#now part of the hallway closet is soaked through and there was mold behind the cover as well.

[relto]

also the heating system has exploded and is leaking water in at least two places.

[lacy-oh-lacy]

heyy! i was wondering if you could make a Jennifer fanfic where she roughly fucks fem!reader in the janitor’s closet at school or something similar, thank youu!

𝙈𝙮 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙛 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙢𝙚 ･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Pairing: Jennifer Check x Fem!Reader

Summary: A jealous Jennifer drags you off for a quickie in the janitor's closet.

CW: Jealousy, fingering, hidden-public sex, hickeys, biting, anger/make up sex, Jennifer's a little toxic, set in college

Divider: source | Masterlist

Jennifer’s heels clicked in the hallway, strong and precise unlike your own stumbling steps.

People did say she kept you on a tight leash but her grip on your belt pulling you after her was a bit too literal for your liking.

“Jen, I swear we were just talking.”

She scoffed, a scathing sound.

“Just talking? I have eyes, okay. That slut was all over you.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing.

The slut in question was named Kyle. 

A meathead on a football scholarship, and NOT your type, even if you were crazy enough to stray from Jennifer.

But that didn't matter to her now. The sight of his arm sneaking around your waist unlocked something demonic in your girlfriend.

Something that you were paying for now, and you suspected Kyle would pay for later.

You were dragged into the darkness of the janitor's closet, door closing behind you with a thud.

“Jennifer-”

Lips against yours shut you up, as forceful and scorching as her mood was.

Your mood on the other hand? Wiped blank.

The frustration bubbling up inside of you melted under the heat of her, her lips, her chest, her hips, radiating it, molding you against her.

Your back hit the wall, not slowing down the violent kisses for a second. Not until her lips began a wet trail towards your neck.

A pathetic little whimper crawled from your throat as she kissed it, head falling back to give her all the access she could want  which she took full advantage of, sucking so hard you gasped. 

“Shhh, you don't want to get caught do you?” 

She said that, but her palm began sliding down your stomach at the same time, making your breathing twice as loud.

You shook your head and as if to challenge you she went for your belt, nearly tearing through the damn thing.

Well, challenge accepted.

Gladly, almost mindlessly, you slipped your pants and underwear down your legs, rewarded with her hand on your newly exposed skin. 

“Oh, fuck.”

“What part of “shhh” don't you understand?”

Bitchy tone aside, she was right. So when her fingertips grazed your already soaking wet cunt you bit down hard on your lip, muffling your ecstasy.

“Oh, this better be for me.”

Her words barely registered, cloudy in your horned-up mind, but the danger dripping from them sent a pulse of pleasure down your spine.

“Of course, always.” 

You didn't even care what you were saying, you were just trying not to hump her hand or let moans devour your sentence.

God, you wanted the finger sliding up and down your slit inside of you so badly…

Instead, she circled around your entrance, picking up wetness that she brought to your clit to massage the little bud. White-hot, tingling relief pumped through your system, choking you on your own moans.

Her lips got back to work on your neck, open-mouthed kisses turning to rough hickeys that rivaled the tension building in your clit.

Blissed out, you swore you could cum in under a minute just from that. Then two fingers pushed deep inside of you and your already trembling legs nearly buckled.

Any pretense of foreplay went out the window quickly, Jennifer was finger fucking you hard and fast. Thrusting up and down, again and again with a force that rocked your whole body. Her fingers on your clit only rougher by the second.

Wet squelching sounds got louder and louder in the tight, little closet, and so did you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your hips stuttered freely, rolling against her like the little slut you knew she’d call you right now if her mouth wasn't preoccupied.

It might've been that thought more than anything that pushed you over the edge.  The tension inside of you stretched to a breaking point and your whole body stiffened.

“I'm gonna c-” You cut yourself off with a broken, high-pitched moan.

Your orgasm hit while Jennifer bit down so hard on your shoulder you almost thought she broke skin.

Pulse after pulse of fiery bliss shook your body, her hands not slowing down until it physically stung enough for you to pull away from her with a sharp intake of breath.

Though you weren’t too overstimulated to feel one last ripple of pleasure as you  made out the sight of Jennifer sucking her fingers clean in the dim light.

Your back hit the wall again, only this time of your own volition as you took in deep, shaky breaths.

Something that you probably could've done for hours if Jennifer reaching for the door didn't cue you to pull your clothes back on. Still leaking and pulsing, painfully sensitive against the fabric.

“That was not where I thought that was going.” You said, breathless. 

With the light flooding the room, you could see clear-as-day Jennifer’s smirk. Bright and self-satisfied.

You could also see with great relief that the hallway was empty.

“Well, it's a good thing you're not dating me for my "predictability" then.”

She held out her hand for you to take, looking cute and sweet and not at all like she just finger-fucked you into oblivion.

You had to laugh, the sound fond and breathy.

“No, that's not one of the many, many reasons I'm dating you.”

She arched one perfect eyebrow at your not-so-subtle attempt to pick up a dropped subject. You took that as invitation-enough to continue.

“You know that I don't want anyone but you, right?”

Her features softened, only that slight gleam of devishness that she always had shining through.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯: 𝘋𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘑𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘤𝘴

“I know, baby.” She looked down at your marked up neck and smiled. “Sometimes the rest of the world just needs a reminder of that.”

[artsyxloner]

Not Just a Monster

Warning: blood,Voices, violence

4: Green Roof Apartments

It was dark by the time I had gotten to the green roof apartment building. I was coming up near the font where it looked like they were doing construction work? but Spotted something laying on the ground.

Its limbs were all Sprawled out getting closer making sure it was dead before I went in.  Half of its head was chopped Capitated it had looked-like its face was beaten in my something big?

Its teeth were all yellow and dirty as its skin was a sickly bluish-gray. But one of its ears stood out the most. It was enlarged, I was sure to remember this and put it in my field journal.

I was about to check the front out when I heard the monster utter some words. " I can't see?!" It spoke my eyes went wide as I turned to look at it.

My feet Accidentally hit some gravel making the smallest noise. Its enlarged ear started to twitch. " I can hear you!!" I mumbled its fingers moved when all of a sudden they shot out spikes. Until it hit the concrete building wall making a crashing sound.

I jumped out of the way before it could hit me. I rolled on to the payment as another shot of spikes came. Laying on my stomach it was either fight or flight since I didn't have a weapon I chose to leave knowing I could get killed.

The only reason I didn't before was because of the golden If you didn't know already. Getting up I ran away, not able to fight well I wasn't a good fighter as you have seen before but I was extremely lucky.

Going in behind the building there  I checked for a possible way in. As I moved stuff out of my way I found a door hidden behind a white tarp. Moving it out of the way there was a sound of a huge thud making the group shake.

I wobbled a little bit trying to steady back my balance. Knowing I shouldn't have looked back but my Curiosity got the best of me. I nearly fainted seeing a monster about the size of Wait no it was the size of the hulk.

It kept saying " Protein" that's when I knew that was one of the monsters that ate people. Grabbing ahold of the door handle I twisted it opened running in quickly I shut and locked the door behind me.

I signed out a heavy breath feeling sweat run down my forehead and back. If this place has these kinds of monsters there's no telling what is in this building.

I should have known, there can't be a place without some type of these things living in it some more than others. Inside the back building was dark and it gave me the creeps.

Lights flickered on and off creaking sounds coming from the old busted pipes and the floor was kinda wet with water they made have had a water leakage somewhere.

I made my way down the hallway as my footsteps splashed the little amount of water. It Echoed making the place give me goosebumps my arms my whole body shook.

I needed some sleep because I have been through a lot today my body was sore even though I healed. Checking every door it was locked until I came to the end of the last door.

Opening it Carefully as the Hinges made a squeaking sound I cringed hoping nothing heard that I was surprised to see a closet. It was those that had a little cot where the people slept on if they need to borrow one.

I smiled, it even had a pillow. Slipping off my duffel back after a while of carrying it I felt relieved hearing my bones and muscles stretch and pop. I flopped down my side hitting the comfy cot.

My breathing slowed as my eyes began to feel heavy they flutter for a few seconds before closing that's when I knew I was going to have some fucked dreams tonight from the things I saw.

...

There was nothing but loud screaming everywhere I went. Everybody was running away as they knocked each other over them jumping over seats and them hiding behind stuff.

I was confused at why they were doing this? What was wrong I didn't see anything out of the ordinary?

At the time I wasn't aware they were all running from me. I didn't have any control over my body just only inside my head, I could think.

I mean I could feel my body moving but and something wet was gushing from my nose. I was confused about what was happening? It was just a nosebleed wasn't it? that's normal.

That's when I looked in the window and was horrified at what I saw my reflection was smiling back at me with pitch-black eyes and blood was all over the bottom of my mouth dripping down to my neck.

That's when it began.

I sat up breathing hard, remembering the horrific image of myself. I quickly pick up my duffel bag and unzipped it bringing out my opened water bottle pouring some in my hands I splashed my face with some to cool me down.

I wiped my eyes rubbing them until I couldn't see it anymore until I saw stars. Signing I ran my fingers through my frizzy, red hair, I've had this dream since the night they were killed and it's like the inner monsters inside me want to keep reminding me.

I'm starting to hate it, next time I see it I'm going to tell it to fuck off! Getting up I drank my water and took out some Oreo pocky Munching on them Quietly.

I know all this junk wasn't good for me but it was the only thing I had. As I did I felt my nose dripping wet, making me Drop my pocky stick.

" shit!!" I grabbed the ends of my sleeve trying to soak up the blood that was constantly flowing. " Now! Now! that's what you get when you say you were going to tell me to what's the word... fuck off?"

I almost choked on my food hearing its damn voice. " it's too bad I didn't get to talk to you when you fell." I covered my ears not listening to the inner monster inside me wanting to come out.

I stayed silent not listening. " fine ignore me, but when the time comes you'll need me." I still stayed quiet " It wasn't my fault it was yours why would I need your help!?" I fussed getting down on my knees.

" When the time is right Soo-Nico." This made me scoffed no more like a laugh like a crazy person. If someone saw me from their point of view they would think I am.

Then the voice left like it was never there. My fist clenched as I started to bang on the floor. " I'll never need you!" I whispered as tears beamed my eyes.

I cried quietly for a few minutes leaning my back on the edge of the cot. Then I heard the sound of instrumental music coming from the speakers go off. Seconds later there was a young man's voice.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, " uh, uh," it went Static " Survivors, the first floor is safe now."

" come to the first floor. We'll be safer together." The guy paused then spoke up. " We survivors must stick together. Please come down. Come down here now."

" –I said please come down..." the man's voice went static again followed by a long Frequency that hurt my eardrums. I couldn't think for a moment there were people here? There were survivors.

I wasn't alone, I hurried I get up but stopped a thought coming to mind. What if he was trying to trick someone like me to get me to come and then take my stuff and keep it for himself? He just is saying it's safe and lies.

But for some reason I knew he wasn't lying, it sounded like he was calling for someone to come down that was being stubborn. If they were stuck up there? I only had two choices to go or not.

I decided to go I needed some social interaction if there were people there? but I would be wary and careful of them.

I wasn't going to trust them that was for sure just stick around long enough to see what type of people they are.

Getting up I grabbed my bag slinging over my shoulder carefully opening the door it was still the same as last night the same creepy eerie feeling I didn't notice before but there were cobwebs.

With dead bugs and flies in them ready to be eaten. My face crinkled up, feeling bad for them I knew how they felt now, Well in some way.

I moved down the hallway going to the entrance that's probably where they are at. I stopped every few seconds hearing strange Noise this was the first floor He said it was clear right?

Maybe he was saying one part of it was clear and blocked off. That means there could be monsters Roaming free around this section of the first floor.

I felt fear creep inside my chest and up my throat. Seeing the monsters I saw last night, there could be some-more like that or worse.

My arms got goosebumps, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand. It was like I was trying to freak myself out. I just wanted to turn back and hid in that closet and never come out.

It was promising but I knew being a wimp wouldn't solve anything. So I forced myself to go on my feet talking a right at the end of the blinking light that hung down from the Ceiling.

I passed a bathroom door that said out of order, Ignoring it I passed on seeing the walls that had wallpaper were all ripped up with mold spoiling over them.

Toys and clothes were all sprawled out all over the floor I bent down to pick up a shirt but dropped it when I heard screaming and crying.

My eyes turned to where the sound was coming from them landing on a pair of double doors. I ran towards them stepping on my tip-toes to look through the small glass window to see what was happening?

There was a group of people holding back a woman that was most likely in her late forties. With the front entrance open they all looked terrified.

[spookyceph]

Comfort Zone Pt. 1

A Shigaraki & Toga fic! Because the League becoming friends is just about my favorite thing ever. Also, it's running long, so I split it into two parts.

Rating: T and up

Relationships: Shigaraki Tomura & Toga Himiko, Dabi/Shigaraki Tomura (hints of)

Warnings: Swearing, anxiety attacks, disturbing thoughts, self-harm (in the form of Shigaraki’s scratching), mentions of blood

Even after shoving the door to the downstairs bathroom shut and locking it behind him, Tomura couldn’t convince his heart to stop slamming against his ribs like a caged animal.

How he’d let this happen—why he’d allowed it to—he couldn’t begin to piece together. He’d been so pissed when Dabi had intruded on his solitude at the bar. But then…then the bastard had started talking. Worse, he’d made sense. As if that hadn’t been enough, Dabi had given him a gift before leaning in close, so close, close enough to touch—touch!—his face, to tangle warm fingers in his hair, and shitshitfuckinghellwhatwashesupposedto—

Gasping for the air that had suddenly abandoned the room, Tomura sagged against the sink. No. The walls were not closing in on him. He wasn’t about to suffocate. His brain was just convinced that was the case because it was busy drowning in swells of adrenaline and anxiety. One hand flew up to his neck. The sting of his nails ripping open new furrows across old scratches caused his flailing thoughts to freeze. Seizing the opportunity, he groped for another lifeline.

“W-white counter. Lavender soap. Blue…fuck.” He gouged his nails deeper, countering anxiety’s own claws in his guts. “Blue. The fucking goddamn towel is blue. Like his—”

The resulting jolt of shock at what had nearly escaped his mouth knocked panic’s grip right off of him.

Tomura turned the sink faucet on and stuck his icy, quaking hands under the warm stream of water. The sensation of it flowing and sliding between all five of his fingers like nothing solid could helped ground him further. Cupping his palms, he caught enough to splash onto his face and scrub away the clammy sheen of stress sweat. Too late, he remembered the fresh coating of salve. Droplets raining down his cheeks and chin, Tomura lifted his head to confront his reflection.

Cracked and crinkled rice paper skin. Beauty mark like a droplet of ink to one side of his mouth. Vertical scar splitting the symmetry of his lips. White wisps of hair that Kurogiri had long since stopped suggesting he comb curling every which way. Eyes as round and rawly red as the healing exit wounds that shitheel Snipe had given him as parting gifts. Or the thin streams of blood trickling from his shredded neck, soaking into his shirt. The same list of features he’d had as long as he could remember—no more than fifteen years back before recollections slid into oblivion, admittedly, but long enough. Tomura squinted, studying each one, struggling to imagine what they might look like through eyes the bright blue of lightning.

Don’t expect me to share my chapstick, though. You’re on your own with that one, creep.

Tomura’s jaw tightened until his temples throbbed. Sensei had once had him take some standardized tests from the most prestigious schools in the country, just to show him how narrow society’s thinking could be. He’d aced every one…yet he’d walked right into Dabi’s little joke. The bastard had probably laughed all the way back to his room at Tomura’s gullibility. Even with half his skin barbequed, face full of staples and stitches like a campy horror movie character, he’d obviously been born a golden child, tall and beautiful and strong. Probably doted on by everyone around him until whatever little accident had tarnished his shine. Driven into the dark of the underworld, he still retained the same entitled attitude. Someone like Tomura—no pedigree, no social standing, and thus no need to kiss anyone’s ass—would be vermin to him.

Think of this another way. As a show of trust.

There. Better?

Here. Keep it. Should last awhile.

The righteous fire in Tomura’s chest dwindled and fizzled. A smaller but much more alarming warmth kindled along his cheekbones. Okay, fine. Dabi’s expression hadn’t belonged to a purebreed staring down his nose at a stray mongrel when he’d said those things, but so damn what? He’d smirked and teased and bulldozed right through every boundary he found.

Why, then, hadn’t Tomura erased his annoying existence from the world? Or at least beat some respect into him? Just because he’d been nice for two seconds? Tomura preferred to think he wasn’t so pathetic that he could be swayed by such an insignificant gesture.

People always show their real selves when they’re pissed.

The tang of copper coated his tongue as he chewed on his nails—his second favorite method to tear himself apart. What if…what if insults and arrogance were tactics? Ways for Dabi to gather intelligence and gain the upper hand? Tomura did much the same on the rare, awful occasions he had to interact in public, just in the opposite direction—he pretended to be a harmless drone of hero society like everyone else. In that light, Dabi’s intentions had been genuine even though his approach relied on deception.

Aloof characters who nevertheless gave their all for the party when it came down to it were always the most useful in games. Not to mention usually Tomura’s favorites.

Right. That concluded his thinking about the subject for the night. Or eternity.

Door opened a crack, Tomura peeked out into the hallway. Not a soul. He cocked his head, listening. Not a whisper or peep. Mindful of every creaky floorboard, he crept out. Slunk upstairs like a thief in his own base of operations. Hardly dared to breathe until he’d shut and locked the door to his room behind him.

Nerves still crawling beneath his skin, Tomura glanced over at the laptop sitting on the small desk against one wall. To the TV mounted on the other, framed by shelves of games to various consoles. He would’ve liked nothing more than to have a glowing screen absorb his attention, but he knew his focus was too scattered to play anything. Scanning the online news feeds would yield nothing but chatter about Stain or All Might—his fingers latched back onto his neck just thinking about it. He couldn’t wear himself out with training since that meant going back downstairs to use the mats and equipment in the basement. No fucking way was he setting foot in the bar for the next few days. Maybe not for years.

He knew he shouldn’t have let anyone stay here. Now he was trapped, a prisoner in his own goddamned room, all because he’d let an overcooked piece of human yakitori put his soft, stapled hands on him, and—

The rising swells of panic dropped and went utterly still as Tomura’s eyes darted to his closet. Of course. Such an obvious answer. He should’ve known what to do from the beginning.

Aah, you poor thing. What are you so afraid of? All you have to do is follow your heart.

As always, Sensei had provided for him.

Sliding one side of the closet open, Tomura picked up a long wooden box from its resting place beneath his neatly hung clothing. He gently set it in the middle of the room before retrieving a cloth from his desk. Sitting on his heels in front of the box, he wiped a few stray specks of dust from its lacquered surface. Though his memory of receiving it (not to mention its contents) remained lost somewhere in the murky haze of his childhood, the familiar action alone reassured him. Sensei had instructed him to care for it and he had, polishing it every week without fail for fifteen years.

Sleeves over the heels of his palms to prevent smudges, Tomura carefully lifted the lid.

The stench of formaldehyde sprang out immediately. It reached straight down his throat and clenched his guts with corrosive fingers. Despite the urge to vomit everything in his body cavity up, a mantle of calm settled over Tomura’s shoulders. As wretched, as vile, as stomach-wringing as they were, the sensations were familiar. They’d woven themselves into his makeup as tightly as his DNA. The same could be said for what lay inside the box.

Paler even than him against their nest of black coffin velvet, fourteen human hands lay in two neat rows. Well, thirteen—one was merely a replica, a replacement. The metal caps on the wrists gleamed sallow gold under the room’s light. Poised on the razor’s edge between sickened and serene, Tomura reached for them in the usual order.

First, the smallest ones, curled around his wrists. A larger pair with aged, wrinkled skin and knobby knuckles clamped to his biceps next. A similar but slimmer version of those followed on his forearms. The hands with the longest, loveliest fingers encircled his neck in fourth place. Two sets of brutish, blocky ones latched onto his shoulders, then his sides just beneath his arms.

Naturally, the best he saved for last.

Tomura fixed the replica to the back of his head almost absently. His attention was reserved for its partner: a left, the largest hand, the father of its macabre little family. He lifted it with the same care a collector would a preserved butterfly. With a fingertip he mapped out the valleys and ridges of bones and strong sinew along the back. Turning it over, he traced the lifeline etched across its palm that had most definitely lied. The way the scar cleaving his lips tingled and burned had nothing to do with the savage grin that split Tomura’s face. He rubbed his chin to be sure the feeling of blood drooling down it was only a phantom from his buried past.

He didn’t need to know its origins to realize how special Father was.

Revulsion and exhilaration surged up from his center as he pressed the precious memento mori over his face like a mask. His roiling emotions alchemized into something he had yet to name, its crystallized shape strange but stable. At last, the feel of cold, waxen flesh molded to his cheeks, of stiff, dead fingers in his hair, chased away the fantasy of hot, living ones. At last, he could think.

With a relieved sigh, Tomura replaced the box’s lid and stood. After feeling trapped, he needed the reassurance of space. He went to his room’s narrow window, pushed aside the curtains, disarmed the little tripwire surprise he’d rigged, and pushed the bottom pane up so he could slither out onto the fire escape.

The night air reeked of the refuse piled in the alley below. This definitely wasn’t high on his list of favored spots, but it was better than nothing. At least the temperature was being kind to his skin, not too warm or humid, not to cool or dry. The rusty skeleton of the fire escape squeaked as he settled himself on the mesh bottom, hugging his knees. Staring up at the void of the sky, a few stars visible through Father’s embalmed fingers, wasn’t so bad either. Everything he could see was warped, discarded, halfway down the path to total ruin. It almost made him feel at home.

A home with dynamics that had changed overnight. But…like it or not he had two new roommates—with more to come, according to Giran. Tomura didn’t have the kind of power to reduce hero society to rubble and ash on his own. Not yet. In the meantime, he had to make do with the next best thing: strength in numbers. It was just…he got so anxious. The concept of living with anyone aside from Kurogiri was bizarre, the thought of having to interact daily with strangers unsettling.

Yet even someone as powerful, as feared and dreaded as Sensei didn’t work alone. If his mentor hadn’t turned his nose up to cooperating with select people, who was Tomura to? He grimaced behind Father, but he could already feel resolve seeping between the seams in his thoughts. One way or another, he’d learn to tolerate his houseguests and how best to use their skills for the greater goal.

Maybe it was his years martial arts training that picked up on some subtle shift in the air. Déjà vu prickled along the back of Tomura’s neck. His head snapped toward the perceived threat on his right.

He caught a flash of a blonde-haired head just before it ducked back inside the next window over.

I’m Toga! Toga Himiko! It’s hard to live!

“Wait,” came from Tomura’s mouth before his conscious mind registered the action. “I’m sorry. About how I acted earlier.” The surprise of those words, in that order, coming from him fell flat compared to the shock of realizing he wasn’t lying.

[pcygoldenchild]

UN Village II

✘summary: Run down and broken. Silent and erie. The events of a night only coming in shades of black and white. UN Village, the place with the hotel with one bellhop.

✘genre: smut&angst//bellhop!baekhyun//sexual content//adult themes//PWP

Erie and quiet. You could hear the rain hit the streets outside from the crack in the window. The cool air not overbearing, not too suffocating. It was oddly quiet. Hannamdong wasn’t really an area being passed by. So there was no surprise that no cars were heard outside your window. But no sounds in the building made you uncomfortable. No sounds of living. Nothing.

The room was spacious, a large queen bed sat in the middle. Two bedside tables on either side of the bed minimally decorated. The long dresser sat opposite of the bed below the TV mounted on the wall. The chair that had been upholstered one too many times with a small table next to it with magazines from 3 years ago. The carpet that seemed new but was probably just not lived in. The closet with new doorknobs updating the old doors. The bathroom with the door slightly ajar but you could tell it was fairly old.

Even in the room, with space and comfort present in every corner, you felt lonely. You felt like the past, the door you tried to push closed was slowly opening. It made you scared. It made you feel suffocated. The room got stuffy. Your chest got tight and your heart was pounding faster and faster. You had a habit of running when this feeling came. It felt like it was going to crush you.

You didn’t think of anything. You just got up from the chair in the corner and went straight for the door. You didn’t grab anything, just went out. You walked down the hallway semi unaware of what was happening. Your feet just dragged you on and on. And before you could come down, your feet stopped you outside. The rain instantly distracting your mind, waking you up from your daze. You stood outside in your already soaked clothes. Your eyes closing at the feeling of panic leaving your bones. The consumption of being captive in your own skin washing away in the rain.

“Are you ok?” a voice says behind you. You feel a hand grab your arm lightly, ever so lightly. You turn around and see Baekhyun standing in the rain with nothing but a paper over his head. The rain ruining his uniform, slightly soaking his hair. He looked at you with worry. A worry you never received from a stranger. You looked down at yourself. Your own body soaked from head to toe. You must have walked right past him. He must have called for you.

“Hey, come back inside.” he said again breaking the silence. His light hand on your arm went to the small of your back to guide you back in. You went with him. His warm nature making your body oblige. Once inside he throws the paper away and looks at you. You’re slightly shaking. Dripping water all over the lobby. He looks unsure. You know he thinks you’re crazy now.

“You didn’t happen to grab your key, did you?” he smiled. You looked up at him, wet hair covering most of your face. You shake your head and look away before he could notice your eyes tearing up. But he noticed.

“Hey it’s ok we always have spares.” he says leading you to the desk and giving you a tissue before going to get another key card. He wasted no time in moving you back to your room. His hand never leaving your back. His eyes would always look down at you when you sniffled or shook. His manner was so comforting but you were losing to your own uninvited emotions.

When he opened the door to your room, you walked in first. You didn’t know if he’d come in or just let you be alone. But you didn’t want to be alone. You were alone before and it led you outside in the rain. He sensed that as he stood at the door watching you slowly walk in. You turned around and looked at him. Your watery eyes doing all the talking. He gave a small smile and looked out back into the hallway before stepping in and closing the door.

You both stood in silence shuffling slightly in place. You let out a little laugh and sniffle. He looked over at you and smiled. His face was confused. He must have thought you were insane by now. You could have very well be a serial killer the way your moods were jumping.

“What’s so funny?” he said. He walked over to you a little more and looked you up and down. You looked up at him and his wet bellhop jacket and hair.

“You probably think I’m crazy.” you said still slightly laughing at yourself. It all looked insane. But your head just wasn’t in one place. It was an insane peace of mind.

“I just think you need someone.” he said cutting you into pieces. You stopped laughing. You looked up at him and his eyes were sad. He saw you for who you were but it was something you didn’t think he’d notice. You were lonely. You were a little sad and had no one. And that was something he noticed.

“I’m sorry. I just...I know how you must feel right now.” he continued after you didn’t reply. You looked at him with soft eyes. You nodded slowly moving to walk towards your bag.

“I guess all lonely souls know how to spot another.” you say. Your voice was weak. Your eyes daring to burn again. You felt his hand on your back once again. He was right behind you. You heard him sigh and then let go.

“You should probably change. You could catch a cold.” he said.

...

You didn’t mind him being in your room while you took a quick shower and changed in the bathroom. He was somehow extremely comfortable with you and you to him. And part of you just liked the company. It’s been so long. Been forever since the last time someone understood you. Since someone showed an ounce of care the way you needed it. Maybe you were bing selfish. Dragging him into your sad life to be your temporary savior. But you were too far gone to care. Anything to keep you from snapping off the deep end.

You took the shortest shower you’ve ever had and put on your pjs, a thin t-shirt and shorts. You had to think at first if it was appropriate. Your shirt was very thin and you weren’t wearing a bra. And the shorts weren’t that short but they were still shorts. But after a while you didn’t care, they were the only ones you brought out of your car. You walked back into the room and saw him. He was facing the window. His bare back to you.

His skin was slightly glowing, if that makes sense. His back was broad. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants now. You figured he went to get changed too. He was completely unaware of you standing there as he hummed a soft tune. You stepped forward and your jeans belt buckle hit the dresser making a clicking sound. He turned around and shared a looked with you.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were changing.” you said looking down. Your bare legs completely exposed to him. Why did you have to bring shorts?

“Well you weren’t the only one soaked.” he laughed. His laugh was always so welcoming, so soft. You looked back up at him, but he still stood shirtless. His shirt in his hand but not moving to put it on. You cleared your throat and moved to put your wet clothes to dry. He followed you with his eyes. And still when you turned to face him, he stood topless, eyes on yours.

“Thanks for doing this.” you say looking away and moving to sit on the bed. You were getting slightly uncomfortable and not in a bad way. Yes he was a stranger, but he wasn’t a threatening stranger. He was someone you wanted to know more of, wanted to be closer to.

“I haven’t done anything.” he said walking towards you. His innocent nature contradicting his appearance. You wouldn’t look at him.

“I know. Well you have. You have done so much for me. I don’t think you could begin to understand but-,” you said. Your hands playing with the frills on the end of your shorts. You see his feet come into view and then feel the bed dip as he sat next to you.

“I’m only doing what I know should be done.” he said taking your hand. He held it in his. His hand was warm.

“Thank you.” you said looking up at him. His face right next to yours until he turned to you. His eyes directly on your lips. You could feel your heart beating though your fingertips. You knew he could feel it to. You looked around his face, searching for something, anything. He smirked.

“Well I only have one night.” he said. And you had to look at his eyes before you did anything. You had this urge to connect with him, his lips. But you had to make sure he felt the same. And you saw that he did.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. His soft warm lips were so intoxicating. His hand holding yours tightened. Your lips molded together so slowly. The taste of each other drifting you both farther and farther from reality. The longer you held his lips to your the more instense it got. You both shifted to the side to have a better access to each other. His free hand coming slowly to caress your cheek. You let out a small noise, nothing too intense but something. He pulls away from your lips. His lips and cheeks were flushed. But his eyes were hooded.

He got up and looked at the head of the bed then back at you. You looked at the head too and back at him, then moved to go lay down. His eyes traced your body. He came up to hover on top of you. His hands not touching you or lips on you. He just watched you. Your hands went to the sides of his abdomen making him flinch at the coldness. You bring his body down slowly to yours resting him between you legs. His breathing was heavy along with yours. Your eyes bouncing between his and his lips. He slowly came down to kiss you again. His hips grinded into you once as his lips met yours. You moaned into his mouth making him do it again. But you didn’t know what your sounds were doing to him. You noticed that everytime you made a noise he stopped and went to the next step, so they were doing something to him.

He pulled away and looked down at your clothed body, your pointed nipples piercing through the too thin t-shirt. His hands went to push the shirt up slowly as if waiting for you to stop him, but you never did. He pulled the shirt off and threw it on the floor. You lifted your hips a bit out of want. He noticed and traced your body with his light fingers. He went from your jaw to your neck, brushing your collar bone. Then he lightly let his palm rub over your nipples. It felt like his hands were flames torching your skin. His hands went on either side of your waist; his hands weren’t large but they still made you seem small. He paused at the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down along with your underwear.

He let out a groan. It was so deep, literally at the back of his throat. It made you shiver. He spread your legs without a second after pulling your bottoms off. His hands close you your core but not touching it. His thumbs working outside your lips pulling them apart as he watched you clench and unclench.

You let out a whimper which made him look up at you, his eyes slowly moving up your body as his tongue darted out to taste his own lip. He lets go of your legs and ran a hand through his hair before coming back down to hover over you. But you were hungry.

He kissed you again and let his hand travel down between you two. His fingers tracing your lips before sliding between the folds. His finger covered in your precum making him moan at the feeling. You wanted more. He was so inviting.

You ran your hands down his body to the waistband of his sweatpants. He hummed into your lips making you buck your hips up. His voice was so pleasing.

He helped you push his pants down, letting him free. And the minute he was, he was at your entrance. His need was evident in the way his manhood throbbed in your fingertips. He groaned as you rubbed his tip on your clit slowly. His own hand reaching for yours to stop your movements. You were unintentionally teasing him. He paused and pulled back before looking down at your sex. His hum light and full. You moved over and grabbed your wallet from the bedside table and pulled out a condom. It was funny you even had one, you were so unaccustomed to this. And he knew that. He grabbed it from you as you laid there staring at the gold wrapper in your hand. He kissed your neck before putting it on and resuming back to his position.

“I need more than one night.” he whispered before slowly pushing into you. Your words were caught in your throat as he went further and further into you. Your face instantly screwing up in bliss. His voice making a low groan as he stopped inside you letting you adjust. Your nails dug into his sides as you tried to calm the throbbing between your legs. He pulled out, and pushed in again. And again until you were loose enough to move without unbearable friction cutting him off. You were both close. The sensation of being with someone made your senses heightened. You could feel his every vein rub against your walls. He could feel the way you tightened and loosened around him over and over again. His lips on yours before breaking away to look at the way your flushed face reacted to him. You could be as loud as you wanted, as loud as you pleased. But you had no sounds to make. Your body was visibly shaking trying not to cum. His face right above yours didn’t make it easier. His own light pants and whines breaking that weak barrier as he pushed and pushed into your spot.

It wasn’t overdramatic or anticlimactic. It was everything. The way you both came down only to never leave each other. You came as he slipped his hand between you two after whispering his close arrival in your ear. Your clit being lightly stimulated but it felt euphoric as he slid in and out at the angle he did. Your own climax whipping away your vision.

He stayed inside you, letting his cum slowly fill the condom. You both panted heavily. You ran your hands through his tousled hair and he laid snug in the crook of your neck. His light sighs and hums reminding you of what happiness feels like.

“We have a lifetime in UN Village.” you whisper and you could feel his tired smile against your neck.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Surprisingly, We Made It!

Author: @thatsrightdollface

For: @namsuuuuuuu

Rating/Warnings: This is probably somewhere between G and T, tbh.  I guess I might tag this for the idea that Chiaki is mentioned as dead?   She’s… A ghost.  This is a fantasy AU!

Prompt: komaeda and hinata both trying to break into the same place on the same night by accident, only to be chased by the police upon meeting and having to hide in a closet/cupboard/safe together until they leave

Author’s Notes: Hi!!!  I hope you enjoy this~ :D  It’s the first gift out of three that I have for you this time, so please be on the lookout for the others!!!  Rounded up, this is about 3,000 words.  

The museum became a different place at night — Nagito Komaeda had known it would, but it was something else to see those bustling halls transformed into a grey-tile tomb like this.  The display cases seemed to watch him pass, waiting and polished, decorated with dead things: mummified hands, chipped pottery, swords people had assured him were definitely haunted when he took the museum’s official tour earlier that day.  Komaeda was good at drifting through places most of the time.  He was sure no one from his tour group would remember him when the museum started looking into suspects the next morning.

Komaeda smiled at somebody’s death mask, sitting propped up on a green velvet display in one of those glass cases.  He wouldn’t be here long.  He’d just take what he needed and be on his way.  The security systems fizzled out as Komaeda wandered by, after all.  Bits of dust formed over the cameras, crawling like mold.  This wouldn’t be the first piece of the puzzle to Komaeda’s life he’d stolen out of a museum. If he unraveled the whole mystery of his good luck/horrible luck curse, the roller coaster balance of his existence, maybe Komaeda would even get to rest someday.  Maybe he’d finally know what any of the ridiculous things that happened to him meant.

Komaeda hummed to himself as he strode through the museum.  He patted a display of a saber tooth tiger on the head and murmured, “Hi, kitty,” in a sing-song voice — he was wearing torn clothes, and the edges of his hair were singed from a fire that’d started out of thin air in his hotel room yesterday morning.  Even the air was subject to Komaeda’s madcap luck, see?  His curse.  Even the air would have to explain itself when Komaeda found the crumbly ancient book he’d come here for.  And, you know, figured out how to read it.  He had an anthropologist contact lined up.  It would be alright.

Things always swung back around, for Komaeda.  The dice rolled into a winning order even if they were weighted to go the other way.  At a cost, of course.  Always at a cost.

Komaeda wouldn’t have to pick the display case lock to get the book he needed, he didn’t think.  The thing would just fall right into his open hands, somehow, and then he’d turn on his heal and head out.  The museum smelled like freshly mopped floors and old, rotting paper.  When Komaeda’d passed a security guard earlier, he had waved cheerfully and pretended to flash a badge.  It worked.  It so often worked, and then Komaeda got arrested for a murder he didn’t commit or something just going out to buy bread.  He was used to it.  As used to it as a person could be, he thought.

When the cop bellowed, “Get back here, you!” somewhere off in the distance, well…  Komaeda murmured, “Oh no,” to himself almost playfully, as if he were keeping up the game.  But then he heard some frantic pounding footsteps right behind him…  The skidding of sneakers  over freshly washed tile, the shattering of a display glass window, all that.  He started to walk a little faster, glancing over his shoulder.

A guy with spiky hair blew by Komaeda, breathing heavily, sneakers squeaking all over the floor in possibly the least-stealthy way possible.  “Get out of here!” the spiky haired guy called.  “Officer Nidai’s not messing around!”

Officer Nidai?  Wonderful.  Komaeda knew Officer Nekomaru Nidai all too well.  Just his luck that guy would be here, wasn’t it?  He’d been suspicious of Komaeda ever since he turned up in town.  Whenever somebody caught Nagito Komaeda in the act, of course he just slipped away again like water between cracks in the concrete.  Like clouds dissolving into the sky.  His luck, eventually, turned.  Always, always.  But that didn’t mean people couldn’t try their own luck at catching him, every now and again.  It was annoying, but Komaeda shrugged off fatal things as “annoying” so often nowadays he was beginning to forget the meaning of the word.

Komaeda sighed and ran a hand through his pale, flyaway hair.  It would’ve been no good to lose this chance — he was so desperately close to another piece of his puzzle.  He stared running, too, and by the time he found an open door to duck inside it sounded like Officer Nidai had been joined by a whole crew of cop-friends in the museum hallways.  They were calling encouragement to each other, or something.  Listening to them might’ve been pretty goofy, under different circumstances.  So tragically earnest. It was like they were living in a separate world than the one Komaeda knew.

“What rotten luck,” Komaeda told the cramped, empty room he’d found himself in.  Or, the room he thought was empty, anyway.

The spiky haired boy who’d been charging through the halls flicked on a desk lamp, peering up at Komaeda with a baffled, frustrated expression on.  He’d been hiding under a table, it looked like, and up close Komaeda could see a whole stash of video game stuff secured in a cutesy canvas shopping bag over his shoulder.  Was that what he snuck in here to steal?  That?  There were so many priceless jeweled glass eyes in this particular museum, so many spells written in actual molten gold ink.  Did this guy seriously just rob the Lost and Found?

“Rotten luck?  That’s, uh, one way of putting it.  I swear I locked that door,” the spiky-haired guy hissed.  Komaeda nodded.  Yes, he probably had.  Locked doors didn’t really have anything on a luck-curse, though, did they?

Komaeda locked the door behind him, again, nodding to the boy under the table with a careful smile.  Testing the door so he could see it didn’t just swing open this time, revealing them both to the hall.  The office they’d ended up in was one of those glorified broom closet spaces, books stacked haphazardly everywhere.  There were pinned butterflies hanging on the walls, and dusty photograph frames buried under paperwork on the desk.  There weren’t any windows or obvious trapdoors leading to secret museum catacombs around — yes, Komaeda had found himself stuck in museum-catacombs before, and he’d nearly starved to death before making his way back to the gift shop.  Not a good chance of that here, though, it didn’t look like.  For better or for worse.

Komaeda sized the spiky haired guy up for a second — he was cute, in a flustered, running-headlong-through-a-museum-at-two-AM kind of way.   His hands were broad and warm-looking; his eyes were challenging and proud, as if he were half-convinced Komaeda was a double agent for the museum or something.

“Looks like we’re stuck,” Komaeda said.  “Don’t worry.  I’m sure they’ll go away soon.”

They didn’t, of course.  Just his luck.

…

Hajime Hinata had only been messing around with supernatural nonsense for a handful of weeks, now, and even he could tell the guy he met on his poorly-planned-out museum heist was soaked in weird old curses.   They clung to this dizzy-eyed stranger same as his own skin, same as his shadow.  Hinata would’ve guessed the guy’d been born with those curses already latched on, honestly, and they were at least part of the reason he could slip locked doors open without even trying.  Part of why his smile looked wrong, too, somehow, like Hinata would always be looking at him through a funhouse mirror.

From the stolen-back bag of video game stuff slung over his shoulder, Hinata’s friend Chiaki Nanami said, “We should keep an eye on this guy, maybe, Hajime.  Everyone he loved died…  Messy.  They’re whispering about it right now.”

Chiaki had died so recently, it still didn’t feel real.  She had hung on to pieces of her life without really meaning to, so…  Of course Hinata was doing his best to gather her back up.  Chiaki had been his best friend since they were learning to count, after all.  They had played a few of the games in her old canvas bag together, but not all of them by a long shot.  It was better Chiaki speak through these clunky things — through her old hair ribbons and photographs and commemorative game art books — than disappear completely, if you asked Hinata.  The museum people hadn’t been willing to give him the bag during the day, so this was what had to happen next, right?

He’d tried this the easy way.  At least he had to give himself that. Hinata shifted Chiaki’s bag a little way out of the cursed guy’s view. If anything, the stranger looked softly amused by his efforts. He shook his head.

“I’m not interested in your prizes,” he told Hinata, voice swaying and almost, almost prim.  A former rich-kid’s voice.  “I’m sure you have your reasons for everything, just like I do.  Right?”  After a few moments of awkward, waiting silence, the guy drifted over to the far wall of that tiny office — maybe it was Hinata’s imagination, but it looked like he was feeling through the stacked book piles there with his eyes gently closed.  Trustingly closed.  Eventually, the stranger pulled back, holding a notebook full of dark green pen scribbles that seemed to squirm over the pages.  His rattling laugh was low and muffled in his chest — still a little too loud for Hinata’s comfort though.   Obviously.

“The beginnings of a translation…!” the dizzy-eyed boy murmured. He had to know Hinata had no idea what he was talking about, didn’t he?   “What are the odds, what are the —”

“Could you shut the hell up?  Seriously?” Hinata said.  “Don’t you hear Officer Nidai’s buddies down the hall?”

“Oh, yes,” said the stranger, turning to Hinata with wide eyes and a shaky smile.  “But they won’t hear me unless they’re supposed to.  I’m sorry — you don’t know that…”

“No, I don’t,” Hinata confirmed.

The stranger considered this.  He said, “It was good of you to tell me to run back there.  You’re probably a kind person, aren’t you, Mr. Pointy-Hair?”

“Hinata,” said Hinata, before immediately kicking himself. You’re really, really not supposed to tell people your actual name if you’re trying to rob a place!  …  Even if they’re trying to rob the same damn place, apparently?  Or at least they’re getting weirdly excited about the chance to snoop through somebody’s spooky notebook?

“His name is Komaeda,” Chiaki offered from the bag at Hinata’s side. “Nagito Komaeda. If he gives you a different name…”

But Nagito Komaeda didn’t throw around any fake names at all.  He grinned, amazed and warm and slightly mocking, like he couldn’t believe Hinata had actually handed him his name so earnestly.  He stepped over to sit in front of Hinata, moving gingerly, sitting cross-legged on the ground.  He said, “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

“I’m not exactly making a career out of sneaking into museums, no,” Hinata said, glaring.  “I’m not some comic book supervillain, or anything like that.”

The dizzy-eyed stranger chewed on his lip, thoughtful.  Hinata wasn’t entirely sure he got the joke.  He said, “In that case…  Please, call me Komaeda.  It’s the least I can do.”  His voice was so wandering, hazy and formal both at once.  The notebook disappeared into a pocket inside his long, tattered coat; up close, Hinata realized this stranger — Komaeda — smelled like burning.  His skin was a crisscross of faded scars.

The office/closet doorknob rattled furiously, about then.  Somebody grunted, “Keys’s not working…!” and then, louder, “Wait — damn key snapped off in my hand!”  They stalked away, and Komaeda nodded, again. Serene as anything, as if stuff like this happened to him every day.

“They‘ll come back,” he said.  “Officer Nidai is a persistent one.”   He might’ve looked self-conscious for a second — realizing he sounded like a hardened crook, or something — because he added, “Or so I’ve heard.  But we have a little while yet, I think.  Are those games in your bag any good?”

“These are my friend’s —” Hinata protested…  But Chiaki shushed him.  Gently.

She said, “They’re your games, now, really,” and “This isn’t my body, Hajime.  Only a window…  You know that.  I can look away, sometimes.  I’ll look away for a little while now, if you want.”

Everyone Nagito Komaeda loved died messily, Chiaki had said.  She didn’t say it again now, but Hinata thought maybe she was reconsidering this dizzy-eyed stranger.  At the very least, he might know how to hurry out of a museum in the middle of the night without getting caught.  He might know what it was like to lose a friend, too, and to want to believe that couldn’t be true with all his heart.  Hinata might get something out of talking to a person like him.

“Be careful,” said Chiaki.  “And be nice, okay?  Unless he turns out to be a jerk.  A cursed jerk.”  Hinata could’ve sworn she was snickering.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Komaeda’s already giving you ‘I-like-you’ eyes.”

“He is not,” grumbled Hinata.

Komaeda tactfully ignored that last bit.  He said, “Ooh, your friend has ‘Void Escape 2.’ I like that one.”  Komaeda glanced at the door, and then back to Hinata.  “I’ve…  Never played two-player mode, actually.   We could kill a little time?”

This was absurd. This was a million-to-one chance meeting.  This was…

This was Hinata hiding in some musty middle-of-the-night museum office, offering a cursed, supervillain-y stranger snacks from his bag. Trying out a video game together.  What the hell?!

Hinata should’ve known better. On so many levels, he should have known.  But, apparently…  No.

When Officer Nidai finally got that particular office door open, Hinata and Komaeda huddled together under the tiny desk, close enough that the smell of burning felt everywhere for a little while.  Close enough that Komaeda’s wavy singed hair brushed Hinata’s cheek. They’d draped Komaeda’s coat over the both of them in some sort of effort to look like just another lumpy pile.  Maybe books, or crinkled papers, or whatever it was museum researchers wore out in the field.

The notebook Komaeda had been trying to smuggle away felt cold against Hinata’s skin, twitching like a living thing.

Officer Nidai didn’t find them.  Somehow.  Honestly, they made such a terrible pile of paper/field clothes/random crap that Hinata was fairly surprised.  Komaeda, though…  Komaeda shrugged it off and said, “Alright, then.  That’s our cue: time to go!”

They snuck out the museum’s dusky hallways together, then, with Komaeda holding Hinata’s sleeve and guiding him down what he claimed was “the luckiest” path to the parking lot.  The sky was huge and hollow-looking up above them, when they finally made it. Hinata had parked his car at the grocery store down the road — he gave Komaeda a ride back into the city, even though Komaeda’d assured him he would have found his way no matter what.

Just before dropping Komaeda off down some lonely backstreet — one of those tipped-over-garbage-can-alleys, without a proper street name anywhere — Hinata asked something he knew would haunt him whether he managed to choke it out or not.  He asked for Komaeda’s phone number, whatever his curses.  Whatever a weird night this had been.  He tried to ask casually, the way Chiaki might have.  Like he only wanted to be friends. Like he was just a little worried about him, even though…  Huh.

Something had felt right and warm, so familiar, about Komaeda’s hand on Hinata’s sleeve.  About Komaeda’s spinning, smothered laughter.  Whoever he was, whatever he’d done.  Whatever exactly had been translated in that notebook waiting tucked against his heart, just then.

Komaeda shook his head no, and Hinata muttered something embarrassed.  Said to forget he asked; glowered at the road.  Komaeda watched him, apparently baffled.  He folded his arms around himself, leaning the back of his head against Hinata’s car door window.  He would leave dark ash smeared on the glass, when he left.

“I…  Have no idea why you’d want to call someone like me,” Komaeda offered, after a moment of tension, the dark city passing by all around them.  After he’d apparently hunted around his mind for the right words and come back feeling empty-handed.  “I don’t even have a phone.  Never keep any number for long…”  He cleared his throat.  “If you want, though, you can give me your number. I’ll check in with you, until it gets…”  An awkward laugh, here.  “Until you tell me to stop, I guess.”

Maybe that should’ve been enough to scare Hinata off, but he scribbled his number down on a scrap of paper torn out of that cryptic, slithering-ink notebook Komaeda’d stolen anyway.  He couldn’t believe he was doing it, even as his pen slipped and Komaeda clarified, “Is that an eight or a four, Hinata?” in a soft, wondering voice.

Hinata told him, and Komaeda murmured the full number back, very solemn.  Like a promise.

Hinata took a long, roundabout way home, that night, and Komaeda waved after him until he’d disappeared off to kinder streets.  He turned around on the worn-slick heel of his shoe and started humming again, the way he had back in the museum.  It was a hopeful song, maybe.  It was almost morning.

[neverlandparker]

“How can you possibly look good with snow in your hair?“ (peter parker)

Word Count: 2k words

Warnings: none?

Author: @neverlandparker

Author Notes: Hello everyone, hope y’all had a great holiday and also happy new year!! hello 2019! bring it on :) hope you will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Also, this is for the lovely @thothollandd‘s holiday writing challenge. Congrats on 3.5k! That’s amazing!! I’m so excited to be a part of this, thanks for the opportunity :)

Finally, the “Parker Pete” idea was actually originally someone else’s but I thought it was so cute that I would incorporate it and I feel really lame for not giving proper credit but I can’t seem to find where I found it originally anymore :(

Anyways, enough me rambling...enjoy!

MASTERLIST

Prompt: “How can you possibly look good with snow in your hair?“

Your family had just moved into your new apartment in Queens, New York a few days ago. It really was a pity that you had to move during the holiday season, but what had to be done had to be done. And that’s why you were currently dubbed the “new girl” at your new school, Midtown School of Science and Technology.

It was the last day before winter break and you were feeling quite done with school. The last few weeks had been exhausting for you, adjusting to the new time zone, unpacking all of your belongings, helping around the house, decorating for the holidays, Christmas shopping, and lastly, of course, keeping up with all your academic school work. 

DING DING DING DING

At the ringing of the release bell, which signaled the end of the school day, you shook yourself out of your thoughts and eagerly dashed out the classroom door, hoping to avoid the massive swarm of students that proceeded to crowd Midtown’s halls everyday.

However in your haste, you didn’t watch where you were going as you rounded the corner and ran SMACK into someone.

You groaned and rubbed your throbbing shoulder before looking up to apologize to the poor person who had fallen victim to your clumsiness.

You looked up to see a quite adorable...wait what? y/n!? brunette boy who just ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly before extending his hand toward you to steady you from tripping.

“Are you okay?” he met your glance as he began to introduce himself.

“H-Hi um I’m Pete—I mean uh Parker Pete, agh I meant Peter Parker.” 

His cheeks flamed a dark shade of pink and sighed, “S-sorry, I’m Peter Parker. I d-don’t think we’ve met before.” and at the last part, he tilted his head slightly towards you in curiosity.

You smiled and laughed, “Hey Parker Pete” you smirked at him shyly. “I’m y/n, it’s nice to meet you…” however, noticing the time, you had to cut the conversation short, and told him, “uh but listen, I’m really sorry but I gotta run, but I really do hope to see you around!” you waved at him quickly before spinning around and fast-walking, resuming your mission to get out of the school without getting caught up in the crowds. 

What you didn’t realize was that you had just left Peter Parker in the hallway an utterly speechless and blushing mess. 

…

You were home, having finally walked home from the bus stop in the pouring rain. You closed the front door and leaned against with a heavy sigh. Then, you slid all the way down to the floor and plopped your legs in front of you. You had just flung your drenched backpack and lunch bag in the hallway and were now sitting in your rain soaked jacket with your back against your front door. 

Looking at your legs, finding out your favorite pair of jeans were wet from the rain, you groaned in frustration and shivered, realizing you had still not taken your soaked jacket off. 

Despite it officially being winter break, it certainly didn’t feel like one. You were in no mood to be festive for Christmas and were absolutely exhausted from school. You had to wake up extra early this morning to attend a club meeting and stayed after school to help a friend with a project that was due before the break. Then, you were greeted with pouring rain on your walk home from the bus stop. 

What. A. Day.

You heaved yourself off the floor in a manner that did not resemble graceful at all, you dragged your backpack and lunch bag upstairs to your room and hung up your jacket. You curled up on your couch with a content sigh and decided to catch up on your reading. 

…

Regaining a bit of consciousness, you finally figured you must have passed out on the couch from sheer exhaustion. You were feeling lazy, and you decided that you would keep laying on the couch. Just a few more minutes.

Finally, you decided to get up, but upon doing so, you happen to steal a glance outside your window to find the ground coated with a fluffy white substance.

Wait what in the world—

You rubbed your eyes, thinking it must have been some mistake, you did a double take at the view outside your window. 

And what shook you wide awake was the delightful screech of a neighborhood kid yelling, “It’s snowing!!!” at the top of his lungs. 

Snow? Wait. SNOW?!?!

From where you previously lived, snow was a very rare occurrence. You had very few encounters with this magical weather “phenomenon” and you found it very exciting and fascinating in the few times that you had.

Without further ado, you stumbled off the couch, dashed to your closet and pulled on your warm winter snow pants and pulled on your previously drenched jacket. On the way out, you quickly grabbed your favorite pom-pom hat and pulled it snugly over your head. You bolted downstairs and to the front door where you clumsily pulled on your winter boots. 

Finally, grinning like a 5-year-old kid at a candy shop, you made your way outside into the downpour-this time, not of rain-but instead-a flurry of snowflakes. 

You smiled, stuck your tongue out in delight, and twirled around and around and around, looking up towards the sky full of snowflakes. You began to stop when you got a bit dizzy and you had to steady yourself a little looking down at your feet to regain your footing. Guess you were a bit too excited to see snow. 

And when you had successfully regained your footing in the slippery white snow, you looked up to meet the gaze of Peter Parker. 

“Oh. Hi there Peter Parker, or should I say Parker Pete?” you giggled. 

Peter flashed a grin at you, but when you used the nickname, he slightly frowned. 

He arched an eyebrow. 

“Parker Pete?”

“Yeah it’s what you introduced yourself as,” you smiled as you desperately tried your hardest to stifle a laugh

With the reference to his embarrassing moment of tongue tied self introduction at the Midtown’s main hallway, he was rendered speechless, staring at you while his cheeks helplessly turned a shade of deep pink.

Then all of a sudden, Peter got hit in the shoulder with a snowball.

He blinked at you owlishly, and when you shrugged as to say “That wasn’t me,” he spun around to find one of the neighborhood kids with a very sheepish grin on his face.

It was probably an accident but inspired by their method of snow play, Peter bent down, scooped up some snow, molded it into a little ball, and proceeded to chuck it at the poor kids who had hit him before.

They yelped and screamed their “I’m sorry’s” before running as fast as they could away from him.

Peter ran back to you with a mischievous smile on his face. And at first, you had no idea what had him smirking at you, but when you saw a glimpse of a glimmering white snowball that he tried to hide behind his back, the realization hit you, your eyes widened, and you tried to cover your face as Peter sent the snowball hurling in your direction. 

Thankful for your fast reflexes, the snowball only ended up hitting your body, slightly dampening your jacket as you let out a playful laugh.

“Parker Pete, did you just hit me with a snowball?” You gave him a playful smile

“Well.....would it be okay if I did??” Peter stuttered

“Well that depends...did you?” You smirked

“Ummmm y-yes??” Peter managed to say as his face contorted into a sheepish grin that rivaled the ones the neighborhood “rascals” had on their faces after accidentally hitting him with their snowball. 

And with that your smirk transformed into a gleeful smile as you hurriedly crouched down to scoop up some snow to make your snowball, and when Peter realized what you were doing, his sheepish grin slipped right off his face and he too, turned around to make his stash of snowballs.

Oh. It was on.

You hurled the first ball at Peter, which he unfortunately dodged, and before you could react, Peter seemed to appear all of a sudden behind you and sneak attacked you with his snowball, which made you screech and knocked you over into the fluffy ground of snow.

Luckily, it didn’t hurt at all since the ground was covered with a thick blanket of glistening white snow. And you hit the ground laughing hysterically.

However, Peter being the caring person he is, immediately rushed over after realizing what he had done. An extremely concerned expression overtook his face and he hurried over towards you.

“Oh my gosh, y/n are you alright??” 

His concerned question was only met by the strangest answer. 

Your infectious laughter. 

He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes off of you. You seemed so happy laughing uncontrollably on the snowy ground. 

He was utterly confused for a few moments but when the relief that you were indeed alright settled in, he started laughing too and the two of you were laughing hysterically together.

That is until peter laughed a little too hard and he bent over from laughing too hard probably trying to get some relief from his stomach hurting from the laughter. but he accidentally tripped over one of your legs and he fell on top of you with his hands propping himself up on either side of you.

When the both of you realized what position you were in, you stopped laughing and when you looked at him you found him a little...too close. 

Peter’s face was only inches from yours and a raging blush started creeping its way up both of your faces. 

“How can you possibly look so good with snow in your hair?” He whispered.

It was barely audible but you picked up on it.

And you couldn’t help it as your heart melted a little more for the brunette nerd. 

By then, Peter must have realized what had said, and his eyes went wide as he clamped his hand over his mouth. “Uh oh. Umm d-did I say t-that our l-loud?” 

You just laughed.

“I mean, um, what I mean is uh I like how you look,” and he mentally kicked himself, “I mean you look good, wait I mean you always look good...but how do you still look good with snow in your hair??” he winced. “I think you know what I’m trying to say??” he stuttered and looked at you as if pleading you to understand his words.

Thoroughly embarrassed, he quickly darted up from the ground and took a seat next to you instead.

Peter, who has obviously embarrassed himself again, blushed and stuttered and you just sat there, smiling and laughing. 

“You’re adorable, you know that?”

And this time, turns out it wasn’t only “Parker Pete” who blurted their thoughts out, and it became your turn to be embarrassed.

“U-Uh I a-am?” 

“Yes you are” you felt your cheeks heat up as you kept going along with what you said earlier but still wanting to desperately sink into the floor in embarrassment.

“O-oh u-um t-t-thanks? But y-you’re more a-adorable” he responded cheekily.

“U-uh I didn’t mean to say t-that out loud” realizing that he blurted out his thoughts once again, he quickly backtracked and started blushing all over again.

“Why thank you Parker Pete” you smiled and peered over at him through your eyelashes.

Then you smirked as an idea formed in your head, and you realized that this was the perfect moment for your little “revenge.” 

“Hey Peter?” 

“Yeah?” he responded, that was probably a little too breathy for his liking.

And when Peter saw your smirk, he eyed you a little nervously, and all of a sudden, your smirk transformed into a big smile as you ambushed him square in the chest with a snowball and ran as fast you could in the opposite direction.

“Hey!” he yelped in surprise.

“Catch me if you can Parker Pete!” you screamed over your shoulder, as you ran further away from him, laughing.

“I’m going to get you!!” he yelled after you as he got up and chased after you.

The sound of laughter and delight filled the street, and let’s just say that it turned out to be one wonderful and magical snow day in Queens, New York.

Author Notes: I had a lot of fun writing this one because of the winter theme and snow :) please check out my...

MASTERLIST

if you haven't already, thank you, and as always, your support means a lot! :)

[ernmark]

Fragment of Memory (Part 1)

Kya tried to stop me. I didn’t listen. Come suffer with me.

I may have spent a little bit too long contemplating an Amnesia AU. And since Halloween is almost upon us, I thought hey, why not?

When he wakes up, it’s with the mother of all hangovers. His head is pounding. His limbs are throbbing. His insides are burning. His vision is all kinds of messed up-- on one side it’s fuzzy and blurred, and on the other it’s too sharp, too clean, overlaid with too many colors, and it makes him feel sick. He rubs at it, as if the problem is just some technicolored eye gunk from the night before-- but when he touches it, his eyelid presses against something hard.

Cold panic rushes through his veins. That thing in his head-- it isn’t his eye. 

“Shit,” he hisses, but it comes out more like a croak. His mouth feels like it’s coated in acid and oil, and the taste comes rushing back when he moves his tongue. He wants to throw up, but he gets the feeling that’ll be even worse.

He doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t know anything for sure. He doesn’t even know the bed he woke up in, or the room. It’s big, he knows that much. Luxurious. A hell of a lot bigger than--

Than what? 

He doesn’t know. God, he doesn’t know.

A flash of blue light catches his attention, and he whirls to face it.

There’s a comms on the bedside table, its light blinking with a notification. He grabs it and turns it on. He’ll call for help. Figure out where he is, what happened to him. He needs to know for sure. 

The screen lights up, along with the source of the notification: Video recorded. Playback now?

He doesn’t have any better ideas.

Yes.

The video fills the comms screen. For a moment it’s blurry as the camera struggles to find focus in a shaking hand. The walls are riveted steel panels, the light cold and fluorescent, and then the camera turns to face the person holding it. 

He looks like hell. His head hangs low between his shoulders. His dark skin is sallow, the circles under his eyes look more like bruises, his hair is unkempt, his stubble is almost long enough to call a beard. The right eye is bionic, staring at the camera over a long scar that crosses his nose. 

A touch confirms it: the same scar is on his own face. 

That shouldn’t need confirmation. It should be obvious. But it isn’t. The person in the video looks vaguely familiar, but no more than that. 

The person in the video heaves a sigh. 

“Juno Steel,” he says. “If you don’t know, that’s your name. If you do... I don’t know, maybe that’s how it’s supposed to work. But your name is Juno Steel. I’m you. Just... trust me on this, okay? I can’t...” He takes a moment to collect himself. “By the time you see this, you won’t remember what happened, and that’s a good thing. I’m wiping your memories for a reason, and you need to respect that. I know how you feel about puzzles, but this is one that needs to stay in the box. There are some things you’re better off knowing, okay? Just... trust me.” 

The man in the video looks down. One hand is still holding his comms, but the other is clutching a vial of blue liquid. He turns it over in his hand, staring at it like it’s a charged blaster.

“Listen,” he says. “I know you’re not exactly the happy-go-lucky type, but maybe this’ll give you a chance to...” He breaks off. Sighs. “Just... try to do better this time around.” He pops off the cap with his thumb and tilts the vial to the camera. “Bottoms up.” And he downs it in a single gulp. His face contorts into a grimace, and then a look of pain. 

“Ugh,” he mutters as his face goes out of frame, leaving behind nothing but the riveted steel walls. “Shit. Shit, this is gonna...”

The screen freezes, then dims.

End of video.

Juno stares at the comms, willing himself to believe it’s a fake. A lie. A trick. Video can be doctored, can’t it? Besides, he remembers yesterday--

No, he doesn’t.

Or the day before. Or where he lives, or if he lives there alone, or how long he’s been there. He must have had a childhood once, but it’s gone. His mind is a blank.

Juno stares at his reflection in the screen with horror.

What did I do?

Juno has turned the room upside down before he realizes what he’s doing. Once he slows down enough to think, he finds words to attach to the actions: 

Investigating. Looking for clues.

Whatever that blue stuff did to him, it was rough. The bed sheets look like they’re fresh, but they’re soaked with sweat. The clothes in the closet are his size, but they’ve been recently laundered, their pockets empty of anything important. 

Funny. The person who recorded that video looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Someone like that would barely bother washing their clothes, let alone hanging them up like that. 

The bedroom walls are papered with intricate silver designs overlaid on a dark, dusty red; the furniture looks like it’s made of real wood. It’s a nice place. Expensive. And more important, it isn’t the steel-paneled room where he took the drink. He’s not wearing the jacket from the video and his feet are bare, but there’s no signs of socks or jacket anywhere in sight. His shoes are set neatly by the door of the room. 

Somebody’s been taking care of him, washing his clothes and apparently putting him to bed. Judging by the bottle of scotch hidden in the mattress, he’d been staying here before he did this to himself.

Not long, though: aside from the bottle and the clothes, there aren’t any real personal effects. Sure, there’s practical things: a wide-brimmed hat, a holster and cleaning kit for a conspicuously missing blaster, a sewing kit, a first aid kit-- a whole lot of kits, come to think of it, already packed into convenient little cases and ready to be moved at a moment’s notice. Even accounting for an overzealous maid, it doesn’t feel like he’s had any chance to really settle in. 

He tries to look through his comms, but if there’s anything important there, he isn’t finding it. Maybe it’s the migraine and the wiped memories, but the interface is overwhelmingly complicated. He manages to blunder through the basic functions, but they don’t give him anything useful. The gallery is empty of pictures, aside from the video, and the list of contacts is just as bare.

A new comms, maybe? A burner?

There’s a bathroom attached to the room, and it’s marginally more helpful. Aside from the basic toiletries and a bottle of cologne, he finds over-the-counter medications in the medicine cabinet-- caffeine pills, sobriety enzymes, migraine-strength acetaminophen, all of them economy sized and all of them close to empty. It confirms what the bottle of scotch suggested: whoever he used to be, he had a drinking problem. 

He shuts the medicine cabinet and is faced with his own reflection.

The face in the mirror is his own. He’s sure about that now. He’s getting used to the cybernetic eye, the scars, the nose that’s been broken more than twice. Those were all in the video. What isn’t there is his other self’s haunted, empty stare.

I know how you feel about puzzles, his past self said. But this is one that needs to stay in the box.

There’s only one other door from the room, and it’s heavy and huge, set into the wall on antique hinges that squeal when he pushes it open. Beyond lies an enormous hallway. The floor is polished marble the color of dry blood, and it’s cold as the Martian wind under his bare feet. The walls are paneled in wood so dark that shadows seem to pool in the edges of the molding. The hall is wide enough to drive a car through, and the ceiling is just as high. 

Juno can’t help but feel small and exposed in a space so huge. 

He tries to peer down to the end of the hallway, but the moment his back is turned to one direction, the hairs on the back of his neck start to prickle. He’s acutely aware of the vast hallway sprawling behind him, gaping and empty--

No. Not empty.

He whirls to face the other way, squinting into the dark. Somebody was there. He could have sworn somebody was out there. He could feel eyes watching him. 

“Hello?” he says. 

The only reply is the distorted echo of his own voice.

But somebody was there. 

He has half a mind to go back into the room, where he can sit in the corner and see everything without feeling like something might be creeping up behind him, but he can’t stay here. He has to know what’s going on.

And so he steels himself, picks a direction, and starts walking.

Somebody needs to put up some curtains or lay down some carpet or something, because the acoustics of this hallway are a nightmare. The wood-paneled walls catch the slightest sounds and throw them back to him from odd directions. The slap of his bare feet on the marble seems to come from somewhere up ahead. The sound of his rustling clothes seems to come from just behind him, so close that he twists to look over his shoulders, just in case. The hall behind him is empty. Always empty. 

Worst of all is his breathing: what should be a simple inhale-exhale is twisted and warped and reverberated until it sounds like something else altogether. It’s like a babble of conversation, barely heard from another room, faint and light and insubstantial. There’s no shape to it, no pattern, no sense. Nothing but nonsense and chaos and random--

“Juno.” It’s no more than a sigh, barely audible in this echo chamber. 

He goes still. 

“Who’s there?” he demands, louder and clearer than before. “There’s no point in hiding; I can hear you.”

The echoes of his voice bounce off the marble floor for a few seconds, and then all is silent. 

The chill of the floor leeches through the soles of his feet and into his ankles, sharp and stiff and almost painful. The same unbearable cold wraps around his arm.

He spins, his fist flying to catch whatever the hell it was that grabbed him. The sudden cold releases him, but his punch lands on empty air. 

But he could have sworn--

A throat is cleared. 

“Mister Steel,” says an unfamiliar voice. 

When Juno turns around again, there’s a woman standing a few feet away, well out of arm’s reach. Smart lady. She’s wearing a sharp suit, sensible shoes, and an expression like she expects him to start howling at the moons but she’s too professional to say so out loud. “I see you’re awake.”

“Where the hell did you come from?” Juno demands, because she startled him. That’s the only reason why his heart is trying to ram a hole through his chest. 

The woman’s face remains unwaveringly professional, and she gives a sweeping gesture with one arm. “Mister O’Flaherty would like to see you.” 

[retireearlyandtravel]

New Post has been published on https://www.retireearlyandtravel.com/hotel-bristol/

Hotel Bristol Vienna, Experience the Luxurious Past Now

Staying at the Hotel Bristol is part of an amazing vacation in Vienna Austria. If you are like us, hotels are not simply a place to sleep and shower; they are a big part of our travel experience. We like feeling special and comfortable when staying at a hotel. We like to immerse ourselves in the destination’s culture, and history and the Bristol played a role in Vienna’s past. Located at one of Vienna’s prime addresses since 1892 the Hotel Bristol is a living example of Viennese charm. Moreover, staying at the Hotel Bristol, you will feel as though you just stepped back in time to the early 20th-century.

Location, Location, Location

When traveling, location can mean everything. The Hotel Bristol Vienna, a Luxury Collection Hotel, is located in the heart of the city across the street from the Vienna State Opera. If you love to shop, the hotel resides on a major shopping avenue.  It is also centrally located to all of Vienna’s major sights. The hotel is a 20-minute drive from the Vienna International airport and very close to the train station.

Rich History

The deciding factor for us when we were making the decision to stay at the Bristol was the history. First of all, the hotel is almost 130 years old. The Bristol has lived through a lot and if only those walls could talk!  The Hotel Bristol weathered the war, the Occupation, the Cold War, and the fall of the Soviet empire. During the Occupation, the Bristol was headquarters for the American occupying forces. On a tour of the hotel by Alexandra, we discovered that the staircase railing had many dings in it. According to her, this was because the soldiers would hit the butt of their rifles on the railing as they descended the staircase.  When it came time to renovate, the lovely railings with their rich history were kept intact.

  Also located in the Hotel Bristol was the American Embassy from 1951 to 1955. So according to the US government, an embassy itself belongs to the country it represents; this means the Bristol was American for four years.

Royal History and Gossip

If you are a fan of the British royals and their history, the Hotel Bristol has a connection there too. The Prince of Wales suite named after Prince Edward VIII (1894-1972), who resided in this suite several times with his one and only love, Wallis Simpson is exquisite. Legend has it that Edward VIII made his decision to abdicate as king and marry Wallis during one of his stays at the Hotel Bristol. If you visit Vienna and are a guest at the Hotel Bristol, ask for a tour of the Prince of Wales suite. It is one of the largest luxury suites in Vienna.  And today, two separate entrances transform the amazing Prince of Wales suite into what feels like a comfortable city apartment.

The Bristol Bar

The Bristol Bar is the first American Bar in Vienna. What is an American Bar you may ask? Well, it’s a bar that makes their cocktails in front of their guests. Before the Bristol Bar was open, the drinks were made in a kitchen, and a server would come from behind a door to bring you your drink. Today the Bristol Bar’s décor consists of rich hues and has an exclusive ambiance in which to enjoy a drink or socialize.

The Rising Room

The Hotel Bristol was one of first the hotels in Vienna with an elevator. To make the elevator comfortable for hotel guests they built two seats in it – the seats are still there and of course still available for use.

A Picture of Nightly Social Gatherings

The lovely painting below painted by Austrian artist Hans Stalzer, a good friend of the Bristol’s original owner, Arthur Wolf provides a look at aristocrat life in the early twentieth century. Inspired by all of the famous personalities who stayed at the Hotel Bristol like Theodore Roosevelt, Baroness Thyssen Bornemisza, Adolf Loos, and Archduke Franz Salvator, to name just a few. Like no other painting of its time, Stalzer’s work provides insight into the nightly society gatherings at The Bristol in the early twentieth century.  It also details the fashions of the time. The maître d’ and his waiters are among the thirty-six people included in the painting which was unusual. Having the staff painted in the picture reflects the atmosphere of the Hotel Bristol and Mr. Wolf’s appreciation of his team from the beginning.

The Bristol’s atmosphere is the same today: high quality, discreet service; personal attention; and welcoming Austrian hospitality. To achieve this type of service, a hotel’s staff must know they are valued.

Our Room, an Opera Suite

We stayed in the third floor Opera Suite that reflects the elegance of its namesake: the Viennese Opera. As we opened the door to our suite, we saw a long hallway with a distinctive living room at the end.  Blue patterned silk walls wrapped around the living room and wide classic ceiling moldings sealed the view. The windows framed in ornate, richly hued floral patterned drapes provided a great view of the opera house and the Ringstrasse. There was a plush velveteen couch where we could sit and take in the authentic antiques, original works of art, fresh flowers, and beautiful crystal chandeliers. And not one but two carefully disguised minibars and a Nesspero coffee station in the room. There was also a period desk equipped with modern high-speed Internet Access.

Located in the middle of the room, in front of huge windows, was a four-person dining table offering the possibility of a private meal or a great workspace. Keith and I used this table with its great views to work during our stay.

A Suite that Feels like a City Apartment

Off the main hallway from the front door was a full guest bathroom complete with heated floors and across from that a walk-in coat closet. Having both of these areas makes entertaining guests easy and kept them out of our bedroom and bathroom.

From the front door, a second hallway to the left made its way to our bedroom. The room was huge with a king bed, a two-person sitting area, and another ornate chandelier. Also, there was a second writing desk in this room and a large round table. There was another entrance leading to the living room. Best of all there was tons of closet space!

  Awaiting us in the huge, black and cream marbled bathroom was plush bathrobes and slippers. There were double sinks, a soaking tub, and a huge shower.

Keith and I enjoyed our stay in our opera room suite at the Hotel Bristol.  We felt that we experienced high-society life from the turn of the last century with all of the creature comforts of today.

Prefer a Modern Room?

For those of you that like a more contemporary look, the Hotel Bristol offers several contemporary, sophistically decorated, rooms with high-end furnishings.  These rooms have a separate living room and bedrooms, a dining area and walk-in closets.  And, they receive the same high-quality service you want when traveling like turn down service or a daily newspaper delivered to your door.

Dining, the Bristol Lounge

The atmosphere in the Bristol Lounge is warm and inviting yet very grand. There are eight original, restored crystal chandeliers and a grand piano in the dining room. An open fireplace along one wall creates a romantic and cozy atmosphere. In addition to regular dining tables and chairs, there are couches, and sofa chairs set close to the fireplace for a relaxing dining experience.

The breakfast buffet at the Bristol lounge was bountiful. They have a show kitchen where you can get almost anything you would like made to order.

The Bristol combines grandeur and luxury with casualness to create something very modern for their dining guests. They serve traditional Austrian recipes, international classics, and innovative fare. Even if you do not stay at the Hotel Bristol, we recommend having a meal there. The Bristol Lounge offers a unique all-day dining experience in the heart of Vienna.

Hotel Bristol

If you are seeking luxury, enrichment, and or unique experience, you will find it all at the Hotel Bristol. The authentic Viennese charm of this hotel originates from the antiques on display, the paintings in the hallways to the elevator. But most importantly, the wonderful, well-trained staff makes you feel like you are staying in somebody’s private Vienna home at the turn of the century.

Check out this video tour of the Hotel Bristol

[retireearlyandtravel]

New Post has been published on https://www.retireearlyandtravel.com/test2/hotel-bristol/

Hotel Bristol Vienna, Experience the Luxurious Past Now

Staying at the Hotel Bristol is part of an amazing vacation in Vienna Austria. If you are like us, hotels are not simply a place to sleep and shower; they are a big part of our travel experience. We like feeling special and comfortable when staying at a hotel. We like to immerse ourselves in the destination’s culture, and history and the Bristol played a role in Vienna’s past. Located at one of Vienna’s prime addresses since 1892 the Hotel Bristol is a living example of Viennese charm. Moreover, staying at the Hotel Bristol, you will feel as though you just stepped back in time to the early 20th-century.

Location, Location, Location

When traveling, location can mean everything. The Hotel Bristol Vienna, a Luxury Collection Hotel, is located in the heart of the city across the street from the Vienna State Opera. If you love to shop, the hotel resides on a major shopping avenue.  It is also centrally located to all of Vienna’s major sights. The hotel is a 20-minute drive from the Vienna International airport and very close to the train station.

Rich History

The deciding factor for us when we were making the decision to stay at the Bristol was the history. First of all, the hotel is almost 130 years old. The Bristol has lived through a lot and if only those walls could talk!  The Hotel Bristol weathered the war, the Occupation, the Cold War, and the fall of the Soviet empire. During the Occupation, the Bristol was headquarters for the American occupying forces. On a tour of the hotel by Alexandra, we discovered that the staircase railing had many dings in it. According to her, this was because the soldiers would hit the butt of their rifles on the railing as they descended the staircase.  When it came time to renovate, the lovely railings with their rich history were kept intact.

  Also located in the Hotel Bristol was the American Embassy from 1951 to 1955. So according to the US government, an embassy itself belongs to the country it represents; this means the Bristol was American for four years.

Royal History and Gossip

If you are a fan of the British royals and their history, the Hotel Bristol has a connection there too. The Prince of Wales suite named after Prince Edward VIII (1894-1972), who resided in this suite several times with his one and only love, Wallis Simpson is exquisite. Legend has it that Edward VIII made his decision to abdicate as king and marry Wallis during one of his stays at the Hotel Bristol. If you visit Vienna and are a guest at the Hotel Bristol, ask for a tour of the Prince of Wales suite. It is one of the largest luxury suites in Vienna.  And today, two separate entrances transform the amazing Prince of Wales suite into what feels like a comfortable city apartment.

The Bristol Bar

The Bristol Bar is the first American Bar in Vienna. What is an American Bar you may ask? Well, it’s a bar that makes their cocktails in front of their guests. Before the Bristol Bar was open, the drinks were made in a kitchen, and a server would come from behind a door to bring you your drink. Today the Bristol Bar’s décor consists of rich hues and has an exclusive ambiance in which to enjoy a drink or socialize.

The Rising Room

The Hotel Bristol was one of first the hotels in Vienna with an elevator. To make the elevator comfortable for hotel guests they built two seats in it – the seats are still there and of course still available for use.

A Picture of Nightly Social Gatherings

The lovely painting below painted by Austrian artist Hans Stalzer, a good friend of the Bristol’s original owner, Arthur Wolf provides a look at aristocrat life in the early twentieth century. Inspired by all of the famous personalities who stayed at the Hotel Bristol like Theodore Roosevelt, Baroness Thyssen Bornemisza, Adolf Loos, and Archduke Franz Salvator, to name just a few. Like no other painting of its time, Stalzer’s work provides insight into the nightly society gatherings at The Bristol in the early twentieth century.  It also details the fashions of the time. The maître d’ and his waiters are among the thirty-six people included in the painting which was unusual. Having the staff painted in the picture reflects the atmosphere of the Hotel Bristol and Mr. Wolf’s appreciation of his team from the beginning.

The Bristol’s atmosphere is the same today: high quality, discreet service; personal attention; and welcoming Austrian hospitality. To achieve this type of service, a hotel’s staff must know they are valued.

Our Room, an Opera Suite

We stayed in the third floor Opera Suite that reflects the elegance of its namesake: the Viennese Opera. As we opened the door to our suite, we saw a long hallway with a distinctive living room at the end.  Blue patterned silk walls wrapped around the living room and wide classic ceiling moldings sealed the view. The windows framed in ornate, richly hued floral patterned drapes provided a great view of the opera house and the Ringstrasse. There was a plush velveteen couch where we could sit and take in the authentic antiques, original works of art, fresh flowers, and beautiful crystal chandeliers. And not one but two carefully disguised minibars and a Nesspero coffee station in the room. There was also a period desk equipped with modern high-speed Internet Access.

Located in the middle of the room, in front of huge windows, was a four-person dining table offering the possibility of a private meal or a great workspace. Keith and I used this table with its great views to work during our stay.

A Suite that Feels like a City Apartment

Off the main hallway from the front door was a full guest bathroom complete with heated floors and across from that a walk-in coat closet. Having both of these areas makes entertaining guests easy and kept them out of our bedroom and bathroom.

From the front door, a second hallway to the left made its way to our bedroom. The room was huge with a king bed, a two-person sitting area, and another ornate chandelier. Also, there was a second writing desk in this room and a large round table. There was another entrance leading to the living room. Best of all there was tons of closet space!

  Awaiting us in the huge, black and cream marbled bathroom was plush bathrobes and slippers. There were double sinks, a soaking tub, and a huge shower.

Keith and I enjoyed our stay in our opera room suite at the Hotel Bristol.  We felt that we experienced high-society life from the turn of the last century with all of the creature comforts of today.

Prefer a Modern Room?

For those of you that like a more contemporary look, the Hotel Bristol offers several contemporary, sophistically decorated, rooms with high-end furnishings.  These rooms have a separate living room and bedrooms, a dining area and walk-in closets.  And, they receive the same high-quality service you want when traveling like turn down service or a daily newspaper delivered to your door.

Dining, the Bristol Lounge

The atmosphere in the Bristol Lounge is warm and inviting yet very grand. There are eight original, restored crystal chandeliers and a grand piano in the dining room. An open fireplace along one wall creates a romantic and cozy atmosphere. In addition to regular dining tables and chairs, there are couches, and sofa chairs set close to the fireplace for a relaxing dining experience.

The breakfast buffet at the Bristol lounge was bountiful. They have a show kitchen where you can get almost anything you would like made to order.

The Bristol combines grandeur and luxury with casualness to create something very modern for their dining guests. They serve traditional Austrian recipes, international classics, and innovative fare. Even if you do not stay at the Hotel Bristol, we recommend having a meal there. The Bristol Lounge offers a unique all-day dining experience in the heart of Vienna.

Hotel Bristol

If you are seeking luxury, enrichment, and or unique experience, you will find it all at the Hotel Bristol. The authentic Viennese charm of this hotel originates from the antiques on display, the paintings in the hallways to the elevator. But most importantly, the wonderful, well-trained staff makes you feel like you are staying in somebody’s private Vienna home at the turn of the century.

Check out this video tour of the Hotel Bristol