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whatsnewalycat · 11 months ago

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Once in a Blue Moon

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

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

Rating: E (Explicit 18+ Only)

Word Count: 12.9k+

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

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

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 2:00 PM

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

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

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

So it begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just 302. Lucky you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of cour—”

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

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

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

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

“I, uhh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“An elephant?”

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

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

So fucking professional.

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

“Anything else I can get for you?”

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

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

“Oh, it’s not cigarette smoke.”

“I can smell.”

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

His eyebrows shoot up in a surprised expression.

“I apologize, Mr. Bravo—”

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

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

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

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

The remaining daylight you spend cleaning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re the options?”

“Chicken roulade or salmon.”

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

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

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

“Dining room or room service?”

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

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

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

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

“But still—”

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

“What? I’m not—”

“Besides, it should be legal—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Bravo,” you smile in greeting.

“Dieter.”

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

“I’ll take it.”

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

“Just you.”

“What about you, where do you eat?”

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

“You could eat out here.”

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

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

“Unless you want me to join you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I… shouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cheers,” he holds up his glass.

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

“Dieter.”

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

He watches you as he absorbs this, face inscrutable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not doing Christmas?”

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

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

“No shit, you have to work?”

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

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

“I have my pick of the empty suites.”

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

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

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

“Oh well obviously, fuck 201.”

“Obviously,” you laugh, shaking your head.

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

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

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

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

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

—

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:00 PM

DING

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

“Hi—”

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

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

“Dieter.”

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

“Help yourself.”

“Do you want one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because—well, because—”

“Can you make me grilled cheese?”

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

“Right now?”

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

“Can I shovel first?”

“Sure,” he shrugs.

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

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

“Probably. Want some with your grilled cheese?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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

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

What a fucking nightmare.

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

“The fan doesn’t work.”

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

—

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:45 PM

The range hood’s fan roars to life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whadda you mean?” you frown.

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

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

You shake your head.

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, seriously?!”

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

“Because we’re snowed in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does grilled cheese help?”

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

“Is that a good thing?”

“Absolutely.”

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

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 10:00 AM

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

DING

Regrettably, your heart skips a beat.

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

“Good morning, did you sleep ok?”

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

“No, what can I get for you?”

“Denver Omelet?”

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

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

“Down here or in your room?”

“Here is fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? What’re you painting?”

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

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

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

“I agree, it’s a special place.”

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

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

“In pictures.”

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

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

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 2:00 PM

You may be in trouble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that the shitty one?”

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

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

“Sure—”

“Or the uhh… the smallest blue whale.”

“Yeah, I mean—”

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

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

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

It is undeniable.

You have a big fat crush.

So fucking professional.

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

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

Curiosity prods your heart.

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

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

Dusting it is.

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 6:59 PM

Every minute that drags on feels like an eternity.

The grandfather clock in between the library bookshelves mocks you.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

Begins to sound more like:

He-doesn’t-like-you

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

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

It’s so dumb.

Really, you know how it sounds.

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

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

Can’t get far enough away from you.

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

You sigh at the clock.

—DING! DING! DING!

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter.

The lights die.

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

“Fuck.”

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

Well, he seems chipper.

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

Footsteps thud down the steps onto the first floor landing.

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

“Genny?”

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

“I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, sir—”

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

“Cute,” he teases.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to carry that?”

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

“No, I got it.”

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

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

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

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

“Were you painting?”

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” you say as he steps aside.

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

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

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

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

“Oh god, what?”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

He doesn’t, though.

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

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

“Shit.”

“And power might be out until Tuesday.”

“Tuesday? Are you fucking serious?”

“I apologize, sir—”

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

The words come out sharp and bitter.

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

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

He pauses to take a swig of the liquor.

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

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

“Oh, fuck off. I’m annoying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you be joining me?”

“Do you want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck it, why not?”

So fucking professional.

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

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

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

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

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

“What is this, a role reversal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the possibilities.”

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 9:30 PM

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

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

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

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

“Can I open another bottle?”

“Go for it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, sir.”

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

“Sorry. Habit.”

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

“Hmm?”

“The book.”

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

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

“Palm reading?”

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

“Have you ever been to a palm reader?”

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

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

“You know how?”

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, it seems like quite the opposite.

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

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

“Ominous.”

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

You do.

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

But really, you know he’s right.

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

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

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

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

“But what if it’s right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“But it feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Underwear too?”

He nods.

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

“What about me?”

“I wanna see it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god—I do, Dieter, I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes yes yes yes yes—”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

“Holy fucking shit—”

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

“God yes, please, baby.”

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me,” he pants, reeling you in.

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

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

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

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

“So fucking good—Ffffuck—”

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

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

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

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

“Amazing,” you chuckle, “Wow.”

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

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

“Hmm?”

“It’s dumb.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so. Do you?”

You shake your head.

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

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

—

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 8:00AM

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

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

Was it a dream? Did that actually fucking happen?

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

“Doing what?”

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

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

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

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

“What’re you freaking out about?”

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug.

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

Again, you shrug.

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

“You do?”

“Cross my heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

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

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

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

You snort with laughter.

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

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

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

—

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 6:00PM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naturally, your nerves have been buzzing since.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dieter—”

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

“Sad? Lonely?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Once in a Blue Moon.”

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

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knavesflames · 4 months ago

Note

since we are both sick in the head, i request biker arle headcanons (both sfw and nsfw)

oouuhhh thinking about biker arle who looks all intimidating and has tattoos showing up to your doorstep with flowers and melts when shes around you

im gonna throw up

thankyouiloveyoubyee

We truly are sick in the head. Literally what is it about this woman that has us in such a chokehold actually it’s so stupid but UGH. I have not once simped over a fictional woman as hard as this. Anyway, screaming, crying, throwing up at the thought of her

Anyone notice the references to a couple people in server?

Word count: 1159

Contents: fluff, soft arle, she’s scary but she’s not

Fluff utc!

Arlecchino. Everyone knows her. Who wouldn’t know the biker filled with tattoos, going around cursing like a sailor and never being seen without that stupid motorbike? She’s scary, intimidating. Even the grown adults shy away when they hear the familiar engine from afar, or refuse to look at her when she grumbles out that she wants to buy coffee. Even the store owner who supplies her parts for her bike and accessories for her stumbles over his words when she says she wants a new helmet. This one just doesn’t make her hair look nice when she takes it off, she says. The store owner is too intimidated to correct her, and tell her that it is not, in fact, the helmet’s fault.

The people in town also seem to be a little wary around you, too. They seem to know that if they say the wrong thing, or cause your face to fall or crumple, or cause tears to fall from your pretty eyes, that they’ll soon be facing the wrath of Arlecchino. Nobody seems to understand how you managed to break through her walls, how someone like you, so opposite Arlecchino, has her melting. Everyone sees it. Do they comment on it? Do they want to face her piercing glare, and whatever else she would do? Not a chance. It’s a little comical, though, seeing someone so tough looking, waiting outside of a store holding your cat, holding her in her arms while she feeds it treats every so often, going so far as to buy and place a bandana around her neck to surprise you. She does this all with a straight face, of course. It’s second nature to her, she’ll do anything for that smile of yours, the same smile that makes her feel like her insides have been set ablaze, makes her feel like a blushing teenager all over again.

You yourself think it’s adorable. Walking out of the store to see her holding your beloved cat (you joke that the cat is more important than her to see her pout) (you reassure her straight after that they’re on the same level, just to watch her pale cheeks flush a light pink). In reality, she makes you melt just as much. You have to hide the grin forming on your face when she speaks to you in that stoic voice she always has.

“Look. She looks dashing, I think. Matches my bike. I should get her a helmet.. I will ask someone to custom make one, I can take her on rides.” You cut her off immediately with an “absolutely not. My cat is not riding on a motorcycle.”

“Oh. Okay. I am still getting her a helmet. I want us to match.” She responds, her face completely blank, which makes everything funnier. You stand on your toes to kiss her cheek, pretending you don’t see the way her eyes widen. “My two favourite beings staying safe, wonderful.”

Even the notion that she’s one of your favourite things has her turning on her heel to conceal the ever growing blush on her face. She finds herself blushing often when she’s around you, she realises. She realises also that her words falter when you tell her to not speed, to make sure she’s wearing the correct material, that no, she doesn’t need to try and look sexy, that you find her the sexiest when she’s wearing the correct things.

She’s out riding for longer than usual, this time. The evening is dragging on, and she ALWAYS texts you when she’s home. She knows how you worry.

She is, actually, finished with her evening ride. Riding her bike as the sun sets is freeing for her. She likes to picture all of the negative shit being left in the wind as she drives. This evening, however, she drove past a field. A field decorated with different wild flowers she just knows you’d love. So, she slows to a stop, parking her bike in a way she knows won’t get it damaged. Her bike is her prized possession, second to you. She wades through the flowers, finding the best ones, slicing the stalk with her nails, the ones she kept long and not filed blunt (for your sake, of course). She grumbles to herself when the ovule gets under her nails. Once she deems the small bouquet good enough, she drives to you. Stopping just a little ways from you, she ties her boot lace around the stalks of the flowers, tying a clumsy bow. Arlecchino being Arlecchino, fixes herself as best as she can before she finds her feet moving towards your door.

When you rush to open the door after hearing her familiar knocking pattern, your own words falter for once. There she is. Stood in that shirt she KNOWS shows off her arms and the tattoos she knows you love, stood in those jeans she and you know all too well shows off her ass. She’s caught you staring, it’s the reason she wears them. And in her hand sits a messy, slightly wilted bouquet of flowers, clearly handpicked, hand cut (or rather, nail cut, you can see the residue under her nails), tied clumsily with a boot lace of all things.

“Here,” she mutters, “I thought you’d like these. Sorry they’re all.. weird.” You’re silent for a few seconds before she speaks again, a little defeat in her tone as she glances away, a sad frown twisting at her features despite her attempting to hide it. “Never mind. It was stupid. They’re ugly now, anyway. Have a good night.”

She goes to turn, but your hand shoots out and wraps around her bicep before she can leave. “Stop it. I love them. I don’t know what to say because you’re so.. adorable.”

“I’m what.” Her voice almost sounds shocked, if it wasn’t for the rough attempt at stoicism. She never thought she’d be called adorable in her life. She’s not meant to be adorable. She doesn’t want to be adorable. Her insides say otherwise, when she sees your soft eyes, filled with small tears, and your eyebrows furrowed in a look of pure adoration. You snatch the flowers before she can take them away, immediately walking into your home and placing them in a vase in the middle of your living room. She watches, straight faced, no indication of her feelings until she huffs, her face bright red.

“Turn on the air condition. It’s fucking hot in here. Where’s that kitty of yours, I want to see if she liked the fox toy I bought her.”

You look at her once more, a giggle rising in your throat as you tilt your head towards the cat tower, your eyes following as she moves towards it. You realise just how much you love this woman. At the same time, she realises she probably wants to spend her life with you, if you’d let her.

#🦊 𝔎𝔦𝔱 #🔥 𝔎𝔫𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔰𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔟𝔬𝔵 #Arlecchino #arlecchino fluff #Arlecchino genshin #Arlecchino genshin impact #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin impact #arlechinno genshin #arlechinno x reader #arle #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin wlw #arlecchino x you #Arlecchino heheheheh

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angel-eyes05 · 1 year ago

Text

a spider in the snow

pairing: fem!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: you help rehabilitate an injured miguel after he returns from one of his late night patrols…in more ways than one

warnings: nsfw, fluff then smut then fluff, handjob (both m and f recieving), blood mention, an incy wincy tincy bit of angst

word count: 2.5k

notes: heyyyyy i've come back from the dead. i don't really write a lot of one shots so go easy on me for this one. just like every horny person on the internet, i’ve fallen head over heels in love with miguel o’hara. this is me giving into my impulses lmao. sorry if i do anything thats out of character idk him that well so just work with me here. i also don't know everything about nueva york and if names are different than here or something so im just gonna pretend they’re the same. if they are, great! if not, just go with it lmao. one more thing, despite being cuban i am a no sabo kid (rip me) so i had to use a translator for some of this so apologies in advance if some things aren't super accurate. ok lets get on with the show.

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

Snowy nights in Nueva York have always been one of your favorite parts about moving up north. Seeing all the lit up buildings illuminated in the snow, all the people ice skating in Rockefeller Center rink just below your apartment window, the reminders of Christmas coming soon. It kept your heart warm against the freezing temperatures outside. You also loved the feeling of being able to bundle yourself up in blankets and hoodies, a mix of yours and your boyfriend’s, having an excuse to make hot chocolate, and finally being able to use the fireplace that normally laid dormant in the middle of your living room. The one con about the snow was when it would land on Miguel’s patrol nights. Your already nervous mind was only heightened by the added uncertainty of everything that could happen while he was out there. What if he got too cold while out there and it affected his ability to fight? What if it started snowing too hard and he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the apartment? You knew some of your concerns were probably dumb, but they felt serious to you.

This was one of those nights. One of the nights where you would sit on your couch, next to the cracked window, unable to sleep until you could see him come back safe. You flipped through the channels of the tv aimlessly, trying to find something to keep your mind off of the growing cold outside. You eventually turn it off after coming across the weather channel, claiming a snowstorm would be rolling into the city in about 15 minutes. Deciding there was nothing you could do about your situation, you walked over to your bedroom and wrapped yourself in your massive duvet to shield from the cold. Worries dashed around your mind about everything that could happen. Despite being verbally supportive about Miguel and his…hobbies, you really hated the idea of him sneaking out in basically pajamas almost every night to “beat up the bad guys” essentially. Even though he had explained everything to you by this point, having been dating for about three years now, you still couldn’t quite understand everything. Radioactive spiders? Corrupt businesses? Fangs and claws? Mutations? A multiverse? It was a lot to wrap your head around. But, despite all of this, all of your worries and concerns over Miguel, you stayed. Because you knew you didn’t start dating him because of his whole superhero business or whatever. You were dating him because you loved him. The real him. The way he would always press gentle kisses into the crook of your neck. How on his days off, you would be woken up to the smell of eggs and bacon cooking in the kitchen just for you. How he would always whisper sweet praises to you while you would give him head. How easily he could be crumbled down beneath his rock hard exterior. The Miguel underneath the red and blue spandex. You dreamt of this as you slowly fell into a calm slumber. You fell asleep bundled up in all the blankets on your bed, arm outstretched to the opposite side the bed, almost as if you were reaching for something that wasn’t there.

After some time had passed, you’re not sure exactly how much, you were awoken by a thud coming from your bathroom. You lazily rubbed your eyes and grabbed your alarm clock to check the time. 3:47 am. Yeah, that’s definitely Miguel in there. You dragged yourself out of bed to help him out, throwing one of this hoodies over your tank top for extra warmth. You also liked how it still smelled like him after three times in the wash. You opened the door, eyes squinting from the bright fluorescent light. And there he was. You found it endearing. How Miguel was trying, and failing, to reach this massive scratch on his back to clean it instead of just waking you up to ask for your help. You look to the floor to find a bottle of hydrogen peroxide sitting there on the rug, probably what caused the thudding sound. You stood there leaning in the doorframe, waiting for him to notice you, even though he probably already heard every step you’ve taken from the bed up to the door now. “You need any help there?” you ask him, jokingly. You had seen him in much worse conditions, so you took moments like these to be more comedic, an attempt to lighten his mood sort of. It didn’t usually work. “No, I got it. Please go back to sleep,” he said, still attempting to wrap his arms around himself. You rolled your eyes and walked over to sit behind him, picking up the hydrogen peroxide off the floor and grabbing a couple of cotton balls from the first aid basket. “Mi amor, please go back to sleep, I promise I can do this by myself,” he argued. Before he could get another word in, you poured some of the hydrogen peroxide over his wound. He groaned in response and squeezed your thigh to help level out the pain. “That’s for worrying me all night,” you said to him, just over the volume of a whisper. As you began to dab the blood off of his cut, he responded. “You know I don’t want you to worry.” Once you could see he was turning his head around to look at you, you turned your eyes away. You didn’t really want to look at him right now. It’s not that you were mad at him. Ok that’s a lie, you were a little mad. But it was more of a helplessness you felt when you would see him like this. Beat up, cut, scratched, bruised. And there wasn’t anything you could do to help. Not until after at least. And it wasn’t like you were a trained nurse or anything. You dreaded the day that he would come stumbling through the window, too injured for you to take care of yourself. Or worse. The day he wouldn’t come home at all. “Yeah, well that doesn’t mean I don’t,” you said sort of coldly. You stood up from your position, waiting to patch up his back until after he showered. You changed your positions to sit from behind him to in front, ready to take care of his front side now. “I don’t want to talk about that right now tho-.” You cut yourself off when you finally saw his face

Cuts were scattered across his face, one above his eyebrow still dripping blood catching your attention first. He also had a bruise quickly forming on his left cheekbone. Once you moved your eyes more, you saw his nose marked with a deep cut going through the middle. His beautiful nose. It was one of your favorite parts of his appearance. Done scanning his face, your eyes moved down to his chest and his torso. His chest was marked with similar cuts to the one on his back. You kept your eyes on his chest in an attempt to hide the fact you were holding back tears right now. “I’m sorry mi cariño. I really am.” You knew he was. But sorry wasn’t going to keep him safe. This was one apology among many. It didn’t really matter. He wasn’t sorry for getting hurt again and again and again. He was sorry for the fact you had to see him like this. If you wouldn’t have seen that he was injured, he wouldn’t have said anything And you knew after this apology as well, he would go out tomorrow night and do the same thing over again. You didn’t respond to his words. All you could manage to do was pull him into an embrace and apologize when he winced from your hands hitting his cuts. You sat there for a bit, running your hands through his hair and trying to hold yourself back from crying. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and planted gentle kisses there, each a little apology from him. Once you finally pulled away and wiped your face, you started to clean the scrapes on his face, this time more gentle than his back. You dabbed the cotton ball on his forehead as he held you straddled on his lap. He admired your features as you concentrated on him, rubbing your back with his fingers in the process. You didn’t say much, only a simple “sorry” if you were a little too rough with cleaning. Despite the stern face you were putting on, Miguel knew you secretly liked the way he would grab at your thighs and hips with his claws when you did something that hurt.

Once you were finished, you silently put the first aid equipment away and left the bathroom so he could take a shower. He planted a soft kiss into your forehead before you left the room. Once you crawled back into bed, you sighed to yourself. How did you end up here anyways? There’s no way you were expecting all of this when you first saw Miguel at the concert bar that day. Some days were amazing with him. Others were much harder. And while you’ve definitely had worse days with him, today was leaning on the latter option. You contemplated all of this until you heard the door to the bathroom behind you open, Miguel stepping out of the steaming room with his towel wrapped around his lower body. You were very quickly reminded of one of the reasons you’ve stayed with him for so long. The way his wet curls were laying around his head. How his chest glistened while it was damp, despite currently being tattered with cuts at the current moment. He sleepily shuffled over to the bed, dropping his towel before crawling up close to you in bed. The warmth of Miguel’s freshly showered body against yours helped to melt the majority of your worries away. It also helped that you could feel his his cock getting harder against your leg while he cuddled against you. You finally turned around to face him, cupping his jaw in your hand and rubbing your thumb across his face. He grasped your hand and pressed soft kisses into it. “I love you so much Miggy,” you finally said, breaking the silence and drawing his eyes towards you. “I really do, and I’m sorry if I ever make it seem like I don’t. You just…you scare me sometimes.” You quickly realize those weren’t the words you meant. You begin to stutter and take back your words a bit, until you see that Miguel has given you his full attention. You take a deep breath and continue. “You don’t scare me. It’s more of what you do that scares me. I never know when you’re gonna come back or if you even are. If you think I take joy in taking care of you after you come back, I really don’t. I hate seeing my boy like this. And it makes me scared that one day you’re gonna come back in a shape I can’t fix. It scares me so bad Miggy you don’t even know,” you say, choking back your tears. Once Miguel notices you’re about to start crying, he wraps his arms around you immediately. “Shhh it’s ok preciosa,” he comforts as you quietly cry into his broad shoulders. “I’m so sorry for making you worry,” he says in between kissing the top of your head. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, and I love you too.”

You pull away from his hug and stare into his beautiful crimson eyes as he wipes away your tears. You suddenly fall into the overwhelming urge to kiss him. He returns the kiss with even more passion than you put into it. You quickly found yourself exploring his body with your hands, moans escaping his lips whenever you would graze over one of his wounds. You drew yourself closer to him to absorb more of his body heat, though you were quickly reminded of his bare cock as you could feel it hardening on your leg. Your hands eventually made it down there, teasing Miguel along the way as you felt him up on the way down. You then took his hard, already wet cock into your hands, caressing every ridge you could find on it. You could hear more moans exit his mouth and slide into yours as you handled him like putty. He would let out messier sounds, even a growl at one point, and jerk forward into your hand when you would tease around his tip. “F-fuck baby. Y-you’re s-so good to me. ‘N pr-retty too,” he would blurb out Feeling his cock get increasingly hard in your hand began to make you slightly wet as well. This only increased as Miguel began to take off your underwear as well, sliding two of his fingers into your pussy and placing his thumb to draw circles onto your clit. Your grip on his length becomes lazy and sloppy as you’re stimulated as well. You’re surprised at how quickly Miguel is able to find your clit, but then again you expect him to know your body so well after three years. After both of you have been at it for a while, you’re the first one to get close to your orgasm. “Fuck M-Miggy, I-I’m gonna cum,” you manage to moan out. His kisses on you get sloppy as he reaches his as well. It’s over for you once he begins to put more pressure onto your core. You let out an inhuman noise as your stomach fills with the white heat of your orgasm, shaking your entire body. Miguel takes his fingers out of your entrance and licks your cum off of his fingers. It’s then over for him when you eventually put the pressure of your fingers onto his cock. You hand is then covered in his cum once he reaches his climax in your fist, moaning intensely into the air. While he’s in the middle of his orgasm, his claws pop out of his fingers and into your hips and underneath your thigh where his hands are placed. Then, he lets out his fangs and uses them to leave hickeys into your neck, making sure not to let out any of his poison while doing so. “Just stay here with me Miggy,” you sigh out, his fangs deep into your neck. “You don’t ever need to go back out there again. Just stay here with me forever.” He simply nods at first, still sucking into your neck. Once he lets go and and begins to calm down, he responds with “Forever and always mi corazón,” whispering the words into your ear as he lays more kisses along your collarbone and neck.

You stare outside the window at the falling snow, hoping this time he’ll keep his word, but knowing deep down that he wasn’t going to. But for now, you could just appreciate your time with him now. He was all yours right now. Everything. And that was enough.

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

A/N: uhhhh sorry but i didn't feel like proofreading this cause its super late for me rn sorry not sorry lmao

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #x reader #smut #marvel smut #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderverse

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alexa-fika · 9 months ago

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Hello! I am the anon who requested the winged!child! Dracule reader, I got so giddy when I saw your reply. And yes the red haired is fine.

Seriously your work is awesome ♡♡

Lost Birds ( Red Haired Pirates x gn!child!Dracule!Reader)

A/N: Guys Finally! After watching the screen for hours it finally hit me and I think I COOKED, also thank you anon l, you’re gonna make me blush. -Yall I fell asleep while writing that this was meant to be posted yesterday 💀

Dividers by @saradika

Yassop sat at the crow’s nest, watching over the ship as usual and looking for any danger to the Red Force; his attention diverted to bustle below him, his crew involved in their usual antics despite the dangers awaiting them upon their arrival.

He glanced at his Captain talking to his first mate; when he first announced they were to head to Marineford, he was surprised, but he never hesitated; he knew what was at stake, how much lives could be lost if this was left alone

His thoughts were quickly interrupted as a sound came from above him; his head shooting up, he promptly took out his weapon and aimed it at an approaching figure, alerting the crew below him

His eyes narrowed as a sound started being heard the closer the figure got

“What is it, Yassop?” Beckman questions from the deck

Yassop stayed silent with his weapons still drawn, his eyes carefully analysing the figure in approaching them,

“We have company,” Yassop finally responded in a calm voice.

“There!” He said shooting towards the figure

“Ah!” Dokucha exclaims quickly, diving down to avoid the shot

“Hey! Mister, that’s rude!” they exclaim, landing on the deck of the ship only to shriek at the sound of a gun being cocked right behind them

Behind them stood Benn Beckman, pointing his weapon at them the rest of the officers not far behind

“Who are you?” He inquired, the usual cigarette resting on his lips, his eyebrows raising as Dokucha turned around, his weapon lowering slightly

“You’re just a kid…wait, you’re…”

“Dokucha?” Asks Shanks, walking closer to the small child kneeling down next to them

“Uncle Shanks? Uncle Shanks!” They laugh, throwing themselves at the man

Shanks laughed, wrapping his arms around the child, who was visibly smaller than him

"It's been a while since I've seen you" he smiled, brushing their hair

“You know them, Cap?” Question Yassop climbing down from his previous spot

“Did you drink too much yassop, or did you forget their face?” Pipes Beckman

Yassop Glances at the kid for a few seconds, taking notice of the wings, quickly realizing that not only were those the source of the noise that had alerted him before but that they were too familiar to him

He turns his head around in a flash as recognition washes in his features

“This is Hawkeyes kid?!”

“Papa?” The kid questions happily hearing their father's nickname

Beckmann sighs at this

“What are you doing here?”

“Umm, Papa went somewhere, and I wanted to fly for a bit; I flew too far and got lost.”

Shanks snickers at their words, standing up and ruffling their hair

“I think your father is heading to the same place we are headed, so you are in luck.”

“You’ll take me to Papa Uncle Shanks?”

“I’ll take you to him, but be warned,” he says to the child, smiling,” It’ll probably be a bit chaotic when we get there.”

“Okay!” they exclaim, their eyes glancing at the man behind him

“Hey! You were the one shooting me!” they accused, flying towards the sniper

Yasopp laughs, watching the child make a dash at them

“I wasn’t aiming at you, it was a warning shot,” the man replies nervously

“I ‘m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Don’t be hard on the poor man, Dokucha; you did take all of us off guard,” laughed Shanks

“Hmph”

“Just don’t fly too far from our ship,” he says, still ruffling their hair

“I don’t want you getting lost again.”

“Okayyy, Uncle Shanks,”

“Is this really Hawkeye’s kid?” Mutters Hongo, looking at the child

“Im Papa’s kid!” The child cheers

Hongo smiles a bit, shaking his head at the sight

“I like your wings,” he tells the child

“Thank you!” They said, spinning around and flapping their wings

“Mmhm!”

“How do you sleep without smacking your wings everywhere?”

Hongo asks with an amused smile

They gasp offended

“I know how to use them! Let me smack you with them!” They said, shooting toward the doctor

“Still as lively as ever,” Shanks laughs, taking hold of them

“Let me at them, Uncle Shanks!”

“No need for that; Hongo’s one of us,” Shanks responds, putting the child down

“Hongo is our doctor, after all.”

They pout at him

Beckmann raises an eyebrow at the child

“Do you wanna cause a fight, little one?”

“They were insulting my flying!”

Beckmann sighs in amusement at the child

“He was just asking you about your wings.”

“Oh”

He smiles and ruffles the kid's hair,

“Just don’t smack the doctor.”

Okay I admit that ending could use some work but.. yeah thats it it needs more work 😂

Taglist:

@imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

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dollcherray · 8 months ago

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୨୧ LAMB WITH TEETH ♡.°୭̥

Scout and Medic meeting an cutegore!reader ⁎⁺˳✧༚

Triggers: gore, lots of descriptive death, its TF2 so its the basic.

Reader's info: Reader is heavily implied to be a girl, very small (like five feet tall) and does blood rituals.

type: headcanons, romantic/platonic

୨୧ THE SCOUT ♡

୨୧ When scout first met you, he was heavily convinced you were not going to last in the battlegrounds, by your height and the way you dressed all in pink and cutesy ribbons, Not to mention that you had a bunch of stuffed animals in your bags.

୨୧ He would mock you for the first few days, calling you "short ghost", since you were always so quiet and observant, you didnt even greet him properly when he talked to you for the first time.

୨୧ The mockery would be often until the first day you had to fight together, and oh boy, shocked wasnt even close of how he felt after seeing you all covered in blood and pieces of organs.

୨୧ Your delicate and fluffy pink dress being painted by the vibrant red color of blood along with small pieces of the members of the enemy team's organs.

୨୧ Your chainsaw as pink as your dress, turned on and sawing your enemies in half without mercy, the sound of the chainsaw almost drowning out the enemy team's spy screams of pain.

୨୧ You turned off your chainsaw, leaving it aside stuck in the spy's stomach, you dashed away from the gory scenario you caused, pulling out a knife with a pink decorative bow on it, you were laughing like a maniac, ready to stab some bitches.

୨୧ he already was terrified by the thought that he understimated you who turned out being an total psycopath, and the sight he had of you chasing the other team's scout like your life depended on it didnt help at all.

୨୧ "IM GONNA USE YOUR HEAD AS MY DECORATION WALL YOU FUCKING BRAINLESS DEER" you shouted in the most terrifying, shivering voice chasing the enemy scout that was screaming like a fucking siren for his life.

୨୧ after the battle was over, Scout got real quiet around you, he wouldnt apologize or anything, he just would silently avoid talking to you.

୨୧ you noticed that, of course, but you didnt care at all, because you had other things to attend to.

୨୧ After a while, Scout little by little started trying to interact with you, to, you know, take away that guilt that he was excluding you from behind his back (or the fear that you will suddenly appears in his room to take all of his teeth out while he sleeps as revenge).

୨୧ and it turns out you're a chill person when not in killing mode or when your in "dont talk to me" mode, Scout hitted himself internally for subestimating you AGAIN.

୨୧ You two turned to be great friends in the end, but he still gets the creeps from you because of your brutal habits.

୨୧ he stays away from your room AT ALL COSTS.

୨୧ Seriously, the last time he entered your room without knocking, he witnessed you performing an creepy blood ritual with an Spy head (you TOTALLY didnt steal it from medic).

୨୧ You just waved to him like what you were doing was totally normal.

୨୧ But when hes not scared of you, he jokes with you alot, especially in the battlegrounds, he uses you as a threat alot to the enemies, or as a special weapon.

୨୧ "SAY HELLO, TO MY LITTLE FRIEND" he screams as he pulls you out of nowhere and throws you in the enemy heavy's face like a fucking bug.

୨୧ One time, you decided to pull a little prank on him, you hid yourself in his room's shadows, and when he finally entered, you jumped on him with the most terrifying screech ever.

୨୧ Lets say that Scout turned into Ariana grande that day.

୨୧ "ooo yeah your real scary." Scout said trying to keep his "toughness" after the most girly, feminine high pitched, chipmunking scream ever.

୨୧ meh, cant say that i see him dating someone as cruel as you, so 100% platonic

⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ MEDIC ୨୧

୨୧ OH NO, NOT HIM.

୨୧ Ok, i dont think he would take a liking to you at first, he would just ignore you, only thought he would have about you is that the way you dress is cute, but he would assume you were weak.

୨୧ Another one who would understimate you, the only difference is that he wouldnt mock you, its Medic, hes more mature than Scout. (anyone is more mature than scout.)

୨୧ He wouldnt even bat an eye on you, at most only wave or greet you shortly because he knows you're eerily quiet and doesnt really have a big habit of talking, until you two were in battle.

୨୧ He was healing heavy that time, and thats when he saw you stabbing an enemy demoman in the cheek repeatedly. your maniacal laughs almost silencing the demoman's screams and begs.

୨୧ He was STUNNED, he swore that he started seeing everything going in slow motion, your silky hair moving with each brutal and fast movement you did, the scarlet liquid flying into your delicate face and soft hair.

୨୧ You finished the demoman with only one hard and brute swing with your arms, your little delicate hands clutching the knife handle so hard that they were a little bit red, and with only one hard moviment, you carved your knife into the demoman's head.

୨୧ “Look! now your an unicorn” you mocked the now dead demoman infront of you, before grabbing your pink knife decorated with your enemy's blood and brain, getting up and running away like a possessed bug.

୨୧ The ex doctor's heart was beating like crazy, he didn't know what caused him to fall for you in that moment, you killing the man so brutally, or if it was your delicate pink clothes being dyed with blood. (or maybe both)

୨୧ After the battle, you could feel medic burning holes into you, he was staring you like crazy, not that it bothered you, it was just unusual for people to stare at you like that, especially when no one really dares to look at you out of feat.

୨୧ Medic would try to strike some conversation with you regardless if you answer him or not, he would just be happy with you listening to him.

୨୧ The thing that Medic most likes in you is how you can balance your cute aesthetic with your creepy habits, its really impressive to him, for him its either one or another.

୨୧ When he saw you doing your blood rituals, he would be interested, since.. you know, he already got involved with the devil himself, sometimes if you need he'll gift you with a kidney or two.

୨୧ "Well, my friend, i must say that i have subestimated vou in the first time we've met! i should judge a book by its cover less." he would confess in a casual discussion between you two.

୨୧ I think he would ask you out by gifting you a head with a note attached written: "will you steal organs with me?" real cheesy but creepy.

୨୧ He used uber on you once, not really a good idea... for the enemy team.

୨୧ You were tearing bitches left and right, there was guts and blood everywhere, in your face, body, floors, walls, EVERYWHERE.

୨୧ You only stopped when you met your demise, and medic was admiring you the entire time.

୨୧ Medic likes your killer-machine behavior, he says it adds to your cuteness ♡

#team fortress 2 #X reader #tf2 medic #tf2 scout #medic tf2 x reader #scout tf2 #scout x reader #tf2 #fanfic #headcanons #tf2 x reader #tf2 fanfiction #x you #feminine reader #cute gore #୨୧ cherry works

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hobies-princealbert · 1 year ago

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Head Empty. Thinking about high!plug!fontaine n high!reader. He’d def be the plug that flirts with her and gives her deals and one day he asks her to smoke wit him for free and they just start making out in his car listening to music. 😱😱😱

gurl the new pfp frightened me a bit ngl 💀💀

but coming right up! i took some creative liberties cuz i kinda forgot to double check what your ask said. im srry its just once i got that ball rolling, i couldn't stoppp ( ´,_ゝ`)

plug! fontaine x high! reader | (the nsfw is below the cutting off)

▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎��︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎♤▪︎▪︎

♤ taine wasn't exactly your first choice for a plug. he was a well known dealer in the glen, but the things he was known for made you hesitant. he was a no nonsense type dealer, he gives a price, you pay on time. if you can't do as simple as that then you wasting his time. and knowing you were tight on money sometimes, you decided it best to stick to the plugs you knew.

♤ but twelve wack ass joints later, you found yourself sitting in a certain green cadillac that you never thought you'd set foot in. both of you sat in silence for a few seconds, only a few feet away from each other.

♤ you patiently watched as he tried to light his spliff with the faulty lighter. growing more frustrated, he soon tossed the lighter onto the dash, then turned to you expectantly. and as if you could read his mind, you pulled your lighter and held it up for him to take.

♤ he stared at you for a bit, you felt as if you body was on fire. he had a pair of the scariest eyes you've ever seen. and he kept those eyes on you the entire time. not once looking away.

♤ you felt him wrap around your wrists. he pulled your hands closer to his face. your entire body became solid rock. all you could hear was your heart beating in your ears. the grip on your wrists were slack, giving you enough leeway to pull back if you wanted to. but something about the way he looked at you, made you stay still for him.

♤ he motioned for you to light the joint. you obliged. the orange glow of the flame made his eyes even more sinister. god he's terrifying. hot but, terrifyingly hot. once it was lit, he leaned back and let your wrist fall from his grasp. he took two puffs before he passed it over. " 'ere. take it. ' tell me if 'sgood enough."

♤ your breath was shaky as you inhaled the smoke. it was strong, definitely would get you fucked up in less than a minute. you handed it back to him. "you barely took tha' shi'. come 'ere."

♤ he placed the blunt back between his lips, as he settles one of his hands behind your head. "was he gonna gimme a shotgun right now. he's not....is he?" you let your brain rambled for bit till a low "open" brought you back.

♤ taine never does this, especially with cilents. but he took an interest in you. you seemed nervous, unlike most of his clients that just want their quick fix. and it helps that you weren't bad looking either. kinda cute in fact.

♤ but that didn't mean he wasn't fed up from watching your pretty little lips not taking his blunt properly. that shit ain't cheap. but you took the shot gun gave you pretty well. he saw how the smoke made your eyes a little teary, so he wiped a couple away before he let you go.

♤ you stared at him for a bit. he found you amusing that's for sure. and while he was trying to subside a smirk, you were trying to calm the ache between your legs. god you needed to get out this car before you did something you regret. but would you regret it? from the way his pants seemed to be stiffening, he probably felt the same way.

♤ reaching into his jacket he pulled a small plastic baggy,,that looked to contain at least 5 grams. your eyes went wide. this was way more than the agreed amount, that's at least $45 bucks, you didn't have that much on you. shit shit shit.

♤ "easy ma, this one's on the house" and with that you became one of his regulars. and his favorite at that.

♤ of course you became his favorite. i mean he'd never let a customer come over his house. much less one sit on his couch, smoke his blunt and watch a show on his tv.

♤ he certainly wouldn't let a customer stretch their legs across his lap either. or let one inch closer to him than appropriate, to the point where they made it onto his lap. he didnt mind, it definitely did help him relieve the ache between his legs. and he wasn't opposed to the way you let him kiss alongside your jaw, and even suck a couple marks into your skin.

♤ no regular of his ever let him pull down their shorts and toss them to god knows where. he's never gotten on his knees and licked a fat stripe along over their panties. never has he had to pull said panties to the side just so he could finally get a good look at how at your cunt.

♤ you were the only one who's clit he's mouthed at till his jaw ached. he didn't stop till he had to wrap his hands around your hips to hold you still.

♤ never once as taine let a regular, eagerly lick his precum from the slit to the point where he'd lull his head back everytime he felt their tongue dip into his slit. or had one force his cock into their mouth till the tip hit the back of their throat. and they stayed deepthroating him till he finally released. or had one lick up every last drop of cum that could find. no matter if it some was on his stomach, chest, thigh or on their face. he's never given a regular a couple puffs of his joint as a reward for sucking him to completion.

♤ he wondered if his weed made you like this. was it so good that it made you do your best to take him to the hilt, even though you could barely take a proper breath. probably it was the reason he'd take a minute or two cause the way your walls squeezed him, he swore he was gonna cum inside you right then and there.

♤ was his shit so good that it made you cry out his name and claw at his back with every thrust. had him having to slap your tits whenever you looked too far gone. make him tell you to how good you were, or that from the way your walls started to push him out, you were close. make him coo at you whenever you finally came, so you knew how proud he was. maybe it was why you bared the overwhelming sensation that your release brought so he could reach his edge. maybe that what made you mumbled about him cumming inside you.

♤ tempting but he preferred to release on your cunt so you could reach your hand down and desperately collect his droplets into your mouth. god he loved when you did that. he especially when you parted your slit so he could get one last lick before he let you suck it off his tongue.

♤ never had he had a regular make him feel that good to the point he gave them free weed.

#fontaine x reader #they cloned tyrone #fontaine they cloned tyrone #fontaine x black reader #☆° via writes °☆#fontaine smut

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assortedgoods123 · 6 months ago

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Severus Snape x chatty!reader Soulmate AU

Writers block with stardew valley stuff so im trying something totally different to shake the cobwebs loose

do ppl still need to say they dont fuck with jkr or is it a given at this point? (genuine question)

*meet-cute!!!*

*this reader has titties and gender neutral pronouns*

Walking quickly, your eyes are glued to your phone as you round the corner of a street in London. You are already running late for a meeting but you absolutely refuse to deal with your coworker's bullshit without something caffeinated in your hands.

Just as you are about to look up and find the entrance to the cafe you frequent, you slam into something. You squeak out a nervous gasp when you realize it wasn't a lamp post, but a person.

"Ohmygosh I am so so so sorry!" You say, frantically digging in your bag for your horde of cocktail napkins. Your eyes flit nervously over the stranger, realizing you're both covered in his drink order. Dabbing at his torso with your little napkins, his silence makes you about a thousand times more anxious.

"I really am so so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going, it's totally my fault." You stammer out, glancing at up at his face while you pat pat pat his chest with your napkins.

Your poor little heart, already beating like a hummingbird in your chest, leaps into your throat at the sight of the hottest fucking guy you've ever seen in your life. The kind of hottie you would chase down the street to throw yourself at. You've done very embarrassing things to get a chance to know people who are far less good-looking than this man in front of you now. And because you were too preoccupied with your phone, you're almost certain you won't be walking away with his number.

And he's frozen, staring at you with a weird look on his face. Definitely the worst first impression you could have possibly made.

Never one for fits of grace, you frown and say, "People as attractive as you should come with an escape lever." You throw the soggy napkins in the trash nearby and add, "I hate embarrassing myself in front of hot people."

Still not getting a response, you turn and look up at him. "You gonna say anything handsome?"

Severus Snape has never been rendered this speechless in his entire life.

The day the courts ruled him not guilty enough for Azkaban was certainly shocking, but even that paled in comparison to what he was experiencing now.

He was leaving his favorite coffee shop when he bumped into a muggle. People are clumsy, it happens. But then, instead of apologizing and running away from the tall scary man, they started talking to him. The sweetest, softest voice Severus had ever heard, telling him he's... hot. Attractive. Handsome.

Every single time anyone has ever shown interest in him in public, Severus has immediately and viciously shut them down. Far better to come across as an asshole upfront than to be humiliated and heartbroken later.

But now, he had this sweet little muggle running their warm hands all over his chest in a matter of seconds. Before he could snarl at them to back off, he looked down and, well.

What was already a very low-cut top was now soaked with tea, becoming slightly translucent. Half of Severus was now laser-focused on the stretch of the damp fabric over your tits, while the other half was screaming at him to get a hold of himself.

You asked him a question, he realizes. Jerking his head around to face you properly, he blurts out, "Huh?"

Oh he's doomed, he thinks.

You gasp and grab his arm, "Oh no I'm already so late I need to go right now but listen, here's a bit of money to buy yourself a new drink it's the least I can do I'm so so sorry for running into you and dashing away but I really am late it was nice to meet you bye!"

Hustling away, you sigh and hope you run into him again. Such a shame you couldn't stay and flirt longer. Checking your watch, you growl and break into a jog. Fuck this day, you think.

"Fuck this day" Severus mutters, before heading down an alley to dissipate home. Just like him to meet someone who actually thinks he's attractive only for them to be so late they have to literally run.

It was only a fraction of a moment, but Severus knows it'll be the thing keeping him from falling down a pit of despair some nights.

Hating himself as he does it, he sniffs the money you handed him. It smells like your perfume. He sets it aside on his dresser.

Pathetic virgin, he thinks.

Later that night, however, he wakes with a gasp. "Idiot idiot idiot!" He snarls, yanking the covers away from himself. "You were so focused on them you forgot to check your soul mark" He glowers at himself in the mirror before lifting his tongue. There, on the underside, is a swirl unique to him and his soulmate.

His heart skips a beat when he sees it glitter in the dingy bathroom lighting. It's activated. And the only people he spoke to yesterday were you and the exhausted-looking barista.

He thinks of the look on your face when you saw him, how you pouted so cutely when you threw the napkins away. The way your clothes stretched over your body.

I've gone mad, he thinks, as he throws on some clothes and dissipates to an alley in London.

I am literally insane, you think.

You've been sitting on a bench outside the coffee shop you almost went in yesterday for about half an hour now. It's too early for anyone else to be up and about yet, it's about 3 in the morning. You woke up last night realizing you didn't check your soul mark after meeting that stupidly hot guy. Sure enough, it was activated.

You twist your fingers anxiously, hoping and hoping that he will show up eventually. You'll be so sad if it's not him.

Suddenly, you hear an odd noise in a nearby alley. Nervously, you run your hands along your pepper spray.

Turning your head to look, you see him. Disheveled and breathing heavy, he locks eyes with you and storms over.

Feeling slightly lightheaded, you rush towards him and lift your tongue up so he can see. Tears of happiness and overwhelm run down your face when he nods and shows you his activated mark.

"Can I...?" You open your arms, asking for a hug.

Hesitating, he steps into your embrace, standing like a stiff board while you sniffle into his shirt and squeeze him tight.

You have a good feeling about this.

(not sure how to end it so ill call it here 🤗)

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #soulmate au #meet cute

109 notes · View notes

tilebytiles · 5 months ago

Text

settle for a draw - a.t.

summary: you didn't expect to meet a cowboy. you didn't expect to fall in love with him, either. word count: 5.5k warnings: age gap (reader is 20, alex is 25) a/n: im not the only one who sees tbhc alex as a cowboy ..... right </3

You shouldn't have been so surprised to see the figure approaching your parents' farm, riding his trusty steed and kicking up dust as he approached. You lived on a farm, for crying out loud. You knew the rural life was one a lot of people chose; the countryside was beautiful, for one, but it also offered the perfect chance to get away from it all. None of that stopped you from practically gaping as who you could only assume to be a cowboy approached the front gates.

Okay, maybe you were stereotyping by calling him a cowboy, but he certainly looked the part. One hand was firmly clamped down on his hat, preventing it from being swept away by the wind, and the other clutched the reins, guiding his horse forward with practiced ease. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned and muscled forearms, and the undone buttons of his shirt offered you a sliver of his chest, the gold chain around his neck jostling with each movement.

You were content to stare (ogle), but your father came up beside you on the front porch and clicked his tongue. "Should go see what he wants," he said.

You looked over at him. "Me?" He nodded. "But you said-"

"Y/N, if he tries anything with you while I'm standin' right here, I'm gonna rip him a new one and make sure he sees God."

Your father had a funny way of showing how much he loved you.

You descended the steps and hitched your skirts up, rushing over to the front gate right as the dashing stranger slowed his horse to a stop, gently petting its mane. He looked down at you and tipped his hat politely. "How do you do?" His voice was smooth like velvet and deep, reaching the sort of vocal depths that made your stomach tingle.

"I'm fine, thank you," you said softly, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. "Can I ask what you're doing here?"

"Ah ..." He released the reins to dip his hand into the bag attached to the saddle, pulling out a rolled-up sheet of paper and handing it to you over the gate. You unfurled it and observed the printed colors, taking note of the hastily scribbled markings, presumably by his hand. It was a map. As you looked over it, he said, "Been travelin' for a few days and decided it was best to take a rest. I'm low on supplies, and I wanted t' see if you could help me out any."

You looked back up at him. Your family had never housed anyone outside of your relatives before, but you didn't see why you couldn't accommodate this gentleman. Granted, you'd only spoken to him for ... a minute, max, but he seemed nice enough. Plus, there was a spare bedroom in your house, and your mother was always guilty of making too much food ... You undid the latches and pulled the gate open, producing a thunderous creak. You really needed to oil the hinges soon. The stranger smiled at you, taking the map when you offered it back to him, and stuffed it back into his satchel before swinging one of his legs over and sliding off his horse. He was taller than you, but not by too much. You led him to the front porch, where your father still stood, and asked, "Papa, can he stay for a few days?"

Your father eyed the supposed cowboy for a few long, long moments before finally sighing and nodding. "You better stay away from my daughter," he said, pointing his finger rather threateningly at the man.

The man was at least smart enough to nod quickly. "Of course, sir. I wouldn't ever think o' trying anythin' with her."

Your father slowly nodded in approval before turning to head back into the house, presumably to update your mother on the situation. You watched the door shut, then gestured for the man to follow as you led him around to the back of the house, where the stables were situated. If he was content to remain in silence as you opened one of the stall doors so he could lead his horse inside, you had other plans. "What's your name?"

He glanced at you for a second as he led his horse into the stall, releasing its reins once it was inside. "Alex."

"Alex ... ?"

"Turner."

"That's a funny last name."

He cocked an eyebrow, following you as you picked up a nearby bucket to fill the trough in the stall with water from the pump behind your house. "Well, what's yours?"

"L/N." You dropped the bucket into the grass and began working the pump, your brows scrunching together with exertion.

He crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the movement. "I could argue that's no better than mine."

"I never said it was."

"You got a first name, miss L/N?"

"Y/N." Once the bucket was adequately filled, you lifted it up (trying to ignore the way your arms already wanted to give out) and hauled it back to the stall Alex's horse was in. "How come you're going to the mountains?"

He watched as you poured the water into the trough - it only filled it up about halfway. Silently, he gestured for the bucket, and you hesitated before handing it to him. He headed for the water pump, but you remained by the stall, leaning against the wooden beam that reached up to the stable ceiling. "I got some friends up there," he said, speaking louder so you could hear him. "Plan to stay a week or two with 'em, then head back home."

"It'll take you a couple more days to get there."

"I know. That's why I'm restin' for a few days."

You immediately noticed how much faster he was than you at filling the bucket up. You wanted to be surprised, but you knew you couldn't - he was a skilled rider, and if he was a cowboy, he likely had multiple horses. He knew what he was doing, and his muscular arms hinted at years of practiced motions such as these. He lifted the full bucket with ease, too, as if it was little more than a bundle of feathers. You wondered if he was showing off, only holding it with one hand while you'd needed two. "What's your horse's name?"

He stepped past you to pour the water into the trough. "Lizzie."

You eyed the horse for a few moments. Yeah, she looked like a Lizzie. "She's pretty."

He smiled at that - a small smile, but one nonetheless. "D'ya wanna pet her?"

You blinked. "Can I?"

He set the bucket down outside the stall and pushed the stall door shut, nodding at you as he did so. "She won' bite, if that's what you're worried about."

You stepped up to the stall door and slowly reached your hand out, letting your fingers brush against the top of her nose. In response to your fleeting caress, Lizzie leaned her head forward, her eyes fluttering shut - a silent encouragement. You gave her a more confident pat on her head, then ran your hand along her mane, marveling at how smooth the hairs were. She truly was a stunning horse.

Beside you, Alex was still smiling; you could see it in your periphery. You turned your head to look at him while still offering Lizzie affection. "What?"

He shrugged. "I dunno, 's just always nice t' see people interactin' with her. She's a real attention seeker, y'know. Don't be too nice t' her, or she'll never leave you alone."

That made you laugh. "Is that how you ended up with her?"

He nodded, reaching his own hand out to scratch under Lizzie's chin. "Found her near my farm a few years back. Poor girl was shiverin' to death - looked like she hadn't eaten in a while, either. I gave her some food an' before I knew it, she wouldn't stop nuzzlin' me, demandin' attention. I didn't see the harm in bringin' in one more horse."

"How many do you have?"

"Countin' her, five."

Five? Your family only had two. Maybe your cowboy theory wasn't so far off. Speaking of ... "Are you a cowboy?"

Amusement immediately engraved itself into his features. He opened his mouth to answer, but right as he did, your mother's voice sounded from the back door of your home. "Y/N!" she called. "Time for dinner! Bring your friend, too!"

Beside you, Alex snorted. "I'm your friend, am I?"

You just rolled your eyes and motioned for him to follow as you left the stables.

As soon as you stepped past the threshold of the back door, the smell of herbs filled your nostrils, urging you into the kitchen to find the source. Your mother had just finished plating and was setting a pot down on the stove when you appeared in the doorway, Alex in tow. She looked over at the both of you and smiled. “C’mon, sit down,” she urged, gesturing towards the dining table. You were both quick to acquiesce - you were hungry, and Alex was starving.

Your father appeared and sat across from Alex, your mother sitting across from you. You picked up your cutlery and began to cut into the chicken breast on your plate; the sounds of forks and knives clinking against plates, along with glasses being set down on the table, filled the room. Your mother’s cooking was divine, as always, and you were content to sit in silence and devour everything on your plate. Your father, however, had other plans, and after wiping the crumbs from his mouth, said, “I saw John’s boy in town today.”

Your ears perked up. “Julian?”

He nodded. “Spoke to him some, too. John’s lookin’ to sell one of his horses. I was thinkin’ to pay him a visit tomorrow.”

Your mother, not wanting Alex to feel left out, asked him, “How many horses do you have?”

“Five, ma’am,” Alex said.

“What’s your name, anyway, boy?” your father asked. You wanted to kick him under the table for the way he said it.

“Alex Turner, sir. My farm’s ‘bout a three-day trip from here.”

“Three days? What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“Goin’ to the mountains, sir, to stay with some friends o’ mine.”

Your father simply nodded and stuffed a forkful of roasted potatoes into his mouth. You looked over at Alex and asked, "Do you think you could help me with some chores after dinner?"

"Now, Y/N," your mother said, "Alex is probably tired from all the ridin' he's done."

"No, ma'am, it's no problem." Alex smiled softly at you, the kind of smile that made your stomach feel light. "I'll help you."

You returned his smile. "Thank you."

After dinner, you helped your mother clear the table, get the leftovers into containers that went into the fridge, and wash the dishes. Once you were finished in the kitchen, you headed out into the back with Alex in tow. "We have to make sure everything's locked up," you explained as you walked, "and set the traps for the night."

"Gotcha." You were surprised when he didn't question what the traps were for, but you quickly reminded yourself he had a farm of his own; he probably set traps, too.

While you set about making sure the stables, barn, henhouse, and pens were all locked, Alex worked on the traps. Somehow, he knew exactly what to do without you telling him, and as you passed him on your way to the henhouse, your brows furrowed. "How do you know how to set them?"

He looked up at you from where he was sat in the grass. "I have these traps on my farm. They're the cheapest an' the most convenient."

"Oh." Now you felt a bit silly for asking.

Once you were both finished, you made your way back inside, making sure to lock the back door behind you. While you'd helped your mother in the kitchen, she'd told you she'd already made up one of the guest bedrooms for Alex to stay in, so you led him upstairs and down the hall, stopping in front of the last room on the right. "My room's right across the hall," you said, looking up at him, "so if you need anything, just let me know."

"Okay." He smiled at you. "Thanks, Y/N. Have a good night."

"You too, Alex." You watched as he stepped into the bedroom and flashed you one last smile before shutting the door.

•••••

By the time morning came in the form of rays of light filtering through the window and incessant bird calls from nearby trees, you had forgotten Alex was staying for a few days, not just last night. In fact, you’d nearly forgotten about Alex entirely, resulting in you letting out a yelp when the door to guest bedroom across the hall creaked open to reveal a human figure. A ghost? No one had stayed in that bedroom since your relatives came for the holidays. Your house was haunted, you needed to tell your parents -

“Y/N?” The sound of Alex’s voice was like a lighthouse in the storm, clearing the dark clouds that obscured your vision. No ghost - just the man you thought was a cowboy. You made a note to ask him about that again later.

“Oh …” You cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning against the doorway of your own room. “Hey.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you and leaned against his doorway, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He still wasn’t dressed, you noticed. He was like you and ate before getting ready for the day. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You stared at him, opening your mouth to respond and closing it again when you had nothing to say. Finally, you looked away and mumbled, “I forgot you were here.”

He barked out a laugh at that. “Did you now? Guess I scared ya, huh? Sorry ‘bout that.”

You didn't say a word and quickly headed for the stairs.

You saw your mother setting plates on the dining table, but your father was nowhere to be found. Confused, you asked, “Where’s papa?”

“He went to go talk to John ‘bout his horse, remember?”

Oh. No, you didn’t remember.

Breakfast went by quickly, with neither you nor Alex saying much. Once you were done eating, you went back upstairs to get dressed, then headed outside to tend to your morning chores. Your first stop - the henhouse.

You set down the wicker basket you’d brought with you on the ground and hauled the sack of chicken feed up into your arms, grunting with the effort. You did an awkward little waddle around the yard, scattering feed as you went. Once you were satisfied with the coverage, you set the sack back down by the henhouse, then picked your wicker basket back up. You undid the locking mechanism and opened the henhouse doors, immediately greeted with a cacophony of clucks. “Good morning to you, too,” you hummed, watching as the hens headed down the wooden ramp in a single file line.

As you poked your head inside, examining their nests, you heard a voice behind you. “Any luck today?” Alex.

You straightened up and deposited the few eggs you’d found into the basket. “Just a few,” you said, looking up at him. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged, watching as one of the hens pecked at his boot. “I was gonna see if ya wanted t’ take Lizzie for a ride once you were done.”

You smiled at him. “I’d love to.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and he returned your smile. “D’you need any help?”

“Actually, yeah …”

With Alex’s help, you were able to get the rest of your chores done with ease. Having someone help you made it all go by much faster, and you were already dreading the day he’d have to leave. Maybe you would need to remind your father of the idea he’d had of hiring a farm hand.

You stood and watched as he opened the stall door, stepping inside to get the saddle and reins back onto Lizzie. “Is she the feisty type?”

He snorted. “Hell no. She’s a real sweetheart.”

You stepped aside so he could lead Lizzie out of the stall and followed behind him as he took her out of the stables. The two of you (three, technically) headed for the forest behind your house; it was your idea to take the unofficial path you’d trekked with your horse a number of times before. You came to a stop outside the tree line, and Alex held his hand out to you. You knew you didn’t need help getting onto Lizzie’s back, and you knew Alex probably knew that too, but you took his hand anyway, hauling yourself up onto the horse and clutching the front of her saddle to steady yourself. Alex hopped on behind you, his chest almost touching your back as he reached around you to grab the reins. You knew the close contact couldn’t be helped, but that didn’t stop you from blushing at the proximity.

He tapped the side of his boot against Lizzie’s side, urging her into an idle trot as he directed her into the forest. The scene was like something out of a fantasy novel: a couple of downed trees lined the path, covered in overgrown moss; you could make out the occasional cluster of mushrooms; and sunlight filtered down through the trees branches overhead, casting the path you were navigating in an otherworldly glow. You were half expecting fairies to start whizzing by. Behind you, Alex let out a low whistle. “This sure is pretty.”

You nodded. “I like coming out here when I can with my horse.”

“And what’s ‘er name?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mumbled.

That only piqued his curiosity. “Embarrassin’? How could it be embarrassin’?”

You sucked in a breath before quickly muttering, “Twilightsparkle.”

“Sorry?” His knee bumped against the back of your thigh; whether intentionally or not, you didn’t know. “You’re gonna have t’ repeat that one for me.”

“Twilight Sparkle.”

Silence followed.

And then, in possibly the most mortifying outcome, he guffawed. “Twilight Sparkle?”

“I got her when I was a child,” you said defensively. “I wasn’t exactly a name aficionado.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he chuckled. “Ain’t that one of the … oh, what’s that show-“

“My Little Pony,” you mumbled.

You could feel him nodding behind you. “Yeah, My Little Pony. You liked it when you were young, then?”

You nodded. Suddenly, you thought it wouldn’t be so bad if a giant hole opened up in the ground and swallowed you. “Twilight Sparkle was my favorite character, so when my parents got me my own horse, it felt fitting. I call her Twilight for short.”

“Just Twilight is less embarrassin’ than throwin’ the sparkle on.”

“You don’t have to keep rubbing it in, you know.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He chuckled again. “Definitely not the worst thing you coulda named ‘er, though.”

You rose an eyebrow and looked at him over your shoulder. “There are worse things?”

“Lot worse.”

“Like what?”

He grew silent, his expression turning to one of contemplation as he mulled it over. “One o’ my friends in the mountains is like you - got a horse when he was a kid. He named ‘im, uh … what’s the full thing …” Another few seconds of silent thought, and then he smiled. “Armageddon the Destroyer. The Third. Dunno where the first two came from.”

It took every last bit of restraint you had to not burst into giggles. “Armageddon the Destroyer the Third?”

He nodded. “He’s still got that damn horse, too. Likes to just call him Destroyer now.”

“Which friend of yours is this?”

“Matt Helders. If ya ever get to meet ‘im, don’t tell him I told you all this. He’ll throw me off the nearest mountain.”

You didn’t think you ever would meet him, but you made a mental note to keep this story to yourself if you did.

The three of you (it was only fair to count Lizzie, you thought) continued down the path, falling into a tranquil silence. You pet Lizzie’s mane and occasionally scratched behind her ears, eliciting a sound that you assumed was her way of showing appreciation.

Abruptly, you asked, “Are you a cowboy?”

There was a pause. “You asked that yesterday.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t get to answer.”

“Hm …” He sighed. “I certainly look the part, don’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess technically, yeah, although, er, I don’t really go around callin’ myself one.”

That was fair, you supposed. “So is it, like, a generational thing?”

“Yeah. My dad was one, his dad was one, so on and so forth … the farm life’s the only thing I’ve ever known.”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He snorted. “I wouldn’t trade it for a damn thing.”

You were going to be sad to see Alex go.

•••••

“I’m taking a bath,” you called down the stairs.

There was a beat of silence, then your mother called back, “Okay!”

It was the night before Alex would be leaving. He’d been an incredibly helpful guest; he’d always helped with chores without having to be asked, and your father thought him especially helpful because he kept you out of his hair whenever you got bored. You’d been taken out on Lizzie a number of times, told dozens of stories from Alex’s childhood and adulthood, and he’d even played songs for you on the acoustic guitar your father owned but never used. For the first time in years, probably, it’d gone a day without collecting dust.

You shut the door to the bathroom and stepped over to the tub, making sure to plug the drain before turning the faucet on and watching as the water began to rain down. As you waited, your thoughts drifted back to Alex - not just the stories he’d shared or the skill with which he’d played your father’s guitar, but the way he made you feel. You didn’t really like it; for one, you weren’t used to feeling that way about people, but you also knew nothing could ever come out of it. He was going off to the mountains to see his friends, and after that, you’d probably never see him again. He was always destined to just be a blip in your world. Plus, you felt incredibly silly for feeling anything at all, considering it’d only been a few days. Maybe you just needed to talk to people more often …

Once the tub was filled, you turned the faucet off and stripped out of your clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. You stepped into the tub and sank down into the warm water, letting out a sigh of relief; it was an instant balm to your aching bones. You closed your eyes, content to think of literally anything, but your brain kept wandering back to Alex. His perfect eyes, his perfect smile, his perfect beard and perfect chest and perfect arms and perfect legs and perfect ass that you had unashamedly stared at once. Okay, maybe you were ashamed now, but at the time, you'd had to pinch your arm just to get yourself to stop staring like an idiot. You were hopeless.

You had seen him shirtless once. On one of the days where there was too much work and it was too hot to do it all. You were convinced you were going to explode when you saw him, chest and abs bared and sweating in the summer heat. He was probably used to being shirtless in weather like that, but that didn't mean you were prepared to see it. When he'd seen you gawking like a fool, he'd apologized and offered to put his shirt back on, but you'd told him it was okay and that he didn't have to under the guise of not wanting him to overheat. Deep down, though, you wanted to be able to ogle him, just for a little longer.

Were you only physically attracted to him? That thought haunted you like an unseen phantom as you worked shampoo into your wet hair. Of course he was attractive - he had the perfect body, in your eyes - but was that the only reason he appealed to you? You didn't think it was; you knew it would be a lot easier to get over his absence if that was just the case.

He would be gone tomorrow morning.

That became your mantra for the rest of your bath, and you kept repeating it to yourself as you dried off, emptied the tub, and got dressed for bed. He would be gone tomorrow morning. You left the bathroom and headed down the hall, stepping into your room. He would be gone tomorrow morning. You shut your door and let yourself succumb to the warmth and comfort of your bed, making sure to turn your bedside lamp off before drifting off to sleep. He would be gone tomorrow morning.

“Hey. Y/N. Wake up.”

“Huh?” You forced your eyes open and stared up at the partially illuminated figure that hovered above you. "Alex?" you mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanna show you somethin'," he whispered.

"It's late. Can't you show me in the morning?"

"Nope." He shook his head for emphasis. "Gotta show ya now."

You felt like a parent arguing with their child.

You forced yourself out of bed and slipped your shoes on at his request before following him out of your room and downstairs. You were expecting to go out the front door, but he led you through the back, making sure to be extra quiet to avoid waking your parents until you were both outside. You were both still in your pajamas, and you were still trying to blink the sleepiness out of your eyes. You followed him into the forest behind your house, confusion settling across your features when he suddenly deviated from your usual path and led you to a different part of the forest. What the hell was he doing?

Eventually, he stopped, and you nearly crashed into him. "We're here."

"You dragged me outside in the middle of the night for-" The words died out in your throat as you realized what you were seeing.

You'd never gone this deep into the forest before, so you had no idea a scene like this even existed. The trees opened up in a wide circle, revealing a little pond surrounded by different stones. The grass was soft as it brushed against your ankles, and flowers were scattered all across the ground, practically beaming up at you. You felt like you'd stepped into some pocket dimension.

"Come on." Alex nudged you and stepped further into the clearing, and it was at that moment that you became aware of the blanket tucked under his left arm.

Your brows furrowed. "What's the blanket for?"

You watched as he laid it out in the grass, making sure it was neat and straight and there weren't any rocks hiding under it for your body to find before straightening up and smiling softly at you. "Stargazin'."

Oh. You weren't annoyed at him for waking you up anymore.

You walked over and sat down on the blanket, removing your shoes and setting them off to the side before stretching yourself out. You stared up at the sky, mystified by the sheer number of stars you could see. "It's so pretty," you breathed.

"I was hopin' you'd like it."

You turned your head to look at him as he laid beside you. "Did you find this just for me?"

He nodded, his smile turning a bit sheepish. "I'd sorta stumbled on it the other day when I was out here. I've been meanin' to show it to you."

"Thank you, Alex."

"Ah, don't mention it." He turned his head to look up at the stars, and you stared at him for a beat too long before doing the same.

Silence consumed the both of you, broken by the occasional chirp or drone of some nearby insect. You didn't know what possessed you to shatter the silence and say anything, but after a few minutes, you quietly confessed, "I don't want you to go."

It took a couple of seconds for Alex to respond. "Why not?"

"I don't know." You crumpled up the fabric of your shirt between your fingers. "The last few days have been really nice, and I don't really want all this to end."

"I can't say I'm particularly fond o' goin', either," he mumbled, letting out a sigh afterwards. "I'd like to see my friends, of course, but ... y'know."

"Yeah."

Another minute passed, and then he rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand as his elbow dug into the blanket. "Y/N, can I ask you somethin'?"

"You just did, technically," you said, looking up at him.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, smartass. You know what I mean."

"Go ahead."

"Have you ever ..." He trailed off, his expression growing pensive as he searched for the right words. "You ever left home before?"

You blinked in surprise. You weren't sure what you'd been expecting him to ask, but it wasn't that. "Uh ... no. Why?"

He shrugged, as if to brush it off and act nonchalant, but you could tell he was hiding something. "Just thought I'd ask."

"You're a bad liar, Alex."

"Why would I be lyin'?"

"I don't know. Why are you lying?"

He sighed. "I guess ... I dunno. It'd be nice if I could bring ya with me. I think you'd like my friends."

Oh. There was that fluttering sensation in your stomach. "You want me to go with you?"

"It'd be nice if you could," he corrected. "Way too late for that to get worked out. Plus, your parents might kill me. Or your dad would. Your mom's a real sweetheart."

"She does hate killing bugs," you mused. You thought on what he'd just said. "Why would you want me to go with you?"

He looked off at the pond, growing silent as he tried to figure out how to say whatever was on his mind. You waited patiently, and eventually, your patience paid off. "I think I'm growin' attached to you."

You stared at him. "What?"

He looked down at you. "I said it in English."

You wanted to slap him. "What do you mean, you're-"

"I like ya, Y/N. As in, I think you're cute, and maybe I wanna kiss ya."

If you were going to explode when you saw him shirtless, you were sure you were about to turn into a nuclear bomb.

"Oh," you managed.

He rose an eyebrow. "Oh? Is that it?"

"Well, I mean-" You sat up and turned your head to look at him. "I don't think ... I'd mind it if you kissed me," you mumbled.

He stared at you, his eyes widening minutely before going back to their original size. Now it was his turn to say, "Oh." He cleared his throat and sat up fully, looking down at the blanket you were sat on. He eventually looked back up at you. "So ... can I-"

You cut him off by crashing your lips against his.

It took him no time at all to react. His hand went to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as your mouths slotted together perfectly. You didn't want this moment to end, but too soon was he pulling away to stare down at you. "Christ," he breathed. He dipped his head down to kiss you again, and again, and again. The onslaught of pecks made you giggle. Your blood was practically singing in your veins.

When he finally stopped kissing you, you smiled up at him. "I didn't realize cowboys were such softies."

He scowled, although you could tell there was no real malice behind it. "What, am I supposed to act all mean an' tough around a cute girl?"

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Call me cute again, and I'll get a big head.

"You'd still look cute if your head was the size of the moon," he hummed, leaning in to kiss you one last time.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed yourself closer to him, listening to his heart as it thrummed against his ribcage. "The next time you go to visit your friends, you should take me with you," you mumbled.

He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head and murmured, "It's a deal, sweetheart."

"And I promise I won't bring up Armageddon the Destroyer the Third in front of Matt."

He let out a breathless chuckle and pinched your side, making you yelp. "If you do, I'm leavin' you up there to deal with him."

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #tbhc era #arctic monkeys #am #fanfic #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #divider by saradika

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raph-fangirl · 3 months ago

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Snippet from a new story I'm working on :)

Just started this new demon x reader story! im thinking it's gonna be pretty short, like a novella. hope y'all enjoy!

warnings: language, violence, masturbation, sexual/kinky fantasy

Chapter One

Your life was perfect until the demon came.

Your husband, Ruben, had just been promoted at his job. You unfortunately didn’t know much about it, only that he worked for the government and whatever he was doing was top secret. But you didn’t mind that, because the love between the two of you was real. And that’s what mattered the most.

He bought you a pretty little house in the suburbs. You wanted to paint it pink and attempted to plant a vegetable garden, but HOA wasn’t having any of that. Life there was slightly stifling—after your upbringing in the country—but as long as you and Ruben were together, it didn’t matter where you lived.

You tried to pillage out a life for yourself while he was gone all day—bake sales, book club, bridge games. The ladies in the neighborhood were unbearably kind to you, and they always asked if you were expecting, but you assured them with a winning smile that you had just been eating too much cream pie as of late.

Ruben told you he loved you no matter your looks, and that he was sure it was just weight you had gained from all the baking you had been doing. You wondered what you had possibly done in your life to earn such a gem of a man. With that slick black hair and tan skin and kind eyes.

You were just kids when you met, he was sixteen and you were fourteen. Your best friend was going steady with him, and they invited you out on a drive together one day. By the end of the ride, Ruben asked you to take the passenger seat.

Four years later you married. Four years after that you had your forever home. Four more years would you have a kid, or two, or three?

Tonight was pasta night. You and Ruben would have a glass of wine, or two, and then make love. Back when you were first married, you did it practically every night of the week. Now you were lucky if pasta night even did the trick.

You launched a string of spaghetti on the wall. It stuck. You took the pot off the stove, dished out the noodles onto two plates, then finished with the meat sauce. For your own indulgence, you added some parsley on top. You smiled at the little green leaves and how pretty your dish had turned out.

Ruben should have been home thirty minutes ago, he promised as he dashed out the door that morning. But you’d gotten used to him being late.

You lit some candles and ate in silence. You meant to have only one glass of wine but another evening alone required a little more drink.

You cleaned up the kitchen and stuffed Ruben’s plate into a tupperware container before sliding it in the fridge.

As per usual on pasta nights when he didn’t make it home on time, you slinked into a nice hot bubble bath and proceeded to pleasure yourself. You hated yourself for it but couldn’t help it. In your mind’s eye, you imagined a big strong man with long flowy hair having his way with you. You moaned, aching at the thought of him railing into you on the beach, the waves cascading over your curves. He would grab you so hard it almost hurt.

Ruben had always been gentle with you, loving. But lately you’d found yourself craving more than just the ten minute humping fest. That gentleness he always had with you faded away into something more like passivity as of late. But you figured it was just stress from work. He’d had a lot going on lately and just wanted to come home, scarf down his leftovers, and go straight to sleep after work. It was fine. Every night before he crashed off to sleep he told you he needed you and loved you desperately—that you were the greatest accomplishment of his life. That was all you needed to hear to be able to wake up the next day and bear doing everything all over again.

Ruben was exceptionally late tonight, though. It was teetering on midnight. You tried to stay awake, fighting off sleep as you lay in bed. But eventually you nodded off, and dreamt of the man with wavy hair at the beach. He grunted as he slammed into you, but soon those grunts turned into yelps. Yelps that almost sounded like Ruben.

You awoke with a start. It was Ruben, screaming. Pleading.

You flung the covers off and dashed out of bed, racing to your puffy pink robe and slippers, shaking as you put them on. Ruben’s shrieks grew louder, hailing from the living room.

As you were just about to open the bedroom door, the voice of another man boomed: “You know why I’m here.”

You stopped in your tracks. He sounded ferocious, his voice much gruffer and deeper than your husband’s, or any other man for that matter. Blood rushed to your head as you tried to come up with a plan of action.

“No, please no,” Ruben pleaded. “I didn’t know!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

A crash.

A shudder shot down your spine. Your hands shook as you reached for the door handle. You twisted it, careful not to make the door hinges creak.

“Please, please don’t kill me!”

“Once I’m done with you, you’ll wish I’d have killed you, you monster. I’m going to take everything you love away from you, just like you took everything away from me.”

You peeped an eyeball through the crack in the door and caught sight of a large shadow looming over the living room.

“God, no, please! I was just doing my job, I didn’t know what they were going to do with what I built!”

“Like fuck you did, you piece of shit. You knew what you were creating.”

Who was this man? What did he want with your husband? You didn’t have time to ponder before the horror of Ruben crawling across the floor sent you over the edge. You clasped a hand over your mouth to stifle your scream. He was covered in blood, his perfect face bruised.

Pounding footsteps echoed across the room, and one enormous hand reached down and grabbed the collar of Ruben’s shirt, pulling him back out of your sight. The mystery man’s hands were red, blood red.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re comin’ with me, pal.”

Ruben squealed and retched.

You slunk out from behind the bedroom door and tiptoed down the hallway, your back against the wall.

“Where are you taking me?” Ruben’s voice sounded weaker and weaker.

“To Hell, where you belong.”

You took a deep breath, tears streaming down your face, before peeping around the corner into the living room. Ruben was on the floor, and the man…

No. Not a man. A monster.

He had his back to you, but he was so tall his head nearly scraped the popcorn ceilings. Not only were his hands red, but his whole body. He was frighteningly muscular, and you knew he could snap you and your husband in two with one finger. Everything caved in around you and your vision darkened. A hole grew within you and you felt yourself sinking into it.

The monster dragged your husband over to a circle with strange etchings on the floor, hoisting him up to stand straight. Suddenly, the circle lit up.

You knew at once what was happening. And this demon was not about to take the only thing that mattered to you in life to hell. Without thinking, you sprinted to your husband. Time slowed down as you ran, like you were treading water. You knocked Ruben out of the way in a split second, and he fell on the ground, out of the circle. You spun around and caught a flash of the demon’s horrid, snarling face. His eyes bore into your soul, then widened at the realization of what you’d just done as a flash of light spread throughout the living room. The place you had come to call home faded away as a ribbon of white strangled you and carried you off.

Chapter Two

You awoke to a strange scent. It was not the candlewick smell of home, but of ash and dust and smoke.

Coughing, you sat up. Wherever you were, it was suffocatingly dark.

“Finally. Thought you’d never wake up,” a familiar gruff voice snarled.

Footsteps echoed before bright light tore into your eyes. You leaned back, covering your face with your hands.

“Up and at ‘em, sunshine.”

“Wh-where am I?” Your voice sounded so tired.

“Take a look around, princess.”

You opened your eyes. A dingy motel room. You felt the scratchy covers beneath you. Dust covered every inch of the place.

You looked up, and saw it standing menacingly at the windows, hand on the ugly burgundy curtains.

You wanted to scream, but the sound got caught in your dry throat.

“Don’t scream. I’ve had enough torture for one day.”

“Why did you bring me here? What have you done with my husband?!”

“Your husband,” the demon growled, “is at an emergency hospital getting his wounds treated. He’ll recover.”

You took a deep breath as a wave of relief crashed into you. All that mattered was that Ruben was safe and away from this thing. Whatever torture he would undoubtedly inflict upon you, you could handle it. But not your Ruben.

“What do you want with me?”

“What do I–” He leaned back and laughed, a dark harrowing sound. “I didn’t even know you existed before last night. You weren’t exactly part of my plan, princess.”

You shuddered at the nickname. “Don’t call me that again.”

“Or what?” He crossed his arms. Thick black hairs sprawled up across them, contrasting against his blood red skin.

He was awfully well dressed for a demon, you had to admit. A white button down shirt that he had rolled up to his elbow, and tight black pants and black dress shoes.

“Staring me up and down, eh? Isn’t that considered rude where you come from?” he challenged.

Your mind fogged up. You weren’t clear headed enough to be sparring words with a demon.

“But to answer your question,” he moved away from the window, pacing about the tiny motel room, “I have no clue what the fuck I’m going to do with you.” His eyes sparked fiery red. “I only was approved for one trip to Earth to carry out my plan, and I come back with the wrong guy. Do you know how much paperwork I had to file just to come back empty-handed?”

You paused to think. “Then what did you want with my husband?”

“That’s not exactly information I can just give out, princess. Oops–” he raised his fingers to his mouth in feigned innocence. “Forgot you don’t like to be called that.”

You looked down at your lap. Your hands were bloodstained, you presumed from when you had pushed Ruben out of the way.

“How did I get here?”

“You fainted on the portal ride over. Been knocked out ever since.”

“I meant— in the bed.”

He fell silent. “Well, I didn’t just wanna drag ya. I’m not a monster.”

So he carried you. Great.

“I still don’t really know where I am.” You tried to look out the window, but it was too bright outside to make out anything other than white dust. “In the desert somewhere?”

“Kinda. You’re at the border between worlds.”

Your eyes bugged out. “What?!”

“Don’t worry. You’re still safe, at least here you are.”

You shot up out of bed, thankful to see you still had your robe and slippers on. “What do you mean, border between worlds? Am I still on Earth? Is this hell? Purgatory?”

“A purgatory of sorts, I suppose.”

You marched your way over to the window. It was just, nothing. Blank. White.

“This is the inspection point between Earth and the other worlds,” he explained, turning around to face outside. “Peaceful, yeah?”

“No! Not peaceful! Where is— anything!” You pressed your face up against the windowpane. Dust caked up on your skin.

“There is a diner nearby. I’ll take you there.”

“A diner? In this hell?”

“Oh, trust me. Hell ain’t nothin’ like this, hon.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I just wanna go home…”

“Welp, you made your decision last night when you jumped into my portal at the last second.”

“I was only trying to save my husband!” You faced him, standing up on your tippy-toes to be taller. It was the first time you’d really gotten a close up look at his face. His nose and mouth were turned upward in a permanent sneer. His eyes were dark, black, cold. Although you could have sworn at some point you’d seen them burn fiery red. His hair was jet black, slicked back with gel and neatly combed. And of course his face was just the awfullest shade of blood red.

“That was your first mistake.” He gnashed his fangs together and then tore away from you.

You scoffed.

“Come on, get dressed,” you heard him say from behind.

“With what? It’s not like I—” You turned around. The demon opened a wardrobe full of the most magnificent clothes you’d ever seen. They were just dazzling, a rainbow of different colors. Within the backdrop of the dingy room, it was like a butterfly batting its iridescent wings against the hood of a rusty old truck.

“I figured you probably had pretty extravagant taste, at least based off of that ridiculous robe and slippers.”

You pretended not to hear him calling your outfit ridiculous as you rushed over to the clothes. “Did you just go out and buy these?” You felt the fabric of each and every one of them.

“Nope. Conjured them up.”

“Oh my goodness! Thank—”

You caught yourself and let go of the fabric. “Wait. No.” This had to be some kind of trick. You took a few steps back from him and the wardrobe. “This isn’t right. You tried to kill my husband last night and I want to know why.”

“Like I said, princess—”

You shriveled up your face.

“That’s not something I can just reveal to anybody.”

“Then why are you treating me to all these clothes? Why take me to eat at a diner? Why not just kill me here and now?!”

“I have to have a permit to go out and kill people, sweetheart. And you aren’t exactly worth the paperwork. I have no reason to kill you.”

“Oh, but my husband was fair game?”

He gave you a long hard look over before licking his lips and stuffing his hulk hands in his pockets. “You don’t know the first thing about your husband, do you? Tell me, what does he do for work?”

“He—” Your face softened.

“That’s what I thought.” He moved away from the wardrobe, to the other side of the room. “You are just an innocent bystander who happened to get caught in my portal. It would not look good on my record for me to kill you, so I won’t. I’ll just make the most of our time together while I figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do with you.”

Your breaths quickened. “So, I’m just— just supposed to live with you?”

“Don’t worry, I have a nice spot picked out for us.” You thought you saw the slightest smirk on his face.

Your features mushed together, and for the first time since meeting this demon, you screamed.

#writeblr #demon x reader #demon x human #monster boyfriend #monster x human #monster x reader #romance

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matchagirliris · 6 days ago

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Metanoia | Atsumu Miya X Reader

Chapter 4; the weekend

You wake up around 1 in the afternoon, feeling like you could sleep in the whole day but can’t unfortunately, well at least not today. As you drag yourself to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face to wake up fully, you haul yourself over to the kitchen greeted by kiyoko who’s at the table doing some assignments that she missed during the week, “hey yn did you read the group chat already?” she asks typing away on her computer, “no not yet I just woke up” you say as your pulling a redbull out the fridge cracking it open and walking over to the table to sit. “Well osamu is coming around 5 to prep and then the rest of the boys are coming around 5:30” she says as she’s still looking down at her computer “okay good when was all this planned?” You ask sipping on your energy drink “well around 7:30 when you were still in bed, if it makes you feel better tho keiji had just fall asleep at 7:30 so he’ll probably show up a bit later” she says looking up at you “mmh I’m not suprised he stays up to so other people’s assignments and gets paid really well” you say “anyways ima go shower I’ll leave you with your art assignments” you say getting up and walking off “kk yn” kiyoko says

Its now 5 O’clock you and kiyoko are chilling on the couch watching love is blind japan and then you hear a knock “oh it’s probably samu I’ll get it” you say to kiyoko as you get off the couch and make your way over to the door, “hey samu” you say opening the door to see Osamu standing in the doorway in casual attire “hey yn surprised you’re up right now, thought you’d be asleep still” he says making his way past you and into the apartment, “hahaha very funny, did the boys text you when they’d be here?” You say closing the door and following osamu into the kitchen “uhm yeah keiji and tsuki are gonna be on there way in a few, as for kenma i think he’s coming at like 5:20ish” he says opening the fridge, “mmh okay figured” you say leaning on the counter. “yeah I’ll get started on cooking, what are you and kiyoko watching?” He says looking for pans “love is blind” you say, “yn hurry your missing what’s going down right now!” Kiyoko yells, “turn up the tv I wanna hear too” osamu says “okay samu! yn come they just found out he was cheating!” Kiyoko responds, you dash over to your original seat on the couch to see this unfold

It’s now 5:30 keiji, tsukishima and kenma all got there and are sitting around in the living room, as you and kiyoko set the table and make sure the house looks presentable for the guests “I don’t know why you care so much it’s just bokuto and hinata you know” tsuki mentions from the couch “it’s not just them first off, and who cares how I take care of my house is an extension of myself” you say as your setting down plates “yeah if the boys didn’t have kuroo to keep them in check on cleaning I know the boys would slack” kenma says while playing on his game switch “they’ve always been like that since highschool tho” akaashi responds as he’s watching tv

7:30 rolls around as osamu just finished making the food and it’s all set out, kenma, tsuki, keiji and kiyoko are all sitting down, you and osamu go get the door and there stands kuroo, atsumu, bokuto, and hinata. “Hey guys” osamu says they all go give him a hug while you stand there “hi it’s so nice to meet all of you my name is yn” you say holding your hand out “hey yn my name is kuroo” he says shaking your hand, hinata and bokuto did the same thing after they walked into to go greet everyone else, “hey my name is atsumu it’s nice to finally meet my brothers best friend.” He says with a small smile looking at you, “hey it’s nice to meet you too, you guys actually do look so different now that I’m looking at both of you side by side” you say observing atsumu and osamu “yea yea i know im the better one” atsumu says with a laugh, “in your fucking dreams piss head” as osamu elbows him “come let’s go eat before the food gets cold I’m starving” you say leading them into the kitchen “yeah or before little trio eats it all” atsumu says.

-yn is no longer in denial atsumu is fine.

-osamu is very sus abt atsumu’s true intentions rn.

Taglist; @heartmaddie @liquidcatt @toorusfangirl @akaashislovee @saintcosette @twiishaa @w2mini @from-mae @exclusiverinaa

#haikyuu #haikyu #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x you #atsumu smau #msby atsumu #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #hq atsumu #miya atsumu #atsumu #metanoia atsumu x reader

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yoongikapi · 7 months ago

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meeting at a cafe || NJ/SJ/YG || oneshot

fluff

masterlist

NOT PROOFREAD! found this in my drafts from like over a year ago, figured i’d post. lmk if you want the other members!

namjoon:

your laptop notified you for the second time, reminding you to find an outlet soon. you broke your gaze away from your screen after what seemed like days, frantically searching for an outlet around the crowded coffee shop. you lit up when you noticed an outlet at the nearby corner table; gathering your stuff you began to walk over but hesitated when you noticed someone was already sitting over there. you did notice however, they weren’t using the outlet but sat across from it. your heart quickened when your laptop flashed its final warning to be charged and you rushed over to the outlet across from the stranger. you quickly plugged it in and were instantly relieved that you weren’t gonna lose your work. you looked up to the stranger and were met with the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. although he flashed a confused look, you felt your face heat up as you stared back at the attractive stranger.

“im sorry, i really needed to charge my laptop, do you mind if i leave it here for a while? i’ll just go sit back over there.” you frantically said, instantly realizing how rude this must have seemed. he shook his head back, his confused look from earlier had disappeared. “not at all, i dont mind if you stay either.” he flashed you a friendly smile and you suddenly realized you’d rather stay too. you smiled back and thanked him, quietly sitting across from him and opened your textbooks back up. you wanted to talk to him some more but didnt want to bother him, and so you tried to focus back on your work. it seemed so obvious yet unspoken that he was feeling the same, but it still remained quiet on both ends. after getting some work done you quietly (yet slowly) packed your bags. you thanked him again and headed off but didnt get very far when he caught up to you.

“i just wanted to let you know that i didnt mind you being around at all. this is for you” he said, handing you a small, folded up piece of paper. “i hope to see you again” he smiled one last time and rushed back into the cafe. you almost dropped the unfolded paper in shock. blushing heavily, you quickly added his contact information into your phone, smiling at the thought of seeing him again.

jin:

you walked in your favorite cafe for the third time this week and dashed straight up in line. you had been here so much since it opened that you didnt need to look at the menu anymore, you already had your favorites picked out. as you waited for the person in front of you to order, you noticed the one barista who stood out to you was working today. you smiled and wondered what crazy thing he’d write on your mug today. as you put your order in you noticed him turn and look at you, almost as if he had your order memorized as well. he smiled when he saw you and you noticed, smiling back. he turned and began making your order as you headed over to your favorite spot in the shop. you stopped working when you heard your name being called. looking up and realizing it was him, you jumped up to grab your order, secretly liking the way he said your name.

“just the way you like it” he smiled, handing you the hot beverage. you thanked him and made your way back to your table. taking your seat, you immediately began to search for his usual writing spot on your mug but was interrupted by a call. it was your boss asking you to come in and help with some work, to which you quickly agreed and began packing up your bags. you had forgotten all about the writing on the mug until you got to your office at work.

‘been thinking about you a latte’ it read and you laughed. making a mental note to think of a cheesy pickup line back for the next time you saw him.

(i’m sorry but jin is the king of dad jokes)

yoongi:

after placing your coffee order you went and sat in a chair in the corner of the store, deciding to pass the time by sitting on your phone. a couple of names were called and then yours, so you made your way to the pickup counter but was confused when you didnt see your coffee. you stood around for a second, thinking maybe they hadn’t quite finished it yet, but realized this wasn’t the case when they continued calling out other customers names. you nervously asked the barista if they were still working on yours and gave them your name again. you grew even more confused when they told you yours was finished and put out already. no way someone stole my coffee. it was the only logical thing that could’ve happened to it. upset but in a bit of a rush, you began heading out of the store when you heard someone else in the store say your name. you turned and saw a confused man looking around but his eyes met yours when you tuned. he said it again and you nodded in confusion until you saw him hold up what looked like your coffee. your face lit up as you headed over to him.

“im sorry i grabbed your coffee in a rush thinking it was mine.” he quickly apologized, but instead of handing it to you he took it back over to the baristas. he walked back over to you empty handed; “i had a couple of sips before i realized it wasn’t mine, im having them make you a new one.” he explained. you told him he didnt need to do that, but you appreciated it. you noticed he had a bunch of other coffees with him and decided to ask him about it to make conversation while you waited. he explained to you that he was starting a new internship and wanted to make a good first impression. you smiled when he told you which company he’d be working at; it was yours. you explained with a smile on your face that you also worked there and wouldn’t mind walking with him to work. and so when the rest of his coffees were done, you helped him carry some to work and laughed at the thought of him doing it himself.

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lcs-library · 1 month ago

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waugh,, hi lc !!! im so happy to see u on my dash again aaaa 🥺❤️ need some comfort ue ue ue,, so if at all possible,, could i hey black tea and London fog w juza from the normal menu please? thank u !! n if not,, no worries eee !! 💕

HI HAHN HI HAHN HI HAHN JUMPS UP AND DOWN AT YOU!!!!!!!!!! YEAS OFC HEHEHE YIPPEE!!!!

Request rules | Cafe menu | Autumn menu

Black Tea: How do they comfort their s/o?

🍡He seems like the type to have no idea what to do.,.,,(real of him tbh)

🍡He’d walk in on you kinda disassociating and staring off and be a little confused.

🍡“Sugar? …Sugar? You okay?”

🍡When you finally turn to look at him, he notices your cheeks are a bit tear-stained, and your eyes are a bit red and puffy, making his heart sink.

🍡“Can I come close?” He asks in the softest tone, unsure of what would set you off.

🍡Once you agree, he sits next to you, not sure if he should touch you, talk to you, or even offer anything. He chooses to wait for a bit until he’s sure it’s okay for him to help you out.

🍡“Hey, uh… ‘m here if you need anything. ‘Kay?”

🍡You nod, and move to gently rest your head against him. Juza’s breath hitches for a moment, before he gingerly wraps an arm around you to hold you snugly against him.

🍡“I’ve got’cha, okay? ‘M here, and I’m not gonna leave. I love you.”

🍡With that, he plants a light, but loving, kiss to your forehead, and, for a moment, you believe everything will really be okay.

London Fog: How do they spend a rainy day with their s/o?

🍡Juza LOVES rainy days. And I mean LOVES them.

🍡He’s the kinda guy who will sit at the window with a cup of hot chocolate and watch the rain fall for hours while listening to some soft music.

🍡And with you there? Peak. Nothing can top it.

🍡So when you decide to stay home from all of your commitments to spend a long, quiet, rainy day with him, this man is in HEAVEN.

🍡You start the day by lying in bed with him, holding each other close in a mess of limbs while the rain softly patters against the roof, a reminder that the two of you are warm and safe away from it all.

🍡Of course, Juza’s the first to leave the bed, given how tied he is to his routine, though you’re a bit slow to follow.

🍡You groan once he leaves the bed, reaching for the bit of warmth he left, while he can only give you one last longing look before leaving the room. He wanted to do something special for you, after all.

🍡After a while, once you finally have the motivation and energy, you sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, only to be greeted by Juza re-entering the room with a tray in his hands. You freeze, watching him as he takes the utmost care not to spill its contents before setting it down on the bedside table.

🍡Glancing at it, you notice that on it is a plate of waffles, as well as two mugs of cocoa, and a bit of fruit. Your expression softens at the gesture, and you turn to thank Juza for his hard work.

🍡He blushes deeply, his hand shooting to the back of his neck.

🍡“‘S nothin’, just the least I could do for ya, canceling everythin’ for me.”

🍡You grin, thanking him once more before digging in, while he takes one of the steaming mugs.

🍡It was the perfect start to your rainy day with your perfect partner<3

🍡The rest of the day was also pretty lazy hehe, mostly just chilling and lots of parallel play<3 yeah<3

#THANKS AGAIN HAHN MMMMMMMMWAH<3 #Hope that this works for some comfort from jubert hehehe<3 #yeag! hope you have a good day :]#request #my fics #cafe orders #a3!#a3! x reader #juza hyodo #juza hyodo x reader #i think that's all the tags i wanna use today lol #ohhhh wait O.mi might not be my most requested chara after looking at my masterlist it's probably Juza......

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angy-mouse · 2 years ago

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Puck Bunny Part 2

10.7k words jfc im going to shove my head in a hole for a week and die. in lieu of flowers, donations can be made to my gummy worm funds /j

Hockey was aggressive. It was a full-contact sport with so frequent rule breaking, the penalty box was invented. Hockey players, by proxy, couldn’t afford to be hesitant, shy people.

HOOOONK

“Oh my god,” Niki cackled, looking over your shoulder.

You shook your head, taking a long sip of your Starbucks. “There better be a goddamn car crash behind me. With casualties.”

“Darlin’!”

“I’m gonna leave you alone with your valley boy,” Niki declared, clapping you on the shoulder. “Text me if you’re gonna stay or if you need a ride, use protection, pee after, yadda yadda-”

“I told you, I’m not fucking the VAL-U hockey team!”

“You don’t have to be ashamed with me, puddin’, I think the rivalry makes it romantic. You’re like a BBW Juliet and her harem of meathead Romeos.”

An arm thicker than a steel cable wrapped around your shoulders from behind, and a scruffy chin settled into the crown of your head. “I’m not a meathead,” Sapnap insisted, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Hi, bunny!”

You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks as he nuzzled against your temple, Niki waving her fingers with a knowing smirk as she left. “Hi, Sap,” you greeted, voice cracking as he captured the shell of your ear between his teeth and made playful noises like he was devouring you. “Wha- Sapnap, please-”

“Please what, darlin’,” he muttered with a grin. “I’ll give you anything if you ask as pretty as that, sugar, you know that.” His hands came down to your waist, unashamedly groping at your chub and using his hold to manhandle you back against him. A gasp pulled itself past your lips as you felt the imprint of something against your ass through his shorts and your skirt- god, you hoped he was hard. If his cock was that big flaccid, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from dropping to your knees right then and there.

You didn’t want him to let go of you. His body heat was soaking into you like a furnace, and his firm chest against your back made you feel so safe. You wanted his arms around you always, a promise to protect you from everything.

“You’re gonna fuck a valley right in our fucking courtyard?!”

Sapnap’s head snapped up, grip tightening on you as he glared daggers across the field. “Don’t talk to my fucking girl, techie! You wanna fucking go, I’ll tear you apart-”

“Shut the fuck up and get in the truck, Sap! Gas is too expensive for your bullshit!” Sam waved at you through the window when you whipped around, then returned Sapnap’s middle finger.

“Sapnap,” you finally managed to say, reaching back to tug on his shirt. Your mouth went dry as his attention instantly flicked back to you, expression going soft as his hands rubbed your hips. “Why are you guys here?”

He lit up as if he’d forgotten and started tugging you along. “We’re taking you out for pizza and a movie, sug’! We got a projector set up, and a bunch of blankets and pillows in the truck bed- it’ll be fun, promise!”

You shouldn’t have been surprised. After that first time you let them buy you dinner and cocoa, they’ve texted you nearly every day in the group chat Sam made. Sometimes it was cute, asking if you’d eaten and letting you know they’d door dashed you a treat. Sometimes it was videos of them being dumb in the locker room in nothing but towels that looked ready to fall off, skin still wet from the showers. And every once in a while, when it was just two of you still awake in the early hours of the mornings, you’d get messages about how they missed you. Paragraphs about the way you fill their minds as they try to sleep, both memories and new fantasies keeping them awake. They’d ask to show you what you did to them. Sometimes you said yes and got sent a video, watching them rub themselves over their boxers, as if they only wanted enough to calm down- as if they didn’t care to come without you. Sometimes you told them to just keep talking and received a voice message, listening to them groan between words about all the different ways they wanted you.

“So, do you wanna come?”

Your face heated up at the phrasing combined with your thoughts, but Sapnap simply smiled down at you as if he didn’t notice how his tank-top-exposed arms trapped your eyes.

“Ye- yeah, I wanna come.” He let out the cutest little cheer as he opened the passenger door, and you tore your eyes off him to wonder how you were supposed to climb in such a tall truck. “I’m in a skirt, so how do I- oh god, fuck!”

“I gotcha,” Sapnap laughed, hands on your hips lifting you into the truck as if you weighed absolutely nothing. “There you go,” he hummed as he set you into the seat, nodding as if he was about to impart some great wisdom. “Passenger princesses don’t have to lift themselves into the truck.”

“Or,” was hummed into your ear as another set of broad hands on your waist pulled you to the middle seat. “Buckle themselves up,” Sam finished as he strapped you in with a light kiss to the tip of your nose. “Hi, bunny. Missed you.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” teasingly slipped out as Sapnap climbed in, sandwiching you perfectly between two beefy Texans who were now laughing so prettily. “I missed you guys, too,”

Sam’s hand landed on your knee the second he was done shifting gears, long fingers spread wide so his pinky could just barely dip under the fabric of your skirt. Sapnap stretched a long arm over the back of the seats, letting you rest your head on his firm bicep as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “You want some sweets, bunny,” he hummed, smiling against you as you simply hummed, preoccupied memorizing the shapes Sam drew on your inner thigh. He pulled a convenience store bag off the floor and started searching through it.

“Y’know, that’d probably be easier with two hands.”

He gasped, looking at you with feigned hurt before leaning forward to speak around you. “Bunny doesn’t want my arm around her.”

“I didn’t say-”

“It’s a damn shame,” Sam chimed with a shake of his head, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t take long for a cute lil’ thing to forget who fucked her dumb,”

“That’s it,” Sapnap decided, finally pulling out a candy bar and ripping it open with his teeth. “I make you go a little too dumb on my tongue last week, bunny? Guess I can’t hold that against you, can I? Come on, have some chocolate.”

“I hate you both,” you managed through grit teeth, resisting as he poked at your lips with the candy bar. It was your favorite, but that didn’t matter: you couldn’t give in. The only thing worse than two cocky hockey players was two cocky hockey players who had a reason to be cocky.

“She hates us,” Sapnap relayed over your head.

“Funny way of showing it.”

“I think she actually kinda likes us.”

“Oh, she really likes us. You don’t let three guys you hate fuck you raw- even if you are a puck bunny.”

Your face burned more than it ever had, but not because you were angry. You couldn’t make yourself angry when their voices dripped with adoration like that, as if you were a kitten and no matter how much you hissed and scratched, they’d continue to coo over you and feed you. “... I’m not a puck bunny,” you finally muttered out, taking a vicious bite from the candy to make Sapnap yelp as you grazed his fingers.

“Nineteen,” Sam mused, ticking up a finger, “Sappy, Punzy, and me. I think four in a row and three at the same time makes you a puck bunny, darlin’.”

Your senior year boyfriend was a goalie for the J.V. team, but you would rather die than bring that up now. “Where’s Punz? At least when he’s here, you’re too busy killing each other to make fun of me.”

“We’re not making fun of you,” came from your right alongside another poke of chocolatey goodness. “Being a puck bunny is a good thing- and being our puck bunny is a great thing.”

“Coach kept him behind to go over the new strats you brought us,” Sam told you with a squeeze to your leg. “You’re gonna be there when we crush the techies, right?”

You huffed as Sapnap managed to get you to take another bite. “If I’m not, this was all for nothing- Sap, are you trying to fatten me up?”

“You said you had a salad for lunch!” You were taken aback by his accusatory tone and narrowed eyes as he poked the remaining candy into your mouth, letting you hold it between your teeth while he dug through his bag. “You didn’t even have soup or breadsticks with it!”

“It’s a cafeteria, not Olive Garden!”

“Let us feed you! We fucked you, now we feed you! That’s how this works!”

“You bought me Subway, cocoa, and gummy worms while my legs were still shaking!”

“Well, now we’re feeding you before we fuck you, we’re switching it up!”

You scoffed, crossing your arms under your chest and drawing his eyes to your tits- as if they ever left. “What makes you think either of you get to fuck me again?”

“Might have something to do with the fact that Sam’s almost reached your panties, and you haven’t slapped him yet.”

You stared directly into Sapnap’s smug smirk and delivered a harsh smack to Sam’s knuckles, but he only pulled his hand back down to your knee. “Hey now, don’t let chuckle fuck here goad you into anything you don’t wanna do, darlin’. I know you just wanna brat a little, an’ that’s just fine.”

God, you wanted to slap that understanding look off his handsome face. “I,” you grit out, red-faced, “am not a brat.”

His expression didn’t change as he nodded with a hum, eyes sternly on the road. “If you’re not a brat,” he mused, “you must actually want my hand off your leg, then.” You had to clench your fists to stop yourself from grabbing his wrist as he put both hands on the wheel, leaving your thigh to be attacked by the A.C. You wanted his hands on you- Sapnap’s, too- and you wanted them so badly you were tempted to slip off your skirt just to get some attention.

The truck came to a smooth stop at a red light, and Sam looked over at you, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

You unfastened your seatbelt and sat heavy on Sapnap’s lap, thunking your sneakers down on Sam’s thigh.

“There’s my sugar,” Sapnap cheered, thick arms wrapping around you and holding you tight to his chest until you could feel his heartbeat through your shoulder. His hand found your hip like a magnet, fingertips digging into the meat of your ass with an eager squeeze. “God, I love this gorgeous ass.”

“I can deal with bratting, but if you don’t put a fucking seatbelt on-”

“I’ve got her, Sammy!”

“You fumbled the easiest shot ever last week, I don’t trust you for shit!” A blaring honk made you realize the light had turned green, but Sam simply threw open the back window and stuck his hand out to flip the bird, eyes still locked on yours. “Sit your fine ass down properly and put your seatbelt back on, bunny.”

You actually would have if he hadn’t chosen that nickname. Instead, you purposefully wiggled your hips as if settling in and leaned further into Sapnap’s chest, making it rumble under you with a chuckle as you felt a twitch against your ass. “You’re not fucking winning this, man, she’s in for the long haul.” You might’ve felt like you’d won as Sam turned away, if it hadn’t been for the way he set his jaw before slamming on the gas. The force sent you deeper into Sapnap, an unintentional yelp falling from your lips as his arms tightened around you, hands groping your ass and breast as if hoping you wouldn’t notice while your life flashed in front of your eyes. “Fuck, I gotcha, sug- Jesus, Sam, you drive like you shoot!”

“This,” Sam hummed as he wrenched the wheel to make his turn in time, Sapnap’s hand snapping to the back of your head as you were sent into the door, “is why we wear our seatbelts.”

Something about his smug voice tripped something in you. You knew the request was perfectly reasonable, but that didn’t stop the little voice in your head from screaming that he can’t tell you what to do. You wanted to do anything that would piss him off, to make that calm, collected exterior crack. You wanted to know that you affected him.

You slammed your lips over Sapnap’s.

He gave a grunt of surprise against you, lips curling into a grin as you pushed your tongue into his mouth, tasting that sweet mint and strawberry pairing that you loved hanging on his tongue. You felt his hand protecting your head slide down to the back of your neck, holding you gently in place to curl his tongue around yours, pushing into your mouth as he fought you to take control.

Your heart raced as Sam took another sharp turn, bouncing in Sapnap’s lap as the paved road turned to gravel, but by the way he ground up against you, he didn’t mind the rough ride. His teeth sank into your bottom lip as he pulled away, chuckling as he brought you with him a few inches before letting go. “I think sugar likes a little danger,” he purred, pulling your head back to trail his lips over your neck. “You like the adrenaline, bunny?”

You gasped as his lips latched onto your pulse, feeling with his tongue the way your heart thudded. “Keep calling me that,” you pushed out, “and you’ll be in danger.”

He hummed against the tender skin, nipping gently as he pulled away. “You really mean that, sweetheart?”

You didn’t. It made you feel small and sexy. Maybe you were a puck bunny, but you were the puck bunny. The one who only needed to show up to get three brutes, usually eager to maim each other for the fun of it, all cooperating and falling over each other for the chance to take care of you- not just fuck you, but treat you to good food and ask about your day, too. But the day you give up your bratty streak and let these bucket heads have their way without a fight is the day you die. “Maybe,” you said instead. You cupped his scruffy cheek and scratched a single nail along his jaw, guiding his lips back to yours. “You wanna peek under my skirt and see for yourself?”

Sam’s hand landed on your ankle, shoving your leg up, knee pressed into your chest, skirt falling into a pile around your waist with a gasp from your pretty pink lips. He didn’t even lift his foot from the gas as he fixed his eyes on your core, letting out a low whistle. You picked a good day to wear your lace. “It’s a damn shame you soaked through such a pretty pair of panties, sugar. You gonna let me keep these ones?”

You scoffed, wiggling your foot on his lap until you found his cock straining against the front of his sweats. “You’ve hardly done anything to deserve it.”

He clutched his heart with a dramatic groan that made you giggle as Sapnap nosed the soft skin in front of your ear. “Aw, come on now, bunny, there’s no need to be so mean to him. He’s the one who offered up his truck for date night, after all.” He crooked his finger under your chin, lips pulling into a dazed smile as he got your full attention back. “Tell you what, sug’,” he whispered, as if sharing a tender secret, breath fanning across your lips. “If you can use that smart mouth on Sam instead of just terrorizing him, I promise to make you come on my fingers before we even get there. Whaddya say to that, hm?”

You leaned forward to give him a soft kiss. “Bet’cha another bag of candy I make him come before you make me.”

A laugh burst from his lips against yours, hand coming down on your ass with a slap as you shifted your position. “Bunny’s cocky, Sam. You better not cream your pants and let her win.”

“You mean like you did from a little pussy in your face?”

“You’re just jealous she won’t sit on you.”

“Damn right I am, I’d pay to have that ass on me twenty-four, seven.”

You got comfortable on your hands and knees across the bench seat, Sam’s hand nestling into your hair while both Sap’s rubbed your hips. “Would’ja settle for my mouth,” you asked with a small smirk as his bulge jumped at the mere mention, fingers playing with his waistband.

“Fuck, bunny, I’d settle for a black and white picture if it was you,” he groaned, foot hitting the floor as you palmed his cock, engine roaring under the hood like a lion as he zipped through back roads. “Careful there, sugar,” he warned, but still lifted his hips for you as you tugged at his sweats. “Get distracting me too much, and we’ll end up in a ditch.”

A smirk pulled at your lips as you revealed he wasn’t even wearing underwear, cock springing out the second you got his sweats down to his knees. “You’re telling me this beast can’t even climb out of a ditch.”

He chuckled, cutting off with a low hiss as you wrapped your hand around him. “Oh, my baby can get us anywhere, but if we go off the road, we’re staying there until that smart mouth gets fucked out of you.”

“I’m doing my best,” Sapnap chirped, grin thick in his voice as he rubbed two fingers over your clothed clit just to watch your hips twitch, trying to follow as he pulled away. “Go on, bunny- I’m a fair man, I start when you do.”

“Not my fault,” you hissed, rubbing over Sam’s fat tip, collecting his precum on your thumb to spread over his head. “I can’t exactly unhinge my jaw.”

Sam let a breathy laugh fall from his lips, dull nails scratching softly at your scalp. “Don’t listen to him, sugar, that feels real good. You keep takin’ care of me like that, and I’ll make up for Sappy neglecting your sweet pussy, alright?”

“Neglecting?” You let a small laugh fall out of your lips at the pure horror in Sapnap’s tone, thumbs rubbing circles just above the crease where your ass met your thighs. “How come I’m the one tryna get my fingers in her guts, but you’re turning her against me?”

“Listen to him whine- what a baby, huh, sug’?”

“Sweetheart, if you don’t shut him up I will, and I don’t wanna get blood on your pretty face.”

“Oh, yeah, I’d like to see you fucking-” You took Sam’s blushing red tip into your mouth and licked up the single pearly drop clinging to his slit, putting more of your weight on the hand on his knee as it tried to jerk up. “Fuck, fuck- ‘m sorry, bun, I- fuck, her mouth’s so hot.”

A startled breath came out of your nose as Sapnap pulled your panties to one side with his thumb, broad hand gripping your ass hard to keep the fabric in place as the pad of his finger found your clit again. “Isn’t it fun to make him eat his words,” he purred, drawing soft circles on your bud. “And see how nice you get treated when you stop being a little brat?” He pressed hard against you, pulling a moan from your throat that vibrated all the way down Sam’s cock, making his hips twitch in his seat. “Yeah, we’re gon’ take care of you so good you won’t need to brat. Ain’t that right, Sammy?”

“Sapnap, I’m about to crash this damn truck if I have to focus on anything else-” his voice cracked, turning into a deep growl as you sucked your cheeks in and sank further down on him, starting a gentle bob of your head just to hear him moan into the hot air- just to feel those thick fingers in your hair scratch at your scalp. “If you running that fucking mouth distracts me from coming down bunny’s tight throat, I’ll leave your ass in a ditch.”

There was a truly obscene wet sound as you pulled off Sam’s thick cock, hand moving in lazy strokes as you pressed your lips to the little bit of tummy peeking out from his ridden-up shirt. “Sammy,” you hummed, grinning against his skin as another moan tumbled from his lips. “If you kill him before I come, I’ll make you wear a condom if you so much as hold my hand.”

Sam’s groan made his stomach rumble under your lips as Sapnap laughed victoriously, popping his fingers in his mouth before they returned to your cunt, the middle one diving past your folds like a reward. “You tell him, sugar! See, bunny likes my mouth.”

Your fingers rubbed up Sam’s side, revealing more and more skin for you to kiss up. He had such a perfect body, his strong abs hiding under just a bit of pudge that made him perfect for holding, giving just the slightest resistance as you pressed your lips hard against him. “I’d like it a hell of a lot more-” you nipped a light mark into Sam’s soft skin “-if it was on me.”

Sapnap’s scoff barely reached your ears as you decided your jaw had recovered enough to sink back down over Sam’s thick cock, letting it reach as deep in your throat as you could manage with strained breaths. He stretched your throat like it was made for him, made to be just tight enough to make curses spill from his pretty lips and make him drive fast enough to make your walls clench down on Sapnap’s finger as it found the perfect spot inside you to rub at.

Sam’s seatbelt snapped open the same second he slammed on the brakes, Sapnap’s grip on your ass tightening to keep you in place so he could push a second finger inside you. You heard the click of the gearshift just before Sam’s other hand threaded into your hair, pulling you off him. “Deep breaths, okay, bunny?” The words came out rushed and with a sigh as he shifted in his seat until he was facing you. God, he looked so pretty. He didn’t bother to pull his shirt back down, letting his flushed cock leak against his bare stomach as he leaned back against the door, gently pulling you closer until he could lay his lips over yours. He didn’t let it get too deep, tongue just grazing your lip as he forced himself off you, one hand leaving your hair to wrap around the base of his cock with a groan. “You hit me if you want me to stop, alright, bunny? Hit me real hard wherever you can reach to make sure I notice- you won’t hurt me. Promise me, bun.”

You both knew it was more like ‘can’t hurt me’ but you nodded anyway, turning your head to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I promise to hit you if I suddenly lose my mind and decide I don’t want you to fuck my throat.” His stern expression broke as he huffed out a laugh, petting your hair with a soft ‘good girl’ falling from his lips as he guided you to his cock. You did as you were told, taking deep breaths as you let him control your movements, despite how much you wanted to take him to the hilt and let him fill your stomach. Instead, he took your mouth slowly and gently, pulling you back and forth along just the first half as he studied your face. You clenched down on Sapnap’s fingers as you caught sight of his expression- he was looking at you, spit-soaked lips and gnarled hair, like pure art. A deep sigh escaped his lips and his hand left his cock to join the other in your hair, cupping your head gently as you relaxed your throat as much as you could and gripped his hips.

The first thrust into your throat made you choke.

The second one knocked all those careful breaths out of your lungs.

You weren’t embarrassed to say the third one made your eyes roll back as you went limp in his hold.

“Aw, hell,” Sapnap hissed as your legs started to fail, pulling his fingers out of you to grip your other hip. “We good,” he reported, lifting you completely off the seat and up to his mouth, sealing his lips over yours without a missed beat. Your moan pulled one from Sam and spurred his hips faster, Sapnap’s lips curling into a smug grin against you as he ate you as eagerly as he did before- as if this was all he needed to be not just content, but ecstatic.

Your hands on Sam’s hips wandered- up his sides and over his stomach, flexed tight as he chased his high, thick muscle on full display as he fucked your throat open, making a home for his cock in it. You’d love that, you decided. You imagined Sam laying in bed after a hard practice, fat cock nestled in your throat casually as he watched tapes of the old games to prepare. You knew he’d take such good care of you- that was just the kind of sweetheart he was. He’d never let you go hungry or thirsty, always keeping snacks and water on hand for you. He’d treat his cock sleeve like a princess.

Sapnap’s tongue curled inside you just as Sam’s hips started to stutter, almost as if both were trying to carve you open to better suit their needs- only difference being Sap’s need was to make you the last thing he ever tastes and Sam’s was to paint your throat white. You did your very best to relax your throat, to become a willing cum slut for your handsome defense man to use. Your hips rocked against Sapnap’s mouth almost absent-mindedly, more focused on Sam’s pleasure than your own- though, if you weren’t so committed to dying before you stroked their egos, you would admit the possibility of coming from sucking him off was bigger than his double-d pecs.

“I’m gonna come down your throat, bunny,” fell from his lips with a strained breath as one arm snapped to grip the steering column for leverage to lift his hips completely off the seat, fucking his cock along your tongue like he couldn’t get deep enough, no matter how many times he buried your nose in his happy trail. “Fuck, you take dick like a champ, baby. Look like such a little pillow princess, but you give head like a perfect whore. Bet you’d be so happy to stay in my truck forever, huh? Get your pretty cunt ate out while you suck me off every day?” You couldn’t nod around his cock, but Sapnap’s moan as you clenched on his tongue said it all and made Sam grin wide. “Yeah,” he hummed, thrusts turning slower but harder as the hand in your hair caressed your scalp. “We’d be so fuckin’ good to you.”

The promise shot straight to your clit like lightning and spurred you to sink your nails into Sam’s hips to draw him down your throat until your nose was smothered against him, spasming around his cock as your gag reflex protested. His head thunked back against the window, tip battering your throat as his hips jerked against your face. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Put ‘er down, Sap, give ‘er some room.”

A handful of curses were mumbled against your pussy lips, but he obliged, broad hand rubbing up and down your back as he laid you across his lap. “I gotcha, sweet girl, deep breaths for me, alright?”

“I’d like to see you breathe with this monster down your throat,” you thought spitefully, but it died as a husky moan spilled from Sam’s lips, cock jumping in your throat as his orgasm came down on him like a crashing wave. His hand went limp in your hair, nothing more than a soft, sweet caress, not wanting to force you to take more than you wanted. So sweet, always worrying for nothing: your hold on his hips kept him pressed deep inside your mouth, throat pulsing around him as you struggled to swallow mouthful after mouthful of sweet cum, taking as much as he’d give you.

“Fuck, bunny,” he wheezed, voice hoarse as he gently pulled you off his spent cock. You whined as his tip leaked against his stomach, twitching as his own body insisted on giving you more to drink, but it was quickly cut short as you had to snap your lips shut to avoid a mouthful of thick cum falling from them. “Shit,” Sam hissed, already fumbling for the window button, “you wanna spit, sug’?”

Your brat came back. How fucking dare he? Spitters are quitters. Did you suck dick like some common whore who needed to spit after? I don’t think so.

You inhaled deep through your nose and swallowed the entire load in one go, letting your white-streaked tongue loll out as proof. A soft ‘oh, hell’ slipped as he brought your lips to his, inviting your tongue in to tangle with his, licking your mouth clean of him. He groaned when you pulled back, but the hand in your hair didn’t impede your movement as you leaned close, taking his earlobe between your teeth for just a moment.

“Never fucking doubt me again.”

“Never fucking again,” he mumbled out, chasing your lips. “Does that mean you wanna take care of Sap before Punzy finds us?”

Your hand reached back on its own, Sapnap’s fingers finding yours and lips pressing against your palm. His beard scratched gently at the surrounding skin, leaving a trail as he crawled up your body, lips caressing until he was hovered over you and they found your neck. His hips pressed against yours and a gasp fell from your throat like it was pulled.

“God, why are all three of you built like fucking bulls?”

Their chests rumbled against you, a subtle reminder that two broad Texan country boys who loved to throw down their gloves had you trapped between them. It made you feel small, something you didn’t get to experience often. They could easily throw you around, bend you this way and that however they wanted for their own pleasure.

Then Sam’s lips caressed your cheek and Sapnap’s calloused hands kneaded your soft hips. “Made for your pleasure, sweet thing,” Sap murmured against your neck, finding the tender spot behind your ear. He didn’t nip or even suck, just kissed the skin softly: a reminder how soft these boys were on you. They’ve shown more tender care for you in a week of texts and two ‘dates’ than your ex did in almost a year. They would easily throw you around, but they’d do it with a hand protecting your head and soft kisses pressed wherever they could reach. They’d fold you into any position they wanted until you gave the slightest sign of discomfort and they’d pull back without a breath of hesitation.

“Flip me,” you muttered out when your own muscles refused to obey, letting out a soft purr as four broad hands scattered across your body, gently lifting and turning you to lay you back against Sam’s firm chest. You felt a smile tug at your lips as you watched Sapnap get lost in your body, fingers brushing up your waist to reveal the soft skin of your stomach as your shirt got pushed up, trailing touches along the bottom of your bra. “Hey,”

He grinned back, leaning down to brush his lips over yours. “Hey, sugar. Can I get your bra off for ya?” You gave a hum against him and his fingers walked around the band until he found the clasp. He pulled you up just a bit, just enough to press you more against him than Sam, and fumbled with the hooks for a moment- just long enough for you to start grinning against his lips and for him to curse against yours. You wrapped an arm around his neck to hold you up and reached the other back, flicking the hooks apart. “Fuckin’ witchcraft,” he huffed, but helped you pull it out of your shirt anyways.

Sapnap turned the lace over in his hands as if contemplating before reaching over your head.

“There ya go, buddy,” he chirped with a grin as he draped it over Sam’s head. “Add that to your fuckin’ spank bank.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Sam tossed back as his hands rubbed down your hips, grabbing two thick handfuls of your thighs and pulling them apart. You bit your lip to hold back a moan as your lacy panties pulled tight against your clit. “Get to work or I’ll fuck her myself and leave you to cream your pants again.”

Sap rolled his eyes, leaning down to bunny kiss you. “He’s so dramatic,” he whispered in your ear, just to hear the breathy giggle you gave as his lips skimmed your cheek. “You know I’ll take care of you, don’t’cha bunny?” His lips curled into a grin as you nodded, stretching your neck to try and sneak a kiss from him. Thick fingers pulled aside your panties to run his thumb over the seam of your folds, spreading your slick. “Oh, you’re just a sweet thing for me, huh?” He shoved his shorts down his thighs as he asked, grin stretched wider than his face at the weak noise the sight pulled from you.

Punz was packing. You were going to feel Sam in your throat for weeks. Sapnap was smuggling a monster. You were absolutely positive being fucked by a literal bull would be easier. You were expecting something big, of course- you’d even predicted the girth-to-length correctly based on his height and build. You weren’t expecting his long fingers to barely wrap around the base or for the tip to nearly reach his knees.

“It’s always the fucking shy ones.”

“If you want to kill me, just run me over,” you wheezed. The muscles in your neck gave out, seemingly accepting your approaching end, and your head thudded back against Sam’s sternum, but you still watched down your nose as Sapnap stroked himself- god help you, it got bigger.

“You can tap out, sugar,” he promised, even as his thumb swiped over the leaking head. “I’d be more than happy to jerk off with you on my face again.”

“Absolutely not. I just need a safe word.”

That got their attention- and concern. Sam let your thighs fall together and Sap let go of his cock, letting it bob against his stomach as he leaned over you.

“What’s wrong, sugar?”

“What do you need, bun?”

“You know this doesn’t go anywhere you don’t want, right?”

A huff of laughter spilled from your lips as you reached up to cup Sapnap’s cheek. “You’re both big softies,” you cooed, trying to shoo away his worried gaze with a few soft kisses across his cheekbones. “I need a safe word because I know myself too well. I don’t wanna stroke your ego, but you’re fucking huge, Sappy.” He perked up, worry falling away to pure adoration as his hockey name fell from your lips. You rubbed your other hand down his body until you could curl your fingers around his shaft, a grin curling on your face at the soft whimper you pulled from him. “I know I’m going to scream, and cry, and brat my fool head off, even though I want nothing more right now than to die from some monster dick.” You grazed your lips over his. “So we’re going to establish a safe word, and unless I use it, you’re going to fuck my brains out. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” slipped out without hesitation and you couldn’t admit what it did to you. “Fuck, yes, please. Uh- pineapple?”

You gave him a firm but short kiss. “Perfect. Safe word is pineapple. Sam, if someone calls and we don’t notice-”

“Yank you apart and give the offender a good hit- on it.” He pulled your thighs up again, helping Sapnap hook your calves over his hips. His lips pressed gently against the crown of your head. “I gotcha, baby,” he promised softly, making your heart squeeze as you knew he didn’t just mean that he was holding you.

Sapnap’s thick fingers wrapped around the grab handle on the roof to keep his weight off you as he scooched close enough to press his fat tip against you. He parted your folds around him and laid his cock between them, grinding the wet tip against your clit as he passed. “Fuck, sugar,” he sighed in time with your moan as he sized you up. “It’s gonna be fuckin’ tight.”

You knew that was a not-so-subtle offer to back out, to make sure you knew what you were in for.

“Promise?”

He looked like you just gave him the world. Based on the way he practically worships your cunt, you may as well have.

He pressed against your entrance hard, using one hand to try to ease his way inside without just shoving himself into your pussy. When he finally managed the head inside, it pushed a whiny moan out of you as just the tip spread your entrance more than his fingers could ever hope.

“Sapnap,” you rasped out, watching your voice send a shiver down his spine and snap his eyes shut, desperate not to get ahead of himself. He was being smart: taking things nice and slow to make absolutely sure you felt more pleasure than pain. You reached out and raked your nails down his tensed abs. “Take me,”

His hips snapped without a thought as his body took your command as law, suddenly filling you with a good four inches that spread your walls to their limit. His tip leaked precum inside you as if even his cock knew you needed lube and was eager to supply. The hot, sticky feeling as it seeped into you just made you all the more eager to get filled with cum.

Another sharp thrust got him halfway in.

The third slammed your cervix like a truck.

“Oh, hell,” you wheezed, letting yourself fall limp in Sam’s secure hold. Your hips rocked against Sapnap’s, desperate to fit that last bit of him inside you, despite what your body said. “I want it, Sappy, please. Don’t stop.”

Another curse fell from his lips as his cock jerked inside of you, desperate to obey. “Careful, sug’,” he grit out, plastic creaking under his grip as he tried to resist. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You stretched your neck, brushing your lips along his jaw.

“Hurt me.”

It hurt like hell when he slammed your cervix with intent, but you would’ve walked on hot coals to have him buried in your guts. One of Sam’s hands left your thigh to trace light shapes over your clit- whether to get your body to relax or to soothe the pain, you didn’t know, you just knew it was working. Your walls shook as you came, begging Sapnap deeper until finally your cervix gave in.

The coarse hair above his cock pressed against your clit after Sam yanked his hand away, giving a perfect sensation as Sapnap ground his hips against yours as if making sure he’d really given you every inch. “Oh hell- fuck me, sugar- bunny.” His stuttered praises created a new nickname that spread a fuzzy feeling all the way through your stomach and into your chest. Your cunt made your approval known as it tried to suck him in deeper, begging him to fill every empty space inside you and pulling a deep groan all the way from the depths of his stomach. “You like that? You my sweet sugar-bunny? Fuck, your pussy wants me, sug’. Haven’t even started fuckin’ you and it’s tryna milk me. You really want me to come inside you that bad?”

So badly you wanted to cry, yes you did. You’ve never wanted to be filled before these boys, but something about them made you want to be straight-up bred. You wanted them to take turns fucking you full of their cum just to keep your cunt warm and wet and full.

“Please, Sap,” you managed, feeling the way your strained voice made his cock jump inside you. “Want you to fill me up ‘til your cum is leaking out of me for days.”

Evidently, that was the final reassurance your sweet Texas gentleman needed to leave the building. In his place was the broad enforcer who barreled through people like they were nothing but snowflakes in the wind. Without another second Sapnap was jackhammering into you with the same force he used to lay out opponents, that thick cock head never leaving your womb as he speared you open. You only knew you were screaming when your throat began to hurt, unable to hear anything over the blood rushing through your ears as his cock hit every nerve in your pussy, thick shaft rubbing against your g-spot from how stretched you were around him.

Sam let your legs snap closed around Sapnap’s hips so he could cup your tits in either hand, fingers lazily strumming your nipples as if he knew you only needed the slightest touch to bring you over the edge again. Soft praises filled the cab as you came on Sapnap’s cock, Sam’s lips pressing hard on your temple, knowing you’d need something to ground you as you floated. Sapnap didn’t- couldn’t help as he got lost in the heavenly feeling of your pussy gushing around him, the sound of his thrusts becoming so much wetter as he pounded right through your orgasm.

“Remember your safe word, bun,” Sam murmured against you. “We just lost Sappy.”

Sapnap fucked you like a machine, hips pounding an even, fast pace against yours, as if all your orgasm did was energize him. His cock rocked into you like it was his mission to fuck you open. Like he needed to make sure he left you so stretched out that you could only come to him to satisfy you. He was a man completely committed, and his only goal was to fuck your literal brains out and fill you with his cum.

“Beautiful.” The word escaped his lips as part growl and part prayer as he traced the shape of your jaw. He sucked the skin into his mouth just enough to leave a light mark- so tender and gentle with you, completely opposite to the way he abused your cunt. “Fuck, I love when you come for me, sugar. Get this gorgeous look on your face. Look like an absolute goddess, baby.”

You wanted to tell him how much you loved the things he said, how much they filled you with a warmth that pure sex didn’t. You wanted to tell him that he was the picture of a Greek Adonis: stretched out above you with the muscles in his thick arms bulging from the effort of keeping his weight off of you, shaggy brown locks hung over his melted chocolate eyes and that scruffy beard that made you want to trace your fingers down his jaw. You wanted to say it all, but none of it came from your lips.

“Fuck, fuck,” spilled out instead as he fucked you straight through your sensitivity and into a pleasure-induced partial numbness. “Fuck, can’t- I can’t! God, fuck me!”

“God, you really do run your mouth.” Sam’s tone was absolutely reverential, despite the breathless chuckle that came with his words. His fingers traveled all over your torso, rubbing tender shapes into your hips, breasts, and every stretch of skin in between. His lips caressed your cheek, a soft touch among the debauchery of a threesome in a pickup parked in a field. “What’s your safe word, bunny?”

“Pine- fuck! It’s pineapple! That’s not calling it! If you fucking stop, Sapnap, I’ll cut your dick off!”

Sapnap’s lips curled into a smile against you as he eagerly obeyed, hips not so much as stuttering against yours as he kept up his animalistic pace. “She wasn’t kidding: bunny gets bratty after her second, Sam.”

“Duly noted,” was muttered into the hot air, thick fingers crooking under your chin to guide you to his lips. “I think,” Sam mused against your soft lips as he kissed his way into your mouth, “another two would make her a good girl again.”

“Or make her pass out.”

Sam shrugged as he pulled back to let you pant against him, teeth teasing the swollen red skin of your bottom lip. “Either way.”

Your breath hitched as Sapnap’s thick fingers wrapped completely around your ankle and started testing how he could arrange you. He tried to put it over his shoulder first, but when he was blanketed over you so tightly, your hips just couldn’t do it. “I gotcha, sug’,” he promised when you winced, immediately changing tactics. He hooked your knee over his elbow, then wrapped his arm over the steering column. “There you go, just opening you up a bit, that’s all.”

Fuck, you’d never had to be spread open so much just to take a guy. It occurred to you that you still hadn’t. You took Sap just fine- your walls were like a vice around him, the slightest stinging stretch still remaining- but you were taking it in stride. Not that Sapnap’s hammering left any room to do anything but. Still, he tried to take care of you, tried to ease his rough battering on your insides into something easier to walk with tomorrow. Even when he had you spread across the front seat, bruising your folds, he was still so sweet.

He straightened up and yanked the bottom of his shirt between his teeth, eyes as dark as warm molasses trained on where your cunt swallowed him. His cock dragged against your walls as he pulled his hips back, hand snapping back to the grab handle as soon as his shirt was out of the way: he needed to see you. Needed to see the pretty pink lips that wrapped around his cock so well.

Not leaning over you gave him leverage. Now when his hips drove into yours, cock diving deep inside you, he did it faster and harder than he could before. Now when he thrust into you, he pressed his balls tight against your ass, practically begging to empty them into your tight heat.

Scratch what you said before: not sweet. Your legs were just preventing him from absolutely destroying your pussy.

“Y’killing me,”

Sam chuckled, but Sapnap didn’t falter- didn’t even look up from where your cum had soaked the dark hairs at the base of his cock. “You’re okay, sweetheart,” Sam promised. His fingers threaded with yours, bringing your joined hands to rest on the swell of your stomach. You’d swear you could feel Sapnap’s thick cock pressing back- thought that if you were any thinner, you would see the column where he pushed your body aside to make room for himself. “You’re doing so good- such a perfect little bunny,” Sam praised against your cheek as he slathered it in soft caresses of his lips. “Like you were made for us.”

A short laugh fell from his lips before he choked on it. It came back, though, and just as you worried what could possibly make anyone laugh with their cock out and their friend spreading you in half, he let the thought fly.

“Made sharing size.”

Your head fell back into the cradle of his collarbone and a short, breathless laugh spilled from your lips. “I hate you,” you managed, but it caught in your throat as Sapnap fucked you like he hadn’t heard a word. “Fuck, hate you, too, Goliath!”

“I don’t think he can hear you,” Sam muttered, caressing your tit in his free hand- didn’t grope it, didn’t play with your nipple. He held it like a precious gem- pet over the skin like it was the softest he’d ever felt. Sapnap growled out something around his shirt, but even if you could understand it, you weren’t certain it was anything coherent. “Sappy’s a little obsessed with you, bun. Now that he’s got a turn with your pussy, he’s not thinkin’ ‘bout nothing but fucking you open and filling you.”

Well, fuck, now that was all you could think about, either. You’d never admit to these boys how much you fantasized about letting them fill you up whenever they wanted. How many nights since your impromptu rendezvous were spent with your fingers in your cunt, mourning the lack of a thick cock to satisfy you. The lack of a strong, warm body holding you from behind, feeding himself into your needy pussy just to be closer while you slept.

You could never tell them. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind they’d comply to every increasingly perverted thought, and you quite enjoyed your ability to walk- and think- straight. Both of which were quickly melting away as Sapnap carved out a permanent home for himself deep in your guts.

He fell forward when you came around him, gummy walls sucking his cock deeper as he mouthed at the column of your neck. Your arms snapped around his head as his hips resorted to rolling against yours, nails carving into his scalp through shaggy hair as the coarse hair at his base scraped against your clit. “S’fuckin’ good, sugar,” he groaned against the pulsing vein in your neck. “You’re fuckin’ perfect. Fuck, ‘m gonna fill this sweet pussy with my cum. Stuff you so fuckin’ full-” He choked as you rolled your hips in time with his, falling to his forearms braced on the driver’s window.

“Promises,” you panted out with a smile, “promises,”

Curses spilled from his lips like he couldn’t control himself, chest hair rubbing against your raw nipples where his shirt was still bunched up, sending you dangerously closer to overstimulation, but nowhere near calling your safe word. “She’s so sweet,” he muttered under his breath, as if it was a realization he hadn't meant to share.

“Just the sweetest, ain’t she,” Sam hummed back anyway, lips pressed tenderly against your temple. “She don’t even know how gorgeous she is- else she wouldn’t let a couple bucket heads split her open.”

“Maybe we’re special.” The words were barely breathed into your neck, a shy question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.

You pulled hard on his soft hair, yanking his lips up to yours. He still tasted like your cunt, but his strawberry chapstick peaked through, just like you were learning it always did. When you let him pull back, it was only enough for your breath to wash over each other's sore lips. “So special,” you promised, and you meant it. You might have a major thing for jocks with anger issues, but you sure as hell didn’t let them all raw you. In a truck. At the same time. But then again, they didn’t all drive an hour to pick you up for a spur of the moment date after a week of blowing up your phone.

“You’re more special,” spilled from his lips into yours without a thought, pressing closer and closer until there wasn’t an inch of your body not touching them. “Want you to come with me, sugar. Please? Wanna make you come one more time.” You were nodding from the first word, finally driving your tongue past his lips to make him shut up because god, you wouldn’t be able to wait for him if he kept talking.

Sam’s broad, calloused hands rubbed over your bare stomach, a soft, “y’two look so cute together,” pulling a whine from deep in your chest. He held you tight as Sapnap’s hips bucked into yours, throwing you over the edge one more time as your pussy milked him for his cum, begging for it to fill you up. “Atta girl, letting Sappy come. So good for us,” he cooed, giving you a squeeze while you were still a million miles away, his voice foggy and distant. You didn’t know how long it took you to come back down to Earth, but Sapnap’s cock was still leaking into your used hole when you did, his nose buried where your neck met your shoulder, nuzzling into the skin as if he was going to fall asleep. Honestly, you had half a mind to join him.

The cold air hit first. Then Sapnap hit your chest and knocked every painfully reclaimed breath back out of your lungs as all three of you fell like a set of dominoes without the driver’s door propping you up.

“This is the fucking thanks I get for buying the pizza?” The sudden bright light of the overhead impeded your view, but after a few frantic blinks, you could make out an upside-down Punz glaring at you. No, not you: only the guys. Pretty privileges. Awesome. “Sam, put your dick away.”

“Cock looker,” Sam called with a flip of the bird, but yanked his boxers back into place anyway. “We’re not neglecting our girl just because you’re late to the party. Right, Sap?” Sapnap let out a sound against your neck that was either, ‘fuck you,’ or ‘puck boo.’ Toss of the coin, really. Either way, Punz reached over and smacked the back of his head.

“Get off her so I can take my bunny.”

A shrill yelp escaped you as Sapnap suddenly came back to life, fingers sinking into your love handles to hold you steady as he shot up. You moaned as the new position had you basically sitting on his lap, cock head spearing something deep inside you that’s never been reached before, but if he noticed he didn’t show it. “You can’t take her!” The decree was paired with him falling back on the passenger’s door, sending you crashing into his firm chest. “She’s mine now,” he decided with a kiss to your crown. After a moment of contemplation, you decided that you were pretty cool with any result from this conversation and settled in. “You decided to be a bitch and not show. Too bad, so sad- oh, fuck!”

Another panicked noise left your lips as Sapnap fell, his entire torso dangling out of the truck with Sam’s frantic grab of his ankles the only thing keeping him from tumbling out onto the grass with you still attached. After a beat to confirm you weren’t about to crack your head open and be found naked and full of cum, you braced yourself on Sapnap’s chest and pushed yourself up.

Punz grinned like he hadn’t just tried to murder his right wing. “Hey, bunny,” he purred, opening his arms for you. “‘M sorry I didn’t come to pick you up. You wanna have a cuddle while Tweedledee and Tweedledipshit pull the truck the right way around?”

“I’m sorry my parking skills aren’t on point when I’m balls deep, god!”

“He’s not sorry,” you pretended to whisper, stern facade breaking into a grin when Sapnap snorted out a laugh under you. You rubbed a flat palm across his chest, feeling it rumble as he practically purred at the feeling. “You ready to let me go, Sappy? Or you need a snuggle?”

You could watch in his eyes like a movie as he slowly thought through your question and realized what you were really asking. He leaned up to press a peck against the corner of your mouth before flopping back down across the seat with a soft pat to your waist. “I’m good,” he promised with one of those lazy grins you were starting to crave. “Make sure to save some for me, though, yeah?”

“Oh, of course: everyone gets their cuddle rations,” you agreed, choosing to ignore Sam’s snort of, “rations- like we’re in the cuddle war.” You reached for Punz and tried to make yourself as cute as possible with a soft pout. “I can’t stand, you’ll have to carry me.”

“I think I can live with that,” he decided, pulling you off Sapnap and into his arms with a small noise of sympathy as the drag against your sensitive cunt made you ache. “I know, poor bunny,” he gushed, pulling down your shirt for you. “Alright, fuckers, turn the truck around so we can actually watch the movie!”

“I’d forgotten about the movie,” you mused, legs wrapped around Punz’s waist hesitantly. “I’m leaking on your shirt.”

“It’s seen worse.”

Your nose wrinkled. “Ew,”

“I don’t think you get to talk shit after a Texas Eiffel Tower.”

“... alright, fair,” you decided, settling into his chest. His hands on your hips hoisted you up his body easily, letting you relax and trust him to arrange you however it was easiest to hold. “So what brought on this surprise date? I mean, I’m obviously not complaining, but you three seem to have a TMI issue when we text, so why didn’t any of you tell me?”

For what might’ve been the first time in his life, Punz’s mouth stayed shut. Call the fuckin’ presses. You pushed down your instinct to say something snarky (or maybe just bratty) and pulled your chin out of his shoulder to look at him properly. And oh what a pretty pink he was.

He finally caved to your unintentional puppy eyes, stubbornly looking away. “We were kinda worried you’d say no… and we thought it’d be better to hear it in person than over text.”

The truck doors clanked open then shut again, and the two were now pulling the tarp off the bed, but your eyes were stuck on Punz. “You all drove an hour and bought pizza… while thinking I might not agree?”

“... Look, I never claimed we were smart-”

“That is the sweetest thing a guy’s ever done for me,” gushed out of you before you could think of the ramifications of admitting that. You slammed your lips over his in an effort to keep him from thinking too hard on it, kissing your way into his mouth. “You guys,” you breathed between kisses as you started peppering them all across his face, “are the absolute-” mwah mwah mwah, “best ever! Gotta be careful-” mwah, “if you ever wanna get rid of me-”

“Never,” he declared without hesitation, chasing after your lips. “Today was your chance to tell us to get lost. You get another in eleven to twelve business days.”

“Oh? Which days are business days?”

“Every third Groundhog’s Day.”

Giggles burst from your lips just as another set of hands snatched your waist. “What are you two talking about over here,” Sam hummed against your ear. You could feel his lips curl into a grin as his fingers ran light circles over your sensitive skin, turning a slight laugh into an absolute fit. “Come here, you, let’s get you into the bed. Hup!” He lifted you out of Punz’s arms and right into Sapnap’s waiting ones from where he stood in the truck bed.

“Hey, sugar,” he sang. The truck rocked as all your boys clambered in, but Sap did his best to keep you steady as he laid you in an absolute nest of pillows they’d prepared. Couch cushions, bed pillows, and even a body pillow with a hockey player posing like a Playboy bunny. “There you go,” he muttered to himself, tucking into your side like he hadn’t just been stuck on you like superglue. His lips ghosted over your cheek. “You gonna let us feed you now?”

“How the hell do you come that hard and walk around like nothing?”

He blinked. “Why do you sound mad about it?”

“I am mad about it! You practically killed me, and now you’re carrying me!”

“Well, it’s not like you’re heavy.”

You gave a pointed look down at your thick thighs and thicker stomach. “Hon, I weigh like-”

“Mushrooms or no?” The truck suspension strained as Sam threw himself down next to you, two pizza boxes bouncing on his lap. “We’ll need you to eat at least one slice, since someone interrupted before we could do any other aftercare-”

“Oh, fuck off! You can fuckin’ Venmo me for the pizza if you keep bitching.”

“I paid for gas! Make Sapnap pitch in for once!”

“Excuse you,” Sapnap huffed, wrestling with a two-liter of coke, “I’m baby, bitch.”

You found yourself chuckling and shaking your head as they argued, blooming warmth filling your chest.

Contrasting with the wet cold between your thighs.

“Punz-” He stopped swiping at Sapnap to give you his full attention, and for a moment you thought you should be an adult. Tell him to find you something to clean yourself with, and tell Sam or Sapnap or whoever stole your panties to give them back. You should act like a mature woman who knows how to handle a two-night stand, but instead you find yourself pouting at him, knowing it would make him cave to anything you asked. “They left me empty and cold.”

Sam and Sap burst into protests.

“Left you?!”

“The audacity-”

“Oh, you poor little bunny,” Punz laughed, scooping you right up and taking your place. He squeezed you tight, dotting his lips across your neck to hear you giggle as his breath tickled the sensitive skin. “Bastards been neglecting you?”

Sapnap had produced a handful of shot glasses that he filled with soda and passed around. “Oh, yeah, she was real fuckin’ neglected when she was coming on my cock.”

“She needs all three of us to be happy,” Sam agreed, taking the shot. “Why did you bring shot glasses?”

“Why didn’t you bring alcohol?”

“Lift your hips for me, bunny,” Punz muttered, squeezing your waist. “I’ll pull down my shorts for you and we can have a nice warm cuddle while we watch the movie.”

You pushed up to your knees, hands from either side snapping to hold you steady. “You’re all such worry warts,” you laughed, accepting a shot of coke and passing it back for a refill.

“Oh, forgive us, sugar: we’re not eager to watch the gorgeous babe who puts up with all three of our dumb asses crack her head open.”

You felt Punz run his smooth tip through your folds, letting Sapnap’s cum slick up his shaft before he led you to ease your hips back. You managed to choke your moan as he spread you back open, biting your tongue until you were seated all the way back on his lap. “Fuck- I’m good, I’m good.”

“You’re good?”

You sighed as the stretch quickly faded from being fucked open so recently, leaving only the blissful feeling of being perfectly filled. “I’m so good.” Sam offered you a slice and you took it, downing a testing nibble and then three big bites of melty cheese as you realized maybe their fuck-then-feed method held some water after all. “What are we watching?”

Sam presented a remote with a flourish, pointing it at the white sheet strung up in the treeline and pushing a button. “We are watching- fuck.” He flipped the remote around to point it at the projector on the roof of the cab. You weren’t sure how much of this was set up before or how much you were oblivious to while Punz coddled you, but either way something squeezed in your chest. “We’re watching Die Hard, because it’s a goddamn masterpiece.”

You nodded. “You got the second one for after?”

“Of course,”

“And the third?”

“You’re cute. Don’t push it.”

#angymouse #puckbunny #sapsqueaks #punnysqueaks #awesamsqueaks #minors dni #chubby reader #mcyt smut

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