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whatsnewalycat · 11 months ago

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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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hongism · 1 year ago

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AND IT'S SNOWING... - A WINTER FIC FEST

brought to you by bee (@atzfilm) and caly (@hongism)

tis the season for fics that have absolutely nothing to do with christmas and everything to do with other tomfoolery! (aka we spent an hour and a half trying to figure out how to make our concepts be christmas-themed just to forgo the idea of christmas altogether...) from aliens to fae to the ex-turned-sugar-daddy, tune in this winter season for shenanigans... and it's snowing! ❄

all fics are rated m and not intended for underage audiences. please heed individual warnings attributed to each work.

WINTER BLOSSOM

written by atzfilm pairing: k.yeosang x reader genre: alien au, secret relationship summary: earth abandoned centuries ago, you travel the cosmos alone. you land on a smaller planet, meeting an exiled dweller that calls himself yeosang.

WHAT LIES BENEATH US

written by hongism pairing: c.san x reader genre: college au, established relationship summary: one busy semester is all it took for you and san to find yourselves struggling to find footing in the storm that is your relationship, yet rather than let go, he asked for one more week, one more day, one last chance to help get you back to shore

APRICITY

written by atzfilm pairing: c.jongho x reader genre: faeries au, enemies to lovers summary: with your kingdoms having been at war for centuries, it's only fitting that you would be kidnapped and locked in the room with your sworn enemy – choi jongho.

SWEET JUICE

written by hongism pairing: s.mingi x reader genre: witches/warlocks au, strangers to lovers summary: the new apothecary in your small village is harboring a dark secret, you're certain of it, if only because he bears a starkly familiar crest on his shop sign - one that denotes the presence of magic.

LOVERS IN THE NIGHT

written by atzfilm pairing: j.yunho x reader genre: sugar daddy au, exes to lovers summary: just out of your college with a freshly printed degree, you set out for a job that would fit your somewhat high standards. after a brief scroll through a sugar daddy website and a meeting set-up, you sit across from the one man you didn't expect to see — jeong yunho, your ex-boyfriend and apparently, a millionaire looking for someone to spoil.

SILLAGE

written by hongism pairing: k.hongjoong x reader genre: royalty au, first love summary: sillage — the scent that lingers in air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone; the trace of someone's perfume — it hardly takes much to fall

SEASONS

written by atzfilm pairing: p.seonghwa x reader genre: blind date au, friends to lovers summary: after failing over and over on every date you've gone on, your friends finally resort to setting you up on a blind date in the hopes of making things go right.

AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES

written by hongism pairing: j.wooyoung x reader genre: roommates au, fake dating summary: you imagine that you've cut yourself a rather decent deal in bagging jung wooyoung as your roommate, and yet, things that seem a little too good to be true have a way of cracking at the seems all too easily.

fics created and written by atzfilm and hongism, 2023. all rights belong to owners. do not copy, emulate, translate, or alter the works in any fashion without permission.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez series #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fanfic #winter fic fest 2023 #bee & caly shenanigans !!!!

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 9 months ago

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Yandere Imposter: Neige LeBlanche

He’s the shining crewmate in cyan

With a reputation of snow

He’s innocent in any situation

There's always an out

Even if he’s found with blood splashed on his suit

He’s nothing but an unfortunate witness traumatized beyond belief

So traumatized he can’t recall who it was

Until its most convenient

“I-i’m so sorry everyone…I witness something so horrible the least I should do is be able to help…I-i’ll try my best for everyone.”

So it's best if he travels with you

The crewmate so determined to find the imposter

Or even the unconvinced crewmate who keeps giving him the side-eye

So why don’t you pair up with him?

Despite his flawless alibi, overwhelming lack of evidence, and testimony from trusted crewmates your friends

Somehow he can’t get you close enough

wHy ARe yOu BeINg sO dIfFiCUlt!?

At this rate, he’ll the imposter have to kill the whole crew before you give him anything but a passing gaze glare

But he’s a good crewmate liar

You’ll have no choice but to believe him when they eject the ‘real’ imposter:

You stared through the impact glass at the vastness of the space and the decreasing figure of the purple suit. A haze of finality and unreaching, endlessness ebbing your resolve, you tightened your fists; digging your nails into your palms. It hardly did much to distract you from the feeling in your heart but you’d take what you could.

“(Y/n), Rook set a course back to Innersloth…we’re going home.”

You ignored him, not even bothering to look at his worried reflection behind you, keeping your eyes on the spot you last found the supposed imposter’s floating body. The news brought nothing but guilt and rage. At who? You, the remaining crewmates, the dead, Neige? Even with the evidence pointing to your dearest friend and the innocence proclaimed to him you couldn’t ignore the feeling in your gut.

The same one that told you to stay with your friend, even when he insisted you two split up for just a second. The same push that had you doubting the one in cyan from the very beginning. Even with his innocence being proven every time without fail, you couldn’t disregard the compass that held tried and true for this whole nightmare.

“(Y/n), maybe you should join me in the cafeteria! I recently made a pie for everyone to enjoy!”

“...Not everyone.”

Neige stiffened before letting his eyes and lips curve into a smile as he shed a tear.

“You’re right *sniff* Not for everyone…but maybe in their honor?”

You resisted the urge to sneer at him. That voice. That face. Those tears. He was doing it again! Whether it was acting or mimicry it didn’t sit right with you; it never did. And even now in the wake of the majority of your crew’s death, it didn’t incur the empathy he so often elicited from onlookers. In your deepest of hearts you rationalized that was why he seemed so insistent on trying his tactics on you.

“You can enjoy it without me…who’s to say the imposter really is off the ship anyway?”

At those words he made a face, puckering his lips and folding his hands to protest. You spoke, glaring at the despicable reflection of yourself in the window.

“ We’ve been wrong before. What’s to say we aren’t again?”

“B-but nothing has been broken! And we’ve split up many a time before and none of us have died! Don’t you think that means we finally got rid of the—”

“Imposter? Please, it make more sense to stay hidden now since they want a free ride to headquarters.”

Tightly closing your eyes, you turned narrowly missing the ungloved hand attempting to grab your shoulder. Making your way out of the bay you went for the door, flashing a look toward Neige who hadn’t turned around and was still facing the window. You turned your attention officially storming off, to do whatever it was you felt like doing without his presence.

The imposter stood still, blankly smiling at the star system as he tightly clenched his fists. Of course, it’d be like you to suspect such a plan. Only you. But you were just so uptight how could you go bringing such negativity to the Innersloth head quarters after such a hefty loss? It’d be best for him everyone if you had a relaxant relaxed a little. Smiling a bit after such dark times was healthy. And only a good crewmate would keep their remaining teammates healthy, even if their suspicions were debilitating to that health.

Right?

#yandere neige leblanche #yandere rsa #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere harem #yandere twst #yandere twst neige #yandere neige #yandere imposter #yandere among us #yandere among us neige leblanche

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electrosair · 1 year ago

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Husband & dad headcanons hydro + geo + electro ver.

english isn’t my first language, sorry for mistakes

characters: ayato + childe + albedo + gorou + itto + zhongli + cyno

word count: 2k

Ayato

how does he propose to you?

Cherry blossoms decorating a small path when you arrive at Kamisato Estate after a long day. A relaxing dinner outside under the stars of Inazuma and several candles illuminating the table. All very romantic in short.

where is the wedding taking place?

In Inazuma obviously, and as much as Ayato wants to keep the wedding among family and friends, it is impossible for people not to find out about it and various curious ones to talk about the wedding.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Honestly, you mention a site and he is already making reservations and making sure that everything is ready for your love trip. If I have to say one, I would bet either Mondstadt or Snezhnaya.

children before or after marriage?

I guess afterwards, I feel Ayato as a person who would prefer to have your relationship completely stable before having children.

how many children does he want?

Maybe 3, but I think he would prefer only 2. Being as busy as he usually always is I feel that at a minimum the kids would take a total of 3 years minimum.

how is he during your pregnancy?

He would postpone all his duties if he sees that you are feeling unwell or your mood is not the best in the world. He would try to take you out for a walk because he read that it was good for childbirth and stuff like that, definitely the kind of guy who reads a lot to figure it all out. "Darling, you don't want to drink the tea? It's good for… No? Okay, let's go to the garden then."

any memorable moment with his child?

You remember when you and Ayato ran to the inner garden because you heard your children fighting and in reality they were just practicing like he and Ayaka did when they were little. His face immediately changed to one of tenderness.

Childe

how does he propose to you?

At first he would try to keep it between you, but some way or another, Teucer ends up finding out and Childe tells him that it's a super important mission and he can't tell you anything. I can see his brother reading you a little piece of paper for you to guess the place where your boyfriend is waiting for you.

where is the wedding taking place?

Definitely in Snezhnaya, I do not accept any other place. Childe is the most familiar person in all of Teyvat and I don't see him celebrating your wedding without his family present, he will pay for travel for all of yours to attend.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

He probably would like to go back to Liyue for a visit, to see the panorama and take the opportunity to do some Fatuis business, although behind your back as he wouldn't want you to see him working on your honeymoon.

children before or after marriage?

Before, period. My thoughts do not allow me to imagine your wedding without the children throwing petals as you approach the altar.

how many children does he want?

This shouldn't even be a question for Tartaglia. But if I have to say a number I assure you more than 5, I'm not going to put limits on this man.

how is he during your pregnancy?

He treats you as if you were made of glass, the slightest thing is a reason for him to be behind you, placing one hand on your head and one on your belly to keep you away from whatever 'dangerous' thing you might be doing. "Be careful, listen to me and stay resting away from this."

any memorable moment with his child?

You were already planning to go for the second child during the first winter as a family. Your little one covered up to his neck in layers of warm clothes, Ajax playing with the baby in the snow when you discovered a new alliance and a storm of snowballs coming towards you.

Albedo

how does he propose to you?

One of the times you go worried to him, thinking he's been engaged in a new experiment all week only to find that 1. he's not there and 2. he was gone because he was preparing his mind to ask you to marry him after wanting to for so long.

where is the wedding taking place?

Small wedding, you know, few guests, at least on his part. As for the location I would say in one of the meadows of Mondstadt, I like to imagine it at night with the fireflies and lanterns illuminating the area.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

I see him taking you to Fontaine. I can't say much but from its fame I'm sure you'd spend hours looking at the inventions and strolling the streets enjoying the new sights. "Oh, look at that coffee shop. It seems to have some kind of mechanism, let's go look."

children before or after marriage?

It's not really the 'before' or 'after' of the wedding that is important to him, but the fact that you both have time to dedicate to the baby and are mentally prepared to have it.

how many children does he want?

I would say 1, although maybe it could be 2, I doubt many more besides those. He spends a lot of his time with his work so he prefers to still have time for that.

how is he during your pregnancy?

He wouldn't be too concerned for the first few months unless you are having trouble. But from the sixth onwards he would make sure he has at least a few hours for you, in case he can't he will ask Sucrose to check on you and tell him how you are doing.

any memorable moment with his child?

Albedo would take your first child to visit Klee, their excited faces as she put everything potentially explosive away and Albedo helped her hold the baby. I simply can't.

Gorou

how does he propose to you?

After a walk in the nature of Inazuma what you least expected was that Gorou would start dropping little hints about you and your relationship, giving slight allusions to being even closer as people and proposing to wear something matching. His face lit up when you asked him if he meant getting married.

where is the wedding taking place?

Watatsumi Island. It is beautiful and no one will deny that Gorou likes the pearls that are all over the island. Now you just have to decide between the Shrine or in front of one of the waterfalls.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Liyue, he already knows Beidou and Kazuha, so I'm sure they would even take you two to the harbor. Be assured that Gorou will want to try all the desserts and sweets he can find at the food stalls.

children before or after marriage?

I would say that after the wedding it would be better for him. He wants to try to give you and your future children as much attention as possible.

how many children does he want?

Between 1 and 2, he would like to continue to have time to remain a general in the army. But that doesn't mean he will always be busy; whenever he has free time, he wants to spend it with his family.

how is he during your pregnancy?

Not good for advice, but he'd try to always put on his best face when you complain about something about pregnancy. Of course every craving you have is going to give it to you, and he'll want to try it too. "Dangos with strawberry milk and chocolate on top? With whipped cream too? And you don't want pancakes? Oh no, it's fine. Dangos then."

any memorable moment with his child?

Now that there is not so much trouble in Inazuma he'd feel more relaxed, but he would definitely not let his children near the military camp, and if he sees them around he would send them home before they could do anything. Maybe when they're older he'll train them.

Itto

how does he propose to you?

He could simply stand in front of you with the ring in his hand and not say anything else, but he's not going to. I want to imagine him taking you maybe to his childhood house and excitedly telling you stories. And when you least expect it, bam! wedding on the way.

where is the wedding taking place?

Inazuma obviously, I guess on the main island and if I tell the truth I feel kind of bad for Kuki, I feel like she's going to have to help with everything she can to get the wedding off the ground.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

You never know with this man, so I have a lot of doubts about where you would end up going on your honeymoon. In the end you will probably be the one to organize it all.

children before or after marriage?

Maybe you would try to plan them afterwards the wedding, but knowing Itto something would happen and all your plans would go down the drain.

how many children does he want?

He is fine having 1, 2, 3 or however many as long as you keep in mind that he will still want your attention even if he spends all day playing with the kids.

how is he during your pregnancy?

Itto would try to guess if you are going to have horns or not just because he thinks it's funny, although I honestly think they would come out after the birth. He would be glued to you like a limpet, giving you pampers and cuddles like he normally does.

any memorable moment with his child?

Onikabutos fights. I would make a league in which the participants are him and your children and of course, you are the judge. Keep in mind that he will not miss the opportunity to cheat. "Hey, hey, your onikabuto wasn't at the right distance. Judge, penalize him!"

Zhongli

how does he propose to you?

Do you remember his mission? The rock zone he created himself? You would be surprised to hear the whole story the first time he tells it to you, but you are even more surprised when he kneels down in front of you. "I may have done some things wrong in the past, but from now on I want to do everything right, with you."

where is the wedding taking place?

Two weddings, no one can deny me that. One in the city of Liyue with your friends and family, and those he invites, and one in the mountains of Liyue, a small celebration just for the two of you.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

Visit to the Nations where they let you go to meet again with the other archons because I do not understand what happens that they have almost no interactions? Yes, sorry.

children before or after marriage?

It makes me a little tender to think that afterwards, because honestly he's the best husband in the world when it crosses his mind that he's finally married to someone he loves so much. He wants to take that time to spend with you now as a married couple.

how many children does he want?

Zhongli himself gives me vibes of wanting to have about 1 or 2 children, but as an archon I feel like he is capable of having 50. So I leave it up to you.

how is he during your pregnancy?

He would pull out the typical grandma's home remedies, which magically work and you don't even know how, every time you tell him you are nauseous or in any pain. He would read you his favorite books even if you had read them before because 'the baby needs to hear them too'.

any memorable moment with his child?

He is so proud to have a child with you that he would take you to all the adeptus and old friends to make the necessary introductions and give them the surprise that the geo archon was now a father.

Cyno

how does he propose to you?

He would ask you to accompany him on a mission in the desert for some kind of illegal trafficking, but all you are able to see is a natural oasis and Cyno smiling at you as he removes his hood.

where is the wedding taking place?

As much as it seemed like a good option to have the wedding in the desert as well, it ended up being held in the city of Sumeru, where it was easier for people to arrive and at least the heat would not be a big issue.

where are you going on your honeymoon?

I like to imagine Cyno again in Mondstadt, but this time you would use the trip to go to Spinedragon as well, he must be so cute in all the snow. It's not usual for him.

children before or after marriage?

After I guess, but mostly due to lack of time. You're both waiting for Cyno to stop doing such dangerous things and be able to spend more time with you before you try anything.

how many children does he want?

1 is fine for him, but if you want more he's not going to make any complaints about it.

how is he during your pregnancy?

If he normally reminds you to drink water every five minutes, now he will remind you every five seconds. Forget about going alone to areas like the desert or rainforests at least during the last months, and when you are close to delivery he won't leave your side.

any memorable moment with his child?

He would definitely spend his nights playing cards with the child, hiding from you because what he was supposed to do was to be a good father and put the child to bed. "Sorry, he was so excited I couldn't say no to another round." We all know the one who was really excited was Cyno, but okay.

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ereardon · 1 year ago

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Snowed In || Saturday [Jake Seresin x OC]

A Jake Seresin AU miniseries

Summary: When a massive storm shutters every airport in New York, you receive an unexpected call. Jake Seresin, the ex-boyfriend of your college roommate, is stranded at JFK with nowhere to go. Somehow you find yourself hosting Jake for a long weekend in your studio apartment. What happens when you realize that maybe your long-standing hatred for him was covering up something else?

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x OC [Ella Finnley]

Trope: Forced proximity; enemies to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, references to cheating, eventual smut

Wordcount: 4.2K

Masterlist here; Part one aka Friday here

You had spent seven years trying to reinvent yourself after college. Almost exactly three thousand miles between you and Stanford, and yet the ghost of who you had been haunted you.

The funny best friend. The sidekick. The mousy girl in class. The overachiever. The one who wasn’t invited to parties.

You had moved to New York after graduation and taken a job with a small newspaper, working your way up. Along the way you had gotten a haircut, figured out how to apply makeup with a wet beauty blender, how to dress for your small frame. You had traveled at every opportunity, made friends with people across the city, dated a hedge fund analyst and a bee farmer and a NYU professor. You had done everything you had wanted to do and more.

But when you laid down to sleep at night, or first thing in the morning, all of that change escaped you. And your mind immediately flitted to the version of yourself that you had once been but no longer were.

The girl Jake Seresin had known and loathed.

***

The day was bright. Blinding. You groaned, rolling over, taking the covers with you, trying to shield your papery eyelids from the light streaming through the blinds.

It was no use. You groaned, eyes flying open.

Jake.

For a split second you had forgotten that not ten feet away, Jake Seresin was hypothetically asleep on your couch.

Slowly, you sat up, peering over the edge of the couch. But it was empty. The pillow and comforter that you had laid out the night before folded neatly and set in the corner. You frowned. And then the sound of the tap in the bathroom caught your attention. A moment later it stopped and Jake emerged from the bathroom into the hallway, wearing a pair of joggers and a fresh shirt, hair damp. He smiled. “Hey Finn.”

That was it. Like he had forgotten how the two of you had left it the night before.

“I made coffee. Hope that’s OK. But you don’t really have much else,” he said, sitting down on the ottoman.

“Ugh, yeah, I meant to go to the store, but I never did.”

Jake shrugged. “I think that’s our only option at this point.”

You stood up, the pant legs of your silky pajamas pooling onto the cold hardwood floor as you crossed the room and placed one hand on the window. It was frosty. Blinding white from all the snow swirling in every direction. It made the air practically opaque. “Not it,” you replied, turning around with one finger pressed to the tip of your nose.

Jake laughed. “Fuck it, fine, I’ll go.”

You grinned. Maybe having him around wouldn’t be all bad. “You can go later if you want. I’m not a big breakfast person, anyway.”

“Later is good.” Jake sat on the edge of the couch. “Listen, Finn. About last night.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted and Jake’s eyes widened.

He laughed. A surprised chortle. “Jesus. Never thought I’d hear Ella Finnley apologize.”

“People change, Seresin.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice softer. “That’s what I keep trying to tell you.”

You looked him up and down. You had rarely thought of Jake Seresin in the almost ten years since the two of you graduated from Stanford. But when he did pop into your mind, it was almost always at the most random of times, triggered by a memory. The smell of a particular flavor of vodka that you remembered drinking at his fraternity house, or if someone on the street passed with a distinct Texas accent. The years had dulled your impression of him, coated him in a sepia film in your memory that automatically paired Jake Seresin with dickwad.

Maybe, just maybe, you had been wrong. Or perhaps he had done what you had tried to do.

Had he actually, fundamentally, changed for the better?

“I’m going to shower,” you said, hooking one finger over your shoulder.

“I’ll be here,” Jake said, looking around the studio apartment. The warm water helped wake you up, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the way Jake had looked when he said he had changed from your mind. There was something there that he had never embodied before. At least, not the Jake you had known.

You turned off the tap, wrapping up in a white towel and sitting down on the edge of the tub, grabbing your phone and dialing a phone number you hadn’t touched in ages.

She picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Suze,” you said, smiling.

On the other end of the line, Suzannah whopped. “Ellie! Oh my God, it’s been forever! How are you?”

“I’m good,” you whispered, trying not to be too loud. “Listen, I have a question for you.”

“Everything OK?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I, um, Jake Seresin called me.”

There was a pause. Then, “Why?”

You sighed. “He, um, he asked to stay with me. Guess he was stuck at the airport with the storm that’s coming in.”

Suzannah wasn’t one to stay quiet for long. She had an opinion about everything, from the color of your nails to the best way to load a dishwasher to why Santorini is only for tourists. So silence from Suzannah was telling.

“Suze?” you asked softly.

“I’m here,” she said after a moment. “What did you tell him?”

“He’s in my living room.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“The bathroom. Hiding.”

She laughed. “You fucking idiot.”

“Tell me why you guys broke up again.”

“Ellie,” she sighed. “You of all people know.”

You did. Jake had slept with not one but two of Suzannah’s sorority sisters while the two of them were on a break. But break in the Ross and Rachel definition of break. As in the two of them had parted ways for no more than three days before Jake had fucked the other girls.

“Why’d you call, Finn?” she asked. “You already made the decision to let him in, obviously. So what are you looking for me to answer?”

“Do you think people can change?” you asked.

“Yeah, I do,” she replied. “By people do you mean Jake?”

“Maybe.”

Suzannah sighed. “You’re smart, Finn. Always have been. But you don’t trust people and that’s your fatal flaw. To answer your question, yes, I think Jake always had the ability to change. I don’t date losers, babe, you know that. Even back then.”

I laughed lightly. “God, I miss you Suze.”

“Call more,” she said. “And not just because you’re hiding in your bathroom from my ex-boyfriend.”

“I feel like I’m twenty two again,” you replied. “Afraid to come out of the bathroom because you and Jake were fucking on the couch.”

“Sorry about that.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “You need to go or else he’s going to think you have IBS or something.” Another pause. “Tell me something Finn, and don’t lie to me.”

You sucked in a breath. With Suzannah, you never knew where the conversation was going to go. “OK?”

“Is he still hot?”

You let out a snort. “Yes. Unfortunately.”

“That’s what I thought. Damn men for just getting better with age while I look like a sickly Victorian child at the ripe age of twenty nine. Anyways, I love you, call me when you’re no longer a fugitive in your own home.”

“Love you too, Suze.” You ended the call, shivering in the thin towel. When you realized you had left a change of clothes in the main part of the apartment instead of bringing something to the bathroom, you groaned.

Whipping open the door, you scampered down the long wooden hallway, shivering in the cold, rounding the corner on your tiptoes. Something hard hit you as your eyes were turned downward toward the floor. A solid mass smashed against your front and before you realized, you were falling to the ground, a small shriek echoing through the walls of your apartment as you and Jake tumbled to the floor in a heap of limbs, his fingers grasping for purchase on whatever he could.

Which just happened to be on your bare ass where your towel rode up.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed as the two of you smacked against the floor, your heads thankfully bouncing lightly against the cream colored rug to your left.

Your eyes flew open as something heavy rolled over you, your knee pressing up into Jake’s crotch instinctively as his fingers touched your bare ass.

“Oh my God!” Jake groaned, rolling over you as quickly as he had rolled on top, curling into a ball, hands cradling his crotch.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” you shrieked, kneeling next to him, gripping the towel around you with one hand, the other hovering over his pained body. “Did I get you?”

Jake moaned, nodding his head. “Yeah, Finn, you got me.”

You sat back on your heels. “Well you touched my ass so I think we’re even.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, rolling onto his side. “Not even close, babe.”

“Don’t babe me,” you said, standing up, making sure to keep your legs closed under the short towel. “You’re fine.”

Jake grunted, pushing himself to sit as you rifled through the dresser, pulling out a pair of jeans and a tight henley bodysuit. You brushed past him on your way back to the bathroom to change and Jake’s hand reached out, fingers circling your ankle. You gasped, looking down at him. He smirked. “It’s a nice ass.”

“Oh fuck off, Seresin,” you muttered, tugging your ankle from his grip as he chuckled. “Your balls aren’t even sore are they?” you called down the hall.

“Oh, they are!”

“Dick,” you whispered to yourself, shutting the door.

***

“Finn?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I turn the TV on?”

You scowled. “What happened to independent reading time, Seresin?”

After towelgate, you had emerged into the living room with a plan. To make time go faster, you and Jake would divide the day like elementary school. Breakfast coffee followed by gym class, per Jake’s suggestion, independent reading and a late lunch.

“And what the hell are we supposed to do for gym class when there’s a blizzard outside?” you asked.

Jake shrugged. “Yoga?”

The two of you had struggled through a yoga video that you screencast on your TV, and after Jake had obviously been staring at your ass in downward facing dog you smacked him on the arm.

But an hour into reading and Jake was already calling it quits.

He put his book, a worn copy of Wuthering Heights from your bookshelf, off to the side, kicking up his feet onto the coffee table. “Let’s play a game.”

“Game time isn’t for an hour,” you replied, never taking your eyes off of your book, a new thriller by Ruth Ware. “God, are you sure you have a job? How do you focus on any work?”

“I bounce around a lot,” he said.

“Bounce around jobs a lot?”

“Bounce around projects,” Jake clarified.

You looked up, eyebrows raised. “What are you, a drug dealer?”

“Finn.”

“What?” you asked, eyes flicking back to your book. “You never were great in school.”

“Hey,” Jake cried. “I wasn’t great at Sawyer’s fiction seminar. Doesn’t mean I flunked out of any other class.”

“You flunked out of Sawyer’s fiction?” You laughed. “God, that’s bad.”

“It’s been nine years,” Jake said. “Can’t you let little things go?”

“Nope,” you said, putting your book down. Outside, the snow had slowed so you could finally see through the opaque wall of flurries. “Fine, since you can’t sit still, why don’t you go to the bodega.”

Jake frowned. “What do you need there?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Jake looked around before turning back to face you, eyebrows raised. “A hammer?”

“What the fuck would I need a hammer for?”

“Why are you sending me to the hardware store during a snowstorm?”

You bent in half laughing. “Wait, are you telling me you think a bodega is a hardware store?”

“Well isn’t it?”

“No,” you said, wiping under one eye. “It’s a fucking corner store. Bread, soda, beer. Chopped cheese. Midnight cigarettes.”

“You don’t still smoke, do you?” he asked.

“No, not anymore.”

“Me neither.”

You shook your head, standing up and grabbing your purse, pulling out a card. “Here, take this.”

“No way.” Jake stood, pushing the gold Amex away from him. “I got this.”

“Fine,” you said, sliding the card back into your wallet. “I don’t know, get us stuff to last another two days. Some pasta, maybe. Fruit so we don’t get scurvy.”

“Scurvy in two days,” Jake muttered to himself, shrugging on a jacket, “that’s new information.”

“Vodka,” you said. “And limes. I’m going to need to be drunk to deal with another day of being with you.”

Jake turned toward the door, shaking his head. “Aren’t you a delight, Finn.”

You tried to read while Jake was gone but every little sound in the hallway would make you look up. Finally, after five or so times of that happening, you gave up, setting the book down and sitting on the windowsill overlooking Fifth Ave.

He was gone for a suspiciously long time. So long that at one point you almost pulled out your phone to call him, convinced he had gotten lost, when the doorbell rang. A minute later, you tugged open the door.

Jake was covered in melted snow, huffing and puffing. He had two bags in each hand, and a bouquet of flowers under one arm. You frowned. “Flowers?”

He stepped inside, tracking muddy water into the foyer of the apartment and you grimaced. “For you,” he said and your heart skipped a beat. Jake set down the bags, holding out the bouquet of white roses. “For letting me stay.”

“Jake,” you whispered.

He smiled. “Just take them, Finn,” he said softly. “For once in your life, let me do something for you.”

“Fine,” you replied, taking the flowers and pressing them to your nose. They smelled clean and soft and you couldn’t remember the last time a guy had bought you flowers. You headed down the hall toward the kitchen. “Shoes off, Seresin. Stop tracking mud everywhere.”

“I know,” Jake said and he was close, so close behind you that you could feel his breath on your exposed shoulder. “I’m getting something to wipe it up.”

He reached around your body, grabbing a few paper towels from the dispenser on the counter to your right, his chest brushing against your back before he pulled away. When he did, a rush of cold air hugged you tightly, reinforcing the fact that Jake was gone.

Once all of the groceries were unpacked, you and Jake were settled at the dining room table eating two bodega sandwiches.

“You’re like a kid who was left alone for the weekend, do you know that?”

Jake looped up from his bacon egg and cheese. “What makes you say that?”

“The groceries, Jake,” you replied. “Ice cream, cookie dough, Doritos, mac n cheese boxes? Seriously?”

“I got fruit like you asked,” he said, taking the last bite of his sandwich and wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Besides, it’s a snowstorm. Don’t we get a free pass?”

“Free pass for what?”

Jake stood, clearing his plate and your empty one. He smirked. “A free pass to do whatever we want, Ella. Whatever you wouldn’t normally do. Nothing is off the table.”

“I can think of a few things that are.”

***

Jake was better behaved with a full stomach. The two of you wrapped up reading time, and even played a game of Monopoly that you had found buried in your closet. Before long, it started to get dark, the sun sliding below the buildings until the sky was just a dark blanket peppered by the continuous snow.

You flicked the news on. “More snow is expected to fall across parts of Manhattan and the wider Tristate tonight,” the newscaster said. “We could see up to another six inches overnight.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, turning it off as Jake returned with two glasses. He handed one to you. “What is this?”

“Vodka tonic,” he replied and you took a sip. “Since I know you’re trying to get me liquored up so I’ll have to sleep with you.”

You sputtered, vodka spraying out of your mouth as Jake cackled, settling down onto the couch next to you.

“Easy there,” he said, patting your knee, squeezing gently as you wiped at your mouth.

“I think of the two of us, you’re the one that’s easy to get into bed, Seresin,” you murmured. His hand was still resting on your thigh.

“Maybe so,” Jake said, his eyes never leaving yours. “The couch isn’t too comfortable, you were right.”

“You’re not sleeping on the bed with me.”

“What if I beg?”

“Is that your kink? You want to have to beg for sex?”

Jake leaned back, taking a sip of his drink, his hand still hot on your leg. “Sweetheart. I’ve never had to beg a day in my life.”

You crossed your legs, letting his hand slip off. “Never say never, Seresin.”

***

Somewhere between the third and fourth vodka soda was when things started to blur. Jake had brought the bottle out into the living room, along with a pack of tonic waters and a lime on a cutting board. At some point, you kicked off your slippers, tucking your feet up beneath you and Jake did the same, scooting closer on the couch, one arm stretched out over the tufted back.

You leaned forward, reaching for more vodka, sliding a little and Jake’s arm shot out, catching you around the middle, suspending you in midair so you didn’t fall.

Your faces were close together. He was basked in warm light from the candles on the mantle and the soft yellow lamp in the corner. He smelled good and cozy and for a second, you could almost forget that he was Jake Seresin. He was just a really attractive guy in your apartment looking at you like he never wanted to tear his eyes away.

“How on earth are you single, Finn?” Jake asked, his fingers tightening around my side. His green eyes were clear and wide.

You grabbed the vodka bottle, dumping some into my glass, and Jake finally released me. But his knee was pressed against my leg still, warm and inviting. “I don’t like dating,” you said. “Every guy is the same. He’s Midtown East and he has three cell phones or he lives in Fidi and he works twenty hours a day or God forbid he’s from Brooklyn and he wants me to take the L on the weekends. He’s an Upper West side dick whose mother will never approve of me. He’s an Upper East Side prick who would never look my way because I didn’t go to prep school. Or maybe he’s another Stanford alum, but even then I probably won't be good enough for him somehow.”

“How could you not be good enough?” Jake whispered.

“You overestimate me, Jake,” you replied. “And you overestimate the New York dating scene.”

“You’re smart,” he said. “Beautiful. Charming in a really dickish, sarcastic way.” You laughed, head tossed back and Jake’s fingers on the back of the couch tickled your neck. “The whole package, El. Always have been.”

“You didn’t like me in college, Seresin,” you replied. “What made you change your mind?”

“Who said I didn’t like you in college?”

“You did! The way you always gave me shit and how you always avoided me if we were waiting for Suzannah at the same time.”

Jake shook his head. “I didn’t hate you. I’ve never disliked you a day in my life, Ella.”

“Then what?” you asked. “Why were you always so weird?”

Jake paused. You watched his jaw tense. He set his cup down on a coaster on the table and stood up abruptly. “We need more liquor.”

You frowned. “What? No, we still have vodka left.”

“Then we need gin.”

“I have gin.”

“OK, tequila.”

“Jake, what are you doing?” But he was already down the hall, pulling on his jacket, sliding into his boots. You scrambled off the couch. “Jake, wait!” But he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stood in shock. What had just happened? After a few minutes, you tugged on a coat and a pair of boots, slipping your keys into your pocket. The hallway was dark and empty, no sign of Jake.

Five floors later, you emerged in the lobby. “Ella!” Gerry the doorman looked up from behind the desk. “How are you sweetheart?”

“Hi Gerry,” you said. “Did, um, did a guy rush out of here a few minutes ago?”

He nodded. “Tall, blond, looks like a total player?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“He took a left, toward the park,” Gerry said. “Be safe, sweetheart. He looks like he’d break your heart.”

“He’s just a friend.”

Gerry nodded knowingly. “Friend. OK, doll. You be safe out there, it’s cold as all hell.”

You smiled, bursting through the double glass doors, getting smacked in the face by a gust of air. It burrowed into your skin, freezing you whole and despite the heavy coat your teeth chattered as you took a hard left down Fifth. Washington Square Park was five blocks away, but no way Jake had already made it that far, right?

No one else was out. Who would be so stupid as to go outside at nearly midnight in the middle of the worst blizzard in two decades?

Apparently you. And Jake Seresin.

You scampered across the intersection, crossing tenth street, hurrying as the wind gusted from one side, threatening to toss you into the nonexistent traffic on the avenue going downtown toward the park.

Up ahead, you spotted the familiar Washington Arch that stood at the northern part of the park. Snowflakes dotted your eyelashes and you blinked, pressing them away into liquid, before opening your eyes wide, spotting a familiar head bobbing down the sidewalk. “Jake!” you called out, your voice getting picked up and carried away in the wind. “Jake!”

Beneath your body, your feet scrambled along, pushing you closer.

“Jake!”

The man in the distance stopped and turned. The lights illuminating the arch highlighted him from behind. His jacket was too thin and as you approached you could see it was damp from snow, his hair sticking to his drawn face.

“Seresin,” you said, stepping closer until the two of you were only a few feet apart. “What the fuck? You’re like a shit baby daddy, going out for diapers and never coming back.”

“Get it all out,” he said. “Whatever you think of me, Ella. It’s time to air the dirty laundry.”

You frowned. “What are you talking about? I don’t understand what’s happening. One second we’re drunk and laughing and the next second you’re fucking running away and forcing me to chase you through a goddamn blizzard.”

“You didn’t have to chase me.”

“You left,” you said quietly. “What did you expect me to do?”

“Let me leave,” Jake said. “If you think I’m such a bad person, what do you care if I stay or not?”

“The real question is why did you hate me so much,” you whispered. “Back in the apartment. I asked why you hated me so much back then. And instead of answering, you made up some bullshit excuse about needing tequila. So answer, Jake. Or I’ll let you turn into an ice sculpture and I’ll sell you to 230 Fifth and their stupid fucking igloo bar as decoration.”

“I don’t hate you, Ella,” Jake said, stepping closer. Even drenched in snow he was warm. A furnace. “I never hated you.”

“So what was it then?” you demanded. “A Mr. Darcy thing? You ignored me and shut me out and gave me shit because you loved me?”

“Maybe.”

“What?” Stunned silence surrounded the two of you. If it was even possible, the snowflakes fell slower. As if they were suspended in the air. It was just you and Jake in the middle of Fifth Avenue in a snowglobe. You looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Did you ever think, Ella, that maybe I called you for a reason?” Jake asked quietly. “That maybe, just maybe, I spent eight years wondering about what had happened to the one girl who had seen me for who I really was and never let me get away with it? That maybe, just maybe, I took your feedback to heart and tried to change. And now I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“For this,” Jake said, closing the distance between the two of you and sliding one hand around your neck, tipping your head back, bending down to press his lips to yours.

Tag list [using my list from The Off-Season since it's my most up-to-date Jake list but if you're not interested in these types of fics just let me know!):

@double-j @topguncultleader @momc95 @hangmandruigandmav

@teacupsandtopgun @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @blue-aconite @seresinhangmanjake @eminyourjeans @shawnsblue @babyminghao @sadpetalsstuff @angelbabyange @taytaylala12 @wkndwlff @mygyn @oneelleandaneye @averyhotchner @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @rxmtoon @valkyrja-siren-blog @horseshoegirl @abaker74 @clancycucumber230 @theharddeck @redbarn1995 @shanimallina87

@memeorydotcom @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @gretagerwigsmuse @djs8891

@blackcatdhisgf @buckysteveloki-me @eli2447 @bellaireland1981 @seresinslady @hookslove1592 @shotclock24seconds @fanficfandomlove @ryebecca @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @t8r-tots

#jake hangman fic #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #top gun imagine #jake hangman x you #jake seresin au #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fic #jake seresin angst #hangman series #hangman imagine #hangman x you #hangman x reader #hangman #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick

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wifeofsnowbaird · 10 months ago

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You Can't, You Can't Catch me Now I'm coming like storm into your town

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/rest on Masterlist

[Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x time-travel, thg-era, tribute!reader x toxic!Finnick Odair (in the Peacekeeper era)]

Warning: gore, blood, gun and knife violence, serious injury, death, physical assult, possibly non-con...as I said, maybe...

Summary: You are a rebel, the last chance of the rebellion against President Snow. You're told to go on one last mission to kill the man who massacred Panem. It took you years to understand your mission when you became [name] Lily Baird, starting from the age of five till before the reaping day of the 10th Hunger Games.

The day you began your plan to destroy President Snow before he became the villain he was meant to become.

'Both sisters, Lucy Gray and [Name] Lily Baird are a part of the Covey, and though they have been chosen as tribute for both District 12 and 9 because of our own mistakes, we hope they will stay safe.'

You knew about [Name] Lily Baird, named after her because your mother was inspired by her fiery personality and strength, but now you realize that you were transported to a time before the Baird sisters died, one of sickness and one because of Coriolanus Snow himself.

'I will kill you, President Coriolanus Snow.'

‘Coryo, how exactly are you supposed to cheat if you have no one on your side other than me?’ He shrugged, glancing towards the sunset past the arena they were standing in.

‘I'm not sure but I will figure out a…’

Coriolanus noticed a boy walking towards [Name].

Felix Ravinstill.

He dared to try and help Coriolanus’ tribute practice when he noticed she was distracted. Coriolanus frowned, rage getting the best of him.

But he couldn't do it now.

Not in front of her.

‘Felix Ravinstill,’ the boy looked up, slightly startled by the hate in Sejanus’ voice. Felix had tried to seduce both of their women and they wouldn’t take that lightly.

‘How dare you try and woo our tributes? You have your own, go mess with her but stay away from our things.’ Coriolanus snarled, glaring sharply toward the cowering black-haired boy.

‘Clearly, they don’t like either of you.’ The coward tried to smirk but he failed tremendously.

That was when Sejanus saw nothing but red.

‘Die, motherfucker!’ Blood pooled through a jagged bruise tearing through Felix’s skin before he ran away from the two vicious boys willing to do anything for their loves as long as they stayed with them.

It was now days before the Games but even then, early on a mentor and tribute died because of a simple tease toward a starving child.

Arachne Crane and her District 10 tribute.

While Coriolanus hadn’t known Arachne much besides being his childhood friend they had recommended him to sing Panem’s National Anthem. He had only decided to agree because he realized that if [Name] heard it she might finally compliment him.

‘Please, I want you to smile for me…[Name]...’

Living in the time of the 10th Hunger Games, you tended to notice the difference between the Capital from the place you called home. You tried to see the better in most people, expecting a kind person like Effie Trinket to appear amid rich, classy citizens, but it was hard when they just wanted to tease you with something you will never gain because you’re poor .

Sure, the District 1 and 2 tributes were treated much better but still, they were tortured by the feeling of inferiority coming from the people they depended on.

Now, you were accompanied by your mentor, Coriolanus Snow, on a walk into the Arena following the other tributes. It was a silent exchange when he secretly placed a napkin of food in your chained hands. You palmed them before slightly nudging Lucy Gray, she was behind you and you could hear her conversation with Sejanus as he quietly gave her a pouch of food to stuff into the pockets of her rainbow ruffles.

You turned your head as if you were conversing with Coriolanus but let your eyes drift to your sister as she winked and nodded. That nudge was something you both had practiced years ago to signal if you guys were able to steal a piece of food or jewelry from the rich Peacekeepers in other districts before you two traveled with the Covey. Once you got that signal, you calmed down and began to whisper to your mentor.

‘Coriolanus,’ you began before he interrupted you.

‘ Coryo . You can call me Coryo, I won’t mind.’

You grimaced before clearing your throat and faking a small smile, his piercing blue eyes lighting up.

‘Coryo, I, uh, I liked your singing.’

To be honest, you did. He sounded full and his voice echoed around the arena perfectly.

‘You sounded like a man with great authority, my daddy wouldn’t have noticed much but he would’ve noticed that.’

[Name] Lily Baird was an orphan found by Lucy Gray’s parents at the age of four so you considered her parents as your own like every other child in that type of situation, and in return, they loved you like you were their child.

Coriolanus smiled at your wistful expression before glancing toward the identical dresses the Baird sisters had on.

‘That means a lot considering that I thought that you hated me.’ He stared back at you with a cheeky smile on his face.

You rolled your eyes before a smile blossomed through the irritation. Maybe Coriolanus Snow wasn’t as bad right now…Maybe there’s a possibility to change him.

‘Well, I think that most Capital people would like that better than us being friends, right? It’s like we’re rats in a snake's nest.’

He glanced back at you before holding a hand up to his face to stop the laughter about to spill from his mouth. It might not have worked but seeing his red face from the joy in his eyes made you feel as if this Coriolanus Snow, this Coryo, was a completely different person.

Someone you would be great friends with.

But then the world exploded into fits of fire.

wow, i wish

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echantedtoon · 2 months ago

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Demonstober Day 4 Yuki Onna

Yuki Onna means 'Snow woman' in Japanese. It is a kind of frost spirit that usually appears as a beautiful woman in a white robe with long black hair. In some stories, the Yuki Onna is good and helps people in the mountains. In other stories, she is evil and freezes people.

(Warnings for death by freezing/drowning in cold water.)

Tagging: @lavenderdropp @six-eyed-samurai @trancylovecraft @cherrysuzaku

Remember if you want to be added to the spooktober taglist lemme know

"Come now, Lotus Blossom.~ Aren't you happy to see your husband? After all ..This is all your fault."

"N-No. NO!! YOU'RE NOT REAL!!"

"Not real? But, Dearest. I'm right here.~"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

Cold.

The night was so cold and unforgiving. With leaves up to half her legs, and the cold air seeping into her skin despite the extra layers and thick rabbit fur coat she had over her shoulders. It sent a shiver down the woman's spine and sent shockwaves coursing throughout her body. Hands rubbed against themselves and were blown on by warm breath in huffs from her mouth between chatters of teeth before being shoved back under her arms in an attempt to keep warmer.

Tears were not helping.

Rolling down her cheeks and stinging the skin when the cold air rolled over it as if some kind of cruel kiss. Eventually dropping onto the coat. How long has it been now? Four maybe five hours of walking westward? Seemed about right. The moon was still high in the sky and luckily it was bright enough to light her way. She was even more grateful that it hadn't snowed yet. Leaving behind trackable footprints would only put everything in jeopardy and she couldn't have that. The night was still young with a good few hours still until dawn. And the first day of traveling was the most important one. It was the day she had to get the most distance between her and her old life.

Which was easier said than done.

She had thought of many things to cover her tracks. Faking illness to 'stay home and rest up.' Also if everyone thought she was sick with the stomach flu, they'd stay away so that'd buy her some time before anyone got worried and came to check on her. She had made sure to leave in the dead of night to avoid anyone spotting her fleeing. She had closed the shutters on her windows and left her fire going. That would make it seem like she was home and no one would know because the windows were blocked. By the time someone did notice, she would've already been long gone and no one would know where she was.

Would it make her look suspicious to everyone else that she disappeared after Douma was found dead? Yes. Most likely. But she couldn't risk staying there and having someone just putting the missing pieces together. Her life would be endangered. It was already in danger, but she'd been incredibly lucky that no one had put anything together but that could change. Someone could put it together right now as they slept. Or tomorrow. Or this week. Or next week! Hell! Someone could have figured it out right now! Someone could be storming her house for just right this very moment and her wouldn't know because she had made the choice to leave before anyone could.

Even IF no one ever found out, it was still better for everyone if she left. Before...

Before anyone found out you killed someone!

It was an accident. It was all just an accident. You didn't mean for it to happen! It just did.

And now here you were. Running through the snow away from your sins-

The man wouldn't leave you alone. Back home he was considered to be the most beautiful man in the surrounding provinces. He had it all. Wealth, power, territory, and as many woman AND men fawning over him as he pleased. It was no secret he liked to pick and choose who to add to his harem and who to discard which was always constant. However his parents decided that it was a time he picked someone to marry. Wouldn't stop him.from having his harem as you've come to know. You remembered that cursed day like it was yesterday. The cold fall day fathers and grandfathers came out of the wood works to parade their beautiful and eligible daughters and granddaughters. Dressing them up like they were already expecting to be married right then and there, and encouraging them to bat their pretty lashes and act seductively towards the beautiful man that came strutting into the town with his large entourage of followers and servants.

You couldn't help but stare in awe along with everyone else because the rumors WERE true. He WAS absolutely beautiful as the rumors said and it was a sight to behold for sure. However the way he cooed over the women forcibly giggling, smiling, batting their lashes, and acting like they were oh so in love-..It made you feel like barfing all over the firewood you were trying to sell the crowd.

"Oh, my. Such a beautiful woman.~ And is that handsome thing your brother? Mm. My, my. I might just take you both home with me.~"

You felt like gagging and you did, which might've been the mistake that started it all. You stuck your tongue out and pointed a finger at your mouth before rolling your eyes and turning back to try and gain the attention of a man staring in awe of the entire thing. However two eyes had found the sight and watched as you tried to hustle up business. You didn't even notice the tall figure walking over to you until you felt someone looming over you and you stopped to look, freezing at the sight of rainbow irises boring into your soul and a fake smile plastered onto his face.

"My, my. And here I thought I met all the beautiful young ladies here.~" The way he spoke made you shiver and NOT in the good way. It was more of a cold shiver in warning, like the kind when you knew a snow storm would hit. "What is a beautiful maiden like yourself doing tonight?~"

You did NOT having so many stares on you.abd only bluntly gestured to bag of wood you carried. "Selling wood." You tried again prodding the man for sales but a handsome face annoyingly popping between you two stopped you.

"I didn't know that a lady such as yourself would be working so hard.~"

You stared at him deadpanned at this point. "Money doesn't earn itself, Mister. And neither does food magically appear on my table or in my stomach. I have to earn a living in order to get by." Your eyes narrowed. "You know. Like the AVERAGE person has to."

He hummed blinking a moment before smiling wider. "Well why don't I but your firewood?"

"I'm sure a man like you has no need for my wood. I would prefer to sell them to people who need them much more."

You made to step around him but a cold hand on your shoulder had you jump. "You're too kind. Allow me to help you with that."

"No thank-"

"NOW WHICH ONE OF YOU KIND PEOPLE WILL BE WILLING TO SHOW THIS LADY SOME KINDNESS IN RETURN AND HELP YOUR FELLOW MAN!?"

"I'LL GIVE TEN YEN FOR THE ENTIRE BAG!"

"I BID TWENTY FIVE!"

To probably try to impress the man or show off, the fathers and other people began shouting and grabbing at your bag almost like starved animals. In the end your bag was empty from the on slot and a decent amount of coins were in your hands. But it didn't feel right. You didn't gain them by honest means but by someone else's manipulative words.

"See? Now that was so kind of them, and as you know good deeds are rewarded." The arm still around your shoulder tightened as you looked at him.

"I didn't ask for help."

"Oh but one good turn deserves another-"

"NO! This isn't right." Harshly and earning a gasp from most people around you, you wretched his arm off of yourself and instead slapped the bag of money into his hand before pushing it towards the blinking man firmly. "I won't take money unless I want it honestly, not because you asked people to buy my wood. Take the money YOU earned and spend it elsewhere."

You went home pushing past the crowd of people looking horrified, shocked, or just straight up glared at youl You didn't care. You didn't ask him to help you and you weren't going to take their money! You'd rather survive on the thin soup you were used to having to eat than cheat people out of their hard earned money! You might be poor but at least you could say you've never stolen anything or committed a crime.

However that one act was enough to make obsession creep into the man. For he hadn't had anyone treat him like you before. Why the very next day he was still in the village and was knocking on your door. You answered to him smiling widely at you.

"Hello, Fair Maiden.~ Took me all morning to find you."

"What do you want?"

"I've gotten the impression that you were angry with me and I can't help but feel bad. I've returned the money to the people."

"You came all the way out here to tell me that? You shouldn't have manipulated them into giving it to me in the first place."

"Ah. Such a kind soul. Pure and always does the good and honest thing.~"

"Are you here to apologize? If so just say so and go away! I have more wood to try and sell!"

He chuckled sounded faker than a girl's make up. "And no nonsense. I like that in a woman! You're the first person who told me off like that and so boldly in front of everyone!" He held held out his arms. "I've decided that you are the lucky woman to become my wife!"

You stared at him. Blinking once. Twice slowly. Before a scowl marked your features. "Go screw your harem and get out of my sight!"

You slammed the door into his stupid face and marched away. That should've been where things ended. But it didn't. For the remainder of his stay there he would bother you ALL day EVERY day! Both by himself but also by a few of his entourage and a group of your village's girls still following him and giving you glares and dirty looks. He'd just watch you and NOT SHUT UP!! Every second of every day it was always asking you questions which you only silently glared, or talking about himself. How much territory his parents owned, the money they made from all the businesses they ran, how much he could spoil you, what things he wanted for the wedding when you finally said yes, how much he just adored sake baths, his favorite tailor, how great of a lover he could be in b-

You ended up throwing the entire bucket of cold stream water on him before he could even THINK of finishing that sentence making his servants gasp and the group of women following him look horrified. You however just refilled your bucket and walked past him all the way home. Slamming the door behind you and refusing to come out for the rest of the day. If he wasn't talking at you or about himself he'd just go on and ON about the most random crap! How winter was so close now, how much the leaves crunched under his feet, how rice balls were superior to miso soup-

GODS YOU COULDN'T STAND HIM!! TO MARRY HIM WOULD BE A WORSE FATE THAN DEATH ITSELF!!

Thankfully he left soon after but his nuisance still persisted more as the fall season rolled along. It started with messengers bringing you letters. They were always either love letters bragging about himself or poetry so sappy it'd even make a romance novelist cringe. By the fourth letter you didn't bother reading them anymore and just tore every one to shreds in front of the horrified messenger. Then started with the gifts. A small bracelet, a bag of silver, a new silk kimono- You had to fight every single time to get the messenger to take it back threatening to toss it in the river nearby. One man refused so you kept your word. Marching up to the cold water and tossing the small diamond studded necklace as far as you could into the Water's depths. The man was horrified by your actions and cussed you out but you were already inside slamming the door in his face. The letters stopped after that. The gifts stopped after that. All the messengers coming with gifts, letters, and offers stopped after that. You didn't hear anything else about or from Douma for the rest of the fall season and early into winter. You thought you were finally free of the man and he found some other desperate woman to marry. However you were very wrong.

It started one night.

It was still early enough for you to be awake but late enough for a lot of people to be asleep by now. You were too cold to sleep so you wanted some tea however it would mean getting water from the river just outside of your house to have it. You weren't expecting that company would be waiting for you just outside by the river. You stood there axe in one hand to break the ice completely freezing over the top of the rapid currents. The ice was too thin to stand on but thick enough that you had to get something to break it if you wanted water.

The snow started to lightly fall again. Crap. You'd have to be quick before the ice froze back over too-

"THERE YOU ARE, DARLING!" You almost swung the axe at the voice suddenly behind you instead you looked behind you and nearly had an stroke just seeing his stupidly smiling face right there behind you much too close. "I was thinking I'd have to stay at the inn to wait to see you again!"

You scowled. "You?! You again?! What do you want?!"

"Now now. Is that anyway to treat your husband-to-be? I came all the way here just to personally win your heart!~"

"So you decided to visit a woman's house in the middle of the night? Do you have any idea how creepy that is?!" You lost your appetite. Marching away from him but he stopped you by grabbing your arm and pulling you back. Making you drop the axe and bucket into the snow and facing his back towards the river. "Let me go!"

"Now that's not very ladylike. Or fair to me. I've poured my heart out to you and you're being so mean to me. All I want to do is love you."

"YOU?! You've got a lot of nerve saying that to me after everything you've done!" You struggled more but his hold was unrelenting.

"Why can't you just accept your place by my side? You should feel grateful! Every woman would want this."

"I DON'T!! NOW LET GO!"

With one action, you sealed both of your fates. In a desperate rush of adrenaline, you charged at his larger form and rammed him as hard as you could with your free shoulder. The man did let go. I'm fact he left the front of you completely. The force driving him backwards off guard, slipping on a slippery patch of snow and down he went-

A sickening crack sound filled the night.

A loud deathly splash followed it up spraying you in water.

Instinctively you reached up your arms to cover your face... before slowly looking back up. And then freezing in shock at the grisly scene before you.

A large hole was cracked into the ice. Large enough for a large man to easily jump into. The dark water sloshing around the edges as the currents still surged under the ice. Snowflakes still floating around you. The only witnesses to the crime.

Douma gone.

You stared in horror as what you've done samk in. Your lungs hyperventilated as you looked around. You were the only one there by some devious miracle. I'm fear, you quickly retrieved the axe and bucket before running into your house and closing the door behind you against the sins done that night.

The next morning you were hoping it was nothing but a dream. It sure seemed that way. The snow and cold from last night had already filled in any footsteps and the river had already frozen over again when you willed your shaky self to come outside and see. You prayed it was just that. A bad nightmare even though deep down you knew the truth.

You KILLED him.

You didn't know what to do except keep it to yourself. There was no witnesses or proof so you should be fine. You continued on with life as normal. Keeping your head down and not speaking a word of anything. It only took a week for news of Douma's disappearance to reach your village and for you to hear the gossip. Word was he just walked out one night and never said anything about where he was going. Some said he ran away with a lover while others said that he was just traveling to enjoy himself as usual and just didn't tell anyone. You didn't comment on anything and kept to yourself.

The guilt eating and eating at your mind!

In fact you think it was starting to make you go crazy! You thought you started hearing things at night. Some laughter from up the snowy hill whenever you got water. The sounds of someone walking around your door. The calling of your name once or twice. You always looked but never saw anything or found any footsteps.

You couldn't take it anymore! The place was too stained in sins and it was only a matter of time before you were suspected. So you left.

A fresh start somewhere else would be the best thing for you. It didn't sound too bad if one thought about it. A new life away from the toxic gossip and possible dangers but it was easier said than done. It's not easy leaving your whole life behind. Everything she's built for herself. Everyone she knew and cared about. Her entire livelihood. But..it was the only way. She'd have to start from the ground up in unfamiliar territory but... It'd work out. Somehow she'd make it work.

Her eyes felt heavy as sleepiness crawled in but she had batted it away every time it arrived. Westward. She had to go westward. Every step she took was one more step to something better. Every tree she passed getting farther away meant less danger. It's all that mattered. The moon rose and fell giving way for her brother the sun to start his journey to light up the world. The slowly absorbing sunlight brought some warmth to the world but it was still rather cold and made her body shiver still. She was tired. So tired but she carried on. She only stopped briefly once to fill a gourd in a nearby stream and eat some of the bread and cheese she packed herself and took a break to check her makeshift map. The tiny stream was on it so at least she knew she was going the right way. But it'll still be a long time before she came to the mountains let alone the nearest town which was right past the mountain. So she started again. Walking and walking and walking. Hour after hour. Step after step. Until it started to get sundown and she finally allowed herself to sleep but not before lighting up a campfire to keep. By the time she woke up the next morning she was shivering cold again and the ashes of the fire were softly simmering out. She made extra sure to put out the ashes and try to disguise the remains of the fire just in case someone might've come looking for her. Then it was back to walking westward.

She only hoped she was doing the right thing.

Day after day passed. Colder and colder the wind chilled. Flat land of dead grass became slowly steeper and steeper as hours and days and nights meshed together. She didn't know how much time had passed really but she was starting to run out of food. Water was scarce. And it was starting to close in on her-

And then it started to snow

F/c eyes had woken up to frost that morning and barely enough energy to open her eyes let alone stand. The fire long since died out leaving the cold to creep it's unforgiving hands over her. The sky had been taken over by darkened clouds so not even the sun's warmth would be blessing the earth.

Teeth chattered. Food was gone by that day's end. Water only a dream. Warmth scarce. Cold only bring the deadly company as the path became steeper.

And then it started to snow.

Lost. Everyway looked the same. Barren trees inviting death as no life was left behind by Old Man Winter's deathly kiss.

"...Y/n.~"

The ghostly voice against the wind startled her into stopping blinking against the wind and squinting out..No. The cold was playing tricks on her mind once more. She would've kept going if a laugh hadn't made her whip around-

And her mouth opened wide in horror.

It was a man standing there.

A man as pale as the snow and fingernails and lips as blue as the sky. Platinum silver hair fluttered around his head and whipped around in the wind. The only color to his body was those rainbow irises frosted over like the outside of a stain glass window on a chilly day.

Douma.

No...No. NO! Douma was DEAD!! You KILLED him!! You SAW it happen!! With your body frozen and fear kicking in, you could only do one thing.

R U N!!

Teeth chattered. Arms uselessly rubbed her sides to no avail. She lost feeling in most of her body. Couldn't even feel the cold from how numb she was. But she still pressed on despite being lost and cold. Step after step. Snowflakes kissed pale skin as if inviting her to rest and let the cold take her away in a peaceful slumber. But she couldn't.

She...

Couldn't....

Steps stumbled. A weakened body collapsed to the cold ground. Tired. She was so tired. So cold. So numb. Vision blurred and fluttered. Head spun as eyelids drew heavy. Darkness closed in as eyelids fluttered closed to the cruel world. Ears ringing softly as the world caved in and faded away with black as her breath weakened.

And a dark smiling shadow fell over her.

"...p-please...n-no-.."

"Shh. Darling, it's alright. Now we can be together forever just like I wanted."

Quiet. Peaceful silence echoed throughout the barren Forrest of trees. Celebrating the claiming of the warm life now laid upon the falling snowflakes. Coating her in white. A fitting wedding shroud for the ice cold groom.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny #Demonstober #douma kny #douma x reader #demon slayer douma #kny douma #douma #douma demon slayer #douma x y/n

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enchantedlandcoffee · 10 months ago

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Hey guys! Happy 28th! As I couldn't do a december fic rec list, I thought I'd merge them into one so this will be a big one :)

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Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

"Are there any gays in here?" by @red-pandaaa | red_panda28

Explicit | 7.9k | Strangers to Lovers Or, Louis is fed up with meaningless hook-ups, Harry happened to visit Starbucks on a Wednesday, and Clifford is the best

You smile all the time ('cause how can you not show it)? by @thebreadvansstuff | thebreadvan

Explicit | 9.5k | Dentist Louis Or, Harry never liked dentists, until now.

Blue Moon by @aquietlarrie

Explicit | 152.9k | Alternate Universe - 1950s it’s the late 50’s. times are ‘simple’. rock n roll is in full swing. vinyl, music and dancing are the primary ways of entertaining yourself, and in a time where loving someone of the same sex is illegal, two strangers catch each other’s eyes across a dancefloor and do just that. over the span of a year and in between two cities, harry and louis happen to find each other at just the right time. through a hot and heavy summer and a bitter winter, their journey is one of self; self discovery, self-acceptance and self love. this is a story of navigating sexuality in a time where man and woman are the only accepted forms of love by law, where learning to hide your love for someone becomes a matter of survival and safety. a story where above everything, they stick together and weather the storm. its hard, incredibly hard, but no matter the road, it's one worth taking

Tangled in your love and light by @likelarryfics | likelarry

Explicit | 95k | Kid Fic, Alpha Louis Tomlinson, Omega Harry Styles Harry doesn't have time for romance or finding an Alpha between balancing work, studying and looking after his daughter, Bella. Enter Louis Tomlinson who's a romantic sweet Alpha, determined to win the omegas heart and turns Harry's whole world upside down, making him question everything he's ever wanted and known.

Lost Cat, Found Love by @wemadethishome

General Audiences | 4.5k | Established Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Mild Hurt/Comfort Louis hates cats. But when his neighbor's cat goes missing, he finds himself much more dedicated to finding the thing than he ever wanted to be.

The Wind It Held Us Up by @itsnotreal | hazzahtomlinson

Explicit | 14k | Alien Harry Styles, Scientist Louis Tomlinson Or Louis had a feeling there was life on other planets, he just hadn't expected to meet someone from one.

now i know what a fool i've been by @28goldens | 28goldensfics

Teen and Up Audiences | 16.8k | Enemies to Lovers, Christmas Fluff harry and louis had one really bad date last year. now they're snowed in at zayn's family's cabin alone the days leading up to christmas and louis' birthday. can they make up or will this be their last christmas together?

come as you are by @stylinsoncity

Mature | Alternate Universe - Academia, Professor Louis, Student Harry louis is a professor of literature at oxford and harry is his newest and most eager protege. both are caught in a story about forbidden love, loss and second chances, in which one is on the brink of heartbreak and the other comes along when he's needed most.

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by @kingsofeverything

Explicit | 109k | Cheating, Older Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Alternate Universe - Beach, Meet-Cute Louis' life is steady and calm, moored by his marriage, and tied to his hometown, but after a chance encounter with another man, it'll never be the same.

Have Love, Will Travel by @kingsofeverything

Explicit | 97k | Camping, Friends to Lovers, Video Cameras Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series. It soon becomes obvious to their viewers that there's something more than friendship between them. Eventually, they figure it out.

Probably still adore you (with your hands around my neck) by @lunarheslwt

Explicit | 13k | Persephone x Hades AU, Louis Tomlinson as Hades, Harry Styles as Persephone Or, after six cruel months of being separated, Persephone!Harry returns to his husband, Hades!Louis.

The Money Mark by @brightgolden

Explicit | 52k | Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Sugar Baby Harry Styles Or, where Louis is Harry's first sugar daddy who dumped him over text and their paths cross, seven years later.

Just You and I (a starry sky) by @justanothershadeofblue

Explicit | 7k | Christmas Fluff, Mpreg, Friends to Lovers "getting accidentally pregnant by his childhood best friend-with-benefits" was definitely not on Harry Styles' holiday to-do list - but apparently it's what has happened, so now he has to figure out how to tell Louis without ruining Louis' birthday, their family holiday, oh, and literally everything else about their lives. Oops?

kay's 25 days of smutmas series by shiptattou | @wecantalktomorrow

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Niall Horan/Zayn Malik

If You Leave Me by @hellolovers13

Explicit | 5k | Alternate Universe - Vampire Niall spends too much time in his own head, almost breaking his (and Zayn's) heart in the process.

#28th appreciation #hlcreators #hljournal #trackinghappily #trackinghome #1dsource #hlsource #1dficvillage

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mrs-bluemarine · 2 months ago

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Warm on a Cold Night

YHE UKCING GUY OF ALL TIME

Draw me like one of your German girls. Divider credit goes to @!cafekitsune!

Pairing: Vasily x Franziska

WC: 3k

Notes: Fluff :3 wound kissing, my favorite, and Franziska nearly freezes to death y'know the usual

The moment she and her group took one step out of Russia, it seemed that all hell broke loose.

Winds were howling, snow was getting picked up and thrown in everyone's faces. It was hard to see three feet ahead of you in a storm like this, however they pushed on. Everybody tried to stick together, tried to yell through the wind to communicate, but for someone like the German woman, who never had the luck of finding herself in a growing blizzard, she was falling behind.

Ice stung her eyes, her vision becoming blurry. It felt like any longer out there and her tears would freeze in her eyes. The wind only pushed her backwards despite all she tried. Inside of her hazy vision, black figures became mere specks, disappearing into the storm, and her heart dropped. Where did the rest go?

The blonde looked left and right. She couldn’t hear a damn thing over the howling wind, it stole her voice when she tried to call out. Sugimoto, Asirpa, Siraishi… She even called out for the hooded man, but there wasn’t anyone to be found.

The blonde stopped in her tracks. Was she lost?

No… If she kept moving forward, she’d find something, wouldn’t she? Everyone has to just be up ahead, but with every step forward she took it felt like the wind pushed her back six. She tried her best to keep a positive face as she carried on, but something kept whispering in her ear. This wasn’t the end for her, was it?

Something captured her frozen hand, something big and warm. A mitten-wrapped palm. Her eyes traveled up the arm to find it attached to a familiar body, finding familiar eyes.

The Russian man pulled her close to his chest as he wordlessly began guiding her to the left. Within the pure whiteness surrounding them, something came into focus. A wall of darkness overcame her vision as the sniper continued guiding her closer.

A cave! He’s seriously found a cave in this mess?

The hole in the wall of rock was rather shallow, but big, and it did its job by protecting them from the icy wind. Seeing some dead foliage and tree branches gave her the idea for a fire. Instincts kicked in. Never before had she found herself in a blizzard, but she knew damn well how to make a fire. She immediately got to work collecting all the leaves and dry twigs she could find in a small pile in the middle of the cave. The Russian sniper watched silently.

Trembling hands rummaged through her pockets, finding a wooden matchbox with a measly amount of match sticks left to bounce around in their case.

Soon, a soft orange glow illuminated her face. Warmth spilled into her hands, warming her reddened cheeks and her frozen bones, and the blonde sighed in relief. The sniper came over to sit on the opposite side of the fire. A soft sigh of his own rumbled from underneath his hood as his eyes closed in quiet contentment. A moment passed where neither did anything except soak in the heat.

“Thank you.” His blue eyes looked away from the fire.

The woman opposite to him began caressing her match box, her thumb following the grooves carved into the old wood absentmindedly as fire sparked inside of her dark eyes. They reminded the Russian of the sea at night. He thought they were beautiful.

“I would have probably ended up dead had you not found me… so, thank you.”

He raised his hand to stop her, deflecting her praise, and she laughed softly.

His eyes watched her thumb move. The creature on the wooden box wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. He was sure it was an animal, curling around itself in a confusing way, unsure of where it began and where it ended. The German noticed his intrigued stare, and she offered him the match box. “Want a look?” He took it carefully from her, listening intently as she told him about the trinket. “It belonged to my father. The creature on the box is a dragon.”

She took a pause, “Um, dra-gon. It breathes fire.”

He nodded along, suddenly getting an idea. He gave the box back, quickly finding his bag to take out something; pencil and paper. The redhead scribbled something down, then turned the paper around and pointed at a Russian word he wrote with his pencil. “Ah, let me see… zmeya..? Snake? Well, it is pretty snake-like!”

The man tried doodling the creature underneath its name, failing miserably, still not understanding what was a tail or what was a wing or face. It came out as a jumble of rings and circles, which amused the German woman. He began drawing again, moving away to hide it from her. Then he proudly showed off his monstrous creation; a creature with claws and ferocious teeth with batty wings, multiple heads twisting around each other with scary faces. “That’s certainly one hell of a dragon!” He seemed to take pride in how his drawing affected her. He began writing something else.

“Oye, I’m not too good at reading Russian! I can try my best, but…”

It was another single word. “Let me think… This would make a ‘V’ sound. Vas…. Vasily?” She looked up at him. Since when did they get so close? “Is that your name?”

Pleased, he nodded, and she grinned. “There we go! Vasily…” She repeated it again, and the sniper was terribly afraid that he enjoyed how she said it.

The blonde lightly took his pencil, beginning to write on her own next to his name. “I'm not quite sure how to write in Russian…” She said quietly. His writing was neat and tidy. Her's was smaller, with elegant swirls in her letters that made it look like art, and reminded Vasily of the dragon on her match box.

She finished with curt “a”, giving back his pencil. “...You've probably heard the others calling me ‘Franz’. I guess it is easier for them to say. My full name is Franziska.”

Franziska.

Vasily wanted to repeat it, give it the same affectionate treatment she gave his own name. How unfortunate for him to be stuck in this state.

Suddenly finding the short distance between them uncomfortable, Franz sat back, looking away shyly. Vasily didn't seem to mind, or realize just how close he was. He placed the piece of paper with his doodle and their names on it aside, and began drawing something else. She gave him more space, allowing him to create more art in peace. She watched, this time from the opposite side of the fire.

Evening turned to night, and the storm raged on with no signs of stopping any time soon. The moon illuminated the ice and snow with blue light, giving the cold forest an otherworldly feeling to it. Inside their solitude, paper began to litter the ground. Piece by piece filled with whatever it was the sniper was drawing. Franz couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t curious, but she knew better than to sneak a peek, even if her curiosity wanted her to.

A comfortable silence overcame them as she watched him create. There was a soft furrow in his brow, his eyes staring intensely at his paper. Seeing him so focused… It was charming. For someone so masterful with such an intimidating weapon, she never expected him to be interested in something as delicate as art. He was a skillful hand at that. From far away, she could see one of his sketches. A bird, what species it was, Franz couldn’t say for certain. The realism in his lines was impressive, however… She couldn’t help but notice that it was the only paper facing up. Yes, the rest were placed kissing the ground, so she couldn’t see what it was he was making. It made her curiosity even worse, but she forced it down.

By chance, their eyes meet again. The ocean met the sky. And almost embarrassed, Vasily immediately looked back down, and Franziksa was taken by surprise. His pencil moved even more furiously, pretending as if nothing happened, when an idea dawned in Franz’ mind; was he drawing her?

The idea flustered her. Being the centerpiece of a work of art… Oh, how childish she was, indulging in such fantasies!

She wordlessly began taking off her coat, finding it suddenly too warm to wear it. Vasily paused to watch her body stretch and twist until she neatly placed the article of clothing to the side. Franziska huffed out a sigh of relief once her body was free of the tight wear. Really, that tall collar nearly felt suffocating. Her eyes opened as she brushed back some strands of hair loose from her ponytail. She realized he was staring, and she smiled.

Well… Would it hurt to at least… tease the idea? On second thought, it may.

“Drawing me?”

Vasily stiffened. The woman chuckled softly, watching him shuffle in place and look away.

She rested both of her hands on the ground, leaning backwards slightly. With a light lift in her tone she asked sincerely; “Would you like a new angle?”

Her words caught his attention. Reluctantly, he looked back, eyes widening at the sight. The look in her eye was teasing, but inviting, and Vasily felt his hand moving on its own. The first piece of paper joined the rest, and his pencil touched down. Seeing him begin to draw again, Franziska turned her nose, putting on a placid face for his picture.

She wasn't sure how long it took. Her arms were beginning to tire, however she refused to move, wanting to be the perfect reference for the artist.

Vasily on the other hand took care of every press of his pencil. Every line and curve was delicate, but deliberate. The features of her's he enjoyed the most were given special attention to make sure they looked perfect; her eyes, the curve of her nose, the way the fire bounced off of her cheeks, her hair cascading over her shoulder like a subdued waterfall of golden sunlight. Vasily felt an overwhelming presence telling him that every detail needed to be perfect.

After what seemed like hours for the reference and mere minutes for the artist, Vasily's pencil stopped “Finished?” Franz asked. He almost seemed reluctant to show her.

“Come on,” She purred, crawling closer. “Don’t be a tease…”

Slowly, Vasily offered the blonde his sketch, and she took it gratefully and carefully. Her blue eyes scanned over every inch, widening as she noticed every detail.

Her face pointed away, a side view of her head, her body half resting, half perched on her hands. Lord, he even added the highlight of the fire underneath her cheek. Every press, every line and curve of his pencil was done with care, she could see it, she could feel it. Franz cursed in her mother language. “Vasily, it's… you did incredible.” The man gave pause. He watched a grin split open her face as she refused to look away. A new, terrible idea came to mind, his eyes found the scattered sketches next to him.

Franziska perked up upon Vasily shoving more paper into her face. “Hm? What's this..?” There was more. The bird, a street, a room she recognized as the one she found him and Sugimoto "bonding" in. Most were of her. Quick, messy doodles of Franziska walking, smiling at something one of the other men said. There was a doodle of her crouching down to the ground next to a squirrel they passed by. She remembered that happening just that morning, before they left the city, before they left Russian territory and got thrown into a blizzard. At that point she wasn't aware that he was following them. But the one that caught her attention was one that seemed very recent. Her furrowed brow highlighted by firelight, eyes casted down to watch the flames lick the air. It was hours ago, she realized, when she was messing around with her match box. In that quick moment, before she looked away, Vasily saw her, and he was able to sketch this?

Franz looked back at him with a raised brow and a knowing smirk, “You like drawing me? I’m flattered.”

The redhead huffed, looking away while the blonde laughed, placing the sketches to the side. Franz watched him with curiosity in her gaze. He was so sweet to watch. Vasily, a cold blooded sniper- hell, she was still healing from that bullet he threw her way, and now he was here acting like a child. Oh yeah, that bullet in her leg… Ah, well, all is forgiven. It was hard to be upset at such a pretty face- or more like, it was hard to be upset when he looked at her with those eyes.

She had been able to see his face… but only once. Something inside her wanted to see it again. She wanted to see those lips, his jaw, she wanted to gaze upon those horrible scars of his, and shower them with attention without that pesky hood in the way. Terribly so.

She brought her hand to his neck, the touch making the hardened sniper stiffen. Her eyes were hypnotizing, putting him in a paralyzed trance. Her fingers dug into his layers of clothing, warm digits finding his nape, and Vasily nearly felt faint. He was almost taken under until he saw her other hand, dangerously close to his face. It was then he violently jerked his head to the side, suddenly understanding what Franziska was trying to do.

“Please?” Vasily heard her say, a needy, pleading look in her eye that was hard to ignore. She spoke so sweetly to him in his mother language, coming even closer. “I'd really like to see your face… only if you're comfortable with it.”

She wanted to see him. To see it.

But why?

A voice deep in his mind told Vasily no, he shouldn't. A louder, much weaker part of him wanted to show her, with hopes of more of… this. This attention. Those beautiful ocean eyes of hers only on him.

His hand moved with a mind of its own, his rough fingertips grazing the hem of the cloth shielding his face. How would Franziska look at Vasily now? He remembered the time before, not even a day ago he showed her only once, along with that man with the shaved head. He had reacted in horror. But Franziska… it was fascination.

She said something, Vasily didn't recognize it, his thoughts too occupied with other things. When her lips stopped moving, he finally did it.

He pulled down his mask, taking in his first breath of clear air in a long while, his sigh crystalizing in the air. Along with it he pushed his fingers through his auburn locks, knocking off his hood. His eyes opened again with the softest look of hesitation in his pale gaze, immediately looking to Franziska to analyze her face.

She was staring at him. Or rather, his cheek, noting his gunshot wounds still looked angry and raw. One side was worse than the other, the exit hole. But despite the wounds, there was no hint of anything negative in her dark eyes. Franziska continued to look at Vasily like he held the moon and the stars in his hands.

Her own cupped the back of his head, and the sniper's breath hitched in a shameful way. She was closer than ever before, the woman was silent as her breath brushed against his neck and his jaw. Every little move she made had the sniper's body failing him. He wanted to break, to give into the thoughts poisoning his mind. All he had to do was twist his neck, a simple, easy thing, but her body was rendering him useless.

And then Franziska kissed him. Her lips were like fallen snow against his jaw, cold and soft against a patch of skin where hair refused to grow, toeing the line between skin and scar tissue.

Her lips softly, slowly pulled away only a centimeter, and they traveled across his chin to place a similar touch against his opposite side. This one, the worst of the two, was given two sweet kisses instead of one. And only once she was finished did she pull away. Now Franziska looked at him embarrassed, the softest highlight of pink on her cheeks. She smiled. “Ah… you must think I'm a fool, acting like this… and with a man I barely know. Please forgive me.”

The blonde tried to move away, but Vasily refused to let her leave. With an arm around her waist, his palm against her cheek, Vasily successfully stopped Franziska in her tracks. She looked at him like a deer staring down the barrel of a rifle.

Vasily’s thumb pressed against the corner of her lips. His eyes scanned over every inch of her face. Her porcelain skin was free of any blemishes, untouched by any scars or scratches. Fit for an aristocrat's daughter. When his thumb moved, it uncovered the one thing that dared to litter her face. Two moles, one smaller than the other, like two drops of pen ink splashed against her lower lip.

Vasily moved slowly to give Franziska the option to deny his silent request, but she didn’t. So his mouth pressed a kiss against her chin, chapped lips covering her moles. He heard the softest sigh escape Franz’s lips once their skin touched, the hands still wrapped around his skull pulling him even closer.

His first kiss was followed by another, close to her lips, but not close enough. On his third kiss, it was finally where they both wanted it most. His mouth clashed against hers, nearly toppling the poor woman over and sending her to the ground. The two held each other impossibly close, hands tangling in hair, fingers squeezing cloth and flesh. A deep seated hunger made itself known in Vasily’s stomach, a gaping hole threatening to swallow him whole. And the sniper suddenly realized just how long he had been craving this. To hold, to be held, to taste the lips of another so passionately, to drown in this wonderful, foreign feeling taking a grip on his heart. And for a change his body and mind were not occupied with revenge. He allowed himself to drown in this wonderfully uncomfortable feeling at that moment.

What a fantastic woman he had to spend the night with.

#📖.bookshelf #my fics #ships: my baby shot me down #🎯.vasya #franziska bayer (gk)#selfship fic #selfship writing #vasily pavlichenko #golden kamuy oc

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kedsandtubesocks · 10 months ago

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AU where Gojo as the god of winter saves you during a blizzard because he admires your heart and now you’re stuck under his protection okay that’s all thank you bye!!!

- ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ -

“You have to be careful, young one! The storm is dangerous! The god of winter will not be kind to you!”

The apothecary’s words haunt your very soul now as the wind now starts to blow harder. The blizzard is coming, but you will fight through it. You have to.

“Well now, aren’t you a stubborn one!” Out from the wind itself, a twinkling voice calls out to you.

Stopping mid step, you turn to the side.

A mysteriously cloaked man watches you as he leans casually against a tall tree. The robe he wears, thick and heavy, even has a hood fully covering his face.

“This storm is going to be getting worse soon. And yet…you’re out here?” The twinkling curious voice continues speaking to you.

“So are you.” You glare at the stranger who suddenly laughs so bright at your words.

“You’re right! But what’s a cute thing like you out in these wilds? And even without a horse!”

A horse would be too much. And the money you had needed to be spent on the medicine.

“Just a traveler on the road.” You mutter and continue on your journey. This discussion is slowing you down after all.

Instead of leaving you to your journey, the hooded figure stays in step with you.

“So what’s a cute traveler like yourself doing out here during this storm?” His words are curiously perked up.

“Are you going to rob me?” You now flat out ask.

“What?” The hooded figure stands up straighter, almost confused. “No.”

“Because if you are then I’m already warning you I barely have any money and I won’t be worth much.” You think about the hunting knife your father left you and how you might need to grab it soon.

“There must be something valuable in that bag. You’re clutching it as if it’s dear life.” The stranger comments rather intuitively and his words make your heart drop.

You clutch your satchel tighter and freeze mid step.

“It’s medicine.” You answer truthfully while a wave of fear chases into you. “I’m sure it won’t be valuable to you.”

You swallow hard. “Please, please just let me go.”

The stranger stops and a pause floats through the air.

“Who’s the medicine for?” The stranger asks.

You sigh shakily. “My sister.”

Suddenly the hooded figure nods slowly.

“So you’re out here…trying to bring her back medicine.” He comments gently.

You nod. You know it’s foolish. Everyone has told you so. Yet you would brave this storm a thousand times for her.

“Well then, I guess you better get back on your journey.” He says so brightly.

You simply nod and wish him a safe travels.

You walk a few steps, hear the crunch of the snow beneath you. Then when you turn around to check to see if the mysterious man is there - you find he isn’t. Fear fills your chest and you begin walking even faster now.

You hope to at least make it to the next town. You have to.

But the snow comes fast. The wind howls fiercely and you can’t fight against its strength. Your fingers burn. Your body aches. You trip over something in the road and collide into the piles of soft snow. You cry out.

No. No, you have to get up. You need to. You can’t let your body stop you. But the storm has other plans. Your vision becomes blurry and you think it’s because of the wind, but tears sting your eyes.

“You damn stubborn little thing!” The stranger.

His hooded figure comes before you, a striking blot of darkness against the whirling white. Your vision begins fading.

“Medicine...I gotta get home.” You sob out not even fully realizing what you’re saying.

Someone yells at you. You can’t fully process who. But when you blink up you find the hood of your mystery man is whipped off.

You spot hair so white it blends with the snow and the bluest eyes, like the clearest summer sky, stare down at you. He’s gorgeous. You don’t even know if he’s real, especially with how unearthly beautiful he is.

Then your vision goes dark. And the next time you open your eyes, you’re back in your cabin back home.

Who? How? Did that actually happen? And more importantly - the medicine.

Ignoring your grandmother’s yells about how you need to still rest, you instead scramble to your older sister’s room. Still on bed rest, there’s more color in her cheeks as she sleeps peacefully. The medicinal herbs sit on the small table and you fight back the tears.

What had happened?

Your grandmother tells you everything.

“You simply arrived at the door half frozen as if the wind itself carried you home! I still can’t believe it!”

Neither can you.

Later that night when you go to grab more firewood - you swear a hooded figure peeks out from one of the trees and you hear a twinkling pleased giggle that floats through the icy winter wind.

#this was born out of me walking out of my house during the freeze and being so down for Gojo I’m SORRY #Gojo 🩵#Gojo x reader #also tagging this as long post just in case #long post

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rocksandrobots · 1 month ago

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PotP Ch 56 - Blizzards, Blackbirds, and Bargains: Part 2

Well, technically not from Corona directly. The dagger that laid out on the table before them bore the symbol of the Brotherhood, the crest of Umbra. Which was close enough.

Another dimension was another dimension after all.

“Watcha looking at?” Aunt Cass peered over the teens shoulders to see what had caused such fuss and fascination.

“Uh… nothing.” Hiro squeaked.

“Varian found a neat dagger in the snow.” Tadashi answered, cool as can be. “Someone must have dropped it. We're trying to figure out who it belongs to.”

“Well, your best bet is to turn it over to the lost and found at the police station.” Aunt Cass advised, as she walked over to the TV controls laying behind the counter. “You can give it to Chief Cruz once the storm is over.”

She flipped on the TV to see the weather.

“As you can see here, there's another cold front coming in tonight.” The weather girl said, pointing towards a green-screened map. “While the snow has eased up some, we're expecting more flurries later on in the day and even possibly some sleet tonight.”

“Therefore we advised people to still stay indoors and if you have to go out, try to get your errands done before 3 PM. The trolley will run from 10 to 2 in the afternoon for those of you who do need to travel.

Over to you Duff.”

The scene changed to the news anchor at his desk.

“Thank you Sheryl. Breaking news this morning. Apparently a series of burglaries happened last night while the city was distracted with the snow storm. Several banks, jewelry stores, and museums are reporting losses, with no evidence as to who the perpetrator might be.”

The scene changed again, and Chief Cruz, all bundled up in scarf and earmuffs, stood in front of the police station.

“We think it's an inside job. There's no signs of forced entry and all of the security cameras were tampered with. In addition, given the sheer volume of items missing and the distance between the various locations that were hit, would seem to suggest that multiple robberies happened near simultaneously; indicating an organized crime ring.”

While the Chief went on explaining proper safety procedures, the rest of the gang shared knowing looks.

------------------

It was difficult to see through the swiftly falling snow as the heroes flew, skated, and teleported across the city. Even Baymax’s sensors seemed to be on the fritz.

Despite this, the gang had found various treasures haphazardly strewn about town. Tapestries, toy chessmen, fur cloaks, small chests, other weapons, books, scrolls, a lone deerskin boot, and even a parchment map that was torn to shreds; all of it tossed about by the wind and all of it foreign to this world.

Varian’s goggles fogged up as he stepped out of the portal onto a rooftop. He wiped them clear with his sleeve and bent down to pick up another artifact.

This one was a ragdoll, worn, faded, and tattered, as if it hadn't been played with in years. In fact a lot of the stuff they had found was in a damaged state; as if all this stuff had been abandoned and thrown into this world like garbage. The dagger he had first found being the most intact due to the material it was made of.

Varian frowned. The doll’s coal black eyes stared back at him dully. They were also made of obsidian; same as the dagger, same as the stone chess pieces, and same as the arm bangle they had found earlier. Varian didn't know much about his father’s home country, but he did know that stone carving was a time honored tradition there.

He himself had never learned the craft, but his dad’s skills had been well regarded. He would, on rare occasions, carve small gifts out of stone. A toy here, a piece of jewelry there; quartz wedding rings were popular in the village and one of Varian’s favorite toys growing up was a carved knight on horseback.

“Oooh! I found a dress!” Honey Lemon’s voice broke out over the intercom, snapping him out his thoughts. “Well part of a dress anyways. One of the sleeves is missing.”

“Wooop! Yes! I found an axe!” Fred hooted with joy.

“You're not keeping the axe, Fred.” Wasabi dismissed.

“But-”

“Put it down.” Gogo demanded.

“As cool as all this medieval stuff is…” Tadashi chimed in, ignoring the argument over the axe, “has anybody figured out where it's all coming from yet?”

“I may have found something.” Hiro said as he flew past on Baymax. “Meet me in the park.”

------------------

“Well I guess we found that ‘cold front’ the weatherman said to look out for.”

Wasabi was the first to speak, if nothing else than to ease the overwhelming sense of dread that had overcome the group.

Before them, at the top of king’s hill in the park, was the largest portal they had ever seen.

It stood as tall and as wide as a two story building.

There were no frames nor turbines, like with previous set ups, but there was a swirling vortex of energy that whirled around the gateway. And this gateway led straight to a raging snow storm.

Wind, sleet, and snow blasted out of the inter-dimensional window and into the freezing San Fansokyo air.

Hiro gulped. “S-so how do we stop it?”

“Over here!” Gogo called out. “I think I found the controls.”

They met her at the foot of the hill where stood a metal podium with controls built into the top and a generator beside it. Varian kicked over some snow to find the buried wires traveling back towards the top of the hill, and presumably whatever electronics kept the portal in place.

“Hey look!” Fred yelled as he opened up a nearby sack. “Do you suppose they're using these to power the portal?”

He held up a diamond, looking through it like a spyglass.

“No, but I do think we’ve just found all of the stolen loot that went missing last night.” Hiro said, opening up another bag to find a pearl necklace.

“So you're telling me that whoever opened up the portal to the fairytale dimension, decided to go on a robbery spree?” Tadashi asked, incredulously. “Wouldn't they have they're own riches in that Umbra kingdom?”

“Looked more like junk to me.” Gogo commented; pulling out a single ripped leather glove from her back pocket and holding it up to remind everyone the real value of the other worldly treasures they had found.

“Maybe they're a part of the fae and are like exchanging trash for shiny stuff cause they think it's an even trade or something?” Fred guessed.

“The fae wouldn't use electricity, Fred.” Varian stated matter of factly as he examined the controls. That's when his eyes landed on the blue folder.

“That's Callahan’s notebook.” Hiro said when he noticed what Varian was holding. “But I thought you lost it.”

“So did I.” Varian muttered as he flipped through the notes.

“But both Callahan and Momosake are still in jail.” Honey Lemon timidly pointed out. “Who else would have known about it?”

They all got their answer when another, smaller portal opened up right next to them, and out stepped Sirque with a bag slung over her shoulder and a stolen crown perched precariously on top of her head.

Super villain and heroes stared at each other for a moment, stunned. Until Sirque rolled her eyes, dropped the bag of loot, and raised her hands.

“Alright, fine. You caught me.”

“Shut the portal down now!” Varian demanded.

Sirque took a step back, surprised by the ferocity in his voice.

“Okay… okay. It'll take a moment to power everything down ...”

She turned off the smaller portal behind her and walked over to the control panel.

“You have to shut everything off in sequence or it'll risk an implosion.” She finished explaining.

“That's the least of our problems.” Varian muttered.

“I don't know. ‘Imploding giant portal’ does sound like a pretty big problem to me.” Wasabi countered.

“Listen. The rocks could come through at any moment. That's a far bigger worry right now.”

“Rocks?” Sirque asked.

“Do you have any idea where that portal leads to?” Varian responded.

“The frozen tundra.” She pointed back towards the gateway like it was obvious.

“Yes… the frozen tundra of a completely different dimension.”

Sirque blinked at him, unsure how to respond to such a statement, but then decided it didn't matter.

She rolled her eyes again and shrugged. “If you say so.” And then began the power down sequence.

She didn't get the chance to finish.

Halfway through the ground began to rumble under their feet. But before anyone could yell “Earthquake!”, black stalagmites burst from below. They barreled straight towards the group, towering as tall as a grown man, before abruptly stopping a few feet past where they all stood.

It was all over and done within a matter of seconds. The gang of superheroes barely had time to roll out of the way from the onslaught.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.” Honey Lemon kept repeating over and over again as she clung to the base of one of the rocks in shock.

“What was that!?” Sirque yelled.

“The rocks.” Varian answered, lifting Hiro off his feet.

“Is everyone okay?” Gogo shouted.

“I’ve been better.” Wasabi grunted.

Everyone rushed to his side. One of the black spikes had pierced his armor, breaking the shoulder guard and grazing his shoulder.

“It sliced right through my shield like a knife through butter.” He hissed, as Baymax applied antiseptic to his wound.

“Fortunately it doesn't look too deep.” Tadashi said, examining Baymax's handiwork.

“Only a minor cut.” The robot confirmed. “It should heal within a few days.”

“I wish the same could be said about the portal.” Fred replied.

The others turned to look at him. He was standing near the now busted up control panel, holding a severed cord.

Sirque’s eyes widened with horror. “Oh that is not good.”

“Please don't say why.” Hiro whispered.

Sirque ignored his pleas. “The generator was used to kick start the portal, but the electromagnets use kinetic motion to maintain energy. Without the controls, I can't tell the portal to power down.”

“No…. No…” Varian practically laughed in disbelief. “Do NOT tell me you don't have a way to shut the portal down.”

“Well there is a backup… but…”

He grabbed her by the shoulders. “No buts, where is it?”

Pinned in his grasp, she timidly pointed back towards the portal.

“There’s another set of controls on the other end, to stabilize the connection.”

Gogo spoke up first. “So you’re telling us, someone has to go in there, turn everything off, and then get back through the collapsing portal before they're trapped in another dimension for all time?”

“Why do you keep saying it's another dimension?”

“Because it is!” Varian shouted, finally letting go of her. “Or do you think those are natural to this world!?”

He pointed back towards the rocks.

Sirque frowned.

“You don't… you don't know that. They could be.. they be an unstudied phenomenon-”

“ I've studied them. I've spent my life studying them. Their chemical makeup doesn't match anything on this Earth. Their physical priorities defy basic physics. They've managed to go against all known scientific research.”

“Trust us.” Tadashi stepped in. “It's alien, and so is he, and that portal you just built leads to another world.”

“You must be joking.” But she didn't sound confident, not in the slightest.

“Joking or not, we need to get those controls rebuilt and that portal turned off asap.”

“We don't have time.” Varian hissed.

“Nobody's going through that portal.”

Varian pressed his lips tightly together as if considering a further argument, but then huffed and marched over to the control panel instead.

“We need a soldering tool.” He said.

“I have a toolbox.” Sirque offered, and ran to her stash to get it.

Those not versed in portal tech, stood to the side and watched.

Honey Lemon had finally calmed down but still looked shell shocked, while the rest of the gang shuffled nervously, unsure what to do.

“Screwdriver!” Varian called out, while Sirque connected the power cables.

Gogo handed him the tool out of the toolbox.

“So… those are what destroyed your village?” She asked.

“Yeah, and they'll destroy San Fansokyo if we don't get this portal closed.”

He finished screwing back in the brackets on the casing, and putting the screwdriver in his mouth, took two ends of a severed wire in his hand and spliced them together.

“Gat me a mut, mill ma?” He hummed, and Gogo went hunting for a ceramic nut for the wires.

“How much time do we have?” Tadashi asked, peering over the other side of the panel.

Varian spit out the screwdriver into his hand as Gogo handed him some nuts and terminal ends.

“No idea. It could be a couple of hours or just a few minutes.”

“What's our backup plan if we run out of time?”

Varian stopped and stared hard at him.

“There is no backup. Nothing can stop the rocks. Nothing. So don't even try it.”

Tadashi frowned, but for once didn't argue.

Hiro kept a pensive eye on the portal as he listened in on his brothers’ conversation.

“Baymax?” He quietly asked his robot companion, hopefully out of earshot of the others. “Can you detect where the other control panel is?”

Baymax scanned the portal entrance way.

“They're is an energy signal coming about half a mile from the portal’s entrance.”

“How fast can you get to it?”

“Given wind resistance, I estimate roughly three minutes.”

“So three minutes to get back through the portal before it collapses, plus whatever time it would take to turn it off. How much time would it take for the portal to close completely?”

Baymax gave the best imitation of a shrug that he could. “I'm afraid I do not have enough information to make that calculation.”

Hiro mulled over the options in his mind as he walked over towards the reconstruction.

“Hey Sirque, if someone went through the portal-”

“No one is going through the portal.” Tadashi interrupted.

Hiro ignored him, “How hard would it be to turn the other set of controls off?”

“Not hard. It's just a simple powering down sequence.” She answered off handily as she flipped through her notes. “First the electromagnets have to be told to slow down, and then the signal has to be shut off, then finally you can cut the power. Do it out of order though and the portal could implode.”

Hiro nodded. “The magnets have to stay stabilized till the power is fully off, got it. So all together, you think what, about six minutes to power it all down?”

Sirque gave it some thought. “Yeah, that sounds about right. Given the portal's size, it's not instantaneous like with my portable tech.”

“I know what you're thinking, and no.” Tadashi said.

“You said we needed a backup.” Hiro argued back. “Baymax and I could fly in there and out again the quickest.”

“Well fortunately we won't need to risk it because Varian is going to fix the panel here. Ain’t that right, V?”

In answer the control panel sparked and caught on fire. As Varian frantically scrambled away, Baymax calmly put out the small flame with his built in extinguisher.

“It's o-okay.” Varian tried to keep the rising panic out of his voice as he examined the damage. “It's just a little surface scaring. Nothing major. I can still fix this.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than did the ground start to rumble again. Varian gulped down his fear and turned to look at the portal.

More rocks were heading their way, but this time they were further off.

They could see the black spikes puncturing the snow off in the distance, but it wouldn't take long for the dangerous formations to reach them. Certainly not before Varian had a chance to rewire the controls.

A scream from Honey Lemon broke Varian out of his racing thoughts.

“Hiro NO!!!”

Too late.

Varian barely had time to register the wind rushing past him as Baymax blasted off towards the portal.

------------------

Hiro ignored everyone's cries as he rushed through the portal.

He wasn't sure what he had expected when entering another world, but honestly it didn't look any different from the images of Alaska you'd see on National Geographic. He could understand why Sirque would have assumed that she had created another spacial portal like all the others. The only thing indicating it's alien nature was the large black pointy rocks spiking up through the snow, and they had only just appeared five minutes ago.

Yet despite having not been there moments before, the rocks already trailed off far into the distant horizon in a winding, erratic line as far as the eye could see. Like a giant black serpent snaking its way through the snow.

The enormity of it filled his stomach with lead. These things were fast, and right now they were heading straight towards San Fansokyo. And given the evidence of what he'd seen here, they wouldn't stop at just the city.

“I have found the controls.” Baymax interrupted his thoughts as they landed near another metal podium. The rocks had thankfully just missed it by a few feet. Hiro wasted no time in jumping off and dashing towards the panel.

The power down procedure was simple enough. The control layout wasn't much different from Varian’s portal at school. Probably because both were based off of Callaghan’s work on the Silent Sparrow project.

He flipped the final switch and heard the telltale sign of sparking electromagnets slowly winding down in the distance.

“Quick, Baymax!”

He jumped onto the robot’s back in mid-flight and they took off at full blast towards the portal.

They were racing side by side with the rocks now. Which somehow managed to just keep pace ahead of them by a few yards.

Hiro forced himself to tear his eyes away from unnatural phenomena and focus on their destination instead.

The energy glow around the doorway was dimming and Hiro could just make out the shapes of his friends in the distance.

They were beginning to run towards them, no doubt calling out to him.

He gauged the distance. A little more than a football field to go… Five hundred feet… Four hundred… Three hundred… Two…

“Come on… come on…” He hissed, willing them to go faster… or for the rocks to go slower… or for the power to stay on longer…

They were only ten feet away when the energy connecting the magnets arched, sputtered, and then died away.

“NOOOO!!!”

His friends, the portal, and the gleaming towers of San Fansokyo faded away into a swirl of white snow right as he and Baymax flew past what should have been the gateway.

Baymax skidded to a halt and hovered there as Hiro looked on in horror at the nothingness before them.

Nothing but the snow and the back rocks; which continued on regardless.

#of rocks and robots #tangled the series #bh6 the series #big hero six #tangled #tadashi hamada #hiro hamada #varian

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