#mahogany dining room chairs

[carsfacelift]

Enclosed - Traditional Dining Room Ideas for a sizable, traditional dining room renovation with blue walls and no fireplace that is enclosed and has a dark wood floor and brown flooring.

[vintagehomecollection]

Empire green walls, amethyst silk damask and marbleized frieze complement the regency mahogany and gilt furnishings in this elegant Chicago dining room. Interior design by ISID member Rod Maxwell, photography by Steve Donisch.

100 Designers' Favorite Rooms, 1994

[martinworsterphotography]

Set of 12 Mahogany Spider Web Back Dining Chairs

[morganharrison]

a sizable, elegant image of a kitchen and dining area Large elegant dark wood floor kitchen/dining room combo photo

[httyd-mc-pl-twilight]

Philadelphia Enclosed Dining Room Example of a large, traditional, enclosed dining room with blue walls, a brick fireplace, and a dark wood floor and brown floors.

[pucksandpower]

Young Love and Old Money

Max Verstappen x Stroll!Reader

Summary: Max quickly learns that life with the paddock’s favorite nepo baby as his girlfriend is never boring

You take a deep breath as the town car pulls up to the grand arched doorway of your family’s Montreal estate. Beside you, Max squeezes your hand gently.

“Don’t worry, schatje,” he says, “Your father will love me.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so. But you know how protective he can be.”

Max grins. “I can handle it.”

The driver opens the door and you step out into the crisp night air, your heels clicking on the cobblestone. Max follows, straightening his suit jacket.

Inside, the foyer glitters with crystal chandeliers. A maid hurries to take your coats. As she leads you to the formal dining room, your heart pounds.

This dinner needs to go perfectly.

Your father and Lance are already seated at the long mahogany table, chatting. They look up as you enter and break into smiles.

“Y/N!” Your father exclaims warmly, standing to embrace you. “So wonderful to see you, mon minou.”

You hug him tightly back. “You too, Papa.”

Lance grins as he hugs you next. “Hey sis. Long time no see.”

You playfully mess up his hair. “Too long, little bro.”

Finally, you turn to Max, who is waiting patiently. “Papa, Lance, you already know my boyfriend, Max.”

Max steps forward confidently and shakes their hands. “Mr. Stroll, Lance, it’s an honor to finally meet you both properly.”

Your father looks Max up and down appraisingly. “The honor is mine, Max. Please, call me Lawrence.”

You let out a small sigh of relief as you all take your seats. So far, so good.

The first course is brought out — a decadent lobster bisque. You all sip appreciatively.

“Delicious,” Max compliments.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” your father says graciously. “Now, tell me Max, how is your season going so far?”

You tense slightly. Here it comes, the interrogation.

But Max just smiles. “It’s been excellent. A few tough races, but I’m leading the championship at the moment. The car has great pace and I think we have a shot at the title again this year.”

Lance jumps in enthusiastically. “I saw your battle with Charles last race when I was rewatching the tape. Epic stuff, man!”

“Thanks, mate,” Max chuckles. “It was a fun one for sure.”

You exhale in relief. Max is charming them perfectly.

The conversation flows easily through the next few courses. You can’t help but gaze admiringly at Max as he seamlessly meshes with your family. He has a natural confidence and charisma that puts everyone at ease.

Over dessert, your father says warmly, “Max, I can see why my Y/N cares for you. You’re clearly an exceptional young man, both on and off the track.”

Max smiles, touched. “Thank you, sir. Y/N is very special to me.” He squeezes your hand.

You beam, your heart swelling. This is going even better than you hoped.

You finish up the chocolate mousse and set down your spoon contentedly. “That was delicious. This dinner has been wonderful, thank you Papa.”

“Of course,” your father says fondly. “I’m so glad you both could make it out here from Monaco.”

“Thank you for having me,” Max adds.

“Anytime,” Lawrence smiles.

You glance around the table happily. Your boyfriend fits right in with your family. Everything feels so natural and perfect.

“Daddy, could you please pass the sugar?” You ask amiably.

Immediately, both Max and your father’s hands reach for the small pot of sugar in the center of the table. They both freeze awkwardly for a second, before Lawrence pulls his hand back slowly.

You feel your stomach drop as you see the dawning realization cross your father’s face.

Oh no.

This is bad.

Lawrence’s smile becomes forced. “So tell me Max, what exactly does my daughter call you?”

Max’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Um, just Max usually.”

You sink down in your chair, wincing.

Your father lets out a hollow laugh. “Is that so? Because it didn’t sound like that to me.”

A leaden silence descends on the table. Lance glances between you all, smothering a smirk.

Max clears his throat awkwardly. “Well, uh, that’s just a casual nickname really ...”

Lawrence raises an eyebrow. “A casual nickname you say? For my daughter to call her boyfriend in front of her family?”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to vanish. This is excruciatingly embarrassing.

“Dad, come on,” Lance snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “They’re young, it’s whatever.”

“No Lance, it’s not whatever,” your father snaps, an edge in his voice now. “I would like Max to explain himself here.”

Max holds up his hands placatingly. “Sir, I apologize if we’ve made you uncomfortable. But I assure you our relationship is completely respectful.”

You nod quickly. “Papa, he’s right. Can we please just move on?”

But Lawrence is unyielding. “I will not have anyone take liberties with my daughter, do you understand me, young man?”

Max looks properly chastened. “Yes sir, of course. I meant no offense.”

Your father bristles as he glares between you. The awkward tension hovers for several painful moments.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. “Papa, stop!” You blurt out. “I’m an adult now. You can’t control what I choose to do with my boyfriend.”

Lawrence looks stunned, then hurt. “Y/N, I’m just looking out for you ...”

“I know, but I don’t need protecting from Max. He’s wonderful and he makes me so happy. Can’t you let me make my own choices?”

Your father’s expression softens. He sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just … so hard for me to think of you growing up.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “I know. But I’ll always be your little girl.”

Lawrence smiles tenderly at you, then turns to Max. “Forgive my outburst, son. I can see how much you care for each other.”

Max looks relieved. “Of course, sir. I understand completely.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Crisis averted.

Your father stands, raising his glass. “To young love. May you always treat my daughter with the honor and respect she deserves.”

“I will, sir,” Max promises earnestly.

You all clink glasses, the tension dissolving. Conversation resumes, lighter and more relaxed now.

Later, as Max helps you on with your coat, your father claps him warmly on the back. “Thank you for making my daughter so happy. You’ll always be welcome in our home.”

Max’s face lights up. “Thank you, sir. That means the world.”

Lawrence winks. “I was young once too, you know. Just maybe keep the nicknames to yourselves around me.”

You all laugh together. Your heart swells with joy. Despite the awkward moments, the evening couldn’t have gone better.

As the chauffeur drives off into the night, you snuggle contentedly into Max’s shoulder. “Thank you for being so wonderful tonight,” you whisper.

He kisses your hair. “Of course, liefje. I would do it all over again for you.”

***

The sleek red Ferrari glints under the showroom lights as you and Max admire your reflection in the gleaming curves.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Max grins, running his hand along the hood. “I can’t wait to take her out on the open road.”

You smile at his childlike enthusiasm. “She certainly is gorgeous. You have great taste, babe.”

The salesman steps forward eagerly. “Yes, the Ferrari SF90 Stradale is our newest supercar model. Twin-turbo V8, 720 horsepower. She’ll do 0 to 60 in under three seconds.”

Max’s eyes light up. “Incredible. I think I’m in love already.”

You laugh. “Should I be jealous?”

“Never,” Max winks, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

The salesman smiles indulgently. “Why don’t we step into my office to finalize the paperwork?”

“Sounds good,” Max agrees, lacing his fingers through yours as you follow the salesman.

In the sleek minimalist office, you both take a seat across from the desk as the salesman pulls up Max’s file.

“Excellent. Everything looks in order, Mr. Verstappen,” he says briskly. “If you just sign here and here, we’ll get you all set up.”

Max eagerly scrawls his signature on the documents. You watch in amusement — he reminds you of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Alright, congratulations!” The salesman stands and shakes Max’s hand. “The SF90 is all yours. We’ll have her prepped and ready for you within the hour.”

“Amazing, thanks so much,” Max grins, standing up.

You’re about to follow him out when a flash of black catches your eye. Through the office window, you spot a brand new Ferrari model on display in the showroom.

“Ooh what’s that one?” You ask curiously, gazing at the aggressive curves and styling.

The salesman glances over. “The new 812 Competizione A. It is a limited edition 599-unit production run. Just unveiled last month.”

You feel a thrill run through you as you take in the stunning hypercar. “It’s incredible. I have to have it.”

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? You want that one too?”

You turn to the salesman decisively. “I’ll take it. My family has bought from Ferrari for years, my name should be in your client database.”

“Of course, Miss Stroll,” the salesman nods, typing rapidly into his computer. “I see you right here. Let’s start the paperwork and we’ll get the car ordered for you right away.”

You grab your purse, immediately fishing out your black Centurion Card. “Just bill it to my usual card, thanks,” you say breezily, handing it over.

You can feel Max’s stunned gaze on you but you keep your focus on the salesman, reviewing the spec sheet and customization options.

This new Ferrari is just too sexy to resist.

Within minutes, the paperwork is signed and you’ve secured the very first 812 Competizione A destined to stay in Monaco. You grin excitedly — you can’t wait to get your hands on it.

“Thank you so much, just have it delivered to my place in the Fontvieille district when it’s ready,” you tell the appreciative salesman before turning to leave.

You lace your fingers through Max’s, still smiling about your new spontaneously purchased hypercar. “Ready to take your new baby out for a drive?”

Max is quiet as you walk back to the showroom, seemingly lost in thought. He stays silent as the gleaming red SF90 Stradale is pulled around, not even cracking a smile when the salesman hands over the keys with a flourish.

It’s not until you’ve been driving for several minutes, weaving along the coastal roads overlooking the Mediterranean, that Max finally speaks.

“That was 2.13 million euros,” he states flatly. “And you just ... bought it. Without a second thought.”

You glance over, taking in the unreadable expression on his face. “I mean, yeah, it’s a beautiful model. Why not just get it?” You say casually.

Max shakes his head slowly. “I just can’t wrap my head around having that kind of money. That you can just drop over two million without thinking twice.”

You shift slightly, feeling defensive. “I’m sorry, does it make you uncomfortable? I know I grew up with a very different lifestyle ...”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Max interrupts. He pauses, gazing out at the sparkling blue sea pensively.

“It’s just … I’m not used to being with someone who’s on my level. Financially, I mean. All my previous girlfriends, I always had to take care of everything. Pay for dinner, vacations, whatever they needed.”

He turns to look at you. “But you’re different. You have as much money as me, more even. You can buy a hypercar on a whim, no problem. It’s new territory.”

You chew your lip. “I don’t want you to feel emasculated or anything. If you want to pay or take care of things ...”

Max shakes his head again, more firmly this time. “That’s just it — I don’t. I like that you’re independent. It’s really ...”

He pauses, blushing slightly. “Sexy. That’s the word. It’s sexy that you have your own money and success. I’m not used to feeling that in a relationship before.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. That was not the reaction you were expecting.

Max glances at you almost shyly. “Is that weird to say? I just mean, it’s different than what I’m used to, but in a good way. Like we’re equals, you know?”

Slowly, a smile spreads across your face. “No, not weird at all. I get what you mean.” You reach over and squeeze his hand. “This is new territory for me too. But I like discovering it together.”

Max’s face lights up with that radiant smile that melts your heart. “Me too, liefje.”

Your conversation flows easily as you cruise along the seaside, the setting sun glittering on the water. And seeing the look in his eyes when he glances at you now — equal parts love and admiration — you realize just how right it feels.

Being with someone who can match you in every way is new and different for both of you. But you have a feeling it’s the start of something beautiful.

***

The energy buzzing around the paddock is electric as you walk hand-in-hand with Max towards the Red Bull motorhome. Fans line the barriers, cheering and shouting his name. Max smiles and waves, slowing to sign autographs and snap selfies with outstretched phones.

You hang back politely as he interacts with his adoring public. You know the drill by now, having attended countless races with your dad and brother over the years. Blend into the background and let the drivers have their moment.

“Max! Can we get an autograph?” A young girl calls out eagerly, brandishing a cap and marker pen.

“Of course!” Max says graciously, letting go of your hand to walk over.

You hang back contentedly, happy to let him have his moment with his supporters. You catch snippets of their supportive comments as Max signs item after item, posing for selfies in between.

“You’re the greatest, Max!”

“That last win was epic. Get that fourth title this year!”

“We love you so much!”

You smile to yourself. Seeing how much joy Max brings to these fans makes your heart swell with pride and affection.

As you stand waiting patiently, you overhear the girl lean over to her friend and not-so-subtly whisper, “Who’s the chick with Max? She looks kinda stuck up if you ask me.”

Your smile freezes. You see the girl jerk her head rudely in your direction, glaring at you.

“I know right,” her friend agrees in a carrying whisper. “Another gold-digger who managed to sink her claws into a rich man too blind to see what she’s doing.”

You clench your jaw, stung by their spiteful words. Who do they think they are, judging you when they don’t even know you?

Max is still occupied with the other fans, oblivious. You debate whether to just ignore the rude girls. But their jealous gossiping has sparked your defiance. Why should you stay silent?

Squaring your shoulders, you turn and level a steady gaze at them. “For your information, I don’t need a rich man. I am a rich man,” you state coldly.

Their eyes widen in shock, mouths dropping open stupidly. Clearly they weren’t expecting you to confront them.

Before they can react, Max is suddenly beside you, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Whoa, everything okay here?” His gaze darts between you and the embarrassed fans.

You take a breath, ready to explain it away. But Max doesn’t give you the chance.

“You know, if anything, I’m the one who got my claws hooked into her,” he announces, lips curving into a smirk.

Now it’s your turn to gape at him in surprise. The nasty fans look completely bewildered.

“That’s right ladies, I’m just a kept man,” Max continues lightly. “Her arm candy. A sugar baby, if you will.”

He pretends to examine his nails arrogantly and you have to stifle a shocked laugh. Is he actually joking about being your boy toy right now?

Max leans in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, dating a Stroll has done wonders for my bank account. I mean have you seen the new and improved garage decor?”

You smother your grin behind your hand as he prattles on, winking at you.

“So don’t worry about Y/N here, she can buy and sell me twice over.” Max presses a smacking kiss to your cheek. “Isn’t that right, schatje?”

Finally you can’t hold back your laughter anymore. Max joins in and the fans stare, unsure how to react.

“Come on sugar mama, we’ve got a race to win,” Max says breezily, steering you away.

Once safely inside the garage, you turn to him incredulously. “What was that all about?”

Max shrugs, his expression sobering. “I heard what they said. Just wanted to shut them up and defend my girl.”

Your heart melts. Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss him soundly. “My hero. Thank you.”

Max still looks bothered. “You shouldn’t have to deal with stupid gossip. Especially not lies about you using me.”

You slip your arms around his neck persuasively. “It usually doesn’t get to me. Let the jealous haters talk. We know the truth.”

He sighs, gently moving a strand of hair from your face. “I just hate anyone thinking badly of you. You deserve the world.”

Touched by his sincerity, you pull him down into a soft kiss. When you finally draw apart, an idea pops into your head.

“Although ...” you begin thoughtfully, “Maybe we should lean into it.”

Max looks confused. “What do you mean?”

You grin mischievously. “You’re my hot trophy boyfriend. I need to show you off and treat you right.”

Comprehension dawns on Max’s face and he barks out a laugh. “Well I won’t say no to being spoiled.”

He winks roguishly and you dissolve into giggles. The stupid gossipers don’t know anything. You and Max are just perfect together.

For the rest of the weekend, you shamelessly flaunt your new role as Max’s “sugar mommy.” At every opportunity, you shower him with over-the-top gifts and PDA in front of the other drivers and team members.

Designer watches, bouquets of flowers, bottles of decadent gin for his favorite drink — you deliver them all publicly to Max along with cooed compliments and kisses. You can see the amusement hidden behind his mock protests at being “objectified.”

The other drivers are endlessly entertained. Daniel teases Max about latching onto an heiress, while Charles jokingly asks if you have a sister he can date.

By the time Max wins on Sunday, cementing his spot at the top of the championship, the silly gossip from earlier in the weekend is long forgotten.

As you snuggle together on the flight home from the race, you turn to Max curiously. “So, how does it feel being a kept man?”

He pretends to consider it deeply. “Hmm, tough to say. The gifts and pampering were nice ...”

You swat his chest indignantly and he laughs.

“Kidding, kidding,” he assures, pulling you tighter against him. “Obviously I love you for you, not your money, schatje.”

His voice softens. “Thank you for this weekend. I know the gossip bothered you, even if you didn’t show it. I’m lucky to have you by my side.”

You tilt your face up to meet his lips, kissing him tenderly. No more words are needed. Being together says it all.

***

The roar of the crowd surrounds you as you step onto the red carpet on Max’s arm, cameras flashing wildly. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and leans in close.

“You ready for this, liefje?”

You take a deep breath and nod, pasting on a smile. “Ready.”

This is your big formal debut — attending your first FIA Prize Giving Ceremony as Max’s girlfriend. And with him just winning his fourth World Championship, all eyes are sure to be on you both tonight.

You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you begin the walk down the carpet, waving politely to the fans shouting Max’s name. He looks completely at ease, his fourth-straight title boosting his confidence even higher.

You, on the other hand, feel like you might trip over your gown at any moment under the blinding spotlights. But you keep your chin high, channeling the poise that’s been drilled into you since girlhood.

Perks of growing up in high society — you know how to fake it on a red carpet.

About halfway down, an interviewer steps forward, microphone in hand. “Max Verstappen! Congratulations on your fourth championship. How are you feeling tonight?”

Max smiles easily. “Thank you, it feels amazing. It was a great battle all season long so this one feels very satisfying.”

The reporter nods, then turns her attention to you. “And who is this lovely lady accompanying you tonight?”

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Max introduces you proudly.

“Y/N, you look absolutely stunning tonight, if you don’t mind me saying,” the interviewer gushes. “That gown is exquisite!”

You relax slightly, warming to her friendly tone. “Thank you so much!” You smile.

“In fact, both of your outfits are fabulous,” she continues. “Who are you wearing tonight?”

Max’s face lights up. He squeezes your hand excitedly. “Funny you should ask — we’re both wearing custom Y/N Stroll originals!”

You have to resist the urge to giggle at the unconcealed pride in his voice.

The interviewer’s eyes widen. “No way, you designed these yourselves?”

You nod, enjoying her reaction. “I did, yeah. Fashion design is a bit of a hobby of mine.”

“A hobby she’s amazing at,” Max interjects adoringly. “She could have her own luxury brand if she wanted. I feel so honored to wear her work.”

You blush at his high praise. “Oh Max, stop. But thank you, that’s so sweet.”

The reporter seems thrilled at this exclusive scoop. “Incredible! It looks like you have some serious talent, Y/N. Any plans to pursue that more seriously?”

You hesitate briefly. Your father has been gently nudging you to take over his fashion business when he retires. But that’s still in the future ...

You decide to give a lighthearted answer. “We’ll see! Fashion does run in my family so it’s always a possibility.” You finish with a coy smile.

“How wonderful! We’ll be keeping an eye out for Y/N Stroll designs in the future then,” the reporter concludes enthusiastically.

You grin and wave as she lets you continue down the carpet, Max’s arm securely around your waist.

“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” He murmurs in your ear.

“Not at all,” you admit. “I might get used to this whole red carpet thing after all.”

Max winks. “Stick with me and you’ll be a pro in no time.”

Your heart flutters happily. Being by his side just feels so right.

Inside the lavish venue, you’re shown to your table near the front with the other top drivers and their partners. Max pulls out your chair politely before sitting down beside you.

You chat with the other girls at the table, fellow WAGs you’ve gotten to know over the course of the season. They gush over the dress you designed, making you promise to create something for them too.

Soon, the lights dim and the ceremony begins. You clap loudly as Max wins Driver of the Year, bursting with pride for your champion.

Finally, the moment comes for the big one. The announcer begins the buildup, recapping the season’s epic title battle between Max and his closest rival.

"… And in the end, one man emerged victorious for the fourth time in his young but dazzling career,” the announcer concludes. “Formula 1 World Driver’s Champion ... Max Verstappen!”

The room explodes into thunderous applause as Max squeezes your hand and makes his way up to the stage, beaming. You watch with tears in your eyes as he accepts the trophy, looking so handsome and accomplished.

After the ceremony finishes, Max makes his way back to you, trophy in hand. You throw your arms around him. “I’m so proud of you!”

He hugs you tight, then pulls back, his expression earnest. “I couldn’t have done it without your support this season. Having you by my side means everything to me.”

Your heart swells and you kiss him tenderly. “You deserve this so much. And nothing makes me happier than being with you.”

Max’s eyes shine. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Max.”

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Bound by Desire

I've Got a Feeling (1)

Dom!Natasha x switch!Wanda x subby!brat!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: Natasha and Wanda have been in a happy and healthy BDSM relationship for years, but have been looking for a third for Wanda's sake. When they meet you, they might have gotten more than they bargained for.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, BDSM relationship, dom!nat, switch!Wanda, sub!reader, Daddy!nat, Mommy!Wanda, strap use(r receiving), bondage (more will be added as things occur)

A/N: I worked on this all yesterday and some the day before when the idea came to me. Please Enjoy~

The sun filtered through the curtains of the bedroom windows and the skylights. You had never appreciated the morning before, but as you wake up under silk sheets; your sleep shorts and tank top it feels right.

As you stretched out you felt a set of arms wrap around you, pulling you close and breathing you in. A smile spreads across your face.

“Good morning Pchelka.” The husky voice you'd come to know as Natasha whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good morning Daddy.” You have a purr to your voice as she kisses over your shoulder and up your neck.

Small noises making their way out of you as her hand glides down between your legs. She rubs you over your shorts only increasing the need and ache between your legs.

“Tasha! Honey bee! Breakfast! Come help with setting the table!” Wanda called up the stairs.

You didn't want to, but a whine came out of your mouth and a chuckle from Natasha.

“Mommy is calling Pchelka. Guess you'll have to wait a little longer.” She whispered in your ear making another whine come out.

“Please Daddy…so achy…” you turned slightly to look into her dark green eyes. Pleading with your own for her to give in, but you knew better by now.

Her hands slipped away from you as she got up. “No Pchelka. Mommy's calling and you know not to keep her waiting. Head down, I'll be there in a few minutes.”

A pout on your face as you got out of the sheets, another shiver overcoming you as your feet hit the cold hardwood flooring. You headed down to find Wanda still cooking, by the smell of it she had turkey bacon. You learned early on that Wanda liked anything that was a healthier option.

You moved over to her, leaning up and kissing her cheek, “Good morning Mommy.” You felt her smile as you kissed her cheek.

“Good morning my precious girl. Did you sleep well?” Her arm wraps around your waist and gives a kiss back to your cheek.

“I did Mommy, but then Daddy started to tease me when I woke up…” you complain, giving the same pleading eyes to Wanda.

“Oh my poor little girl. I bet you're all achy right?”

Your lip is shaking in a pout, all you want is their touch right now. Wanda gives you a sympathetic look. Leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Please Mommy…so achy…” you bury your face between her arm and chest. She pulls you back out, gently by your chin.

“Dorogoya, be a good girl for Mommy, get the table set, get me out the juice and after breakfast we can discuss your neediness.” You wanted to protest, but knew that would result in a punishment instead of a reward. So you got to doing as asked.

Their dining room is elegant and bathed in soft morning light streaming through tall, arched windows draped with sheer, ivory curtains. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a gentle glow over the room. The polished mahogany dining table is set by you with lovely plating and sparkling glassware, ready for a refined breakfast. Elegant high-back chairs, upholstered in rich, deep blue velvet, are neatly arranged around the table. A vase of fresh flowers that Wanda changes weekly, a mix of white lilies and pale pink roses, sits as the centerpiece, adding a touch of natural beauty to the sophisticated setting. The atmosphere is serene and inviting, perfect for a leisurely morning meal.

You smile at your handy work before bounding back through the curved archway to the kitchen. You stop in your tracks when you see Natasha's arms wrapped around Wanda's waist, as they share an intimate moment it makes something bubble inside of you. Your hands curl into fists and then out a few times.

“Hey!” It's bubbling over before you can stop it. “I set the table and I come back to this!?” Your voice is a shrieking tone. Wanda and Natasha looking at you. Though Natasha wants to stop this before it starts Wanda stares you down.

“Y/N. We were having a moment just like you and I were before you went to set the table, remember?” Wanda's voice is gentle and motherly, it always was. You know logically she's right and besides, they're married you're just some college girl they felt sorry for.

You look down at your fingers that are now absentmindedly dancing together. “M’Sorry Mommy…” You manage out. They deserve each other, you're just here to help. Eventually they'll get bored of you and then you'll be back to your old life living in an apartment that's two sizes too small and way too expensive.

“It's okay dorogoya, come get the juice and we'll have breakfast. Come here and give Mommy a hug first.” She calls, ushering you over as Natasha takes the plates of bacon, pancakes, and eggs to the dining room.

You trudge your way over to Wanda, burying your face into her chest as her arms encircle you. Her hands rubbing your back lightly in an attempt to quell the feelings rising inside of you, but she couldn't help the feelings she didn't know about. You weren't about to tell her either as she soothed you with kind words of reassurance without ever actually mentioning the words ‘I love you.’

°○°○°○°○°

She filled you perfectly. Her strap was made for you and though earlier this was all you wanted, now it was somehow feeling suffocating. Your thoughts from earlier never stopped. They'd been going through your head all day. You'd just wish it would stop as you tried to concentrate on the pleasure your Mommy was giving, but it wasn't helping.

Thoughts racing and suddenly it's all feeling like too much and you're pulling at your restraints. “Red!” Everything stops and in a whirl you're set free. Wanda tries to scoop you up, but you stop her. “Space.” It wasn't often you asked for that as you got off the bed in a hurry, running to your room.

You curled up under the sheets, tears falling as your body shook. You heard the soft knock at the door, thanking yourself you had locked it.

“Dorogoya please let me in, I just want to talk.” Wanda's voice called for you lovingly, making you clam up more. You didn't want to talk, you wanted to be silent, words felt too hard right now. “Y/N…please let me in…” you heard her voice crack ever so slightly.

You had never gone non-verbal around them, you had never brought it up either. You internally cursed yourself for this as you sat up, wrapping a blanket around yourself and plod over to the door, twisting the lock and moving back to your spot in the middle of the bed.

You heard Wanda slip in behind you, her soft steps on the hardwood. The bed sinking beneath her weight. Judging by the feeling she sat away from you towards the pillows.

You couldn't look at her, but you heard her take in a sharp breath before speaking. “I'm not sure why you called red darling, but whatever the reason is I'm glad you did call it when you needed to. I know we're still getting used to this. It's only been a month so I'm sure we're going to have bumps along the way. I'd like to fix this if possible.” Wanda's trying to make things better and still you can't answer her.

You finally sit up facing her. She's in a scarlet robe, she must have thrown it on quickly once she took off her strap. There was only one time you had called red and it was from lack of reassurance.

Wanda had been using a lot of degrading on you in a session and not enough praise. You ended up calling red and crying in her arms for a bit.

You point to your throat and making a silent scream, trying to let her know you can't talk as she looks at you a little confused. Then you added a zipped lip to it and it clicked.

“You can't talk right now, okay, that's fine. I can work with that until you can. So yes or no questions?” She asks with a little head tilt and you give a nod.

“Was it something I did?” You shake your head. “Was it something you did?” You tilt your head from one side to the other, contemplating before pointing to your brain. “Okay your head, was it bad thoughts?” You give her a nod.

You're scrunching up the blanket in your hands, worried about what's to come next for you. Tightening back up a bit before she shifts forward just enough to reach out for your chin. Such a gentle clasp she has as you tilt up to meet those sea glass eyes.

“Darling whatever those bad thoughts are saying I can promise you they are untrue. I know that's hard to believe because you haven't told me about them, but I know they're untrue.” Her honeyed voice always wrapped around you. It made you feel so safe. Like nothing could hurt you.

The tears fall freely as you crawl into her lap, koalaing your way around her. She soothes you the whole time, rubbing your back and humming a light tune, every so often a bit of Sokovian comes out in the song.

You could have stayed like that for hours. It almost felt like you did, yet at the same time it felt like mere minutes.

“M'Sorry Mommy…I just…bad thoughts…felt suffocated…” She kept rubbing your back, not forcing anything out of you. “I just…feel like you and Tasha are gonna get bored of me…you have each other and…and…” your voice started cracking as more tears fell.

Wanda wanted to intervene; she knew exactly where those thoughts were going, yet she let you talk. Knowing it would be best to let you get it out. It was already eating you alive.

“Just want to be important…want to be special…” Your throat stung as you choked back sobs to keep it together long enough to speak.

“Oh my precious little honey bee. Mommy was right, those thoughts aren't true. You mean so much to Daddy and I. You are our perfect little girl. The missing piece to our puzzle. We wouldn't dream of letting you go.” She always knew what to say, making your tears fall more.

She pulled you back just enough to wipe the tears. A small apologetic smile gracing her lips. “I know my words only go so far, but I will always make sure to let you know you are loved by us. You aren't something we're tossing away.”

You smiled before pressing your forehead to hers. She took the opportunity to give you a little peck.

“Thank you for the reassurance Mommy. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.”

“That's okay honey bee. I'm glad you were able to tell me. I do worry about you not telling me things. I know you like to carry everything, but I'm here and so is Nat. You can tell us anything.”

You simply nod against her, re-resting yourself onto her shoulder. A soft content sigh falling from your lips. You knew the bad thoughts would come back, but now you know you can always talk about it.

Taglist: @itsalwaysskorpioszn @boredandneedfanfics @godhatesgoodgirls

[lavandulawrites]

Officium

Dino Classico x reader

I started watching the anime today and I’m absolutely hooked<3 vampires really have my heart♡ I haven’t read the manga yet, but I hopefully didn’t make this OOC. This is quite short as I don’t know that much about Dino as a character yet. Requests for Delico’s Nursery is open<3 (do spam me;) )

Synopsis: You and Dino share different views on raising children.

Masterlist

The dining hall was dimly lit. The heavy dark blue curtains were partially closed making small gaps of moonlight shine through the windows. The sound of the clinking sound of silverware filled the room. A dark mahogany dining table with silver details stood in the middle of the room. Both chair on each end side of the table were seated. Dino’s dark gold eyes stared into yours as he ate. His knife skilfully cut through the duck breast.

“How was your day dear?” you ask him as you take a deep sip of your wine glass.

The grey haired man scoffed. “Nothing too eventful. Working on the case. Theodore didn’t cause me any trouble. I don’t know what I would do if my child was as unruly as the others” his deep voice sounding bored as he recalled his day.

You nodded as you elegantly wiped your mouth on your napkin. You weren’t Theodore’s biological mother, but you treated him as he was your own. You loved him despite only knowing him for a year. “I hope you haven’t been too hard on him” your eyes found his. “He is still a child, Dino” your voice stern, but still filled with love for both your stepson and your husband.

The man before you sighed as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just do what is necessary in order to raise a proper son. I just do as what is expected of me as a nobleman” he answered.

You swallowed at his words. You understood his duties that followed his position, but you couldn’t help but feel bad for his poor child.

“Do you think he will turn into a good nobleman if you abandon him?” you couldn’t help the sharp age that followed your words.

“Abandon him? How have I abandoned him?” he barred his teeth in a sneer before he quickly regained his composure.

“Children need their parents. Is that not obvious?” you shook your head. “I am glad Sir Dali makes you raise him alongside his children. I think it will do both you and Theodore good.”

Dino reminded silent rest do the dinner. It was clear your words had somewhat affected the normally stern vampire. Out of all his wife’s, you were the one he loved the most. His love was cold, but passionate. Others had warned you before you took his hand that he was not the easiest to deal with, but you paid their warnings no mind as you knew your heart belonged to him.

As you walked back to your chambers later that evening you became determined that you would help and enforce the bond between father and son. Because maybe your dream about a normal relationship between you three could be reality.



[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; tensions rise as you take a stand during dinner, voicing long-held truths and setting the stage for change within the coven. meanwhile, the pack finally confronts leah, each grappling with the weight of their choices and the path forward.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The grand dining room’s dark wood-panelled walls and deep burgundy drapes lent the space a sombre atmosphere. Flickering candles set in wrought-iron candelabras cast dancing shadows across the intricate carvings of the mahogany table, which gleamed faintly in the dim, golden light of the chandelier above.

The faint rustle of skirts and the soft clink of silverware on porcelain marked the presence of the maids, moving with quiet precision as they served the meal. Their dark uniforms blended seamlessly with the subdued decor, their heads bowed respectfully as they placed steaming dishes before each of you. One paused briefly to pour wine into your glass, her hands steady despite the tension that permeated the room.

Sybil lay curled at your feet, her snow-white fur stark against the dark, polished floors. Her head rested lightly on your foot, her large, intelligent eyes occasionally flicked toward the maids as they moved about, her tail thumping faintly when one of them dared a soft smile in her direction.

Cath Palug lounged on the armrest of your Mother’s chair, his sharp eyes following the maids’ every move with a predatory stillness. Barghest lingered by your Mom’s side, her sleek form almost melting into the shadows cast by the heavy drapes. 

Your Mother sat at the head of the table, her posture rigid, the sharp lines of her profile illuminated by the soft glow of the candles. She addressed the room with the measured authority that left no room for deviation.

“The preparations for your ascension are nearly complete,” she began, tone clipped and commanding. “The wards have been strengthened, the ceremony will commence as planned, and the council has been informed. They await your formal acceptance of the position.”

The weight of her words pressed against you like the very shadows that clung to the room. The maids, having finished their task, withdrew quietly, the faint creak of the heavy doors closing behind them leaving the space cloaked in an uneasy silence.

You stared at your plate, the rich aroma of the meal doing little to stir your appetite. Your Mom sat to your left, her usual warmth tempered by an undercurrent of unease. She sipped her own drink delicately, her gaze flicking between you and your Mother, though she remained silent.

“We will resume your training tomorrow,” your Mother continued. “There is no room for error, and you will—”

“I’ll do it.” Your voice cut through the air, quiet but resolute, halting her mid-sentence. Her sharp gaze turned to you, her brow lifting slightly in surprise. “As promised, I’ll assume the position.”

For a fleeting moment, the room stilled. Even Cath Palug paused, his ears pricking forward as he regarded you intently. Barghest raised her head from where she lay by your Mom’s chair, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. Sybil shifted slightly at your feet, her tail brushing lightly against your leg as if grounding you.

Your Mother inclined her head slightly. “Good. Then—”

“But,” you interjected, your voice gaining strength as you straightened in your chair. “It’s my turn to speak now.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, the flickering candlelight casting shifting patterns across the table as everyone stilled. Your Mom’s fingers trembled slightly as she set her utensils down, the soft clink echoing in the tense space. 

Your Mother’s lips thinned, her gaze sharp enough to pierce. “Very well,” she said, her voice low and measured. “Speak.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the oppressive air thickening as you prepared to finally voice the words that had been lodged deep in your chest for so, so long.

You took a deep breath, your voice steady but carrying the weight of years of unspoken truths. “My time away gave me time to think,” you began, each word sharp and deliberate. “And I’ve come to realise a few things—things I didn’t have the courage to say before I left.”

Your Mother tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable but the tension in her posture betraying her irritation. “Go on,” she said, her voice clipped, as if daring you to falter.

You met her gaze, refusing to look away. “Your suffocating expectations—your constant need for control over every aspect of my life—are the reason we’re in this mess in the first place.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t interrupt, her silence more cutting than words.

“You’ve created an environment so stifling, so oppressive, that it’s not just me who’s suffocating,” you continued, your voice rising slightly. “The coven itself is choking under your hold. Families are leaving. Women are moving away just to avoid sending their daughters here. They don’t see the protection of the coven anymore—they see a prison. And it’s because of you.”

A flicker of something—discomfort, perhaps—passed over her face, but she quickly masked it, her jaw tightening. Cath Palug’s tail swayed, his sharp pale eyes fixed intently on you.

You shifted your attention to your Mom, whose face had paled slightly. Her hands gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles tight against the dark wood. “And you,” you said, your tone softer but no less pointed. “You’re kind and nurturing, yes. But you’ve overlooked everything to appease her.”

Your Mom flinched, the words landing like a solid blow.

“You’ve turned a blind eye to how much damage she’s done—to me, to the coven, to the very people we’re supposed to protect.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. “You tell me you love me, that you care about my well-being, but when it mattered most, you did nothing. You let this happen.”

The weight of your accusations hung heavy in the air, the oppressive silence only broken by the soft rustle of Sybil shifting at your feet. 

“So yes,” you said finally, your voice firm and resolute, “I will take over the coven. I will assume the position you’ve prepared me for my entire life. But I won’t do it in your image.”

Your Mother stiffened, her lips pressing into a thin line, while your Mom’s eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I’ll change everything,” you continued, your words like a hammer striking an anvil. “I’ll rebuild the coven into something better, something kinder, something people can actually trust. And I’ll do it so thoroughly that no one will even remember your names.”

Your Mother didn’t rise from her seat as you had expected. Instead, she picked up her wine glass, the deep crimson liquid catching the flicker of candlelight, and took a measured sip. The faintest curve of a smile touched her lips as she set the glass back down with deliberate precision.

She leaned back slightly in her chair, her sharp gaze fixed on you. “Well,” she said, her voice calm and cold, yet carrying an undertone of something you couldn’t quite place. Was it satisfaction? Amusement? “There you are.”

Her words lingered, cryptic and cutting, as though she had been waiting for this moment all along. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, her poise unshaken, and her expression—though cool and composed—betrayed a flicker of something almost... pleased.

Your Mom, however, looked far less composed. Her hands trembled as she wiped at the tears staining her cheeks, her warm gaze flickering uncertainly between you and your Mother. Though her lips tightened in disapproval, she followed your Mother’s lead, forcing herself to pick up her utensils and return to her meal, though her movements were stiff and mechanical.

The silence of the dining room pressed against you like a weight, the flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows across the richly adorned walls. As you ran your fingers absently through Sybil’s soft fur, your thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the pack.

It was their presence in your life—the good and the bad—that had brought you to this moment. Their kindness, their laughter, and even their flaws had shown you what it meant to belong somewhere, to feel valued not because of your lineage or your role but simply for being yourself. And yet, it was their involuntary betrayal, their failures, that had lit the fire that now burned within you, giving you the courage to face the people who had shaped your life in a different but no less suffocating way.

A sad smile touched your lips as you stared down at your untouched plate. If things had been different, you thought bitterly, how satisfying it would have been to have them here, watching as you told your Mother off, as you shattered the chains of expectation she had bound you with. You could almost see Johnny’s grin, hear Gaz’s low whistle of approval, feel Ghost’s quiet, steady presence at your back, and see Price’s sharp nod of acknowledgment.

But it was just a pipe dream—a fleeting, wistful fantasy that dissolved as quickly as it had formed. You knew better than to hope for their presence now, to think they could ever be by your side again after what had happened. The pain of their absence twisted in your chest, a dull ache you’d long grown used to but never fully accepted.

Sybil nudged your leg gently, pulling you back to the present. Her dark eyes gazed up at you with a silent understanding that made your throat tighten. You reached down, brushing your fingers over her head, drawing strength from her unwavering loyalty.

The dinner continued in tense silence, and as the clink of silverware filled the void, you swallowed down the lump in your throat, sitting a little straighter in your chair. Whatever heartbreak lingered in your soul, whatever pieces of yourself had been scattered along the way, you were here now. 

You had spoken up. And for once, you hadn’t been silenced.

. . .

The tension in the hallway was unbearable, thick as the heavy air before a storm. Johnny paced back and forth, his bare feet thudding against the floorboards, the frustration radiating off him in waves. His hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and his face was flushed with barely contained anger. His hand covered his nose and mouth as if to shield himself from something he couldn’t bear to acknowledge.

“I’m not going in there!” he snapped, voice raw and desperate. “I’m not doin’ it. You can’t make me.” He turned sharply, pointing an accusatory finger at Price, his brows furrowed in a mixture of fury and panic. “You shouldn’t even be askin’ me to!”

Price stood firm, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The faint smell of cigar smoke still clung to him, grounding but stale in the oppressive atmosphere. “We need to,” he said firmly, his voice low but resolute. “Together. As a pack.”

“It’s not a bloody pack if it’s falling apart!” Johnny shot back, his words biting. His hand gestured wildly toward Ghost, who sat slumped in a chair by the wall. His face was pale beneath the shadow of his hood, his mask absent. The dark circles under his eyes and the hollowness in his expression made him look like a man already half-broken.

“Look at him!” Johnny barked, his voice cracking. “He’s the one who—” He stopped himself short, clenching his fists as if the words were too much to speak aloud. “And you want us all in there? Together? With her?”

Gaz, leaning against the opposite wall, pinched the bridge of his nose. His leg bounced anxiously, but he stayed silent, his jaw tight as he glanced toward Ghost, then to Price.

Price exhaled heavily, his frustration evident but controlled. “None of this is easy,” he said, his voice calmer but no less firm. “But we need answers. And she’s the only one who might have them.”

“She’s innocent,” Gaz added, his voice quiet but strained. “She didn’t ask for this.”

Johnny shook his head violently, his ponytail swishing with the motion. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t—” His voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint creak of the house settling. For a moment, no one moved, the weight of the decision pressing down on them all.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Ghost spoke. His voice was low and hoarse, like it had been dragged from the depths of his soul. “Let’s do it.”

Johnny froze mid-step, turning to stare at him. “What?”

Ghost straightened slowly, his movements stiff and deliberate. His gaze, though dull, was steady as he looked at Price. “I’ll go in,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time. “We need to. I need to.”

Johnny opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. For a moment, he looked torn between anger and something else—something softer, almost pitying. Finally, he cursed under his breath and turned away, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

Price nodded, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Alright,” he said, glancing at the others. “We do this together. No more running.”

With that, he stepped forward and pushed the door open, the hinges creaking loudly in the stillness. Inside, the room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to block out the fading light of day. Leah sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looked small and fragile, her face pale but calm, her eyes shadowed by a deep weariness.

Laswell stood nearby, her expression neutral but her posture stiff. She glanced at the pack as they entered, her sharp gaze sweeping over each of them in turn. “Took you long enough,” she said dryly, though there was no bite in her tone.

Ghost was the last to step inside, his heavy boots barely making a sound as he moved. His gaze flicked to Leah for the briefest moment before dropping to the floor. His broad frame seemed even more imposing in the confined space, but his hunched posture betrayed the turmoil within him.

Leah looked up slowly, her eyes meeting theirs for a fleeting second before darting away. Her hands tightened on her lap, her knuckles turning white.

Laswell broke the silence, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Alright,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “Let’s get this over with.”

The room seemed to tighten around them as Leah began to speak, her voice trembling but steady enough to command attention. Her fingers twisted in her lap, her knuckles white against her pale skin as she glanced nervously between the pack members, Laswell, and the floor.

“I live in the city,” she began quietly, her words measured and slow. “It’s not far from here, just a few hours’ drive. The last thing I remember was…being out with my friends. We went to a club—one of those trendy places everyone talks about.”

Price leaned forward slightly, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, though his sharp blue eyes bore into her, urging her to continue.

Leah hesitated, her brow furrowing as she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory. “I was having fun. Dancing, drinking, laughing. And then… this man approached me.” Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “He was… handsome, I think. Hypnotising. He just had this presence. It was like… like I couldn’t say no to him, even if I wanted to.”

Johnny shifted uncomfortably where he stood, arms still crossed tightly over his chest as if trying to shield himself from her words. Gaz glanced at Ghost, but the latter remained still, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.

Price’s voice was low but commanding when he finally spoke. “Can you describe him? Anything you remember about how he looked?”

Leah’s lips parted, but she hesitated again, her face twisting with frustration. “I… I can’t,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly. “It’s like there’s this wall in my mind, keeping me from remembering him properly. I can almost see his face, but it’s blurry, like I’m not supposed to remember.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, the implications clear. Whoever this man was, he had gone to great lengths to erase himself from her memory.

Price frowned, his jaw tightening. “Alright. What about anything else? Details about the club, the people, anything out of the ordinary?”

Leah bit her lip, her gaze distant as she searched her mind. “There was… a logo,” she said after a moment. “On the wall behind the bar. It was… strange. A skull, I think? But not a human one—something else. Maybe a snake or… something reptilian. And there was a sword or a knife stabbing through it. That’s the only thing I remember clearly.”

Price exchanged a glance with Laswell, whose brows furrowed slightly in thought. “A logo like that isn’t exactly subtle,” she said. “It could narrow things down.”

“It’s not much, but it’s a start,” Price muttered, his tone grim. He turned his gaze back to Leah. “Anything else? Anything at all?”

Leah shook her head, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of her fractured memories was too much to bear. “No. That’s all I remember before… before everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was....here.”

Price straightened, his expression hardening. “Alright. We’ll figure out what that logo belongs to,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “But this man—whoever he is—knew what he was doing. He didn’t just pick you at random. This was deliberate.”

Leah’s lips trembled, but she nodded, clutching her hands tightly together as if trying to hold herself together. “I just want this to be over,” she whispered.

“We all do,” Price said firmly. “And we’ll get to the bottom of it. But it starts with finding him.”

For the first time since this ordeal began, they truly looked at her. She was undeniably beautiful, in a way that felt deliberate—her features delicate yet striking, her presence almost magnetic. It was easy to see why someone would choose her as the host for a curse like this.

Price’s mind churned as he pieced together Leah’s account with Alejandro and Rudy’s earlier explanations. Curses like this worked best with hosts who could draw people in naturally, breaking down their defences before the magic took over. Leah’s appearance, her charm—it all made sense now. She had been chosen intentionally, not just for her beauty but for her ability to disarm.

And yet, as they stood before her now, there was nothing. No pull, no compulsion, no lingering feelings of obsession. The spell was broken, and what remained was just a frightened, broken young woman, stripped of the influence that had ensnared them all.

Leah’s voice wavered, and her composure finally shattered. Tears streamed down her face as she broke down, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “I’m so sorry,” she choked out, her voice thick with genuine remorse. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t even know—” She covered her face with her hands, her words dissolving into unintelligible cries. “I’m so sorry… to all of you.”

The pack said nothing.

Gaz’s jaw tightened as he looked away, his face shadowed with guilt and unease. Johnny’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he stood frozen in place, clearly fighting the urge to bolt. Ghost, who had been silent the entire time, finally moved. He turned sharply on his heel and walked out, his boots striking the floor with heavy, deliberate steps. He didn’t say a word, his exit leaving an echo of finality in the room.

Gaz followed soon after, his steps slower but just as weighted. Johnny lingered for a moment, his gaze flicking toward Leah with something that looked like conflicted anger before he, too, left without a word.

Price stayed behind, his presence steady but heavy with unspoken judgement. Leah’s sobs softened into hiccups, and she glanced up at him, her tear-streaked face pleading. He didn’t meet her eyes, instead turning to Laswell.

“She stays with you for now,” Price said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ll cover her relocation, but until we’ve sorted this out and gotten every scrap of information we can, she doesn’t go anywhere else.”

Laswell nodded, her sharp gaze sweeping over Leah before softening slightly. “Understood. I’ll handle her.”

Leah sniffled, looking between Price and Laswell with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I’ll do whatever you need,” she said shakily. “Anything. Just… please, I want to go home.”

Price’s eyes flicked to her briefly, his expression unreadable. “You’ll stay safe with Laswell,” he said curtly. “That’s all you need to focus on for now.”

With that, he turned and strode toward the door, his shoulders squared as if bracing against the weight of everything they’d just heard. Laswell lingered behind, her hand resting lightly on Leah’s shoulder, her sharp gaze following Price’s retreating figure.

As Price stepped out into the hallway, he cast a quick glance down the corridor where the pack had disappeared. Ghost’s silhouette was barely visible at the far end, his shoulders hunched as he walked away, the weight of his guilt and silence heavy in the air.

Price exhaled sharply, the faint glow of his cigar ember casting fleeting light against his weathered face. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

banner credit

[hometoursandotherstuff]

1905 Romanesque stone house is perfect for Goth lovers. It's in Sioux City, Iowa, has 6bds, 5ba, and is listed for $450K.

The front door opens to a foyer with a closet, then an inner hall.

I really like this renovation. The black walls and ceilings just seem to suit this house. A white fireplace stands out beautifully.

Isn't this a pretty room for conversation?

Beautiful. Look at the dreamy window seat.

I love the simplicity of the dining room. The original oak door and molding grace the black wall.

Love the roomy kitchen. The painted floor and the inlaid in the corner where possibly the old stove stood was preserved. I love the stenciled ceiling.

You can pull up a chair here while the dinner cooks or cookies bake.

Two fridges flank a china cabinet. Clever idea.

Simply elegant ground floor primary bedroom.

This art deco vanity is gorgeous. I wonder if it conveys.

While the bath isn't 1905, the color of the later fixtures and tiles were beautifully preserved. What a great job with the matching wallpaper.

Tucked in the hall is a mahogany bar.

Large bedroom with pretty wallpaper and a wainscoting effect.

Look at the handsome colors in this bath. Love this.

Here's a large room that could be the primary bedroom, family room, or even a library. Love the columns and built-in shelving.

The original inlaid floors are wonderful. Look at the pocket doors. The overhead lights tilt toward one another.

Thru the pocket doors there's this sweet pink bedroom.

Oh, look at the shower and pedestal sink in this bath. The baths must've been renovated in the 20s.

I wonder if the the tub or shower was originally in this area.

Very spacious bedroom.

Yet another great bath.

This is nice, an enclosed porch.

Oh, look a secret room. Love this. I think it's the attic.

Wow, look at this attic.

Oh, man, the bath up here is definitely original.

This home is amazing.

Beautiful painted floor on the large deck in the back.

.4 acre lot, so it has a nice size yard.

https://www.redfin.com/IA/Sioux-City/1524-Summit-St-51103/home/130246844

[brummiereader]

MASTERLIST PART TWO

Unchained Melody (Part Three)

Summary: As an uncomfortable tension settles between you both the next day, Tommy finally musters up enough courage to say what needs to be said, only to be interrupted by a scornful Governess, then two unexpected visitors later that day. But as night descends on Arrow House and your guests return to their homes, your husband tells you of the uncomfortable reality, and turmoil you had left him in as he drowns himself in his most reliable friend, and remedy to numb the pain. Whisky.

Warnings: Language, angst, postpartum depression, mutual pining

Word Count: 5291

Authors note: A quieter chapter before things finally come to a head after an eventful, terrifying day in the next part.

Two days. You had been back for a total of two, full days. Not only had you and Tommy been avoiding the hard discussion that desperately needed to take place, you had learnt that the Governess who was hired to care for your son had also been keeping your husband company. Or to be more accurate, keeping him company in the martial bed you once shared. You didn't think it possible your heart could ache anymore until last night when your eyes landed on Tommy's sheepish gaze staring back at you as you left your son's nursery, and you came face to face with not only his disheveled appearance but his belt shamelessly unbuckled as the Governess sauntered from the dimly lit room they had both left. It didn't take much for you to come to the anguished realisation of what had occurred in your absence as you tormented yourself for the remainder of the evening with images of your husband making love to the woman you felt had replaced you, all while a painful nagging of self- conscious thoughts plagued your sleepless night.

Did she satisfy him better than you ever did? Was her body more attractive to him than yours? Did he...love her? As a barrage of unstoppable questions you had no answers for other than the ones your worried mind could conjure up, you dragged your shaky body timidly down the winding staircase the next morning, every part of you fearing you would break down into a puddle of pitiful tears for the hundredth time once again.

You were weeks, if not days from having enough willpower to return to Arrow House, you'd tell yourself. Whether you truthfully believed it or not, it was the sole dream you held onto, wishfully hoping your husband hadn't forgotten you, praying he and your son would show you mercy if you ever returned to them. How could you have been so selfish to think he would've waited? That he wouldn't have moved on? You thought to yourself as you scrambled to piece together your shattered heart from the embarrassment you felt for being so foolish. Your place in the grand house you once called your home was thoroughly understood. You were now, the other woman.

Smoothing down the front of your dress, you closed your eyes, desperately trying to compose yourself before you entered the dining room and let your true feelings slip.

"Good morning Mrs Shelby, some tea perhaps?" Frances greeted you, stood next to William cutting his toast into smaller, toddler-sized pieces as you entered the room. Mrs Shelby...Was you still? You thought to yourself as you walked to the end of the large mahogany table with Tommy sat at the head, looking at the end of the burning cigarette resting between his fingers, anywhere but you, anywhere that would hide the shame in his eyes and the regret uncomfortably wrapped around his chest.

" Yes, thank you, Frances" you answered quietly as you looked to the seat beside Tommy. Your seat. The seat saved solely for the lady of the house. A simple, once mundane decision as to where to sit suddenly felt like the most cementing finality to your broken marriage. Forgoing the position you once held, you made your way around the table to sit next to your son as Tommy's eyes flew up, darting to the unoccupied chair next to him then back to you, huffing as he stubbed his cigarette out into the glass ashtray. What did he expect? Tommy, the man always a step ahead of everyone else, couldn't fathom that someone couldn't just soldier on like him, ignoring the fragility of such a situation, and have things left unspoken without resolution.

With his tired body relenting to yet another issue that needed to be faced, he slouched into the frame of his seat as he turned his head away, running his hand down his tired features as a headache from guzzling half a bottle of whisky in an attempt to numb his guilt the previous night started to thump furiously across his forehead. He too, hadn't slept.

" William, eat your toast son" Tommy said clearing his throat as he sat up noisily unfolding his newspaper whilst staring at you, trying to garner your attention and have you finally look his way. But with your refusal to do so, a mutual silence descended between you both as you tended to your son and ignored your husband's blatant attempts to show you how unhappy he was with your choice of seats. Was he looking for an argument? Was that what he wanted, a slagging match to tally up who was more in the wrong?

" Some more water for your tea Mam" Frances said as she walked in and placed a floral china teapot in front of you as Tommy looked over his newspaper, stealing another glance before furrowing his brow and returning his eyes to the first line of the business collum he had read, and re-read at least ten times already.

The latest happenings in the world of finance that would normally have him buried deep in thought each morning held little to zero interest as his worries drifted to what you were thinking, occupying every space in his restless mind. Did you think he was still having sex with her? That she had replaced you? That he loved her? Tommy nervously thought to himself as his paper lowered, and he watched your lips graze over the porcelain cup in your hand as a dusting of particles illuminated by the morning sun glittered gracefully around you. Captured once again, Tommy's feelings of melancholy that once shrouded him suddenly subsided and an urgent need for reconciliation swept over him as his fingers inadvertently inched across the freshly laid table cloth closer to your hand.

"Y/N, can we tal..." he said apprehensively as you finally looked up to see the anguish engulfing his tired face when the door flew open and the Governess strode in, quickly causing him to snatch his hand away.

" Frances, tea" she demanded looking to Tommy giving him a smirk as he glared at her, his jaw tightening within seconds at the mere sight of her smug face.

" Staff eat down in the kitchen, unless invited otherwise" Tommy mumbled, lifting his newspaper as the tension that had slowly simmered between you both came thundering back tenfold into a suffocating pressure that was weighing the room down. Fuck, she needed to go. Tommy thought to himself as she sat down beside him without a care, taking your place once again, thinking she had the upper hand in the situation. Her little stunt filled with veiled threats the previous night had Tommy calling up and down the country all morning gathering as much information as he could on who she was, and her own little secrets she wished to keep from seeing the light of day. Brazen enough to make such threats, Tommy was no fool to think she hadn't safeguarded the intel she had acquired on him. And until he had dealt with whoever had been entrusted with said information, be it family or friend, her unwelcome presence in the house would have to be begrudgingly endured.

" Mummy" William smiled up at you with jammy cheeks, and a single toothy smile whilst kicking his legs back and forth, single handily bringing a smile to your face and a distraction from the frosty stare the Governess sat across from you was sending your way.

" Hi sweetheart..." You replied quietly, running your fingers across his plump cheek as a tear settled on your lashes, never tiring from hearing the sweetest of words spoken to you.

" Don't talk with your mouth full William" the governess barked, breaking the tender moment between you both and shocking you out of the one delight you felt you were allowed to enjoy.

" Give it a rest, would you? He's two bloody years old" Tommy snapped back, having had enough of her overbearing, over-controlling attitude towards his son, your son. Why the hell did he even go there, with her? Tommy thought to himself, wondering if it wouldn't be easier to just throw her in the cut.

" More, more, more" William's little voice squeaked as he pointed enthusiastically to the glass dish of strawberry jam in the center of the table as a quiet chuckle left Tommy's lips and a smile graced your own at his sheer determination, and the learnt knowledge of his sweet tooth he could have only inherited from one person.Tommy.

Reaching for the jam, you pulled it towards you when a hand suddenly grabbed the opposite end, sharply pulling it back into the middle of the table.

" Do you want him bouncing of the walls, hm? Did you eat a lot of sugar when you nursed him? That certainly explains a lot" The governess peered down at you, not giving you an opportunity to reply before coming to her own judgment as you recalled into the back of your seat and a sudden surge of self-doubt engulfed your stomach, your ability to be a mother suddenly brought into question over something so meaningless as a second serving of jam. As your eyes cast down at the cold cup of tea in front of you, every interaction you had had with your son since your return had the feelings of inadequacy that once darkened your mind seep rapidly back into your fragile thoughts.

As you shrank into yourself, numb of William pulling at the sleeve of your dress while the Governess continued her barrage of unwarranted parenting knowledge, Tommy watched as your tearful eyes looked up at him, pulling at his heart until he could no longer withstand the torment of seeing you look so vulnerable. Throwing his newspaper onto the empty plate in front of him, Tommy abruptly stood up, glaring at the Governess as his teeth grounded down onto eachother. Her overstepping into the role you solely held as William's mother getting on his last, and final nerve.

" It's just fucking jam!" Tommy's voice rose, reaching over the table placing the small bowl in front of William as the Governess lips pursed together, and she folded her arms in annoyance that her lecture had gone ignored. "Enjoy my boy" Tommy said walking behind your son, placing a tender kiss to the crown of his head as he looked to you before swiftly leaving the room with some urgent calls to be made, and preferably an anchor and rope to be ordered.

" Well..." The governess scoffed as her eyes darted from the slamming of the dining room door to you, glaring at you up and down. "You certainly have soured his mood. And to think he was finally starting to enjoy life again" she commented as her fingers curled around the cup in her hand, sowing yet another dousing of blame into your troubled mind. Was she right? Had your unexpected return thrown Tommy's apparent newly founded happiness into chaos?

Sat at the living room bay window with a book resting in your hands you had little to no interest in, your eyes darted up from the pages to see your husband outside patting down one of his newest race horses on the freshly pruned grass. Tommy always had been stubborn about anything that would show the slightest ounce of vulnerability in him. So to see him occupying himself with a four-legged creature rather than any two-legged human that could neither, answer back, nor confront him came as no surprise.

Returning to the pages of your book, Tommy, who had chosen the most unusual of spots to inspect his horse, that just so happened to be in viewing distance of you, couldn't help but glance up every other second to get a quick glimpse of you all while internally berating himself for acting like some nervous teen boy psyching himself up to talk to his crush. With a heavy sigh leaving his throat, Tommy looked your way, throwing his cigarette onto the grass with determination to have his thoughts settled once and for all, and finally discuss what needed to be said. But just as you looked up to see Tommy striding towards you, his mustered up courage to have the conversation he had been avoiding took another blow as a car screeched around the corner, interrupting him once again.

" Where is she Tommy?" Polly demanded to know as Esme slammed the car door behind her and they both marched up to the house without the slightest of greetings to him.

" Fuck sake" he mumbled under his breath pointing to the house as you abruptly stood up, bracing yourself for what was to come while your eyes darted to your husband leading his horse away and the living room door seconds away from being thrown open.

" Esme..would you..bloody hell..." Polly grunted, as they pushed past one another through the door frame, when the Lee girl slipped through first and came running up to you. Stepping back your eyes widened, readying yourself for the inevitable, only to be quickly welcomed into a tight hug.

" Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" She said, wrapping her arms around you as your body relaxed into hers and tears began to streak your face.

" Es, I...I don't know. I'm so sorry" you cried as she cupped your cheeks, brushing your tears away with her thumbs whilst you internally scolded yourself for not opening up to the friend that had become a sister, and most cherished supporting hand throughout your pregnancy and labour.

" I would have come with you. God knows I need a bloody break" she stifled her tears with a laugh, pulling you back into her arms as you reached your hand out for Polly who was stood behind her, her trembling hands hovering over the smile beaming across her face.

" I told him, I told you all" Polly said with tears welling in her eyes as she pulled you into a hug, stroking the hair away from your face as you cried into her shoulder. " I checked, I made sure" she said closing her eyes as she clutched the black Madonna around her neck, silently thanking her ancestor's guidance. " Look at you" she said cupping your face as she pressed a longing kiss to your forehead, relief sweeping over her that you was still in one piece. "Come let's sit, before we all lose our footing" she said sniffing back her tears as she linked her arm into yours and led you to the two large cushioned sofas in the middle of the room.

" Where's William?" Esme asked as she looked around the grand sitting area only to see his toys scattered along the floor.

" With the Governess" you said, diverting your eyes as Polly shot Esme a sharp look, or rather, a warning.

" ABCs and 123s, he's two years old for god's sake. Should be out with the horses, in the mud and the meadows, not stuck between four walls. Never did me any harm" Esme huffed as she let her tired body and aching back from another baby weighing down her stomach fall into the feathered stuffed sofa. "What was Tommy thinking hiring that witch?"

" Esme!" Polly warned her as she looked back to you with a tight smile, holding your hand within her own. "Tommy hasn't been in his right mind for a long time"

" It's ok, I know they're together" you said biting, your bottom lip as you looked to the mantel place. Your pictures with him still sitting there neatly one by one. Memories stuck in a flash of a moment, cruelly tormenting you for what you had given up, and what you desperately longed for once again.

" Together? Whoever told you that?" Polly asked, furrowing her brow. " Love, as crude as it is, Tommy... Well I don't think there was ever any feelin..."

" It's ok Polly, It really is" you said cutting her off, trying to reassure yourself and subsequently avoid any further discussion on the topic that had consumed all your thoughts of late. " I burst their happy little bubble"

"Don't think the crate of whisky he has my John bring to his office door once a week, like some bloody delivery boy would agree with you" Esme said less than tactfully as Polly's head snapped to her. "What?" She said bewildered as to why Polly's eyes were suddenly boring into her very soul.

"Esme, why don't you go get us something to eat? Biscuits perhaps" Polly said as your sister-in-law furrowed her brow, crossing her arms.

" Biscuits?" Esme asked frowning, like it was the most bizarre, most confusing of questions to ask someone.

" Yes, bloody biscuits. And a bottle of whisky" she said as Esme stood up with a huff. "The good stuff, he keeps hidden in his office cabinet!" Polly called out as Esme waved her hand above her head mumbling to herself before shutting the door.

" Oh love" Polly said, moving her attention back to you with a heavy look of worry as she stared into your eyes, only sadness and shame to be found in them. "Why didn't you come to me?"

" I was scared you'd judge me Polly, that I couldn't cope when every other woman around me makes it look so easy" you sobbed as she pulled you into your arms.

" God knows there were moments when I wanted to run from it all, Esme too. The only difference between us is, you battled through when we buckled. You didn't have to love, we were here for you. We would have held you up" she said, holding you In front of her as she dabbed your tears from your cheeks. " Your pain is my pain. I would have walked the lonely path of motherhood with you, holding your hand all the way" she finished, cupping your cheeks when Esme walked in with a large cake on a polished silver tray, and one of the finest bottles of whisky Tommy possessed tucked safely under her arm.

" No biscuits, but I found another one of these fucking cakes again" Esme huffed from holding the heavy monstrosity in her hands.

" Give me the knife " Polly demanded with her hand out, her brow raised as she waited.

" Don't think I'm capable of cutting a bloody cake, Polly?"

"Esme" Polly's eyes narrowed in, their once mutual disdain for each other now a daily power play of Polly trying to assert herself over her nephews wild hearted wife.

"Shelby's. Stubborn, the lot of you" she said handing the knife over as she sent you a quick smile." So, you and Tommy had it out yet? " Esme asked, curious as to where you both stood with each other now you had returned.

"I think he tried to. At one point" you replied, recalling the brief moment in the dining room before the Governess barged in, interrupting his chances. " He won't forgive me, I know he wont"

" You focus on little William for now, Tommy can wait. It may do him so good to mull things over, before he says something pigheaded " Polly said handing you slice of cake. She and Esme may bash heads on many things, but the inherited trait of stubbornness was something she couldn't deny. And unfortunately for you, Tommy's headstrong, unyielding nature was the vain of the whole family's existence.

" I can't stomach anymore of it" Esme said, refusing her plate as she made a beeline for the whisky instead.

" God, me neither" Polly agreed, dropping the knife as she took Esme's glass tumbler from her.

" Why, what's wrong with it?" You asked inspecting it, noting it's familiarity to the cake you would often bake.

" Oh, you didn't know?" Polly smiled as she sat back in her chair, her eyes playfully glimmering from the amber liquid bouncing off the sides of the crystal glass in her hand " Every Saturday Tommy insists on that bloody fruit cake you used to bake that weighed more than a newborn baby on being made. He sends that poor old cook up and down the country in search of the ingredient Tommy insists is missing"

" He hated my fruit cake" you chuckled, looking down at the plate in your hand as the memory of happier times when you had become adamant on perfecting your baking skills before the birth of William on a reluctant Tommy flooded your thoughts.

"He still does. But it was a little part of you he couldn't part with" she winked at you as she poured herself another glass of whisky. " I'm starting to think he just enjoys watching the torment on Mr Giles face as the kitchen staff gather around to hear his weekly verdict every Saturday evening" Polly laughed into her drink at her nephews dry sense of fun, and the growing stockpile of cake enough to build a small house stored in the pantry." Why don't you bake him one?"

" Polly, I don't think a cake will fix this" you sighed, casting your eyes down to your lap when she cupped the side of your cheek, turning it to face her glistening hazel eyes.

"No. But it might make him smile. And that would be a sight"

As you said your goodbyes to Polly and Esme out in the grand foyer, grateful for the afternoon you had spent with them and their comforting words, Tommy stood watching by the front door, a pang of jealousy settling in his chest at everyone's ease with you like no time had passed, and mounting frustration with himself that he couldn't do the same.

" All is forgotten then, eh?" Tommy said in passing as the sound of the front door closed, his spite quickly finding a way to weave itself back into the iron cast wall he had slowly let down as he sulked off to his office once again, leaving you with his dampened mood for a fresh crate of whisky waiting for him.

One and a half years ago...

" Tommy this has to stop" Polly said, hovering over his desk, her nephew's head buried deep in a stack of maps, newspaper clippings and letters.

" Not now, Pol" Tommy replied, stubbing his cigarette out before returning to the large plan of Birmingham's canal system on his desk. Wide-eyed and restless. Polly was certain he hadn't slept in days, if not weeks.

" Enough Tommy!" She shouted, trying to snap him out of his madness as she snatched the large map away from him, her eyes pleading with him to give up, to rest.

" I will not fucking stop! Do you hear me?! I will not stop until her body is found!" He bellowed, pointing his finger into the desk as tears welled in his eyes and his face reddened with fury. "Just leave Polly...Go" he sighed, pinching the skin between his brows, his tired body unable to keep up with another argument with his Aunt, and his relentless search for you.

" There's no body to be found Thomas" Polly said as he walked around his desk grabbing the map from her hands before dropping into the sofa and pouring himself not a finger, not even two, but a whole glass of whisky. " Enough!" She said, marching over to him, throwing the remainder of the bottles contents into the fire place before crouching down in front of him. " You can't dull it forever Tommy. You have to listen to me, she's not passed over"

" Polly Stop" Tommy replied, burying his hands into his hair, scrapping his nails along his scalp at the stress tightening around his skull.

" You won't find anything"

" Polly stop, stop STOP!" Tommy's voice crescendoed until a sob of cries left his lips and his shoulders slouched over his body, drained of any rational thought left. " She's dead Pol" Tommy said looking up to his Aunt with an empty, lifeless stare as his hands fell down onto his thighs. Drunk, beaten down and hollow. Tommy had not an ounce of will to carry on. The second half of him was gone, and if it wasn't for William, he would have gladly welcomed the sweet release of death and joined you if it had brought him peace, and you back into his arms. "She's fucking dead..."

As you rummaged through the kitchen cabinets in search of a bottle of brandy you were certain was the missing ingredient from your fruit cake Tommy had ordered Mr Giles to bake every weekend in your absence, a loud crash quickly followed by your husband shouting every blasphemy known to man had you jumping away from the cupboards, and your own choice of profanities quickly leaving your lips.

" Shit!" you heard Tommy mumble as you slowly approached his office door to see him steadying himself with one hand on his desk as he poured the remaining contents of a bottle of whisky into a glass while blood dripped from an open cut on his hand. " What the fuck you looking at, eh?" Tommy said stumbling back and forth as he pointed at the large portrait of himself hung in his office. "Dickhead"

Just go to bed Tommy. You silently pleaded, watching him ease himself into his leather chair as he buried his head in his hand, replaying every moment from the day you had left to every hour he would spend trying to find your body over and over again in his head, letting his emotions fester inside, clinging onto them in an attempt to change their outcome. Watching him reach for another bottle of whisky, you opened the door and walked in, fearing he would drink until he passed out.

" Is everything ok? I heard a noise" You said, looking around his usually immaculate office stacked with paperwork and broken furniture.

" Fucking fantastic sweetheart " Tommy replied, trying to unscrew the cap of the bottle as you carefully walked around a smashed lamp on the ground you could only assume got in his way. " Fuck..." Tommy sighed, his injured hand rendering his attempts to open the large whisky bottle useless. Removing the satin belt around your dressing gown, you took his hand, gently wrapping the soft fabric around the deep gash across his knuckles as Tommy watched on in silence, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as your delicate touch stirred his unwanted emotions once again.

" There" you said letting go, waiting for him to say something, anything to break the palpable silence that had descended between you both as his eyes roamed down your body, and he opened mouth to say something pigheaded, exactly as his Aunt had predicted had he not been left alone to wallow in his own self pity.

" Do you wanna fuck?"

" Jesus Christ...get some sleep Tommy" you sighed, shaking your head as you turned for the door. He had every right to be angry at you, but this, this you didn't have to deal with. A drunken Tommy was an unreasonable man, and you now regrettably wished you had let him drink himself to sleep, and pass out on the floor.

" No? Thought it would stop me from hating you so much" he stated coldly as you came to a stop, his words piercing you as deep as he had intended them to.

" You already have someone that's been keeping your bed warm, our bed warm. Don't you Tommy?" You said, unable to keep your bitterness contained any longer as you turned to face him, and he came to face the outcome of his harsh words streaming down your cheeks.

" I shared our bed with nobody Y/N" Tommy pointed to you as he stood up, taking the large map he had mulled over for the past two years from his desk as he walked past you to the fire. There was no lie in his words. Never once had he tarnished the most intimate part of what was left of you. No matter what he had done to dull his grief in the past, every night Tommy would faithfully return to your martial bed unaccompanied, desperately holding onto the memory of your body wrapped warmly in his arms. " I thought you were dead" he said, the vows he had made to stay faithful unknowingly severed, crushing him more than any broken promise he had ever made.

" I know" you sobbed as you slowly approached and stood beside him, welcoming the comforting warmth from the fireplace as you looked into the towering orange flames and crackling wood burning below them.

" Do you know how long I looked for you?" He said, glancing up at you as you shook your head, feeling a surge of nervousness at where the conversation was suddenly going. "One year, six months and twenty two days" he said, throwing the folded document into the fire, watching the hours he had spent mapping each river, each stream and every canal burn into ash.

" Tommy...I'm so sorry. I should never have let you think that I was dead" you apologised, brushing your tears away as Tommy's stare stayed fixed on the last piece of paper melting away.

" Searched every forest, every train track until the only thing that was left was the waters, hoping your body hadn't been swept out to sea" his voice grew louder as his anger began to pump furiously beneath his skin.

" Tommy please..." you pleaded as your eyes welled with tears once again, trying to turn his stiffened frame to face you as his hand tightened around the intricately carved mantel, his knuckles turning opaque from the heat rapidly coursing through his veins.

"Polly put an end to it. Had my men stop me from leaving my own house for weeks on end. My own fucking house!" He continued, slamming his fist into the wood with a strong enough blow to split it, leaving a fractured line running permanently through the middle.

" Tom stop, please!" You begged him, trying to pull him away from the raging flames, from the raging fire within him.

" Enough!" he shouted as his hand came up to strike you when your eyes widened and he stopped himself, stumbling back in horror at the terror on your face. "Fuck!" He bellowed from the depths of his lungs, turning away to the door to hide the tears welling in his eyes and the shame on his face.

" Tommy, It's...it's ok. It's ok" You cried slowly approaching him, your body trembling with each step. " Let's sit down, and talk. Yeh?" Your shaky voice tried to reason with him as your hand brushed gently over his shoulder, coming to rest in the middle of his back.

" Now you want to talk, eh? he said, choking out a stifled breath as he brushed his tears away before turning to face your silent pleas to stay. "I'm afraid..." he sighed, bringing his hand up to stroke along your cheek as your fingers held tightly onto the front of his shirt came up to cup his cheeks, pulling him closer to you. "...I'm afraid you may be too late my darling" Tommy said scrunching his eyes closed as his lips hovered over yours, your sobs intensifying into hopeless cries before he pulled your hands off him and left without another word.

Fear of you leaving him again, fear of never being able to forgive you. Tommy Shelby, the most feared gangster in Birmingham, was in fact a man scared, a man so conflicted with the most vulnerable of feelings he had pushed down to the very depths of his heart for the past two years. Love. His broken heart still madly, still deeply in love with the one and only woman of his life. You.

PART FOUR

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[basketfullofgrapes]

Strategic Allignment

Alex Morgan x Reader imagine

The dining room of my father’s mansion was a monument to old money, a place that could easily have served as the backdrop for some dull historical drama about the aristocracy: glimmering chandeliers that cast shadows over the polished mahogany table, velvet curtains that hung like somber reminders of the walls closing in.

The air was thick with something far worse than just fine wine. It was the scent of suffocating expectations. I knew it, and Alex Morgan, the American soccer prodigy sitting across from me, seemed to know it too. Both of us, trapped in the tangled web my father had woven for us, had adopted the same uncomfortable posture, shoulders stiff, eyes darting away from the elephant in the room—the very one sitting right between us, looking smug at the head of the table: my father.

I could feel the weight of his gaze, trying to drill through me, but I wasn’t going to let him win. I never did. With a flick of my wrist, I broke the silence, my voice smooth but with the bite that had earned me a reputation. "Let me get this straight," I said, leaning forward slightly, letting my sarcasm bleed through every word. "You’re marrying me off to her because… what? You ran out of business partners to exploit?"

My father, unfazed as always, didn’t even blink. His hand rested perfectly on the table, a symbol of control, as though this whole conversation was a mere inconvenience. "It’s not exploitation, sweetheart," he replied, the words falling from his mouth like he had rehearsed them a thousand times. "It’s strategic alignment. The Morgan and Y/L/N families merging through this arrangement will benefit both parties immensely."

The word "alignment" hung in the air, as though I should care about it. My eyes narrowed. "‘Strategic alignment’? Is that what we’re calling human trafficking these days?"

The tension that settled in the room could’ve been cut with a knife. Alex, sitting stiffly in her seat, didn’t make a sound, her face betraying a blend of confusion and forced politeness. But I caught it—the slight cough, the faintest hint of amusement trying to escape her lips as she swallowed her water. At least someone found this entire circus amusing.

"You know, Dad," I continued, tapping my fingers on the table for effect, "you’ve really outdone yourself this time. A soccer star and a business contract all rolled into one. What’s next? Marrying me to the next tech CEO to boost our Wi-Fi signal?"

My father’s eyes flicked to me with a glint of frustration, but he held his ground, ever the image of indifference. "Y/N, this isn’t up for debate. The wedding is in two weeks. You’ll thank me someday."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, instead meeting his gaze with a blank stare. "Oh, sure. I’ll send a heartfelt thank-you note from the honeymoon—assuming I survive the sheer embarrassment of this circus."

Alex shifted in her chair, finally breaking the silence with a soft laugh, one she quickly tried to stifle. "For the record," she said, her voice calm but carrying an undertone of awkwardness, "I didn’t agree to this either. I was just told it’s happening."

I turned to her, my smirk finding its way back onto my face. The sarcasm practically dripped from my words. "And you’re just going along with it? What, they promise you unlimited cleats and a lifetime supply of protein shakes?"

Her lips twitched, and for a second, I thought I might actually crack her, but she quickly masked it, her poker face coming back with a practiced grace. "No, but the idea of spending the rest of my life with someone so… charming was hard to resist."

I leaned back in my chair, studying her for a moment, then let out a low chuckle. "Ah, sarcasm. A girl after my own heart," I remarked, tapping my fingers on the table with a thoughtful expression. "I knew there was something about you that wasn’t just… football and bright smiles."

Just as the words left my mouth, my father, finally losing his patience, cut in. "Enough," he said sharply, his voice more commanding than ever. "You two need to make this work. I don’t care how. The media rollout starts tomorrow, and you’ll be acting like a blissfully engaged couple by then."

I couldn’t help it. The sarcastic impulse was too strong. "Blissful?" I repeated, my voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. "Got it. Should we practice our public displays of affection now, or do you have a PowerPoint on it first?"

"Y/N..." His voice dropped to a growl, a tone that was supposed to be threatening but only made me roll my eyes harder.

I stood up from the table, stretching lazily as though I wasn’t bothered by anything. "Relax, Dad. I’ll play nice," I said, tossing my napkin onto my seat. "But I’m going to need a drink, though. Or twenty."

As I turned to leave, I heard Alex’s voice behind me, light but sincere. "For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about this. It wasn’t my idea either."

I paused at the doorway, glancing back at her. My smirk returned, sharp and calculating. "Don’t apologize yet, Morgan. You haven’t even seen me in action."

Her eyebrow arched in genuine curiosity. "Should I be scared?"

I gave her a wink, then turned and left the room without another word. "Terrified," I called over my shoulder, my voice carrying the weight of a promise I wasn’t sure either of us was ready for.

I was nursing a glass of wine in the library when the door creaked open. Alex stood there, framed by the dim light from the hallway, as though unsure if she was stepping into enemy territory or a sanctuary. She hesitated, her fingers wrapped around the doorframe, her posture stiff. It made her look almost… human. Vulnerable, even.

I didn’t bother glancing up from my glass, the liquid swirling lazily in the crystal. "Let me guess," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, a perfect match for the situation. "You’re here to discuss our ‘strategic alignment.’"

There was a beat of silence before she chuckled—genuine, unguarded—and stepped further into the room. "Actually," she said, her voice steady but laced with something that could almost be called concern, "I came to ask how you’re holding up. This can’t be easy for you."

I slowly raised my eyes to meet hers, a dry laugh escaping my lips before I could even stop it. "Aw, concerned about me already?" I leaned back in my chair, letting my smirk widen. "You’re making this fake marriage feel so real."

She raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering behind her eyes. "Are you always this sarcastic, or is it just because of this... situation?"

"Who, me?" I lifted my glass in an exaggerated gesture, swirling the wine, letting it settle before speaking again. "This marriage is just the cherry on top of the disaster sundae my life’s been serving me. The sarcasm is practically a reflex at this point."

Alex shook her head, her lips curling into a small smile that she couldn’t quite hide. "You really are impossible, you know that?"

I looked at her, meeting her gaze for the first time since dinner, and for a split second, I saw the flicker of understanding in her eyes. It was strange, the way it almost felt like we were in this together, despite the fact that neither of us had chosen this.

"Yet here you are," I said with a soft chuckle, raising my glass to her, a mock toast. "To impossible people and ridiculous situations."

She didn’t hesitate this time. Her fingers tapped the edge of her glass, though she didn’t have one in her hand. Her eyes locked onto mine as she mirrored my motion, her voice light, yet edged with something darker, almost resigned. "And to the fact that we’ll probably kill each other before the wedding."

I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound escaping from deep in my chest. It was a laugh of recognition, like she understood exactly what I meant. Maybe it was just my sarcasm speaking, or maybe it was the truth we both saw hanging between us. I leaned forward, the glass in my hand glinting under the low lights. "That’s the spirit," I said, savoring the words with a devilish smirk.

There was a long pause, and for the first time that night, the silence didn’t feel heavy. It wasn’t the awkward kind that hung over dinner, suffocating the air with every word. No, this felt almost like… mutual acknowledgment. Like we were on the same page, even if we didn’t want to be.

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest, her face still half-hidden in the shadows. "You know," she began, her voice low, almost thoughtful, "I didn’t ask for this. Neither of us did."

I took another sip of my wine, letting her words linger in the air. "No, but here we are anyway," I said, my voice flat, like it was something I had resigned myself to long ago.

Alex nodded, her eyes flickering to the fireplace across the room, though her focus was clearly somewhere else. "I hate how your dad thinks he can control everything. I don’t even know why I’m here, honestly. Just doing what I’m told." She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. "But I get it. He’s not exactly the type to give you a choice, is he?"

I couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, believe me, if I had a choice, I’d be anywhere else right now. Anywhere but here, pretending to be engaged to you, a woman I’ve barely said five words to."

She looked at me then, her expression softening, just a little. "You’re not the only one stuck in this, you know."

I didn’t know what I expected her to say, but something about the honesty in her voice caught me off guard. I thought I was the only one dealing with the weight of this mess, the only one battling the invisible chains my father had wrapped around me. But here she was, feeling just as trapped, maybe more.

I set my glass down with a soft clink, leaning in slightly. "Yeah, well," I said, my voice quieter now, almost contemplative, "just because we’re stuck in the same situation doesn’t mean we’re going to get along."

Her gaze was steady, unwavering, as she met my eyes. "No, it doesn’t," she replied with a quiet intensity. "But we might as well make the best of it. For whatever it’s worth, I’m not here to make this harder on you, even if I seem like the enemy."

The words hit harder than I anticipated, and I almost found myself speechless. She wasn’t just some stranger being shoved into this. Alex Morgan, soccer icon, was just as much a victim as I was in this ridiculous charade. For the first time that night, I saw her as something more than just a pawn in my father’s game—a woman who didn’t ask for any of this.

I didn’t respond immediately. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, letting the silence stretch between us, allowing the weight of the situation to settle. She wasn’t wrong. We were both caught in this, for better or worse. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way out—or at least a way to make it through the storm.

"I suppose," I said, my voice low but tinged with something closer to resignation than sarcasm, "we’ll have to see how long we can last without driving each other insane."

Alex’s lips twitched in amusement again. "I don’t know about you," she said, her voice lighter now, "but I’m aiming for a solid six months before I snap."

I laughed, the sound escaping more freely this time. Maybe we weren’t as far apart as I thought.

"Six months?" I said with a grin, the sarcasm creeping back into my tone. "I’ll give it a week. You’ll be begging for a divorce before we even get to the aisle."

Her smile widened. "That’s the spirit," she said, matching my playful challenge.

And just like that, despite everything, the weight of the world seemed a little lighter. Maybe this absurd contract my father had drafted wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning of something else entirely.

[girl-next-door-writes]

Defrosted

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: After a grueling day, you return home, weary and stressed. But behind closed doors, the icy, calculating Mycroft Holmes melts for you alone, showing a rare tenderness.

Word Count: 1291 words

A/N: This is a mixture of requests from @anonymousmarvelfan, @howaboutlunch, @savvy-devine666, @but-hey-could-be-satan. It’s been sitting in my WIP file for a while, so I hope the final version is what you were hoping for.

The London air bit sharply through the autumn night as you pushed the door open, peeling off your damp coat with a sigh that held the weight of the day’s troubles. Exhaustion clung to you like a heavy cloak, your thoughts dulled by the long hours of tense meetings and endless paperwork. A familiar chill hung in the air, reminding you of the looming winter and the comfort of the warmth inside your home.

And then there was Mycroft.

You found him in the sitting room, seated in his usual armchair by the fire, a thick book in his hands and his brow knitted in concentration. The firelight danced over his angular features, casting shadows that softened the harsh lines of his face. He glanced up at the sound of your entrance, his expression still the practiced neutrality he wore like armor, yet there was a flicker of something warmer in his gaze.

"My dear," he greeted, voice smooth and unperturbed. “You’re home late.”

The corners of your lips lifted into a weary smile as you approached him, sinking into the sofa opposite his chair. “Yes, well, not everyone can be as fortunate as the British government’s top strategist. Some of us still have to suffer through rush-hour traffic and unreasonable supervisors.”

A small, wry smile tugged at his lips. "Indeed. I suppose not everyone can delegate quite so effectively." He closed his book with a quiet thud, setting it aside on the mahogany side table. “You look exhausted.”

You gave a noncommittal hum, your body sagging against the cushions. “That’s one way to put it. It’s just been… one of those days.”

He rose to his feet with the kind of languid grace that spoke of countless years perfecting even the smallest of movements, as if the very act of standing could be an art form. His gaze swept over you, and in the quiet moments that followed, the transformation began—the slow thawing of the ice around him.

"Wait here," he instructed softly, before disappearing down the hallway.

When he returned, he was carrying a pair of fluffy slippers, the ones you kept tucked away at the back of the closet. He knelt before you, an unexpected gesture that pulled you from your fatigue-induced haze, and with the same careful precision he applied to everything else in life, he slipped them onto your feet. His fingers brushed against your skin, and you could swear you felt the faintest spark of warmth where they touched.

"Come," he said, standing again and extending a hand towards you. "Dinner is nearly ready."

You allowed him to lead you into the dining room, where the rich aroma of a simmering meal filled the air, the scent of garlic, rosemary, and roasted vegetables weaving together in an enticing blend. On the table sat two place settings, a bottle of your favorite wine, and a dish covered to keep the heat trapped inside. It was a sight that instantly made the day’s stress seem like a distant memory.

"You cooked?" you asked, incredulous as you took in the scene.

"I’m fully capable of following basic culinary instructions," he replied dryly, though there was a trace of amusement in his eyes. "Now sit, and allow me the rare pleasure of serving you."

The meal was simple but delicious—a roasted chicken, golden potatoes, and seasoned vegetables, paired perfectly with the deep, velvety wine. Mycroft poured your glass first, as he always did, with the kind of etiquette that had become second nature to him.

As you ate, the tension slowly ebbed from your muscles, replaced by a gentle warmth that spread through you, not just from the meal or the fire, but from the quiet intimacy of sharing this moment. Mycroft, usually terse and preoccupied, allowed himself to relax, his features softening as he listened to your accounts of the day. He commented occasionally, offering wry observations that made you laugh and rolled his eyes at the absurdity of office politics.

When you had finished, he was already ahead of you, standing to clear the dishes before you could insist on doing it yourself. "None of that, now," he chided. "You are under strict orders to relax."

As he moved about the kitchen, he carried himself with the same air of precision, each step purposeful, each motion refined. You observed him as he worked, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest. It wasn’t often that you were graced with this side of Mycroft Holmes—the attentive partner who pampered and doted, albeit in his own way. It was a side that the rest of the world would never see. To them, he was the British government, a man of intellect and authority wrapped in a cold, imposing exterior. But to you, he was something more—someone who had learned to defrost in the presence of love.

When he returned, his sleeves rolled up and his usual sternness tempered by the gentleness in his gaze, he reached for your hand. "Come," he said, his voice softening. "There’s something else I’d like to show you."

He led you to the bathroom, where a bath had already been drawn, the surface of the water shimmering with fragrant oils and surrounded by the glow of a dozen flickering candles. The warmth of the room wrapped around you like a blanket, chasing away the last remnants of the chill that had clung to you all day.

Mycroft’s hands moved to remove your clothing with a practiced ease that spoke of the years you had shared together. “You’ve earned this,” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm on your skin. "Now, enjoy it."

Once you were immersed in the bath, the heat soaking into your tired muscles, he did not leave as you expected. Instead, he took a seat on the nearby stool, his long fingers deftly massaging your temples, trailing down the back of your neck, tracing a line of warmth along your spine. It was a kind of care you knew he would never show to anyone else, a private language spoken only in the sanctuary of your shared life.

For a man so famously detached, his touch held a surprising amount of tenderness. It was as though the very act of tending to you brought him some unspoken peace, a quiet satisfaction that no position or title could grant him.

"Mycroft," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. For everything."

His hand stilled, and for a moment, you wondered if you had broken some unspoken rule by being so candid. But then he leaned forward, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. "You’re welcome, my dear," he replied, his voice a low murmur. "Though, as you well know, I do not do these things out of some obligation. I do them because…" He trailed off, and there was a pause before he continued. "Because love, real love, is seeing all the flaws, the scars, the weariness—and choosing to stay. Something I know you do each and every day.”

You gazed up at him, and in his pale eyes, you saw the quiet promise of a man who had found his heart’s refuge in you. It wasn’t a grand declaration or an ostentatious display of affection—it was something far more enduring. It was the gentle unraveling of the formidable man before you, a defrosting that came not with time, but with trust.

As the water cooled and the candles burned low, you knew that no matter how many long days or bitter nights lay ahead, there would always be this—this shared sanctuary where the warmth of Mycroft’s quiet love would be enough to melt away the chill of the world outside.

[beenbaanbuun]

paranormal / opposites attract

san yawns as he walks into the dining room, shirt still untucked and tie hanging loosely over his shoulders. in his right hand is a mug of coffee and in his left a pile of mail. he takes a sip, passing the envelopes to an already immaculately dressed hongjoong. you hear seonghwa sigh as he pushes his chair back, standing gracefully before making his way over to the butler. the tired man doesn’t even question it when seonghwa spins him around to finish dressing him, although you do catch him send an irritated looking glance to the werewolf who can’t help but snicker at the scene before him. in yeosang’s eyes its fair game; he too had been dressed by seonghwa before breakfast, as had you.

you reach over to steal a strawberry from hongjoong’s plate whilst his attention is focused on the letters in hand. he barely spares you a passing glance as you pop the fruit into your mouth and bite down, simply rolling his eyes as he rips into an envelope.

“anything for me?” you say mid-chew, only to be cut off by a dramatic sigh from seonghwa.

“finish eating before you talk, lamb,” he scolds as his fingers work on finishing off san’s tie, “no one wants to see what’s inside your mouth.”

yeosang’s giggles grow a little louder before promptly shifting to silence when your foot comes into contact with his shin. you ignore the glare he shoots at you, giving him a kind smile in return, showing yourself as the picture of innocence. no doubt the second you’re excused from the table he’ll have you pinned to your favourite rug, growling at you from where his body hovers above yours. you can only hope your ghoul is preoccupied this time; the poor thing had grown rather worried the last time he witnessed yeosang scolding you.

you swallow the fruit before turning to face hongjoong once more. “well?” you press, “you never answered my question; is there anything for me?”

“is there ever?” hongjoong counters, tossing one letter onto the table before moving onto the next. you cant deny that he has a point, but you can still hope, can’t you? pretend that there are more than just a handful of people that would care for you enough to write. you sink back into your chair and tug your lip miserably between your teeth. the disappointment is small enough to be unreadable to anyone else, but not to your family. he sighs and presses the second letter down against the stained mahogany. “i’m sorry, dove; i didn’t mean it to offend.”

you nod to him, although he doesn’t look fully convinced. with a sigh, he pushes a letter towards you and smiles. “it’s addressed to the ‘kim family’ which you are a part of, are you not?” well, by law, no, but you’d never let either of them hear you say that. you can feel seonghwa’s eyes burning into you as you stare into hongjoong’s so you nod. seonghwa hums as hongjoong shoots you a toothy grin; they’re pleased with your compliance, and you can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh at that fact. “so technically speaking there is something for you, dove. go ahead, open it.”

you do as instructed, picking it up and letting your fingers rip open the wax seal that holds it shut. if you cared to look at it for more than a second, perhaps you would’ve noticed the familiar letters that made up the emblem on it, although perhaps not; JWY haven’t meant a thing to you in such a long time. the last time you saw them was when you were at school with a boy with the same initials. he was certainly something, always teasing you and poking fun. half the time you acted kim you hated him for it, but you have to admit that he left a pretty big hole in your heart when it came time for him to leave. besides the butler, the werewolf and the ghost, you guess he was the closest think you ever had to a friend.

you pull the letter from its sleeve, hearing a scoff to your left as you reveal the ruled paper with the torn edges that had clearly been pulled from a notebook of some kind. in your eyes it has charm, in your lovers it is undignified. still, you unfurl it and let your eyes scan over the page.

dear mr and mr kim,

a bad start already, you find yourself thinking, it isn’t addressed to you at all. you send a scornful look to hongjoong to which he responds with a frown. with a sigh, you go back to reading.

i have no doubt that with a property like yours you must receive an unyielding amount of enquiries from paranormal investigators such as myself. i won’t sugarcoat it and claim to be better than the rest—

blah blah blah……

the author of the letter is right; a never ending stream of similar letters show up on your doorstep, all of which end up shrivelled and burnt on the fire come evening. hongjoong and seonghwa like their privacy a little too much to let a complete stranger poke around in search of a ghost or two. you like your shy little ghost friend a little too much to force him to reveal himself to a stranger who’s bound to lack respect for the dead. you fold the top third of the letter back over, preparing to slide it back into its envelope.

but then you see it, a name scrawled in the same messy handwriting as the rest of the letter. it hits you like a ton of bricks, the pain of missing someone, and although you haven’t seen him in years, it’s just as strong as it was back then. you bite your bottom lip as you study the name, trying desperately to keep the tide of sadness at bay. the others could see it anyway.

finished with dressing san, seonghwa walks over to stand behind you. a warm hand finds your shoulder and rubs at you comfortingly over the thick wool of the cardigan you wear. he reads the last few lines of the letter aloud, “yours sincerely, jung wooyoung, paranormal investigator,” before humming contemplatively, “who is he?”

of course seonghwa knows it’s the name that has you feeling this way. what else could it be? it’s not like the words ‘paranormal investigator’ would set you on edge; your best friends are a werewolf and a ghost, for devils sake.

“someone i once knew,” you reply simply.

“an ex?” hongjoong joins in as his hand fumbles around his plate. his fingers soon wrap around another berry, and he holds it out for you. it makes you smile; how could it not? it’s small things like this that remind you why you love them so dearly.

“a friend,” you take the berry and pop it in your mouth. you chew and then swallow, exaggerating your actions for seonghwa’s sake who simply rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your forehead. “he left a long time ago. makes sense he became a paranormal investigator; he always did have a lack of respect for privacy.”

there’s a chuckle from hongjoong and seonghwa as you recount the memory of the man from your past. it’s very rare that they hear positive things about those people so it’s nice to finally find someone you shared a connection with. a shared look between them confirmed what they both already knew; they wouldn’t be letting this ‘wooyoung’ person get away from you so easily this time.

“a friend?” the silent conversation is interrupted by a scoff from the seat beside hongjoong and all eyes find their way to yeosang. the ever present nonchalance on his expression had melted into a pout that looked a lot less fierce than he probably intended it to. “how good of a friend could he have been if he abandoned you?”

ah… jealousy; yeosang’s favourite emotion. it was present when he met san for the first time before realising that san worked too hard to be around you 24/7 like yeosang is. even if the butler wanted to steal you away, he couldn’t possibly spare enough hours in his day to do so. yeosang quite clearly has the upper hand in that situation. then there was the issue of your ghost, which of course had struck yeosang with a bad bout of jealousy once more. the ghost was rather pathetic though, with the constant stream of tears falling down his cheeks and the sound of fragility ever present in his voice. jealousy soon melted into pity; he was reluctant but yeosang soon accepted the bear into his heart.

“we were 14, yeosang,” you smile, “i don’t think he had a say in whether he moved away or not.”

the wolf rolls his eyes rather dramatically and you can’t help but scoff out a fond laugh.

“well, he’s back in town now,” seonghwa purrs as he leans his body over yours. chest to spine, cheek to cheek, he huddles in close. his skin is warm against yours as he cuddles you, and when he pulls his face away just enough to give him room to kiss the corner of your eye, you can’t help but grin. “how about we invite him over some time next week? i’m sure sannie wouldn’t mind putting on food for one more person.” the butler hums in tired agreement, his brain still too sleep riddled to figure out what he’s agreeing to.

you smile, happy in the knowledge that one happy little piece of your past has found its way back to you…

[vonnart]

· 1 · The Famished Vampire ·

So, to continue on from the teaser post...

"You traverse across a mile high and long stone bridge, with an amber fog too dense to see much below. You eventually walk into a seemingly abandoned village, a layer of unsettling quiet fills the air. A large, decorative manor overlooks the streets and an odd noise from within breaks your concentration.

You approach with hesitation and come to find the heavy door is already opened. Every room inside is a treasure trove of discarded art and furniture, with secrets and craftsmanship all around you. And then, you reach the grand dining hall and push the doors open...

This is a smattering of blood in many parts of the room and a smell of decay that cannot be ignored. A figure sits face down at the opposite end of a large mahogany crafted table. An unusual cage is affixed on his head while his hands bound together in a metal block. He slowly stirs, clearly weakened and almost feral looking. His eyes meet upon your own and he stumbles out of his chair and charges at you with his head down and a sharp spike heading quickly your direction..."

Read the actual post drawings to learn more about his techniques, unveal his second boss form and see how to defeat him.

(Stay tuned for the next boss battle)

[wildemaven]

strangers : climax | dave york

pairing: dave york x fireader word count: 6307 content warning: 18+ blog; established relationship, workaholic Dave, Soft Dave, miscommunication, implied/ alluding to infidelity (there is none, reader just doesn't know this), Dave's phone deserves its own warning, mention of food and alcohol consumption, a moment in a dressing room where reader inspects her reflection/self image judgments, smut (oral f receiving, fingering, semi public sex, kissing after oral, public affection, some praise if you squint), angst and sad feels, somewhat jealous Dave in a kind of joking manner, lots of tears, reader is mentioned wearing a dress and jeans- but zero description features, no age given but it's implied she's at least over 30, no y/n, established relationship, this is au- no Carol or kids, if I missed anything let me know notes: it's finally here!!! I'm so sorry it took so long to get this chapter out into the world. I was working through lots of writing blocks, kids, travel, and sickness. But it's finally here!!!! This one is a doozy in so many ways but I'm so excited for it!! I'm so grateful for everyone who takes the time to read, share, comment and like each chapter of this series. I'm sad it's almost over!!

series masterlist | previous | next

It’s almost sadistic. Taunting every single fiber of your being as each chord of the melody, so perfectly orchestrated, looms over the hotel bar. 

Your body betrays you. So easily giving in to the song's familiarity as each word reverberates through your chest. Flashes of Dave dressed in black, spinning you in front of your closest family and friends drowned out the urge to ask for the song to be skipped. 

The liveliness of the crowd pouring into the dimly lit space helps block out the music. Your fingers swirl around the condensation slowly settling around your drink that sits untouched on the mahogany bar top. Your mind sifting through the day's events leading up to this moment, where you’re sitting alone, annoyance raging in your veins, in a dress you're starting to regret buying. 

*

Lunch was relaxed and pleasant. The oceanfront views of the small cafe were something straight out of a movie. The weather was warm enough to enjoy the patio dining, a subtle breeze cutting through periodically. The ocean swells breaking masked the bustle of beach goers and passing cars. It was everything you had wanted to experience in this beautiful city.

Dave had been fully present since the intimate moment you both shared back at the hotel. More than he had been the entire trip thus far. Keeping you close to him, his hands never leaving you once stepping out of the room. As if to silently say I’m all here with you and I love you. 

You relished in the closeness of him. Internally screaming with increasing avidity at his electrifying advances all afternoon. 

Pulling your chair closer to where he sat so his free hand could nestle between your thighs. Too focused on twirling the pasta around your fork between discussing the most current events Dave had read in the morning paper while waiting for you to return from your walk. 

Growing and falling Stocks. Government scandals that could trickle down and affect parts of his job. National affairs of all levels that jumped out to him. All things you hadn’t really kept up with until meeting Dave, were now things you looked forward to listening to him talk about and giving your input with your own perspective. 

It's when Dave starts discussing something about sports or sports related that throws you off balance. Not necessarily so much in what he’s saying, but in what he’s doing when he’s saying it. 

“So if they draft him this year, he’ll be a starting rookie…” Dave says as he shifts forward in his chair to adjust his position, hand slightly shifting where it still rests between your legs, his pinky sliding up the crotch seam of your denim with an ample amount of pressure. 

“I’ve got money on him this season…” Your mind is too cloudy to even focus on what he’s saying. 

An instant jolt of arousal splinters across your body, you use your napkin to hopefully muffle the moan you nearly choke on. Oh! It’s deliberate, Dave’s expression collected and unphased as he carries on, continuing to drag his digit up and down the thick layer of fabric. 

“You okay, Honey?” He smirks, applying a little more weight behind his touch, before directing his attention to the server passing by the table and signaling for the check.

“Mmhmm— y-yeah! I’m fine. Great!” Your voice pitches at an unusual tone, frantically nodding in response as you wring the napkin between your fingers trying to not succumb to the pleasure currently building in your core. 

It’s a tragic feeling when his hand abandons the heat of your thighs. His focus now is on inspecting the bill, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and tucking the proper amount of cash into the server’s book. 

“That’s good.” He says all blasé as he looks at you with deadpan expression, situating his wallet in place again. 

“Oh my god— Dave! You are the worst!” You toss your napkin at him, shaking your head as you laugh at his flirtatious behavior. 

*

A proper casualness flows between the two of you following lunch— a familiar domesticity that had become so foreign to you. It now almost seems too far-fetched to think things have been strained in the last few months leading up to today and this seemingly perfect afternoon with Dave. 

A stitch of guilt begins to weave through your mind as you take in Dave’s unreserved laughter and the way he looks so, extremely happy. Maybe you were premature in believing that there was anything wrong to begin with. 

There’s a liveliness to Dave that has felt so rare to witness as of recently. No signs of stress. No closed off demeanor. No inkling of any distress that threatens to disrupt a marriage you so desperately desire to keep intact. 

He’s remarkably your Dave— through and through. 

The sun becomes far more dominating as the day passes. It’s fiery intensity has you squinting as you step out of the cute little ice cream shop you dragged Dave into after lunch. 

Thankfully you’re more than prepared. A pair of dark sunglasses now perched on the bridge of your nose and the light fabric tank you opted for thanks to Dave’s attentive nature for planning, always checking the weather forecast incessantly as he sips from his morning coffee.

It’s no surprise at the influx of tourists that crowd the sidewalk as you both amble about. Your arm wrapped around Dave, his free hand gently resting at the nape of your neck, both of you working against the heat to keep your ice cream from dripping down the cone. 

There’s a silence that hangs around the enjoyment of the summer treat, but it’s not uncomfortable. People watching and window shopping paired with brief moments of sweet banter have seemed to reignite the flame that had slowly begun to dwindle. 

“Woah!” A swarm of teenagers rocketing by on skateboards out of nowhere has you stunned, several of them nearly knocking into you. 

“What the fuck!” Dave’s quick like reflexes immediately turn on and he’s pulling you into his chest as the last few of the trailing skateboarders roll by. “Get off the sidewalk before you hurt someone, you punks!” 

“Yeah yeah! Fuck off old man!” The last of the bunch, a typical backwards hat wearing unphased teen, yells over his shoulder raising his middle finger as he skates off into the distance. 

“You okay?” Dave asks, giving you a quick once over. 

“I’m fine. They didn’t hit me— just startled me more than anything.” You assure him. 

“Still— those little assholes almost sideswiped you. And that little fucker calling me an old man?” Dave grumbles, following your lead to continue walking despite wanting to track down the group and give them a piece of his mind. 

“Easy, they’re just having fun. If I remember correctly, you too were once a little asshole. There’s a laundry list of stories your mom has shared with me to back that up too.” He scoffs at your comment, knowing exactly which stories his mom has divulged to you about his wild adolescent years. 

Your favorite being when a senior year prank almost resulted in suspension and losing scholarships. Dave and a few of his high school friends had decided to toilet paper and egg the principal’s home one night. The group of teens had thought they pulled it off until they came to school and their pictures were plastered in every classroom— security cameras were not taken into account while planning such a prank. Dave’s parents caught wind of the incident and the missing rolls of TP from their home and forced Dave to turn himself in. Dave confessed as a lone prankster, adamant that he didn’t know who the other students were in the images, resulting in tutoring lower grade classmates the remainder of the semester and a few weekends of community service. 

“I’m not an old man.” He murmurs against your temple, pressing his lips to your warm skin. His hand settles into your back pocket directing his attention to his almost finished ice cream. 

“Didn’t say you were.” Grinning at his annoyance. “Your mom earlier— How is she? Everything okay?”

“She’s good. Everything’s good. Just checking in. Making sure we’re settling in okay here— you know how she is.” It feels like he’s saying a lot without saying much of anything. 

“Yeah— definitely sounds like her. Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve talked to her. We should invite them over for dinner when we get back. Proper catch up— share about our trip with them in person.” You look at him, his head nodding along at the suggestion. 

You’ve always had a close relationship with his mother, Carol. Weekly trips to the farmers market and coffee dates became a regular thing after you and Dave married. Family dinners took place once a month, rotating between each other’s houses or restaurants. Carol never wanted to be one of those overbearing mother in laws, always making sure that you and Dave didn’t feel suffocated by her and Dave’s dad’s presence. 

“Okay. I’ll umm— I’ll call her when we get back. See what her and dad’s calendar looks like. I’m sure they’ll jump at the chance to get together, since our busy schedules haven’t seemed to line up in the last few months.” 

“Perfect.” 

There’s a beat of silence that follows making plans with his parents. Like there was more he wanted to say but left it unsaid. You don’t push for more and let any needling thought dissolve. 

“How was it?” Dave points to the remaining milky soup that’s settled into the top of your semi soggy cone. 

“It was delicious.” You tell him, then lapping at a few random drips racing down your wrist with your tongue, savoring the last of its salty sweetness.

“Let me have a taste of it.” He says, pulling you both out of the main flow of people walking behind you. 

“What? You don’t even like this flavor, Mr. Vanilla is the only flavor that truly matters.” You playfully mock his go-to choice of a single scoop of plain vanilla, not even a punch of vanilla bean or a sprinkling of chocolate chunks— he’s a simple man. 

“Maybe my taste buds have evolved?” He counters, pulling you flush against him under the shade of a store awning. “Give me a taste.” 

Everything around you fades to the background, it’s just the two of you. Dave’s lips molding to yours. His tongue gently skims over your lower lip, silently seeking entrance. 

It’s unhurried and thorough. A stark contrast from the chilly sensation that still lingers from the frozen dessert and the heat emanating from the way Dave’s tongue languidly traces over every bit of surface he can reach. Dizzying your senses, your mind fully immersed in the way he still tastes of sweet vanilla as he explores every detail of your mouth. Lapping at the remnants of the melted salted caramel that coats your tongue. 

It’s vulnerable and thrilling— feeling so right and fully present together. 

Your ice cream cone falls from your hand, crashing hard on the cement walkway, giving you the freedom to wrap your hands around his neck and relax even more into the kiss as Dave guides you through it. His hand squeezes your ass through your denim pocket, securing you against him. His other hand cradles your face as he swallows the small moans you produce when he nips tenderly at your bottom lip. 

“Dave—“ Is the only coherent word you can think of when he finally breaks the kiss. Your fingers tighten around his short hair as you float back to the ground. 

“I like the way it tastes on you. Might be my new favorite flavor.” He smiles, releasing small puffs of his breath over your lips. 

*

It was the first shop that caught your attention, the front display had you stopping in your tracks. Your initial interest to merely window shop, a signal to Dave that you were interested in the possibility of checking out more of their inventory. 

“Sweetheart? You doing okay in there?” Dave asks cautiously, as if to not scare off any potential decisions you might be deliberating over from behind the velvet curtain of the dressing room. 

It’s nothing new, a song and dance you’ve been through before— turning and inspecting from head to toe. Your mind in an epic battle with the reflection framed in front of you, dreading anytime you step foot in anything that resembles a fitting room. 

Except this time you’re not tearing apart every little thing about what you’re seeing, finding all the negative reasons as to why this particular dress isn’t working.

It’s the complete opposite, because you love the dress and you can see yourself wearing it on many occasions without a doubt. 

An ambered hue that reminds you of autumn when the leaves turn, and Dave spending hours in the yard gathering pile after pile while you bake a seasonal pie, watching him from the kitchen window. 

The tiered tulle fabric plucks a peculiar scene from your memory. Its flowy and dramatic silhouette is reminiscent of the dress you had worn to last year’s CIA Gala. Dave kept you close for the entirety of the evening. Your arm wrapped around his as he talked with colleagues, some new whose names you wouldn’t remember and others who had slowly worked their way into a more permanent place in your lives with regular dinner parties and monumental celebrations. Dave’s hand planted on the small of your back, his thumb drawing soft shapes where your dress strategically exposed your back, you were his grounding force among a sea of highly regarded men and their significant others.

“Hey- is everything okay?” Dave’s head now visible as he pulls the curtain back just enough to check in with you, his hushed tone barely audible over the upbeat music that the trendy boutique has playing through the store. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” You say flatly as you continue to inspect your reflection, the hang tag with the bold asking price of the dress held between your restless fingers.

“Wow— Sweetheart, you look… Wow!” Speechless. Dave stands stunned behind you, taking in every bit of you, completely captivated.

“Yeah? It feels like a lot. I have a dress back at the room I can wear instead…” You say, watching the arduous battle he’s sorting through in his mind, his smitten smirk doing wonders to help settle your dress turmoil.

“No— No this, this is perfect. I love it so much. You definitely should get this one.” Dave says persuasively, a beat of sensualism exuding from where he now stands with his chest flush to your back, his hands attempting to bypass the layers of fabric in search of somewhere to efficiently affix himself to you. “Reminds me of that dress you wore to the Gala last year. You looked stunning. So much so I couldn’t keep my hands off of you the entire night. Pulled you into that closet and fucked you while the awards ceremony carried on.”

“Hmm, I remember.” You smile, your stomach flipping at the way he so vividly remembers that evening too. “But the price is a little much though. Like too much.” Dropping the price tag, allowing it to hang freely from the dress instead of mocking your sticker shop distress.

“Don’t worry about the price— it’s fine.” You gasp when he connects with your skin, a shiver zipping up your spine, his lips fervent and assertive as they work up the expanse of your neck.

Dave’s hand catches your head as it tips to the side, allowing him more ample space to roam. Your skin in his teeth triggers a soft whimper in your throat, your eyes fluttering closed as you get lost in the sensation of him.

It’s a blur of calculated movements on his part, your body receptive to his smooth control, moving along with ease until your back settles against the wall of the dressing room. The carpeted floor envelops the sound of him falling to his knees. Dave’s eyes glazed over as he stares up at you, their usual golden hue dappled with gleaming eagerness. His hands fumble with the hem of the dress skirt briefly, delighted when he finally manages to breach the abundant layers of fabric. The brush of his fingers on your skin as his hands skim up your legs is all the forewarning you’re given before he’s pulling down and removing the lace panties that you’ve been soaking through all afternoon because of him.

“Dave— what are you doing?” A breathless question, one you don’t really need a response to as he looks up to you one more time, his pointer finger resting on his mouth then lifting your leg over one of his shoulders. 

He takes in the sight of your glistening wetness, his mouth watering at how you’re dripping for him. The urge to taste you is strong and he gives into it fully. 

From above all you can see is bunched fabric and brown tousled locks when he connects to you, his angular nose pressed into the patch of hair that covers your mound, that first tentative kiss to your sex delicate and heady. The soft pressure of his flat tongue has your eyes rolling back when he starts to lick up and down, savoring the deliciously sweet taste of your arousal. Desire forging through your body with a deep buzzing intensity. 

“Oh fuck! If we get caught— Ah!Shit. Dave— Baby, that feels amazing—” You purr in what you hope is a hushed tone, tilting your pelvis just so, a dire need for a climactic release. 

Dave’s tongue moves in slow circles, teasing and flicking at your clit. His ministrations causing a slow tingle to build in your lower abdomen, steadily increasing in strength as he goes. 

“Ma’am, how’s everything going in there?” The store attendant asks, completely unaware of the lewdness taking place on the other side of the current. 

“Mmhmmm! Great! The dress is p-perfect!!” Your voice shoots up an octave when Dave inserts two fingers into your fluttering pussy in one quick thrust, moving them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your aching clit. 

“That’s so great to hear. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to holler.” She says before you hear the clicking of her boots retreating. 

You are squirming and quietly moaning, your knees nearly buckling as the fiery pleasure gains momentum, completely lost in the blissful sensation.

“You hear that, Baby. She said don’t hesitate to holler. Doing so good for me— I can never get enough of you!” His fingers hitting that delicious little spot that makes your toes curl, over and over again. 

“Dave— don’t stop!” And he doesn’t. 

He senses the tension building in your body, your walls seizing up around his deft fingers, intensifying his movements, his tongue lapping at every inch of your folds as your arousal runs down his hand. 

“Baby, I'm coming.” You say right before your jaw goes slack, a silent whine only noticeable to you and Dave fills the small space. Your vision dusted in white, a euphoric sensory cloud of light bursting behind your eyes. 

Dave catches you when it becomes too much to stand, whimpering at the loss of his fingers seated so firmly inside you. 

Your skin is dewy. Glowing under the small dressing room light. The beads of sweat running down the length of your neck, sliding down the slopes of your breast, migrating somewhere below the fabric of the dress. 

Dave catches a few salty drops, his tongue trailing over your clavicle makes you aware that he has removed himself from the underside of the skirt. 

You taste the brininess and the sweet tang of your arousal when he licks into your mouth. Zero time to catch your breath, his tongue tangling effortlessly with yours. 

“Hmmm— I take back what I said earlier. I love the way you taste— only flavor for me!” He says smirking against your tingling lips. 

“You are such a menace. But I love you for it.” You pull him in for one last chaste kiss. 

“I love you so much, Sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead, then bends to pick up your discarded panties, stuffing them in his front pocket. 

“Seems like it would be wrong to not buy the dress after that little move you pulled.” Giggling as you begin the process of undoing the back zipper. 

“Knew that would help sway your decision.” He says with an impish grin and wink. 

*

Your reservation has come and gone. 30 minutes to be exact. Misery and frustration fill your veins as you stir the tiny straw in the watered-down concoction. The cocktail-soaked cherry, normally your inaugural sprinkling of how well the drink was mixed, now lays overlooked and forgotten at the bottom of the glass.

The bartender, who checks in with you like clockwork every 10 minutes or so to see if you needed a refill albeit your obvious lack of consumption from the original drink he made, has shown zero annoyance over the fact that you have taken up space in not one, but two chairs at his bustling bar. Your small clutch placed in front of the empty seat reserved for your husband who was supposed to meet you here an hour ago.

*

Dave and you had made your way back to the hotel after purchasing the dress, giving yourselves plenty of time to get ready for the evening Dave had planned out.

It was hard to keep your hands off each other. a magnetic effervescence had you contemplating whether to call off the reservation all together despite Dave’s ecstatic adamancy to make it to the reservation on time. Both of you managed to work against the intense pull, only sharing shy glances and brushing of limbs standing side by side in front of the bathroom mirror while getting ready.

Dave didn’t shy away from flattering you as he helped zip you in, causing you to fight against tears that threatened to ruin the dramatic makeup that paired perfectly with your dress.

I love you. You are so beautiful. How did I get so lucky? I can’t wait to get you out of this dress later.

Dave’s hand molds to yours, a corner of his mouth lifted as you eagerly drag him from your hotel room. Taking advantage of the privacy the small offshoot hallway provides from the main corridor of the floor, he draws you back to him and without hesitation he kisses you with a fiery tenderness. 

“Alright. We need to go.” He says, breathless and not all that convincing. 

“Do we though? We could just swipe the key, make our way back inside, order room service— you can get me out of this dress. See what I may or may not be wearing underneath.” You murmur against his smile, your tongue sensually gliding over the underside of his upper lip causing him to release a heavy sigh, as if he really wants to do exactly just that. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Sweetheart. And as enticing as all of that sounds— amuse me and go along with what I have planned. The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back here and I can slowly undress you.” He counters, leaving you little room to dispute his well thought out plan for the evening. 

“Alright, Mr. York. We'll play by your rules.” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Dinner. Then straight back here—“

A soft buzzing cuts you off. Dave’s body tenses against yours, releasing you from his hold to retrieve his phone from his black slacks. 

“I need to take this— it’s work.” His demeanor completely shifting from his usual sweet carefree self to closed off and mysterious. 

“Okay. Call them later then. They can leave you a message.” You reach for his hand to continue to make your way down to the restaurant. He pulls away, promptly taking a few steps back, his focus still on the number flashing on his phone screen. 

You’re not sure what hurts more. The fact that Dave is putting work first once again or how he so quickly recoiled when you reached for him. 

“I can’t. I need to take it.” He says, finally looking at you with pleading eyes, and you hate how much you so willingly give into his need to brush off the plans he was only moments ago so eager to get to. 

“Dave— Fine.” Releasing a heavy sigh into the narrow hallway, tightening your grip on the small purse that holds your phone, lip gloss and key card, doing your best to mask the resentment and defeat simmering just below the surface. 

“I’ll be quick. Go grab us a seat at the bar and I’ll meet you there when I’m finished.” He doesn’t give you an opportunity to get another word in, turning to let himself back into the room. 

The bottom of your dress floats in the air, kicking out with each step you take, making your way to the main hall of the floor in the direction of the elevator. Further from Dave. Closer to being alone yet again. Suppressing your swirling emotions for the time being.  

Dave’s hushed voice echoes down the walls. Never actually making back into the room before answering the call. Out in the open. Zero care that his wife is still within earshot. 

“Hey, Ashley… Yeah, she just left. I told her to just wait for me at the bar.” 

You stop dead in your tracks. The swish of your dress is now still at your feet, hanging in its normal wearing state. Your blood runs cold as your brain rapidly tries to digest what you just heard. 

Your heart clings to how easily Dave had been so present and affectionate since this morning. That sinking feeling of your suspicions being revealed. I knew this whole day was too good to be true. 

Everything feels like it’s narrowing. The hallway. Your vision. Your airway. Smaller and smaller. 

Something compels you to keep moving. Further from Dave. Closer to being alone at the bar, away from this man who you no longer find recognizable at this moment. 

*

“Excuse me. Can I get a Scotch, neat, side of water please?” Dave’s whereabouts are no longer unknown to you, leaning an elbow onto the bar as he orders himself a drink, his other hand resting on the back of the chair that has kept you comfortable while you wait. 

“Sorry, that took longer than expected.” Dave apologizes, sealing it with a kiss to your cheek. 

You hum a lackluster response. Gnawing at your bottom lip as you focus on the dilapidated napkin you’ve been rolling and unraveling, folding and unfolding for the umpteenth time. 

“You okay?” Dave asks, his hand moves to rest on your back but now it’s your turn to recoil from his touch, leaning forward before he’s able to make contact. 

“Yeah— I’m great.” You say flatly, only briefly looking at him to deliver your annoyed smile, then back to the crinkled napkin that’s now serving as an absorbent to pooling condensation. 

“Here you are sir.” The bartender interrupts, placing the single malt and ice water on the bar, Dave nods his thanks. 

You don’t have it in you to pry or question his tardiness. So you continue to sit in silence, watching Dave out of your peripheral properly dilute his drink so it’s suitable for sipping. 

“You’re not wearing your ring?” He points out to your bare ring finger then takes a light sip of the diluted scotch. 

The fingers of your left hand pause, fanning out so you can inspect the observation yourself. The usually adorned finger is stripped, lacking your wedding band and engagement ring.  

“Oh— I must have forgotten to put it back on after we went to the pool…” You hadn’t realized how naked it felt all day, the fingers of your right hand soothing over the indent skin, recalling when you had tossed the jewelry haphazardly into your bag yesterday. 

“You don’t think these strangers will get the wrong idea?” You sense an attempt at humor in his voice, only he has failed to read the room. His government skills not sensing you have zero interest in Dave’s untimely decision to be a humorist. “A beautiful woman, alone at a bar, without her wedding rings— Don’t want—“

“Excuse me— can you put my drink on his tab? He’ll be taking care of it, along with your generous tip.” You alert the passing bartender. You swivel your barstool just enough to reach around Dave’s solid form to grab your purse, then swivel in the opposite direction to stand. You tuck your purse under your arm, before delivering the irritation that has finally begun to boil over. “I think the only stranger confused about our marriage is you, Dave.” 

“Wait— Where are you going?” His hand gently clasped around your upper arm, halting your departure. 

You glance down at where his hand holds you, his thumb actively moving in soft circles over your skin, trying his best to distract and diffuse the air between you. Unfortunately, too little too late. 

“I’ve been sitting here waiting for you, Dave— for a fucking hour. I’m going back to the room.” You pull your arm from his grip and leave without another word. 

Dave somehow manages to catch the same elevator, but you don’t bother acknowledging his presence as he stands on the opposite side of the small metal cabin. The other riding passengers don’t suspect you two even know each other or the emanant rift that is unfolding between you, just two lone hotel guests sharing a lift to their designated floor. 

2 stops allow for the other guests to get on to their respective floors, leaving only you and Dave left to continue the ride to the final stop. 

The striking silence is met with electric chords spilling from the small speakers in the elevator. The familiar tune feels like an old friend you’ve been reacquainted with after months apart. Those first few lines wrap around you, embracing you fully— I’ve missed you so. The chorus drawing your gaze to where your husband stands slouched against the mirrored wall, looking equally as somber as you feel, his eyes already drawn to you in the same manner. 

A smile tugs at your lips, a fleeting moment of remembrance to that night so many years ago. That night where Dave was more than just a stranger in a bar. He was your future. Your home. Dave without a doubt was the best thing to happen to you. 

The memory of meeting Dave is interrupted by a soft ding and the doors slowly unveiling your intended destination. 

You stalk towards the room with a graceful backbone, a beautiful facade to how you truly feel inside, keeping yourself together with each poised stride. Dave takes his position two steps behind, vigilantly in tune with your body language. 

There’s a sense of relief that overcomes you the second the door closes and the lock clicks. No longer needing to keep a composed demeanor to prying eyes. No longer allowing the hurt to fester and torment your heart in a stealthily manner. 

They flow furiously once they start. Tears streaming down your face. Silent sobs cracking in your throat. 

You move about busily, grabbing and tossing, too lost in your own blurry thoughts to even notice Dave standing there watching you. 

“What are you doing?” Dave asks, perplexed by the way you’re flinging item after item into your suitcase that lays open on the bed. 

“You’re a smart man, Dave. I’m sure you can figure that out.” Grabbing a drawer’s entire contents and dropping it messily into your bag. 

“I get that you’re packing. Why are you packing is my concern.” He takes a timid step closer towards the streamline process of you moving about. 

“I’m going home. I’ll catch a ride to the airport. Book a new flight when I get there. I can have Jacey pick me up when I land.” A plan you had thoroughly developed before Dave had arrived at the bar. 

“Wait— you’re going home? Why? What’s going on?” He steps directly into your path, hindering your progress. 

“I don’t know anymore, Dave. I thought this was what we needed. Some time away together. Away from work. Away from our normal lives. Just us reconnecting. But it seems like this whole thing was just wasted effort.” You try to wipe the tears, but they just continue to fall. 

“Baby, you’re not making any sense right now.” He knows he should allow you space, but the urge to pull you into him is stronger. 

“It’s been months. Months of you working long hours. Months of missed dinners and late nights at the office. Months of being alone at night wondering if you’re okay and when you’ll be home. Months of worrying that something is happening between us and trying to figure out how to fix it.” Each convulsive gasp for air you struggle for fans across Dave’s neck. His arms tightening around you, every word slicing through his chest. 

“Fuck—“ He murmurs, his cheek pressed into the side of your head, your tearful confession not anything he expected to hear tonight. 

“If you didn’t want to c-come with me— I would have u-understood.” Your shoulders jostle in Dave’s arms, your own arms hanging at your side, still holding a few loose garments in your fists. 

“What? No! Baby, I wanted to come. I want to be here— with you.” Dave pulls back, enough so you can see the sureness in his eyes. 

“What about her? Wouldn’t you rather be here with— h-her?” Your voice cracks at the thought of Dave with someone who isn’t you. 

“Her? What are you talking about?” 

“Ashley— She’s the important phone calls you’ve been taking. The work that can’t wait. She’s why you’ve been so distant with me for months.” It feels like glass the minute it leaves your mouth, shattering across your tongue, nearly choking on the tiny little shards. 

“Honey, you think I’m having an affair?” A nod is all your weary state can give. An affair— it’s the only thing that makes sense to you right now. 

“I heard you talking to her several times since we got here, Dave. The last time being when you told me you had to take an important call and you would meet me at the bar before our dinner reservation.” 

You’re not sure what you expect him to do now that he’s been caught. Confess to his actions. Tell you everything from the beginning. Get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. It was a mistake, it will never happen again. 

What you don’t expect is to see a single tear fall down his handsome face. To see a look of rich tenderness in his eyes. Warmth in his touch as he wipes away the wet worriment painted over your face. 

“Baby— Fuck, I’m so sorry. To say that this trip so far has been stressful would be an understatement. Nothing I had planned for this trip has gone right— even after months and months of preparation. And you’re right, they weren’t work phone calls— not all of them at least. I’m so sorry for making you feel like I didn’t want to be here— I do. I want to tell you everything, but I think it’s best if I show you first.” 

“Show me what?” You ask him. 

“Come with me so you can see for yourself. And if you still want to go home afterwards, we’ll leave tonight.” Dave’s head tilts, his eyes searching yours hoping to relieve any reservations you still might be internally feeling. 

“I look like a blubbering mess right now.” You use what you now realize are a pair of socks to wipe any streaks of makeup smeared on your face. 

“No you don’t. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He says, his lips molding over yours are a sobering reflection of his love for you. 

Not much else is said on the trek back down to the lobby, allowing Dave to take you to wherever this mysterious place is. 

There’s a nervousness about him, his jitters, while subtle, are loud and obvious. Holding his sweaty palm against yours. His other hand actively fidgeting in his pocket. Head tilt back, then forward, stretching his neck from side to side. 

You lean into his shoulder, tucking your free hand under his arm, hoping to ground him a bit. It helps, you feel him relax instantly into your touch. His lips pressing to the side of your head, Thank you. 

“Dave, where are we going?” You ask as you walk in an unfamiliar area of the hotel. 

“Almost there.” He says, his fingers squeezing in small bursts against your hand. 

It’s a long hallway covered in an elaborate wallpaper with rich details of floral patterns and bold hues. It's dimly lit due to the fact that there’s zero windows, the only light is given by the mid century style sconce fixtures lining the walls. Potted plants strategically placed around sculptures and empty velvet chairs. 

You’re met with two large wooden doors as you approach the end of the hall, but it’s the woman standing in front of them that has your attention. She’s beautiful, actually she’s stunning. Her smile is so warm and inviting, beaming at you as you and Dave walk closer to where she stands. It’s as if she’s been expecting you, waiting diligently for your arrival. 

“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. York. My name is Ashley.”