#im just gonna drop this and run ok

[alphavanilla]

yeah

[lairmadness]

How about that Ogerpon

Please read the tags!

[beatcroc]

dropped my p-rank full combo getting hit on the literal last enemy in the stage but im being so brave about it

[diah-the-demon]

You ever just get one of those late night moments where you are having a panic attack cause you are so overwhelmed with all the work you need to get done

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being the forgetful Avenger

Avengers x reader

warnings:

a/n: it not too long i so sorry

prompt: @glitchy-bean: “Hi!!! I hope you're doing good!!! Could I request smth with a really forgetful reader + the avengers gang? More like found family than anything romantic at all with a teen reader if that's okay!!!”

“well sorry” -you, consistently “i cant remember everything”

“you can’t remember anything” -nat

“yeah, y/n, were you dropped on the head as a baby or something?” -tony

“cut it out, guys. it’s not their fault they forgot thor’s birthday. besides, hes had a couple thousand” -steve

“are you calling me old, captain?” -thor

“at least im not the only one” -steve

it wasn’t just birthdays you forgot

much much more serious than that

rendezvous points, mission details, plans of attack, perp descriptions, where you put your keys, where you put your gun

you name it you forgot it

i mean—not always, but enough for it to be the running joke

“keep your comms on, y/n. not having a disaster like last time when you couldn’t remember whether to cut the red wire or green wire” -tony

“you wish i cut the wrong one” -you

“uh, no, that’s very harsh. i moreso wished you didn’t scare us half to death by nearly digging your grave” -tony

“oh ok i forgot” -you

“who left their macaroni and cheese in the microwave?” -vision

“damn! its cold. and crusted a little. how long did i leave this in here?” -you, poking your tray with a fork “and why are you using the microwave? you dont eat”

“this is a shared space, is it not?” -vision

“he’s got you there” -steve

“you’re just ganging up on me because you’re all miserable and you want me to be miserable too. i’m going to drive one of tony’s expensive cars now, you can’t stop me” -you, storming out

you walked right back in

“what’d you forget?” -steve

“wallet, phone, keys” -you

tony noticed

“where is y/n going with my car?” -tony

“not sure, just out” -steve

“probably gonna forget their turn signal and crash into someone’s car” -tony

as far as missions went, though, you were a bit of a powerhouse so you didn’t really need to be looked after on that front…just had to make sure not to blow anyone else’s cover

“hey, what’s the codeword again?” -you

“check your wrist, kid” -nat

“oh, right…okay thanks” -you

“*gasp* was i supposed to give the signal? i just kinda went in” -you

“ok, who told y/n they could give the signal. speak up now” -tony

*clint loudly snickering over comms*

kinda forgetting what you’re talking about in the middle of sentences sometimes but like, just glitching out

“something smells like it’s burning” -you “my cookies…”

you forgot to set a timer

and forgot you were making cookies

the avengers honestly did find it endearing

just a hyper kid who cant get their thoughts in a solid line

but they’d continue making jabs at you constantly

“maybe wanda can fix your memory problems” -tony

“i will not” -wanda

“oh well nevermind then” -tony

honestly with all your forgetfulness, you worried as you dusted away if anyone would forget about you

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

[chrissturnsgirlll222]

daydream

chrisxfem!reader

summary - you spent the whole day waiting to see your boyfriend and when you do it was worth the wait

warnings - super fluffyyyy, kissing, use of y/n, suggestive????

NOT PROOFREAD

-

sitting in class i couldnt wait to see chris. we have been dating for over 8 months now and i could not be any happier with our relationship. except for when we were apart. all day i just wanted to see him, kiss him, hug him and just be with him. i go to uni while him and his brothers pursue their wildly successful youtube channel and we somehow met at an LA party. ever since then i never wanted to be away from him. but uni classes are extremely time consuming so usually i just spend nights with him when i can.

today was one of those nights and i was physically jittery just waiting to see him later. just imagining ordering dinner watching a movie and sharing some time together was more than enough motivation for me to speed the hell out of class when we were dismissed around 8pm. i went to my dorm, showered, packed, and put on a tank top, sweatpants and head out the door.

the drive feels a million minutes too long as i finally get to his house which he shares with his triplet brothers and i eagerly grab my sleepover bag and my laptop from my bag seat and sprint towards the front door. knocking and impatiently waiting for an answer and im greeted by nick, “oh hey y/n, didnt know you were coming tonight i thought you had that huge assignment due.” he welcomes me in. “i decided i would just work on it here, just wanted to see chris you know.” i smile, “you guys are so in love it actually drives me insane.” he jokingly scoffs and rolls his eyes. i laugh and walk in taking my shoes off and walking downstairs to his room.

i walk in and dont see him but hear the shower running, internally thanking myself for showering beforehand cause all i wanted to do was just be with my boyfriend. his room is awfully cold so i just put my stuff down and engulf myself with his duvet. getting comfy and slightly dozing off as i wait for him.

i faintly hear the bathroom door open and hear him walk towards the bed but dont feel a dip in the mattress, “chris!” i exclaim getting up and moving towards the edge of his bed and hug his torso laying my head on his stomach. “hi my girl.” he chuckles placing a hand on the back of my head. i feel drops of water from his wet hair and hear him sigh, “long day?” i ask.

“yeah but its ok im glad you decided to do your paper here i was missing you.” he says and i look up at him. he bends down and places a kiss on my lips before lifting me up and placing my on the floor. “what do you want to eat im so hungry.” he asks, “honestly ill eat anything lets ask your brothers what they want.” i suggest. he nods and leads me out of the room upstairs

we all decide on ordering for an italian place and we all end up getting alfredo.

“im gonna go brush my teeth babe.” i say getting up from the dinner table and placing my plate in the dishwasher. chris nods at me as he continues to talk to his brothers and i make my way down to his bathroom.

taking out the toothbrush i leave at his house and brush them and use mouth wash. i wash my face and put on my skincare getting ready for bed and see chris starring at me from the door way. i smile at him and he walks over placing a kiss to my cheek before grabbing his tooth brush.

i prop myself up on the counter and just watch him as he does so, admiring his every move. i never knew that i could be so infatuated by someone that i enjoy watching them do something so simple such as brushing their teeth. “wanna go put on our show?” he spits out the toothpaste in his mouth. i smile and nod at him and hop off the counter walking towards the bed and grabbing the remote. turning on the episode and pausing it waiting for chris.

i get up when i see him walk back in to the room and hold my arms out at him. he smiles and wraps his arms under mine and we lay down. my head is on his chest and our legs and tangled under the covers. i sigh contentedly against him and he looks down, “whats wrong?”

“absolutely nothing.” i smile nuzzling my head closer to him, “i missed you so much today, i couldnt wait for class to be over so i could see you.”

“i missed you today too.” he smiles and i lift my head up to kiss him. he flips us over so he laying on top of me now and places kisses all over my face, neck, collar and then rests his head down in the crook of my neck. “are you done yet?” i chuckle and i feel him nod.

-

thanks for reading xx

taglist: @sleepysturnss @blahbel668 @alorsxsturn @w4nnabeurs @junnniiieee07 @waydasims @matthewloverr @bitchydragonparadise @matthewsturnioloswifey @iloveneilperry @stunza @realuvrrr @sturnsjtop @canthelpit0 @lilsstvrn @sturniololol @sturnssmuts @emlovesthesturniolos @demisthings05

a/n: wrote this immediately after i had this exact dream so if its ass blame my sleepy state!!!

[princessbrunette]

Foaming at the mouth for jealous controlling “Where do you think you’re going dressed like that” Rafe but something about “Wear whatever you want I can fight (and im strapped)” Rafe… 🥵

ok esp for girly reader who lives and breathes mini skirts and tiny tops (def not self serving… not at all…)

because you really expect rafe to be the first type. and to a degree, he is— if you’re going out alone that is. usually, you bow your head to it, because really — you tell yourself — he’s just concerned about your safety. there are some real creeps out there, and going out alone in a mini skirt is a sure recipe for disaster, right?

he’s bringing you to a party on the beach. you didn’t usually go partying with rafe, and he liked it that way — because that’s where he did the most business, cashing out on rich coke heads. you knew he wouldn’t be selling at a beach party, purely because anyone stupid enough to try and snort anything would end up ingesting a fuck-tonne of sand, and it’s just not the kinda complaint he’s in the mood to hear. you actually just get to hang out with him and his friends, and this excites you.

you test the waters, stepping out of your room when he waits in the living room leant against the shelf scrolling on his phone. you know it’s likely he’ll turn you right back around and send you changing due to the little pink co-ord clinging to your every curve. it’s cupping your tits and hugging your waist and leaving all but nothing to the imagination, but it’s been a while since you’ve worn something fun like that — so you try your luck anyway.

“m’ready!” you grin, sticking your arms out by your side all cute. he looks up from his phone, eyes all wide and vacant for a second, lips pouted in thought and briefly drops his eyes up and down your body.

“yeah, looks good kid.” he drawls, flipping his phone deftly between his fingers and stuffing it into his pocket. his eyes linger around your tits again before meeting your eye, walking towards you with a happy and simple smile, one that says ‘can we go now?’

your brows raise and you look down at yourself in surprise. “i’m surprised. you’re letting me wear this out?” you gaze up at him, lips twitching up. you think he’s making an active decision to be less controlling for a moment. he shrugs lazily, eyes flickering around the room as if to say ‘so?’ and with that he lifts the end of his button-up, revealing a glock tucked into his waistband.

oh.

“yeah i don’t think anyone’s gonna have the nerve to step out of line, a’ight? ‘look after my girl.” he steps closer to you, hand coming up to scratch affectionately behind your ears like you’re a dog. you don’t mind.

you stare up at him, all doe eyed and shocked. he thinks it’s adorable honestly, all scared over a little pistol. hell, you’d probably never even seen one in real life before, let alone this close.

“rafe…” you start unsurely, breathily, but he cuts you off, hand caressing your cheek, tilting his head down and raising his eyebrows.

“hey. you wear what you want with me, yeah? m’protected. strapped. it’s okay.” he enunciates, and well— you’re not really in the place to argue. you nod, still wide eyed and he gives your cheek an affectionate tap, squinting his eyes with a satisfied smile.

as imagined, rafes temper rears it’s ugly head one beer down, catching a poor boy a year or two his junior, eyes fixated on the way your ass was moving when you walked along the sand, unbeknownst to wandering eyes. of course, the boy ended up backed up against the pier with the cool end of the gun pressed into his jaw, terrified whimpers ripped from his throat.

“wanna look at my girl, huh? think i’m gonna let that shit run?” rafe is gripping the smaller boy by the collar, teeth grit, animalistic. your breath hitches, you think he may actually shoot this kid.

“rafe…” you call out urgently, not wanting to get too close.

“no! i—” the boy tries to argue, and you really feel for him, because rafe only presses the gun harder against his chin.

“no? better keep your eyes to yourself or i’m gonna be the last thing you fuckin’ see is that understood? is that understood asshole?” he grits out, eyes wet and watery from adrenaline.

“rafe! stop!” you call out, brows furrowed and tears brimming. he sighs, finally hearing you and steps back, not taking his eyes off the mortified boy infront of him. he stares until the kid grows the balls to run off, tripping and kicking up sand as he disappears to the other side of the pier where the rest of the party goers were. it’s only then he looks back at you.

“shit.” he sighs out, shaking his head, shaking himself off completely as he stares out at the moons reflection on the ocean.

you hug yourself, watching him mellow out a little. he tucks the glock back into his waistband, yanking his shirt out again to cover it.

“you’re not bringing that thing out again.” you accuse, pointing to his gun shape tucked into his pants. he blows you off, lifting a hand and walking the other way before turning back suddenly.

“i have to protect you, you understand? if i can’t bring this out with me you— you can’t bring that.” he lifts an arm, gesturing to your lower body. you stare at him in confusion before looking down. your… ass? was he talking about your ass?

“how am i supposed to leave my ass at home, rafe?” you argue, and as soon as the words leave your mouth— you can’t help but let out a giggle. you’re mad at him, yes — but the demand was funny, you couldn’t deny.

you think he’s gonna get mad, maybe wipe the smile off your face, but his sigh turns into a giggle too, looking away from you. the irritation from his face melts into something more boyish and young, his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he lets out a low chuckle. this only makes you chortle more, and he shakes his head, trying to hide his amusement as he waddles toward you on the uneven sand, holding out his arm and reaching you, bringing you beneath it into his side.

“alright, come on trouble.” he smirks, leading you back to the party. “y’still in a partying mood?”

[greycaelum]

Ok im gonna drop this here for u to write it whenever u want,cause its been hunting me

Royalty au where gojo and reader are living happily,that is until someone poisons his queen when they're having dinner together.

She drinks the wine,and suddenly falls to the ground while throwing up blood and blood running from her eyes. Shoko manages to save her and geto holds gojo back so he doesnt do anything stupid. But when his queen wakes up she's really weak so shoko tells gojo about a flower that'll heal her up,so gojo leaves in order to search for it.

But when he's back,geto leads him to the flower garden the queen loves and he finds her among the flowers,a little better and seeing her not on deadbed has him running toward her,lifting her up and spinning while both of them laugh and kiss

Happy ending

Scribbles & Doodles—Lotus Tears

—Elven Emperor Gojo Satoru X Human Empress Reader

𑁍 Synopsis:

His azure orbs stare as you reach to cup his cheeks with a slight understanding frown painting your brows. It doesn't help that you are wearing the other pair of purple robes. It made his belly warm, and his chest swelled with pride. You are pairing... He was the only one who could wear the purple robes since he was born, a lone star, but not anymore. And that was enough to make his heart skip a beat. "Will you be back for dinner?" Your tone carried hope and joy into his day. He doesn't understand why he has to part with you every day... He heaved a sigh hoping the day turns to dusk soon so he can hold you again to his heart's content. "For you, always, My Flower."

𑁍 Genre: historical fantasy, elves/faes, dark magic if you squint, interracial marriage

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (4.3k)— poison, mad Satoru, elven traditions and cultures, fluff, angst, comfort, implication of major character death, mating bonds, talks of rebirth

𑁍 ✒️☕: Hi to the person who sent this ask. Pardon the very long wait, but I loved writing this one, I just need to say your ask is one of my fave ideas for elf Satoru so I tweaked some things, fantasy tropes are my favorite to write to escape canon~ Grey,

At night when you lay in their bed, your head atop his chest, he cannot sleep a wink for he has forever to spare and only a lifetime with you in his arms. For such a fragile flower, even a man who has grown bleak and untouched over the long passage of time, Satoru cannot help but stroke your head gently, scaring the pixies who would try to sneak in to soak with his mate's presence. He doesn't know if it's a good thing or bad that his mate is loved by the small faes. But one thing is for sure, he doesn't delight that they are trying to pry you awake from his arms. It's no secret he doesn't like sharing... especially when it's about you.

For a human to become the Empress of the High Courts is an unheard thing. Improbable would be the word. And you do not need to know what methods Satoru used to make this happen. Because you already knew that behind his delicate beauty, lies the prickly thorns that wield the absolute power over nature. There is a reason why he was able to rule undisputedly in the indifferent flow of nature over the passage of time.

When he married you, he knew he would uproot the earth and supplant it again and again to give whatever you desired. He is the supreme ruler and Emperor of the High Courts and would only sheath his indifference in the presence of his Empress. He has broken down the millennial walls covering his heart and found himself enthralled by the maiden who never feared the Dark Woods. She found beauty in the mystery of the borders, and he found solace in her presence. She has grown to be his beloved Flower.

Fortunately for you, even as a born human, you have adapted to the faes far quicker. Learning their language and making up for your lack of magic, you learned diplomacy. It was not easy to learn such an intricate affair, but fortune has smiled upon you, with Satoru, who has boundless knowledge of the matter to be your tutor.

"Is this adequate enough?" Satoru hopefully looked at you in the mirror and the craft he had finished for a satisfactory answer.

"Satoru, we are not going to any gathering, are we?" You chuckled as you sat in front of the golden mirror while Satoru stood behind, holding an ivory comb in his hand as he carefully brushed your silky tresses. Small flowers adorned your hair like trinkets as he wove them skillfully into a braid. At this point, your handmaidens have lost their job, with your mate attending to almost everything you need unless he is away for the court.

"At least let me do this before I leave for my duties." He brought the tip of your hair to his lips, kissing it as he stared at you, a longing look on his face. This prompt you to turn the chair and face the elven emperor.

His azure orbs stare as you reach to cup his cheeks with a slight understanding frown painting your brows. It doesn't help that you are wearing the other pair of purple robes. It made his belly warm, and his chest swelled with pride. You are pairing... He was the only one who could wear the purple robes since he was born, a lone star, but not anymore. And that was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

"Will you be back for dinner?" Your tone carried hope and joy into his day.

He doesn't understand why he has to part with you every day... He heaved a sigh hoping the day turns to dusk soon so he can hold you again to his heart's content.

"For you, always, My Flower." Satoru tilted your chin and pressed a kiss on your forehead. "I do not wish to leave." He grumbled and connected your forehead, staring right into your eyes.

Your soft chuckle fluttered through his ears as you reached to cup his cheeks and stare into his eyes. A sense of tranquility floated in your orbs bringing his heart into a puddle of cotton.

"I will wait for you at dinner, Satoru. So the earlier you finish the earlier we see each other. Alright?"

"Alright, as you wish." Satoru sighed and kissed the tip of your nose. "The things you make me do..."

He never thought he would one day sit under the shade of foliage with his Empress on his lap, reading through some parchments while he pilfered some wildflowers to braid her hair. Or to walk while gently pulling the reins of his equine, leading the elk through safe passages whilst you ride on the back. Things he never imagined and things he never thought he would do. But the second you came it all seemed natural for him to indulge you in every way possible.

You are like a brittle glass flower to him that he cannot help but wrap you in the most flawless silks and softest ermine furs. You evoke in him a firm sense of fierce protectiveness.

So imagine the horror and derangement inside him when you were still smiling and talking with him at the dinner table but suddenly blood flowed down your nose, followed by a series of coughs drawing blood from your throat as you dropped to the floor, desperately gasping for air.

If it wasn't for his friend Suguru, a Dragon Lord who he has grown with, who happened to visit the very same day only to pin him down in his rampage of killing the perpetrators hiding in the imperial kitchen staff, perhaps one-fourth of the castle must've already been slaughtered.

All he could see was red. The burning flames consuming the imperial castle and the wilting forest mirrored the despair in his heart. He couldn't hear that his people were wailing for him. All he could ever see was his mate dying each second from the potent poison coursing in her bloodstream.

"Don't touch her!"

He snarled with pure frenzy when Shoko tried to reach out to your unmoving body in his arms.

"Satoru, Shoko is only going to heal her. Your mate needs help." Suguru tried to reason with the livid, elven emperor cradling the unmoving body of his bleeding empress. "She would not do anything to her, only help her."

Suguru could see how unfocused and distraught the dark blue eyes of his friend were, so far from his usual calm and regal sense. Satoru's eyes were bloodshot red. Thankfully, he didn't move when Shoko reached out again to heal his mate. 

A faint color of life returned to your face, but you were still as pale as alabaster, still unconscious. The fire consuming the woods slowly died down... A slight sense of sanity returned to Satoru, who held you close, ready to hide you from the world if not for Shoko's words.

"She's in moratorium state... I've only managed to stabilize her body and freeze the poison to stop it from spreading further. Right now, we need to find an antidote... Or else she will only have seven days to live. For now, let's take the Empress to a safe place." Shoko pinched the bridge of her nose as she looked back to the fire slowly dying down, leaving shared trees and ashes. "And fix the chaos you have ignited, Your Majesty, the Emperor."

There are, but severely few times he let his emotions overcome him. He could count it in his hand. But ever since that sight of your throwing up blood, Satoru experienced a myriad of emotions he thought he was never capable of.

Fear... Despair... Uselessness... and most of all heartbreak...

You don't know how many millions of times his soul has shattered in every second he held your cold hand whilst he channeled all healing spell he knows into your body as you sleep on the cradle of the sacred tree cushioned by wildflowers and vines dangling down the archaic branches of the colossal wood. It seems you're merely asleep, but it feels like it's been forever since he last saw your eyes. The reality is that day by day, you are losing your life while all he can do is sit here, rooted in place, too afraid that if he steps away, he might not see you again.

"Your Majesty..." Shoko came forward. The Emperor has been sitting here for three days straight beside his dying mate in silence holding her hand, unmoving, and would attack anyone who dares to step one foot closer to the lying Empress. The court matters have been neglected, with only the elders holding the court together in his absence. The woodlands are closely related to the essence of the Emperor. The depression of his heart manifested in the woods, which gradually lost the green leaves and were replaced by withered branches...

"I have found a possible cure for the Empress."

Shoko had never felt strong empathy, but she did feel a bit of ache for her friend when he raised his head at her, almost pleading with his bloodshot eyes.

"Speak."

"Do you remember the Sacred Tombs of Tvar?"

The sacred burial grounds of the late Empresses. It's deep-seated in the heart of the Mountain of Hanging Tombs, guarded by the mythical beasts his forefathers have created to protect the resting place of the late Imperial Rulers.

"What about it?" Satoru has only been there once when his Imperial Father has taken him to visit his late Mother. It's a mystical mountain filled with ancient elements, from the creatures to the plants, that can only be heard in folklore.

"For high faes like us, the poison the Empress has induced was nothing serious. But to humans, it is lethal." Shoko sighed. "The spell I cast was only a valve to keep the poison at bay until we can find an antidote. On the seventh day, when the sun rises, the spell will cease to exist, and the poison will corrode her bo—"

"Tell me, what should I do? Anything Shoko. I would kill if I had to." The bones on his knuckles protruded with his clenched fists. The Emperor cut her off. He would not hear her say such ominous words about his mate's life.

He would uproot the earth to find anything that can cure you. Anything.

"Killing might be going too far, but it's not impossible." Shoko took out from her robe a parchment containing a sketch of what seemed like a flower and handed it to her Emperor. She never slept over the three days in a desperate search for any cure. "There's a flower that can only be seen in the Sacred Tombs of Tvar that may be able to save the Empress. As we all know, only the direct descendant of the Imperial Family can enter the Mountain of Hanging Tombs."

The Mountain of Hanging Tombs is as ominous as the name implies. It's a mountain range covered with black mist and ferocious mythical animals and exotic plants. It's not that only the direct descendants of the Imperial Elven Bloodline can enter the mountains, but the lower beasts residing on the foot of the mountains refrain from attacking an imperial descendant since they are born from the first Emperor's blood as well. No ordinary fae can survive these mythical beasts, and could only result in death. Thus, it has become known not to venture deep into the mountains.

Satoru, however, wasted no time to cross the valleys leading to the burial grounds. He needs to find that flower.

Lotus Tears...

It is said that the flower can heal any illness. However, it's impossible to scour for the elusive flower, which roots deep only in the burial grounds of the Empresses and leave unscathed from the toxic plants and mythical animals on top of the Mountain of Hanging Tombs that will attack him at any given second.

"Why do you always put the flower on my left ear? I'm not yet married." You asked him during one of the days he stayed longer to watch over you as you searched for some wild, beautiful flowers in the woods.

Satoru stared at the magenta lilacs he conjured from his hands and tucked them into your left ear.

"You look beautiful in any shade of purple..." It matches the color of his robe.

You pursed your lips and huffed clearly not satisfied by his vague answer.

"You didn't answer my question, Satoru."

He chuckled at your angry face, bopping your nose, making you annoyed as you tried to punch him clumsily. The little girl still has the same pout even as she bloomed into a prim and proper lady. It was too adorable even to be called 'angry.' He jumps down the tree and walks up to you, bringing the tip of your hair to his lips for a soft parting salutation.

"Next time... I will tell you, My Precious Flower." With that, he took you to the borders of the human village and the dark woods, as your Mother was already looking for you. He watches you run into the light while slowly walking back into the shadows.

Maybe... He should have never forced this fate on you. You may have called on him in desperation to flee from the humans chasing after you, but he, being the one who knew better, should have returned you to your realm rather than letting his selfishness devour him and claim you as his mate. If he had done so, then you wouldn't have met this predicament.

You wouldn't have been lying in your blood, cold like a corpse...

"Where is she?" Satoru's heart felt like it was dying when he saw that your body was gone from the bed of the sacred tree. "Where is my mate?! Shoko!"

Did he lose you? Did he come too late?

He stared at the blue lotus he so carefully dug out of the perilous mountain despite the throbbing pain on his shoulders after a chimera managed to bite him before he could slay it.

No, you cannot leave him like this... Oxygen left his lungs, and his feet staggered, unable to support the weight of heaven, crushing his soul. His vision is going black, not like this. He barely got to dote on you. Barely got to drown you with the love he has secretly hidden all these years. No, no, no. Satoru's throat ran dry. He wants to scream as if the tearing of his heart wasn't enough to shout his despair.

The forest closely linked to his essence slowly wilted as if joining their Emperor in his mourning. The leaves slowly dried up. The flowers closed, and the vines started shrinking to twigs. His sorrow is mirrored by nature.

His mind went black, his heart slowly crumbled in every passing second that his eyes could not see you. Why did the gods despise him to tear apart the only joy he has ever touched for what seems like an eternity?

"Satoru!" Suguru found him in haste after the forest slowly grew darker and darker.

Who knew that his apathetic friend could have this vast amount of emotions to turn the lush evergreen forest into a barren land? Suguru wasted no time to drag what seemed to be a lifeless Satoru into a maze-like garden.

Shoko was there. She immediately snatched the mystical lotus from the Emperor. Satoru could care. All things pale in comparison to his mate... All things. He dropped to his knees, holding onto your hand.

"Y-Y/n?" Satoru's throat was parched as he saw your sleeping body, with the wilting grass around, as if you were truly taken away into the underworld... This was your favorite garden... All flowers in here, he has grown with his own hands. Not it seems like he has planted those flowers only to send you off to the afterlife. "No, you can't do this to me, My Flower... I would lose my mind." He muttered like a madman, bringing your cold hands to rub against his cheeks, desperately searching for any signs of warmth but finding nothing...

Suguru tried to pry him away from your frail body, but his malevolence met those who tried to separate you from him until the Dragon Lord had no choice but to use all means to knock Satoru out...

The last thing he saw was your sleeping face as he desperately begged his eyes not to close... He needs to see you, to be beside you... to hold you...

"Satoru...?" You were both sitting under the shade of a magnolia tree with his head on your lap, eyes closed from the glaring sun, meanwhile, you intertwined his lustrous hair into a loose braid, tucking little flowers in your masterpiece.

"Hmm?" It was one of the days when he had enough time to traverse the hills with you and meet other fae tribes so you may have time away from the Imperial Courts.

"Promise me that if the memories we have together start to hurt... you will forget me."

His eyes opened in a split second, and he looked back with furrowed brows only to meet your small smile.

"That is nonsense. I would never wish to forget you. You are my mate." Satoru sat straight and took your hand in his. "What led you to this ominous thought, My Flower? Do not think of such things, we are bonded for eternity."

You gently shake your head.

"You're an elf... I'm a human. Our life span runs differently. Some day... You will have to remember me longer than you have held me..." The bitterness of your eyes was quickly concealed as you closed them. "That's simply the order of nature..."

Satoru was tongue-tied... He cannot face that reality yet... Not yet... If ever the Lady of Light is listening to him, he prays that the sun and moon slow down... Forever never seems to be enough...

Forever will never be enough...

"Satoru...?" 

He wishes never to wake up. If you're not in the world he opens his eyes to, he may as well live in this fantasy. He has lived such a long time in solitude. So even if it's just a fragment of imagination or make-believe, he would choose that sweet lie rather than face the cold reality you're gone...

"Satoru..."

Your voice... It's sweeter than the sirens and softer than the small faes singing with the birds in early dawn...

A soft touch brushed off the fringes on his temples, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun. Unable to bear the brightness, his eyes opened and looked up to the blue sky...

Slowly, his blurry eyes met your worried ones as you tucked your hair behind your ear while staring at him with his head laying on your lap.

"You're finally awake... Thank goodness!" You sighed and smiled. "Welcome home, Satoru..."

Your hair... It's not the same color as it was... It shone a bright silver like his under the sunlight, which only the imperial descendants can inherit... But he knew it was you... His soul tells him so.

"Y-Y/n?" He reaches out to touch your cheeks that have grown prominent... more elf-like... "This isn't a dream?"

Your sweet chuckle filled his ears as your warm palms held his and pressed it to your cheeks, kissing his wrist.

"I must've worried you so... I'm sorry, but I'm fine now... because of you."

You're really warm... So warm, you melted the millennial thorny wall he built around his heart. Your palms are so dainty compared to him, but they have always been able to soothe him more than anything else.

"You... You look like me..." Satoru slowly sat up as he took in your features. "My Flower... you look like a fae..." Satoru is a bit confused about the sudden transformation. You look just as you are, but the silver hair, pointy ears, and sharper features... 

"It must've been because of the flower's healing attributes," Shoko explained, taking a step forward to assess the changes on you, who indeed looks like an elf now. 

"Explain, Shoko." Satoru looked at the woman as he was adamant about answers.

"The flowers had healing attributes; it's just a speculation, but aside from healing, we all know that lotus also signifies rebirth. The flower may have deemed it necessary to change the human blood running in the Empress's veins into elven blood for her to heal from the poison fully... As for the silver hair, I can only think that since the Lotus Tears came from the sacred buriel grounds of the late Empresses, it must have absorbed most of their remaining energy and passed it on to the Empress through the flower's healing attributes..."

"Does that mean my Mate is now an elf?" Satoru cannot believe how these events have turned out for you and him. He took your hand and studied your features... You are still you, but indeed, there swirls a more mystical air around you, and only a faint scent of human blood is left lingering in you.

"The Empress is not yet fully an elf at the moment, but I am sure before the fortnight ends, her transformation will be complete, and she will truly be a full-fledged fae, like us." Shoko nodded.

You stared at Satoru... The once wilting forest which you woke up to slowly regained life.

For a man so stoic, he is an open book... You can't help but chuckle as the smaller faes slowly creep out of their homes and rejoice at the blossoming life enveloping the woods again. Shoko and Suguru have left, leaving you and your mate some privacy in the garden.

"I..." Satoru cannot confess enough what he had done out of rage and sorrow when he thought you were gone.

"I know..." You shake your head telling him to speak no more as you took him in your arms... This time, you could feel him ever closer, hear his thoughts louder, and see him clearer. Everything he has done and he has said, you knew and felt in each passing second... But no words were uttered, as you can feel the remorse coursing in his being. What he needs the most is your embrace...

Nature can renew itself as long as it is given care and time...

The trees are once again full of luscious foliage, the grass is back to its evergreen hue, and the different faes have returned to their homes and gone through their duties as usual. Satoru is somehow a bit busier with the court matters, while you, the Empress, needed a little more recuperation before you come back to your court duties.

"Your Majesty... We always knew you smelled sweet even before you became like us."

The smaller sprites sat on your finger as they flapped around you, more drawn than ever. It seems that your new form has made you more captivating to their instincts, just like how they are drawn to the presence of their Emperor.

"Really? Though, I know you just want more sugary treats." You played with their cheeks until they perked up and bowed to someone. "See you tomorrow, Your Majesty!"

You didn't have to guess who made the little sprites flee in haste.

You turned around, and sure enough, you were swept off your feet as a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground. His sweet sandalwood scent filled your senses, soothing your racing heart.

"I missed you, My Flower... What did my mate get for me?" Satoru looked at the basket you're holding, filled with several flowers from the garden he built for you.

"It's nothing much... It's too loose to be called a crown." You showed him the crown you clumsily made with some lilacs. But Satoru guided your hand to put it on his head, indulging you with anything. You have now fully turned into an elf. Bright silver hair, lucid eyes, and the sweet scent of jasmine and orchid around you with the purple robes that only the Imperial Rulers can wear. Anyone who sees you will immediately recognize you as an Imperial Fae and their Empress.

"I would take anything you offer me, Y/n." Satoru softly kissed her forehead... his lips slowly kissed his way down your nose until he found your lips. "Can I ask for a kiss?"

"What if I say my kisses are not offered?" You raised a brow.

Satoru merely shrugged it off with a smirk.

"I'm pretty sure you can make exceptions for your husband, no?" Satoru chuckled. "Can I have my kiss now?"

Your sweet smile and soft giggle drowned in as he captured your lips for a gentle but passionate kiss.

If the lotus has tears, he will shed it only and only for you...

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General Taglist: @ice-icebaby  @aeanya @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld @loml-riri @pelicanpizza @emichou-chan

[delimeats-000]

Can you pay my bills?

summary: cockwarming chris is too distracting.

warnings: smut, language, pp

pairing: chris sturniolo x reader

@strniolosworld❤️

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

i get home from running errands all day.

the guys are always busy and im basically freeloading as chris’ girlfriend so i take care of chores and shit. (women duties yk?(jk please dont come for me))

i drop the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and begin putting things away.

“CHRIS?!” i call him upstairs to help me.

“WHAT?!” he yells back.

“WATCH YOUR MOUTH!! COME HERE AND HELP ME!!”

i hear him stomping up the stairs quickly. he comes up behind me, hand on my waist he kisses my cheek.

“Sorry, ma.” he slaps my ass then begins grabbing shit off the counter and putting it away.

“Alright I gotta go fill out some checks and make some payments, ok?”

“Noooo..” he puts the last item in the pantry and grabs me. pulling me closer he says, “I need yooou.”

“You need me to pay the bills or we wont have internet or water.” i giggle feeling a bulge in his pants pressing against my thigh.

i kiss him softly trying to get out of his grasp.

“Im serious, baby.” he grabs my wrist. “Just let me fuck you, please?” his whining finally gets to me.

“Fuck. Fine, how about I sit on you while I make the payments?”

i watch the smile grow on his face. “Yes please.”

i drag him downstairs to his room and we sit at his desk i open my file cabinet and grab the checks and my address book. (ik it’s old ppl shit but i loooove paying bills on paper)

“Ok baby. Pull down your pants and sit down.”

he excitedly does exactly as i told him. i look at his dick, if i had time i would love to fuck myself on it but right now i’ve got things to do, other than him.

i get right in his face and smash my lips against him. i kiss him roughly for a few more seconds before pulling away to spit right on his cock.

“Shit.” he lets out a whimper.

i pull my pants all the way off slowly, teasing him just a little. he runs both hands across my ass as im bending over.

“You’re so beautiful ma.” he moans out, “Cant wait to feel you around my cock.” without hesitation i line myself up with him before lowering myself onto his length.

i cant help but cry a little, “Shit.”

“You feel so good.” he wraps his arms around me hands landing on both of my breasts, he begins massaging them.

moaning from the feeling i put my hands on top of his, “Don’t distract me, Chris.”

“Sorry, baby.” i can just hear the smug little smile in his voice.

i grab my papers and start filling them out. about 5 minutes go by when i genuinely forget im in his lap with his dick inside me.

as soon as i remember, i feel my walls clench around him. his head rests on my shoulder and he starts kissing down my neck.

“Chris.” i say, trying to ignore how good his lips are making me feel.

“Yes, ma?” he continues kissing.

“Chris you need to stop.”

he stops kissing my neck and instead starts grinding underneath me.

“Fuck.. chris- Chris, stop.”

“Why baby? Feels so good.” i can feel his warm breath against my neck now as he moans out with every movement.

“I know, my love. But I cant focus.”

his hands run up the front of me, from my stomach to my tits then finally his left hand is grasping my throat from behind me.

“Just let me fuck you already.” he harshly thrusts into me once.

“FUCK!! ok ok- fuck fine.”

he picks me up guiding me up and down on his cock. the pace is unreal i can’t even feel my legs at this point. i cant help but scream out his name.

the way he stretches me out hurts but i wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“CHRIS- Fuck, chris!”

“Feels good huh? My big dick making you feel good?” he lets out what’s almost a whisper in my ear before he continues groaning with everything upward thrust.

“Chris, baby. So close fuck.”

“Cum for me baby. Let me feel you cum for me.”

i scream out one last time before finishing all over him, my cum spills out onto his chair underneath us.

“Fuck baby, so good for me. Gonna let me cum in you?”

“Yes please please chris..”

once his name leaves my mouth i feel him twitch then shoot his cum up inside of me.

“Shit.” he says all fucked out, leaning back in his chair.

“You’re gonna have to finish these.”

“Why?” chris jumps back up.

we both moan at the sudden movement.

“Im too tired, Chris.”

“Leave it to Nick.”

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i honestly hate this so yeah sorry, love you 🫶🏼

[whatsnewalycat]

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.”

[imasoftieforbarb]

hey there! you kinda have seen me already by freaking out about Floyd he’s actually is what I wanted to request!

if it’s possible, could you write a little fic on how reader could be when they (pronouns are your opinion) found out about floyd being captured? OR HEAR ME OUT PLS—

reader is Floyd‘s partner (girlfriend/boyfriend, again your opinion) BUT was captured WITH him, bc all the time I was watching the movie I imagined them being with Floyd since young and bc of cliché drama I love *cries*

again it’s your option on doing it or not !!

I LOVE THIS IDEA! Okokokokok

You were childhood best friends- and when he joined the band? You became their manager!

You wanted to support him and you didn’t want to interrupt the whole boys only band so you went with next best thing!

After the failed show you try to keep everyone from leaving

JD tells you to move, and shoves you out the way when you try to block the door

Clay just shakes his head and leaves

Spruce lays a hand on your shoulder and whispers “look after them for me”

At first Floyd tries to leave without you- after giving Branch his vest, he asks you to look after him

You nodded- but the minute he was out of sight you started crying

“What are you waiting for girl? Go get him!”

Grandma tells you she’ll be fine looking after branch on her own so you run off after Floyd

“FLOYD! FLOYD WAIT!” You shouted, seeing his figure turn around, his eyes widening when he saw you running towards him.

“Y/n? What are you doing? I thought you were gonna look after Branch”- he started to say before he saw your tears

“Im not gonna watch the boy I have loves since who knows when walk out the door without him knowing how I feel” you panted taking his hand in yours and meeting his eyes shyly “we could be so good together, we can make this last forever!”

Floyd blinked a few times before laughing slightly “wow! I never thought that you’d like me- I mean I’m not the heart throb or the fun one”

You interrupted “I don’t like them! I like you! A lot”

“I like you a lot too-you sure you wanna come with me?”

You nodded and he grinned, intertwining your fingers and starting to walk away from the pod together, hand in hand as you talked about the future

Ok now- I’m gonna mix ideas here

Let’s say when he got captured you were still with him but not present at the time

So when you got back to the pod you and your long term boyfriend had made to see it wrecked with big foot prints leading away from it

You immediately assumed he’d been eaten by a Burgan

Absolutely heartbroken you fixed the pod back up on your own and fell into a grieving depression

Everywhere you looked you saw memories of him

And then far into the future one day- you get a letter

Supposedly from your dead boyfriend!

You- despite thinking that he was dead- were desperate to see him again, and if that lead to your death then so be it!

You got in your catterbug van called Chloe and head straight for the ‘mount rageous’ that the letter had specified

Once you got to the place this “Velvet and Veneer” we’re singing at you snuck in and noticed the dressing room door open a smidge

You peaked in slightly and felt your eyes water

There he was- Floyd was alive! You couldn’t believe it- you took a few steps back to grasp what you were seeing before a bumping into something.

You looked up and Veneer looked down at you before snatching you up and laughing slightly

“Wow! Another troll? I wonder which one you are? Either way- more talent for us I suppose!” Veneer muttered before entering the dressing room

Floyd looked up from his crossed legs as one of his captors Veneer walked into the room with something in his hand

He had been thinking of you- he always thought about you- between the torture of having his talent drained he dreamed of being back in your shared pod- in your arms

He startled from his thoughts as another diamond perfume bottle was slammed down onto the counter next to him, and felt his heart drop and eyes water when he noticed who was in it

Floyd waited for veneer to leave the room- probably to go get velvet to tell her the good news of having another troll to drain before standing up and pressing his hands to the wall of his prison

“Y-Y/n? Is- is that you?”

You nodded, already crying your eyes out just from looking at him

“What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come- they’re gonna drain you-“

He stopped when he noticed your tears streaming down your face and had a déjà-vu moment of when you first told him you liked him

“I thought you were dead”

You whispered, dropping to your knees-

“There’s no way I would pass up a way to see you- I love you!” You pressed your hands against the diamond as well and he felt his eyes well with tears

“I love you too-“

Velvet came storming into the room and cackled when she saw your face fill with fear

“Oh- you are gonna be mine!” She said grasping the bottle and starting to walk back out

“NO!” Floyd shouted “not her, drain me first-“

Velvet sneered slightly

“Seeing as you’ve said that- no, I’m gonna drain her, veneer can have you. I want a newer talent”

She left the dressing room and the door slammed shut on Floyd- his tears finally falling

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

AAAAAA- should I do a part 2 taking place during the family harmony at the end of the movie? Let me know what you think!

[solanal0ve]

HOW THEY FUCK YOU ON NEW YEARS

ִ ★ Its new years and your getting fucked. {Toji, Choso and Gojo}

ִ★ contents: fem!reader, hair pulling, praise, edging, creampie, begging and some other stuff

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ TOJI FUSHIGURO

He will find anywhere and any place to bend you over. The couch, a table, a chair anywhere. He has been edging you for at least an hour. He’s pulling on your hair whispering naughty things in your ear while fucking you stupid. “Oh look at that.. the ball is about to drop” You look at the T.V and see the count down. “Come on baby count with us” Giving a hard slap to your ass making you a moaning mess while he pounds into your sweet cunt like the worlds about to end. He really wants you to count while he is fucking you non stop? “10.. 9..” He beings counting. “Oh fuck im gonna cum!” You practically yell. Your legs are aching in pain from the roughness of tojis fucking and you feel cross eyed. “Dont you fucking dare” He groans in your ear. “Count” you can’t believe it he actually wants you to count. The idea slowly dawns on you that he wont let you cum until you count and new years has passed. He knows you will do anything to cum. “5.. 4.. 3.. 2.. 1” You count. “Cum” It was almost in a whisper but your glad you heard it. Your orgasm rips though you sending a wave of pleasure through your body. “Happy new year baby”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ CHOSO KAMO

He is leaving passionate kisses from you neck all the way down to your pussy. He already ate you out but he is just naturally a sweetheart and loves to kiss you body. “You ready?” The tip of his dick is pressing up against you entrance and theres 5 minutes until midnight where it will be a year new. You nod and watch as his dick slides into you pussy with ease. You moan from the feeling of being filled up with his dick and you already know this will be fun. He begins to thrust in and out of you like there is no tomorrow making your body ache but you didn’t mind you were just happy that you got to get fucked by him. Choso. 1 minute til midnight. “Oh yes.. Fuckkk choso” You moan feeling his dick slide in and out and always pounding into that spot that makes you want to lose your mind. “Just like that baby, moan my name for me” You hear him panting heavily and you pussy squeezes around his cock. 10.. 9.. 8.. “Lets cum on 1..ok?” He growls in you ear. You nod unable to say anything. 3..2..1 Fireworks pop outside and there beautiful but you don’t pay muck attention to that as you both release. You can feel his cum filling you to the brim, its warm and it feels really good. “Happy.. happy new years my love”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ SATORU GOJO

Gojo had been edging and teasing you for at least an hour now. He would let you cum and then build you up for another release then take it away. It was like he was playing with you feeling and you didn’t like that very much. You were a sobbing begging mess he had now edged you 3 time in a row. “T-toru please.” There were tears running down you cheeks all you wanted to do was cum “Please what..? use your words.” You knew exactly what he was doing you both knew new years was another 2 minutes from now and he is gonna make you hold out until then. “Please let me cum toru please.” Your legs were aching and you body was sore but you still had 2 minutes. “Hmmm should i?” He asks himself slowly pulling out on ur dripping pussy “Nope” A grin spreads across his face and he pounds back into you pussy making you cry out with a mix of pain and pleasure. 30 seconds on the count down and you a moaning sobbing mess you want it to end but want him to keep going. “Your doing such a good job.. Just a little more baby” He groaned in you ear with you legs over his shoulders. 8.. 7.. “Come on baby just a little longer” You were at your breaking point but you cant hold it for a few more seconds right? 3.. 2.. 1.. Its new years. “cum for me baby” Using his tumb to rub your clit in small circles you release all over him and you body fell pimp. “Happy new year.”

NOTES . . . HAPPY NEW YEARS though im a little late because i’ve been busy i wanna say thank you for 80+ notes on my last post. I wanted to do sukuna but its 2am im sleepy n i have school tmr but i hope you all had a wonderful new years and love ya

[furuyalover]

taking care of him at a party

— ft. atsumu miya

AN: just a lil sum while i work my music event drabbles 🤍 also this was soo fun to write so pls request any other characters i should do this for !

your roommate was throwing a party in your shared house, and it was fun at first. however your social battery was running kind of low, and you felt like taking a break anyways. “hey im a little beat, but if you need anything i’ll be in my room” you tell your friend and then you make your way to your room.

you lie down on your bed, and decide to maybe take a small nap to help you feel better. but not even 15 minutes into your nap you hear a soft knock on your door. “come in” you groan, as you readjust yourself so that you can sit up and see whoever’s at your door, expecting your roommate needing assistance with something for the party. but to your surprise, your greeting by three familiar faces, one being a very drunk atsumu miya.

being practically held him by his twin brother and good friend suna, the former embarrassingly says “y/n im so sorry for barging in, but is it ok if we let atsumu take a break here? every other room was occupied and your roommate told us to try here” atsumu was smashed, you could tell that he was shitfaced and it was more like osamu & suna who needed the break.

“what? ok sure yeah whatever. just lay him down over there i guess.” too tired to really even refute their request, you instruct the two to carry their drunken friend on the side of your bed opposite of you. this is where you decide it’s probably time for you to turn in for the night.

you leave atsumu to rest on your bed, and head into your bathroom to change, shower, and what not to get ready for bed. by the time you’re done you chuckle to yourself when you see atsumu is still knocked out on your bed. admittedly, you found it kind of cute to see him like this. peacefully asleep, in his natural state, a change of pace from his usual loud and brash personality, it didn’t help that he was in your bed as well. after placing a glass of water and some tylenol and advil on the nightstand next to him, you sit on your side of your bed and start mindlessly scrolling on your phone.

you text your roommate, updating them on the wild situation you found yourself in. “y/n are u fr rn? this is like the perfect chance for u to confess to him hello??” a smile forms on your face after reading that text, “bro what hell no. that’s so awkward 😭” “ur trippin, worst case scenario u can tell him u we’re js drunk” rolling your eyes at that suggestion, you exit your texts and go back to your scrolling.

a few minutes go by and you feel atsumu shifting in your bed, followed by a slight groan. “oh god where am i” he groans as he rolls over, rubbing his eyes, to face this mysterious figure sat beside him.

“well you’re not downstairs getting shitfaced that’s for sure” you snark with a small chuckle, slightly admiring how cute he looks with his messy hair and flushed face. “oh shit! y/n! is this your room? oh my god did we..?” amused by his slight panic you reassured him that nothing happened, “no no don’t worry, you were absolutely plastered so suna and your brother dropped you off here so you could rest. there’s some tylenol next to you, you should really take some”

she’s such an angel wow, he thought to himself as he took the pain relievers you so kindly prepared for him. “god those assholes, sorry you had to deal with that” he quietly, almost embarrassingly apologizes. giggling at his annoyance you assure him it’s fine and that it’s not a big deal. but then the gears start turning in your head a bit, as you start to develop a lil plan to semi-confess to him.

“the party isn’t probably gonna end for another few hours, so if you want you can just crash here if you want. i can just sleep on the couch or something” almost immediately, a grin plasters on atsumus face, and his usually cocky self is back just like that. “i mean that’s rather rude ya know? i wouldn’t want such an angel who had to take care of a drunken asshole to sleep on the couch. you should probably just sleep in your own bed” he grins as he runs his hands through his messy blonde hair, this bitch knows exactly what he’s doing, you think to yourself.

despite a very obvious blush creeping up on your face you respond, “yeah well i’d feel bad if you had to stay on the couch” scoffing, faking offense to your comment “who said anything about me on the couch? plus i heard cuddling is good for hangovers.” OH HOW I HATE HIM. rolling your eyes you playfully act annoyed, but you couldn’t be any happier

“hm well i always wanted to cuddle with that dumbass from the volleyball team who i have a crush on” you retort with a light laugh. now it’s his turn to blush, already flushed from the alcohol he is now redder than before. “when exactly were you planning on tellling this handsome and talented dumbass?” despite the confident demeanor he was definitely screaming on the inside.

“i figured now would be a good time, but who said anything about handsome and talented.” you reply as you side eye him, but he just can’t help but smile right at you. “so we’re definitely cuddling right?” he asks with a heartful, genuine smile. not being able to deny this lover boy’s smile or even him in general, i mean you’ve liked him for months now, you roll your eyes and respond “ok fine i guess whatever, but find some clothes to change into and take a shower” you laugh as you playfully hit him on his shoulder.

“on it.” he gets up heading downstairs to see if any of his friends have extra clothes they can get him, and to of course tell them about his crush on you. “shit finally, it’s about time you told her you liked her, osamu you owe me $10 and some food” “ok fine suna whatever, but you owe me $5 since he did it while he was drunk.” yes these mfs placed bets on you guys confessing to each other.

reblogs appreciated and admired ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

BABE!! Tan for sure is the kinda guy to open your car door, pull your chair out for you etc, BUT imagine that you’re not used to that?? And so kinda keep doing it yourself, before Tan gets to? And he always lovingly scolds you for it?

OK SO NOW!! Imagine calling him when you’re drunk, asking him to pick you up, and suddenly he learns that you’re kind of a brat when drunk?? I FEEL LIKE HE’D LOVE THAT, like suddenly, you’re stood by the car door, waiting, chin raised and happily clearing your throat to signal to him to open it 😭 and he’s melting bc you’re finally not so darn independent and you let him care for you!!! (He also finds it hilarious) (also, you’d totally get him to take your heels off for you)

AAAAAGGGHHH OMG!!! love love it!!

this also disappeared right after I posted it??? idk what’s going on!!!

TANGERINE WITH AN INDEPENDENT READER.

omg omg this is so eldest daughter coded!!!!!!!!! (self indulgent but idc)

and you're independent and used to doing everything yourself, yup yup I see the vision. and also maybe not used to chivalry sooo..

— so like when you go do dinner/ have date nights out, you pull out your chair before he can even reach it (also the same for opening car doors, or doors in general) he just tsks at you, shaking his head "that's my job" or "what did I say?" bc he's told you so many times

— and when you're walking and you're on the outside (closest to the road) he puts a hand on the small of your back and guides you to swap places and says "what did I say?" (that's gonna be a running theme/ repetitive saying btw) 

— and when he drops you home after going somewhere he gets out the car to walk you to your door, you're like "I'll be fine. you don't need to do this" and he’s like “would you just let me be a gentleman” and he waits until you're in and he hears the door lock before he leaves

— he holds bags for you and dismisses your protests of carrying them yourself, he's all like "how many times have I gotta tell you?"

— AND so?? you're out with friends and you're drunk, you call him to pick you up. you give him your bag immediately, silently handing it to him with no reaction, not a smile or a glance, nothing. and he just squints at you bc you've never done it before

— and then when you're walking to his car, you have an arm around his back as he helps keep you stable (you're a bit sloshed btw) and bc he's so focused on getting you to the car, he forgets that he's on the inside of the pavement, but you don't. so you're like "swap. im meant to be that side" and he's kinda loving it bc it seems that all the things he's been trying to ingrain into you have finally worked 

— when you get to his car, you're waiting for him to open it for you, arms crossed, tapping your foot, and you'd slur something like "sometime today would be nice" and he's just so entertained and amused by it all!! he's like "you're right, sorry. I'll be quicker" so you reply with "that's what I thought" and he just does one of those low chuckling snickers bc he’s loving it a lot more than he thought he would

— and then when you sit in the car, your twist to pull your legs out before he can shut the door. and you lift a leg and say "my feet hurt" making him take your shoes/ heels off for you. and he's just so whipped and he crouches down to undo them and he's just holding under your heel AARGGHHHHH. "better?" is def something he says. and "'little miss precious' tonight, you are"

— AND THEN just as he's about to shut the door you say "wait" and he's like "what?" and you say "seatbelt. it's not plugged in" hinting for him to do it. so he grabs it and reaches over you to plug it in, and kisses your cheek before standing up straight. then finally he gets in the car to drive back

— he's loving that you're finally letting him help you, even if you're drunk and have no real control over yourself. he reminds you the next day about what you did, and you're embarrassed, like "no, I didn't. you're making it up. I would never do that" and bc he's sweet, he's like "yeah, you're right. just pulling your leg" and he pretends his teases were a lie BUT THEY'RE NOT. HE'S JUST SAVING YOUR FEELINGS

— ALSO JUST BC I LOVE IT SO MUCH if you say “I can do it by myself” he says “I know you can. but let me help you” 🫠

[sugar-omi]

(I’m on my 🩸so please excuse the hornyness)

I woke up this morning with cove on my mind (who doesn’t) and just thought of a funny scenario. imagine the step 2 moment where MC and Cove can cuddle but they weren’t quietly told that it’s not ok by Cove’s mom. Skip to step 3 they love cuddling as friends. (they are still secretly in love with each other tho) this leads us to my dirty little thought, Cove and MC as friends having a little sleepover at Cove’s house and cuddling. Poor sweet Cove has a dirty dream about his dear friend MC, when he wakes up from it he finds himself hard as a rock and his hips grinding on their own into MC’s ass. And of course cove would quickly run to the bathroom without waking MC and panic to himself and try to get it down.

Or MC wakes up before cove because of the movement and lowkey doesn’t mind it, MC pushes back against cove a little and just listens to the little sounds he makes in his sleep

OMG TWINS 🤭🤭 omg maybe thats why my cove posts have been so unhinged lately... so excuse ME for the feralness im about to drop rn because youve planted a nassssty seed in my head..

cove usually doesn't have dirty dreams, always dreams about the beach or his fish, or something asinine. can count his dirty dreams on his fingers with some leftover.

before, they'd always been faceless. couldn't tell a single detail of who it was, even if it didn't matter.

but this time it wasn't a question of who it was.

the dream is so vivid, and the pleasure shooting through his veins feels way too good when he realizes it's you grinding against his bulge.

in fact, it feels better than when he gets himself off, and dream-you isn't even touching his cock yet, your crotch grinding along the length of his bulge in his sweatpants.

every roll of your hips is so fucking delicious he feels like he could collapse. can't help but grab onto your hips, helping you move and roll his hips into yours.

and when you lean forward, hands on his chest under his shirt, feeling up the dips and valleys of his lean muscle, your lips inching closer until they finally meet...

he definitely thinks this is as close as he can heaven. your plush lips move against his, the kiss becoming more passionate, more heated as he tries to match you.

if anyone could see inside his dream right now, they'd think you're passionate lovers, your lips slotted together perfectly, like you're meant to be, and he wonders if you'd feel like this in real life too. if your kiss would be this good, this enticing, and when your tongue slips past his lips, invading his mouth, he wonders if you'd taste this sweet too.

you break the kiss, leaving him hot and panting, his chest rising and falling like he's ran a marathon, your lips trailing from his mouth down his jaw, quickly finding a sensitive area under his ear, right behind his jaw.

doesn't even realize you're shoving down his sweatpants, your own pants disposed of at some point in this dream, until he feels the heat and wetness of your sexes rubbing together

let's out such a pretty and loud whimpery-moan, curses and bucks up into your cunt, making his length glide against your wet, hot core. / hand, thrusting up into your tight fist wrapped around both your cocks.

forgets this is a dream for a moment, distantly thinking he wants to see the end. and his stomach feels so hot, so tight like he's gonna burst.

eyes rolling when dream-you says his name right in his ear, your voice breathy and desperate...

when he opens his eyes, hoping to see your blissed out face, all he sees is a dim room. his room. and the back of your head...

his heart is beating out his chest, and he doesn't even need time to wakeup before he realizes what happened. especially when he feels his hard length pressed right against your ass, the heat and bit of pressure from your ass against his cock has him losing his grip on reality a bit.

but the guilt crashes on him, can't believe he had a dirty dream about you. much less with you in his arms.

it's a miracle if you don't wake up, cove's a big clumsy mess all the time, but this time the shock has him moving a bit more calmly. calmly as in he doesn't scream or squeak, and doesn't flail or fall off the bed like he otherwise would.

but he does unwind his arms around you, carefully pulling his arm from under your body and trying to untangle himself from his bedsheets and your legs.

really, it's a miracle this hadn't happened before. especially when you were 13 and your hormones had more control of your body than you did.

slips out of bed, so thankful that his bed is close to the door and there's minimal creaking of the door and floorboards. all but dashes to the bathroom.

i wonder how he'd deal with his. well.. big problem.

he'd been leaning on the counter, his shaggy hair hanging in his face and he's painfully aware of how hard his cock is. he's fucking throbbing in his sweats, his hard length heavy against his thigh.. he couldn't fucking forget about it. and can't forget that dream.

thinks about waiting it out or a cold shower. but a cold shower doesn't sound appealing at all, and he really doubts his hard-on is going anywhere...

resigns to getting himself off. hoping just once will be enough.. hopes that maybe he can finish quickly before you wake up, he's still pumping after his near orgasm in that dream.. fuck he's kind of glad he woke up now, realizing it'd be really fucking embarrassing if you woke up to cove creaming his pants of you dry humping him (and then some) in his dream

his eyes roll and flutter shut when his hand wraps around his length, his shirt muffling the moan on the tip of his tongue. it doesn't feel nearly as good as it did in his dream...

but he really tries not to think about that. it's so fucking disrespectful to you to keep thinking about it, let alone get off to it.

focuses on all his ero spots, that way he can finish faster and even if he's shaking in his hands because he's running his thumb over his sensitive mushroom head, and giving his cock short, tight pumps, and his nimble fingers find their way to his chest..

well he just needs to hurry up and finish before you wake up and so he doesn't think about that dream, trying to replace all his senses with himself in lue of you. albeit dream you, but still you.

hates that he thought about his best friend like that, and hates that he can hardly get off without distantly thinking about how this would probably feel so much better if it was you touching his cock...

thrusts up into his hand, biting down around his shirt as he groans lowly, but the sound is still loud in this quiet house, and he hopes you didn't get up at some point, walking by and hear him..

if only you could see what a pathetic sight he is.. panting, shirt bunched up and wrinkled, his pants sloppily shoved down his thighs and his cock flushed and throbbing in his hand, covered in his thick, bountiful load.

even he can't help but curse because fuck he feels like a fucking degenerate. feels dirty. he doesn't eve. know how he's gonna look at you, and fuck you definitely can't cuddle anymore until he gets a grip on himself.

but how would he explain that? "hey i had a wet dream about you, sorry bestie, let's not cuddle anymore unless you wanna wake up to my hard dick on you"

that's too weird, and creepy. God he'd hate if you found him creepy and disgusting, the thought of what your expression could be makes him said and he makes his stomach twist...

can't even return to the room, it feels too awkward to do so now. he'd really feel like a creep if he slipped back into bed with you.

ends up setting up camp in the living room, either doing his abandoned homework or trying to find some way to distract himself, wouldn't be surprised if he ends up falling asleep on the couch.

but regardless of how he spends the rest of the night. what if you are awake, and realize what's happening?...

doesn't matter if you're a night owl or a gentle sleeper, although either help because you realize it so much sooner than if you're asleep

i mean, who wouldn't realize their best friend (and crush), gasping in their ear and then moaning softly, his hips bumping into you..

whatever the case, you're awake now when he tightens his grip around your midsection, his hips easily and expertly rolling against your butt, and his legs, which are tangled with yours, easily forces you to move against him, his cock so obviously hardening, getting thicker and so fucking prominent, against your ass.

your heart is beating against your chest like a drum. you're losing your fucking mind, you can't believe what's happening..

your teeth sink into your lip when you hear cove call out a soft, cut-off call of your name.

he's dreaming about you. and clearly it's something dirty if his bulge is anything to go by.

you can't deny that it's turning you on either. it's be weird if it didn't. your crush pressed against you, grinding his fat cock into your ass while having a nice dream about you? it's surprisingly flattering, and you're loving it

as it goes on, cove's hips progressively get more.. aggressive. almost. your head is spinning.

you wish you could know what he's dreaming about and wish it'd happen in real life, right here and right now. but for now, you'll settle for your own mind. afterall, you have plenty of fuel to run off of.

cove's moans and gasps are so pretty, even his indistinguishable mumbling is making your blood pump. his murmurs are usually a good sign after all.

and his cock.. you didn't expect him to be small. he's a big guy, after all, and to say he's packing a third leg might be an exaggeration, but fuck if he's not coke bottle thick and clearly long enough to hit all those deep, deliciously impossible spots inside you.

you wanna wake him up. but if you do.. you wonder what he'd do. run away? probably. you're not even going out, so his first reaction would definitely be to apologize profusely and go hide.

of course, he does wake up, though. you realize that when the grinding stops suddenly, and he tenses around you, and eventually, he starts prying his limbs from under you.

you reprimand your heart for being disappointed that he doesn't check if you're awake and proceed to do something with you, anything at all, maybe even recreate that dream.

and you are torn between logic letting you let him slip out the door, and your desperation wanting to pull him into bed.

he's gone for awhile, you're not sure how long, but it's a few minutes that make you think maybe he's.. taking care of his problem. and then it makes you think that you could take care of your own problem if you're quick enough.

there's definitely a line crossed. tonight has blurred the line between you, knowingly.

you let him keep grinding into you, even if he doesn't know that.

so whats one more thing he doesn't know, your body shifting to his side of the bed, his body heat and the scent of his shampoo and cologne thicker now that you're on the side he slept.

and your hand slipping under the sheets.. your eyes fluttering closed as you try to imagine a scenario between you. surely, you can imagine it just this once, balance out the scale?

[pacienties]

— emo txt as the texas chainsaw massacre video game!

warnings <3: heavily inspired by the video game, !smut, txt spares the reader ok, !mean txt, gore, !death, txt will be mainly be sissy or johnny (literally the only characters i like in the game), !petnames, sweet reader! , mentions of smut! , txt comforting crybaby reader (temptation the album inspo for this one shot too omg), established relationships with some of the members and reader, stalking, mentions of pregnancy

a/n <3: i’ve been playing the tcm game n im on a bit of a brain rot im sorry..

huening kai as sissy:

you were trying so hard to hold your breath; as you carefully rip out what seems to be a human bone out of a rip cage that was laying on the ground beneath you. you’d squint your eyes shoving the weapon in the back pocket of your skirt, ready to make a quiet run for it before you felt a sharp tug on your forearm stopping you from moving. you let out a shudder, hoping it was just a friend but it wasn’t. “hey sugar where do you think you’re goin’?” you heard a loud giggle as you begin to cry imagining the worst. “my aren’t you pretty?” the male had blonde hair and stood over 6foot imitating you more. “stay away from me!” you’d try to act tough twisting your arm in the boys grasp hoping you’d be able to get away. kai only laughed at this before blowing air on his free hand causing the venomous powder he had hidden in his hand to fly in your face blinding you temporarily leading to your blacking out. huening kai planned on killing you right then and there but he couldn’t deny the ping at his heart at how cute you looked all teary and scared as he dragged your light body away from the basement; his bedroom. lucky for you huening kai didn’t use that much powder on you that could kill you. not so lucky for you though, you awoke in a bed it was comfortable yes was it clean? yes but you were still frightened. “god do you always taste this sweet sugar?” your droopy eyes flutter open weakly as you look down below you, seeing huening kai’s tongue lap in and out of your sweet pussy. you wanted to yelp and kick him away but you were quickly shushed by the blondes finger on your lips, “don’t fight me, last pretty girl that tried that ended up in the drought creek” huening kai was beginning to lose his patience dragging his tongue further in your pussy giggling at the taste of your sweet nectar. “aww you’re such a good girl sugar you know what? im gonna keep you” the blonde smiles at you staying still as he eats you out <3

taehyun as johnny:

“oh no you don’t, you’re not going anywhere pretty girl” you felt a firm grip on your hand yanking you to leatherface’s cold room; scaring the shit out of you. you felt paralyzed verbally not able to yell at the man pulling you in a tight space. “shouldn’t have came lookin’ for that girl pretty” taehyun laughs at your shaken expression “let go of me!” you finally mustered up the courage to speak up but still you were too scared to fight back at the very tall male in front of you. you let out a yelp as taehyun tossed you on a cold metal table to lay on confused on what was going to happen. “god do you know how long i’ve been waiting for this moment?” you hear the older male above you lift your sundress up. you began to tremble, you met taehyun back in highschool and fell out of touch once it ended but you had no idea he ended up being apart of your towns slaughter family. you whimper growing wet; seeing how you always had a crush on the slasher but never had the opportunity to act on it until today. taehyun snickered pulling your panties to the side before freeing his cock from his jeans; dropping his member in your soft velvety walls enjoying your whiny reaction. “shush baby you don’t want my old man to catch me fuckin’ you rather than killing you” the emo boy above you warns relentlessly blowing aggressive thrusts at your poor pussy, laughing as he watches you cry in fear as you stare at bloody dismembered bodies only 5 feet away from you ):

beomgyu as hitchhiker: (this one was hard bc i felt unsure who beomgyu suited more tbh)

you always were the odd one out in your friend group, constantly missing out on the parties and overall college experience. you were quiet, often always playing it safe by following rules but today you wish you didn’t because now here you were following after your friends in search of one of their little sisters. you’d try not to let out a heartbreaking sob at how you fell on the ground beneath your feet hurting your wrists as you freed yourself from leatherfaces trap wincing at the red marks around the bruised skin ): you just stare at your hands thankful that you were left without any stab wounds but you let out a shriek when you hear the door in front of you being slammed open, you were frozen in your seated position watching your friend get killed by leatherface himself with his infamous chainsaw. the aforementioned man turns to you once as your friend lays dead beside you ready to charge at you before you hear a faint ‘i’ve got this! you go feed grandpa’ making the buff man run to another direction leaving you alone. you scrabble up on your sore legs planning on running away until you get stopped by a familiar face, choi beomgyu. you and the emo boy shared a few college classes together, and one thing led to another and you both were occasionally fucking whenever he felt like it. you didn’t mind beomgyu using you though, seeing how you’ve always been known as a good girl who just follows everyone like a puppy anyway. the only problem was how the emo guy dropped out of college to seemingly join a murderous cult nearby… “y/n? can you hear me? you’re not too wounded up right baby?” you hear beomgyu kneel down to your frighten face. you were so lost down in memory lane you didn’t realize you were crying. “n-no but i’m scared i wanna go home” you finally let yourself break down, beomgyu’s eyes softening at your confession. “oh baby i’ll take you home okay? just hide for me here just give me an hour and i’ll be back to come walk you home be a good girl and stay quiet yeah?” you felt the oreo haired male kiss you on your lips trying not to panic at his shirt being drenched in blood and a line of more blood being so close to his right eye, watching him leave the room followed by more screams causing you to worry for his safety ): </3

yeonjun as sissy:

soft gurgling noises coming from your sweet mouth echoing throughout nancy’s bedroom as yeonjuns cock relentlessly hits your cervix, making sure to give you sweet kisses on your tits :( </3 “yeonjunnie-“ you let out a sob in fear hearing the loud voices coming from around the slaughter house praying to god nobody finds you both here in this position. “what is it baby? scared your friends will see you giving yourself up to a killer? or are you scared that my old man will do the job for me and kill you?” yeonjun chuckles slapping your stuffed pussy creating a squelching sound to boom around the walls of the room. you only clench up more around his member more out of your growing fear of getting caught or killed. you held on tighter onto yeonjuns hand that was wrapped around your tiny throat for comfort with a string of whines slipping out of your mouth with a desperate nod ): ultimately while cumming all over his throbbing length. “shit babygirl, you keep squeezing onto me like this and i might just get you pregnant” yeonjun giggles his head dropping in the small of your neck. you didn’t know if it was your need to cum or the idea of wanting this to be a quickie but you let out a whimper in the emo boys ear bucking your hips up against his mean thrusts signaling that you were cumming already and craved his cum in your sweet pussy <3 “c-cum in me please yeonjunnie” you’d let out a weak cry as you feel the killers thrusts finally slow down making you hum in delight as yeonjun empties himself in your walls with a sly reply, “you think our baby will be as pretty as you baby? or know how to make poison out of flowers like me?” the emo boy fingers your mixed up cum back in your pussy eyes fixated on how your tiny pussy takes his fingers in and how cute your tummy looked bloated with his seed </3 ):

soobin as johnny:

“you know i actually am quite fond of the girl, i don’t wanna hurt her” soobin defended you to black nancy with a nervous chuckle. nancy just rolls her eyes telling soobin to remember what grandpa said he would do to him if he let you and your other friends escape. soobin let out a frustrated groan kicking his boot in some random pile of human remains unsure if he was upset that he had to kill you or upset that he had became obsessed with you. you had been stuck at the slaughter house for only a few hours running around with your friends trying to leave but soobin already felt so attached to you ): he was so fond with how pretty you looked drenched in your own tears, too scared to fight back like your friends did with each killer so you just ran away sobbing in a dark corner hoping for the best. soobin liked how pretty your outfit looked, the little jeans shorts you had on with your cropped baby tee with the off the shoulder ruffles all with sandals that suited your matching headband so well <333 the emo killer just didn’t know what to do! let you go? or have his family kill you because he was too much of a busy to do it himself? the poor guy was torn. it wasn’t until soobin was doing his boring patrolling of the front porch spotting you from afar as you grab a hairpin from your hair attempting to quietly use it as an unlocking tool by failed since you were still crying like a baby. “where do you think you’re going pretty? you don’t think you’re leaving just yet do you?” soobin quickly and quietly approached your smaller frame making you turn to him with more tears running down your face, “please let me go i won’t tell anyone i pinky promise just please don’t kill me” you were hysterical at this point. soobin let out a sigh cursing at himself for letting go of your baby face dropping his straight razor from your wet face, “but if i let you go how will i ever see your pretty face again sunshine? i can’t let you go but i can’t let you die either” soobin hated how sweet and genuinely he sounded right now. you felt hopeful, “you can come see me again m-mister i’ll give you directions to my house just please let me go” you sniffle regretting giving soobin that idea because now he could kill you at any given time in the comfort of your home. but that’s another problem to worry about, for now you just cried in relief watching soobin open the front gate for you signaling you to leave but of course after you given him your address as you promised <3

a/n <3: im sorry for not updating in a minute im experiencing writers block but i hope this is decent ^^