

“This side shows your conscious mind. Your life right now,” he clears his throat and says, “You’re perceptive, intuitive, a little moody. Emotions tend to run the show, but you’re also a realist. You have a passion for life and adventure, but often find yourself paralyzed by the reality of your situation, leaving you in a constant state of dissatisfaction. Logical, hard-working. You’re independent. You’ve had financial and emotional hardships. Not many serious romantic relationships, mostly flings. But this doesn’t mean you don’t get attached easily. You do, but tend to put up walls to protect yourself and disconnect before it gets too serious.”

Static vibrates through your skin. An eerie, frantic feeling of being seen too close for comfort. You swallow hard and study his face, too afraid to confirm or deny its accuracy.

“Cup your hand,” he instructs, guiding your hand to do so. Furrowing his brow, he examines the soft fleshy bits on your palm, poking and prodding them, “You have a temper, but you’re shy. You’re cynical. Closed-off. Reliable, because you have to be, but you wish you could just say fuck it and run away sometimes. That’s umm… that’s who you are in practice. Other hand.”

You give him your non-dominant hand. It’s shaky and sweaty and as he takes it you chuckle, “Sorry, I’m… nervous.”

Grinning, he glances up at you, “So I’m doing well, then?”

“Yeah,” you gulp, heat rising to your face, “It’s… yeah. Hang on, can I…?”

You take your hand back and wipe it on your pant leg, then reach over to grab your wine glass, swallowing the remainder of your wine. He does the same, then refills them.

While this is happening, you can’t help but notice the thick current of electricity pulsing between you.

You take turns stealing fleeting glances, and when you return to face each other, legs crossed, you’re much closer than you were before. Your knees meet his, maybe probably definitely crossing the line of what is considered appropriate distance for you to have with a hotel guest. Neither of you seem to mind, though.

In fact, it seems like quite the opposite.

As you extend your non-dominant hand to him, he huddles even closer, so close you can smell the Bordeaux on his breath, and cradles your hand in his.

“This side shows your natural tendencies. Who you are in theory, who you will be if you follow your intuition,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to yours, then back to your palm as he slides his index finger along a deep, diagonal crease, “First of all, your fate line is strong. If you follow your intuition, you’ll succumb to it.”

“Ominous.”

He frowns and shakes his head, reverentially tracing the sensitive map of your palm, “No, actually. You’ll have a crisis or two. One big one, at least, some kind of a revelation that causes you to upend your life. But it sets you on a path of vitality and happiness and strength. A few smaller ones, not as momentous, but still significant. The hopeless romantic you are, you’ll fall in love hard and fast, but that’s the one that sticks. You freely express your emotions and feelings. It’s… I mean, it seems good. Who wouldn’t want that? Cup your hand for me, sweetheart.”

You do.

He smooths his thumb over the mounts and divots, tilting his head at them, “You’re stubborn and you have a strong sense of self. Hedonistic. Imaginative. You daydream a lot. I don’t think you’re as reserved and shy as you let on. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism you learned along the way.”

You look up at him, finding his eyes locked on yours. A deep longing bubbles up your spine and you feel yourself lean in a little closer. He continues caressing your hand, dropping his gaze to your mouth, and asks, “Do you want my advice?”

“Sure.”

“I think you should follow your intuition. See where it takes you. I think… you need to let go of whatever reservations you have from the past, because it’s holding you back from a beautiful life.”

There’s a part of you that boils red and hot with denial. It screams from the back of your head that this is all bullshit, he’s just trying to fuck you, to use because he’s bored and tipsy.

But really, you know he’s right.

You know you’re dissatisfied with your white-knuckle, fake smile existence. You ignore your desires and inner-most knowing in favor of security. You attribute more weight to the negatives than the positives in every aspect of your life.

“You’re saying I should follow my gut?” you ask, studying his face.

He brushes your palm with his thumbs, “Yeah. I think so.”

You look down at his touch, hesitantly bringing your unoccupied hand to his forearm, allowing yourself to feel his warmth, “But what if it’s wrong? What if I make a mistake?”

“But what if it’s right?”

Meeting his eyes, you recognize the longing in his heavy-lidded gaze. You bring your hand to his cheek, sliding your thumb across his patchy facial hair, heart pounding, nerves buzzing as you close your eyes and lean in.

His soft lips meet yours. A gentle, questioning kiss that flips your stomach upside down. You pull back to make sure it’s ok. He seems to do the same, dark eyes flicking around your face before slipping a hand behind your head and pulling you back in.

The second kiss holds more conviction. A spark that ignites you both, quickly leading to the third and fourth kiss, at which point they start to blend together, a mess of tongues and spit and gasps.

You climb onto his lap, straddling him, pressing your body onto his. Through the fabric of his pajama pants, you feel his hardened excitement and use it to your advantage, rolling against him to gain friction. He grabs your hips and rocks them in sync with your movements, groaning into your mouth.

Heat builds steady at your core, tingling and gushing through your veins, screaming for more more more. Aching to feel the warmth of his skin on yours, you slip your hands under the hem of his shirt and slide your palms up his back, pulling him closer.

He parts from your lips to take off his shirt. You do the same, unbuttoning your shirt and tossing it aside, then reach back and claw at your bra clasp.

“Let me,” he signals for you to turn around. You do, climbing onto your knees with your back facing him. His fingers ghost along your spine, leaving a trail of twitching, hungry nerves in their wake.

“That feels good,” you tell him, arching your back with a whine.

“Good,” he murmurs, continuing the tedious touch, “I wanna make you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

When he unclasps the bra, you slip it off while he slides a hand around your belly and pulls you back into his lap.

He leaves a trail of kisses from your shoulder to the nape of your neck, where he stops to massage his tongue against you. A moan erupts from your throat at the tingling, hot sensation it cultivates. His hands roam around your body, over your breasts and ribs and abdomen, activating all those often-neglected nerves, but never staying long enough to bring relief.

“Fuck, Dieter,” you whine, “You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe,” he chuckles, smoothing a palm up your sternum and urging you to lay back onto his chest. You follow the suggestion and recline against him, head resting on his shoulder. Your skin buzzes where it meets his, the warmth of him flooding your brain with feel-good chemicals. He drags his fingers along the soft skin of your belly, making you whimper.

“But it feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod.

“Don’t you want to savor it?” He cups your breasts and rolls your nipples between his fingers and thumbs, sending a rush of pleasure to your head, “Don’t you want me to show you how good it feels when you finally let go?”

“Yes,” you gasp, nodding, eyelids fluttering closed, “I want it, I want it—”

“Good,” he coos, pinching your nipples harder, “I want it too. Wanna see you fall apart in my hands. Will you let me do that for you, sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

He releases your tits and tugs at the waistband of your pants, “Take these off for me, will you?”

You roll off the couch onto your feet, facing him as you slowly tug at your waistband, teasing every inch of skin you reveal. He watches you with lust-blown eyes, palming himself as he drinks in the spectacle.

“Underwear too?”

He nods.

You hook your thumbs under the soft fabric of your bikini, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I wanna see it.”

“You wanna see it,” he mutters, chuckling a little, “Ask and you shall receive, Princess.”

He shimmies out of his pajama pants, keeping his eyes on yours as you slide the underwear down your thighs. His thick, hard cock bobs out and waves hello.

“Fuck,” he sits up and rests his warm palms on your hips, glancing between you and your cunt, “Look at this pretty pussy, holy shit. Come here, baby. Come sit on my lap again.”

“If I sit on your lap, will my Christmas wish come true?”

“Maybe,” he smirks and leans back onto the sofa, tugging on your hand to follow. You turn around and carefully lower yourself onto his thighs, his knees between yours. Guiding you closer, he murmurs in your ear, “Tell me what you want, sweetheart, I’ll see if I can make it happen.”

You lay back on his chest, once again letting your head rest on his shoulder, and stroke his cheek as you tell him, “I want you to touch me.”

“I can do that,” he chuckles, kissing your forehead as his hands begin to wander, sliding down your sides to your hips and thighs, between your legs to pry them apart, “There we go, baby.”

When he touches your entrance, you both groan. His cock twitches against your back. He drags his fingers up and down your seam, spreading your slick, hissing in your ear, “Fucking soaked for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh,” you whimper, nodding, watching him pet your swollen clit so soft and slow it sends sparks of need up your spine, “That feels so fucking good holy shit—”

“Yeah? You like the way I play with your sweet little cunt?”

“Oh my god—I do, Dieter, I do.”

A feral noise rumbles in his chest, and his fingers pick up speed, working in quick, tight circles as he pants in your ear, “I love it when you say my name. Sounds so fucking good on your lips. Say it again for me, baby.”

“I love the way you touch me, Dieter, please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t fucking dream of it, sweetheart. I just wanna make you feel good, make you feel so fucking good—”

You moan when he sinks one thick digit inside you, making your body buzz with pleasure. Your eyes flutter shut and you reach back, blindly carding your fingers through his hair, caressing his cheek, his neck, tugging on his earlobe, anything you can do to ground yourself and somehow repay the ecstasy accumulating thick and hot inside your belly.

He kisses your palm and asks, “Do you want more?”

A sort of strangled noise comes out of you, but you nod in the affirmative, and he obliges, sliding another finger inside you. They rut in and out at a steady pace, keeping tempo with his undulating touch on your clit. Heat branches out at the center of you, coursing through your veins, making your heart race.

You gasp and nod, “Keep doing that, Dieter, don’t stop please don’t stop holy shit—”

“You gonna cum for me, baby, hmm? Cum all over my fucking fingers?”

“Yes yes yes yes yes—”

Your whole body clenches as the feeling grows and grows, reaching a precipice.

“That’s it, sweetheart, let it go,” he pants in your ear, and when you plummet over the edge, whole body twitching with blinding pleasure, he coos, “Theeere we go—”

You whimper and clamp your legs shut, letting out a series of gasping breaths as the waves of your orgasm pulse, then start to peter out. Your tensed muscles go limp, and you open your eyes to look up at Dieter, “Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah?”

He gives you a boyish grin that makes your chest swell with desire. You sit up and turn around to face him, straddling his lap with his cock pressed hard against your wet, throbbing pussy.

Tracing the curve of his lips, you purr, “I have another Christmas wish.”

“What’s that?”

You roll your hips, gasping at the pressure of him against you, “I want you to fuck me.”

He moans, eyelids fluttering and lips parting, head falling back against the sofa as he grabs your hips and silently urges you to keep going. You whimper and start to move to the rhythm of his suggestion, sliding up and down his length.

“Wanna feel your cock inside me,” you breathe, brushing his cheek with your knuckles, meeting his dark, wanting eyes, “Want you to stretch me out and make me yours—”

“Holy fucking shit—”

“Do you want that?” you coo, searching his face.

“God yes, please, baby.”

You situate the tip of him at your entrance and hook your hands behind his head, then lower yourself down.

The stretch of him is exquisite. He activates every nerve ending he touches with an aching, hungry need. Your mouth falls open with gasping breaths and pathetic little whimpers, and you hear Dieter groan, “So fucking tight, Jesus Christ—”

“Feels so goooood,” you croak, closing your fists in his hair.

He sucks in air through clenched teeth, digging his fingers into the meat of your ass, and rocks you back and forth, each thrust rubbing along something absolutely devastating. You blink your eyes open to meet his, all lust-blown and wide with awe, searching your face. His hand slides up to your face, cupping your cheek, brushing his thumb against your heated, damp skin.

“Kiss me,” he pants, reeling you in.

You fold over on top of him, meeting his lips with desperate urgency, a frantic exchange of messy kisses marked with gasps and moans. As the heat in your belly grows, you roll your hips faster, and he thrusts up into you, parting from your lips to growl, “You take my dick so well, sweetheart—that sweet pussy feels so fucking good wrapped around me, oh my fucking god—”

“Feels so fucking good, Dieter, don’t fucking stop,” you whimper, pressing your forehead against his, nodding in approval as he grabs your hips and fucks up into you hard and fast, “Oh my god, just like that baby yes yes yes—”

He captures your lips in his and you both moan into the heated, needy kiss, static building and building, spreading hot from your center. It feels so fucking good your eyes start to tingle and swim with tears, and you cry, “I’m gonna fucking cum, don’t stop—”

“That’s it baby, just let go, let it go, let me feel you—”

“So fucking good—Ffffuck—”

The force of your climax steals your breath, ecstasy pulsing liquid static through you, then yanks you down from the clouds and sends you crashing into the earth. Your body convulses and you let out a choked sob.

“Oh my god—oh my god, fuck,” his hips stutter and he pulls out, stroking his cock to completion, shooting hot ropes of cum onto your bodies with a moan.

Both of you remain rigid for a few moments, chests heaving, silently reveling the sweet rush of release before going slack. You collapse on top of him, eyes closed, and release a content sigh as you play with the damp curls at the nape of his neck.

He hums and wraps his arms around your middle, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, “How do you feel?”

“Amazing,” you chuckle, “Wow.”

“Wow is right,” he snorts, then pets your hair and asks, “Any other Christmas wishes?”

After thinking about it for a few seconds, your lips part with an answer, but you chicken out and close them.

“Hmm?”

“It’s dumb.”

“Uh-huh,” he pulls back to meet your eyes, “Tell me anyway.”

You chuckle a little, tracing his jawline, “It’s ok.”

He just blinks at you, waiting, so you swallow and shrug, “I don’t want to sleep alone.”

He hums, pressing a kiss into your forehead, then your cheek, “Do you wanna spend the night with me?”

“Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so. Do you?”

You shake your head.

His gaze drops to your mouth, and you lean in to kiss him. It’s warm and soft and sparks hopeful optimism in your chest, like this is something and not nothing.

When he pulls back, a sly smile spreads across his face, “Your place or mine?”

—

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 8:00AM

When you wake in Suite 203, it takes a moment for the events of the previous night to catch up to you.

The power going out, the candlelit dinner, the palm reading, the best fucking sex you’ve had in your life.

Was it a dream? Did that actually fucking happen?

But when you hear rustling from the other side of the bed, and feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you back into his chest, reality punches you in the gut.

You stay still and wait for Dieter’s breath to fall back into a pattern of soft snoring, then slip out of bed and take a shower. With the power still out and the blizzard still raging outside, it takes a bit of guesswork to navigate the process in the dim bathroom, but you emerge successful.

When you tiptoe back into the bedroom, Dieter is still sleeping. You get dressed and go downstairs to make some coffee and think about your decisions.

For an hour or so, you pace around the kitchen island, ruminating over the things he said to you, the things you said to him, the way he made you feel, and the reality of your position in life versus his.

What felt good and right last night takes a different appearance in the harsh light of day. He could hurt you in so many ways if he wanted to. He could get you fired. He could be using you. He probably doesn’t actually care about you, he was just bored and horny and you were wrong this isn’t something, it’s nothing and you’re no one—

“Hey.”

You freeze and look up at Dieter, standing by the fridge in a soft chartreuse bathrobe.

“Hey,” you flash a nervous smile and wave, “How’d you sleep? Can I get you some coffee, anything to eat?”

He frowns, squinting at you, “Why’re you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

For a few seconds, he just stares at you, letting tension twist your guts to shreds, then he drops his gaze to the floor and nods, “Ok. Ok sure.”

Your whole body turns to cement. Cold and heavy and unmoving.

He walks over to the French press and pours a cup of coffee, “So… you’re having some regrets, and you’re gonna go back to this now? Miss hospitality?”

You swallow down a feeling like fire, avoiding eye contact as your vision blurs with tears, “I don’t know, I’m just… I’m just kind of freaking out, I guess?”

“What’re you freaking out about?”

“I guess it’s just that you were right,” you shrug, wiping at your eyes, “You know, with your palm reading. I get attached easily and, I don’t know… I don’t wanna scare you away because, umm… yeah.”

When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him, finding a warm smile on his face. Surprised at the expression, you sniffle, “What?”

He approaches you, still smiling, “Because you like me?”

Heat rises to your face. You hold his gaze, watching him lean back on the counter beside you, and you mumble, “Maybe.”

His smile grows wider, digging out dimples in his cheeks, “Yeah? Maybe a little bit?”

You shrug.

“And you think that’s gonna freak me out?”

Again, you shrug.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tugging on your hand. A fresh wave of tears floods your eyes when he wraps his arms around you, stroking your back as he assures you, “I like you too.”

“You do?”

“Cross my heart.”

“You’re not gonna get me fired and ruin my life?”

“What? No—I mean, I hope not. Unless your boss somehow finds out you got dicked down in the library—”

You laugh through the tears, “Oh my god, that would be a fucking nightmare.”

He chuckles, pulling back to look at you. You hook your hands behind his head, and the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds, humor fading from your faces, then you whisper, “This is… this is something, though, right? I’m not crazy?”

“I think it’s something,” his eyes flit around your face, and he shrugs, “You know, I’m a lot like you. I, umm… I tend to keep people at a distance, because I fall easy and hard and yeah… it’s scary. But, I don’t know. I have a good feeling about you.”

You nod, glancing down at his mouth, “Intuition?”

“Yeah,” he smirks, leaning in closer. His lips press against yours, giving you a slow, tender kiss that blossoms in your heart.

When you pull back, he tells you, “I do have one immediate problem, though.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how to ask you to make me breakfast without sounding like an asshole.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

“Wow. That’s it, I’m docking a star from my review.”

“Uh-huh,” you grin, running your fingers through his messy hair, “I cannot imagine what your review of this place would be.”

He takes a deep breath, then puts on an infomercial voice and says, “Four out of five stars. Gorgeous building, the food is amazing. Truly unique place. One of the employees let me eat her pussy for breakfast—”

You snort with laughter.

“—could not recommend enough. Deducted a star because she said I was an asshole.”

“Lovely, but you did not eat my pussy for breakfast. I’m sure I would’ve remembered that.”

“Not yet I didn’t,” he waggles his eyebrows at you, sneaking a few kisses as he herds you backwards onto the kitchen counter.

—

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 6:00PM

After breakfast—real breakfast, not oral sex in the kitchen, which was a treat in itself—Dieter went up to Suite 302 to finish the painting he wasn’t able to finish yesterday.

On paper, you had a very busy day. Your daily checklist gives you credit for every single item and some extras.

In reality, you cleaned up the messes made yesterday, which mostly involved washing dishes and following a wiki-how on getting cum out of velvet, and put together a charcuterie board for whenever dinner would happen.

With the remaining daylight hours, you laid on the chaise in the parlor, then the bed in Suite 203, and flipped through books of poems, and successfully resisted your many urges to disrupt Dieter’s work.

The snow stopped overnight, but the blizzard continued to howl all day. Strong gusts whirled the freshly-fallen snow through the air like some kid shaking up a snow globe. But when sunlight started to fade, so did the wind. Everything settled in its place, and the thick blanket of white finally became distinguishable from the nighttime sky.

Inside Blue Moon Manor, Dieter completed his painting, then crawled into bed with you. Apparently it had been just as difficult for him not to disrupt his own work.

He said he thought about you all day. He said he wanted to say fuck it and put the painting on pause to spend time with you, but felt he needed to finish it. He wanted to show it to you after dinner.

Naturally, your nerves have been buzzing since.

You insisted on an earlier dinner, blaming the lack of a lunchtime meal, but the look on his face when you made the argument made it clear he could see right through you. He didn’t mind, though. He helped you pour out glasses of wine to pair with the charcuterie board, then the two of you set everything up beside the fireplace in the parlor and fucking demolished it.

Afterwards, you washed the dishes while he smoked pot by the window. You didn’t even care if your boss smelled it anymore. It seemed trivial.

As Dieter tucks away his onie-box in his pocket, you recount the thought to him. He hops down off the counter and scoffs, “I mean really, what would he do? Fire you?”

“I don’t think he even can. There are three people that work here, and I am by far the most reliable.”

“I believe it,” he takes your hand, leading you from the kitchen to the dining room, “Tell you what, if my smoking gets you fired, you get to stay here with me and make his life hell.”

You laugh at this, shaking your head, “Yeah, ok.”

He turns around, “What, you don’t believe me?”

“No, I believe you. I just think it’s the kind of bet someone knows they’ll win.”

“And winning in this case would be, what? You keep working this dead-end job while I drive myself crazy thinking about you?”

“Hey—it’s a good job,” you release his hand and cross your arms in front of your body.

“No, that’s not—” he sighs, glancing around as he shifts his weight from side-to-side, “It’s a fine job, I just mean… I don’t know what I mean. I mean I wouldn’t mind it, you staying with me. That’s all.”

Searching his face, you deadpan, “That’s so romantic.”

“God, I can’t wait for you to see this,” he chuckles, then takes your hand and pulls you along, “Come on.”

You follow him through the dining room into the dark hallway, where you pause to turn on your headlamps, then climb the service stairs to the third floor, coming to a stop in front of Suite 302.

“Alright, lights out,” he clicks the off button on both your headlamps and leads you through the doorway, then the pitch black room.

“Ok, it’s probably gonna look weird in the lighting, but,” he turns your headlamps on, and you gasp.

The canvas shows a sunroom with windows of blinding white light. Suite 203. And there you are, staring out the window, shadows falling over your face.

“Dieter—”

From behind you, he slips his hands around your waist and kisses your cheek, then tells you, “I was taking pictures, you know, on the tour you gave me. And… I don’t know, I saw you there and took a picture because you just looked so…”

“Sad? Lonely?”

“Kind of. More like a, uhh… a palpable kind of longing. Sorrow and isolation. Like you’re looking for something or someone, but you don’t know what.”

You reach back and cup his cheek, brushing your thumb against his patchy facial hair.

“I wanted to capture that because it is… exactly how I’ve been feeling for years. Just so fucking lost and alone.”

Butterflies flutter around in your stomach, and you whisper, “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“Neither do you,” he murmurs, “Better yet, people all over the country will see you and know they’re not alone, either.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, your light bouncing around the canvas, then say, “It’s fucking beautiful, Dieter. What’s it called?”

“Once in a Blue Moon.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader

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lots-of-pockets · 6 months

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Taken

Chapter: 1

Words: 3077

Warnings: kidnapping, dark Natasha, diapers and a brief mention of throwing up. Let know if I need to add anymore!

Summary: Deep deep down, Natasha knew this was wrong. Taking someone against their own free will was borderline psychotic, let alone very much illegal. But she couldn't help it. After months upon months of watching your every move, she'd become convinced that you were only person perfect enough to become her daughter. She would do whatever it takes to have you, no matter the consequence.

Natasha stares into the fire. It crackles and glows with a radiant gold flame, the smell of burning wood filling her senses. In her hand was a glass of her favourite red wine, the rich liquid velvety on her tongue.

The outside was piercing in contrast to the heat before her. The empty skies were a dull white, and freshly fallen snow was covering all the eye could see. Everything was quiet, muffled, the atmosphere holding a sense of serenity the summer months did not have. It was peaceful and calming, a cherished few moments Natasha allows herself to have in the evenings after a hot bath full of bubbles and her favourite music.

The dancing flames of the fire could be seen in Natasha's eyes as she finishes her wine, setting the class down onto the coffee table with a soft, barely audible thump. She sits back against the couch and tightens the grey, fluffy blanket around her shoulders, eyes drifting to the clock in the corner of the room.

11:35

It was nearly time.

The busy street was quietened by a large blanket of snow, a carpet of cotton batting falling everywhere you looked. As you walk your usual journey to work, it crunches loudly beneath your feet. Your fingers and toes feel numb and are beginning to ache, and you could see the misty fog escaping your lips with each exhale. The trees were rocking back and forth, creaking and groaning just like the sound of an old rocking chair.

One positive about rising this early in the morning was being able to hear the birds on the street. They fill your ears with soft chirps, and you find it almost impossible not to smile at the sound.

Behind you, you hear the sound of a vehicle approaching. Your senses were almost immediately on red alert. The road you were on was almost always deserted. It was narrow and only one way, and you knew there was no reason for anyone to be coming this way this early, especially in a car when the snow plow hadn't even been through.

Your breathing accelerates, and you feel yourself begin to sweat despite the freezing temperature. You try your best not to outwardly react and continue on your way, but the car behind you slows the closer it gets, and you feel yourself become almost paralysed with fear.

You close your eyes for a second and practically force a deep breath into your lungs. You then speed up your pace, knowing that even if the person in the car means no harm, it was better to be safe than sorry.

When you hear the car door open and shut, the fear becomes a tangible, living force that creeps over you like some hungry beast, and it immobilises you, raising the fine hairs on the back of your neck. Your legs pick up on their own accord, but it was no use.

Someone grabs you, and the scream of pure terror that escapes your lips was muffled by a large, cold hand. You flail your body; you kick, you scratch, but your attacker was stronger, larger, and it was evident you stood no chance.

The hand was soon replaced by a cloth, and your senses almost immediately become a blur. Your eyes become heavy, your body becomes a deadweight, and despite the last ditch effort to escape, everything fades into nothing.

When you come to, your disoriented brain takes a few moments to catch up with the events that had just concurred.

You notice you were no longer outside. You were on a bed, and the mattress beneath you was soft and comfortable. The jeans and coat you had on were no longer, replaced by a pair of pyjamas much like a toddler would wear.

Your eyes flicker almost subconsciously around the room. The only light came from a slit between the curtains at the window, the feeble brightness barely enough for you to make out anything.

You did, however, note that the room was of medium size, adorned with white furniture. You couldn't make out any sort of decorations, but the door held a single lock with a touch screen pad.

You stare at it for a moment, and something in your brain seems to click bringing your subconscious to the realisation of what had happened. You'd been kidnapped, someone had taken you.

An immediate feeling of dread creeps up from the pit of your stomach, and your pulse beats in your ears blocking out all other sound.

You could feel your fight or flight responses kick in, increasing your heart rate and flooding you with added adrenaline. You try to sit up, but something was pinning your wrists down. It tugs at your skin uncomfortably, and when you look up, you see that you'd been handcuffed, each metal circle attached to the wooden headboard of the bed.

At the sight, your fear only grows more. You try to scream, but when you open your mouth, you come to find that even words had deserted you. It leaves you to release a choked sob, and you feel hot wet fluid begin to dribble down your legs, a bastion of warm comfort in a moment of primal terror.

The door opposite beeps in warning before it opens, and you feel your stomach grip in protest as a women comes into view. She was tall, and her pose screamed power. Her broad shoulders were held high, but her eyes, a soft green in colour, were gentle, and full of warmth.

The stark difference would have confused you if it wasn't for the sense of overwhelming dread.

"Hi little one. I'm glad to see you're finally awake," The woman speaks in greeting as she locks the door behind her, "I was beginning to grow a little worried." She adds as she flickers on the small night light that was plugged in near the bed before easing herself down next to you.

It bathes the room in a soft glow finally allowing you to finally take in your surroundings.

You couldn't help but tremble in complete and utter terror as your eyes burn with the familiar sensation of tears.

"It's okay," the woman soothes in a soft coo as she reaches for something to your left. "I know you must be scared, and I'm sorry about that." Her hand returns into view holding a tissue, and you flinch almost violently as the woman makes gentle work of drying your cheeks.

She doesn't outwardly react to it, but her features soften and her touch gentles further. You still shift uncomfortably, and it prompts the woman's eyes to flicker down towards the lower half of your body.

When they take in the large wet spot beneath you, your skin prickles with the fear of the unknown. But the woman simply shakes her head, a playful, yet gentle glint in her eyes.

"We'll fix that," was all she says as she disposes of the soiled tissue, grabbing a small bottle of hand sanitizer from seemingly nowhere and squeezing a small amount out onto her hands, "my names Natasha, but you may only call me mama. I'm going to be looking after you from now on."

You simply stare, trying to mask your emotions and pretend like you weren't mere seconds away from emptying your stomach in complete disgust.

"And you're Y/n, right?" Natasha continues, staring at you with a look that tells you she was expecting an answer.

You manage a mere nod, not wanting to upset the woman by defying her. Right now, you had no idea what Natasha was capable of, and you didn't want to provoke her in any kind of way by disobeying.

Natasha smiles in satisfaction as she rises from the bed and heads over to the white dresser placed in the corner of the room, "You were out for a while, so I suspect you must be pretty hungry. I have dinner made, and you may have it once we have you nice and clean." When she turns, you see she was holding a familiar rectangle of padded cotton.

Your cheeks burn, but you soon come to the daunting realisation that the woman must have already seen you naked due to the unfamiliar pair of pyjamas you were currently adorned in.

The bile in your throat worsens when you realise that Natasha could have done absolutely anything to you, and you feel yourself begin to gag in both fear and absolute dread.

Your vision becomes blurry, and as you try your best to keep your last meal down, you distinctly feel one of your hands become free if it's confines. Your body was then turned sideways just in time for you to vomit up absolutely everything in your stomach.

"There there, I've got you. You're okay." A muffled voice fills your ears as a hand gently grazes up and down your back, and having those hands on you only furthers your disgust and you find yourself puking once again.

You want to tell Natasha to get the hell off of you. That how dare she touch you after what she'd done, but there were no more words left in you. You could barely find it in within you to remain conscious, and you deem that more important right now. You had to stay awake. You had to try and protect yourself.

"Are you done?" The voice questions, and you nod ever so slightly. You feel a soft hand grasp your own and raise it once again to rest above your head, the cold cuffs once again circling your wrist.

Through your blurry vision, you see Natasha leave the room, and you allow yourself a moment to close your eyes and get yourself together.

When the women returns, you note she was wearing different clothes. You internally smile in victory when you realise you must have puked on her.

Serves her right.

"Okay, let's get you changed." Natasha sits herself down at the end of the bed, and it was only then do you notice that your feet were tied up too.

"I'm going to untie your feet, but if you even so think about kicking me or harming my furniture, I'm going to leave you in your wet clothes for the rest of the night, do you understand?" Natasha's hand rests on the rope tied securely around your ankle, and though the eyes staring at you were still the same soft ones as before, this time, they held a look of warning.

A warning you did not want to test. Not right now when you were still in such a vulnerable position where this woman could so absolutely anything to you and you'd be powerless to stop it.

And so you nod, despite everything in you telling you to fight with all you could.

Your heart races as Natasha unties your feet, legs subconsciously moving of their own accord and rising to a bent position where your thighs were pressed against your stomach.

The woman allows this, and when her hands reach for the waistband of your pyjama pants, your fight or flight instincts break.

You begin to flail your body as much as you could, the woman's prior warnings dissipating into the back of your mind. You had to get out. You couldn't let Natasha do this to you.

Despite your attempts, the woman gets your pants off anyway.

"No!" You finally find your voice, and it comes out hoarse, trembling with fear, "no! Let me go. Let me go!" You cry out as your stomach heaves with sobs.

"Hush now," the woman lightly scolds as she successfully manages to slide the diaper beneath your squirming figure, "There is no need for you to get so upset. I am not hurting you, so I suggest you calm down before I keep my promise and put you right back into your wet pants."

You still at the threat, but you continue to sob. Tears flow down your cheeks, blurring your vision and soaking your hair. Gut-wrenching sobs that tear through your chest fill the otherwise quiet room, and you want nothing more than for all of this to just stop.

You want to go home. You want to be curled up on the couch with your mom watching your favourite movie.

Not here. Not here where you're being emotionally tormented with all the things you no longer have; where you no longer have your independence and would be subjected to the unknown.

"There, all done." You hear, and you once again feel your legs being secured into their former positions. The sheet beneath you was pulled off next, replaced by a dry one with quick and efficient ease despite your presence on the mattress.

Natasha then shifts up the bed slightly, her weight tipping the mattress as her hand comes up to cup your cheek and wipe away the tears.

You flinch, but allow it to happen. The woman obviously knows what she wants, and it was becoming evident nothing you did would stop her.

"No more tears now," another soft coo as a gentle thumb continues to trail over your skin, "you're okay little one. Deep breaths."

You shake your head, "I want...I want to...go home. Please...let me...go home!" You cry as you extraneously squirm to get out of your confines.

Through your blurred vision, you see Natasha shake her head, and your body was wracked with another onslaught of sobs, complete hopelessness converted into tears that pour down your face at lightning speed.

"I know that must be upsetting for you to hear, but you'll get used to it. I'm going to get your dinner. I expect you to be fully calm by time I get back." Natasha once again wipes off your cheeks, the material of the tissue rough against your skin.

You try your best to comply with the woman's wishes, your throat tightening in dismay when you force back the sob that so desperately wants to escape.

Natasha smiles as she gives your leg a soft pat before rising to her feet, "Good girl."

You say nothing, but Natasha doesn't seem to mind. She disappears from the room and returns a short while later carrying a tray that held a glass full of water and a bowl of what appears to be soup.

"You haven't earned the right to feed yourself just yet, so I'm going to do it for you." The woman explains as she sets the tray down onto the nightstand, picking up the bowl along with a plastic spoon.

Soon, said spoon was being held to your mouth, the plastic warm against your lips.

You stare at the woman for only a short moment before reluctantly allowing your lips to part, and Natasha smiles as she places the spoon into your mouth. It was soup, but due to your blocked nose, you couldn't tell which kind it was.

You don't particularly care however, because you weren't in the slightest bit hungry after throwing your guts up just a few moments ago.

"Good girl. Is that yummy?" Natasha coos as she refills the spoon and once again holds it to your lips.

It wasn't, but you nod anyway as you open your mouth and allow yourself to be fed. You were scared if you told the woman any different, you'd be punished and tied up for longer. If you couldn't get away from Natasha, you at least wanted out of these stupid cuffs.

Natasha smiles happily, "I'm glad. Mama worked hard and there's lots more if you're still hungry."

Your stomach churns in disgust at the woman calling herself that, but you nod along, fear constricting you from acting upon your thoughts.

Soon, the bowl was empty, and you watch as Natasha sets it down and picks up the glass of water. You go rigid when Natasha places her hand on the back of your neck to elevate your head, hating the feeling of her touching you.

"Drink." Natasha prompts, and you quickly down over half of the water in the glass.

The woman sets the glass back next to the bowl and reaches for the blanket that was folded and placed over the footboard of the bed, "It's late. Time for bed." She shakes it out and lays it over your body.

"There's a baby monitor placed on the shelf up there, and it can see and hear you. If you need anything, I want you to call for me. I can't help you if I don't know anything is wrong." She brushes the hair saturated with tears out of your face before tucking it behind your ear.

You force yourself to nod.

Natasha smiles and gives your cheek one last gentle touch before rising to her feet, picking up the tray before heading towards the door, "Goodnight little one." She calls softly before leaving the room.

You don't reply.

Sleep does not come easy.

Fear prickles at the base of your spine each time you feels yourself beginning to drift off, a terrible sense of anxiety creeping over you at every little sound you hear.

The light thud of footsteps, the branches of the trees outside hitting the glass windows. Even the sounds of the house settling were unnerving, and no matter what you did, the subconscious of dreamland just didn't want to come.

A part of you wonders if anyone had realised you were missing. You keep to yourself mostly. Didn't have many friends or acquaintances. The only person you did have was your mom, and it had been nearly six months since the effort had been made for a visit. You decide that no, no one would have noticed, and because of your tendency to stay locked up in your apartment for weeks on end, no one would for a while leaving you to Natasha's mercy.

A part of you wants to call out for her. You want to beg her to be un-cuffed so you could at least try and get comfortable. But fear prevents you from doing so. It prevents you from even opening her mouth, so all you could do was lay here until morning comes.

A brand new day would greet you, and your nightmare would continue.

Your thoughts would be appreciated! ♥️

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #marvel agere #age regression #natasha romanoff x little!reader #tw kidnapping #stockhom syndrome #mommy natasha romanoff #dark natasha romanoff #natasha x y/n #black widow #marvel #fluff

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dailymanners · 2 months

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If you live in a place that gets snow, always kick the snow off of your shoes or boots as best as you can before entering any homes, businesses, vehicles, or anywhere the snow could make a mess.

With entering homes and business you can just kick the toe of your shoes or boots on the ground until you get off as much snow from your shoes or boots as you possibly can.

With vehicles it can be a little more tricky because there's often snow on the ground around the vehicle, but quite a few people don't like having their car kicked. So what you can do when entering vehicles is sit first, while keeping your feet outside the vehicle, then kick your feet together until you've gotten all or most of the snow off.

When snow melts it makes an awful and miserable mess. Anyone who's worked in a store or restaurant over the winter in a snowy place will tell you how miserable it is to have to constantly mop up all the dirty slushy water all day.

And most people aren't going to want their home or car to have a dirty slushy mess all over the floor either. The snow stuck to our shoes and boots often has other debris in it, like dirt or salt.

Give people the courtesy of minimizing how much they'll have to mop up the floor over the winter by minimizing how much snow / slush / dirt / salt you're dragging into their home / workplace / vehicle.

#Yes before anyone asks I do live in a country where everyone always take their shoes off right at the door of houses and apartments #but even then slush and other gunk can still get tracked around inside if you're not careful #not to mention it's also not fun having to clean a muddy slushy shoe area by the entrance of your house or apartment #good manners #manners #politeness #etiquette #courtesy

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chmpgneprblem · 6 months

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SNOWFALL OF HEARTS ; CORIOLANUS SNOW

pairing: coriolanus snow x tribute!oc part: two summary: coriolanus is torn between his harsh pursuit of victory and the growing warmth in his heart for erykah, his tribute from district 9 warnings: ooc coriolanus a/n: this series is gonna be super fluffy so if you're looking for angst I am not the person to go to!! idc if snow ends up being a little shithead I hate writing angst previous parts: one word count: 1.6k join taglist!!

A peacekeeper led Erykah to a train car. She climbed up and surveyed the area for her district partner. He was sitting in the corner waiting for her. She sat beside him for the ride, hoping that he would be an ally.

“That was your sister right? The one you volunteered for.” He inquired. The question woke Erykah up. “Yes, it was.” She mumbled, hoping to herself that she was doing okay. “I wish I had somebody that would do that for me…” the boy muttered more to himself than to Erykah. She didn’t question him further and instead rested her head on the boy’s bony shoulder.

She hadn’t seen her family before she left. That could be the last time she sees her sister. Why did I ignore her? She thought of her mother. What is she going to do without me? Will she take good care of her, or will she mess it up like last time? She tried to push her worried thoughts to the side as she picked at her nails. Please take care of her while I’m gone, she whispered to herself.

Coriolanus stood nervously at the train station waiting for his tribute. His heart was beating out of his chest as he paced alongside the train, hoping to see Erykah or the male tribute from her district.

At that moment he saw Panlo jump out of one of the train carts and lift his hands to Erykah’s waist to set her on the ground. Coriolanus was getting worse. He touched his blonde curls, hoping it would calm him down. It was no use. His heart was beating so fast he thought he was about to have a heart attack.

Erykah dusted her dress off after getting out of the train cart. She looked over at him with a confused look before turning to Panlo. “You can go along without me.” She muttered to him, smoothing her slightly frizzy hair before walking over to Coriolanus.

He nervously reached a white rose out to her, hands slightly shaking. “Welcome to the Capitol” He uttered to her with a grin. She took the rose out of his hand, brushing her fingertips against his. The feeling made him shiver.

She took a long smell of the flower before questioning him, “Why are you here?” Although the question sounded rude, her sweet voice showed she was just curious. “I’m your mentor… for the games” He answered her, nerves starting to slightly dissolve. She nodded slowly, seeming to be thinking to herself. “Well what can you do for me as a mentor other than bring me roses?” The brunette tilted her head slightly as she asked him.

“I do my best to take care of you”

She blushed a little upon hearing that from him. The comment gave her comfort. She smiled widely, “Well that’s very sweet of you…?” She paused, realizing he never told her his name. “Coriolanus. Coriolanus Snow.” He answered her question, not as nervous as before.

“It’s been great talking to you Coriolanus, but I’ve got to go!” She announced with a big toothy grin on her face. A peacekeeper had shown up behind her, pushing her toward a different vehicle, one Coriolanus recognized as a cattle car.

He sauntered after her as she got in the car. He walked along the train asking peacekeepers if he could ride with them. The two that previously stood outside the doors of the car, were now running after one of the male tributes that attempted to get away. Now was the chance, he thought to himself as he trod onto the car.

As soon as he got in, all the tributes were looking at him. Some with bloodthirsty eyes. Some with expressions of fear.

He stood there nervously as they continued to stare. “What’s wrong pretty boy? You in the wrong cage?” A man Coriolanus recognized as the tribute from district eleven asked him mockingly. “Get him Reaper.” He heard one of the other tributes mutter to him as Reaper strode up to Coriolanus, slamming him against the back wall of the car.

“I’ll kill you right now.” He declared aggressively. Some of the strong looking tributes got out of their seats and announced they all should. “Nothing left to lose now.” The tribute that tried to run away earlier stood up cracking his knuckles with a scowl on his face, seeming to be moments away from beating up Coriolanus.

“You got any family at home? Friends, maybe even a pet? They’ll be killed if you hurt him. Then you.” Erykah interrupts their conflict, attempting to defend Coriolanus. “Besides, he’s my mentor; I might need him,” She adds with a barely noticeable smile.

“How come you got one?” A girl with a short dark red haircut asks. Erykah didn’t know the answer, turning her gaze to the blonde for help. “You all get one.” He tried to comment calmly as Reaper was still pushing him against the wall.

“Well why aren’t ours here? How come flower girl here gets special treatment? Is it cause she volunteered?” She talked fast, poking fun at her for the incident at the reaping. “It doesn’t have anything to do with me volunteering. I guess yours just wasn’t inspired.” Erykah smarted back at her with a smirk.

The red haired girl looked like she was about to lunge at her when the cart started to shake. Everybody started to panic as the shaking got more and more aggressive. Coriolanus hung onto the back as it started to tip over. Erykah rushed out of her seat to get to him. She latched onto his right arm, he put that same arm around her waist to keep her from falling.

The cart tipped over completely. Coriolanus’ grip on the back of the cart loosened as he and Erykah fell down.

His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the outdoors as he realized where he was, the Capitol zoo. He looked around panicked, eyes meeting Erykah’s as she searched for his rose from earlier.

A man doing a news report seemed to finally notice his presence. “Excuse me sir! Who are you, and why are you in there with them? We’re live.” He gestured to the camera recording him.

Coriolanus panicked as he stood up. Erykah grabbed his arm bringing him back to reality. “Own it,” She muttered, looking up at him with big eyes as he breathed heavily. He nodded slightly at her, trying to calm himself down.

He took the rose from her hand and snapped the stem. He grabbed the loose curls on her face, tucking them behind her ears before putting the rose behind her ear as well. She gave a small smile up at him before taking his hand in hers.

They walked up to two young kids in the crowd, seeming to be siblings. “Hi there, what’s your name?” She knelt down to the children's level, still holding Coriolanus’ hand. “My name is Pontius, that’s my little sister Venus. She’s only four.” The young boy told Erykah. “I have a little sister too. She’s quite a bit older than yours though.” She told Pontius with a slightly sad smile.

“That’s really cool that you took her place. Someday I want to be as brave as you.” The little girl, Venus, spoke to Erykah. “Well you can be anything you want to be sweetheart.” She gave the girl a big smile. She reminds me of Maggy, she thought to herself.

She stopped her conversation with Venus to turn to the reporter. “And who might you be?” She questioned the reporter with a smile as she stood up, her hand letting go of Coriolanus’ to move to her hip.

“I’m Lucretius ‘Lucky’ Flickerman but more importantly, who might you be; Erykah from district 9.” He spoke to her in a very newscaster voice. “Well as you know my name is Erykah Thorpe. I do a little singing at a local bar in nine… Not much to know about me, I suppose!” She giggled and looked over at Coriolanus to see him with a smile.

“Well I’m sure the people in the Capitol would love to hear you sing, I know I would!” He talked to her enthusiastically. “I would love to!” She told him, partially for the cameras. Despite her love for music, the thought of singing for the Capitol made her feel weird.

“Do you know my mentor? He says his name is Coriolanus Snow, and I must have gotten the brightest star in the Dipper cause none of the other mentors decided to show up.” She told Lucky with a smile, grabbing Coriolanus and moving him lightly forward, attempting to change the subject.

“The game makers did tell you to jump in the cage with them…?” Lucky questioned Coriolanus. He tensed up at the comment. “They didn’t tell me not to. They just said that it was a mentor’s job to introduce our tributes to the citizens of Panem.” The way he spoke to Lucky almost sounded sarcastic. Erykah could tell the game makers got on his nerves. “And I thought if Erykah is brave enough to be here then why shouldn’t I be too.” He stopped talking to look down at her, who gave him a smile and a nod.

“Well it looks like you're about to be whisked away young man.” Lucky informed him in a slightly sarcastic voice. Coriolanus turned around to see two peacekeepers about to pull him away from the conversation. But Erykah stopped them, grabbing onto Coriolanus’ arm to say one final thing to him.

“Can you get me some food please? I haven’t eaten since before the reaping.” She asks Coriolanus, practically pleading with him. All he did was give her a soft nod, and he was pulled away. Can I really win this? She thought to herself as her only chance of survival walked away from her.

tags: @kkmikayla @specialk6802

#coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #thg #the hunger games fanfic

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eiightysixbaby · 5 months

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i’ll be home for christmas

PART THREE: No Place Like Home For The Holidays

previous part || series masterlist || next part

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 7.3k

summary: eddie arrives back home, battling with the things that have changed in his absence. you have a heartfelt conversation with jonathan, and try your best to get out of your funk. the annual christmas eve party rolls around again, and it’s going to change everything.

cw: switches between past and present, reader’s nickname is ‘sunny’, angst, jonathan being the best bff in the world.

December 25th, 1988.

The airport was shockingly empty, most folks at home with their loved ones in celebration of the holiday. Eddie’s eyes scanned the building as he walked, rolling his small suitcase full of his belongings behind him. His free hand clutching his guitar case as he walks along. He’d packed everything he could over the last few days, though he truthfully didn’t have all that much. Honestly, he was grateful for the light load. The mental burden he was carrying felt excruciating enough on its own.

It had been a teary goodbye with Wayne, Eddie promising to call and Wayne promising to come visit whenever he could afford to spend the money. Eddie assured him he’d be paying for his plane ticket whenever he wanted to come out, and not to worry.

The conversation he’d had with you the previous night wouldn’t leave his head, your tears as your voice screamed at him was a scene that played on a loop in his mind. Sleeping was no use; the second he’d gotten home he’d laid in bed and cried, every moment of the night spent tossing and turning and thinking about you. As hard as it was, though, he wanted you to be able to move forward and be fine without him. He hadn’t meant to hurt you so badly and he hoped that in time you’d see that, too.

He blinks a few times, forcing the sleep from his eyes as he sits on a cold plastic seat, waiting for his gate to board. His foot taps aimlessly on the shiny linoleum floor, his hands wrung together between his knees as he sits hunched over in thought. The clicking of heels takes him out of his daze, his head glancing upwards to catch the person that walks by. From behind, it looks just like you — the girl even has the same coat as you. His heart thumps in his chest as he cranes his neck to get a better look, his legs ready to stand and chase you down and hold you tight. But then, the figure turns around, and he catches sight of a face that isn’t yours. He slumps back onto the seat, exhaling a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding in. Maybe this was all wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t do this. And then:

“Flight 157 to Chicago now boarding, please report to Gate 2A,” a voice comes over the loud speaker, sounding crisp and nearly robotic.

Eddie sighs, wiping his clammy palms on his jeans before he stands, turning and walking to his gate. He steps onto his flight, sinking in his seat and glancing out the window at the snow that covers the Indianapolis airport. The last glimpse he’ll get of Indiana for who knows how long.

He pulls out his Walkman, slipping the headphones over his ears and sinking into the music as the plane takes off. This is goodbye.

Present Day: December 21st, 1989.

The airport is bustling with people; strangers from god knows where coming to visit god knows who for the approaching holiday. Eddie weaves his way through the crowds, pushing his bags on a cart that serves as an easy way to part the seas of travelers. Doors are held open for him by a passer-by as he exits the building, pulling his hat down further over his ears as he braces for the cold chill of the Indiana air.

Stepping onto the concrete outside of the building, his eyes squint slightly as he scans the pickup lane for a familiar vehicle. He doesn’t spot one at first, standing on his tip-toes and peering around the heads of other people, trying to find who he’s looking for.

And then, he sees Wayne leaning out the driver side door of his truck. A hand is held high in the air, waving with a stoic smile on his face. Eddie runs. He doesn’t care if he looks silly, doesn’t care if he bumps someone on his way, he runs to Wayne. His bags sit a few feet away on their cart, but he’ll grab them in a moment. Right now, his arms pull his uncle into a tight hug, his body easing up when he feels Wayne patting him on the back.

“Missed you, son,” Wayne says, pulling back to look at Eddie with the vaguest hint of tears in his eyes.

“Missed you too. Don’t go crying on me now, old man,” he says, laughing when Wayne tugs his hat off to ruffle his already-fluffy hair.

“Go get your bags, let’s go on home.”

Home. Eddie loves the sound of that.

•

“I feel like I’m broken, Jonathan,” you stress, setting your coffee down on the table. “Everywhere I go, everything I do, my mind is just like… laser-focused on Eddie. It’s pathetic,” you shake your head, curling your lips inward.

“Hey, stop. It’s not pathetic,” he reassures, reaching out a hand to cover one of yours. “You just… miss him. It’s normal.”

“Nothing about this is normal,” you retort, sorry for snapping at him but unable to control the bubbling frustration. “I should be able to move on, it’s been a fucking year just about!” you say, raising your voice and grabbing attention of other patrons in the cafe. Your eyes avert Jonathan’s gaze, looking down at a stray thread from your sweater in embarrassment. “I saw a van that looked like his. A van! A vehicle — a common, average vehicle and it sent me into a spiral the other day. Something that stupid shouldn’t make me feel like I’m losing it.”

“Sunny, come on, you’re so hard on yourself,” he says, his honey eyes sympathetic as they try to break through to you.

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m always such a downer, it has to get annoying to deal with. You’re always left to pick up my pieces.”

“Don’t say that, you’re not annoying,” he cuts in, brows furrowed.

“Oh come on, Jonathan. You can be honest with me,” you insist, turning away from him.

“I am being honest. Do you remember what I told you last Christmas? When you told us all that he’d left?”

Do you remember, he asks. As if you could ever forget.

December 25th, 1988.

To be honest, you were surprised you’d even managed to get yourself to Steve’s house. You drove here on autopilot, a robot operating your vehicle instead of a person — navigating the snowy streets with ease only because you know this town like the back of your hand. You sit in your car in the driveway for what feels like a century, trying to steady your breathing. You had wanted to prepare yourself — to have a plan when you walked in and to break the news calmly to everybody. Though now you’re realizing that may not be possible, with the way you feel like you can’t even speak at all. Your chest is tight, your breathing erratic as you finally walk up to the large front doors, pushing one open without so much as knocking.

The conversation inside lulls, everyone excitedly looking to see who’s arrived. You’ve never seen a group of faces change expressions so quickly, Nancy hopping up off of the sofa to run to you. In a split second, you’ve drained all of the holiday cheer from the room. Tears run down your face like they had been all night, your body slumping into Nancy’s when she collects you in her arms.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on? What happened!?” she asks, trying to stay calm for your sake but concern creeps into her voice anyways. You can’t blame her, you know you look a wreck.

No one else dared move further than simply standing from their seats, not wanting to crowd you. It’s like everyone knew a bomb was about to drop.

“I-it’s, it’s E-Eddie,” you sob, having at least enough mental clarity to realize you need to finish that sentence before they think he died on the way here. “Eddie left… h-he left Hawkins, he f-ucking left,” you choke, your voice raw as you get the words out. You’re bawling into Nancy’s sweater, tears and snot surely soaking the wool as she holds you impossibly tighter.

“What?” Steve asks, “What… what do you mean?”

“He’s going to Chicago, he’s… not c-coming back,” you cry, heaving between words as you try to fill your lungs with air.

The whole room freezes, everyone looking at each other with no idea what to do. As sad as they all may be, each and every person realizes how much worse this is for you. And you know it. They all know what you had with Eddie was special. Was.

You look up at them, watery eyes scanning the room and taking in their mutual devastation. Dustin sits back down on the couch, his head in his hands as he absorbs the information. His role model, the big brother he never had, gone.

And then you look at Steve, watching the way he starts to pace the floor. His closest male friend since Tommy, left for another state. Another person leaving his life.

Your eyes scan over the rest of the kids, over Robin, Jonathan, then circling back to Nancy. Their upset makes it worse for you, and your stomach twists in knots over the fact that you had to be the one to tell them this news. You, in the midst of your anguish, had to break it to all of them. Too caught up in your own feelings to break the news gracefully, it makes you want to vomit.

That’s when you’d pulled yourself away from Nancy, out of her gentle grasp, and hurried down the hallway to one of Steve’s bathrooms. You heard the concerned calls of your name as you shut the door behind you but it didn’t matter, you couldn’t take watching everyone process the information. You brace your hands on the vanity counter, fingers gripping the marble as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes and lips look puffy, snot drips from your nose — it makes you feel pathetic. You watch as your whole body shudders when you inhale, trying so hard to calm yourself down, at least so you can go back out there and actually talk to your friends without heaving on the floor.

A knock on the door makes you wince.

“I’m fine,” you croak. “Just give me a minute.”

“It’s Jonathan,” his soft voice says from the other side. “Can I please come in?”

You weren’t expecting him to come chasing after you, out of all of them. It’s not unwelcome, just unexpected. Your fingers wrap around the doorknob, twisting it and pulling the door open a crack. Jonathan slips inside, his slender body fitting right through the narrow opening you’d provided.

“I’m sorry,” you start. “I know I need to explain everything more and—”

“Don’t. That’s not what I’m here for. No one’s rushing you out, it’s okay,” he soothes you, his voice as gentle as always.

For some reason, his comfort only makes you cry harder, and he immediately accepts your form with open arms. You don’t typically get this close to Jonathan, he’s shy and introverted and you can confidently say you’ve never shared a moment this raw with him. His chin rests atop your head, holding you against his chest as you tremble.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, Sunny.”

“How do you know that?” you sniffle, mouth gummy as you talk.

“Because we’re all here for each other. We’re all here for you. I know you and Eddie were… close,” he says, debating on his last word before speaking it softly.

“He kissed me,” you say — blurting it, really.

“What?”

“Like a week ago. He kissed me. And now he’s gone.”

Jonathan doesn’t say anything, but it’s okay with you. You don’t know what he could say that would make any of it better. ‘I’m sorry’? You don’t want to hear that. The kiss with Eddie was the best kiss you’ve ever had. I’m sorry would just make the grief of him being gone feel more real. He just holds you a little bit tighter, sighing into your hair.

“If you could… keep that between us, for now…” you say, realizing you don’t think you can handle questions from the group about that just yet.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

It’s silent for a few moments after that, neither of you saying a thing. But then he speaks up again.

“Listen,” he says, pulling away from you slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders as he looks at you. “I’m here for you, if you need anything. You can vent, scream, cry… it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t as close with Eddie as you were, or as Dustin was, or Robin… the point is, I’ll be okay through this. I’ll miss him, of course, but I’ll be okay. It’s you I’m worried about,” he pours all of this out at once, his eyes flicking back and forth between each of yours, studying your face. “I just want you to know you can tell me anything, always. I promise.”

Your lip wobbles, your eyes glassy as they stare back at him. You realize, then, just how much Jonathan observes. He might be quieter, more reserved, but he notices everything. His tone of voice tells you he knows more than he might share out loud.

“Thank you,” you say, impossibly quiet. “Thank you doesn’t even begin to cover it, but…”

“No, you don’t even need to thank me. I just want you to promise me that you won’t hide away and bottle this all up.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Present Day: December 21st, 1989.

You kept that promise, confiding in him when the weight of it all felt too heavy to hold. He kept his word, listening every single time you needed him to. You’re suddenly upset with yourself for even doubting his honesty, his willingness to support you.

“Of course I remember. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude,” you sigh. You pitch your voice deeper, then, mocking him. “Don’t apologize, Sunny, you never need to apologize,” you tease, knowing exactly what he’ll say before it can come out of his mouth.

“Wow, am I that predictable?” he laughs, raising an eyebrow at you.

You just nod, laughing a little bit with him.

“You know, you’re still the only person I’ve ever told about the kiss.”

“I know. I definitely would’ve heard about it from one of the girls if word had gotten around,” he says, smirking.

There’s a pause. The humor of the moment is gone.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks, sensing the shift.

“I just… it’s getting closer and closer to the day he left. And I don’t know how I can handle knowing it’s been one full year. I just want things to be easy again,” you sigh, chewing on your bottom lip. You don’t want to meet Jonathan’s eyes, feeling like you’ll cry if you see the sincerity you know will be there.

“I know it’s hard. And I know Christmas isn’t going to be easy for you this year. But just… take it a day at a time. A minute at a time, even,” he says, calm and steady as always. “Even though this year has been hard for you, you’ve gotten through it. You’ve made it through every single hard day. You can get through the holiday, I promise,” he gives you a gentle smile, the creases at the corner of his eyes showing how genuine it is.

His words bring the tears you had tried to warn off to your eyes, sending a couple droplets running down your cheeks.

“Are you sure I can do this?” you ask. “Will it get better?”

“I know you can do this. And I think it will.”

You stand, your chair squeaking against the floor as it pushes out. He stands with you, knowing what you’re going for without words. He pulls you into a tight hug when you round the table to his side, his hands rubbing your back in a way that soothes you.

“Thank you for everything, Jon,” you sniffle, your face smushed against the thick knit fabric of his sweater.

“Of course. ‘S what I’m here for,” he says, resting his chin on your head before placing the softest, most chaste kiss to the top of it.

It’s nothing but platonic. Simply a comforting gesture, you’d never question otherwise. You pull away after a moment of letting him hold you, the strange feeling that someone had been watching you creeping up your spine.

•

Pulling in to Forest Hills Trailer Park had simultaneously made Eddie’s heart sing, and made him feel like he was going to vomit. He was excited, so excited to be out of Chicago, but he’d be lying if simply leaving that city eliminated all of his worries. There’s a lot of… baggage in Hawkins. He left for a reason. It’s scary and inviting and anxiety-inducing and wonderful all wrapped into one package.

Wayne helps him unload his stuff, and Eddie nearly cries when he steps into the trailer again. The bedroom is all made up for him, his old posters and flags still hung on the walls. Like Wayne always knew he wasn’t truly gone for good, or maybe he just didn’t want to fully let him go. A knock comes on the open door, making Eddie turn from his spot on the floor where he unpacks his suitcase.

Wayne stands in the doorway, holding Eddie’s Garfield mug — his favorite — in his hands.

“Made you some coffee, figured you might need it,” he says, and Eddie accepts the warm mug gladly.

He looks at the paint on it, Garfield’s nose chipping away a bit, and there’s a crack on one side, but it’s Eddie’s. It’s home.

Unpacking doesn’t last long, he gets through one suitcase of clothes before deciding everything else can wait. His dresser drawers are packed full once more, having been largely empty save for some of Wayne’s things. Sitting cross-legged on his floor, he takes a moment to just absorb every detail of his room. His Slayer flag, that he’d left here in favor of taking his Corroded Coffin one with him. His spare amps, his old sketchbooks and a box of D&D dice. The stupid handcuffs he’d stolen as a teen, and then had a few good nights with. Chuckling to himself, he stands. His heart longs to see more of Hawkins, to see what’s changed since he left, if anything at all. He puts on his coat and a hat, grabbing the keys to his van that he surprisingly missed way more than he had thought he would.

“I’m going in to town, just want to walk around a little bit. Take everything in. You wanna come?” he asks his uncle, slipping his shoes on in the doorway.

“Nah. Go on by yourself. I’m sure you could use the time to get readjusted.”

Eddie nods, giving Wayne a soft smile and receiving a softer one in return. He tosses his keys in the air once, catching them with a metallic clank before he’s out the door. Wayne had taken great care of the van, as good of care as you can take to a shitbox vehicle, and as Eddie slips into the tattered driver’s seat he lets out a sigh. His hands run over the steering wheel, putting the key in the ignition and letting the engine roar to life.

He missed this. He truly missed this.

It’s funny how you can be away from a place for so long, yet still remember every detail like it’s engraved in your brain. Sure, a year isn’t that long in retrospect, but still. The way Eddie drives the streets of the small town with complete ease, never second guessing a turn and knowing where each stop sign is makes him smile a little bit. He drives past your apartment complex, taking in a deep and shaky breath as he glances in its direction. The realization hits him that he has to face you, face everyone, for the first time in a year. He doesn’t know how he’s gonna do it, but he’ll figure it out.

For now, he pulls his van into a parking spot beside the curb in the center of town, stepping out and waiting for that signature creak of the van’s door as it opens, which doesn’t come. Dammit, Wayne. Keeping her in good condition.

To be honest, Eddie knows he’s taking a bit of a risk walking through town. He could run into you, he could run into one of the kids, or Steve or Robin or anyone. He could be spotted by Mrs. Wheeler or Hopper. All of whom would spread word that he’s back in town. He’s flying by the seat of his pants here, so to speak. If he runs into someone he knows, he’ll figure it out. If he runs into you, well… he’ll probably shit himself. But he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.

The streets and shops of downtown Hawkins are perfectly decorated for the holiday, a sight he knows you always loved to see. He hopes it still makes you happy, to see the town wrapped in red and green and silver and gold. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he walks the snowy sidewalks, a cleanly shoveled path guiding his way. It’s snowing lightly, a few flakes clinging to his hair and melting on his coat. It’s so unlike the hustle and bustle of Chicago, and while those busy streets were exciting for maybe a week, he grew weary of them after that. There’s less of a sense of security in a city that large, whereas Hawkins’ small population and quaint streets feel stable and safe. Maybe he took that for granted, maybe he thought he was more unstable here than he really was.

He passes Melvald’s, peeking inside and sure enough catches Joyce Byers passing off a large paper bag of goods to a customer. He keeps on walking, smiling to himself nonetheless over seeing a familiar face. He passes RadioShack, The Hideaway, the record shop. All places he has memories tied to, and they come rushing to him in a flood of varying emotions. Nervous butterflies flutter in the pit of his stomach, his whole body adjusting to being back home as he walks.

The coffee shop is up ahead, he can see the sign dangling above the door. He turns to glance in through the windows as he approaches, but he does a double take at what he sees. Stopping dead in his tracks, his shoes scrape against the pavement. It feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him, every ounce of oxygen punched from his lungs. He swears his head is spinning, or maybe the world is spinning. Every single moment of heartache and yearning over the last year has led him here, back to Hawkins. And now, for the first time in months, he’s finally looking at you.

His mouth hangs open slightly, tunnel vision directing him right to you, where you stand approaching Jonathan. He’s undetected, neither you nor the other man have noticed him. The first thing he notices is that you’re crying, he can see the puffiness of your face and the way its features contort. It reminds him all too much of the way you looked the night he left you. A twinge of pain prods deep in his gut; seeing you cry has always been one of his least favorite things. He watches as Jonathan pulls you into a tight hug, rubbing your back and squeezing you so close to him.

That’s weird, he doesn’t remember you ever being so close with Jonathan. He usually just kept to himself, for the most part.

And then, something happens that makes his heart plummet to the pit of his stomach. Words he can’t hear are exchanged between the two of you, and then Jonathan’s face tilts down, and a kiss is pressed to the top of your head.

He just kissed you. What the fuck. This can’t be happening.

Eddie knows he’s been gone a while, but he certainly hasn’t been gone long enough to forget the different dynamics in the friend group. He’d certainly remember if Jonathan kissed you frequently a year ago.

Are you…. with Jonathan?

Nausea creeps up his throat as he stands there, alone in the cold. He watches his own breath leave his mouth in icy puffs as he stands there gawking. You and Jonathan begin to pull out of the hug, and he kickstarts himself to move the fuck away before you both catch him staring like an absolute buffoon.

It all makes sense, he thinks to himself as he staggers away. It all makes fucking sense.

Of course you’d distanced yourself. Of course you wouldn’t want to talk to him on the phone if you were dating Jonathan. Of course the general topic of you was awkward for your other friends to talk about, because they didn’t want to tell him what was going on! Heading quickly back in the direction of his van, he feels blindsided, his mouth gone dry. He really thinks the contents of his stomach might see the light of day once more as his mind races with thoughts. You don’t want him anymore, you don’t need him anymore, you have Jonathan. And he can’t even be mad, because he wanted you to do better than him. He wanted you to find someone else.

If he could kick his own ass, one year ago, he would.

The urge to cry overwhelms him, but the tears won’t come. It’s like he can’t think straight, too many thoughts yet no thoughts all at once. How can he face you — admit his feelings to you and tell you that he doesn’t think he’s stopped yearning for you for even a single moment of the last year — when you’re with Jonathan? He can’t. That’s not right, and it’s not fair. It makes him sick to think about.

He doesn’t take the time to admire the Christmas decorations anymore, doesn’t take note of the shops he passes that he hasn’t seen in a year. He just hurries to his vehicle, and starts driving towards the only place he can think to go right now.

•

Knuckles rap impatiently on Steve’s door, bone against the wood over and over. Eddie’s not in any mood to wait, needing to know when and why and how this all happened. Why no one bothered to tell him you started dating a mutual friend. This isn’t exactly the way he wanted to announce his arrival back in Hawkins, but oh well. He didn’t make a great departure, who cares if his return sucks too?

He can hear shuffling from inside the house, Robin’s voice coming closer to the door.

“I’m getting it, Steve, holy shit!” she calls, the door knob twisting and the whole thing pulling open.

Eddie stands there, watching her face as she processes the fact that it’s him in front of her right now. He really missed her face.

“Oh my god,” she says, standing there blinking at him like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. “Eddie!? EDDIE!” she yells, her eyes going impossibly wide. “Guys, Eddie’s here!” she screams into the house, eager, before attacking him in a bear hug.

The voices of Steve and Nancy shout “What?” in perfect unison, before their figures appear in the doorway.

“Eddie?” Nancy says, laughing in disbelief as she does, followed by Steve’s half-confused half-amused “Dude!?”

He doesn’t even get the chance to say anything before Nancy’s surprisingly strong grip is yanking him from Robin, her tiny frame squeezing him as tight as she can. Eddie’s heart swells, tears finally threatening to spill from his eyes. The pure happiness of seeing his friends again overwhelms him, but it rivals the sick feeling that resides in his stomach after seeing you with Jonathan. It’s a strange juxtaposition of feelings, and he feels like he might crack.

Steve yanks him away soon after, giving him a firm, welcoming hug and a pat on the back. “I fucking missed you, man.”

Eddie gives him a soft smile as he’s ushered into the large house, Robin’s mouth moving a mile a minute.

“Okay, so what the fuck is happening right now? Are you back for good? When did you get here? Does anyone else even know you’re here?” she bombards him with questions, her arms flailing as she talks.

“Rob, Jesus, slow down,” Eddie says, and he can’t help but laugh lightly. “Yeah, I uh, I think I’m back for good,” he says, letting the information sink in. “Wayne knows I’m here, but that’s it other than you guys.”

Everyone stares at him, sensing the feeling that something’s not quite right. It must be radiating off of him.

“Okay, so… what’s wrong? You haven’t cracked one of your usual jokes and you’re like, mysteriously quiet,” Steve speaks up, and Nancy shifts awkwardly where she sits beside Robin.

Eddie takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know if he truly wants the information he’s about to receive. But not knowing doesn’t help him, either.

“Why didn’t you guys tell me Sunny started dating Jonathan?”

The room goes silent, varying expressions on his friends’ faces. Nancy’s eyebrows raise as she lets his words roll through her head, Robin turning to give her a confused look. Steve’s mouth opens and closes and opens once more.

“I’m sorry… what?” he asks, amusement tugging on the corner of his mouth. Nancy giggles a little, and Robin nudges her with her elbow.

“Sunny… and Jonathan. I literally just saw them at a coffee shop and he kissed her on the head so please don’t try to make me feel crazy—”

“Woah, Eddie, slow your roll there,” Robin butts in, holding up her hands. “Sunny and Jonathan aren’t dating. Or, if they are, it’s news to us, too.”

He blinks. The skin between his brows crinkles as he stands there, dumb and silent.

“But… then why did he, when did… why did he kiss her?”

“They’ve gotten really close, but just… platonically. It’s not anything else,” Nancy says, trying to reassure him with a soft smile.

When he doesn’t seem convinced, she keeps going. “Eddie. We wouldn’t lie to you. I mean, you’re back in Hawkins. What good would lying do? If they were together you’d be bound to find out eventually.”

He thinks about this, and then decides to pull his head out of his ass. He’s seeing his best friends for the first time in a year and instead of being thrilled he’s being difficult.

“No, you’re right, Wheeler. As always,” he smirks a little. “I really fucking missed you guys,” he adds, a lump forming in his throat as he smiles at them.

“We missed you so much, Eddie,” Nancy says, the other two echoing the sentiment.

“Not to ruin the moment…” Robin cuts in after a pause. “But, uh… how are you going to tell Sunny that you’re back?” she asks, hesitance clear in her tone.

“I, uh, I’m gonna be honest. I don’t really have a plan. I don’t know how much she even wants to see me.”

Three heads nod at the same time, sharing glances as they consider the subject at hand. “She really misses you, Eddie,” Nancy says, her eyes getting softer, sympathetic. “We aren’t the only ones who did.”

“She does?”

“Yeah… did you not know?”

“Okay, to be completely fucking fair right now, I love you guys but I haven’t been able to speak to her once since I’ve been gone,” he says, trying to defend himself even a little bit. “I haven’t heard one thing from her… I— I really didn’t know what to think.”

“It’s been hard,” Steve says, and the look in his eyes shows Eddie how true that statement is. “She’s been… kind of a wreck without you.”

This statement loads in his brain, his heart plummeting to the pit of his stomach.

“It’s been worse lately, I think with the holiday coming up it’s just reminding her of last year. She’s been like, a completely different person. We never wanted to tell you over the phone and worry you…” Robin adds, her bright eyes flitting nervously around the room.

Eddie nods, lips pressing in a flat line. “So, what do we do? How do we do this? I want to make this Christmas so, so much better for her than the last one.”

There’s a pause, before Nancy speaks. “I have an idea,” she says, nodding decisively. “We have to keep it a surprise.”

This year, Eddie isn’t going to fuck things up. This year, he’s going to get his girl.

Present Day: December 22nd, 1989.

The Wheeler home is immaculately decorated for Christmas. Faux-candles flicker in each of the windows, delicate white lights lining the roof. You watch as the perfect wreath on the front door slides out of view, replaced by the face of Mrs. Wheeler as she greets you.

“Please, come on in,” she welcomes you, offering to take your coat and your scarf. “The girls are in the kitchen already.”

You thank her, letting her leave to hang up your garments, slipping off your boots before you head straight back to your friends.

“Sunny!” Robin says cheerfully. Her hair is pulled back into a tiny ponytail, her hands already busy gathering ingredients for the cookie dough.

“Hi, guys,” you smile. “Sorry I’m a little late.”

“It’s no problem at all. Rob and I were just starting to get everything ready,” Nancy assures you, coming over to give you a quick hug.

You welcome it gladly, inhaling her sweet perfume as you lean in close. You were happy to be here, hoping that maybe it would help you feel a little bit lighter; give you some of that holiday cheer you’d been searching for. You were less optimistic on the front of it helping you not think about Eddie, but you could still hope. After your conversation with Jonathan the day before, you were trying to be a little more hopeful about everything. Key word trying.

“So, what kind of cookies are we making?” you ask, moving to wash your hands in the sink.

“We’re thinking classic sugar — obviously — peanut butter, and maybe those ones with the raspberry jam?” Robin says absentmindedly, eyeing a recipe as she pours cups of flour into a bowl.

“Raspberry? The only people who ever eat those are Steve and… Eddie,” you say, slowly turning off the tap.

“Oh, uh, yeah well. You know how much Steve likes them, we should be nice to him this year,” Robin rushes out, a nervous lilt hinting in her voice.

“Okay…” you say, catching the piercing look Nancy gives her girlfriend.

Unbeknownst to you, the girls, Steve, and Eddie had come up with a plan for Eddie’s grand entrance at the party on Christmas Eve. They weren’t going to tell you — or anyone else — that he was back home, wanting it to be a surprise. Mostly, they just didn’t trust anyone else not to spill the beans to you.

Robin and Nancy had previously talked about making the third kind of cookie for Steve and Eddie, but, well… Robin wasn’t supposed to tell you that. They were going to make them without you, so as not to make you suspicious. But, sometimes Robin’s brain works on autopilot. She looks as though she wants to grab the words out of thin air and stuff them back down her throat.

Thankfully for them, you don’t overthink it. You don’t really have a reason to. Choosing to move right along, you ask them what they need your help with so you’re not standing there aimlessly all afternoon. Nancy hands you a rolling pin to roll the dough out once Robin’s finished mixing it, and you get right down to it.

The three of you make quick work of the whole process, you rolling out the dough and Nancy cutting shapes into it as Robin mixes up the icing. The longer you’re there, though, the more the energy starts to feel… off.

They keep looking at you weirdly, for starters. Staring at you a little too long, looking like they want to tell you something but they never do. It’s nothing you can’t brush off, but it just feels different in a way you can’t explain.

You’re all singing along to Christmas music, laughing and dancing around the kitchen when the phone rings.

Nancy pulls the phone off of the wall, cradling it between her shoulder and her ear as she attempts to continue icing a few cookies. “Hello?” she asks into the receiver.

Her eyes go wide, then, her casual demeanor slipping away as she fumbles to hold the phone fully with one hand, backing closer to the wall.

“Uh, hi. I’m with Robin and Sunny right now. This isn’t really a good time,” she says, stressing the last part a little too hard and making you look over in her direction.

“Who is it?” you ask.

“It’s, um, it’s just Steve.”

“Oh! Can I talk to him for a second? I have something I’ve been meaning to ask him,” you say, walking over to her.

She hesitates for a moment before slamming the phone back on the hook without a word, pressing her lips into a thin line. “He had to… go. Sorry,” she says, furrowing her brows. Robin looks up at her with an arched brow, and you’re simply stood there with your mouth slightly open, utterly confused.

Nancy forces a tight-lipped smile on her face, feigning coolness, as she walks back to the counter to continue decorating the cookies.

“Okay. What is going on?” you break the silence. They’re acting strange. Like, really fucking strange.

“What?” they both ask in unison, only heightening your suspicions.

“You guys are acting so weird. And why did you just hang up on Steve like that?”

“I…. it… it wasn’t Steve. It was Eddie that called,” Nancy admits, and you don’t miss the way Robin shoots her daggers. “I’m sorry, Sunny. I just didn’t want you to start thinking about him. I want this day to be fun for you!” she covers, skirting around the fact that Eddie is very much in Hawkins and was calling about something regarding the party.

“Oh…” you say, thinking this over. “It’s okay, Nance. I can handle the truth,” you continue, not angrily.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied, it was silly of me,” she admits, shaking her head a little. You can sense Robin’s posture relaxing beside you. She’s still being a little weird….

You don’t want to press the issue, simply telling Nancy it’s fine and continuing on with your work. It does make you think about Eddie, but then again, when aren’t you thinking about him? Nothing has truly relieved you of the weight of his loss, and it’s certainly not Nancy’s fault that he called at a bad time.

The cookies are completed within the next few hours, the girls behaving much more calmly than they were before and during the phone call. You’re tired by the time all of the sugary treats have been put aside in tins, and you’re more than ready to go home and sink into your warm bed. Tugging your coat back on, you prepare yourself to face the cold.

“Thank you guys so much for inviting me over, I had a lot of fun today,” you smile, making them return the expression. “Honestly, it’s the first day in a while where I’ve felt kind of… normal.”

Nancy squeezes you in a hug, rubbing your back with gentle hands. “I’m so glad to hear it. We’ll see you at the Christmas party, then?” she asks as she pulls away.

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys then. Steve better eat all of those damn raspberry cookies, since we made a huge batch just for him,” you joke, and Robin laughs a little too hard before Nancy elbows her in the side.

You pause in the middle of tugging on your second boot, glancing at them with piqued interest. You guess they’re both just weird today.

Present Day: Christmas Eve, 1989.

Fluffy white flakes fall down around you, landing on the fuzzy surface of your black coat as you step out of your car. Popping open your trunk, you start gathering the presents you’d brought for everyone. Steve’s front door opens, light from the inside of his home illuminating the darkening driveway as he steps out, jogging down to you.

“Hey, let me give you a hand,” he offers, squeezing your shoulder.

“Okay, thanks,” you smile, your cheeks and nose already chilled from the cold weather.

“You excited? You always love my Christmas Eve parties,” he waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh a little. Easing the ache in your chest.

“Of course I am,” you assure him, even if you don’t know if you really mean it.

Between the two of you, you’re able to carry all of the presents inside — a blur of red and green and gold, pretty bows and shiny wrapping paper, stumbling through the front door. Everyone has already arrived, except for Robin and Nancy. You’re sure they’re scrambling to get all of the cookies in the car along with their gifts.

Max helps you lay the presents around Steve’s tree, a tall and sparkly thing that makes the living room feel more warm. You can feel yourself defrosting, the ice caging in your heart melting slowly as you try to soak in the Christmas spirit. After another minute the girls burst through the door, Nancy carrying two tins of cookies with gift bags hanging from her arms. Robin follows closely behind, carrying the third tin of baked goods and as many presents as she could stack on top of each other.

Steve’s hurrying over to them in an instant, scolding Robin for not asking for his help. He eases their load, bringing the cookies into the kitchen where you offer to plate some of them. Jonathan’s mixing up a spiked eggnog, passing you a shot glass half-full to give it a taste test. The hustle and bustle feels good today, or at least as good as it can.

Everyone’s starting to settle in, chatting amongst one another with a type of giddiness that only comes this time of year. You see the snow still falling outside from the large windows, thankful to be warm by the fire.

You’re about to pour yourself a drink when there’s a knock on the door, stopping everyone in the middle of their conversations.

“Sunny, can you get that?” Steve asks you nonchalantly, laying out a spread of mini-sandwiches on the kitchen island.

“Who else are we expecting?” you ask, looking around you at your friends.

“Can you just grab it, please?” Steve tries again, making himself look as distracted as possible.

“Okay, okay, I’m going! Jesus,” you mutter the last part to yourself, crossing your cardigan over your chest as you hurry towards the door.

Who it could possibly be, you have no idea. The usual group was here. Maybe a parent, dropping by to say hello? You pull the door open, a rush of frigid air whooshing past you. You aren’t sure who you were expecting to see, but you know who you weren’t. The person on the other side of it stops you dead in your tracks, your heart honest to god stopping for a moment. You stand there, staring at each other in heavy silence for what feels like a century before you finally speak.

“Eddie?”

taglist: @hellfirenacht @writethrough @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @likedovesinthewnd @tlclick73 @mrsjellymunson @idkitsem @svbrbnlegends @eddiesxangel @munsonzgf @hereforshmut @eggo-segual @joannamuns9n @lavendermunson @leenameh @micheledawn1975 (closed)

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #i’ll be home for christmas

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alienssstufff · 1 year

Text

MISSING PERSONS ARTICLE (5/10/ NULL):

An extract from a local article published by The Weekly Hermit on the 5th of October (Year: NULL). Covered by Pixlriffs [Pen Name] –DISAPPEARING ACT, The Bachelor Who Vanished In Thin Air

[MEMORY : 1/2 ] [MEMORY : 2/2 - HERE]

>[READ ARTICLE?]

They were young and unafraid, Joel [LASTNAME] alongside friend Scar [LASTNAME] would venture on a hiking trip around the mountains only to vanish without a trace.

With the Joel engaged and set to be married to the current head of the Fairy Fort Resort ranger Lizzie [LASTNAME], accounts state that him along with best man Scar were last seen on the 22nd of September in the safety of Hiker’s Checkpoint, a popular camping destination of the Last Life woodlands.

“He said it was supposed to be an ‘act of bravery’. He wanted to prove he was strong to me.” A distraught Lizzie recounts.

“I knew Scar was acting rather off the last few weeks, but I never expected he would just.. Up and run away like this. Especially with someone as inexperienced to hiking as Joel – I didn’t think they would go this far!” witness and former roommate of Scar, Grian, relays to the press.

Further interviews with the witnesses on the day of the disappearance recount in agreeance to meet the two at the Fairy Fort Reserve, a small group had held an early-morning farewell bachelor party at the Hiker’s Checkpoint, where the two would begin their 3-day trip along the marked Mycelium Trail to the wedding venue on the 25th of October.

Joel was last seen wearing a thick brown sheepskin sweater, brown pants, and worn white-and-green running shoes - with his most noticeable feature being green, dyed highlights in his hair. Scar was last seen donning a brown aviator's jacket above a black, multi-purpose utility jacket and white plaid flannel with blue cargo pants - most noticeable feature being the green bandanna found at the checkpoint.

Prior background given by loved ones and witnesses of the party reveal that the wellbeing of Joel, a novice hiker, would still be under the guidance of friend Scar who is reported to have years of experience of hiking both within and beyond the hiking trails of the woodlands.

Reports to the authorities of their disappearance were made just 24-hours past the expected date by the Fairy Fort Reserve and the duo would be officially declared missing on the 28th of September. Several smaller search parties made within the FFR, Lizzie admits, were held prior to making the decision on contact around the reserve and the Hiker’s Checkpoint. A larger, more extensive investigation along the Mycelium Trail was held from the 28th onwards as more people volunteered and potential witnesses were questioned.

The Mycelium Trail is a relatively accessible route for both man and off-road vehicles to traverse between various locations in the Last Life woodlands. While recordings of the weather at this time of year had been colder than usual, there had been no signs of snow, rainfall or forest fires that would hinder the mens’ trip.

A total of 78 individuals have participated in the search for our runaway bachelor and avid adventure-lover with little succession as damp footprints of the missing, Scar’s green bandanna, a set of binoculars belonging to Scar, and two discarded lighters and canteens found within the bounds of the Hiker’s Checkpoint.

Suspect of foul play between the men were brought up in questioning but was avidly rejected by witnesses and investigators for lack of motive even considering Grian’s accounts on Scar’s unusual behavior. Further theories relating to mentions of exploring the nearby Magical Mt were also suspect and a smaller search party made closer to the foot of the mountain was conducted to no avail due to the frigid weather. Urgencies from Lizzie to authorities in further investigation within the mountain were set forth and ultimately rejected due to windy weather and unstable, difficult-to-cross terrain.

As of current release, the status of Joel and Scar remains unknown. For information leading to the safe return of Joel [LASTNAME] and Scar [LASTNAME] please contact [NUMBER REMOVED] at the Fairy Fort Reserve investigation team.

>[ARTICLE ENDS HERE]

#stufffsart #myart #last life apocalypse au #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #gtwscar #smallishbeans #ldshadowlady #[mentioned]#last life #last life smp #life series #life smp #trafficblr

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snoopyana · 3 months

Text

thot shit.

“ninety-nine percent tint in a blacked-out wraith.”

working at a bar wasn’t your first choice, but it definitely was your best when jung sungchan swings by for a visit. following him to his car for a little late night fun.

jung sungchan. smut.

face smushed into his backseat, the car windows fogged over. the gentle shake of the vehicle didn’t match what went down inside. if you could think straight, you’d be thankful for sungchans’ 5% window tint.

the workday started like any other, eating your dinner before heading off to work. leaning forward on your kitchen island, your eyes watched as your coworkers decided who was doing what that night. not bothering to take part in the conversation — as you were always going table to table taking food orders. being a waitress who occasionally made a drink or two.

sliding the dirty dishes into the sink, you treaded to your room. looking at the outfit you had laid out hours prior. a rather comfy set, skin-colored fleece lined leggings, a black skirt and a blue sweater — paired with your black ugg’s and silver jewelry. it definitely wasn’t an outfit that you’d usually wear to work, but the recent chills outside gave you a change of heart. looking at your phone for the time. ‘9:30PM’ stared back at you, deciding it was about time to leave, you rushed to your entry way, slipping on the coat that hung near the door — wanting to beat the snow before it got too heavy. tugging at the fleece tights that clung onto your legs, you were out the apartment door. quickly getting to your car and off to the bar.

arriving 10 minutes before opening, you had to slip through the crowd that waited for the doors to open. rolling your eyes as some of the drunks called for your attention. stepping into the side door, you threw your coat onto one of the couches in the employee’s lounge. “hey yn! i didn’t know if you were gonna show up or not. you never answer the group chat!” your eyes darted to the man that greeted you. being pulled into a hug. “hii taro. i honestly couldn’t be bothered to answer that group chat anymore.” a sarcastic pout formed on his lips as he pulled away. “understandable i GUESS!” walking around to the front of the bar with you following suit.

before you knew it, herds of drunk individuals came flooding through the doors. you were being called to a different table every second — serving people their drinks left and right. right when you thought you had a moment of free time, there was a tap on your shoulder. whipping around, you were met by a mans chest. “sorry to bother you, but can you point me to the bathroom?”

tilting your head to meet his gaze, you were taken aback by how stunning he was. seeing your fair share of good looking faces, he was one of the few that genuinely took your breath away. the man tilted his head, wondering if you were still listening. “hello?” his voice snapping you back to reality. “oh yeah,” you spoke, “follow me this way.” leading the male to the back, you could feel his eyes watching the way you swayed. your chest tightened at the thought.

“right down there.” you pointed down a hall, watching as he made way to the room. taking a deep breath, you failed to realize that you had been holding it the whole time. brushing the encounter to the side, you made your way back to the main area — being bombarded with more questions and requests.

finally being able to catch your breath, your hands searched your server apron for the device. ‘2:57AM’ blared on the screen. the bar had partially emptied out, half the tables still being occupied. your other colleagues had come in a few hours earlier, helping with the crowd. as your fingers tapped the glass screen, you could feel someone watching you. your eyes scanning the area locking with him. using his fingers, he beckoned you to his table.

stumbling over your feet, your body made way to where sungchan was seated. “sorry to bother you for the second time tonight,“ he paused — eyeing your outfit, “but i was wondering if you could bring me another peach soju.” nodding, you quickly made way to the bar. leaning over to get your coworkers attention.

“seokie! i need another bottle of peach soju please.” you spoke while looking back at sungchans’ table. looking past you, eunseok snuck a look at the table too. “he hasn’t has a single drink since he got here,” he mumbled under his breath “but now he wants one..” — cocking an eyebrow, eunseok was turning on his heels to fetch the drink. handing you a fresh bottle and sending you off.

popping the bottle open, his intense gaze made your hands tremble more than usual — but maybe you were tired. pouring the liquid into the shot glass, you slid it his way. “thanks sweets.” he spoke with the cup now on his bottom lip. giving him a quick head bow, you promptly walked to assist another table. in which they noticed your grip on the alcohol bottle, knuckles turning white as the pads of your fingers clung to the glass — as if you were trying to break it.

the place was now close to vacant, finally giving you a moment to breathe properly. just as you thought your night would come to a close, your eyes landed on sungchan who was standing idly outside, in-front of the conveniently propped open doors. everything seemed a little too planned out — but who were you to care. something inside of you told you to walk up to him. rushing to the back, your apron was replaced with your jacket. darting back to the front door. sungchan was walking around the corner — to the parking garage right next to the establishment.

lucky for you, that was where you parked as well. rushing to catch up, you were caught off guard, bumping into the man as you rounded the corner. “where are you off to?” he questioned, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. the wind was already knocked out of you, so his question didn’t necessarily register in your mind — all you could do was stand there wide eyed. “i don’t wanna come off as harsh love, but you seem a little ditzy.” those words finally pushed you back into reality, you were now wide-eyed for a completely different reason. “no i’m.. i’m just a little..” your sentence was cut short, watching as sungchan walked away from you.

“hey! that was kinda rude. walking away while i was speaking!” chasing after the guy, you nearly stumbled over your boots and the snow. “you were taking too long princess.” he continued to trudge up the stairs, stopping infront of his black wraith, with the windows damn near impossible to see through. “i was just a little out of it.” huffing, regret started to fill your mind. maybe you shouldn’t have followed him out. “so like i said earlier, ditzy.”

he leaned on the backseat door, arms hooked around his chest. watching you search for your words. why was it so difficult to talk to him? “no i’m not ditzy.” finally finding your voice, his gaze swallowing you whole. “i can make you ditzy.” the words fell out of his mouth like it was nothing, his eyes never once wavering. while you felt weak in the knees.

your attention falling onto the sound of his car door opening. “get in, i know you want to.” he spoke to you in that same monotone voice, almost demanding. but something about it felt — alluring. your feet made the decision before your mind could even start to process the situation. adjusting the front seat, you slipped into the back of the luxury vehicle—now seated in the back of his car, the man hovered above your seated figure.

his thumb brushed against your bottom lip, causing you to automatically part your lips. he smiled at the rapid reaction. lowering his head until his lips were mere inches away from yours. the males hand repositioned itself onto your jaw — lifting it up. your lips met, it started off slow. light pecks on the corner of your mouth. your hands coming up to grip at the half opened jacket, pulling him closer. sungchan hummed into the kiss, his free hand finding your clothed thigh. squishing the flesh, causing you to whine into the intoxicating kiss. the taste of peach still lingering on his plush lips.

drawing away from the kiss, you attempted to make out his features, the tints from his windows paired with the darkness from outside making it dim in the vehicle. your breathing rang in your ears, anticipation eating you alive as you waited for sungchan to make his next move. there was a heated silence, you knew he was burning holes into your face. “get on your stomach.”

you were quick to position your body over the middle console of the car, the console giving your lower half a boost into the air. your skirt slightly hiking up your thighs as you moved. your head lay flush with the seat, arms dangling on your sides. soreness was definitely in your future . sungchan wasted no time palming at your clothed body, hands touching whatever part of you he could. “i’ll give you the money for new tights.” the sound of your rather expensive clothes being torn down the middle, exposing your embarrassingly soaked panties. “i’ll pay for these little things too.” another rip echoed through the car, but you couldn’t bring yourself to argue. definitely not in this position. the car was rather warm, saving you the trouble of your cunt being exposed to the brutal cold.

his fingers dragged along your slit, sending chills down your spine and a whine into the leather seat, heat going straight to your cheeks. “someone seems a little excited.” his tone was dark as one of his rather long fingers dipped into your hole, your choked moans filling the interior. pumping the digit out of your cunt, sungchan slid two more in. the stretch and seer reach of his fingers sending shock waves through your body. your orgasm already threatening to take over your body, clenching around sungchans fingers.

taking notice to your growing noise, he quickly removed his fingers. a drawn out whine escaped your lips. the emptiness making your hips buck back, earning you a harsh slap on the ass cheek in response. “be patient pretty girl.” he spoke in a whisper, sucking on his fingers in between words. the sound of his hands fidgeting with his belt rang in your ears. you already felt fucked out from just a few minutes of the males fingers. your mind unable to imagine how it would feel to be legitimately dicked down by this man.

but lucky you, you didn’t have to imagine. sungchan bent over your body, whispering into your ear “hope you’re ok with me going in raw, i’ll try to pull out for you.” you weren’t given even a second to register his sentence before his hips were flush with your ass. moaning into the seat, sungchan started slow. one of his large hands deepened your arch while the other gripped onto your hips. the male groaned everytime his length disappeared into your body.

removing the hand on your back, it made it’s way to your head. gently pushing it further into the leather. the sound of shuffling and chatter could be heard from outside the doors. you recognized those voices as shotaro and eunseok. it was probably closing time now. “try to stay quiet, yeah? don’t want anyone hearing you princess.” rolling his hips, sungchans’ pace changed dramatically. going from rhythmic and sensual to brutal inna matter of seconds. “no.. don’t want taro or,” your sentence was stopped be a pitchy moan, “ seokie to hear me!”

tears painted your cheeks as you bit your lip as a pathetic attempt to hush yourself. as you tried to stay silent, sungchan was being overly vocal behind you. “fuck..” leaving his parted lips repeatedly. the windows foaming a thin layer of condensation as the vehicle gently rocked.

as sungchan rapidly abused your pussy, the knot in your stomach started to tighten. your skin heating up as your nails clawed at the mans seats. your hips lightly spasmed as your mind slowly went blank. “ ‘m gon- gonna cum!” your body felt like jelly as you creamed over his cock. “mm that’s it sweet girl.” his jet-black hair clung to his forehead as the man fucked you through your high. “but you’re not done yet..”

pleasure soon turning into overstimulation as he continued to mercilessly drill into your heat. the car being filled with the sound of your cries and sloppy noises that emerged from between your legs. sungchan was dead-set on making sure you exited this car with nothing but his dick in your mind and engraved into your walls.

you were definitely gonna need a nap after this.

note- would it be tmi if i said i almost creamed while writing this? i was feeling ditzy so i indulged in my sungchan rich man fuck me in the back of your luxury vehicle fantasy. don’t be shy to send in asks, anon is always on loves. hope you enjoyed.

#luvyujun #riize #kpop #kpop smut #sungchan #shotaro #eunseok #riize x reader #riize smut #smut #fanfic

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afeelgoodblog · 1 year

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The Best News of Last Week - March 13, 2023

🐝 - Did you hear about the honeybee vaccine? It's creating quite the buzz! But seriously, it's a major breakthrough in the fight against American foulbrood and could save billions of bees.

1. Transgender health care is now protected in Minnesota

Minnesota Governor Tim Walz signed an executive order protecting and supporting access to gender-affirming health care for LGBTQ people in the state, amidst Republican-backed efforts across the country to limit transgender health care. The order upholds the essential values of One Minnesota where all people, including members of the LGBTQIA+ community, are safe, celebrated, and able to live lives full of dignity and joy.

Numerous medical organizations have said that access to gender-affirming care is essential to the health and wellness of gender diverse people, while states like Tennessee, Arizona, Utah, Arkansas, Alabama, Mississippi, South Dakota, and Florida have passed policies or laws restricting transgender health care.

2. First vaccine for honeybees could save billions

The US government has approved the world's first honeybee vaccine to fight against American foulbrood, a bacterial disease that destroys bee colonies vital for crop pollination.

Developed by biotech company Dalan Animal Health, the vaccine integrates some of the foulbrood bacteria into royal jelly, which is then fed to the queen by the worker bees, resulting in the growing bee larvae developing immunity to foulbrood. The vaccine aims to limit the damage caused by the infectious disease, for which there is currently no cure, and promote the development of vaccines for other diseases affecting bees.

3. Teens rescued after days stranded in California snowstorm: "We were already convinced we were going to die"

The recent snowstorms in California have resulted in dangerous conditions for hikers and residents in mountain communities. Two teenage hikers were rescued by the San Bernardino County sheriff's department after getting lost in the mountains for 10 days.

The boys were well-prepared for the hike but were not prepared for the massive amounts of snow that followed. They were lucky to survive, suffering from hypothermia and having to huddle together for three nights to stay warm.

Yosemite National Park has had to be closed indefinitely due to the excessive snowfall.

4. La Niña, which worsens Atlantic hurricanes and Western droughts, is gone

The La Nina weather phenomenon, which increases Atlantic hurricane activity and worsens western drought, has ended after three years, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. That's usually good news for the United States and other parts of the world, including drought-stricken northeast Africa, scientists said.

The globe is now in what's considered a "neutral" condition.

5. Where there's gender equality, people tend to live longer

Both women and men are likely to live longer when a country makes strides towards gender equality, according to a new global study that authors believe to be the first of its kind.

The study was published in the journal PLOS Global Public Health this week. It adds to a growing body of research showing that advances in women's rights benefit everyone. "Globally, greater gender equality is associated with longer [life expectancy] for both women and men and a widening of the gender gap in [life expectancy]," they conclude.

6. New data shows 1 in 7 cars sold globally is an EV, and combustion engine car sales have decreased by 25% since 2017

Electric vehicles are the key technology to decarbonise road transport, a sector that accounts for 16% of global emissions. Compared with 2020, sales nearly doubled to 6.6 million (a sales share of nearly 9%), bringing the total number of electric cars on the road to 16.5 million.

Sales were highest in China, where they tripled relative to 2020 to 3.3 million after several years of relative stagnation, and in Europe, where they increased by two-thirds year-on-year to 2.3 million. Together, China and Europe accounted for more than 85% of global electric car sales in 2021

7. Lastly, watch this touching moment as rescued puppy gains trust in her new owners

youtube

By the way, this is my newly started YouTube channel. Subscribe for more wholesome videos :D

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That's it for this week. If you liked this post you can support this newsletter with a small kofi donation:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Let's carry the positivity into next week and keep spreading the good news!

#best news of last week #Youtube

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mochiimac · 1 year

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About Love 1

My head gets messy when I try to hide

The things I love about you in mind

Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x Fem!Reader

Summary: Becoming a best selling thriller author? Part of the plan. Living in the city and isolating yourself from everyone? Part of the plan. Inheriting your late uncles home in the woods, his sassy assistant and fortune after he died mysteriously? Not part of the plan. Oh, and he failed to mention the 7 'surprises' he left you as well. And come to think of it... was his death an accident? Or is your imagination going wild again?

Genre: Hybrid!AU

Warnings (if bolded then this chapter contains these elements) : Fluff, Hurt, Comfort, Angst, Death, Abuse, Smut, Suggestive Themes, Violence, Dom/Sub, Non-Con Elements, Slow Burn, Trauma

Rating: M 18+

WC: ~7k

Tag List: OPEN- DM ONLY <3

Notes: Here is chapter 1! I’m so excited that people enjoyed the prologue, makes my heart happy(: I wonder who’s waiting for you in the house... Hmmm...

Prologue | Next>>

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“It’s so early... not even the sun is awake... why do I hate myself...” A sob threatened to spill past your lips as you numbly walked outside. The cold air was bullying you into tears as it stung your face and hands.

6 am. 6 am. Who was even up this early, especially on a cold day like this-

Oh yes. That would be you.

The city streets were painted in gold from the streetlights and the remaining leaves that were still clinging on for dear life, ignoring the snow that sprinkled the ground with all their might. It was as though the city had been tucked under a large white blanket overnight, a blanket made of glistening diamonds that reflected the warm lights from all around. Truth be told it was beautiful to look at… just not when you have to be awake and freezing. While some would find this scene breathtakingly beautiful you, on the other hand, craved a flamethrower to tear it all down and seek vengeance for your poor skin.

Just goes to show how important proper sleep and caffeine are to begin the day. It could make the difference between waking up with a smile or beginning your villain arc.

Your whole apartment was packed and loaded into the new large SUV, a surprise that came last week with Jackson. You knew you had obtained Takoda’s vehicle but it was surprising that it was brand new and could hold up to 8 individuals. Takoda lived alone with no marriages nor children… So why the large vehicle? Why purchase this large car along with the house? You didn’t miss the confusion on Jackson’s face when he handed you the keys, a hushed comment of ‘When did he even buy this?’ didn’t go past you. It only added to the suspicion of your uncle’s death.

What was Takoda planning?

Unfortunately the city left you with dead ends: the Spades family was a family full of successful lawyers, all ranging from medical to even real estate. They were the Eevees of lawyers, your family: one Spades for every type. The family slogan? ‘ Always have an ace of Spades up your sleeve!’ Every time you heard it your teeth would grind together, because for them it wasn’t about the person they were representing. No, never about their clients. It was about the money. And so trying to worm your way around and see what truly happened and what the other morticians wrote was impossible. Their loyalty (and mainly wallets) would be with your father. Rowan Spades. You were going to keep pushing however a small and short voicemail had you stopping dead in your tracks.

“Hi sweetie! Just checking in, Officer Lee mentioned you’ve been asking about your uncle’s case, and… oh hon, I know this mourning process is hard. Reach out if you need to talk! Be careful out there… snow and all!”

Lei Spades, the one person who, despite being shunned, still tried to help you. Perhaps it was because she was your mother. Or maybe she simply didn’t want Rowan to get upset. She had met Rowan when she was young and naive, hell, she was still naive at times. At least you hoped she was. It would be worse for her to know how corrupt your father was and simply turn a blind eye because the money was just too good. But she had saved you a few times in the past from your fathers wrath. This being one of them. She would never call unless she had to. And the number was unknown, not her personal phone. A quick warning for her daughter to back away. And if Lei was the one giving the warning then you knew it was best to keep low… for now. But you did have one more place to look into…

The large home that you had yet to step into. The mysterious building that your new ‘assistant’ was hushed about. Any questions asked were either ignored or cut off with him changing the subject. The one that Jackson was supposed to drive you to later that day. You didn’t miss the urgency in his voice the previous week, the way his eyes were looking deep into your own. The moment was implanted in your mind, the goosebumps could still be felt...

“We will leave Friday at noon. Agreed?” He stood at your door, hands in his pocket as his eyes bore into you. The deep brown that was usually cool seemed to be ignited with a fire of sorts at the topic of the house. You noticed this each time you tried to ask questions or pry; the man was a vault and seemed uneasy.

Unfortunately that only ignited your own flame.

You managed to laugh a little, eyebrow raised. A small test to see how he would react... “Uh, sure? I mean if I’m already up I can always head on out early and meet you-” Your words were cut off as you jumped back when Jackson stepped closer. He crowded your space, face inches from your own as his hand grasped your shoulders. You tried to step back but your heel collided with a wall. His fingers gripped your shirt, however it wasn’t painful. The fire that was in his eyes had increased tenfold and you actually felt a small shiver of fear slide down your spine.

“Together. At. Noon.” His words were cool and flat, but you could hear the underlying tone. He was stressed about something. And while every alarm was going off in your head you managed to school your face, putting on a mask of frozen shock instead.

“N-noon… o-okay.” You managed to sound meek, the act working as Jackson gave you a small smile, hands squeezing your shoulders as he stepped back.

“Not a minute early nor late.” His eyes seemed to have cooled down at your words. His flickered up and down your body, something you noticed he did before leaving each visit. “Stay safe, Heiress.”

As soon as the door closed you leaned against the wall, sliding down while taking deep breaths. He failed the test, he was hiding something and you were going to figure it out. If he can keep secrets then so could you.

After that little show you had whipped out your phone and were quick to contact the Sanity Squad, the video call was between you and your three best friends. And they were in agreement: Jackson was hiding something and whatever it was, it was in the house. Of course the first topic was if you should all go together since the whole situation was bizarre.

Theories of him killing you were out the window seeing that he had nothing to gain and too many opportunities to do so. Oh, and Jessi proclaimed he was ‘too hot’ to be a serial killer. The next theory seemed more plausible: he knew some information on Takoda’s death and wanted to make sure you didn’t find any clues. But Jackson had a key to the house so again, that was a dead end. He could easily hide the evidence or destroy it.

Hours later, and a warning from your phone that the battery was going to die, you announced you would simply beat him there and see for yourself. It was your stance and no one could change your mind.

So here you are on this fine Friday morning, beating the sassy assistant by several hours, and hopping into a brand new vehicle. It was sleek and black, the interior dark with faux leather seats. A large touchpad illuminated the space and you were thankful it was able to self-drive. Although these types of cars are common many prefer the old fashioned way of driving and just doing it themselves. But with this tank? You preferred to let it do the work while you kicked back and watched.

You keyed in your first stop in the car’s GPS, feeling it slowly ease away from the building you had lived in for years. It was odd, knowing that you would never be back but at the same time it was a relief to be going to a place that had room to breathe. And no noisy neighbors to keep you up till the wee hours of the morning. Now that you would not miss, not one bit. But you would miss the cozy feel of the small space. It was bittersweet to see it fade behind you.

Ten minutes later and you were parked outside the small coffee shop, I Need Brew, a place you would frequent with your friends. It was hybrid friendly and a great place for many hybrids to begin working, gaining skills for later careers. Or some chose to stay and continue working for the beloved company. It was run by Bang Chan with his fox hybrid Felix being a manager; you knew the two well after frequenting the quaint shop. The fox adored your visits and would often slip you free goodies when Chan wasn’t looking.

Slipping inside you were greeted with warmth and the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods. The interior was designed to make everyone feel at ease and cozy, soft music playing in the background to help the customers gradually wake up without giving them a headache.

“Y/n? At this hour?”

You looked around, knowing the voice but not knowing where it came from, but then Felix peaked his head around the corner from the back. bright orange hair held specks of flour with his orange ears shooting up. His voice was light and somewhat shocked, but still held the adoration he had for you. In return you smiled and stepped further inside.

“I knew I smelt something sweet walking in,” His face broke into a wide smile.

You smiled back, walking towards the counter. “Yeah it’s a bit early for me… I’ve actually come to meet up with the group.”

“Again, at this hour? Do you know what time it is-?” A buzzing noise had the fox looking over his shoulder. “Go sit, I’ll grab you your favorites and be out in a minute.” He disappeared around back as you moved further into the shop, eyes already set on your usual table.

The past few years your group and yourself had always sat at the table located on the furthest wall, right by the counter and where the employees would mingle when waiting for customers. It was how you befriended so many of the employees, all of whom knew your favorite beverages and treats by heart. As you sat you heard the front door’s bell jingle as a blonde walked in, heading straight for your table.

“I’m surprised you actually woke up,” You grinned as Jessi sat in the chair across from you, snow flurries clinging to her winter coat. “You usually sleep through all your alarms.”

“And miss my best friend leaving to head to the woods alone? Not a chance,” Jessi gave you a grin but you could see the worry in it, leaning closer she asked, “Are you sure we can’t come along? What if something bad happens-?”

“Nothing bad is going to happen.” You waved her off, actually believing yourself. Despite the odd circumstances your instincts were letting you know that this wasn’t dangerous at all. It was more… interesting. “Besides we have that locator app, right? One click and you all know something is wrong and the police will be rushing to save me.” You could still see the doubt in her eyes as she listened.

“I think it’d be best to take one of us with you today… just for safety reasons.” Her arms crossed over her chest, leaning back and watching you. “Especially with all that is going on.”

You opened your mouth to protest once more however the familiar jingle of the bell alerted everyone of more customers. You could hear them before you could see them; quick footsteps headed towards you before arms encased your shoulders, a face buried in your neck as a soft vibration pressed against your back. Something soft and warm wrapped around your waist, tightening a fraction as a giggle reached your ears.

“Wooyoung, how do you have so much energy this morning?”

You glanced up to see Hongjoong taking a seat next to Jessi, the man looking exhausted with his iconic split black and white hair disheveled in a disastrous way. His eyes were dead set on his hybrid Wooyoung who had wrapped himself around you, acting more snake than black panther. You could feel the cat’s purring increase, knowing those vibrant green eyes were focused on Hongjoong.

“Simple,” He nuzzled closer to you, feeling a grin on his face. “I have my Y/n here.”

You remember when Hongjoong first adopted Wooyoung, how the black panther quite literally tackled you and complimented on how nice you smelt and was overjoyed to know that you were best friends with his owner. In his eyes that meant you were part of the ‘extended pack’, along with Jessi, and got to be scented just as much as Hongjoong was. Which he ensured you both were drenched in his scent, looking quite proud of himself each time.

Reaching up you gently rubbed his head, scratching behind his ear just as he liked. You could feel how anxious he was, knowing you would be leaving, heading further away. It was an hour drive to get to the new home and his instincts weren’t liking having part of his pack be so far away.

“You can still sell it and live with us,” Wooyoung mumbled into your neck, his breath tickling a bit. “Hyung wouldn’t mind.”

“Aw, Woo, I won’t be so far away. Plus you can call whenever you want.” You received a pitiful whine from the male as he slowly let go of you, heading over to Jessi to scent her. It was hard to miss the droop of his ears, his last attempt at keeping you in the city gone. Although it tugged your heartstrings and almost made you want to change your mind, one look at Hongjoong and you knew he would be okay; the other male was smiling and shaking his head at the cat.

“I know I said a minute but everyone else showed up. And these just came out fresh from the oven!” Felix was quick to hand out four mugs and a plate of mini muffins with different flavors. Stepping back his eyes landed on you with a raised eyebrow. “So, you’re going to your new home alone in the woods? I’m sure Chan can go with you if you need someone…” His voice trailed off, his tail flicking along with Wooyoung’s. Seemed like he didn’t like the idea either, his animal instincts wary of your decisions. You were thankful you weren’t part of their intimate packs- you wouldn’t even get your foot out the door. Let alone be able to grab the doorknob.

“It’s quite alright, it’s a new home I inherited.” You once again waved off the help. “Nothing wrong with it.” The fox nodded at your words, tail flicking once again to show his displeasure.

“But if anything happens you have people here, okay? Don’t be afraid to ask us for help.” With a boop to your nose he went back to baking while the four of you settled with small talk for a brief moment. Ignoring the world outside while you had the time and just living in the moment.

Truth be told you had no idea how long it would before you got to see them once more. Pushing those thoughts aside you sipped your cup, smiling as Wooyoung took a seat next to you while Hongjoong and Jessi argued over a movie that just came out. As they argued Wooyoung shoved a gift bag in your lap, grinning over at you.

“Woo got you a gift, well, he helped make it.” Hongjoong dropped the argument quickly when he heard the the bag being opened. You opened the gift and pulled out a beautiful red scarf. “The python hybrid next door, San? He taught Wooyoung how to knit.” Hongjoong beamed at Wooyoung with pride while the panther watched you, waiting to see your reaction.

There was a tremble in your lips as you pulled the incredibly soft scarf out. “Woo…” Tears threatened to fall as you turned to the panther. you felt his tail wrap back around you, pulling you into his chest as his purrs started once again.

“It’s made with love from us!” He smiled. “That way we’re never too far away… don’t cry, Y/n!”

It was too late as a few tears fell, feeling Wooyoung pull you back into a hug that soon the others joined in with. “I have the best friends in the whole world.”

“Damn straight you do.” Jessi reached over, grabbing your hand with a grin.

“We love you too, Y/n.” Hongjoong placed his hand on top of Jessi’s, a soft smile on his face.

“You can still live with us- ” Wooyoung’s quick words were cut off with a whine when Hongjoong lightly wacked his arm. Pulling you closer to him, the panther let out the weakest growl you had ever heard. “In case she forgot, hyung not the ears!” You laughed as the growls turned into whines.

Little moments like this made it even harder to say goodbye.

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It felt as though you were now living in a snow globe. Tall pines loomed all around, the roads were covered with inches of snow, all while snow flurries floated all around. The sun may have been hidden behind the clouds but the snow offered enough light to make up for it: everywhere you looked you had to squint from the jarring white canvas. You could feel the SUV cruise cautiously through the piles of snow and up the hills that were hidden from your eyes.

“GPS you better be taking me to the right place…” You mumbled, eyes straying warily to the trees that surrounded you. It felt as though you were encased in a sea of deep green and white; it never seemed to end no matter how far ahead you tried to look.

The estimated time of arrival said five minutes but you wanted to call bullshit on that. The tree’s were so dense, so dark, surely a home couldn’t be located here? Who even built this place? Crossing your arms you watched as the car slowly cruised forward, itching to get out and investigate the home in person. As well as text Jackson that you had left about seven that morning… though you were more happy to wait to send that message. More alone time for you to sneak around the place and it kept Jackson from scolding you a little longer.

“You have arrived!”

Your mouth opened, ready to yell ‘Liar!’ but it quickly closed when the car slowly took a turn and hidden was a house. Truth be told anyone could drive right by and miss it, the driveway being extremely narrow.

The home was snuggled amongst the tall pines, large and yet seemed to almost blend in with it’s surroundings and standout all at the same time. The house held a warmth and coziness to it and reminded you of the feeling of going back home after spending a long time away. It sat in a large clearing of the trees, and in the distance you could make out mountains that peaked to the sky. The early morning rays were just coming up, casting an ethereal glow all around. It was beautiful and you were frozen in your seat, watching the sun’s rays gently light up the clearing. A calling urged you to go inside, your heart was fluttering at the sight of it-

“You have arrived!”

The moment was ruined with the car clearly wanting you to get out now. Grumbling, you stepped out of the vehicle and snuggled further into the scarf Wooyoung gifted you. It was much colder out in the wilderness than in the city, the wind whipping around and nipping at your cheeks in a cruel way. Colder and quieter. You could hear your own deep breaths across the baron land of snow. You knew there was a peace to the quiet however being alone in a foreign place it was hard to find it anything short of eerie. The hairs on your arms were rising as you took a deep breath, quietly closing the car door to not disrupt the stillness around you.

The house lured you in with every step, your heartbeat quickening as the key was gripped between your fingers. Any normal person would be afraid, hell even terrified, if they were in your shoes. A family member was found dead with zero investigation done, trying to gain some answers only had your mother warning you to back off, and lastly a house no one knew of was left to you. An hour away from the city your family basically owned.

However you felt anything but fear. There was curiosity for sure and a yearning for discovering what could be hidden within the walls of this building. What could have Takoda been up to with purchasing this place? It looked new too, no physical wear and tear on the outside from the weather. You wondered what he was hiding… And there was something else too, something deep in you that wanted to run in the building. A call from somewhere inside that had anticipation swimming in your veins.

The key slid in with a soft click! The door slowly opening while your eyes were wide and surveying your new home. You were awaiting darkness to greet you; a home that has been sat for too long and was full of cobwebs and dust from the lack of visitors. A cold and dark home was what you were mentally prepared for especially since Jackson was only dropping your boxes off and then quickly returning to his job. However you were shocked at what awaited you.

The foyer was large and spacious, the walls were painted a neutral color and the floors were solid wood. To your left and right were spacious rooms that were rather empty, save for a large sectional couch in one of them with an insanely large flat screen mounted to the wall. There were tall and large windows throughout, letting in the natural sunlight and giving an airy and soft feel to the overall place. Not far from the door was a large staircase with quite a few steps, and you spotted some of your boxes placed randomly along each step.

Your eyebrows knit together as you stepped closer, noticing the boxes were opened. Some even appeared to be missing items, spotting a box that was full of blankets now only containing a single blanket. A frown tugged on your lips, wondering what Jackson had been up to… he wasn’t stealing from you… was he?

You crept up the stairs, spotting more and more of your boxes placed randomly along the steps. Books had been looked through, some missing; blankets were taken out of the box, one box even being completely empty. Finally making it to the top you felt your stomach knot as you found some of your clothes scattered around the large landing. Thankfully it was just shirts and hoodies, nothing too personal, but it still made your blood freeze.

Jackson was the only one who had the other key… right? No one else should have been there… What if your father found out and sent someone to spy? No, no professional would make it look this terrible. What if this was a warning for you? To leave? Fear shot down your spine as you followed the scattered clothes towards a pair of French doors at the very end of the landing.

Almost like a trail.

Your legs felt like lead as you moved closer, steps silent as you crept along, throat dry as a million thoughts and scenarios ran through your mind. What if someone broke in and was needing a place to stay? What if they were dangerous, a criminal on the run? Or a dangerous hybrid? If the intruder were human you stood a small chance. But if they were a hybrid, a being designed to outperform humans in many ways... and if they were a predator... the very thought had your limbs locking up.

Despite the fear that shook you to your core, there was the feeling again: you needed to be there. Something important was waiting for you in that house. An instinct that pushed you to keep moving, a need that fought against the fear that dwelled in you. As if you found this certain thing, you’d be safe. You’d be fine.

Perhaps you have lost your mind.

Standing before the doors you took a moment to gather yourself, gain some courage, and then you had the doors flying open. Body tense as your eyes scanned the entire area, prepared to face the intruder head on-

No one was inside. But what you saw had you shaking.

Your lips turned downwards at the sight before you, hand gripping the door to try to keep grounded. The room was large, a master bedroom that was fit for a family really. Like the rest of the home it was rather empty with the exception of the large bed, an Alaskan king, and your brain was fried trying to process why a bed that large was there and why all your belongings were all over the bed. You felt a chill roll down your spine as you stepped into the room carefully, mentally waiting for someone to jump out and attack you.

But again that other feeling, the part of you that you called insane, felt secure as well. Something about being in that room had you feeling at ease as well as afraid all at the same time. You felt nauseated with the mixed feelings swirling in your head.

All the blankets, clothes, and books that went missing were right there. A part of you wanted to grab your things and go through it all and see what was done to each item. But a larger part of you wanted to curl up in the warm blankets and hide away, ignore all the craziness that you were facing, and seize to exist. If only...

‘Come on, Y/n. Put on a brave face.’ You mentally scolded yourself for being weak; this was your home after all. Taking a deep breath you strolled into the bedroom with more confidence and was going to begin your investigation when the sound of a door closing echoed across the empty house.

‘Fuck the brave face.’ Your blood turned to ice, instincts taking over you flung yourself under the bed. You pressed your hand against your mouth, trying to calm your breathing as you waited and listened as well as you could. You closed your eyes, willing your ears to straining and hear anything. The silence was torture, not even footsteps could be heard. You wished you could at least hear where they were-

A low growl echoed against the walls of the staircase. An actual growl... an animal? You don’t recall leaving the door open, but perhaps you did when you noticed your belongings scattered about...

Did you accidentally let in a wild animal?

As you tried to decipher how the creature got in you heard heavy paws hitting the stairs, the growl low as it came closer and closer. Every step had your heart pounding in your chest and for a moment you wondered if you would die from a heart attack before being mauled by a beast. The thought died as soon as you realized that the paws had stopped somewhere near the landing.

Then, ever so slowly, you heard the paws approach the bedroom. The growl was coming closer and closer, your body nearly shaking as you squeezed your eyes shut tighter. The paws stopped at the bedroom entrance, the growl lower, more of a rumble now as it continued forward. It got closer and closer, the air feeling heavier with each passing second. The rumbling was now right in front of you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you slowly opened your eyes.

A cloud of browns, blacks, blondes, and silvers invaded your vision at first. Fur that was so thick and long you felt an urge to reach out touch it, knowing it must have been so warm and soft. But you remained frozen as a pair of eyes, lilac- no... gold? You could have sworn they were lilac for a moment but now they were a brilliant gold, stared you down. Eternity could have passed and you wouldn’t have known, not while the canine was intensely watching your every breath. A moment of silence, a moment of stillness-

It lunged and you screamed, your throat immediately burning from the raw strength behind it. Faster than you thought possible you managed to leave your hiding spot just as the large beast arrived. Your feet were moving too fast for you to keep up, heart leaping up your throat as grunts and whines followed you. When you heard those heavy paws hitting the floor you cried out again, the staircase right there.

You believed you could easily dash down the stairs and into the car. You’d be safe there and maybe you could easily call for help. For a brief moment you wished you had waited for Jackson. At least you could trip the man and give yourself some extra time to escape... unless he did it first, which you knew he would.

However fate was a cruel mistress to you today; wet shoes slid against the wooden floor, propelling you face first down the steps. Your voice was stuck in your throat as you sharply inhaled and braced yourself for impact. You felt something solid, but it wasn’t wood. It was... warm and inviting...

Two arms snaked around you, pulling you closer and easily catching you from the fall. Your feet were dangling off the floor with your cheek pressed against something solid that held a low vibration. Whoever this was was strong enough to hold you carefully around the waist with ease and you stiffened as your realized you weren’t alone with just that canine anymore.

“Relax Beautiful,” The voice was right in your ear, a murmur to help ease you. The voice was soothing to hear and you obeyed immediately as if it were natural to trust a stranger like this. The logical part of your brain was screaming at you to break free and run. But there was another part of your brain, something instinctual, that wanted nothing more than to obey. That there was safety and comfort within these arms that would shield you from the whole world...

The voice let out a soft hum, pleased as you listened without a fuss. The arms were still tight as something soft traced your neck, the vibrations increasing before stopping all at once. “My, my, Beautiful. it’s no wonder he was upset, smelling the way you do.” Their tone became deeper, displeasure stirring just underneath the words. Something in you nearly whined- as if you couldn’t stand the thought of displeasing the stranger. Thankfully the logical side of your brain kicked into action.

You snapped out of the trance you were in and physically flailed yourself away. You could tell the stranger was surprised by your sudden outburst and used it to stumble back, feeling your heel collide with a step, causing you to fall and land on it with your butt. Your nearly fall had thrusted you forward, passing the first flight of stairs and nearly onto the midlevel landing. Which was where a new figure was now peering down at you.

A handsome man with beautiful features stood before you, bright blue eyes watching your every move with plump lips forming a soft smile. His hair was jet black and on top was a set of fuzzy black ears. Something swayed out of the corner of your eye and you saw a fluffy tail that had black fur with white underneath, the tip of the tail was also white. He wore dark denim jeans and a white tee, the letter’s DRF embroidered on the top left corner in crimson. A hybrid was in your new home-

A low growl was behind you and for a brief moment thought it was surely going to attack you now. But you were shocked to feel something cool against your head as another high pitch whine was right by your ear. It’s muzzle was nudging you, whining, trying to get you to move but you were too shocked to move a single muscle.

“Wh-who are you?” You wanted to sound demanding. You wanted to sound strong. But your voice cracked and hands slightly shook as your eyes remained focused on the hybrid in front of you.

He gave you another soft smile, lowering himself on the landing to meet your gaze properly. “My name is Seokjin, but please call me Jin. The wolfdog behind you is Jungkook. You, Beautiful, must be Y/n Spades.” His smile widened as you slowly nodded your head, your own eyes staring at him with mixed emotions. “Your uncle, Takoda Spades, left us a letter detailing that you were to inherit us if anything were to happen... this is correct, yes?”

“I... the will never mentioned hybrids...”

“For all of our protection, yes.”

A new voice. This one deeper than the last, all eyes snapping to the foot of the stairs. He was taller than Jin and seemed to hold more muscle as his white shirt (the same exact one Jin was wearing) had a tighter fit, muscles threatening to breakthrough. His hair was a light ash blonde, smoky and seeming more white/gray, with fluffy dark gray ears on top, pointed and standing alert. Your eyes met his and for a fraction of a second you could have sworn they were glowing lilac but it must have been the lighting, instead they were a warm amber that held a fire inside. A fire that invited you to get closer, to feel his warmth and embrace him. You were lost in that warmth, body leaning slightly forward without your knowledge.

Jin’s tail softly wagged at the sight of the male, bright eyes looking between the two of you. Your actions didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. “Y/n, this is Namjoon, our pack alpha-”

Swoosh!

A blur of movement ran passed the three of you in the matter of a second. The air hit your bare neck, your eyes wide as you realized the wolfdog, Jungkook, swiped your scarf and took off down the steps. There was shock for a brief moment before panic ensued- what if it was destroyed? The worry you emitted had Jin whining, stepping to you while Namjoon growled after the shifted hyrbid.

“Hey-!”

“Jungkook!”

You jumped up and ran past the two, much to their surprise, and ran down the stairs. You were ready to hunt the wolfdog down, get the scarf back and maybe even exile him to the woods for the night. He could freeze out there for the night, and then maybe he would appreciate the scarf a bit more-

“Oof-!”

You felt something solid and warm once again, this time face first. A hand locked on the back of your head, firmly and carefully, while another wrapped around your waist. Warm breath hit the top of your head, blowing a few strands gently, while you felt pressure rubbing your head.

“Please don’t be mad.” The voice was new one and you could hear the pout in it as well as the worry. It was heartbreakingly sad, could even make the world’s smallest violin sound mediocre in comparison. “It’s safe, it’s just in the wash. I couldn’t take it. Just his scent all over you and clinging to you like that-”

“Jungkook.”

Namjoon was right behind you, voice low with a displeased growl. In response Jungkook whined and clung to you, body locking to yours. His tone reminded you of a kid who got caught doing something bad. “Hyung, his scent is all over her! The scarf in the sink, I’ll wash it and have it dried by tomorrow!”

Scent? Wooyoung. It took a second but you realized he was on edge about Wooyoung’s scent, on your and the scarf. It was what Jin was talking about earlier, you smelling with another hybrids scent was making them uncomfortable. You tried to step back but Jungkook refused the space. Instead he held tighter, face buried in your hair, cheek rubbing against you in a rushed manner.

“Jungkook, I’m not mad.” Those magic words had the hybrid loosening his grip on you. It gave you an escape, putting some distance though his arm was still wrapped around your waist with his hand still in on the back of your head. Finger were softly twirling the strands.

He was just as handsome as Jin and Namjoon; hair was a chocoate brown that was kept longer than the others, his ears were triangular like the others and matched the beautiful shades of his fur when he was shifted, as well as his long and fluffy tail. His eyes were doe-like and gold, trained on you with emotions you didn’t understand. A smile broke out on his face, his teeth looking more bunny-like than wolf. The smile and eyes settled your earlier thoughts and put out the angry fire that he had stirred. The idea of putting him outside nearly made your heartbreak.

“You’re not mad? You don’t want me to leave?”

At his question your lips curved up slightly. “I’m not putting you in the doghouse Jungkook. I kind of understand why you did what you did.” His tail wagged, eyes brightening, and toned and bare chest rumbling-

Your cheeks turned red as you realized that Jungkook was lacking clothes. You were still being held close, so close you could feel the toned muscles flush against you, as well as something hard pressed right against your stomach-

“Jungkook. Clothes. Now.”

Namjoon was your saving grace, face so red you didn’t want to face them. But they didn’t need to see you to know how you were feeling. To put it lightly, Jungkook was more than pleased to be the one to have your scent become mouther watering and nearly impossible to ignore. You kept your gaze on his collar, refusing to look elsewhere.

“Yes sir,” You could hear his amusement as his warmth almost disappeared. Almost. “Wait for me in the living room, Honey.” His voice was right in your ear and something sharp nipped at your earlobe. You jumped and squeaked as you hybrid walked out of your view, chuckling at you.

You could feel the burn in your face, still refusing to move incase you got a whole view of the male. Not that a large part of you didn’t want to look, but damnit you were going to at least have some of your dignity.

“He’s gone now, Beautiful. You can turn around.” The tease in Jin’s voice brought a pout to your face as you looked at the other two hybrids. Seeing your flushed cheeks and lips stuttering out had them almost cooing. Jin smiled softly at you. “Jungkook’s very playful, though he doesn’t mean harm.” You wanted to snort because the man was obviously trying to give you a heart attack.

Namjoon stepped forward, a smile trying to form though he held it back. Trying to save you some face at least. In his hands were a few files with DRF stamped in large letters across each one and one envelope with Namjoon written across it. “Mr. Spades left a letter for us and lightly explained a few things.”

Your heart picked up as you wondered what was written to them. Perhaps there was something hidden inside that letter that you needed. What if they knew what happened to him? What if everything written inside the envelope and solved what happened to your late uncle?

“Let’s head to the living room, we’ll wait for Jungkook and then talk.” Jin offered, already taking your hand and leading you towards one of the large room. His thumb rubbed soft circles on the back of your hand as those bright blue eyes seemed worried. You could almost feel Namjoon’s own worry radiate from behind the two of you, and you couldn’t help but wonder...

What was in that letter?

While you were pondering what could have been written you failed to realize you had left your device in the car. The screen lit up once more, 7 missed calls from Sassy ASSistant and followed by one text:

Sassy ASSistant: Y/n Spades you are in serious trouble when I get there.

｡❅*⋆⍋*｡*⍋⋆*❅｡

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97keanu · 5 months

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john wick and reader’s first christmas together 🤩

*˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ I just love this idea! Thank you so much for sending it in ❄️.*ㅤ

Premise: John wants to give his wife the best Christmas he can. He decides to surprise you by taking you to a remote cabin he owns(typically used as a safehouse from his work if need be). Features John who tries to finally let his guard down and relax, hot cocoa kisses, and sexy times by the roaring fire ♡.゜

Tags/CW: FLUFFY, domestic bliss!John, loving husband!John, some much needed down time for the Wicks, blizzards, cabin in the woods, eventual smut, soft but still dominant!John, pretty tame but sensual smut, you learn things about your husband that you never knew, you see a side of john you never thought you would, daddy kink, spanking, commanding John, p in v, doggy, edging.

The roads twisted between thick fur and pine trees of the deepest and most vibrant hues of green your eyes have ever seen. You're used to your concrete jungle, the city life of New York being all you've ever really known. You had never taken a camping trip before John, let alone a getaway in some private cabin up in the mountains. You didn't know there were even mountains near where you two usually lived, but with the secret blindfolded plane ride, you're not sure you're even in the same state anymore.

John's large hand rests on your thigh, giving little squeezes every so often and warming the skin there. His other hand keeps a hold of the wheel, driving the slick black-as-night car. He had trade in for the SUV styled vehicle instead his usual Mustang so that you two could make it through the snowy terrain. The visibility is getting less and less as the darkness of night begins to settle in and the snowflakes blasting against the cars windshield get bigger and thicker by the minute. You're grateful for how warm the heaters are keeping you, your short skirt and leg warmers no match for this weather, but you had wanted to wear something cute for your getaway trip and John had only said it was a "little chilly". You curl up in the giant black leather seats of the car, sleep wanting to take you after so much traveling. You spy John peeking over at you, and hear him speak for the first time in a few miles.

"It won't be long now," He let's your thigh have another reassuring squeeze. "We'll be away and in the warmth of the cabin soon. I had it prepped for our arrival, so it should be nice and toasty when we get there."

You hum a small response, eyes wanting to shut so badly. Your head leans against the seatbelt, letting the thick strap cradle it.

The trees grow thicker and seem to be devouring the car as the road turns into a tiny trail. You wonder for a moment how or who John would send to keep the cabin prepped. You notice how the trail has been plowed already, and slowly but surely a warmth of yellow glows as John turns the last corner towards the cabin. You see the large structure, it's windows vibrantly orange against the cold whites and blues of the winter forest around it. The chimney already billows with smoke, lazily getting pulled away by the wind. It looks expensive and inviting.

John gets out of the car first, the wind blowing in flakes of snow already, melting on the warm leather seats almost immediately. John spies the chill that shakes through you from the sudden cold, and takes off his warm winter jacket. He walks over to your side of the car, opening it, that burst of frost blasting you once more. He helps you out, wrapping you tightly in his jacket, his warmth radiating into you through it.

John carefully takes you inside, careful of any ice that may be lingering. He opens the wooden door of the cabin, and you can already feel the warmth on your cheeks once more as you step inside.

"Not so bad, huh?" John says with a small smile, rubbing up and down your arms to try to keep you warm.

"Yeah, but I would have dressed warmer if I'd know there was a blizzard waiting for us!" You say with false concern, not really that upset when you're in such a luxury cabin as this, and all the thought that John put into it apparent to you.

"The storm wasn't supposed to set in so quickly, that was my mistake of underestimating it..." His voice remains brighter, but you can tell he wishes he had calculated it better. That sort of thing means a lot to him.

You pull your loving husband in, taking his bearded face in your hands and planting a long, soft kiss on his lips. You pull back and look into those deep brown eyes of his. For the first time in a long time, he looks content, excited, happy. There's a significant lack of the usual worry there, but even so, his dark brows always show a hint of it.

"Listen, why don't you take a moment to warm up by the fire in the livingroom, and I'll start getting our things inside..." He is obviously up to something else, you can always tell, but you have an idea of it either way.

You shrug off the jacket he gave you, his masculine scent of pine and mint cologne going with it, and give him a kiss on the cheek as you do.

"Keep warm out there..." You whisper to him, a hand pushing one side of his long dark hair back behind his ear.

"Always..." He returns the kiss and slips out the door, snow billowing in onto the hard wood as he does, and the wind being extinguished as he closes the door once more.

For a moment, you glance out the window, fogged up by the heat of the inside fighting the cold of the wilderness. You check the car, where your husband should be, and see nothing, thinking he's disappeared into that dark winter night. Then, you catch a glimpse of him moving past a different window, farther from the car than he should be if he were to be unpacking.

Checking the perimeter. You've known him to do this when you two travel. No other man you've dated has done such a thing, but no other man was John Wick. You still were unsure about his work since he kept you at such a distance, but you could take a few guesses at this point. You don't like him being out in the cold like this, but if it makes him feel better, maybe takes his mind off everything so that you two may enjoy your Christmas vacation together, then you'll let him do so without bringing it up.

That was your duty as a loving wife. A loving wife who didn't ask questions. Who knew but said nothing of it. Who doted without wanting to know more. And for now? That was enough for you.

You know it will be a second before he gets back, so you decide to take in the cabin while he's away. You look at the grand living room area you're standing in, two massive staircases encircling the largest Christmas tree you've ever seen, twinkling with a million tiny lights. The dark wood of the enterior is rich and inviting. To your right, a fireplace, couches and seating around it, the mantel hung with green garland and deep red bows. In front of the fire rests a white bear hide, you wonder if it's real or not, but you don't think you've ever seen John hunting. Animals, that is.

Beside that are the largest windows you've ever seen, over looking the forest and you think a lake if you can spy that correctly out in the mess of the blizzard. It makes your heart tense to think of John out there in that, but he's a grown man, he can make his own decisions, you tell yourself, as the good, loving wife you are.

You walk there, looking out, seeing all the freezing cold that you're happy to be away from dancing out there beyond the thick trees. You turn towards the fire, walking over, letting the bare of your legs and arms get warm. Your thin little scarf did just about as much as you tiny skirt and white fluffy leg warmers did to warm you, but a lively fire should do the trick. You close your eyes, hands out and feeling the warm down to your bones, listening to the wood crackling and dying inside the flame.

After a while, you end up curling yourself the coziest and plushest couch you've ever been in. It's deep brown in color, and has the feeling of soft leather, the kind that still has a bit of fur on it. The crocheted cream blanket hung over it quickly becomes yours, and you watch the fire as your eyes slowly drift closed, and the flames twirl behind your eyelids.

❄️.*ㅤ

You're not sure when you fell asleep, or for how long, but when you feel cold lips kiss upon your cheek, your eyes flutter open to meet John's. The fire behind him has significantly died down.

"Sorry to wake you sweetheart," his voice is hushed and soft. "I finished unpacking for us. I started our late dinner as well, so that will be done soon if you're hungry."

You hadn't really thought about it, but as John mentions it, and you smell that delicious scent of a home cooked meal, your stomach growls despite yourself. John smiles at the response and stands up, holding a hand out to you. You take it, enjoying the feel of his rough hands engulfing your tiny soft ones for a moment.

The two of you go towards the left of the cabin, through two double doors grand with subtle embellishments, and the wonderful smell of the kitchen grows larger as you walk through. You see the brightly lit kitchen before you, the appliances a mix of modern and old styled, the color of them all deep greens and brandished golds. A small, simple chandelier hangs down over the middle of a black marble island in the center of the room. There are nice, large, comfy stools made of wood and black leather waiting for you there, the high backs of the stools perfectly curved to lean against. You take seat, and John opens the oven to check what's cooking in there.

"I always forget how good of a cook you are." You say with a soft smile.

"I don't do it often, but I hope you enjoy it when I do." He responds with a small chuckle, pulling a chefs apron in black off a golden hook on the wall, and wrapping it around himself so he may continue cooking.

He gets out a medium golden saucepan, opening the old styled fridge and getting out cream and milk, mixing them into the pot. You watch with fascinated eyes as he does so, then spotting him open the pantry door and seeing it fully stocked with snacks and goodies.

"You really had this place set up, huh?" You comment as he takes out a hefty bar of high quality dark chocolate from the pantry.

"Only the best for my wonderful wife..." He says with that small smile of his, walking over near you and setting up a cutting board.

"Do you wanna learn how to make homemade hot chocolate?" He continues, bringing a sharp chefs knife with him.

You're actually really interested, you've never had John 'teach' you anything so far, so you wonder what kind of mentor he would be.

"Yes, I'd like that."

John nods, and begins to show you and tell you what he's doing. First, he takes the chocolate bar, then sets it on the cutting board. He then explains how sharp these types of knives are and how you have to be careful, showing you how to cut with your knuckles out instead of your fingers.

"Always cut away from yourself..." He explains as he does so himself, chopping the chocolate into finely shredded pieces. "It's kind of hard because you don't want the chocolate to melt too much from your hands, so you have to work fast."

You watch a few more times, a question or two being answered with patience and honestly, and finally you feel your ready. John comes behind you, his hands guiding yours to the right places, then traveling up to your shoulders. You shiver from his touch.

He watches carefully as you cut, making sure to tell you if you're getting too close to your knuckles. You work slower than he does, the chocolate beginning to melt and stick to your fingers, but he doesn't stop you. He wants you to be able to make mistakes and figure it out on your own.

He pulls his hands down to yours a few times when you ask for help, his hands helping yours to get the motion. You feel a blush settling in your cheeks as you think about how close he is, his scent easily inhaled from this distance. You know you're already married to the man, but you can't help but retain that crush you've had on him since the very beginning. He had such a way with being suavely romantic like that, as if he wasn't even trying to do so.

Finally, all the chocolate is cut, your chunks not nearly as fine as John's, but he reassures you it will all melt the same in the end. You both move to the pot of milk that's on the stove, John igniting the gas and the blue flame rising to meet the bottom of the pot. John let's you carefully brush the chocolate off the cutting board into the pot.

He then opens a nearby cupboard, bringing out spices and such.

"I like to put vanilla, cinnamon, and a bit more sugar into mine..." He admits almost sheepishly.

You have to agree, it's interesting to see John, his buff arms on display from his dark undershirt, scars here and there, in a chefs apron talking about his favorite way to prepare hot cocoa. It's not that he can't do such a thing, John could do anything, you know that. It's that he's usually never allowed to be so tender, to have such opinions, to show off this side of himself, even to you, his wife. You're already starting to cherish these moments of bliss with him.

He let's you add the other ingredients yourself with the help of his verbal instructions, and you're happy he does so. You may be his wife, but he knew when he married you that you didn't sign up to be the cook in the family. And you're glad that he never pushed that, but right now, you're enjoying creating something with him, even if it is a recipe.

"So, where up here for 5 whole nights, what do you have planned for me, John?" You say over your shoulder as you stir the heating liquid on the stove.

John is taking what's in the oven out as he responds, the delicious smell of roasted chicken and vegetables filling your nose.

"Oh, a little of this, a bit of that," he plays coy then continues. "Would you prefer if I don't keep it a surprise?"

You think about his question, asked in ernest, and consider it.

"No, but, I guess I'm just excited since what you've already given me has been so wonderful..." You smile and glance at him, watching as he prepares two plates for the evening.

Even this, he does with precision.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were a real chef." You comment on his culinary skills.

"Ah," he says with a sigh as he wipes clean a spot of loose sauce on the sparkling white plate. "Perhaps, in another life..."

You know John doesn't speak of his work often, but every so often you get a glimpse into his true thoughts and feelings about it. You go back to finishing the hot chocolate without a word.

❄️.*ㅤ

Soon, the two of you have dined and enjoyed your delicious meal, lazing on the livingroom couch together with a mug half filled with cocoa each, the whipped cream all gone.

You lean into John's form, enjoying the feeling of his body against yours, the way the curves fit just perfectly. You listen to Christmas vinyl, all instrumental pieces, softly playing on a record player in the room. You watch outside as the snow piles up and drifts against the room filling windows, letting it block the two of you in here alone with ease.

"Aren't you worried we'll get snowed in?" You whisper to your husband, voice languid and relaxed.

"Not one bit," John chuckles softly in your ear, playing with a strand of your hair between your fingers. "We have more than enough food and resources to last well over a month. Besides, I'm used to the cold."

He kisses your cheek with the last word, and you can't help but smile back.

You bite your lip, thinking about what you want to say back, what you dream of asking, but you know you're not supposed to ask questions into his past. That's not what you're meant to do as his loving wife.

A few moments pass, and you just can't help yourself.

"Where did you grow up, John?" The words fall from your mouth, and you feel the muscles in John's chest tighten, almost reflexively.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, then a breath he seems to have been holding slips out low and slow.

"I grew up as an orphan." He says it slowly, and your eyes widen when you hear, you're grateful your back is against John so he can't see your surprise.

You say nothing, digesting the words, having learned so much from so little. You can imagine that it wasn't at all easy growing up as an orphan, but a part of you wonders, no hopes, that the story has a better end.

"I was born in Belarus," he continues. "And stayed there until I eventually made my way to New York."

Shadows, once again, from your husband. There is so much he's omitting, you know that, and there's so much you wish to ask him for details. You swallow those questions hard, instead remaining silent, in case he wishes to tell more, but not pressing anything.

"The winter's there were pretty harsh, so I find it somewhat comforting to be back in it." he finally says after a long pause. "Reminds me of how far I've come from that."

You feel John's hands move for the first time since this conversation, suddenly no longer frozen against you. It's as if the warmth has begun to flood his body against, forgetting that freezing past of his. He pulls you in tighter, wrapping his arms around you and feeling you there with him. You hear his sigh, and you know that's all he will say about it tonight. He buries his face in your hair, ready to forget for now. You let him.

❄️.*ㅤ

The days at the cabin pass like the last of the snow fall on the peaks of the trees, quiet, hushed, a whisper to a lover with lustful intent. You spend time with John that feels like a century, and as the night of Christmas Eve arrives, you find yourself feeling closer and closer to him without having to say much.

With his away at work all the time, you're cherishing these moments as they come, happy to stay inside with him and the cozy warmth of the fire that John keeps from going hungry. Tonight, you lead him into the living room, where the fire crackles and welcomes you once more. He let's you dance as you do so, helping twirl you as the jazzy songs of the records he puts on dazzle in response.

You pull him to the couch, letting him take a seat before you decide his lap is yours, straddling him. He looks wonderful tonight, his beard trimmed clean and his suit retired for a relaxed fit of a black v-neck that shows off his muscular form wonderfully. You're surprised to see he can even wear jeans, so used to his formal attire he usually comes home from work in. There's no blood splatters or blood holes to be found either. Nothing for you to repair, patch up without a word, the dutiful wife who knows her place in this gone for these moments.

You feel like when you just met, and John was just a charming, handsome man who woo'ed you into his life. No secrets were insight, not quite yet, back then. Just typically lack of knowledge of one another. More equal than ever in those moments.

You kiss him, the fire silhouetting the two of you. Your kiss is passionate and deep, your lips finding his and crushing against them with want and warmth from so deep inside you, you wonder if a flame hasn't ignited there as well. You feel your stomach flutter as you kiss, his hands starting at your back, holding you there as you grind into his lap slowly, as if you're trying not to let him know you're doing it at all. He smiles into the kiss, his hips returning the sensation, obviously knowing what you want.

When the kiss finally breaks, your breathless and looking into those dark eyes, the fire dancing twinkling yellow light on them so you can see the amber inside. You watch him for a moment, watch your handsome husband who breathes heavy beneath you, eyes full of want that he is barely holding back. You know he could take you whenever he wishes, flip you like you weighed that of a feather and fuck your brains out just as easily. But he wants to let you play with him, let you enjoy this and watch you as you do.

"Show me how badly you want it," he says, and you already know what he means.

You lift your skirt, your lacy, delicate panties revealing for just a moment as you straddle one of his thighs. You get in position, slowly taking your top, fluffy sweater off, your bralette matching your panties beneath. He watches with curiosity, a lone hand gently, as light as a moth's wing, gliding against your curves, taking them in.

You shudder as if a chill has found you, but all you have inside is that fiery passion that John flames within. You kiss him again, moving down his neck, pulling down to his chest and trying to get as much surface area as you can from his v-neck. Your hips begin to gently grind against his thigh, the feeling of being able to control your pleasure there wonderful. John chuckles while he watches you struggle to kiss deeper, and you think for a moment he may take his shirt off as well.

"Rip it off," he says with a laugh, and you pull back to look at him.

"I don't think I'm strong enough..." You admit with a smile, waiting for him to tease you.

"I want to see you try." He isn't teasing per se, but he is curious to see the strength you wield.

You laugh for a moment, then see how serious his eyes are about it, and bite your lip. You know he wouldn't make fun of you for not being able to do such a thing, you're no trained fighter the way he is, after all. But you do want to impress him.

You grip that V of his shirt a little harder, and clench your fists tight around it, giving it a testing tug. Nothing happens, and you glance to John, who's bemused by the sight.

"You'll have to try harder than that, love." He whispers, still encouraging you with his tone.

You pull harder this time, using all the muscles in your arms as you can. Still, not much, but you think you hear a few seams tear. You try one more time and finally, a decent part of the V rips open, exposing more of his deliciously defined chest.

"That's a good girl, I knew you could do it." He reassures, cupping your face and letting his thumb rub against your lower lip.

You open wide, letting his thumb enter there, playing with your tongue for a moment, before settling in your mouth. You suck joyfully on it, letting him praise you for being so good, rubbing your wetting cunt on his thigh more. He watches you with a pleased grin, his free hand on your hip, guiding you into his thigh. You let your hands explore his chest as much as you want, enjoying the feel of hard muscle against soft skin there.

"Are you going to be a good girl for Daddy and show him how badly you need his cock?" He says with his head tilted in curiosity, watching your reaction.

You moan and nod, still enjoying letting your mind slowly fade away, turning into the dumb little whore you love to be for him. You keep your body rocking against his and he takes his thumb from your mouth, reaching up to your designer skirt, and ripping through it much faster and easier than you did his shirt. He does away with the rest of that as well, and hears your pouting about the ripped skirt.

"Don't worry, I'll buy you another one." he smirks. "I like it better when I can see all of you."

And with that he unzips your bralette from the front, letting your breasts, heavy with want, fall into his large hands. He takes both of them, rubbing them perfectly in unison, enjoying the feeling there. He likes how soft you are, how all your edges are smooth without sharpness. He enjoys how plump and soft your skin is, telling you such things in a whisper, making the heat of a blush rise to your cheeks and chest. You reach back and center your hands on his legs, giving him a better view of what he desires, and note leverage to grind deeper into his thigh. You needy whines begin to echo in the cabin.

"Oh, is that all, darling?" he says. "I think you can show me how much you want it more than that."

You breathe out, your chest heaving, letting your breasts entice him with each lung full of air.

"I need you so bad..." You whisper, your pussy soaking through your panties.

"Oh really? Should Daddy check?" He says, letting one of his hands move to your awaiting cunt, and testing out how wet you are over your panties.

He rubs there, and you lose it, your eyes rolling back and closing with pleasure that runs through you as he plays with your clit. You grind into his hands, so big and waiting for your pretty little cunt to do such a thing. He stops moving, making you whine more from lack of stimulation, but you know he wants to watch you rub yourself against him first.

"I'm not convinced yet." John raises a skeptical eyebrow and you pretend hate how much work he's making you do.

You touch your own breasts, grinding harder and whining louder, calling his name.

"Tell me what you want, baby girl. Tell me how you want me to fuck you."

"I-I..." You try to get that lustfully full and dumb head of yours to bring coherent words from your moans. "I want you to fuck me in front of the fire. On the floor, from behind, and hold me down like the naughty girl I am..."

You feel a shiver run right down to your cunt from how John smirks at you, happy with your response.

He says nothing, and for a moment you're not sure if you've begged enough yet. But then, without warning, he grabs you, flipping you into his arms, and rising from the couch. He pulls you to him, the heat of his skin against yours giving you tingles. Soon, you're on all fours, the pelt of that bear rug thick and soft between your fingers. You look back, and John's hands are already at your panties, and with a gasp from you, he's ripped those off as well and discarded them.

He in zips his jeans, his cock flopping out, girthy and ready for you.

"Put yourself on Daddy's cock, show me that you want it." He breathes with his own lust only barely concealed.

You back up on your knees, feeling his cock flop against your ass, the size of it so intimidating already. You can already feel your cunt clenching from how badly you want it. Your hand reaches back and moves it so his cock is between your legs underneath you, and you slowly stroke it, enjoying the soft breaths John let's out from the pleasure.

You start by letting it slide between your wet folds, letting it rub it's tip against your clit, enjoying the friction there. Then, finally, as John commanded, you line his cock up with your needy entrance, and slowly let the head breach your folds there, popping inside of you as you moan out.

"That's it. Ease yourself onto me."

You do so, slowly letting your ass back up into him, his cock getting deeper and deeper as you do, stretching you out slowly. He may be your husband, but with a cock like that, you've always had to take your time to accomadate him if you didn't want it to be painful. Other times, the slam of his cock so suddenly inside you was desired, but tonight, you two are taking it slow.

You gasp as you feel his full length slowly fill you, so tight and deep inside of you. John's hands play with gripping your ass, before letting a light, but loud slap go on them.

“Fuck, your tight little cunt feels so good, baby…” He sighs out as he carefully pulls his hips back, starting to pump inside you after.

You moan, loving the way he praises you like that, loving being a good girl for him who takes all of his girthy cock whenever he wants. You hate to admit how mindless you go when he fucks you like this. You feel like every worry and thought is fucked right out of your pretty little head.

John's cock begins to pick up speed, and with your sudden gasps and moans from the faster stimulation he asks if you're taking it alright.

You give a confirming noise and nod, but you can barely speak from how good you're feeling right now.

“That’s a good girl,” John says, his voice tight and husky from how much he's enjoying fucking you. “I want you to touch yourself for me, baby. I wanna feel you cum all over my cock.”

You feel tingles run across your back as his hands station there, plunging his cock deeper as he does. At this rate, you feel like you might even just cum from what he's doing right now. Yet, your clit aches from the lack of attention, so you shift your weight and body so your hand can reach beneath yourself to get to that tender spot.

“Yes, baby…Show me how much you love me fucking you.” John’s voice hushes to you, soft, but commanding.

You do just that, feeling yourself in just the right way, you pleasure doubling as he continues to fill you up with his cock over and over again. You find your cheek against the fur rug, the heat from the fire prickling your skin, at this point making you almost start to sweat. You close your eyes, mouth open and moans uncontrollable.

“Look at me.” John commands, and your eyes flutter open, your head turned to look back at him.

John is just so gorgeous. His ripped, lean body, the glisten of sweat gleaming and twinkling in the fire light. But what really turns you on is his eye contact. Those wolf-like eyes, so deep and dark, looking at you. You can't help but feel like prey to him when he's like this, the way he looks at you like a predator who's just about to earn his hunt. You feel your cunt tightening as you do what he says, your own eyes look at him with scared little doe eyes, afraid to disobey, to not please.

You watch as your husband continues to pound your cunt into oblivion, taking more and more, picking up speed despite how brutal it's already starting to feel. You love the feeling, the feeling of allowing your husband so much power over you, of letting him take your body however he wants. You feel your eyes flutter closed from how close you are, cunt tightening to try to get closer, breath held.

You also hear a deep, animalistic growl from John, and you know you're breaking the rules. He commanded you to look at him, and now you're losing yourself in your pleasure without doing so. Even after you correct yourself, eyes meeting his, you know you've earned a punishment.

He wrenches your hips back into his cock, keeping you there with one hand in a steel grip, the other lifting off and pulling back to slap your ass. You cry out at the first hit, feeling a sting reverberate there. The worst part was how much wetter it made you, how closer you were from every spank he laid upon you ass. He continues, a small smirk on his lips, he knows what he's doing to you.

“Tell me how much you like. Tell me how you deserve to be fucked like this.” John's voice wavers and you know he needs to hear it just as much as you do.

“I…” You try to make your brain work, another gasp and another slap, your ass now red with his hand print. “I need you to punish me for being a bad girl, and not following your rules.”

Your hand is viciously rubbing your swollen and wet cunt, being pushed to its edge by how deep and hard John thrusts into you.

“And?” John urges you on, his cock feeling harder and harder, swollen and ready to fill you as soon as he lets himself do so.

“And I want you to spank me until I'm left with a mark to remember to be a good girl next time…!” You cry out, so close, wanting to close your eyes and focus on your pleasure, but forcing yourself to keep that eye contact with him.

You hear John growl once more, this time from how much he's holding back right now. You know he wants to cum, but he's waiting on you. Your legs begin to shake as you continue to hastily play with your clit. John seems as if he can't take it anymore, and he grabs your hips, pulling them up, his hand snaking under you and pushing yours aside.

“Let Daddy do it for you.” He says as if he's frustrated beyond your comprehension, but you love the way he touches you, so you allow it.

His large hands take up so much more space, engulfing your clit, milking it in the perfect way that makes your breath leave your body and your muscles clench with shivers. You take all he is giving you, watching him as he begins to lose himself in you. You tighten around his cock to a point you don't think you can do more, and begin to feel yourself come over the edge, cunt fluttering and spasming around him.

“That’s my girl…” He sighs out, obviously there is relief in the fact that he can do this for you.

You try your hardest to keep eye contact, but in the end, you close them, finding yourself lost in your own competition. You relish in the feeling of his hand taking your pleasure from you, slowing down and making it last. You feel as he reaches his own point, and finally with a groan, John spills inside of you as you're on the tail end of your finishing. His cum feels hot, almost tingly inside of you, making your head fall against the rug as you take his rutting against you, digging his cum in as deep as he can into your tight little cunt.

When he's done, he slowly pulls out, his hand swiping any stray cum and slipping it back inside you with ease. You feel completely exhausted, and he can tell. John takes you into his arms, pulling you onto his chest as he lays next to the fire with you. You feel yourself softly drift off to sleep as John pets your hair, whispering sweet praises in your ear.

“I love you…” He ends on after complimenting your body and everything else he adores about you.

You softly mumble a return, and with that sleep has taken you.

❄️.*ㅤ

John surprises you for the rest of the trip. Ice skating down at the lake, amazing dinners, long baths together with glasses of bubbly champagne just to name a few.

When it comes to the day of Christmas Eve, he's somehow managed to make some of your favorite family dishes. You look over the feast, and feel at home here with him. You never want to leave this cabin, but you know in the coming days you will have to. You love how close you and John have gotten here.

“How did you know?” You say after he reveals tonight's dinner, John’s arms wrapped around you while he snuggles into the crook of your neck.

“I have my ways…” He says mysteriously, and you know he will just leave it at that.

You two dine, laughing and carefree, something you didn't think you would see from John this often.

When you're done, you curl up on a couch near the tree, and John begins to pull out a few presents.

“Don’t you want to wait until tomorrow?” You ask him.

“I know your family always celebrates on Christmas Eve instead of day…” And for a moment you try to remember if you've told your husband that, or if this is another one of his mysterious ways.

You decide it doesn't matter, because you're just happy he cares and is thoughtful enough for any of this.

He hands you a small silver wrapped box first. He watches as you accept it and begins to open it with a smile twinkling in his dark eyes. You can tell he enjoys this.

You open the present, and are met with the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen. It's perfectly your taste, and when John goes to put it on you, it hangs beautifully on your neckline. You feel him kiss up your neck as you thank him for something so gorgeous.

“You don't need to thank me,” he whispers in your ear. “Someone as beautiful as you deserves beautiful gifts.”

You can't help the smile creeping on your lips from that line, and you turn so your lips can crush against his with a grin. He turns the kiss, his soft, plump lips enjoying yours.

Then, it's your turn. You hand him a gift from you, and you feel a little nervous in comparison to what he's just given you. You know yours is less expensive, and you wonder if you should have gone for something so handmade.

John slowly and carefully tears off the red and green wrapping, and when he's done he's met with a small leather-bound book. He glances up at you with curiosity, then opens it.

What he finds is a photo album filled with photos of you two over the time you've been together. There's pictures of you on some of your first dates with him, pictures of your honeymoon, vacations you've had together. There's even some of you two around the apartment being silly together. John says nothing, but slowly turns each page, looking over each photo with care.

You fiddle with the edge of your sleeve, wondering if he likes it or not.

Finally, he gets to the end where you've left a heartfelt message to him about how you feel. He reads it, then to your relief, a smile slowly finds itself on his lips.

“This is…” He starts, then loses the words. “I can't describe to you how perfect this is.”

You feel the breath you were holding leave your lungs, and you lean into him next to you on the couch. He wraps an arm around you and brings you closer, kissing the top of your head as he does.

“I…will cherish this, thank you, my love…” He whispers into your ear, and you feel your heart swell.

You two continue exchanging smaller gifts, John somehow getting everything on your list, and you outfitting him with things he likes. You know the first gift was his favorite from how he keeps looking through it. You two end the night with rum and eggnogs while watching your favorite Christmas show, happy to be with each other. You couldn't ask for a better Christmas.

#john wick x reader #john wick fic #john wick fanfic #john wick x f!reader #my writing #christmas 2023

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teriri-sayes · 2 months

Text

TCF Modern AU Character Checklist (Official)

RIDI, one of the Korean publishers of TCF/LCF, recently released new ebook volumes for TCF. The volume set consisted of volumes 10-18, spanning chapters 201-398 of Part 1. And RIDI added a "Character Checklist" as the exclusive bonus content for buying the volume set.

What is this character checklist about? It's just a list of things that the characters are most likely to do or prefer. But it is set in a modern AU (alternate universe) setting.

Those who want to purchase official merchandise can head over to RIDI to buy the new ebooks. You can get a 10% discount and a 5000 won coupon if you participate in the event, so the cost for the new volume set will only be 24,160 won. But be aware that this is only in the Korean language. There is no official English ebook for TCF. 🥲

The new ebooks included new novel covers. For volumes 1 - 9, they changed the ebook cover to this:

And for volumes 10-18, the new ebook cover is this:

Because the character checklist is not publicly available for free, I will only post a quick summary of it.

***

Alberu

likes to eat snacks while working

beautiful handwriting

celebrates others' birthdays grandly

frequent social media poster because of work

Beacrox

makes tteok-galbi and gives it to Cale

2nd best at making snow ducks

Ron

makes travel plans because of the kids

good at claw machines

Bud

world traveler who's good at driving any vehicle

frequent social media poster because he's an attention-seeker

Hilsman

scared of bugs

Witira

heavy drinker

troublemaker child because she couldn't control her strength

Eruhaben

good singer of old songs but only does it upon the kids' request

picky appetite

doesn't use kiosks because he's not interested in learning anything new

great dancer

makes travel plans

knows the most about memes

Hong

makes travel plans

likes winter because of family get-togethers

frequent social media poster because he finds it exciting

good at drawing because everyone praised their drawings

posts memes

Raon

makes travel plans

prefers to play together than go on amusement park rides

likes winter because of family get-togethers

late sleeper because he always daydreams of going on trips with his family

good at drawing because everyone praised their drawings

Choi Han

stiff dancer

secretly prefers thrills in the amusement park

good at making snow ducks

student with low grades

Deruth

believes in fortune telling stuff but is in denial over it

Cale

somehow ends up as the leader in team projects

celebrates others' birthdays secretly

best fit as the leader of a K-pop boy group

buys lots of online books to read when he achieves slacker life

heavy reader

drinks hot Americano because Ron says cold drinks is bad for him

Mary

likes spicy food

likes horror movies

good at computers because Tasha taught her

Lock

first to apologize after getting into a fight

model student with good grades

Tasha

loves to eat meat

Archie

always grumbles on trips but shuts up when Cale stares at him

Toonka

bad at using machines and gadgets

Cage

prefers eating over studying

Rosalyn

drinks iced Americano in the morning

troublemaker child because she wanted to do lots of things

Jack

likes pineapple pizza

Hannah

likes mint chocolate and eats it together with Mary

***

Some trivia:

Mint chocolate in Korea is similar to pineapple pizza that people either heavily like or dislike.

Witira being a heavy drinker is a pun related to her race as a whale tribe. Sulgorae (술고래) is a figurative expression for a heavy drinker. It’s a combination of the words 술 (alcohol) and 고래 (whale). English has a similar expression to it - drink like a fish

Making snow ducks is a trend in Korea. They use plastic tongs with a duck mold to create snow ducks. Some treat is a game where you make dozens of it fast as if printing out items in a factory, and line it up in a row.

Tteok-galbi is grilled short rib patties. Hmm, delicious~! 😋

#trash of the count's family #tcf ebook #tcf modern au

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pietropudge · 3 months

Note

Imagine your big beefy/thicc boyfriend Bucky Barnes putting you in his belly whenever it's cold to keep you warm

a/n — something short to get back into this! non fatal btw tho it is joked about

summary — check the ask!

words — 1.9k

warnings — vore! gender neutral, vaguely smutty?

~~~

It was seven in the morning when your alarm disrupted the peaceful sleep of your big boyfriend. He laid on his back with you sleeping on top of him. His eyes fluttered open, flicking from you to your alarm and then back to you. Slowly, while holding his breath, he ever-so-carefully reached to the nightstand next to your bed and turned off the alarm. You could feel his movements and took a deep breath before speaking, your head never leaving his plump chest.

“Buck, I have to get up.” You buried your head into his chest, your arms still clinging around him. He was so big and filled out your wingspan in the best way. Just the way that you laid on him with the entirety of your weight, not an ounce shifting to anticipate the action of pulling away made you sound less convincing.

He could sense your lazy efforts to depart from him, “Just stay in bed with me. Let’s watch movies all day.”

You pulled away, lifting the covers to let the light in on all of the places where the sun doesn’t shine. It was coming in through the window, shining unusually bright through the drawn, silky black curtains and illuminating all of the curves and folds of Bucky’s naked body. He slept as bare as possible, being comparable to a furnace making a room hot when he was under the sheets, while you had a thin layer of pajama pants and a tee-shirt on. Even his metal arm managed to be warmer than you during some nights, like his own personal radiator receiving and sending heat out in waves under the sheets.

“I wish I could, but we wouldn’t have a bed without money. And we wouldn’t have that without a job.” It was a harsh truth you had to admit, every second of being at work was torture because you knew what awaited you upon your inevitable return—a man who was willing to do anything to be near you. You needed him just as much as he needed you, but you felt like an emotional support animal sometimes—more attentive to his needs than your own. He always talked about getting a cat. That’s how much weight you were willing to give it. You two weren’t really on that level, but he had a strange fascination with putting you in places you didn’t belong. Sit in his lap, roll over in his stomach, stay in his bed.

“Fine, just this once.” He allowed, and then he demanded, “Kiss me.”

You gravitated towards the window, snow covered the ground and now the chill in the room made sense. “Shit. I’ll be back in to get dressed for work.”

You rushed to your shared closet, consisting of two sliding doors with mirrors covering the front. You could see Bucky raising his head at your more serious tone to ask the question: “What’s wrong?”

You laughed at his reaction, unsure if he was actually worried or if he was just mad that he didn’t get any affection. “My car’s covered in snow!”

And so were your feet the second you walked out the door. Dressed in nothing but a loose pair of pajama pants that got caught in the chilly breeze, a short sleeve shirt that made you regret not grabbing gloves, and a pair of chunky snow boots that clashed with the rest of your outfit, your goal was to get this over with as fast as possible. You armed yourself with a multi-faceted snow broom. It had a brush on one end to sweep everything off with a combined handle and ice scraper on the other. With that in hand, you trekked through the snow, rounding the house you and Bucky resided in to clean off your vehicle.

At first, it was easy to maneuver around your car and sweep off the snow clinging to the windows and door handles before raising your arms slightly higher to clear off the hood and the trunk. All of it fell to your feet, feeling like extra weight the longer you stood outside. Soon, your movements became lethargic. Your arms were freezing, the muscles weakening from having to clear the top off last. Your legs felt heavy and the snow at your feet was like thick mud, harder and harder to kick up as minutes passed. Your haphazard attempt to prevent yourself from being late to work started to go sideways because now, you wanted to take your time and conserve the fleeting warmth in your body. You could have gone back inside, but Bucky’s allure—no matter if he was still in bed or streaking around the house—would be too strong. He would distract you, and this weather was the perfect mood-killer for any ideas like that.

But Bucky seemed to come to you as if he knew you need some relief. Even in the cold, he only donned a pair of ankle-high combat boots straight from your closet and nothing else. He had that super-solider advantage, the serum and his time in Russia making him not even flinch as the snowflakes whirling through the air encircled him. Everything from his muscles to his small, developing gut shook a little as he walked. His dick didn’t shrink in the cold like most would, it stayed at its impressive length even while soft. Behind that, his balls swung with him as his thighs pushed his package from side to side with every step.

You could hear his footsteps packing down the snow, eliciting a crunch with each step. Turning towards the noise, you spoke out to him. “Buck, what are you doing out here?”

“I never got my kiss, and I figured that would make you clean this car faster.” Had you really been out here for that long? Maybe you had already spent all of the time you allocated to getting ready to clear off your car. His left hand—the one made of metal—gripped your arm, making you shudder from the added cold. He had a look of concern on his face, “You’re freezing.”

He used his hold on you to turn you away from the car, and your hand had gone numb enough to drop the snow broom to the ground. You didn’t speak, so he continued. “I could warm you up fast, doll? You’ll be wishing it was summer.”

Bucky didn’t wait for any confirmation. His hot breath clouded the air and reminded you of a misty sauna, one where the fog was thick and the walls were a dark mahogany. The only thing that soured the image was Bucky’s morning breath, reminiscent of last night’s dinner with a meaty twinge to it from the saliva. But he could read your face, the features that hadn’t numbed twisted into something short of a positive look. It felt so good in contrast to the cold chill in the air, the smattering of snowflakes on your head and shoulders felt like a nice garnish to him and melted quickly from the heat inside his mouth. His cheeks bulged with your head inside, the hairs of his unshaven scruff spreading away from each other as his skin and jaw stretched impossibly. You wanted more of the warmth, the rest of your body needed to curl up someplace warm. Surely Bucky could help you out after so that you wouldn’t be late to work, this was just a little distraction.

Your mind flew in a million different directions. His lips went over your shoulder blades and you could feel saliva drenching your shirt like the complimentary hot water at a sauna; he intentionally pressed you to the roof of his mouth so your back was coated by the best sauna stone known to man. Your head passed the bottleneck of the whole process, feeling the first of many cases in which you would be encased by warmth—by slick saliva that would never freeze over. He got to your hands, happily stuffing them in and feeling your satisfied sough as they warmed up in his mouth. The rest of your body was slurped up easily, his gulping and swallowing echoing off the quiet outdoors. Then, he reached your feet. He made a point to take off your snow boots and socks to warm up your cold feet, too. He wanted you to be as comfy as possible, to slip away in a heated reverie.

Eventually, you were balled up in his gut, weighing him down without much trouble. You were quiet like the settling snow. Now that you were in his gut, the world decided that it was finally time to stop the onslaught of flurries. Since the snow had stopped, Bucky reached up, using his larger body size and frame to get the top of your car. With his metal arm numb to the frigid element’s remains, he swept off half the snow from the top. Then, he leaned forward, pressing his gut against your car and squeezing you in the process.

“Sorry, babe.” His voice bellowed from above. He grunted, reaching around to get the chunks of snow his initial brushing didn’t reach. A few uncomfortable moments later, you felt his gut sag back down without the solid force of your car to mess with it. He let out a satisfactory sigh. “There.”

“Is my car clean?” You called up, feeling your wet pajamas cling to you, and started to get sick of the heat now that you were all warmed up.

“Yeah.” Bucky stood next to your car, admiring the little work that he did to finish off clearing your car. He spun around to find the snow sweeper you dropped, making you shift around in his gut when he bent down to pick it up. After a few unsuccessful attempts to grab it with his enlarged gut—he almost fell into the snow below him, almost—he just barely grabbed it with the tips of his metal fingers, but that was all he needed to scoop it from off the ground.

You hit against the walls of his stomach. “So, let me out!”

It elicited a belch from him, and he patted his gut. “I’ll let you out… tomorrow. Your boss is going to have to deal with it.”

The big steps he took to walk through the snow were noticeable from within his gut. When he stopped, you assumed that he was back inside, and you heard the soft click of the lock to your front door that you knew all too well. It was the same noise you would hear if you were heading off to work, but now you heard it through a thick layer of fat and stomach lining.

“Buck, I’m serious!” You protested. He kept walking around before sitting down on the couch, your world shifting again as the suspension from his midsection turned into a flat support under you. From the outside, Bucky had spread his legs wide, letting his gut fill out the space where he’d normally tell you to sit or suck or whatever he wanted. He would get to keep you in his gut for the rest of the day, and in his metal hand, he held a steaming cup of hot cocoa that he slowly doused you in whenever he took sips of it. On the television, he had some movie playing that he had been bugging you to watch with him.

“Not my fault you don’t believe in layering clothes…”

#male vore #male prey #male pred #v.ore #v0r3 #vore x reader #same size vore #v0re #non fatal #non fatal vore #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes vore

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rosewaterandivy · 14 days

Text

Summary: it’s always the best laid plans of mice and men, isn’t it?

Pairing: s.h. x f!oc

W.C.: 5.4K

Warnings: gilded age!au, miscommunication, a comedy of errors/manners, society snobs, a masquerade ball mishap, arranged marriage, steve ‘down bad’ harrington, and a reader/mc who doesn’t have time for this shit - she was educated abroad, she went to Vassar with Miss Nancy Wheeler, okay?!, back on my iliad bullshit (i know, i know)

playlist | m.list

I. Coup de foudre

It’s a dreary December evening in Manhattan. The streets are damp and slick accompanied by the cacophony of hooves, equipages and carriages trundling down the way. Somber topcoats and fur-trimmed capes hide the tailored waistcoats of the men and ornate skirts of the ladies, as is to be expected with the current onslaught of weather.

Small white flurries of snow that are sure to bring a swift end to laborious dinners and engagements at the club. And the man in the sleek black equipage himself is all too relieved about it— at least he would be released from the obligation of hearing his father’s friends complain about these upstart robber barons descending like a horde of locusts on Fifth Avenue.

A quiet night in his study would be a welcome distraction.

That is, if they can ever get home in this weather.

He can hear the whinny of the horses from up front and the soothing tones of the driver. The streets are probably close to icing over at this hour, making it difficult to find traction.

Suddenly, the equipage swings quickly to the side and careens into something with a loud thud, sending its sole occupant straight into the door with a smack. He hisses lowly at the twinge in his forehead as the driver descends with a flurry of apologies.

He opens the door himself and steps outside before the driver can assist him. The white puffs of his breath speak to how quickly the weather had turned. He draws his coat closer and approaches the two drivers as they attempt to settle the horses.

“Gentlemen,” He greets, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Noting to worry about Mr. Harrington,” His man, Andrew, assures him, “The ice just snuck up on us is all.”

He nods taking in the damage, dents and scuffs on both vehicles but the horses appear to be fine. Reaching into his coat pocket, he brings out a small notebook and a pencil to scribble his information down for the other driver. Is about to tell the man to bill him directly when someone steps out from the carriage opposite.

The footsteps themselves are delicate and tentative. He tears his gaze from the driver’s, glancing back only to find a young woman emerging from the carriage. She’s holding her skirts in one gloved hand, shivering in the cold.

“Is everything all right Jesse?”

Her voice is like music to his ears, melodic almost. And she looks like something stolen from a painting— bright and alluring.

The winter light is quickly fading, and the lamplighters were sure taking their time this evening. Her cape is dark, like his coat, but the split at the front reveals a purple skirt trimmed in demure black lace, signifying an exit from her period of mourning.

Her man, Jesse, shepherds her back toward the coach, “Let’s get you back inside Miss, don’t want you to catch a chill.”

“Of course,” She says with a shake of her head, “How silly of me.”

And before Steve can embarrass himself in an attempt to introduce himself, she’s safely ensconced back in the carriage. Her driver returns and takes the paper from Steve, tucking it into his coat.

“Apologies gentlemen, but I must be on my way.” He pulls himself back onto the driver’s box, “Have to get the young Miss home to her brother’s, you understand.”

He tips his hat, and with a tug of the reins he’s gone.

Steve finds himself standing right where she left him, feet riveted to the very spot where she once stood. He must have taken a step toward her at some point, like an utter madman, probably startled the poor girl half to death.

Despite their disastrous non-meeting, he can’t seem to shake her from his mind. As if everything had been in black and white until she stepped down from the carriage and breathed color into his world, spring bursting forth at the sound of her voice. It sounds positively insane, even to himself, but if Robin were here, she’d understand.

Hell, she’d probably have a word for it too.

Something French, inevitably.

“Mr. Harrington,” Andrew says, a hand tentatively resting on his shoulder, “Is something wrong?”

Steve blinks; a feeble attempt to clear his mind from thoughts of the mystery woman.

Andrew refrains from rolling his eyes, “Right sir, let’s get you home then.”

The journey back to the Harrington family manse was uneventful. The familiar brownstone facade came into view as Andrew swung the equipage onto the street outside the house. Luckily, the home was large enough that his late arrival wouldn’t be noticed.

He thanks Andrew and watches as he takes off with the horses for the carriage house a few blocks away. Stepping into the house, he makes quickly for his study slipping through the door just as one of the maids turns down the corridor.

Steve shucks his coat onto a nearby chair and tugs off his cravat with one hand, the other pouring a healthy portion of bourbon into a highball glass. He downs the amber liquid too quickly, the burn welcome against his throat.

After pouring another glass to sip from, he settles into a heap on a club chair by the window. Resting his jaw on a hand, he faces the glass panes, eyes trailing the flurries of snow outside, unsettled by the quiet of the street. His mind won’t stop racing, vacillating between kicking himself for not getting her name and hoping he’d run into her again, albeit this time under better circumstances.

Little did he know, that several blocks away a man was questioning poor Jesse about his whereabouts when a slip of paper was placed into his hand. He scans it quickly, face paling at the name scrawled there: Steven Harrington.

“How could you let this happen Jesse, really? The accident, I understand, but allowing my sister out of the carriage unaccompanied?”

“Sir, I had no—”

“I’ll not hear your excuses.” Christopher Fairchild balls his hand into a fist, the paper crumpling in his grasp. “You said he saw her, Harrington, that is?”

“Unfortunately,” Jesse admits, “I intervened as best I could and got her back into the coach. He seemed rather transfixed by her.”

His employer grunts, “Yes well, that is unfortunate. What if someone had seen her with that man, no chaperone in sight?” He turns to the sideboard and pours himself a drink, says with a scoff, “Not even out to society and potentially scandal-ridden.”

At this point, his wife, Marian, chooses to enter, having seen the young lady to her rooms and getting her settled for the evening. She places a tentative hand on his shoulder while Jesse trains his gaze to the floor.

“Darling,” She soothes, “Your sister is asleep as is the baby, don’t get yourself into a fit at this hour.”

He sighs as her palm moves in slow circles against his back and takes deep breaths. “Of course dear,” He sips from his drink and turns to her. “I just worry about her. All the work you’ve put into her debut and planning the ball.” Christopher places a kiss on the back of her hand, causing her to blush. “I don’t want it to be all for naught.”

She sighs prettily.

“It won’t be,” Marian advises, “You’ll write to the Harringtons tomorrow and we’ll get this matter settled. And there won’t be a speck on your dear sister’s reputation, I’ll see to that.”

But, oh dear reader, where would be the fun in that?

As we all know, the New York winter season is winding down rapidly, and do we not deserve something to keep us warm over the holiday? I would say so!

So, in honor of her long-awaited arrival, let us give a hearty New York welcome to Miss Eleanor Fairchild! Fresh from the society of Paris and a graduate of Vassar along with Miss Nancy Wheeler, her debut this week is the talk of the town.

Despite her indecorous brush with Mr. Steven Harrington, I am sure she will not have a shortage of suitors after the ball this weekend.

But the question remains, my loyal readers, of who will take a shine to Miss Fairchild and step out from the long shadow cast by the Harrington name?

Only time, and this weekly missive, will tell.

Morning in New York was startling and nothing like waking in Paris.

House maids, lady’s maids, and valets moving up and down the stairs, knocking on doors to air out the linens and draw the curtains aside to let the murky winter sun stream through. There was, of course, the soft babbling from the nursery as Gus woke from his repose, the nursemaid and his mother close at hand.

A sharp knock sounded from the door just as you drew the bedclothes closer to you, content to roll over and sleep through the gray morning.

“Bonjour mademoiselle, vous permettez?”

“Oui!” You say, curious at the chipper voice now opening the door, “Sorry, yes, you may enter.”

“Merci, mademoiselle.”

The girl, your new lady’s maid, softly shuts the door and turns to regard the room.

It’s certainly larger than what you’d grown accustomed to in France. But then again, most everything was in New York, especially so since you hadn’t returned to the city in well nigh on a year or more.

The room itself is well-appointed and elegant, Marian saw to that; soft colors and fabrics, diaphanous and frothy, a subtle nod to Versailles no doubt. You hadn’t had much time or energy to give it a glance last night, more inclined to have a late dinner, divest yourself of traveling clothes, and pass out as soon as possible.

The lady’s maid continues her silent assessment as another knock sounds from the door. She steps to open it and let in the housemaid.

“Good morning Miss,” She greets with a smile, her voice rounded with a warm Irish lilt. “I ‘spect you’ll be needin’ a fire this morning.”

You nod just now noticing the chill in the air. She busies herself with the kindling and sweeping ashes from the fireplace. The maids exchange a few soft words before she steps out to get the firewood from the Useful Man down the hall.

“Apologies,” You say by way of greeting, “But I don’t believe I got your name?”

“Oh, pardonne-moi,” the lady’s maid curtsies briefly, “Je m’appelle Marie.”

“Marie,” You repeat, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Moi aussi, mademoiselle.”

And from there, the ritual of dressing began. The house maid, Louisa, lit the fire and spirited you out of bed to air out the linens. At Marie’s suggestion, she also tackled unpacking the various trunks placed near the dresser and closet.

“These are fine frills Miss,” She smiled, her fingers delicately folding chemises and hanging skirts or dresses. “The Missus said your debut gown came all the way from Mr. Worth’s shop in Paris, is that true?”

A soft sigh escaped you at the memory, ivory chiffon and silk revealing the décolleté and arms, gauze and tulle providing a tempting illusion of bared skin. A full skirt with bustle that would skim the floor accompanied by a small train. With gloves and a fan to match, of course.

“Indeed, it is,” You allowed with a cheeky wink, “But I think Marie would have my head if I touched it before Friday.”

Marie, for her part, merely smirked and continued her preparations for your bath.

Across a few city blocks, a footman knocks on the imposing doors of the Harrington manse. The family butler, Campbell, just happens to be descending the stairs and takes it upon himself to open the door.

“Good morning sir,” The footman says with a bow, “Mr. Fairchild bid me to deliver this.” He hands over an envelope addressed to Mr. Samuel Harrington.

“Yes, well,” Campbell sighs, opening the door to let the footman in. “I’ll get this to him. If you hurry, Cook can scrounge up some coffee and a pastry for you. Just take the servant’s hall to the right.”

“Much obliged,” The footman says with a bow as Campbell starts up the stairs.

The handwriting on the envelope is neat, if a bit cramped. Must be the young Mr. Fairchild then, rather than his wife sending the correspondence.

Mr. Harrington’s study door is cracked open, the sound of papers shuffling to and fro on his desk as the butler enters. He briefly glances up to find Campbell, “Happen to know where I put those contracts, Campbell?”

“Perhaps the drawer on the left, sir.”

Mr. Harrington pulls the drawer open, “Right you are, good man.” And thereby loses himself to perusing the documents and thus ignoring Campbell.

“A letter has arrived for you sir,” He says stepping closer to the desk, “From Mr. Fairchild, it seems rather urgent. I have his footman waiting for your reply.”

“Hmm, well let’s have it then.”

He takes the letter from the butler’s hand and slips the blade of the letter opener under the paper. Retrieving the missive, he scans through it quickly, lips pulling down in distaste.

“See to it that Mrs. Harrington gets this,” He instructs, pulling out a new sheaf of paper and beginning his correspondence. “If she wishes to see my reply, she best be quick about it.”

The letter itself detailed the unfortunate meeting between Mr. Fairchild’s sister and Mr. Harrington’s only son. The man was understandably concerned about how it would seem should someone have happened upon them sans chaperone, as the young lady had yet to make her debut into society.

Mr. Harrington’s reply was cordial in an attempt to smooth things over— the Fairchilds, like the Harrington’s were of good stock, two families of the New York Four Hundred deemed to be unblemished and acceptable company by none other than the Grande Dame herself, Mrs. Astor. It wouldn’t be fitting for reputations to be sullied as the result of a simple misunderstanding.

As expected, Samuel’s wife, Amelia, swanned into the study seemingly in the midst of her morning toilette. Her hair was up, but she still wore her housecoat as her day dress had yet to be put on by her lady’s maid. Mr. Fairchild’s letter waved about in one hand, while the other pressed upon her chest as if to stop her racing heart.

“That boy of yours is going to give me heart failure.”

Samuel signs the letter with a flourish and lays his pen to the side.

“Oh, so he’s only my boy when he acts indiscreetly with the fairer sex, but he’s your son when he’s winning accolades at Harvard and breaking hearts abroad, is that it?”

She tuts and sits demurely on the divan, “Well, yes. Precisely that Sam.” She fans herself with the letter as her husband leans against his desk. “The social set have already written him off as a lost cause and we can ill afford a whisper of a scandal, especially now.”

Sam passes the reply to his wife and pauses, as if to choose his words carefully.

“Still moving forward with your plans to find Steven a wife then?”

“Of course, dear,” She answers brusquely, “There are many suitable ladies this season of decent breeding and passable looks.” She glances up and passes the letter back to him. “Your response is sufficient, send it off with the footman.”

Amelia rises from the divan and turns to leave. “Wake Steven and have a talk with him will you? I’ll send Maude out to the florist, he should write a note of apology for her to send along.”

“As you wish, dear.”

Amelia leaves just as abruptly as she appeared. Samuel sighs and furrows his brow, the inklings of a headache coming on. He taps his fingers against the desk and checks the time.

“Campbell,” He calls into the hall, “Have Calvin wake Steven and tell him to see my in the study.”

“Of course, sir.”

He takes a seat and settles himself behind the desk once more.

“And have Cook send something up? Coffee and breakfast for two.”

Awaiting the arrival of his son, Samuel Harrington turns and faces the bay of windows that look out onto the street below. He watches as Fairchild’s footman hops on the back of the coach and slides from his view. He contemplates his son’s options, admittedly there are few.

Such are the advantages and disadvantages in marrying a woman who’s as sly as a fox. It’s just a matter of out-maneuvering her; an entertaining and seemingly endless chess match that’s lasted even longer than their marriage.

But the silver lining in all this, he supposes, is that Steven Harrington, their sole child and heir, just so happens to take after his father in this respect, in that he’s crazy like a fox.

Funny how things work out, isn’t it?

As for the young Mr. Harrington, well, suffice it to say he had quite the morning. The newly arrived Miss Fairchild, however, had a luxurious start to her day (that is, if one discounts the pulling and pinning of hair, the tugging on of stockings and tightening of corset laces).

You joined your brother and sister-in-law in the dining room while another maid fixed a plate of breakfast for you; Pierce, the butler, stepped in to pour the coffee. You thanked them both and broke your fast, listening as Christopher and Marian discussed the events of the day.

“I’ll need to see to the accounts today,” Your brother said, turning his newspaper with a shake. “Everything should be in order before the ball this weekend.”

Marian nodded and sipped from her coffee cup. “I have some calls to make today, and thought Nell could accompany me.”

Christopher slowly lowers his newspaper and glances your way— don't feel obligated to do this, you haven’t been properly introduced into society yet.

Buying time, you take a bite from the flaky croissant on your plate and ruminate. In a way, both Chris and Marian are correct; you aren’t obligated to escort Mrs. Fairchild, nor would it be wise to turn down an informal introduction to those in Marian’s circle. She would, after all, be serving as your chaperone, and, along with your brother, introducing you to Manhattan high society on Friday at the ball.

Your debutante ball, to be precise.

At the time, Vassar was a welcome distraction and reprieve for being paraded around like a prize calf at auction. But then came the unfortunate illness and demise of your parents, followed by a year of mourning.

It would seem that your time of delay had finally come to its end.

After all, no one wanted a spinster for a bride.

Dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin, you clear your throat and brace yourself.

“That sounds lovely, Marian. I’d be happy to escort you today.”

She smiles and makes to reply, but before she can open her mouth to do so, a knock sounds from the front door. Puzzled, the three of you glance at one another, clearly not expecting a caller at such an early hour.

Pierce nods to someone by the door, bidding him to open it. He quickly returns with a beautiful arrangement of flowers, only to set them to your right and hand you a card. Baffled, you take in the spray of purple orchids, white tulips, lemon geraniums, the sprigs of rosemary, and tucked away behind the hearty green stalks, the shy blooms of forget-me-nots.

Respect, sincerity, an unexpected meeting, remembrance, and affection.

“Well,” Marian prompts from across the table, “Who are they from?”

It’s only then that you recall the card in your outstretched hand. Slipping from your reverie, you thumb open the small envelope.

Miss Fairchild—

Please accept my sincere apologies for our run-in yesterday evening. I hope it did not startle you. I’ve liaised with your brother about the repairs, and in the meantime will give you use of my equipage and pray it will suffice. I also hope that you’ll enjoy the flowers and please know that they relay my deepest and most sincere sentiments.

Cordially yours,

Steven Harrington

P.S. Je vous prie d’accepter mes sincères regrets et ma sympathie à l’occasion du décès de votre proches.

For the remainder of the week, Steve was a bundle of nerves. He’d written the note as his mother asked and even went so far as to accompany her to the florist, managing to slip in a few blooms that complemented the arrangement nicely. And if his mother didn’t happen to notice the errant sprigs of blue or the lingering scent of rosemary, then so much the better.

What he didn’t anticipate was the lack of a response.

“It isn’t done,” Miss Robin Buckley reminded him on their promenade in Central Park. “Until she is out to society, her brother is no doubt keeping her under lock and key.”

“You could provide the introduction,” He points out petulantly. “You’re choosing not to in order to entertain yourself with my suffering.”

“You cad,” She swats at him with her fan. “And no, I cannot. There’s a reason I fled to France after my disastrous debut, as you well know.”

And thus, Steve resigned himself to pining for a woman who barely knew of his existence, while the eligible bachelors of New York bided their time until her debut at the ball.

“For what it’s worth,” Robin says carefully as they round a bend, “There have been many deliveries to the Fairchild House, but yours was the first.”

He warms at the thought.

“That has to count for something, I suppose.”

She grins, “It will.”

They continue to walk, grateful for the brief break in the weather and discuss the evening’s festivities: who will wear what, how many dances until Robin steps on someone’s toes, how ostentatious the new money Vanderbilts will be.

They exit the park, parting ways as their carriages await. Robin catches a curious expression on her friend’s face, both dreamy and apprehensive. She lays a gloved hand on his arm.

“À cœur vaillant rien d'impossible.”

Steve glances down and says with a playful smirk, “Qui vivra verra.”

On Friday afternoon, Marian and Marie carefully assess your gown while Louisa dashes to and fro with the pearls, no the diamonds.

“Sapphires? No, that would ruin the effect.” Marian muses and Marie agrees.

You, by the by, are seated on the bed in a chemise and loosened corset, bored stiff, as the two hem and haw over how to best display you for the ball.

Because that’s all this is really, an overblown dog and pony show in which you’ll be paraded around and shown off to great effect all to attract suitors. It was enough to make one queasy. God forbid a woman do anything on her own or without the approval of a man.

As if men ever did anything worth doing that a woman didn’t have to make right.

Having quite enough of their chatter, you shrug into a robe and pull its sash tight, toe on some slippers and make your way down the hall. At the end of the corridor, you spy the cracked door to Christopher’s study. He’s shuffling papers and muttering to himself as you slip inside.

“I think the accounts can handle themselves for the evening,” you say with a smirk, settling yourself on a chair by the window.

He chuckles, “I suppose you’re right, clever girl.” Sorting the papers into a single file, he looks up at you with a quirked brow. “Had enough of Marian’s prodding, I take it?”

You sigh and dramatically cast your head back, “That’s the worst of it— they haven’t even begun!” Warming at his familiar laughter, you continue: “If I’d known that this is what I’d be subjected to, I would’ve stayed in France.”

Chris studies you at that; your weary sigh, crossed arms, and face a mask. Can’t make heads or tails of if you’re serious or not. Is it too soon? Did you still need time to mourn Maman and Papa? But then your debut had been delayed so much already…

“Is that what you want?”

It’s a question you hadn’t expected from him. But suddenly you’re reminded that he’s your brother, the only family you have left in the world. The man who dropped everything and took the first ship bound for France to be with you at your parents’ deathbed. He had insisted you stay at the house in Paris until you’d recovered your own strength and sent Marian and Gus to keep you company while he saw to business at home.

And knowing him as well as you do, Chris wouldn’t ask something idly.

So you choose your next words carefully.

“I no longer trouble myself with wants.”

The lightest dusting of snow begins to gather on the windowpane. Soon enough, all of the city would look like a snow globe. A perfect winter wonderland for the evening’s festivities, and your favorite kind of weather— snow makes everything look softer somehow, muffles the sound, and blankets the world in swaths of pure white. Your mother adored snow, had somehow convinced you and Chris that she could smell when it was about to begin. And maybe that’s why you’ve taken a shine to it now.

Turning from the window with a small smile, you rise to exit the study and get ready for the night. Leaving your elder brother puzzling over your parting phrase.

Steve could hardly forget your first meeting, but seeing you that evening nearly eclipsed the recollection. Without a cape and no longer in the purples and grays of half-mourning, you were quite a sight to behold.

And he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Several men from the club, Hargrove, Hagan, and Byers, were scattered around the room sizing up the competition just as he was. Somehow, Edward Munson had been granted an invitation— with his railroad money and lack of pedigree. Regardless of social standing, each eligible bachelor in the room was jockeying for position; who would be the first introduction, the first dance, did her eyes fall on him or the man to his left?

Steve was well-versed in this routine, he’d been to enough debutante balls to last a veritable lifetime. Usually, he’d enter and make the necessary greetings before grabbing a refreshment and picking a wall to lean on because god help him if he was going to actually dance more than the bare minimum required.

But in this instance, things were different.

Namely, that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since that fateful night. Despite the lack of interest from you (which was to be expected, really), he couldn’t help but think of you fondly. Descending from your coach to check on your driver and the horses, shivering in the evening chill, voice soft and sleep-worn.

There was also the fact that his mother was hovering somewhere behind him. She’d oh so fortunately seen Mrs. Fairchild as she was making her social calls earlier in the week and had received an informal introduction to you. She’d said as much at dinner that day and ever since then, she’d been subtly laying the groundwork for a possible courtship.

And as much as Steve did not want to bow to his mother’s machinations, he also desperately wanted an introduction with you. So he sips his drink and observes the goings on around him his attention turning to the grand staircase as someone announces:

“Presenting Miss Eleanor Joséphine Fairchild, escorted by her brother Mr. Christopher Fairchild.”

The symphony starts up as you descend the stairs to polite applause on the arm of your brother, eyes demure and downcast, your subtly rouged lips pulling into a soft smile. And Steve can hardly breathe— it’s as if the world slowed and went fuzzy at the edges, everything and everyone falling by the wayside save for you.

Because you are positively incandescent; beautifully angelic in your finery and reminiscent of Venus emerging from her shell. He feels as if he’s been struck, a warmth radiating in his chest, and wouldn’t be surprised to find one of Cupid’s golden arrows lodged there. And Steve knows a little of desire, of wanton lust; he is, after all, a man of privilege in a world that caters to his whims. But while this feels reminiscent of that— the heat, the wanting— there is also, oddly, restraint.

All eyes are on you as your brother leads you across the floor, smiling politely at those assembled, eyes never staying on one person for too long. You’re playing nice, presenting an unimpeachable image of the demure lady, it wouldn’t be done to favor one gentleman this evening. In fact, it would send the wrong message entirely.

Everyone present knows this; it is a game often played in polite society, even if its ramifications are— how shall we say it?— best left behind closed doors.

“A lamb and her shepherd,” His mother says, voice pitched low for only him to hear. “Bo-Peep will soon abandon his charge, and that, Steven, is when you will make your introduction.”

It’s all he can do to school his features and recede into himself; eyes glassy and blank, face a mask. Polite and charming, affable even. And while his mother thinks she is being helpful, it’s hard not to believe she isn’t pouring poison in his ear. Half expects her to say something akin to, “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't.”

She doesn’t, and for that he is grateful. Instead, she melts away into the background and loops her arm through his father’s. And, sure enough, your brother does eventually leave your side only to be replaced by Mrs. Fairchild, who slips your wrist through a dainty loop of cream ribbon with a dance card and a small pencil attached.

The room stills, a pack of wolves lying in wait. Drinks are set aside, conversations cease; Amelia gives her son an unceremonious push forward, her gloved hand on his shoulder tipping him toward the inevitable. Steve nearly stumbles from the shock of it all.

Because in one moment he’s just another man in the crowd, an eligible bachelor at yet another ball prepared to drink the night away. And in the next, his eyes lock with yours, and he feels himself falling. It’s hopeless to fight it, this gravitational pull you seem to have over him; haven’t exchanged even two words, and he’s already in your thrall.

He can see your chest rise with your sharp intake of breath, eyes widening at his approach. Steve’s trying not to spook you, really he is. He thinks back to his favored horse, Balius, the clomping hooves and fierce breaths, tries to calm you in the same manner— a slow approach, a small smile, and soft words.

And while he would never bow to the stubborn dappled stallion, Steve does bow to you and says, “Steven Harrington, a pleasure to meet you officially Miss Fairchild.”

Your eyes light in recognition, of his name or him he cannot tell. But you curtsy all the same and offer him your hand, as etiquette dictates. He takes it gladly, marvelling at the fine fabric of gloves adorning it. His finger finds the racing pulse on the underside of your wrist, running along it slowly.

Another sharp intake of breath at the sensation, a heat skittering underneath your skin as his fingers loop around your wrist, your pulse thudding in their wake.

He opens the booklet and takes his time writing his name, well aware at the gathering of eligible suitors at his back. He’s loathe to release your hand and leave you to all of this, the wolves at the gate, but as much as he wants to whisk you away from what is sure to be an uncomfortable and tiring evening, Steve is required, as is everyone else, to play the game.

And Steven Harrington is playing to win.

Mr. Harrington—

It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance this past Friday, and thank you for your presence. I do hope the evening passed pleasantly for you and my apologies for not seeing to you more frequently, but other obligations, as you well know, prohibited me from seeking your company. Furthermore, I must apologize for being remiss in not offering my sincerest gratitude for the lovely flowers and the gracious use of your equipage. You are truly a generous man, and I am grateful for your friendship.

Cordially yours,

Miss Fairchild

P.S. Merci pour le sauvetage de Monsieur C—. Je n'avais aucune idée sur sa relation avec Mademoiselle C—. J’espère que vote intercession ne reflétera pas mal sur vous. Je vous suis redevable.

Steve’s postscript: Please accept my sincerest and deepest condolences on the passing of your parents.

Nell’s postscript: Thank you for the rescue from Mr. C—. I had no idea about his relationship with Miss C—. I hope your intercession will not reflect poorly on you. I am in your debt.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #fic: cf & dd

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