#the early 00s should be fun too

[yourdumbdevil]

okay i've seen the posts about the potential remake but what would be y'alls fan cast if goncharov had been made in the 90s?

[number-1-crush]

so. we win some we lose some

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 33 The Epilogue | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Some things never seem to change for Bradley. But maybe he worked at keeping them the same. Baseball, Everett and you.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Seventeen and a half years later...

"Happy birthday, Coach," you whispered, slowly coaxing Bradley awake. He could feel your warm breath on his cheek and the weight of your hand resting on his chest. 

"Mmm, Kitten," he rasped, placing his bigger hand on top of yours as he cracked his eyes open. And there you were, fresh from sleep yourself, and so beautiful with the early morning sunlight catching on the angles of your face. "It's Sunday. Why won't you let me sleep in?"

"Because it's your birthday. And we get to see Ev."

Bradley stretched and rolled over so you were pinned deliciously underneath him. "We won't get to see Ev until later this afternoon. He's going to have a very busy day."

"I'm not so sure about that," you said with a smirk as you dragged your fingers through his hair. Bradley knew he was going gray, but you claimed you liked it, including the few stray strands that found their way into his mustache. 

"You sound like you've got something up your sleeve. Wait, Molly's not coming over to break the stove again, is she?"

You started laughing as you wrapped your legs around his. "Not that I know of. But anything's possible with her."

"Poor Bob," he said, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "And the kids, too. She's an absolute menace." 

Bradley pulled up your shirt and kissed his way along your breasts. If he was lucky, he'd get round one of birthday sex now and round two tonight after the game.

"Wait," he whined as you tugged your shirt back down. "What are you doing? It's my birthday."

"Yes," you agreed, kissing him once and then slipping right out of bed. "And I've been told I need to keep you on a very strict schedule. So come on. Get up."

"A strict schedule?" he mumbled. "Baby, I'm retired. My schedule revolves around making you breakfast, packing your lunch, coaching tee ball, and watching every single Phillies game."

"Well, I'll be making your breakfast today. And you can eat nachos or a hot dog for lunch even though you should be watching your sodium intake. And we will definitely catch the Phillies game," you said, reaching out to take his hand. 

With one more groan, he let you lead him downstairs where you told him to sit at the kitchen counter. He passed his display case on the way and paused to look at his first Coach of the Year trophy and the baseball covered in little faded hearts that he used to propose to you. He smiled at the collection of other baseballs, including the one from the first time his son pitched a no hitter. 

"Seriously, Bradley. We have a schedule to keep."

A few minutes later he had his World's Greatest Dad mug full of coffee in front of him. You kept checking the time as you pulled eggs and vegetables out of the refrigerator. Once 8:00 hit, you grabbed his phone from where it sat on the counter and entered his passcode as he sipped his coffee.

"Read this," you said, voice full of excitement. 

"What is it?" he asked as you thrust the phone into his hands. It looked like he was going to have absolutely no say over what went on today, so he was just going to go with the flow.

"An article. In the Philadelphia Inquirer. It just got released two minutes ago."

"Okay," he muttered, setting down his coffee and as he started to read.

WILL SEASON FOUR BE AS LUCKY AS ONE, TWO, AND THREE?

by Harrison Boyd

June 27, 2039

From his draft day nearly four years ago to now, Everett Bradshaw has been turning heads. We had collectively wondered as baseball fans from the City of Brotherly Love if we would ever have a truly elite pitcher again after Ronson's career ending injury. But as soon as the franchise acquired Bradshaw, we were allowed to stop wondering. We have reached elite status once again. And Bradshaw shows no signs of stopping. 

When I asked the freshly twenty five year old ace about the secret to his success, the first thing out of his mouth was, "My dad."

Bradley rubbed his eyes with his fingers and took a deep breath against the swell of emotions rising in his chest. "Kitten, what is this?"

You just shrugged as you cut up a green pepper for an omelette. "A feature article on Ev. Keep reading."

Bradley took a deep breath and picked up where he left off.

So I asked him, "Was your dad the one at your games who was cheering the loudest? The one who kept you motivated since you were a kid?"

"Not exactly," Bradshaw replied with a smile. "He was my very first coach. He actually still coaches tee ball in San Diego. He wins Coach of the Year so frequently, I think we've all lost count of how many of those little trophies he has at home. But anyway, I met my dad on the very first day I ever played ball. The very first time I swung a bat with instruction was from him. And he's the one who taught me how to pitch. His slider is still really hard to hit."

"You met your dad through tee ball? Through baseball? That's fascinating."

"Yes. I begged my mom to let me play. I was already obsessed with the Phillies by the time I was six. My mom took me to see them clobber the Padres at Petco Park, and I just thought they were the coolest team. So when she let me play tee ball, and I met my coach and learned he also loved the Phillies, I just wanted to spend as much time with him as I could. Turns out, they also wanted to spend time with each other. They got married a few months later. And then my dad adopted me."

While his birth name wasn't Bradshaw, Everett said he never had a close relationship with his biological father. "Really, he's not even worth mentioning. The only one I've ever considered to be my dad is Bradley. I can barely remember a time before he was taking me to the park to hit balls and teaching me how to keep stats. We did my homework together and collected baseball cards. He helped me apply to colleges. The video of him losing his mind when the Phillies drafted me went viral. My mom and my aunt and uncle are awesome, too. But my dad has always understood me in a way probably nobody else ever will."

During his four years at Vanderbilt, Everett earned a reputation as a fun loving, team oriented pitcher. But his stats were enough to catch the eye of every major league team. He pitched a no hitter against Stanford when he was nineteen, and he hit his first grand slam when he was twenty. And he's only cleaned up his form since then. For anyone not keeping track at home, Bradshaw already owns an incredible record in the MLB: he is the only player to pitch a no hitter as well as hit at least one grand slam for every year they played in the pros. His batting averages are practically unheard of for a pitcher. 

It's no wonder he was heavily scouted. And he assures us that his dad was there with him every step of the way. "I didn't know anything about contracts. I just wanted to pitch. But I spent a lot of time talking things through with my dad before I made any decisions. And now everyone is making a huge fuss about my new 440 million dollar ten year extension with the Phils, but to be honest, I still just want to pitch as many games as I can."

The 'huge fuss' is being made, because Bradshaw is now the highest paid pitcher in league history. The Phillies went all in on him, however Bradshaw did adjust his deal to assure that the team would be able to keep top catcher Sanchez as well. "If Miguel Sanchez isn't catching for me and the other guys in the rotation, then that's a big problem. The team needed to retain him as well. And to be honest, Harrison, nobody needs 440 million dollars."

Bradley set his phone down, rubbed his eyes, and said, "I still can't believe our son is the highest paid pitcher ever."

"I can," you replied, adding cheese to the omelette. "He's incredible. Keep reading."

When I asked him what he plans to do with 44 million dollars per year, he kind of shied away from the answer at first. "Well my girlfriend runs a nonprofit organization back in San Diego. She helps fund underprivileged children and schools. So a lot of my income goes back to kids in the city where I grew up and beyond. But I've also been working on a bit of a project myself."

When I asked him for more details, he folded his hands on the table in front of him and took a few beats to answer. "We talked a lot about my dad and what he means to me personally, and how he has impacted my career. But I also think it's important to remember that I'm just one guy. I'm just one kid who went through tee ball and little league. There are thousands of kids across the country who benefit from those types of athletic programs every year. And some of them, just like me, really need the positive influence that the coaches bring. So my dad doesn't even know about this yet, but I'm starting the Bradley Bradshaw Foundation, which will help fund a handful of youth tee ball programs every year. This is something I've been thinking about for a long time. The coaches bring the love and dedication; they shouldn't have to worry about equipment costs and field rental fees."

Bradley dropped his phone onto the counter and tried to wipe his eyes as he sobbed. "I can't even finish reading it."

You slid his birthday breakfast onto a plate and set it in front of him. Then you wrapped your arms around his neck and let him cry against your shoulder. 

"Why is he doing this?" Bradley asked you. "He knows how fucking emotional I get, Kitten."

You kissed the top of his head and whispered, "Yes, you're always very soft for us. But you're also soft and sweet for all the kids you've coached. Keep reading."

So he pushed his breakfast aside and picked up his phone once again. And once he blinked away most of his tears he read the last part.

When pressed about how he thinks his stats will pan out by the end of his fourth season, Everett 'Grand Slam' Bradshaw laughed and shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just trying for consistency. I'm trying to be a good teammate. I'm trying to make the best of every game I get to start. I'm trying to spend as much time with my family as I can. But if you really have a specific question about my stats, you should call my dad. He probably knows better than I do."

Bradley stood up from the kitchen counter and walked away from you. "I need a minute," he said, raking his hands through his hair. The love Bradley felt for his son was just simply part of him. He never took the time to try to pinpoint it exactly, because it was just built into him at this point. But he supposed it really was quite simple to reach back in his mind and pull out the moments when he started to fall in love with you and Everett. And it really was just because of the Tiny Eagles tee ball team. 

If he hadn't agreed to help Bob coach that first season, his life would be fundamentally incorrect right now. He didn't even like thinking about it. But it was because of his love for Everett, and you, and baseball that he stuck with coaching. He'd spent time with countless six and seven year olds over the last eighteen years. He'd missed some practices and games for deployments here and there, sure. But giving a little bit of his time and attention to a roster of kids each spring ended up changing his life. Because while his family owned his heart, Bradley found he had quite a lot of patience and love to share with more kids. 

"Bradley?" you asked softly, standing next to his untouched breakfast. "We can go see Ev when you're ready."

"I'm ready."

Bradley took a quick shower and put on his favorite jeans and his Phillies jersey with Bradshaw and the number 1 on the back. You were dressed similarly in your own Everett Bradshaw jersey; it had taken until your son was playing for the team for you to have what Bradley considered an adequate amount of Phillies clothing in your drawers. Once Bradley added his backwards hat, he was ready to go.

You took his hand and led him out to the new Bronco, and Bradley handed you the keys. He still felt like he was on the verge of tears again. "I need you to drive."

"Okay, Coach."

When you turned onto the Private Parking Only ramp at Petco Park, Bradley chuckled. "I still can't believe Ev is playing the Padres in San Diego on my birthday."

"You screamed like a small child when the schedule came out," you reminded him as you parked near the players entrance where the three of you had entered on your ballpark tour eighteen years ago. 

"Yeah, I know, but we hardly ever get to see Ev during the season unless we fly to Philly." He was already climbing out before you turned the engine off, and then he took your hand as you laughed. "Shit, Kitten... it's 10:00. The game doesn't start until 1:00. Are the gates even open?"

"We can get in," you assured him, and you pulled a lanyard out of your pocket with VIP printed all over it. 

"How did we get that?" he asked, leaning down to kiss you as you approached the gate together. "Ev usually just sends us box tickets."

But before you had a chance to answer, the security guard looked at the VIP pass and asked, "Which player are you here to see?"

"Everett Bradshaw?" you replied. "He plays for the Phillies."

The guard's face lit up and he said, "He just autographed a ball for my kids about ten minutes ago! Nicest guy."

"He's our son," Bradley said with pride in his voice, and you squeezed his hand a little tighter. 

"Come on in," the guard said with a bright smile, unlocking the gate and sliding it open. "You can wait in the VIP lounge right up this ramp to the right. Scan the pass to unlock the door. I'll call down to the locker rooms and let him know you're here."

"Thanks," Bradley replied, and you led the way up the ramp. "Baby, I'm still a little confused about why we're here so early."

"You'll see in a minute," you replied, scanning the badge. Bradley pulled the door open when it unlocked, and he followed you into the lounge full of plush seats, TV screens, and refreshments. And at the far end, perched on the edge of one of the long tables, was Everett. He was smiling as he tucked his phone in his jeans pocket, and Bradley thought he looked impossibly taller and stronger than he had two months ago when they visited him in Philadelphia.

Bradley's eyes filled with tears as he started closing the distance to his son. "Happy birthday, Dad," Everett said with a laugh in his deep voice, but Bradley was already wrapping him up in a tight hug. He just wanted to hold all six foot two inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of his son, and Everett let him. 

Bradley had to fight the onslaught of tears as the familiar feel of Ev hugging him back filled his senses, and the words from the article he read earlier flooded his mind. When he finally released him, he patted him on the shoulder. "You look good, Kiddo. Did you eat enough for breakfast? Are you still starting today?"

Ev smiled at him and nodded, "Yeah, I'm feeling good, Dad. I could probably use some of your pancakes though."

"Well why didn't you say something? I could have brought some with us. Kitten, why didn't you say something?" he asked you as you walked over to join them.

As Everett gave you an enormous hug as well, he said, "I'm thinking about sleeping over at the house with you guys tonight, since I'm not starting tomorrow. You can make me about a dozen pancakes tomorrow morning. Hi, mom."

You kissed his cheek and adjusted his backward Phillies cap. "I like your hair this way. You look so handsome, Ev.

"Of course he does," Bradley agreed. "He looks like you." And then he was rewarded with the twin smiles that you and Everett bestowed on him at the same time. "Listen, if you're coming back to the house later, I need to stop and get groceries. You ate everything in the refrigerator and drank all my beer last time."

Everett just smiled at him. "Damn, I really do miss your pancakes."

"Ev, that's an adult word," you scolded.

"Mom. I am an adult," he scolded back playfully. But he was grinning when he turned toward Bradley. "Did mom make you read the article this morning? From the Inquirer?" 

"Yeah," he whispered, nodding his head. "You didn't need to do that for me, Kiddo. But thank you."

His throat was tight with unshed tears as Everett gave him another hug. "I didn't do it just for you. I did it for the other coaches and kids, too. You were just my main inspiration. You always are, dad."

"Please, Ev," he said, sucking in a deep breath as he rubbed his son's back before releasing him. "I might never stop crying."

And he was once again met with Everett's smile and yours. "You're a softie, Coach," you told him, cupping his chin in your hand and kissing him.

"Always for the two of you." Bradley kissed your fingers and then laced them with his as he looked around the room. "How much longer can you hang out with us, Ev? You need to warm up soon?"

"Pretty soon," he replied. "I'll walk you up to the box to meet Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob and the cousins, but we need to stop and take care of something first."

"Take care of what?" Bradley asked, but Ev was already heading for the door past the tables and unlocking it with his own badge. Hand in hand, the two of you followed your son down a long hallway that ended near the locker rooms at a door that said PRESS AND PLAYERS ONLY. "Are we even allowed back here?"

"Well," Everett said, stopping in front of the door, "if you remember the tour we took when I was six years old, this is where we met some of the players."

"Of course I remember," Bradley said, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "That was one of the best days of my life. I told your mom I loved her that day."

"He did," you confirmed for Everett.

"You two have always been sickening," Everett replied with a smile. "But yes, we're allowed in here. Actually dad, you're the man of the hour."

"Man of the hour?" he asked. "Kiddo, you're the star pitcher. It's just my fifty-fifth birthday." 

But as soon as Everett pushed the door open and Bradley stepped inside, about twenty reporters and photographers started buzzing with excitement. 

"Ev, I'm still confused," Bradley said as his son rested a hand on his shoulder. He watched you smile and head to an empty seat at the back of the room. "What's going on?"

Ev rubbed his shoulder before giving him another hug and releasing him. "Every interviewer asks me how I became successful. And my answer is always the same. It's because of you, Dad."

"Ev," Bradley choked out, his throat tight with tears once again.

"So you're in high demand, Coach. I told a few media outlets we would give an interview together. Nothing too crazy. As long as you want to."

Bradley glanced around the room, and as soon as he found you with a bright smile on your face, he said, "Okay."

So he sat down where the players sit, and Everett took the seat next to him. They had on matching jerseys and backward caps, and it didn't matter that he adopted Everett, this had always been his son. They were cut from the same cloth. They understood each other. They were a family. 

Everett cleared his throat and announced, "Hey, everyone. This is my dad and my very first coach, retired naval Captain Bradley Bradshaw. He taught me literally everything I know about baseball. Everything I know about anything, really. He showed me how to pitch sliders and curveballs at Myers Park here in San Diego. He made sure I could lose a game with the same attitude as when I won a game. He and I met the first day I ever played tee ball and the very first day he ever coached. And he's been coaching the Tiny Eagles ever since. So I guess if you want to know more about me, then he's the man to talk to."

Bradley was still wiping tears from his eyes when the first interviewer raised her hand, smiled at him, and asked, "Can you tell us how proud you are of Everett?"

He turned to look at his son and smiled. "How much time do I have?"

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

Well, that's it! The tale of Coach Bradley! I can't thank you enough to everyone who has been lovely to me as I worked on and posted this fic. I can't get enough of these three. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32 (and thanks for the banner, Mak!)

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

Still want more? Read Draft Day!

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[cozmicwonder]

Eyes on You

Warnings⚠️(18+ but you know good and well um you don’t care😉) p in v, oral-f receiving-, choking, slapping, nipple play. (Ngl this is my third time writing smut so I’m b it sure if it’ll be good😫 lmk what you think. I like constructive criticism.)

Summary- Your dreams of meeting the one and only Ken Sato comes true after the giants are accepted for a photo shoot. Partnership quickly spirals into Lust.

Being one of the top models in Japan wasn’t an easy title to hold. The pressure was always on no matter how great you were. Sure you never messed up and never planned too, but that was the stressful part. You had people looking up to you, you couldn’t mess up now. All eyes were on you. All eyes except one. Ken Sato.

You’d always see him on TV. The first time you saw him you were like a starstruck teenager all over again. You always tried to watch as many of his games as you could on TV. You even managed to make time to go to one of his games. He’s the reason you even bothered to learn about baseball. Before you found out about him you didn’t even care about sports. The thought of meeting him had quickly turned into the thought of being with him.

You’d be lying if you said your late nights didn’t end with your fingers between your thighs and thoughts of him in your head. God, you were obsessed. You couldn’t get him out of your head. You had it bad. Luckily the agency you worked with was hired to take photos of the Giants team for a sporting magazine. You didn’t know who to thank. Your agency accepting the job or the giants being good enough to make it into a magazine.

Saying you were excited was an understatement. You were ecstatic, but you had to keep it professional. The shoot was later this afternoon. You and a few other models have a chance to take a few shots with the giant players. This was your chance to talk to him! Maybe ask him out on a date..or something fun!

You were freaking out. Hoping you didn’t make a fool of yourself as a first impression. You were walking with your best friend Liza to work to get ready for the shoot. She was a photographer and you were a model. You two were so excited to be accepted into the same workplace. “Dude I can’t believe the giants are going to be here today” you squeal out while jumping lightly. Liza looks and you and chuckles.

“Yeah, I know right! But unfortunately for me, I have another group to work with so I can’t be there” she frowned. I look at her sympathetically. “Oh yeah right..so sorry Liza..I’ll be sure to get an autograph from one of them.” You smile her way hoping what you said would cheer her up, and it did. “Thanks y/n. You’re the best.” She holds you tightly in her arms. You hug her back and let go. “I know, it’s what I do.” You say flicking your hair dramatically as you joked.

Your act received a laugh and a slap on the arm from Liza. “Yeah whatever,” she says as she rolls her eyes. You guys continued to joke as you walked and you two didn’t realize that you made it to your place of work. The thing that took you out of your little world was the flashes of cameras and loud voices begging for attention. Your face was curious and confused. ‘Why are the paparazzi here already? The Giants don’t get here till 3:45’. You look at your watch and it read 3:00 pm in big white numbers.

‘Why are they here so early?’ You questioned yourself. Thinking of different possibilities for the situation. “Hey I think we should walk faster if we want to beat the paparazzi to the door” you spoke quickly and quickened your pace. Although you were in heels you could run like hell If the time called for it. So here you were at 3:01 pm running in pitch black stilettos to the door of the agency with Liza right behind you.

You closed your eyes for a split second chanting ‘please don’t break please don’t break’ and the next thing you knew you were on the ground after hitting something that felt warm and strong. You didn’t dare open your eyes, not ready to bear the embarrassment of the incident. “Hey, are you ok?” Someone in front of you spoke softly. Fear settled in the pit of your stomach. ‘Oh god no! It couldn’t be!’ You slowly open your eyes to reveal your worst nightmare. Ken Sato standing above you. I mean under a different circumstance this would be great! But not now, especially after bumping into him is awful.

He held a hand for you to grab and you took it. “IMSOSOSOOOOOSORRYFORBUMPINGINTOYOUIWASNTLOOKINGATWHEREIWASGOINGSORRY!!” You quickly stuttered out your words, bowed several times, and bolted for the door. Your face was beet red with embarrassment. You didn’t stop running until you were in the ladies' room.

You could of started crying from how embarrassed you were. You walked to the sink and placed your purse on the countertop. You run your hands over your face and take deep breaths to calm yourself down. “Wonderful first impression that was y/n” you mocked yourself quietly. Your heartbeat slowed and your breathing steadied. You let out a sigh followed by a groan. You wanted to scream and disappear.

You grabbed your purse and left the bathroom to the dressing rooms to get ready for the shoot. The briefing was short and simple. Pick a numbered jersey to match the player and come up with pose ideas. ‘They’ll follow your lead’ Mr. Ito’s words replayed in your head. You had to make sure you got lucky number 7.

As soon as you made it to the dressing room you went straight to the rack for your specific shoot. You greet most of the makeup artists and hair stylists as you make your way to the rack. As you get closer you notice someone already there. You silently prayed they didn’t take number 7 or you might’ve broken down and trashed the place.

When you got close enough you realized it was Lexie. She never really cared about anything. She was the ‘I just do what I gotta do so I can go home’ type of gal. You sighed, relieved you still had a strong chance of getting what you wanted. You had waited about a minute behind her. Not that you were checking your watch every few seconds or anything. As soon as she walked off you got straight to work to find number seven. The only sound you could hear was the sound of a metal hanger sliding on a metal rod.

You went from left to right since it had to be in number order. If it wasn't, someone was going to get a stern talking too. I giant stupid smile plastered on your face as your eyes laid on a big number 7. “Yes yes yes!” You said a little loud. Your outburst got you a few looks but you didn’t care at the moment.

You practically ran into a changing room. As you were about to change you realized you didn’t have any pants to change into. You ran back out jersey in hand and went to pick a pair of bottoms. Browsing the options you settled with a thigh-high plain black schoolgirl skirt. You rushed back into the changing rooms and decided to grab a pair of heels on your way out.

You unclothed yourself starting with your jeans and slid up the skirt. You then pulled your shirt over your head, hair falling along your arms. You didn’t want to fully button up the shirt so you left a few buttons unbuttoned near the end of the shirt to leave an opening to show some of your stomach.

You stare at yourself in the mirror trying to figure out what’s missing…a baseball cap could do the trick but what else..? You thought to yourself. ‘Oh yes! A chain dangling from the side will definitely look good! But I need to match Mr .Sato. Hmmm…I could get one for him, yes there we go! Problem solved.’

You grab your clothes and leave the dressing room. Before you head to get accessories you need to go to your locker. You walk a nice distance from the dressing room to the back area where the lockers are located. You do the code on the lock for your locker and open it, placing your things inside. You checked your watch for the time. ‘3:27 perfect! Enough time to finish getting ready’ You close your locker and make your way back to get accessories and a pair of shoes.

As you made your way back you heard loud frivolous laughter. It startled you a little, nearly jumping out of your socks when a loud voice boomed through the hall. You decided to get closer to get a better hear to see who it was. It was coming from the male bathrooms. You decided a minute or two of listening wouldn’t hurt.

As the laughter died down a new conversation started. “Hey did you guys see that girl that bumped into Ken?” One voice spoke sounding excited. The voice is kind of high-pitched. “Hell yeah dude she’s a total babe” one other voice spoke up deeper this time. The comment made you smile a little. Something in your heart was hoping to hear something from Ken Sato himself.

“Yo dude, what’s up? What’s with the furrowed brow?” This voice came with a slapping sound. Wonder what happened. “It’s nothing” it was Ken’s voice. Your heart fluttered at the sound of his voice. “C’mon dude you gotta agree she’s a total babe!” The same deep voice from earlier spoke again.

“Yeah, she’s fine or whatever” he was dismissive and his voice sounded slightly..irritated? The words were like a knife in the back. You almost teared up, but the sounds of people shuffling and walking stopped you and you sped walked away to not suspect anyone of any noise.

You made it back to the main area to get shoes and accessories. It was your favorite part about the place. Minus working with your best friend. Getting accessories and shoes was like shopping it was set up like a store and everything. The walls were decorated with shelves and shoes. The main floor area was decorated with racks and countertops of accessories.

You greeted Shelly when you walked in, she was a sweetheart. You went to the far right corner In search of a black cap. You browsed for a few moments before your eyes fell on a cap that would do the outfit justice. You then head toward a rack that has countless pant chains dangling from them. You found one you really liked but it didn’t have one that matched. So you tried again.

You then found a silver chain that had a few clear jewels on it and jewels as clips at each end. You found a similar one to match it was silver and had jewels at each end as clips. You smiled at yourself at the thought of matching with the Ken Sato. ‘All that’s left is a pair of heels. What kind though..’ you pondered on the thought while staring into space.

‘A chunky platform heel would work.’ You made your way to the shoe wall and browsed for your vision. You decided on a pair of Black chunky platform heels with a thick leg and a strap around the ankle. ‘Time to cash out’ you made sure you had everything you needed and headed for the register.

“Hey, Shelly!” You smiled as you placed your things on the countertop. “Hello y/n, is this all for today?” She asked scanning everything. “Yup! I’m so excited for my shoot today! These are the final touches I need then I’m done”. You decided to check the time. ‘3:38. OK enough time to add accessories’. “Oh yeah you’re working with the Giants today right?” She asked, looking excited as well. You nod rapidly. “Ok, we’ll just type in your name and Id number and make sure you return the items at the end of your shift. Have fun!” You finish typing and grab your things “Will do! Bye!” You say happily and walk out and sit at a nearby bench.

You take off your socks and put on your new heels. You clip them close and fix your hair into a ponytail that’ll stick out the back of the baseball cap. Lastly, the chain. You decide on the left to hold the chain. You put your socks in the bag, grab out the nearly identical chain and head to the picture-taking area. ‘Luckily I did my makeup before this or I’d be totally screwed.’

As you approached you saw the group of girls you were working with today huddled by Mr. Ito. You quickly slid into the group to not miss anything, luckily it seemed he’d just started. “Good afternoon ladies. Today's shoot is a big one so make sure you put in as much effort as you can and do your best. Whatever number you have on your jersey is the player you’ll be working with today. They are going in numerical order number one starting here behind us down to the left. Have fun ladies.” Mr. Ito sent us off with a wave of a hand and the girls flooded the area looking for their partner.

As you followed the many individual white backgrounds you made it to lucky number seven. Your body suddenly felt hot and sweaty and your heart began to race. As you approach, He looks to be in deep thought staring down at the ground. “Uh, Mr.Sato?” you managed to make yourself speak. You now stood in front of him. His head snapped up from his view of the ground. “Uh yes?” He spoke, sounding slightly spooked. You held a hand out for him to grab. “I’m y/n. I’ll be the model working with you today.” You gave a gentle wide smile. “It’s nice to meet you”. He studied your hand momentarily before grabbing it and shaking it gently.

“Nice to meet you too.” He returned the smile. ‘Ugh, he doesn’t know what that smile does to me’. You bite your inner cheek to stop you from biting your lip. “I brought you a pant chain so we could match since I have one.” You hold up the chain. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s totally fine if you don’t want to wear it. I can Just ta-” Your rambling is cut off by him grabbing the chain and putting his hand up to dismiss your rambling.

‘It’s alright I don’t mind. But might I say you have some pretty good taste in accessories…” He says inspecting the item. You felt warm and bubbly inside. Your cheeks felt hot like fire, and you were sure they were bright red. “Thank you” you smile sheepishly as you watch carefully as his fingers play with the buckle of the chains to clip them onto his pants.

Images of late nights with your fingers between your legs wishing they were his popped in your head as you watched. His hand flexed, and it made your knees weak. You were staring so hard you didn’t realize he had finished putting it on. Him clearing his throat brought you back to reality. You mentally slapped yourself for getting caught. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. He chuckled. He chuckled. ‘God, his voice is attractive, he’s attractive. GAH I need him so baaaddd’.

“It’s alright. Mr. Ito said you guys would be in charge of the poses we do and props used-” ‘You can use me as a prop if you know what I mean.”. “Yes we were tasked to pick out multiple poses to try for the shoot. Only the best will make it into the magazine.” You speak with sudden annoyedness. “Kind of sucks that the fun ones never make it in.” You say and sigh.

This sparked a chuckle from him. “Yeah, I guess you’re right..Now what's first?” He asked clapping his hands together. “So for the first one I was thinking we could capture the back of the Jerseys.” he looked confused. “So like our backs are facing the camera and our thumbs are pointing towards the number on the back of the jersey.” He nods in agreement.

“Then I was thinking we could do something with the baseball bat. So where I’m standing in front of you with my hands on the bat. Afterward, we could do some back-to-back shots and solo pictures. Or even pictures with a Large number seven.” You shrug as your ideas pile out. He nods in agreement with the ideas. “Yeah, it sounds good to me.” He smiles and positions himself right of the middle of the background and turns around. You follow him but move to the left more and point your thumbs to your back, turning around.

You heard the flashes of the camera quite a bit before they stopped. “Ok now let me grab the bat and You figure out what face you wanna make. You made your way to the basket with baseball bats in it and you could swear you felt a pair of eyes on you the whole time. You make your way back and stand in front of him. You flip the bat upside down and place your forearms on it. Almost leaning on it. You bend over with your ass nearly touching Ken. “Is this alright?” You question not turning around. You waited a few seconds and didn’t get a response. You were about to turn your head when you felt slender fingers on your waist pulling you back so you were now currently touching Ken freaking Sato.

You put a smile on your face and a few smirks as the photos were being taken. Though your face displayed a calm professional look you were burning hot. By the end of it you could have sworn you felt something poking your ass. As the shoot progressed you felt lingering gazes from Ken, long touches, and the eye contact got longer. You’d be out of your mind if you said it wasn’t turning you on.

By the end of the shoot, you were hot and bothered. “It looks like we’re all done!” You turn around to face Ken. “This was fun.” You smile at him and all you get in return is a small nod. It disappointed you to say the least. ‘Did he not like having to partner up with me? Maybe it was the girly chain I gave him, it could’ve been the poses.’ You were so lost in thought you didn’t realize you were staring.

When you came back to you realize Ken was staring at you intensely and he had some kind of glint in his eye. You try to rub your legs together discreetly. Partially because you felt like you wanted to disappear with his intense gaze on you. You could tell he knew what you were doing from the way his eyes flicked down and then back up. You really wished you could roll up into a ball and pretend you didn’t exist.

“Do you think you could show me where the bathroom is?” His words broke the deep silence. You blinked a few times, the words sinking in. “Oh..uh yeah, Of course. Follow me.” You turn on your heel and begin walking away. The walk there is dead silent. You never understood the term you could hear a pin drop, until today. You felt his eyes all over you. It made you shiver.

As you two were walking you nearly passed a family bathroom. As you were about to pass it you felt a hand grab yours and pull you into the bathroom. As you were pulled in you were pushed against the door. Lo and behold Ken Sato stood in front of you. You felt him lean in and then heard the door lock. Your heart was racing at this point and your face felt hot once more.

Ken put an arm above your head and rested it on the door. His other hand was used to grab your chin and tilt it upward to see his face directly. He leaned in for a kiss. Your eyes were bolted wide open in shock. ‘Is this really happening, please be real please be real’. Your eyes slowly fluttered close as you returned the kiss.

The kiss started slow and passionate but quickly turned heated full of lust. His lips felt soft on yours and tasted like.. Cherries? Your tongues danced against each other as they both fought for dominance. Ken’s tongue came out on top. You both separated to catch some air. “You know,” He said in between breaths. “I’ve had my eye out for you for a while now”. He spoke while he trailed kisses down your neck. His tongue moved smoothly down your neck as he littered it with hickeys. Sucking and biting on your skin red marks began to appear across your neck and collarbone.

Soft murmurs of delight fell from your lips. “That’s funny because…I’ve had my eye on you for quite a while now too.” You laugh softly but it is quickly replaced by a pleasurable wince. His hands found their way into your shirt and under your bra. He lifted the bra up enough for your boobs to fall out into his hands. His fingers pinched and pulled at your already hard nipples. Quiet moans were pulled from your throat.

He chuckled at your comment. “Yeah? That so?” His voice sounded low and breathy. It made your knees weak. “Mmm yeah,” You say mildly out of breath. His mouth latched onto your right nipple. His tongue swirled around the nub and nibbled on it while his left hand toyed with your free nipple. Your moans got louder at the new sensation.

After sucking on your nipple for a time that satisfied him. He let go of your nipple with a pop. His hands traced your waist down to your hips and snuck behind to grab your ass. He gave it a firm squeeze and a nice slap. This received a surprised gasp from you. His hands then fell to your thighs as he fell to his knees.

He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder giving him a better view of your sex. He began to kiss your inner thigh. Repeating the same process he did on your neck until he stopped. You watched him in anticipation. “What’s this?” he says, bringing a hand up and tracing the now visible tattoo that read eat me. “Tsk tsk tsk, never would’ve thought you of all people would have something like this.” He looked up at you. “But if I may?” He asked with a raised brow.

It made you a hell of a lot wetter than what you would like to admit. “Yes,” You said quicker than you’d like to. He chuckled at your fast response. “No worries sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”. He moved your leg out further to get better access between your thighs. He ran a thumb down the center of your panties, “My…Someone’s excited”. You internally died.

He moved your panties to the side and ran a finger down your slit. A trail of your arousal followed. Retracting the finger he licked his finger clean. He let out a sound of satisfaction. He grabbed the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down pulling them down one of your legs so they dangled over the other. He wasted no time stuffing his face between your legs.

He licked a stride between your folds with a flat tongue gathering all of your slick. His tongue retracted and did the same motion twice more. Your head is now up against the door and your mouth is agap. His pace is agonizingly slow. He began sucking on your clit which made your moaning louder. You put your hands in his hair. His hair is unsurprisingly soft, silky, and smooth.

You pushed his face into your cunt for further satisfaction. As he continued to suck on your clit you felt something penetrate your hole. It was his fingers. ‘I knew those slender fingers wouldn’t disappoint.’. ‘Mmm fuck!” you spoke out, dragging the word out. His eyes remained on you taking in the way your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes sealing shut. The way your hands gripped his hair made him feel like his pants had just shrunk.

This is even better than what you imagined on your late nights alone. The pace of his fingers quickened and your walls clenched around them. Your thighs clamped around his head when he hit the right spot. “Ahh~! Mm right there” you moan out loudly. “Shh sweetheart don’t want us getting caught do you?”. The thought of someone catching you made you wetter. “Mm, but I guess you’d like that huh? Dirty girl”. He let out a chuckle. The vibrations go straight to your heat.

It felt as though a tight knot had formed in your stomach itching to be untied. Your grip on his hair got tighter as you grinded on his face chasing your release. You felt his tongue flicking and sucking on your clit faster. No head you ever got felt this good. Your breaths shortened and got higher. You let out a loud moan before you reached your climax. Your cum and arousal are being caught by Ken’s tongue. Your rock-solid grip on his hair loosened and your breathing began to steady.

You took a few deep breaths. As he pulled away his chin was shining in the light from your juices. “I just wanna stay between here for hours. Gah, you taste so good.”. He said licking his lips, removing your leg from his shoulder, and standing up tall.

You’re standing against the door with your chest heaving while Ken Sato stands above you. You’ve finally come back, to and see Ken just staring at you. “What is there something on my face?” You question while patting your face in search of the unknown article. He laughs “You’re leaned up against a door with no panties on and that’s what you’re worried about?” He raises a brow at you.

You smile, “I mean yeah, I can’t be getting fucked by the Ken Sato and looking a hot mess.” You laugh. He hums “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve been thinking a lot about this” He puts a hand to his chin. You look away, “Whaaat noo”. He doesn’t seem convinced but he drops it. “Well I know just the thing to get your mind off it” he smirks, grabs your hand and brings you to the countertop. He pushes you against it and pulls your head back gently so you can face yourself in the mirror.

“I want your eyes on the mirror at all times ok? You can do that for me sweetheart can’t you?” He asks whilst unzipping his pants. “Hell yeah, I can” You pride yourself in the way you could keep eye contact with certain things. Let’s just say you always won a staring contest. “You sound pretty sure..Better not disappoint.” He leaned against you and whispered in your ear.

He lifted your skirt up and grabbed his cock running it up and down your folds, gathering your slick before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. You wince at the burning stretch. From what you felt he wasn’t very thick, about a little over average but he sure was long. You shut your eyes tight, the stretch feeling to be too much. Your eyes opened just as fast as they closed when you felt a harsh slap on your ass.

“Thought you said you could keep your eyes on the mirror…Fuuck.” His head fell back as he bottomed out. The look on his face made you clench around him. “If you keep wrapping around me like that I’ll cum before I even start.” he began moving slowly, each slow thrust made you yearn for more. His pace began to quicken and the sound of skin on skin was now very audible.

You regret being cocky when you said you could keep your eyes on the mirror. He was hitting all the right places and the view from the mirror wasn’t helping. The pussy drunk look on his face mixed with his toned flexed arms made you want to come undone right then and there. Moans spilled out like a prayer. He let out a few grunts and moans here and there. His hands were tight on your hips, sure to leave a bruise or two.

“You know, that little stunt you pulled out there back at the shoot. Fuck…It was a real dirty move.” He says slowly trying to keep concentration on the rhythm of the thrust. He brought a hand up to your neck and gripped it tight but light enough so you could breathe. His thrust got harsher pounding you down on his cock. Your eyes rolled back into your head when he hit your g-spot, your gummy walls clamping down on him once more.

“Ahh, YES, fuck! Right there…Keep going” you managed to get out. You moved a hand up onto the mirror for more stabilization, the grip on the sink wasn’t enough. The fucked out look on yours and his face was embedded into your head, never to be forgotten. “Yeah, right there sweetheart? What do ya say, hm?” his voice was degrading. You lock eyes with him in the mirror “Mmm please, ahhh~ please keep going.” Your voice was desperate and whiny.

“Since you’ve asked so nicely” he continuously rams into the same spongy spot, rearranging your guts. Another hand left your side and went in between your thighs rubbing and pinching your clit. You were seeing stars at this point. Trying your best to keep your eyes on the now slightly foggy mirror. The same knotted feeling from earlier came back in the pit of your stomach.

“Ah! Ken, m’cuming!” you say mouth a jar and head fogged. “Yeah? C’mon sweets give it to me. I know you can” his words push you over the edge and the coil in your stomach snaps. Your breathing is heavy as your chest rises and falls. The thrust continues as Ken fucks you through your orgasm and chases after his release. The continued stimulation on your clit plus the thrusting becomes too much for your overstimulated body. “Ah ah! Ken mmm s-slow down”. His pace doesn’t let down. “S’too much” Your fingers are bent in on the mirror giving up on trying to stay focused on it.

Your head is hanging low between your shoulders. “Mmm, fuck. I know you can take it sweetheart…mm, ah. You’re doing so…so fucking good.” he whines in the last few words. The rhythm of the thrust begins to falter as his climax approaches. His pace finally lets down as he finishes inside. After he finishes he stays in and continues to toy with your clit determined to give you a third orgasm. You clench down on him. “C’mon sweetheart, give it to me,” he says, voice demanding.

The coil breaks again and you squirt everywhere. Ken continues flicking your clit stimulating you through your orgasm. Your breathing is raspy. “Fuuuck, I haven’t been fucked that good like ever.” You say laughing at your own comment and removing your hand from the mirror. “I can’t believe you came inside. You better hope I don’t end up pregnant. I don’t want to be involved in a scandal.” You say looking at him in the mirror. He pulls out and slaps your ass.

He smirks, “I wouldn’t mind having a mini-me around.”

[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.”

[accio-victuuri]

5/16/24 LRLG post + interpretations ❤️💛💚

so it’s not enough that we’ve been struggling for the past days, they really put meaning to the saying of “when it rains it pours”. at least they let people sleep and then released this in the morning. it is an unusual posting time cause it’s usually evening or even late like 1:00 AM but not this early.

original link from the rumor house is here. i will omit some parts and just explain what happens but i tried to preserve the integrity of the post. all of this is fake. if i missed some cpn related to this, feel free to comment or just reblog and add on. enjoy ^^

XZ: "Do I have to buy the flowers myself? I can't spend hundreds of dollars."

WYB: “You don’t need to buy it and use it at home. The bottle is also pretty.”

XZ: 🙄

WYB: “Your skills are really top-notch now.”

XZ: "Why don't you try to be more yin and yang?"

WYB: "Well done. Well done."

XZ: “Don’t let me go if you don’t have any symptoms”

WYB: "You know if I have a fart or not, I'm so awesome."

XZ: "gun"

WYB: 😘

XZ: "There is also gas in the mouth"

WYB: 🙄

XZ: "Hey, your skills are also top-notch."

WYB: “I can’t compare to you, but practice makes perfect”

XZ: “It’s boring.

WYB: “Come and play”

XZ: "If you don't want to play, you won't come from xx"

👧: "Looking for me, I won't delay the fun of you two"

WYB: "Then shall we leave?"

👧: “I also know that practice makes perfect”

WYB: “Excuse me”

XZ: "Whose number should I use?"

WYB: "I'll log in for you

Yibo really be buying useless stuff again. lol. I can only imagine him scrolling through shopping apps in between takes and ordering everything. Thank you ZZ for being the voice of reason. LOL. and them complementing each other’s skills in gaming, even the log-in, we think is for the game. && how they are trolling each other talking about gas/fart, it’s so them 😂😂😂😂

the part about the kiss emoji makes us think that wyb kissed xz but then xz had to comment like that lol and be a gremlin 😂😂😂

i saw one guess that the bottle/vase he is talking about where you can put flowers may be a souvenir from abroad that wyb gave him

WYB: XZ believes in Buddhism and doesn’t believe in anything.”

XZ: “Watch me assist”

WYB: "You are not playing support role."

XZ: "Okay, I won't go even if you call me daddy."

WYB: “Don’t help, you still have to help”

No but seriously i will pay good money to watch them livestream a game lol. to those who are not familiar of why XZ was saying “call me daddy”, it’s a common quip among people. kinda like saying “im your father” cause i’m helping you and more superior than you— nothing kinky okay?

WYB: “Where did the cat come from?”

WYB: "Can I not hear it when it’s meowing at me? "

WYB: "What to record"

WYB: “So where did the cat come from?”

WYB: “Questioning you on behalf of 🌰🌰”

WYB: “Oh, great shooting”

people are thinking it’s this chonky cat that xz got attached to

and all of us are cackling at how wyb is “asking for 🌰🌰” because his dad is being a traitor and looking at other cats! 😤😤😤 yibo is so loyal to their daughter lol

WYB : super cold, i’ll eat a fried egg for you in awhile

WYB: look closely, i’m going to eat one for you (fried egg = sun that just appeared ☀️)

WYB: i ate it too early, it’s not fully cooked yet

WYB: sure, i’ll wait for you to eat a cooked one

i swear their conversations don’t make sense unless you have some background. cpfs are saying here that it means, wyb gave xz a fried egg ☀️ and then xz ate a cooked egg, the way he did it in that milan vlog

and like, if we are talking about a literal egg, that was featured as well in the Milan vlog 🍳 so could that be a bit for bobo? a literal easter egg? lol.

next part is bobo asking xz why doesn’t it look the same to him and how xz hasn’t responded to the group chat. and how he will call him later 📲

them having a gc is not even a secret but just 🥹🥹 that must be one hell of a group chat to be in.

WYB: “How was the restaurant you ate at last time? Let's go there when Zhan ge comes."

🧔‍♂️: "Their ribs are amazing, but the chops are not as good as they should be. Why don't we order one for you tonight and try it?"

i won’t include this part anymore but it’s a conversation between yibo and members of his staff about food and what to eat. i love how wyb is always thinking about xz when he sees something that is good to eat. feeding xz is really his love language. i’m cackling how they are conscious about the carbs to eat. planning what and where to eat with your loved one seems so simple but really special too. there were talks about fruits, which we know what xz is fond of eating in CQL BTS. ( sorry for the screenshot lol xiao zhan i love youuuu. you have no bad angle! )

there was also a part that wyb was telling them to buy blueberries and the staff is like: "Just tell me what you want to eat and I'll give you whatever you want" but yibo was all "Let's see what he wants to eat" 🥹🥹🥹 it all depends on XZ.

and then this scene in the wedgwood ad. which is most likely a coincidence. but still 👀

WYB: “Look at this big pot”

XZ: Saw it

WYB: "I won't let you try the dishes in advance."

XZ: "If you want to eat, just say so and don't take the blame."

👧: Boss Xiao, we have already eaten it.”

XZ: "Grateful and thankful"

WYB: "Why are you so happy?"

XZ: You guys are going to have another meal in two days.

WYB: ☺️☺️🤭☺️🥰🥰🥰😍😍😍

XZ: "Eat quickly and fight again when you get back."

WYB: “🫡Received”

XZ: "Idiot, hang up, bye"

WYB: "Bye"

with this fake rumor i feel so soft cause having a meal together is something they look forward to. i especially loved this comment from a cpf which u think perfectly explain why this romantic: But I especially understand how dad feels. . . When you are in a long-distance relationship, if you already have a date for your next meeting, you will really feel like you don’t want to taste the delicious food you want to eat with you before meeting! Just like "I want to share the surprise of the first bite with you" is the real thing. I only want to taste one-fifth of the taste. I want to wrap this little bit of deliciousness with the anticipation of seeing you soon. I want to see you soon. I have been stuffed to the brim these last few days, so that the day I see you I will explode with happiness!” 🥹🥹🥹

next part is wyb talking to a staff about eating and then this one, yibo! give your assistant a vacation! and well the boss is not taking a vacation too sooooo….

👧: “When can I take a vacation?”

WYB: "Anytime, if you have anything to do, just take a break."

👧: “Want to take a big vacation”

WYB: “It’s early then”

👧: “This year’s Qingming Festival and May Day are all in vain”

WYB: "Have arrangements been made for May Day?"

and the final part of the rumor contribution:

WYB: "Where"

WYB: “Okay, be safe.”

WYB: "I don't have time to ask you to keep the fake house.

WYB: "good"

-END

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 26

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military Universe

Words: 5k

TW: Violence

Masterlist

———————————————————————

 Wednesday, December 23; 8:00 PM - Home

A few days have passed since I returned to Barcelona. I’ve never enjoyed a vacation so much. There hasn't been a single moment of boredom. Mapi has practically been living at my place since I got back. As usual, her parents are off living their own lives without her, so she’s living hers without them. Sunday was fantastic. Joan was over the moon when we took him to the amusement park. He hadn’t realized I’d be staying for two whole weeks, so when he understood I’d be here longer than usual, he was ecstatic.

I haven’t told him yet that I’ll be leaving earlier for New Year’s, but he’ll probably be too busy to notice. As always, my mom and Marcus will take him to celebrate New Year’s with friends who have a child his age. In any case, I’ll make a resolution to keep in touch with him more regularly. He’s missed me so much that she hasn’t left our side even once. Not during our movie and TV marathon on Saturday, not during our day at the skate park the next day, and especially not when we went to the ice rink. Those were incredible days.

Today, we decided it would be a relaxation day. Joan is at a friend’s house, so we spent our morning at the beauty salon. We got waxed and had our nails done for Christmas Eve. My family will be coming over tomorrow. I usually take care of myself, but this time we wanted to be pampered. Well, it was mainly Mapi who was dying for it. She couldn’t let go of the idea. So, I sucked it up and wore clothes that didn’t require me to undress completely. She’s lucky I appreciate the results. We continued the day with lunch at a restaurant in town, and then we went to the pool. It was so much fun. It seems like it just opened, so there weren’t many people, and we could relax as we should.

Now, here we are, standing in line for the cinema. It must be around 8:00 PM. It’s a way to do something relaxing without being cooped up in my room. I found out while she was in the shower that she’s been harassed by Ana. Apparently, Ana is sorry and wants Mapi back. I was relieved to see she hadn’t responded to any of the texts, but also slightly hurt that she hadn’t told me. I respect her silence, though. I haven’t brought it up with her, afraid she might shut down. That doesn’t stop me from being a good friend. I noticed she’s been glancing at her phone whenever she gets the chance today. I sense she’s about to crack, so I’ve done everything in my power to keep her busy. It’s clear she’s not doing as well as she pretends, although I imagine our days full of activities help her not think about it.

It’s time to pay for our tickets. I don’t even know what movie we’re going to see. I let Mapi choose since I haven’t been keeping up with new releases while I was at Camp Wiegman. We have similar tastes, so I’m not worried. Mapi insists on stopping by the concession stand for some popcorn. I take the opportunity to grab a drink, which she ends up getting too. We then have our tickets validated and head into our theater. We’re half an hour early, so I’m not surprised to find the place empty. We settle in a corner at the top. Mapi is never quiet during a movie, no matter where we are. She has the annoying habit of commenting on every action. Needless to say, it annoys everyone around us. It used to irritate me too, but over time, I started commenting with her. We’ve gotten to the point where if we’re watching a movie at home, we pick one we’ve already seen to make sure we understand the content.

I still make the effort to go to the movies with her, thinking I can always rewatch the film online if it seems good. It reminds me that Lucy had offered to lend me some movies, but she never did. I doubt she remembers. That conversation must have been over a month ago. I feel a pang of guilt, realizing I haven’t written to her since returning to Miami. Then again, she hasn’t written to me either. After all, she’s just my supervisor; I shouldn’t worry. She’s made it clear more than once that we can’t be friends while I’m her student.

"Isn’t that Miller and Bryan down there?" Mapi asks me.

I scan the area, looking for two heads that could be our friends. I smile when I spot them a few rows below us, completely on the opposite side. It’s impossible for them to see us. I notice their little gestures of affection, which are so cute.

"Yeah, it looks like it."

"Should we call out to them? I mean, we could see them at the same time."

"They’re on a date, leave them alone. We’ll catch up with them after the movie."

Mapi nods in agreement. The lights dim shortly after. To be honest, I’m still having a hard time seeing them as a couple, but they’re so adorable. To think that a few years ago, it was us as a couple and them as best friends. At least Mapi and I were lucky not to lose each other. She clumsily apologized for kissing me spontaneously. I couldn’t blame her for needing affection. Few people manage to stay on good terms with their ex, but I’m glad we did. She was my rock back then, and I won’t forget what she did for me. My feelings were mixed when we first reconnected, but I quickly pushed them aside, realizing it wasn’t mutual anymore. I never knew if that was truly the case, but I guess she was just protecting herself.

The ads fade away, and the movie begins. As I predicted, Mapi comments on every action, but today it’s a bit different. She also starts complimenting the women in the film. She seems to find them beautiful and amazing She’s lucky I’m  lesbianand find some truth in her words; otherwise, I’d get bored quickly. I join in, telling her my preferences. I’ve always preferred brunettes, even dark-haired ones,I find them more attractive and mysterious.

“Tell me an actress you find hot.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Just because. Someone you’d want in your bed.”

“I don’t want anyone in my bed.”

“You know exactly what I mean! Like if you had the chance to go on a date with an actress... Or a celebrity, whatever. Who would you choose?”

“Your question is really dumb.”

“Come on, play along. Give me a name.”

I think about it, running my hand through my hair. I have no idea. I don’t have a favorite actress or anything like that.

“I don’t know. Mila Kunis?” I say randomly.

“Mila Kunis?” she repeats. “Hmm… Not bad, true. Does she look like Bronze?”

I roll my eyes. And there she goes again, bringing up the subject. I don’t know what’s gotten into her with Lucy lately, but she keeps asking me questions about her.

“No,” I shut down.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just that I wonder what she looks like. I have the right to be curious. Here, compare her to Mila Kunis so I can get an idea.”

I can’t believe it when she pulls up a picture of the actress on her phone. I already know she won’t leave me alone until she gets her answers. I sigh and look at the photo carefully to make a comparison.

“Lucy has a much finer nose and much fuller lips. As for her eyes, they’re almond-shaped and green, much more sparkling than the dark eyes Mila Kunis has in this picture. And her hair leans more towards a brown shade than black.”

Mapi nods seriously. She seems to be creating an image of my supervisor in her head. Her silence makes me wonder if I went too far with my details. I realize just how much I’ve observed her to know so much about her appearance. She finally turns to me with a small smile forming on her lips.

“She must be cute.”

“She is.”

“Is she taller than you?”

I think back, trying to recall moments that might give me an answer to this question. I nod eventually.

“Yeah. But only by a few centimeters.”

“So, you claim you’re not interested in her, but you can tell me details like that about her?”

A smug smile spreads across her face, and I realize my mistake. I knew it was a bad idea to tell her all that.

“You’re exasperating, Mapi.”

“And yet, I didn’t even point out that you called her Lucy. So that’s her little name?”

I groan at her teasing. I slowly run my hand over my face to avoid losing my temper.

“Where’s her part in her hair?”

“Mostly in the middle, but sometimes she moves it to the left side.”

The words slip out before I can hold them back. I’m surprised myself at how easily I answered. How did I retain such subtle information about her? Damn brain. Mapi mocks me without restraint.

“Just as I thought.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” she smiles foolishly.

“Yeah, whatever,” I mumble. 

I sink into my seat, crossing my arms, clearly upset that my mind could betray me like that. How did I answer so instinctively? Lucy is my supervisor. Sure, she’s beautiful and attractive, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested.

Mapi tries to insist one more time, but she’s met with "shhhhht" sounds from all around. I think we’ve reached our chatter limit. It doesn’t seem to calm Mapi, who starts laughing at every scene that’s even slightly funny. No matter how much I ask her to calm down, it feels like she’s doing it on purpose to annoy our neighbors. They’re starting to get really angry, but fortunately, the movie is coming to an end. I wouldn’t have bet on our safety if it had lasted any longer. We hurry out of the theater as soon as the credits roll to avoid facing the hateful glares of the other viewers. Sometimes I wonder if we’re really civilized. Right now, I’d say no. I instantly regret our rush when we run into the one person we would’ve wanted to avoid on this earth. Mapi instinctively takes a defensive stance in front of me. Feli doesn’t take her eyes off me for a second, as if I’m the only one there.

- "Ona-..."

- "Don’t talk to her," Mapi interrupts in a sharp tone.

- "That’s not for you to decide."

- "Forget it. Let’s go, Mapi..."

I grab her arm, and I couldn’t say if it’s to pull her away with me or to stop her from doing something she might regret—or not. Mapi stays rooted to the spot, glaring daggers at my ex. I can understand her urge to tear her apart for what she did, right here and now. However, this is neither the time nor the place. All I want is to get out of here. I realize that’s not her intention when she violently shakes off my grip.

- "Get out of the way," she growls.

- "No," she says, stepping forward. "You know, Ona... I thought I’d see you again after what I injected you with."

A shiver runs down my spine as she admits this, never taking her eyes off me. No... I can’t believe it. She didn’t just say that.

- "I’m disappointed to see you in such a normal state..."

I feel myself wavering as she manages to slip past Mapi’s defenses to stroke my hand. Her gesture, which should be gentle, sends me spiraling back into a whirlpool of memories. I’m disconnected from my senses until Mapi’s fist slamming into Feli’s face brings me back to reality. Her punch is so powerful that she crashes to the ground, her mouth agape.

- "That’s for what you did to my best friend. And this is for sleeping with my girlfriend, you bitch!"

Her words are followed by a kick to her stomach. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mapi this angry. I’m so caught up in the scene that I jump when an arm wraps around my shoulders. I struggle against the unexpected contact, but calm down when I see Bryan by my side. Meanwhile, Miller is grabbing my best friend by the waist, pulling her away from Feli before the situation escalates further. Security has been called. They arrived just in time to restrain my ex, who was about to fight back. The guys managed to defuse the situation by announcing our departure. However, Mapi isn’t willing to leave it at that.

"Don't let her go!" she spits out. "She's gone mad, and she's stalking my friend. She even just admitted in front of everyone that she drugged her to get her back! You better not let her follow us, or I'll press charges against you!"

"Mapi, that's enough," says Miller, trying to calm her down.

"No, it's not enough! That bitch deserves what’s coming to her!"

"Let's just leave, please."

Bryan nods and leads me towards the exit. Thankfully, Miller is strong enough to drag Mapi out with us after apologizing to the officers. I'm struggling to process the whole encounter. It feels like I'm in shock. Mapi keeps cursing under her breath to vent her frustration, which isn't helping me pull myself together. If the guys hadn't intervened, things could've gone really wrong. It's only when we get outside that Mapi notices my state. She immediately pulls me into her arms.

"Are you okay?" she murmurs.

I want to answer her, but no words come out. I try to nod to reassure her, but it’s all lies. Feli drugged me. She really drugged me to make me relapse. How can I be okay? I can't even tell if she went further because I have no memory of it. For all I know... No, I don't even want to think about it.

"How about we forget this whole incident by grabbing a drink?" Miller suggests. "We wanted to catch up, so now's the time."

Mapi agrees without consulting me, so I have no choice but to go along. Miller drives us there in his car. Mapi and I are in the back. She's set her anger aside to try to lift my spirits. It's a lost cause, but I appreciate the effort. When we get to the bar, I wait just long enough to order a drink before excusing myself. I need to be alone and get some air. Mapi didn’t want to let me go out alone, but Miller convinced her. I couldn’t be more grateful. I sit on the curb once outside, burying my head in my arms to collect my thoughts. The evening has gone by too fast. I can't fully grasp everything that happened. After a while, I pull my phone out of my pocket and fidget with it, debating whether to call her or not. I realize I should've done it days ago. I muster up the courage to do it now. One ring... Two... Three... My heart stops when the beeping ends.

"Hello?"

Her voice echoes in my head. I can't find the words to speak. My lower lip trembles so much it affects me. I never thought hearing her voice would make me feel so relieved.

"Ona?" she presses, sensing my silence.

I let my head fall back into my arms as a sob escapes, one I can't hold back. Why do I always turn to her only when I’m not okay? She deserves so much better, even if she doesn’t want me as a friend.

"I'm sorry for calling so late..." I say between sniffles.

« It’s not late in Manchester " she replies calmly. "What's going on?"

"No... I—We’re halfway through the week... I- I should’ve called you much sooner," I murmur.

"It doesn’t matter, as long as you're okay. But you're not, are you?"

"I'm sorry for only talking to you when I need something," I say, choking up.

"Hey, that’s not true, and you know it."

"Yes, it is!" I cry out.

"Don’t raise your voice like that," she scolds me.

"S-sorry... I-I shouldn’t have."

She sighs long and hard, making me cry even harder. I feel so pathetic. I shouldn’t have called her now. I couldn’t even talk to Mapi, so there’s no way I’d be able to do it with Lucy either. I should've waited until I was more composed.

"Hey, Ona. I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to tell me something. Anything," she orders sternly.

"You don’t have the right to give me orders from afar," I say, managing a weak smile.

I joke to lighten the mood. I hear her laugh, which warms my heart. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand and tighten my jacket, remembering I’m wearing hers. I couldn't find one that suited me when we were at the mall. I guess it’s because I’m already too attached to this one.

"I have every right over you. Have you forgotten?"

"It seems I have," I murmur.

"Enough joking... You didn’t call for no reason, did you?"

I groan, shaking my head. I feel foolish now that she's voicing the truth. I would've hung up a long time ago if I were her.

"Come on, spill it. You wouldn’t have called if you didn’t need to."

I rest my head on my arm, thinking for a moment. I do need this, that’s for sure, but how do I say it without breaking down completely? A silence falls between us that neither of us breaks. She’s waiting for an answer.

"It’s her..." I finally whisper.

"Her? You’ll have to be clearer if you want me to understand anything," she chuckles.

"Feli, my ex, the junkie. S-she’s the one who drugged me the other night. W-We ran into her with Mapi, and she admitted it. I—"

"Hey, calm down. Why are you reacting like this? Isn’t this supposed to be good news?" she asks. "It proves it wasn’t you who did it. That’s what you wanted to know, right? I think it’s a good thing. You didn’t relapse on your own."

How does she manage to find something positive in this mess?! I’m tearing my hair out, tormented. I know she's trying to reassure me, but she’d change her tune if she knew how seeing him again affected me. She can't know because she doesn’t know what he put me through.

"Well... If you say so..."

"Come on, dry your tears. You look so much cuter with a smile on your face."

She’s really trying to cheer me up. I smile timidly and run my fingers under my eyes to wipe away the black streaks of makeup that have probably run.

"So, how’s your vacation going, besides all that?" she suddenly changes the subject.

"Good... I’m enjoying it like you advised me to. And you?"

"Same here. I’m seeing my family and leaving for Portugal early tomorrow morning for a few days."

"You’re so lucky. I wish I could go back there too..."

"I can imagine. How’s Mapi? Is she doing better?"

"Yeah, she’s okay. We’re spending all our days together."

"Do you already have plans for New Year’s?"

"Yeah, I’m heading back to Manchester early. Leah and Alessia are hosting a party at their place."

"Oh. So Mapi agreed then."

"Yeah, it’ll be good for her to get a change of scenery. It was either that or we’d spend the night alone at my place."

"I see," she laughs. "That wouldn’t be the worst thing either."

"For you, maybe, but definitely not for Mapi. She’s never experienced anything like that at home."

"That’s a shame. Do you already know where you’ll be staying before school starts again?"

I stay silent. Honestly, I haven’t thought about it. Lucy laughs heartily. I hide my smile, rubbing my cheeks against the sleeves of my jacket. Damn. I’ve missed hearing her laugh so much.

"You haven’t thought about it, have you?"

"Not really, no," I admit with flushed cheeks. "I guess I’ll try to negotiate a spot with the Leah and Alessia, and if they can’t put me up, I’ll get a hotel room."

"A hotel?" she scoffs. "Don’t be silly. If you really have nowhere to stay, let me know, okay?"

"Oh no, don’t worry. I’ll manage."

"I’m serious. I’m not going to let you stay on the streets. Knowing you, you’d get lost."

"Ha ha ha, very funny!" I laugh sarcastically.

"It’s true," she giggles. "By the way, where are you? I can hear cars passing by."

"In the street, outside," I say with a smile, knowing how she’ll react.

"Excuse me?"

I can picture her frowning with a stern look on her face. Why am I still smiling like an idiot? Lucy must have this effect on me.

"I’m in the street, outside a bar," I repeat.

My smile widens even more. She’s definitely going to scold me. I start an unconscious countdown in my head. I reach zero just as she raises her voice through the phone.

"You’ve got to be kidding me!"

"No."

"Oh, so let me get this straight. One bad moment, and you’re ready to get wasted? If that’s your plan, you’d better head home!"

"Relax, I’m not alone. Mapi’s with me."

"And that’s supposed to make me feel better?" she grumbles. "She was with you last time too!"

I laugh, realizing she’s right. That night, she left me for her girlfriend, and she wasn’t in any better shape than I was. I don’t think Lucy noticed when she had her on the phone. If she had, she wouldn’t have trusted her to get me home. One thing I know is that I did the right thing by calling her. Without her, I would’ve ended the night with a brain in pieces.

"I’m with two other friends. I don’t intend to drink. If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting on the curb talking to you. I’d be inside drinking."

"Hmm," she says, skeptical. "You’d better text me every five minutes to update me on your sobriety once this call is over."

"If you want," I say with a smile. "Aren’t you going out tonight?"

"No. I have to get up early, so I’m enjoying a quiet evening in my apartment."

"Oh, I’m bothering you then."

"Don’t be ridiculous. I’m happy to talk to you."

"Oh really...? Me too," I admit. "I never thought I’d miss your bossy attitude this much. I keep thinking about what you’d say when I’m in an awkward situation," I chuckle.

"It’s been a while since you’ve called me that. I hope you’re at least listening to that little voice if you’re hearing it."

I hold back a laugh. If she knew all the trouble Mapi has gotten me into... I’d end up doing more than just laps.

"Come on, you have to tell me all the nonsense you’ve been up to now."

I finally laugh softly. My long silence must have given me away.

"No, it’s better not to."

There’s a silver lining to the distance after all. She can’t reach me, let alone intimidate me with her eyes and gestures.

"I’m not kidding. If you come back as that little kid from the very beginning, you’re going to hear from me."

"Hey!" I exclaim, offended. "That girl is long gone."

"Hmm, she’d better be."

I jump when a hand lands on my shoulder. I look up to see that it’s just Mapi. She’s leaning her head to the side with a small smile. I relax my muscles and timidly return her smile.

"Feeling better? You seemed really upset when you came out."

"Yeah... I’m feeling better," I reassure her without taking the phone from my ear.

"Who’s on the phone? Is it the person who managed to bring that smile back to your face?"

"Hmm," I shrug. "It’s Bronze."

I instantly regret being honest when I see a dreamy smile appear on her lips. I’ve just fueled her imagination. Those mental movies of hers won’t be going away anytime soon

- "Hey, I thought I told you not to use my name anymore," comments Lucy through my phone with a hint of playfulness.

- "I'll call you whatever I want!"

- "What does your boss want?" asks Mapi.

- "Nothing. How's your hand?" I ask, noticing an ice pack on her fist.

- "Hurts, but it was worth it," she giggles.

Both of them start talking at the same time, as if they're having a conversation with each other even though they can't hear each other. I don't know where to turn my head. I can't even decipher their words. I groan as I run my hand over my eyes.

- "For heaven's sake, shut up!" I groan.

I open my eyes again when the silence finally falls. I glance at my best friend, who is staring at me with wide eyes.

- "Thank you," I sigh. "How's your hand?" I finally ask Mapi, noticing the ice pack on her fist again.

- "Hurts, but it was worth it," she giggles.

- "Thanks again..."

- "It's normal," she smiles softly. "Well, I'm going home. Don't stay out too late."

I nod as I watch her go back inside. I groan, massaging my temples. I hope she won't be too upset with me for raising my voice.

- "You guys just gave me a headache."

- "At least now you know how it feels when you drive me crazy," Lucy giggles.

- "Are you kidding? I've never yelled in your ears, and I'm not that crazy!"

- "Oh yes, you were! At least, you used to be," she giggles. "You still have your moments, but now I find it adorable as long as you don't overdo it."

- "Oh, come on," I mumble, hiding my blush.

- "The worst was during exam revision when you wouldn't let anyone say anything to you."

- "Hey! Sometimes it was worth it, I was right!"

- "It only happened once!"

- "Once, but that question was on the exam! Believe me, I answered it correctly."

- "Well, good for you, if you can remember things like that."

- "Yeah."

- "Okay, I'm going to let you go; you must be expected. Enjoy your evening, but not too much."

- "Already?"

I have a hard time hiding my disappointment. I would have preferred to spend the evening talking to her. Am I crazy for wanting that?

- "Yes," she laughs. "Enjoy your time with your friends. We'll have plenty of time to talk when you get back. And don't forget to moderate, or even avoid alcohol, okay?"

- "I'm twenty, Luce. I can moderate myself."

- "Hmm, you never know.The past proved me wrong."

- "Not here. Do you have Snapchat?"

- "Snapchat? Why are you asking?"

- "If you give it to me, I could send you pictures of my drinks to make sure I'm not drinking."

- "Of course," she laughs. "Even if you send me a picture of a soda, who’s to say you haven't mixed it with vodka? I'd need to smell the drink instead, don't you think?"

- "As far as I know, there's no app that can do that yet."

- "You're silly," she giggles. "Okay, I'm letting you go. Don't forget I want texts. I wouldn't want you to do something stupid again."

- "I promise. Goodnight, Lucy."

- "Goodnight to you too, Ona. Don't stay out too late."

I put away my phone after we hang up. Now that I'm alone again, all my thoughts come flooding back. I sigh as I stand up. I pat my jeans to get rid of any dirt that might have clung to them. My butt is cold now from sitting on the ground. That wasn't very smart of me. I look at my phone, which is already vibrating. I smile when I see the handle, which I guess is her Snapchat: LBronze22. Wow, I can't believe it! I didn't expect to get it. My request was just a joke. I could know her whole life if she posts stories regularly. Then again, it's not impossible that she might block me too. I add her immediately on the app, then I head back inside. They're talking about the couples that formed among the people who were with us in high school. The room goes quiet when I sit down.

- "Don't stop on my account," I say.

- "How are you feeling?" Miller asks me.

- "Better. I just needed to step out."

I catch Mapi's smug smile, which I quickly avoid. She can smile all she wants because I do feel better thanks to Lucy. Thinking of her, I decide to kick off the fun by sending her a picture of my glass of soda. I caption it saying it's my one and only drink. I also take the initiative to write her a message, as she asked me to do regularly. I force myself to join the conversation to reassure my friends. I ask about some people I liked back then. The evening continues here for another good hour. I kept texting Lucy discreetly so as not to attract Mapi's attention. We decide to leave the bar around half past midnight. When I told Lucy, she seemed happy that I was being reasonable for once. Our last message exchange happens just as Miller drops us off at my place. We wished each other goodnight. I didn't want to bother her any longer, and besides, I planned to go to bed once I was in my room. I go to the bathroom first, then I join Mapi. Unlike the past few nights, it's Mapi's turn to hold me as we sleep. That's why I adore her. I don't need to talk or pretend with her. She knows me too well for that. Luckily for me, sleep caught up with me before I reached the point of insomnia.

[jaybirdss]

req for waking up together in the morning w jay, cole, kai, and lloyd (obvi all separate) would be so silly i would explode 😢🥺

Waking up w the boys <33

🩰double trouble on this one🛼

Added Zane just to complete it, we had sm fun writing. ty anon for requesting <333

(pssst, join our discord server, here’s the link)

Lloyd

Waking up with Lloyd is something that’ll always be funny and so, so loving. Both of you are quite thoughtful when it comes to the other's rest, wanting the other to get as much time as possible.

If he wakes up before you, he’ll stay as still as possible and just hope you’ll wake up soon with no disturbance.

But in actuality, you woke up with him and didn’t want to disturb him. And it seemed to work, faking sleep and all. Keeping your breaths heavy and tossing as you usually do.

Eventually one of you will catch on, starting your morning with a small fit of giggles.

Lloyd will link his hands around you and hold you close, peppering your face with kisses to activate your morning routine. He does it until it tickles terribly, and you’re left giggling and pushing his face away. But he only backs down if you give him his good morning kiss.

Unfortunately, he usually has places to be, so he holds you extra tight just in case, trying to savor every precious minute with you.

Usually it’s you who gets him out of bed, prying yourself out of his tight hold to stumble out onto the cold floorboard of the monastery. Stretching your limbs and starting your own day.

He likes to sit back, watching you rummage around the room until you’ve had enough of his laziness and try to force him out of bed. (you fail, he’s gone limp)

But once he’s finally done being grumpy and stubborn, he gets up and gets his second kiss of the morning, which means he’s ready to start the day!

Zane

Zane doesn’t necessarily sleep, but sort of powers down in the night, if he wants to.

He’s stiff, really stiff until his system reboots and he’s had his full charge of robo-rest.

Usually, when he becomes conscious, he’ll carefully slip out of bed and shuffle around to dress himself quietly. It’s fairly early, around 6:00 AM when he heads out to cook breakfast for his team (who should be up and running by about 7:00) and saves his love’s food for last, making sure it’s warm and cooked to perfectly cooked.

He tidies the kitchen, the halls, and their living areas before he decides it’s time to wake you up around 8:30-9:00 (10 on weekends)

When waking you, he’s gentle and so very sweet. Carefully shaking you before speaking out loud.

“It’s time to wake up, my Dove.”

Sometimes he can’t help but stand for a few minutes beforehand, watching you peacefully. It makes him feel so joyous at how relaxed you feel in the bed you share. In all honesty, he watches you sleep for hours before he actually powers down (in a non-creepy way, I swear)

To make sure you’re up, he turns you over, your face towards the ceiling. He kisses your forehead and makes sure you’re not going to fall back asleep before backing away.

He’s already set out your clothes, a few options you may like for the day. Any morning medicines or vitamins are next to you on the nightstand, with a glass of water on standby and the good morning note he leaves just incase you wake up early.

Zane smiles when you finally sit up, groggily to take your sips of water. He watches lovingly as you force your gremlin body out of bed to stumble into his arms.

Kai

Kai refuses to get out of bed in the mornings.

He’s such a grouchy guy, but who isn’t when his peaceful rest is disturbed so suddenly?

Being a ninja means he’s usually on a tight schedule, at the whims of others and spontaneous disasters. So he admires the extra rest he gets, without having Zane knocking on his door at 6:00 AM sharp to wake him.

But with you, it’s relatively different. You’re the early bird out of the two of you, as you tend to wake up a little too early. Sometimes it’s difficult to go back to bed after waking so suddenly.

To avoid being lonely in your room, you try to wake him, as nicely as possible.

In return, you get a gentle grunt, and a refusal to wake. A simple, unconscious ‘No’ pushed past his lips.

You take it lightly, getting up and fumbling around the room until you find an appropriate time to try again.

His mask fits snugly against his face, flames embroidered onto the fabric. He lay with his mouth slightly agape, and a few small snores falling out. He looked so funnily peaceful that you thought about taking a picture, but decided to spare him that embarrassment. 

At this point, you're ready for him to wake up. Tugging the blanket off of him roughly and raising your voice, cheerily yelling at him to wake up and love you. It makes him so cranky and whiny, pulling at the blanket and trying to curl up so tightly in hopes that he sinks down into the mattress and falls into a world of comfortable pillows and fulfilling sleep.

It's gonna take a hot minute to actually get him out of his fetal position, but he'll eventually do it (with mild complaints). Groggily pull off his mask and stretch his arms so high you can jab at his tummy. But he doesn't mind, leaning over to grab you and put his entire body weight on you to return the annoyance of waking him.

Also, I must mention, his morning breath reeks. Sorry not sorry.

Jay

The bluebird is everywhere on the bed throughout the night. And tends to wake up in a big, wide starfish position that leaves you with about a 2x1 space in the upper corner (if you're lucky).

You wake at about the same time, with him managing to take up even more space when stretching. His arms pressing into you tends to wake you fully, and you have a habit of smacking him away.

This is what gets him up.

He acts so maliciously sweet, it almost makes you want to forgive him for shoving you face-first into the wall at two am. He gives you his pretty boy smile and wraps his arms around you, bringing you to the center of the disheveled mess of pillows and blankets he'd made. He holds you close to his chest and speaks to you first thing.

"Sleep good, lovebug?" "Shut up."

Afterward, he just likes laying there, holding you close while you check everything on your phone. Watching you go through your tik tok feed, making the occasional comment towards the content you receive from friends or what appears on your for you page.

It takes Zane almost beating down the door until the two of you actually manage to get out of bed and get ready for the day.

Sleep and sleep attire brings comfort to the both of you so it’s a surprise he doesn't just train in his pajamas (he's tried, the stench it held that night made you gag).

On a regularly calm day you'll stay in your pajamas and complete shenanigans around the house until Jay can return to the comfort of his own jammies, and enjoy the rest of his day with you <33.

Cole

He is a bear, a big bear, a big bear who hibernates at night.

The man holds and produces so much warmth the two of you can sleep comfortably without a blanket sometimes.

Waking up with him is simple, each day, at least in his eyes.

There are many steps he takes until he's comfortable with waking you up.

Usually, the first thing he does is blink, then starts feeling around to make sure you're there, and you aren't just a figment of his imagination or a wild dream in his head.

Then he slowly removes you from your spot, carefully so as to not disturb you, and moves you so you're laying on him, and tossing the blanket over the two of you.

Lastly, he waits five minutes or so until he starts to fall back asleep. He does, accidentally of course, and due to his obscure position it causes him to snore.

Snore so loudly, it startles you awake and your movement wakes him in the process.

He thinks it's a little funny but feels bad for startling you awake.

Cole likes to forget his responsibilities for that moment, and instead spend that time holding you.

He absolutely refuses to function without his morning snuggles and acts all grumpy if they are denied. But hey, the quicker he's done with his daily ninja duties, the quicker he can go back to sprawling on the bed and absorb your body weight on top of him.

_

Tag List: @holycrimin @kazuhacumslut @marmalade-matcha @yukinarengoku

[gaystayzennie]

Quick 2000 Line + Yuta x Reader Imagine

(Yuta x reader, Haechan x Renjun, Jeno x Jaemin)

Warnings: NSFW, poly, male or gn reader, bad grammar probably because I wrote this really quick

Ok but I can’t stop thinking about dating Haechan but he shares you with the ‘00 line occasionally and then one day you’re out clubbing with them all along with Johnny, Yuta, Taeyong, and Mark and suddenly you’re in the midst of a bathroom orgy (sort of). I was daydreaming about it the other day and oh my GOD I had to write it down.

You and Haechan are in an established relationship and some of the dreamies are seeing each other casually. Haechan is a pretty open guy and shares his history with some of the other members pretty early on in your relationship. It surprises him a little when you tell him that you’re sort of turned on by the idea of him fucking the members. After all it’s no secret all of Haechan’s bandmates are pretty attractive. Haechan is quick to tell you that some of the others are also still in a an open relationship and wants to know how you feel about that. The two of you quickly reach an agreement that you can both sleep with the ‘00 line as often as you like as long as you don’t see any other people without talking first.

….Fast forward to your night out at the gay club…

10:50 PM - On the drive over, Haechan gossips with you about the latest in all of NCT’s love/sex lives. You’re a bit surprised to hear that Yuta and Mark had a fight recently; but knowing Yuta, you’re certain he’ll find someone to fuck within the first five minutes of entering the club too instead of just talking to Mark like a normal person. What catches you off guard is Haechan’s comment: “You should talk to Yuta tonight. You know to…comfort him.” You cock an eyebrow at him to silently ask him what he’s implying but all you get is a shrug and a smirk in response. “Anyways. Let’s go in, Renjun is already there waiting!” he grabs your hand and hops out of the car and into the club while Jeno and Jaemin groan and follow you guys in.

11:20 PM - A few drinks later and you find yourself dancing with Yuta (or really on Yuta) as he grinds into you from behind. You giggle as he begins trailing kisses down your neck. Deciding to interpret Haechan’s words from before as permission, you throw your head back giving Yuta better access to your neck. It isn’t long before you guys make your way to the bathroom and lock the stall door behind you. He picks you up easily and places you in his lap facing you to continue making out with you as you grind into his clothed dick, which has grown hard under your heat rubbing into him. Yuta is sucking hickies into your neck as you hear two pairs of shoes making their way into the bathroom and heavy breathing mixed with quiet moans. You’d recognize those moans anywhere. “Haechan?”

“Y/n? Fu-“ his words cut off when he moans loudly clearly receiving a hickey of his own in the stall next to you. “Hi y/n ie. It’s just me. Ok if I fuck your boyfriend tonight?” You hear Renjun ask you. “Oh Renjun! It’s just you. Please by all means fuck his brains out.” Yuta stops kissing your neck for a minute to giggle at the whole exchange. “Y/n? You wanna get back to what we’re doing? Haechan seems to be just fine with sharing huh?”

“Fuck yes please Yuta” you say unbuttoning his pants finally as you speak and aligning his dick with your entrance.

11:40 PM - Yuta is rolling his hips up into you exactly right and you’re a moaning mess on his dick. He truly is fucking you dumb to the point that you can’t even speak. The feeling of the alcohol buzzing in your head mixing in with the sounds of your boyfriend getting fucked by his pretty best friend while you get your own world rocked has you drooling and unable to speak.

Meanwhile in the stall on the other side of you Jaemin and Jeno are having their own fun. They’d been there the whole time, Jaemin kneeling on the ground giving Jeno the best head of his life. It wasn’t until Jeno swore under his breath that you finally heard the two of them. You’d been so wrapped up in the idea of Renjun railing your boyfriend next to you and the way Yuta was fucking into you at an animalistic pace to even notice them. But as soon as you heard Jaemin moan around Jeno’s dick, your climax came rushing over you. Yuta on the other hand wasn’t quite done, and swore he’d “keep fucking you until either he finishes, or that boyfriend of yours cums. Whichever comes first.” Knowing Yuta, you’re not sure whether to believe him, but you’re not complaining either way.

1:27 AM - “Where did the others go? I literally haven’t seen anyone since we got here?” Johnny asked. “Those horndogs. Let’s just leave them honestly. They can uber back whenever they’re finally done” said Taeyong. “One more song and then we go?” asked Mark. Johnny shrugged at Mark. “Sounds good to me I guess”.

The end.

[brisquad-unit-4402]

things zali would say while you’re asleep

ah yes the classic confession while someone’s asleep. i need to abuse zali’s lore as a medic more

tags: gender neutral reader, fluff, pre-relationship, pining zali, reader is a krisis hero, sickfic, confession-but-not-quite, i had fun with a translator, rare flustered zali

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Unfortunately Zali is an early riser by occupation, not nature, and clocks into the A.S.H. infirmary at 5:00 AM sharp. The beds are usually unoccupied, leaving the medic to his own research, but today he stops walking by one.

The other day, you and the rest of Krisis did the whole crime-fighting planet-defending thing, as expected. Also as expected, you took care of the threat without a hitch as a 4-person unit.

It was the day after that posed a problem. Namely, a 100-degree-Fahrenheit problem. Somehow you didn’t even get a scratch while beating the villain of the week, but you woke up to a sore throat, a stuffy nose, and a fever. As your medic, Zali was the first person you contacted.

You asked for any easy home remedies, expecting some French chicken noodle recipe or a home remedy.

He insisted on bedrest in the infirmary instead.

Damn medical professionals and their overreactions.

Despite your protests, Zali has a hard time thinking it was the wrong choice. He stands beside your medical bed with a clipboard in hand.

Sleep treated you well. Your pale cheeks and reddened nose were less noticeable now that you had time to rest (and a cool towel along your forehead), but your arms were cast off to the side as if you were reaching for something while you slept.

Zali watched your chest rise and fall. Rise and fall. Good. Regular breathing patterns are always a good sign with respiratory infections. A quick check with the stethoscope confirmed that it wasn’t interfering with your heart, too. Definite improvement all around.

He still held two fingers to your throat to check your pulse, though. Heartbeats thump, thump, thumped underneath his gloved fingers. He didn’t bother to log that test outcome on his clipboard; he has the results logged up there in his head.

“You’re doing better,” he says. His instinct is to explain his logic to the patient, but then he looks at your sleeping face, and now he feels awfully silly for it. He usually doesn’t talk out loud when his patients are asleep, but he’s inclined to keep you informed. “You can tell, I think. You’re not waking up in the middle of the night because of your stuffy nose.”

He giggles at that. He lost count of how many times you snorted awake (quite literally) before he retired for the night. As he shakes his head with amusement, he notices a bundle of fluff at the base of your bed.

Zali reaches down to pick it up, and stares back at a small Vezkit plush. The Vezkit was one of his many tools to subdue problem patients, such as children on the rare occasion that he had to heal them. If he noticed his patient was getting antsy, he’d offer the Vezkit as comfort. And, yes, when you were so stuffed-up he could barely understand your voice last night, he figured you could’ve used the comfort.

He glances at you, and how your arms are splayed out on the side of the bed where the Vezkit sat. No wonder the poor guy was misplaced—you accidentally dropped it in your sleep while you were cuddling it.

The thought makes Zali giggle again. “Be careful not to harm the citizens in your care, Reader,” he teases. “What would we do if you dropped a real Vezkit in action?”

Rise and fall, regular breathing. Zali doesn’t need to wait for you to respond, but he watches your face anyways. Even in sickness, you look peaceful.

“I should get you a new towel,” he says aloud.

He returns a second later, and when he removes the old towel, the thermometer confirms you're at 100.6F. With a sigh, Zali places a hand on your forehead. Just as hot as he expected. “You still need to rest,” he instructs to no one. “I don’t want my Reader to feel under the weather.” He rethinks. “Our Reader. You’re one of us.”

The hand rolls down to your cheek next. Fingers end under your jaw at the pulse point he checked earlier, and rubs along your cheek.

In a quiet breath, Zali mutters to himself. “Stop that.” He can’t find it in himself to quit, though. To a bystander it would be clear he isn’t just checking your temperature anymore, but your cheek fits perfectly into his palm. “Reader, you’re irresistible.”

Earlier he managed to excuse himself, but now Zali awkwardly chuckles. “My goodness, I’m really doing this now.” He finds it easy to tell your resting face things he’d never dream of saying out loud when you’re awake.

Silence fills the space when he doesn’t admit anything. Why is this so hard? It must be easier than a proper confession, but Zali is thankful for the bandages he wraps around his face like a medical mask. At least he can pretend he can keep his blush to himself, even if there’s no one to see it.

“You brighten up our days,” he continues, grabbing a fresh towel and letting water soak through it until it’s cooling to the touch. “But you have no idea how much you affect people.” He wrings the towel so tight that his rubber gloves stretch with the force. “Least of all how you affect me.”

He folds the towel neatly and returns to your bedside. Your lips are parted slightly as you sleep, a soft color, and one that he wished he could dwell on. Since your head was slightly tilted, he could admire the contours of your face, from the tip of your nose to the curve of your cheeks, all the way up to your forehead which so dearly needed something to cool it down.

That reminds him of his task, but his heart keeps skipping beats as he looks at you. Hair rested over your face and along your forehead as you slept, and as he watched you, a strand fell a little lower. You look angelic.

Zali unravels the bandages along his face, then quickly kisses the towel.

The desire to kiss you has been one Zali has resisted for a long time, but he’s starting to lose the fight. He flips the towel over, intending to place the side he kissed onto your forehead. Indirect and secondhand.

He tries not to think about how soft your hair is as he brushes it out of the way. Tries not to admire your eyelashes and the bridge of your nose, or the way your lips must be as soft as they look.

But that leaves the forehead, and before he can think any better of it, Zali lays his lips there.

The medic regains his sense a second after and practically lurches back. He slaps a hand over his greedy mouth as he turns away, brain going into overdrive as the blood rushes to his head. How unprofessional! How improper! Is he really this weak for you when you’re in his care? He buries himself further into his hands, letting out a groan as he does, begging these thoughts to abandon him at least until he’s done caring for your illness.

But he does glance at you through his fingers, and maybe it’s because he’s swooning, but he swears you look a little sweeter after being on the receiving end of his kiss.

Zali sighs, hoping that’ll clear his head even though he knows the outcome, and places the towel down as intended. “Cute.”

Saying that was a mistake. Now he’s even more flustered, but ‘cute’ doesn’t even begin to describe you. “Tu es éblouissante,” Zali tries. “J’espère pouvoir admettre cela un jour.”

That’s not enough either, but his native French confessions come easier to him, and the rest he can keep locked up in a small dark place no one else can see, least of all you.

He adjusts the towel into place, then pats your head as a final affection. Meanwhile, the Vezkit plush watched him work on the bedside table, and you could use the comfort.

The fabric is fuzzy in his hands, and the perfect size to hold. Your arms haven’t moved at all since you let go of the Vezkit in your sleep, which serves as the perfect place to return the plush.

Zali sets the Vezkit down, and in your deep sleep, you immediately react to its fluffiness. Your hands twitch first, then your arms rise to keep it close.

However, sleeping heroes can’t see their surroundings, and Zali’s eyes widen as you hold his hand down. You managed to grab both the plush and his arm in one fell swoop.

If his face wasn’t red enough before, it certainly is now. Take his heart too while you’re at it. Not like he needs it anymore. It’s going way too fast to be functioning properly.

“Oh. Oh, gosh.” His breath catches as he nervously laughs with a hand over his mouth, hoping it’ll make him sound less lovesick. “Don’t give me hope.”

He can already imagine Wilson teasing him, or Vanta calling him whipped. They wouldn’t be wrong, though. Zali is supposed to be the composed one. He can smooth-talk his way out of a situation, or go unaffected by femme fatales and playboys, but he’d do just about anything if you were the one asking him for a favor.

And in this case, he’s got a million things to work on, but he can’t think of a single one. They’re all flimsy excuses to break out of your warm grasp. None of them sound appetizing compared to this, even if you held him unknowingly.

“Oh, forget it.” With a huff, Zali bites on the edge of his glove and pulls it off. It’s rare for him to work without one, whether it be medical-grade or the black pair he dons religiously, but he hungers for contact.

Fingertips hardened by battle medicine caress your face as gentle as can be. He doesn’t want to go further—not while you’re unaware—but he really can’t get over how easy it is to set his hand along your cheek and jaw, soaking up the soft skin like sun to a plant.

You really must be in deep sleep if you haven’t noticed yet. This is fine, Zali muses. The less you see of the longing look in his golden eyes, the better. Usually he would muster up his courage and just go for it, but not with you. Not when he’s never felt anything like you before, especially considering how close-knit Krisis is. Disrupting the balance is out of the question. He has to be fine with what he has instead of striving for something else, no matter how he yearns for the satisfaction, the possibility of what could be, even if he knows you don’t see him as anything other than a friend. It’s for the sake of the team.

But Zali wakes up at the crack of dawn, and you certainly aren’t, not while you’re still sick.

He can indulge himself for a little longer.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[weeeeeekly]

“are you okay?” – mark lee x gn!reader

₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡₊✩｡🕷˚🕸⋆｡₊✩｡🕷˚🕸｡

blurb On Earth-127, Mark is an ordinary biomed major at Neo Culture Institute of Technology, but when he’s not studying for class, he’s out saving New York City as Spider-Man. The job is hard, but he manages it. It also doesn’t hurt that his new friend is just his type.

info not edited, no afab/fem mention, mainly gender neutral, no reader body shape mention, no use of y/n, swearing, non-idol au, college au, college student!mark, spiderman!mark (obvi), reader is assigned lactose intolerant. johnny & jaehyun as mark’s besties. mark & reader are 22 and johnny & jaehyun are 24. everyone else is 21. ft. jungwoo & 00 line of nct/riize as frat bros. loosely based off a combo of the mcu spider-man movies, ncit house, 200 music video, & superman ii

WARNINGS!!! SFW but MDNI 18+ blog, kinda suggestive but nothing explicit in this, swearing, mentions of almost dying, not proofread just pure free flowing thought, mention of vaping (not by mark or reader), & mention of consuming alcohol

wc: 7.8k

author’s note !! HAPPY belated MFING BIRTHDAY TO MY BEAUTIFUL BOYF MARK LEE. i meant to post this right after 200 came out, then for his birthday, and now it’s finally finished as an early birthday present for myself… this is very much self-indulgent.

a passion project if you will. i hope there are others that also have spider-mark brain rot. ESPECIALLY AFTER 200!!! it was bad before like in the ncit house video, but it’s even worse now. a real labor of love except everything i do is a labor of love because why would i write about something i’m not passionate about in my free time.

this is FICTION!!!!! everything is made up by me or inspired by the mcu spider-man movies, ncit house video, & mark’s 200 music video. the stuff written out is not meant to be a representation of the people, places, or ideas mentioned.

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Mark loves his job.

Nothing made him happier than donning the red and blue one-piece suit with the arachnoid symbol on the center of the chest and pulling down the matching mask. He was pretty proud of his sewing skills. Hopefully the elderly owner of the downtown fabric store never puts the puzzle pieces together.

He was still fairly new to being Spider-Man – only being bitten at the beginning of last semester and using the summer to work out the kinks – this spring semester would show his improvement.

His school schedule was class schedule was calm with classes only on Tuesday and Thursday in the morning and evening with the rest online. With the perfect amount of time throughout busy days to sneak away to patrol the city. The rest of the weekdays were dedicated to working at the college radio station. It allowed Mark to work around his own schedule as he could pre-record segments and cue up pre-made playlists.

The morning of the first day of the new semester was looking like an average day, helping civilians with minimal tasks like crossing busy streets and saving pets in trees.

Swinging to university was his favorite form of transportation as it was convenient but at the same time fun as sailing through the air was incomparable to any other experience. Mark landed on the roof of the old bell tower as he quickly changed into a pair of clothes he stashed in a hidden backpack on the ceiling ledge. Nothing too exciting, just a maroon tee, brown cargo pants, and black converse. He made quick work to stash his suit inside his backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

He walked down the spiral staircase as he put on his headphones and checked his phone.

            apartment 721

johnny dude r u coming to shoot some hoops?

jaehyun are we playing basketball or should I skip for football practice?

mark be there in 5

Mark raced across the university lawn, passing unassuming students that would never know his secret. The early morning hours provided more security for his secret as most people around him were either too busy rushing to their 8 AM lecture or too tired from pulling another all-nighter.

When he reached the basketball courts, Mark tucked his bag in between Jaehyun’s massive athletic bag and Johnny’s decked out in pins and patches. The duo was goofing off with a basketball as they made obnoxious moves before shooting for the hoop.

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late.”

Johnny pauses as he turns toward his best friend before tossing the ball. Mark effortlessly catches it due to his built-up reflexes from stopping local crimes.

“Yo guess who finally decided to show up.” Johnny remarks as Mark makes a 3 pointer.

Jaehyun and Johnny both share a look as the former greets Mark, “You’ve gotten really good at basketball in a short amount of time… like crazy good.”

“Yeah man. You used to not be able to even get the ball in while standing still, but now you’re even better than Mr. Team Captain over here.”

Mark shrugs as he dribbles the ball, “I’m not even close to Jaehyun’s level, dude. He’s the best player.”

“Okay then go to the other side of the court and make it in.”

Mark looks at Johnny as Jaehyun chugs some water but gives in as he walks to the end of the court.

Mark is pretty sure that his sharp reflexes only work for short distances or when he’s out being Spider-Man, so the dare shouldn’t tip his best friends off. Mark dribbles the ball a bit before throwing the ball in the direction of the hoop.

Luckily, the ball goes over the hoop and proving to Johnny and Jaehyun that he still sucks at basketball, but unluckily almost hits a passerby.

You.

“Airball!”

You turn to the source of the noise as you let out a surprised yell as you duck to avoid the rouge basketball, falling to the ground and letting out a string of curses. Mark rushes over after his Spidey senses went off, shooting a ball of webs to knock it off its course of hitting you.

“Are you okay?”

You look up to see a concerned Mark as he helps you up, “Dude, I am so sorry. That could have ended really badly. Did you get hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Johnny and Jaehyun follow Mark to check up on you as you stare at the 3 attractive men paying too much attention to you.

“I’m okay, really. I didn’t even get hit. Just was caught off guard.”

The trio are unconvinced as they inspect your arms and head. Mark is focused on checking for any injury – even a millimeter of a scratch – on your right arm as Jaehyun checks the range of motion on your left arm and Johnny is asking you how many fingers he’s holding up.

“I’m not hurt, but I’ll still get checked up the clinic.” You bargain to get the attractive strangers to stop dotting over you.

“I’ll walk you!” Mark volunteers as he grabs your backpack off the floor and waves bye to his friends. Johnny and Jaehyun refuse to leave until they exchange their number with you to check up but also to make it up to you later. You tell them that it’s not necessary, but the pair insist as Mark gets you to leave.

He quickly introduces himself and you do it in return. Walking to the clinic was peaceful as both you and Mark’s steps were in sync. The crisp spring air helped calm your nerves. You know that you weren’t hurt but it would be best to get a check-up by a nurse.

“I’m really sorry again.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Let’s just get you to the clinic.”

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After a quick check-up with a nurse, you are deemed “okay” with no external or internal injuries. Mark gives you back your backpack as you thank him and are returned with another long string of apologies.

“Here, let me – no us – make it up to you.” Mark opens his phone to create a group chat between the four of you.

            we’re sorry

            mark if ur free this week we would like to buy u lunch

            bc dinner sounds like a date

            not that we wouldn’t date u

            u seem great !

            this is mark btw

            johnny what mark is trying to say is that we don’t want to make you uncomfortable

but we also want to make it up to you so lunch this week - johnny

            jaehyun it’s jaehyun i know a great café w vegan options

            you you guys really don’t have to make it up to me

            i’m okay !! a nurse checked me

            johnny thank god ur not hurt

“So, are you free this week?”

You look away from your phone at Mark staring at you. You quickly look away at the students walking past you. You feel nervous as Mark is cute and being near him is not helping your poor heart.

“Yeah, I can do Wednesday or this weekend.”

You have to work Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with your two in-person classes on the other days and your two fully online classes spread throughout the week. Luckily, working at the bookstore on campus was flexible and allowed you to complete homework whenever you had free time.

“I know this is an annoying question, but what’s your year and major?”

“I’m a sophomore majoring in Health Sciences.”

Mark’s eyes light up, “I’m a sophomore too! But I’m a Biomed major. We’re kinda in similar majors.”

“We might even have a class together.” You joke and let out a laugh, but your mouth shuts as Mark has his printed schedule in hands and extended in your direction.

Your joke turns out to be true as you both share the same evening class on Tuesday and Thursday. Which is a good thing because at least you know someone in that class. A friend possibly.

“Do you work?”

“I work at the radio, so if you ever tune into 27.1 FM you will hear playlists I put together.”

“Ugh, that sounds like such a fun job. I work at the bookstore. I mean, don’t get me wrong I like it there, but it’s never busy for my shifts.”

A notification on Mark’s phone makes him freeze up, but before you can ask what’s wrong he quickly bids you goodbye as he rushes off. You decide to head to work and hope that nothing else out of the ordinary happens today.

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On the plus side, your shared class with Mark has been going well so far. During the first class the day after you met him, you got to the classroom early and saved him a seat.

You watch as people slowly trickle into class as you held out a small hope that Mark would want to sit next to you. The class was almost full with just a handful of seats left – two directly in front of the professor’s podium, one in the very back by the other door, and the one you’ve been saving. He arrives at the last minute, and you watch him scan the room, hopefully looking for you, but once your eyes meet and Mark grins, your heart started racing.

Squeezing between people already in their seats, he reaches the open seat as you move your backpack from the chair to under the table. The professor starts the first day lecture of going over the syllabus, but you tune them out as your attention was… elsewhere.

Mark sits next to you, typing on his laptop as the professor talks. His outfit is a simple green hoodie with tan cargo pants and beat up black converse, yet the outfit compliments him. His hair is fluffy and a little messy as he runs his hand through it in an attempt to fix it. You notice that he’s breathing hard like he ran to get to class. You reach into your backpack to grab your water bottle and place it next to his hand. Mark pauses from typing notes as you turn your head back to the professor.

“Thanks.” He mumbles as he drinks the water.

“Don’t worry, I have another water bottle in my car. You can just give it back to me next class.” You whisper back while pretending to be interested in the professor’s grading policy.

When the second class rolls around, you’re surprised to see Mark is the first person in class, sitting in the same spot with his backpack on the seat you were sitting in last time and your water bottle on the table.

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Saturday is the only day you are all free for lunch. Jaehyun, who keeps telling you to call him Jae, promises that this lunch will be the best lunch of your life and how he knows a worker. He’s brought it up every time he saw you while you were working. Johnny was no help either as he kept asking you super specific questions you would have no idea how to answer.

Johnny leans on a display table full of notebooks while flipping through a psychology textbook, “What kind of wood is this table?”

You let out another deep sigh as you put on your customer service voice to answer yet another question from Johnny Suh. “Sorry, I don’t know.”

“Do you know someone who would?”

Johnny smirks as he puts on his sunglasses. You turn around to reshelve new chemistry textbooks when a tap on your shoulder has you seeing Jaehyun holding a cookbook open.

“Do you like” He turns the cookbook back to himself as he squints, “Maultaschen?”

“What do you know about Germany?”

Jaehyun closes the cookbook as he shoots you his best dimpled smile, “Nothing.”

“Guys, I’m trying to work.”

“Yeah, and we’re being customers.”

Johnny sasses you as he pushes the cart of textbooks away from you. “Don’t pretend that we don’t make your shifts better.”

You can’t argue that because it is true, but you’re also afraid that your boss might think you’re slacking and goofing around with friends on the clock.

“I do love it when you guys come see me while I’m working, but I don’t want my boss to think I’m slacking.”

Jaehyun leans on your shoulder as he looks around the empty bookstore. “Bro, you’re the best employee here by far, but if your boss thinks otherwise, we can give a good review.”

“You? Slacking?” Johnny lets out a laugh as puts some textbooks on the highest shelf. “Slacking is scared of you. And Spider-Man.”

“Here he goes.” Jaehyun rolls his eyes as Johnny scoffs.

“Spider-Man is the coolest superhero ever. I’m jealous of all the people that get to see him work in real time.”

“Spider-Man?”

Johnny’s jaw drops, “Yo… you don’t know Spider-Man? You know, the masked guy in blue and red and has a spider sign on his chest. Stops bank robbers and saves people in car crashes. The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?”

“Oh… his name is Spider-Man?”

“Yeah. I don’t wanna brag, but” Johnny leans closer to you, “I basically coined the name. The story’s really cool and super long, so I’ll save it for lunch.”

The other brunette fixes his backpack straps, “I should head to basketball practice soon, but we’ll text you later with the details. See you tomorrow.”

The duo leaves you to finish your tasks, but with less work as they helped while talking to you. You can’t help fighting the smile on your face at the idea of having plans with friends.

Lunch! With friends! Friends that you made in university and not the same friends you had back home that you knew from elementary school.

Maybe things were looking up for you.

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Spider-Man business had never been easier. Petty thefts had gone down. The city was running smoothly like normal, which was great for Mark as he could focus on schoolwork and improving his swinging skills.

Currently, the vigilante was patrolling the city on the lookout for any danger. Nothing was coming through the crime watch app connected to his watch. He has 10 more minutes until lunch with Johnny, Jaehyun, and You.

Once he reaches the café building’s rooftop, Mark drops down and enters through the stairwell door going directly into the janitor’s room to change. The doors are unlocked, which is not the safest but it’s convenient for Mark, he quickly changes into a white tee, light wash jeans, and the same black converse. The suit and mask are stuffed into his backpack as he goes back out to the roof to web down to the ground to enter through the café entrance like a normal person.

He's constantly on the lookout as he drops down near the trash bins. When he walks in, Mark is the first out of your group to arrive. He snags a booth in the corner as he checks his phone.

            we’re sorry

            mark i got us a booth

            jaehyun be there in 5

            image attached

Mark smiles at the selfie Jaehyun took with him and Johnny on either side of you. Jaehyun does a peace sign pose, Johnny is making a kissy face, and you’re just softly smiling. A smile that Mark Lee cannot look away from.

“What are you looking at?”

Mark gets spooked by you as Johnny and Jaehyun slide into the opposite side leaving you to sit next to him. He quickly locks his phone as his roommates give him teasing looks.

The server, Na Jaemin from fraternity Dream, hands out menus and readies his tablet. “Hi. Can I get you all started with any drinks?”

“2 vanilla iced coffees, 1 mango smoothie, and 1 ice matcha latte with coconut milk.” Johnny easily recites as Jaemin types it.

“I’ll be back with those as you look over the menu.”

As Jaemin walks away, you look surprised at Johnny, “How did you know my drink order?”

“You’ve sent a selfie with the same drink the past three days.”

You slump back against the cushion. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Not as embarrassing as Johnny thinking he named Spider-Man.”

Mark tenses at the mention of his other identity. He steals a glance in your direction to see if you noticed, but you’re too busy watching his friends start bickering.

“Bro! I totally did!”

“No, dude. You did not.”

Before the duo can start up another pointless fight, you remind Johnny of his story time.

“At least someone’s interested. As I was saying before, it was early October last year and I was walking to the subway when this massive car crash happened in front of me. I thought I was going to get killed, but then I was suddenly out of the way. Some dude in spandex had pulled me out of the way of one of the cars and then he started pulling people out of the wreck. He even jumped over a 10-ton truck. It was insane. After the fire department and ambulance came to help, the dude shot out a web and it came to me, “Spider-Man”, so I yelled that, and he turned around to give me a thumbs up before swinging away. So basically Spider-Man owes me for that copyright, but I’ll let it slide because he saved my life.”

Mark laughs at Johnny’s retelling of the story because of the way he tells people. The superhero was just glad that he had the spidey sense to save one of his best friends.

Jaemin comes back with the drinks and takes food orders.

“Spider-Man is cool. I’m a fan.”

Mark chokes on the first sip of his smoothie from your casual confession as Johnny high fives you.

“Why do you like the Spider Boy?” Jaehyun questions you. Mark sits up slightly straighter in his seat as he focuses all his attention on your answer.

“Do you remember that major subway incident where some asshole pushed that lady onto the tracks?”

The guys nod their heads.

“I was waiting for the train when it happened. I didn’t see the asshole that did it as I was on my phone, but then the frantic yelling of people started and some good samaritans trying to help the lady off the tracks. Then, all of the sudden, Spider-Man runs in and saves her. Thank god he did before the train arrived and he calmed her down while she told him about the person who did it. I just remember feeling so useless but wanting to do more.”

Mark looks over at you as you stir your drink with a spoon, his heart sinking as he remembers. It was the first time he became a hero. The first person he saved – Ms. Smith works at the corner flower shop that his mom loves.

“And I even… never mind.”

“No finish your sentence.”

“Johnny’s going to make fun of me.”

“I won’t let him.”

“Well, I kinda have a crush on him.” You immediately put your head between your arms on the table in an effort to hide away.

Mark freezes at your confession as Jaehyun lets out an “awe” and Johnny’s jaw drops.

“You like Spider-Man?”

“I know. How do you even like a person when you’ve never seen their face, but it’s his personality. In every story about him saving or helping others, he’s always described as the nicest person ever.”

Mark’s ears are turning red from the compliment. He would have asked for what else you thought about Spider-Man, but Jaemin came back with their orders.

“Yo Jaehyun, are you coming to DREAM’s party Friday?”

“I should be free next week if that invitation extends to my friends.”

“Any friend of Jaehyun’s is a friend of mine. Can you get the football team to bring kegs again? Haechan’s throwing the party this time and he won’t shut the fuck up about it.”

“I can get the guys together to do that. I’ll text him.”

“Thanks man. Enjoy your food, guys.”

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You and Mark meet up and walk to class together. He fills you in on all the bullshit Johnny and Jaehyun got into over the weekend. Something about making a short film where they switch bodies and tried to get Mark to film it.

Before you both can enter the building where your class is, the distant sound of sirens gets closer. You ignore it as you go to open the door, but Mark stops you.

“I, um, have a family emergency so I’ll miss class. Text me. Bye.” Mark weirdly stammers before giving you a quick hug.

You’re left standing in shock as he runs away.

Mark runs to the dumpster behind the university as he quickly changes into his suit. He stuffs his clothes in his backpack and webs it to a lamppost before heading into action. His spidey sense alerted him as soon as the sirens passed, and the app informed him of a fire in an apartment complex a street up.

Once he swings onto the scene, firefighters are battling the fire and evacuating the building. Mark propels himself to the top floor to check for any civilians.

You’re concerned about Mark as he left abruptly and isn’t responding to any of your texts.

            you i hope your family emergency isn’t too serious

            just let me know you’re ok!

            we didn’t do too much in class, but i’ll send my notes

            going to the library after class to print something for a class

You’ve never been to the library at 10 PM on a Tuesday night, but there’s a first time for everything. It was shitty that your printer in your dorm had to stop working last night. The first floor of the library was unsurprisingly packed with students as the university’s coffee shop was adjoined and open until 2 AM.

You got into the elevator as the printers were located on the fourth floor. The fourth floor was empty because most people preferred to keep electronic files electronic, but of course your morning class’ professor made the class print their papers to turn in.

Printing the paper was a quick task. There was certainly no line to wait in. You tuck the sacred 5-page paper into a folder to keep pristine and leave the library. You check your phone again for any word from Mark, but nothing. You go to call him, but then the elevator jerks to a stop as the light shuts off. You press the emergency call button and wait for an operator. You try calling Mark again, but your phone can’t get cell service and your battery’s dying.

Sinking to your knees, you hang your head between your hands as the ringing becomes background noise.

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Mark rushes back to university after the fire, swiftly changing back and shoving his suit into his bag. He checks his phone to see the texts from you and calls you. When your call goes immediately to voicemail, he knows something is wrong.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up and Mark books it to the library. The first floor is filled with chatter and students looking normal so he knows that only you must be in trouble. He goes to the elevators where there’s a student waiting for one.

“Are you waiting for the elevator?”

The girl looks up from texting, “Yup, the other one isn’t working again. Ugh so annoying.”

Fuck.

The other elevator returns and Mark steps in with the girl. She presses the next floor and goes back to her phone.

A million scenarios play out in Mark’s mind. Were you claustrophobic? How long have you been stuck in the elevator? Were you alone?

The silent ride was eating him alive as every second felt like an eternity.

When the doors open and Mark basically throws himself out of the elevator as the girl walks around him, judging. Mark’s senses aren’t going off on the second or third floor, he goes up again.

The second the elevator starts moving up to the fourth floor, his senses kick in. When the doors open, Mark calls out your name. When your muffled voice responds from the neighboring elevator he sighs in relief.

“Mark, can you help me?”

“Is help on the way?”

“No.” Mark starts freaking out. “The emergency button doesn’t work, and my phone died a little while ago, but it wouldn’t even help because my service wasn’t working.”

“Why didn’t you call 911?”

“I’m not dying or in serious trouble!”

“W-what? This is an emergency! Hold on let me get someone!”

Mark runs down the hallway and quick changes into Spider-Man. He shoves his backpack behind a printer in the back corner and runs back to you.

Mark clears his throat before speaking in a lower tone, “Hi!”

“Um hi?”

“I’m going to open the elevator doors, so please stand back!”

“Okay!”

Mark places his hands in the middle of both doors as he pushes the doors open by force. After getting them open he holds out a hand to you as you look at him, well Spider-Man, in shock.

“Spider-Man?”

“Are you okay?”

You feebly nod as you allow Mark to pull you towards him.

“Are you sure you’re fine? I can take you to a clinic.”

You shake your head as Mark leads you down the stairs to the first floor while calming you down, passing confused or excited students. When both of you reach the entrance, Mark tells a skeptical security guard about the broken elevator.

Mark is about to swing away to change when you grab his hand. “Did you see my friend? He has brown hair, brown eyes, wearing a yellow hoodie?”

“I sensed there was someone in trouble and he said he was finding a janitor.”

“Thanks, I’ll go find him. And, um, thank you again.”

Mark looks into your eyes full of gratitude and sends you a wave before swinging away. He makes sure to get far enough before u-turning to the back of the library to change. 5 minutes later, he’s running around to the entrance where you are still standing in shock.

Mark pulls you into a hug as you tell him how Spider-Man saved you.

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Haechan’s party was tonight, and you had no idea what you were going to wear.

Jaehyun had surprised you at 8 in morning by waking you up, endlessly calling your phone until you told him the password to open the door. A code you were going to immediately change after he leaves.

“Jae, it’s too early for any bullshit.”

He moves his sunglasses from his face to push back his hair, looking dangerously sexy. You have to shield your eyes from his blinding attractiveness.

“I need some help getting the kegs from Jungwoo.”

“Ugh,” You draw out the word as you throw one of your extra pillows at him which he catches, “I don’t want to get up.”

“Okay.” Jaehyun says as he effortlessly picks you up from your bed. “Now you’re up.”

“Put me down, Jeong.”

“Woah, not the last name. Putting you down.”

He gently sets you on your feet from the princess carry he was holding you in.

“I don’t want to know where you’re storing all that muscle to be able to pick me up.”

He smirks, “Wanna see my 8 pack?”

“Absolutely not. Now stand outside in the lobby so I can change.”

You meet him in the lobby after quickly throwing on an oversized shirt and biker shorts. You check over your bag that you have everything you need for the day – your phone, lip balm, sunscreen, your wallet, hand sanitizer, blotting sheets, and your water bottle.

“Okay, I guess I’m ready to tackle the day with you.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not doing anything too crazy.”

“I have very little trust in you at 8:30 AM.”

He puts his free hand on his chest as he fakes getting hurt, “You wound me.”

You roll your eyes in response as you start walking out of your dorm building, Jaehyun following you from behind.

Jaehyun leads the way to the football field as you walk next to him. The walk isn’t too bad and soon enough you hear various guys yelling and spot footballs flying through the air.

“Hey Jungwoo!”

A shirtless, blonde guy jogs up to the you two and dabs Jaehyun up.

“Hey Captain! I thought you weren’t coming to practice until later?” Jungwoo smiles before turning to you, “Oh, and you are?”

You politely introduce yourself as Jungwoo stares into your soul. “It’s a shame I haven’t seen your pretty face around.”

His remark takes you aback as you turn in shock to Jaehyun.

“Right? Imagine my surprise when I saw her for the first time.”

You avoid eye contact, not sure how to respond. “Um… thanks. We’re here to pick up some kegs?”

“Oh right! Let me get Yangyang.”

Jungwoo calls out to another guy behind him, thankfully he is clothed because you don’t know if you could survive another attractive, shirtless guy. He runs up as he greets you.

“I have it in my car, so follow me. Jungwoo, tell coach I went to the nurse or something.”

“Okay!”

Jungwoo jogs off to get back to practice. You and Jaehyun follow Yangyang to his car so he can drop you off at the DREAM frat house. The drive is short since the fraternity and sorority houses are near campus and the sports facilities.

Outside of the DREAM fraternity house on the front lawn are a few guys running around with water guns. The three of you get out of the car, grabbing their attention. Yangyang and Jaehyun wave at them causing one of them to run inside. As the kegs are being unloaded from the trunk, who you presume Haechan is, walks out.

The pretty boy with purple hair waves at you as he takes a hit from his neon green vape. He walks over as he blows a fat cloud into the air and pockets the vape.

He nods his head at you and leans against Yangyang’s car. “Hey.”

“Hi?”

“Are you coming to the party tonight?”

“Yeah?”

“Cool.” He wets his lips as he looks you up and down, “Wear something hot, ‘kay?”

“Okay?”

He gets off Yangyang’s car as he winks at you.

“Thanks for the kegs. I’ll get the guys to bring them into the garage.”

Haechan taps his phone causing the garage door to open showing you the set of workout equipment on the side and a black Porsche parked inside. 2 guys with blonde and Oreo hair come out from the door inside and start moving the kegs.

“Hey Shotaro! Hey Renjun!”

Jaehyun calls out as the frat bros wave back at him.

“So, are you ready to go?” Yangyang stands next to you as you nod. He opens the passenger door for you to get inside. Jaehyun sits smack in the middle in the uncomfortable seat so he can talk to you.

“What next?”

“Our pretty girl might need a shopping trip.”

You felt like the “ugly” but actually stunning main girl whose only transformation is taking off their glasses or hair out from a ponytail and it’s the makeover montage scene in a 2000s romcom. Jaehyun and Yangyang were running around in the local mall piling on different types of clothes into your arms to try on.

Two hours passed by already and you were getting sweaty from trying on the various combinations of tops, skirts or jeans, and dresses. It was annoyingly sweet of Jaehyun and Yangyang, who you just met today, to go out of their way to help you find something to wear.

“Honestly, I could find something in my closet or a thrift store.”

“If we don’t find something in the next 30 minutes I know a good thrift store.” Yangyang throws a black minidress at you and you let it hit your face.

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As you walk down the street where Johnny parked while fixing the biker shorts under your dress.

Johnny opens the front door of the fraternity only for you to be greeted by the sight of a hundred or so people engaging in various acts of grinding, making out, drinking, or dancing to whatever playlist DJ Yangyang picked.

“Oh my god.” You walk in as Jaehyun and Johnny tail behind you, making sure to stare down anyone who looks at you in a mean or creepy way.

You smile and wave at Yangyang in the corner of the living room as he motions at your trio to come over. The three of you move through the crowd of people partying and try not to have any kind of alcohol accidentally spilling on your new outfit.

Yangyang removes the headphones from his head to his neck and talks in your ear, “You look hot!”

“Thank you! Can we get you anything?”

“Whatever has the least amount of alc by volume.”

“Got it.”

Johnny, Jaehyun, and You find the kitchen entrance behind Yangyang’s DIY DJ booth and open the various coolers filled with alcohol. Johnny helps you pick out Yangyang’s drink from the sea of canned beverages while Jaehyun gets drinks for you all.

As you walk back to give Yangyang his drink, Haechan is talking to him and spots you getting closer to them.

“Well, aren’t you a sight to behold.”

Haechan holds a handout as you take it, spinning you around him.

“That dress fits you perfectly.”

You shyly thank him as you did feel amazing in the red and black dress you bought at a thrift store after the three of you gave up at the mall earlier, but you hid the dress from them so you could pay for it. Jaehyun couldn’t stop staring at you and Johnny couldn’t stop complimenting you when they picked you up from your dorm. You felt that you needed to donate some of your old clothes to keep the good streak going.

The people around you start yelling and both of your heads turn in the direction of the kitchen when a loud crash is heard.

“Fuck. I bet someone tipped over a keg stand. Gotta go.”

He winks at you as he walks into the kitchen. You look around the room to see that J² are nowhere to be seen.

            you hey!! where did you guys go??

            johnny  we’re upstairs hanging with mark

            johnny jeno and jaemin are coming down to get u

You stand by the end of the staircase as you scroll on your phone when someone taps the back of your shoulder. Turning around to see 2 more beautiful guys as they smile at you. The guy with black hair and an undercut introduces himself as Jeno and the guy with brown hair introduces himself as Jaemin.

J² sent 2J to get you. Funny.

They kindly escort you upstairs, down a hallway on the left, and to the room at the end. The door has a sign that says

“HAECHANNIE’S ROOM!

LADIES - FREE

GUYS - $20”

You knock on the door and walk in after Johnny says it’s open.

“Hey.” You greet Johnny, Jaehyun, and Mark who are sitting on the bed with various drinks and snacks surrounding them. Mark moves a reuseable bag full of chips so you can sit next to him as Jeno and Jaemin sit on beanbags.

“So, how’s the party going for y’all?” You ask the frat bros as you dig into a bag of your favorite chips.

Jeno and Jaemin jump into a story of how Renjun challenged Haechan and Shotaro to a keg stand contest where Shotaro won and Haechan complained the rest of the time setting up. Haechan also must carry out a dare later tonight, but Renjun is keeping it a secret.

During the story, you keep looking at Mark to see his expressions throughout the story time. You like him, you realized this after Spider-Man saved you in the elevator, the way Mark comforted you and stayed with you the entire night. Even sleeping on the pull-out bed attached to your bed that was a little too small for him. Mark was paying attention to the story, but right after 2J finished telling the story, he abruptly gets up and runs out the room.

“Is Mark okay?” You ask bewildered as the rest of the guys are nonchalant.

“Oh yeah, Mark does this a lot.” Jaemin tells you as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Really?”

Johnny nods, “Yeah ever since the start of last year Mark’s been really weird like weirder than usual.”

“And stronger for some reason.” Jaehyun adds. “We started working out together last semester. When he thought I wasn’t looking, he maxed out the bench press. I can’t do that and I’m active in sports.”

“So now we think he’s doing steroids.”

“Dude don’t say that.”

“Kidding,” Johnny says as he looks at you. “But there is something going on… like he’s keeping a secret from us.”

“Are you insinuating that Mark is Spider-Man?”

Johnny shrugs. “I didn’t say that, but I also did not not say that.”

“I think you’ve had to much to drink, dude.”

“I’m literally sober. I have to drive you and Jaehyun home tonight.”

As you’re handing Johnny a bottle of water, Shotaro opens the door.

“Johnny or Jaehyun, can you please talk Haechan out of jumping from the roof into the pool.”

The two oldest guys let out a sigh as they get up to stop Haechan from doing something stupid and getting hurt.

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Your little group stands outside on the pool deck as people crowd around the pool chanting at Haechan to “jump”. Johnny and Jaehyun are sticking their head out of someone’s room scolding a tipsy Haechan who is standing near the ledge. It’s only 7 feet between the roof and the pool, but the pool is another 6 feet to dive into and the entire situation just screams “danger” to you.

Haechan is getting dangerously close to the edge causing Johnny to step out onto the roof as Jaehyun holds one of his hands.

“Haechan, we’re bringing you inside.”

“No.” He puffs a cloud of vape into Johnny’s face.

“You’re being an asshole, get in.”

Haechan’s balance is off because as he steps back a bit, his right foot misses the ledge. You can’t watch. The crowd is yelling. You look away only to see a figure jump over the fence.

Spider-Man thwips a web to put an inflatable pool floatie a foot of the ground with another floatie under it to cushion Haechan’s fall. Thankfully, Haechan falls right on the floatie and is safe from breaking a bone or something worse on the concrete.

“Are you okay?” The masked hero asks Haechan as he helps him stand up and check his body.

An eerily similar situation that mirrors exactly what Mark did when you were almost hit by a basketball.

Rushing over to Haechan, you hug him as you’re actively scolding him.

“Never do that ever again! You could have broken your legs or spine or died!”

“Excuse me.” Spider-Man clears his throat as you turn your head to him. “Are you a friend of his?”

“Yes.”

“It would be best to check that he doesn’t have any injuries and keep him inside.”

“Johnny’s probably going to bubble wrap him now.”

“I have to go now but have a good night.”

Spider-Man waves you and everyone else at the party bye as the crowd cheers for him. He then swings out of DREAM’s backyard as Johnny, Jaehyun, Jeno, and Jaemin meet you outside. They all hug Haechan and scold him as well.

“You’re cut off.”

“Seriously?” Haechan whines.

“From everything. End of discussion.”

Most of the crowd disperses inside to tell or show their friends a video of Spider-Man saving Haechan. You’re putting the pool floaties back in the pool when you almost fall in.

“Hey–woah there!”

You look wide up at Mark, who appeared out of nowhere, holding your waist to stop you from accidentally falling in the pool.

“Mark! Thanks for saving me.”

“Anytime.”

You stand back up away from the pool ledge as you smile at Mark. You notice that he’s sweating a bit.

“Could we head inside? I, um, wanted to ask you something.”

He nods his head as the two of you walk inside and then upstairs where there aren’t that many people. You hear commotion in the hallway that leads to Haechan’s room. You’re both curious, so you walk down the hallway to see Jaehyun standing guard outside his room.

“What is happening?”

“Johnny is inside making sure Haechan can’t escape out his window. Well, if he can get out of the bubble wrap duct taped to his body.”

“Figures. Mark and I are going to talk in someone’s room.”

“Oh?” Jaehyun gives you a look.

“We’re not going to fuck in someone’s bed.”

“Sure it isn’t.”

Mark blushes as you grab his hand to walk away down the other hallway. You spot Shotaro standing outside his door.

“Hey Shotaro! Can we borrow your room to talk quickly?”

“Yeah! Just lock the door after and find me at the DJ booth when you’re done. I don’t want a repeat of the first day of summer party where someone threw up in my bed.”

“Of course, and don’t worry, we won’t fuck in your bed.”

You make Shotaro speechless and Mark blushes even harder. You open the door to Shotaro’s room and get inside. His room is cutely decorated with pictures of him alongside the rest of the fraternity and tiny little trinkets sprinkled throughout. The window is open and as you look out of it you can see that his room overlooks the grassy area beside the pool.

A thought comes into your head as you look at Mark who is sitting on Shotaro’s bed across from you.

“I’ve got a lot to say so please hear me out for its entirety.” He nods his head as you stand in front of him. “Mark, I have a crush on you. I thought you were cute the first time I saw you after that basketball almost took me out. I was so excited when we ended up sharing a class together and you sat next to me the next class after we met. Then when you comforted me after Spider-Man saved me. That was the moment I knew that I liked you. I like you, Mark. Maybe even more than that.”

He stares at you awestruck.

“It’s okay if you don’t like me back. Hope we can still be friends no matter what. I just want you to know.”

“I like you too. A lot. I liked you ever since I almost accidentally hit you with a basketball. I liked you when you were excited when you found out we shared a class. I liked you when you saved a seat for me and let me borrow your water bottle. I was so happy when you were safe from being trapped in an elevator. I really like you and, if you want to, I hope we can date.”

“I would love to date you, Mark, but now I’m going to do something that might ruin our relationship before it even starts?”

Mark looks adorably confused as you walk backwards to stand in front of the window.

“You know that I also have a crush on Spider-Man. And I’ve had this hunch since he saved me in the elevator. I didn’t realize it when it was happening due to the adrenaline, but then thinking back on it – when you left while we were walking to class that one time for a “family emergency” and Spider-Man had been spotted right helping firefighter put out a nearby fire. Then, I got stuck in the library elevator and Spider-Man miraculously came to save me. Sure, it could have been a coincidence since the fire was near the university, but I wasn’t in that dire of a situation. I could’ve waited for you to find me after I texted you. Then, just right now, you leave as we’re talking with 4J then when Haechan is in danger Spider-Man shows up in the nick of time to save him? In every situation I brought up, you were there then gone, Spider-Man shows up then leaves, and then you’re back? Never in the same room to witness the masked hero. Something’s not adding up.”

“Am I Spider-Man?” Mark asks while nervously laughing. “You mean you think I’m Spider-Man?”

“I’d bet my life on it.” You tell him seriously as you sit on the window ledge.

“That’s serious.”

“I am serious.”

You continue getting farther out of the window as you possibly can.

Mark slowly stands up, “What are you doing?”

“If I’m wrong… have 9-1-1 ready.”

You then lean back as you fall out of Shotaro’s window hearing Mark yell your name, you barely have your entire body out the window when you stop moving. Opening your eyes, bunches of white strings surround your head and shoulders – Mark slowly brings you back inside Shotaro’s room.

The silence between the two of you is deafening until you open your mouth.

“I fucking knew it.”

Marks hugs you tightly. “Please… never do that again. You scared me.”

“Do you still like me?”

“D-Do I still like you? Yes, I still like you very much.”

“I scared you that bad, huh?”

“What if I wasn’t Spider-Man? Then what? You fall and die?”

“I wouldn’t have done it unless I was sure. Would a kiss make you feel better?”

“A kiss away from the window and maybe on solid ground would.”

masterlist | bonus chapter

BONUS CHAPTER NSFW MDNI 18+, instead of a sweet confession to Mark you decide to tease his masked persona, the ending in an alternate universe like the alternate universe where this story was real life – coming soon

[princessconsuela120]

☁ FEARLESS ☁

— ☁

Summary: as the Curtis sister its practically known that you're off limits. However, Dallas Winston was never one to follow rules. Or in which your brother gave you a strict set of rules to stay alive in Tulsa, and you have done amazingly well at breaking all of them.

Warnings: I guess angst? Cursing

Author’s Note: rekindling my love for the Outsiders recently so if any has any other requests send them in!

— ☁

IT WAS ALWAYS A MATTER OF PRIDE WHEN IT CAME TO YOUR BROTHERS. You weren't too fond of that fact that you have been single for the past 16 years of your life was something they were proud of. They were your protectors, and it seemed as if all of Tulsa was aware of that. Though your oldest brother, Darry, would never fail to remind you that these were your wishes. Of course, the wishes you made when you were 9 and didn't know there were boys who existed besides your brothers. Ever since your parents passed, your oldest brother Darry was pretty much your dad. He was doing the best he could, and you knew that, but he couldn’t help but be protective as he is, now that his baby sister is all grown up. Now you were far from being a baby, which is were the Curtis brothers long list of rules came in.

number 1 - NEVER walk anywhere alone; there are thousands of greasers in this town, you are bound to find at least one who will take you home.

Now, this rule was ultimately demolished one day you failed to find someone to walk you, and had single handed lay taken down five socs alone with your switch blade. This seemed to scare your brothers more than the socs you took down, and ultimately the rule was no longer there to be followed.

number 2 - curfew is 9:00 no later.

though you would always argue with Darry, in a town as dangerous as Tulsa was for us greasers, 9:00 was a reasonable curfew. But, this rule was ultimately outlawed the second you start your new job at the Dairy Queen, where for whatever reason you wouldn’t arrive home from your shift until after 10:00. Now this was ruled by Sodapop as strictly for your job, but Darry seemed to know better. Turns out your shift at the Dairy Queen ended at 8:30, which only peaked your brother curiosity as to where the hell you could have been for the hour and a half that followed.

number 3 - always wear your helmet while riding you bike birdie, I can’t believe I even have to tell you that.

Though Darry was reluctant to even make this one a rule, seeing as it should be common sense, after a near death motorcycle accident, it seemed important enough to mention. Sometimes having a rebellious sister was fun for the boys, and other times it ended in nights in the hospital due to motorcycle accidents. What can you say, you liked the way your hair blew in the wind, and absolutely hated helmet hair.

number 4 - whenever you are home alone all doors and windows must be locked and shut.

the boys always tried to do everything in their power to make sure you weren’t ever home alone, but there were circumstances that couldn’t be avoided. Like when pony boy had school, and everyone else was working. Like Sodapop you had also dropped out of school early, to save the money. Now, if it ever happened you were home alone, let’s just say you found a way to not be.

number 5 - no pets, you can barely take care of yourself.

another obvious one in Darry’s opinion, and also Ponyboy’s least favorite rule. The two of you had been begging Darry to buy a pet for two years now, and every time the answer was the same. No. Sodapop was allergic to dogs, so that was ruled out, and you could barely take care of yourselves let alone a pet. However, after one particularly long ride on your motorcycle, you discover a tiny kitten who had been sneaking shelter in you bike’s motor. Something you had never seen before, and when you arrived home with the tiny blueish grey kitten, not even Darry had the heart to tell you to put it back. Harley, as you decided to name him, for obvious reasons, had become your new best friend. He was practically attached to your side, and turns out taking care of him was easier than taking care of yourself.

number 6 - tell your brothers where you are going before you go out, so if anything happens we know where you are.

you had argued on many occasions that this one was a bit much. You were 16, and perfectly trustworthy. There was no reason why Darry had to know where you were at all times, in a town that you could yell in the center and be heard in every corner. Now, seeing as phones weren’t as accessible as Darry had hoped, this rule was quickly abolished when you had gained a habit of taking Ponyboy out for rides on your bike, which never consisted of specific locations to track.

number 7 - no sneaking out, once you are in for the night you’re in.

Even though your room was your favorite place in the world, you couldn’t help but have a rebellious heart like the other greasers. With a curfew of 9:00, and daylight savings where the sun was still out and you weren’t, you started a habit of watching the sunset. Now, you had a rule for this and your brother didn’t. It was ruled unfair by yourself, when both you and Ponyboy started getting caught together, sneaking out to two completely different places. Poor Darry was bound to get a heart attack from you two.

number 8 - nothing illegal, this should be a rule of life not of the house, but if you go to jail I will personally lecture you myself.

Now, this one was a special occasion rule, added after a particular series of events. It was your first time ever doing anything illegal, and of course you got caught. Even though you had your best interest at heart, the police didn’t see it that way. It was your’s and Soda’s birthday, and you felt awful that the poor guy had to work. So you went to the store, and looked around for a record to buy as his present. Stevie Wonder, you and Soda’s artist, he pretty much represented your relationship with him. But when the time came, you realized you didn’t have nearly enough money to buy it. So you tried to sneak it out of the store. Of course, hiding a record that was wider than you under your shirt isn’t the best idea.

number 9 - keep your distance from the socs, we have enough beef with them, they would love to get their hands on the Curtis sister.

This rule was a follow up rule of almost every rule before it. The Socs were the center of all evil, and it was almost impossible to avoid them. It became its own separate rule after a particularly difficult run in. You tried, you really did, but it just wasn’t a fair fight. 6 against one, and you had left your blade at home. Two-Bit had found you while he was walking home the next morning, your brothers hearts each broke when they saw how beaten up you were. Darry wasn’t mad at you, he was mad at himself. So he made it a new rule.

number 10 - no rumbles, I don’t need any broken bones.

as a greaser, rumbles were basically inevitable, it was a part of life. Knowing you, you loved to give your brothers heart-attacks, and a rumble was no different. Every rumble before this one was fine, but this was a particularly rough patch. Everything was fine, and fair, and good. Until the damned Soc pulled a knife on you. Cut up y the bridge of your nose so bad, it left you with a nasty scar between your eyes. You loved it though, though it made you look tough. Darry however hated it, it was just a reminder that you weren’t as tough as you convinced him you were.

number 11 - no, and I mean absolutely no boys. You have three brothers right here at home and enough boys in the gang to be your family. You’re too young for a boy who will just take advantage of my beautiful baby sister anyway.

this was the important one. All other rules held less importance than this one. This is the ultimate, final rule. For as long as you were brown, Darry had made a promise, to himself and to you. He would protect you, and care for you, and never let anything hurt you. Now if that meant you would be mad at him for it for your entire high school life, he was fine with it, as long as he protected you. Now, the entire gang knew this rule and helped you to follow it. But we all know how Dallas Winston feels about rules.

[octuscle]

I know you 'produce' a lot of athletes in soccer, football and so on but I'd like to become an ice hockey star - maybe I can replace an actual player and you find another solution for him? I'm open for your suggestions but nice abs are a must 😉

Monday morning. 08:30. Start of duty at the call center. The phones are ringing off the hook. It's going to be another great week, you can feel it. There's still slush on the streets of Berlin outside. Somehow spring is not coming at all this year. After the third caller who berates you for things you can't do anything about, you're already fed up. You greet the fourth caller with a friendly "Grützi". Shit, where does your Swiss accent come from… You're actually from northern Germany… Nonsense! Bern is not in northern Germany. You are proudly Swiss. The other colleagues here have always made fun of your accent…

Thank God you survived this morning. During your lunch break, you go for a run through the park. Your body needs exercise, otherwise you'll get cranky. This morning it was still bloody cold outside in Nashville. But the temperature is rising rapidly. In the early afternoon, it should finally be well over 20 degrees Celsius again. Eh, you mean 68 degrees Fahrenheit, of course. You just can't get used to the strange units of measurement here in the USA. But you'll learn that too.

The afternoon shift at the gym is always relaxed. There are hardly any people working out. Plenty of free space to do a bit of training yourself. You love to confuse new customers. With your roots in the Balkans, most people here think you're an Arab. And when you speak English with your Swiss accent, nobody knows what to believe. After 4 p.m. you have more to do. That's when some of the ice hockey team come to train. They're professionals, they're fun to talk to. Better than overweight pensioners who want to get in shape. Hehehe, but they usually tip better…

The Predators have a public practice tonight. You saw they're looking for a new fitness trainer. Ice hockey was already your passion back home in Switzerland. Now to be under contract with one of the best clubs in the world... That would be a hot deal! And you know a few of the guys quite well by now, maybe someone will put in a good word for you. A few of the less experienced fans ask you if you're an injured professional. Because you're not on the ice. Yes, you really don't look like the typical fan in your jersey….

The alarm clock rings at 05:30. You're awake two seconds earlier. Even though your family's roots are in the Balkans, you were born and raised in Bern. You are a Swiss precision instrument. Always on time. And your shots almost always hit the mark. Training on the ice starts at 09:00. Before that, you want to do your eight-mile lap and spend an hour on the weights. Last season you weren't fit enough, you missed a lot of time due to injury. That shouldn't happen to you again this season. Hard and controlled training. That's the only way to stay at the top!

Dude, you're a machine! Captain of the team. The first Swiss player to be awarded the James Norris Memorial Trophy as the NHL's best defenseman. You're one of the players with the highest advertising revenue. Some attribute it to your eight-pack. Others attribute it to your discipline and reliability. But you still have a little quirk. You call your helmet Roman. You haven't told anyone why…

[dw19791967]

That Type of Girl Part 1

Pairing: Dean x reader (Eventual), Sam x reader (Platonic)

Warnings: language, unrequited love, slight angst, some fluff

This is the first fic I have ever written, all mistakes are my own. Please be gentle on me!

_____________________

I had never been the type of girl that men would look at twice. I have always been on the heavy side of the scale. I have a big gut, small ass, and ok sized boobs. After struggling with my confidence for a better part of my life, when I hit my 20’s I stopped caring about what others thought of me. But I would still wear clothes a size or two too big. But I felt confident (for the most part). I didn’t give a rats ass what most people thought of me, which definitely helped when it came to hunting. 

My life changed forever when I met the Winchesters. Sam was like the big brother I never had. Dean…well, that was a different story. Everything in me knew the moment I met him, that he was something special. The way he could make me laugh, make me smile, make me feel appreciated. No one had ever made me feel the things he did. But I knew he would never see me as more than a friend, and after some time I was ok with that. I knew a man like him would never even consider being with a girl like me. 

“What ya thinking about Y/N?” said Sam. We were currently sitting in a roadside bar after we finished our most recent hunt. Of course Dean was busy flirting with some gorgeous blonde, leaving Sam and I to our own devices.

“Just thinking about what life would be like if we weren’t hunters.” I lied of course. I was thinking about why couldn’t I be the type of girl Dean would turn to for more than friendship. Something I thought about pretty frequently.

“Do you really want that type of life ?” Sam stated with a curious look on his face. 

“Hell no, I’m not made for normal. Just always like to think about where I would be ya know? Would I be married, have 2.5 kids, and a full time job or would I be a crazy cat lady.” I giggled.

“Well considering you're allergic to cats you definitely would not be a crazy cat lady.” Sam was laughing.

“You’re right Sammy, guess there goes that day dream.” I said. I couldn’t stop watching Dean. I really needed to find something else to occupy my time.

“You know I see how you look at him.” Sam said.

“I don’t know what you mean Sammy.” I replied.

“Y/N you should tell him how you feel, you never know he may feel the same way.” Sam looked at me with an optimistic grin.

“Yeah right Sam, I’m going to the restroom then I’m heading out. You boys can stay and have some much deserved fun.” I got up to head towards the restroom, if only Sam knew how deep I was in.

______

The following day after returning to the bunker the night before, I got up around 6:00 to make the boys breakfast. It was something I did every now and then, even though I made a pretty shitty cook. I rolled out of bed and put some shorts on. I had an old AC/DC shirt on (I didn’t bother wearing a bra since the shirt was baggy), threw my hair up in a messy bun and was ready to get to work. I made my way to the kitchen as quietly as I could. Evidently I tend to stomp when I walk in the bunker halls (according to Sam), so it is something I am trying to work on. I got the eggs and bacon out. Scrambled would have to be it for today because I don’t have the patience to try anything else. Sam made his way into the kitchen as I was finishing up with the bacon.

“Well good morning sunshine!” Sam sang.

“Damn Sammy can you keep it down somewhat, you know how I feel about being happy first thing in the morning.” I covered my ears.

“Oh yes so sorry grumpy pants” Sam laughed.

“I’m pretty sure you are like the only person I have ever seen to be so excited at 6:30 in the morning.” I finished putting some eggs on a plate for him.

“Well why are you up so early anyway? You made us breakfast?” Sam asked.

“Well yes you big giant, I did. I felt like doing something nice even if I am a grumpy pants.” I sat his plate down in front of him.

“Well I appreciate it and I’m sure Dean will too. Where is Dean?” Sam took a bite of his eggs.

“Pretty sure he is still sleeping, I’ll wake him up on my way to shower. How does it taste?” I asked.

“It is actually pretty good, way to go Y/N you have finally learned how to make eggs!” Sam was laughing. I enjoyed the teasing banter we had with one another, it made me happy that we didn’t always have to take things so seriously.

“Haha very funny, looks like now I will have to cook more often.” I stated as I walked out of the kitchen.

Heading down the hall I stopped at Dean’s room. I opened his door slightly, he was sprawled out over his bed snoring loudly. Blondie must have tired him out last night. I usually don’t like waking him up because he has such a hard time sleeping. Especially lately but I knew he would be pissed if he missed out on bacon. I made my way over to him.

“Dean” I whispered.

“Dean I made breakfast” I patted his shoulder.

He rolled over and opened his eyes. Looking at me in a way that almost made me blush.

“Hey sweetheart, what time is it?” he asked.

“7:00” I stated.

“Damn I actually slept in some, that was amazing.”

I’m sure it was, I stated to myself. Damn my jealousy.

“Well I just wanted to let you know there is eggs and bacon, Sam said that I actually learned how to make eggs so guess that means they are good this time. I laughed. “ I’m gonna take a quick shower then I will meet you back out there” I said.

“You had me at bacon” he got up and stretched. 

“Well good morning sleeping beauty” stated Sam.

“God it smells amazing in here” Dean said with a grin.

Dean loaded up a plate with tons of bacon and a few scoops of eggs.

“Damn this is awesome” Dean moaned.

“Would you like me to give you some alone time with that?” Sam laughed.

“Sammy, she seriously knows how to make my damn morning. This bacon might be the best I have ever eaten.”

“Well she has been up since 6 working on it so I’m glad you are enjoying it.” Sam was reading something on his laptop now.

“What would we do without her?” Dean wondered aloud.

“What would we do without who?” I stated as I made my way back into the kitchen. I had taken a quick shower and changed into jeans and a flannel. Baggy of course. I never wore tight fitting shirts. My hair was still a little wet but I wanted to make sure the boys were taken care of before I moved on with my routine.

“You sweetheart, you are seriously too good to us.” Dean stated, staring at me. 

I blushed, “Well I would do anything to make your guys day a little better.” Sam looked at me with a knowing look, please dear lord do not let him say anything.

Sam continued reading something on his laptop without saying a word. 

“Well I’m gonna head to the library to check out this book I need, do you guys need anything?” asked Sam.

“I’m good, thank you though Sammy.” I stated.

“Unless you are stopping at the store, in that case we need pie.” Dean said while stuffing his face with more bacon.

“Of course Dean, I will make sure to get your precious pie.” Sam said while laughing.

With Sam gone, I struggled to find something to say to Dean but the silence was killing me. 

“What time did you guys end up coming home last night?” I asked. I really didn’t want to know but yet I needed to.

“Uh not too long after you, it was kinda a bust.” stated Dean.

“What happened to Blondie?” I asked without even thinking.

Dean looked up at me, “She was talking my ear off about her ex. I told her if she couldn’t stop thinking about him then she probably needed to talk it out with him.”

Good I thought to myself, I knew he deserved a good time but I am glad he struck out. I really need to stop thinking like this.

“Well I am sure you will have better luck next time” I said with a smile. It took everything in me to muster that up.

“Nah next time we need to work on finding someone for you.” Dean stated.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well I know it's been awhile since you have found a guy for you, so I figured I could help you look.” Dean said with a shrug.

Did he seriously think I wanted to find someone? I really was not the love them and leave them type. I tended to get too attached. So I just took care of things on my own. Plus it was hard to find someone to spend the night with when you are desperately in love with someone else.

“I’m really not interested Dean. I would rather just drink and make a fool of myself.” I laughed.

“Come on Y/N, I’m sure you could use a night of romance or whatever you want to call it” Dean looked at me.

Anytime I had even considered taking a guy home they would make comments about my body. Which usually ended with my fist bleeding and the guy laying on the bar floor.

“Dean, do you seriously not remember the last time I looked for a guy, he ended up calling me a fat bitch and I knocked his lights out.” I picked at my nails. I couldn’t look at his face right now.

“Yes I remember, that was just one shitty guy. I have faith we can find a good one.” Dean got up to clear his plate.

The one guy I want doesn’t want me so I really don’t want to try to find another one. I will just end up with my feelings hurt and my confidence wounded. It’s not worth it to me.

“I appreciate the offer truly, but I don’t want a night of romance. I just want to spend a night with my two best friends. That’s it. Can we please drop it?” I got up to start working on the dishes.

“If that is what you want Y/N.” Dean looked at me softly. “I will get them sweetheart, the least I can do since you cooked.” Dean started working on the dishes.

"Thanks" I said. "I'm gonna go finish fixing my hair." I made my way out of the kitchen as fast as I could. I wish he could understand how I felt, but this is one area in which Dean and I are very different.

[flxwrites]

Morning Run

Current Harry X Reader

It's a Monday morning in Los Angeles, a sunny and perfect day for a morning run.

Of course for Harry because Leviee doesn't plan on getting up at 8:00 a.m. to go for a 2.5 mile run with her boyfriend in sportswear.

"Good morning, love." She hears the purr of his British accented voice brush her ear "I know you're awake, so it won't work to pretend you're still asleep."

"I'm not going running with you, H. It's too early and-"

"And a perfect way to start the day, come on. We can stop by for a bagel and a coffee. It'll be fun, bunny." The Brit interrupts her by kissing the skin of her bare stomach.

"What do you say, you’ll come with me?" she purrs still with her lips attached to her.

And well, it's complicated to say no to him.

╰─────✧──────╮

She's gonna kill him, she swears she will.

They have been running for over thirty minutes and Leviee feels like she is about to collapse on the ground if they don't slow down, Harry looks fresh as a daisy, he greets the other runners and the nice elderly ladies with a smile.

"Hazz...stop." She gasps but her boyfriend pays her no attention.

Then as she is about to reach out her arm to take his hand and stop him, her feet stop working properly causing her to stumble to the ground.

And Leviee thinks about how it hurts like hell to feel the small stones scrape against her skin and how she wants to disappear in that moment.

"Love..." She hears Harry's voice and how he quickly helps her into a more comfortable position. "Hey, what happened." He asks softly shaking the dirt off her clothes and looking at the red, scraped and bruised skin on his girlfriend's knees and hands.

His heart aches.

Leviee feels like a little girl at that very moment, she wants to cry from the burning on her skin and the embarrassment of how people look at her as they pass by.

"Are you okay bunny?, we should go home. I don't want these wounds to get infected." She hears him mention before he slips his arms under her body to lift her bridal style back to the car.

They couldn't even have their breakfast outside because she was stupid enough to fall down, she ruined everything.

At least that's what she thinks.

On the drive over, Harry was so sweet to Leviee, she could have melted right there. He kept kissing her hand, telling her how much he loved her and offering her a thousand things to do when they got home.

"You wait here, love. I'll go get the emergency kit." He says once he sets Leviee down on the bed and disappears into the bathroom.

Besides the fact that her head feels like it's going to explode, her stomach growls from lack of food and her skin still burns with the slightest touch.

"I'm back, let me see" He mutters leaning down in front of her so he can heal her.

"Will it hurt a lot?" she raises her gaze to Harry with puppy dog eyes.

"Just for a few seconds, petal. It'll be worse if you don't let me clean it up. Will you be good to me and let me clean it up?" a shiver definitely runs through her body as her boyfriend's voice seems to deepen further.

"Okay, I'll be good..." She replies earning a smile from him.

When she least expects it, the small cotton ball with disinfectant touches the irritated skin making her give a little jump on her spot and hiss at the contact.

"damn it." She grunts and hears H's light chuckle.

"I'm just finishing up, bunny. You're doing great."

Then she closes her eyes feeling the last touches on her knees before only the cool sensation remains.

"All clean, your majesty." Harry smiles standing up to throw the used cotton pads in the waste basket before returning to her.

"Thank you...sorry to ruin your morning run”

"Don't be silly, bunny." He laughs lightly as he cups her cheeks kissing her lips briefly "Now tell me what you would like for breakfast. I can prepare or order whatever you want, I'm going to spoil you."

Harry definitely loves his morning runs, but he loves Leviee much more.

╰────────✧──────────╮

[kpop-stories-21]

20:00

Group: ATEEZ

Pairing: Yeosang x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Rating: 18-21+

Genres, Tropes, & AUs: Non-Idol AU, Futuristic AU, Dystopian AU, Coworkers to Lovers, Smut

Content & Trigger Warnings: Undercover Rebel!Yeosang, Delivery Driver!Reader, rebellion, uprising, undercover agents, unprotected sex(wrap that shit up, kids), semi-public sex, rough sex, punishment, orgasm denial, manhandling, edging, marking

Summary: You always figured there was more to Yeosang than meets the eye, but this is not quite what you were expecting

Tags: @kpop---scenarios @stardragongalaxy @jeonrose @skittlez-area512 @mybiasisexo @skeletor-ify @biaswreckingfics @anyamaris @liliesofdreamsskz @rdiamond2727 @naturalogre @thelargefrye @bxffietheblxxdy @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @kwanisms @sanjoongie @flowerboykun

If you want to be added to my taglist, click here

Network pings: @cacaokpop-fics | @kdiarynet

MDNI banner courtesy of @cafekitsune

A/N: I had Taylor Swift's "Safe and Sound" on repeat as I wrote this, so listen to that while reading for maximum ✨vibes✨

Collab Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The back door to Blue Bird Delivery banged open, breaking the silence and causing Yeosang to look up as you rushed in, helmet askew and little hairs already escaping from the braid draped down your back.

"Sorry I'm late!" You said, smiling at Yeosang but directing your words to the boss. "My neighbor's kid thought it would be fun to hack my watch and turn off every alarm that looked even remotely important."

A couple of your coworkers snickered, but your boss nodded understandingly. "Kids can be a real pain sometimes, I know that all too well." Turning to address everyone, he continued.

"Now it's still early evening so there haven't been many orders yet, but everyone should remain ready to leave. Yeosang's friends have put in orders, but he has requested to handle them personally."

"Wouldn't it be faster and easier to split them with someone else?"

"I'd much rather deliver them myself." Yeosang said, bristling a little.

The woman who'd spoken recoiled at his tone and he was quick to backtrack.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that my friends are a bit distrustful of strangers."

The woman seemed to accept this and went back to whatever she was doing. The boss returned to his office and everyone went about their own business as Yeosang prepared to leave.

You were a bit suspicious of Yeosang suddenly. This was unusual behavior for him, usually he'd accept help gladly. Why would all of his friends make orders at the same time? What was Yeosang trying to hide?

You decided to see if you could follow him and find out what they were up to. Making your way to the back as if going for the restroom, you slipped out the back door. Peering around the corner, you watched Yeosang get on one of the company's hoverbikes and take off.

You went to the front and hopped on your personal hoverbike. Taking a company bike would be a bad idea, since they were tracked and you weren't making a delivery.

It didn't take long for you to catch sight of Yeosang, and you sped up, getting close enough to keep track of him but not so close that he realised you were following him.

His first stop was at a large warehouse on the outskirts of the city. A blue-haired man answered his knock and invited him in. You parked your bike in some bushes and snuck around the building until you were able to find a window. Peeking in, you saw Yeosang and the blue-haired man standing in front of a table absolutely loaded with all kinds of gear and weapons, most of them illegal.

They spoke in low voices, but you were able to pick out bits and pieces. Something about a train, an explosion and money. Were they part of some kind of rebellion? You weren't sure, which meant you needed to keep following him.

The next stop was to a small, Western-themed bar. Yeosang made his way up to the roof and you knew better than to follow him, so you pulled out the tiny camera drone your father had given you and sent it off.

There was a tall man seated by the edge in full cowboy regalia, a sniper gun set up beside him. There was a woman with him, but she had her back to you so you couldn't make out her face. Yeosang handed the man a takeout box, which was promptly opened to reveal extra ammo for the gun. Words were exchanged that you couldn't hear and then Yeosang was leaving. You called the drone back and returned to your bike.

The third stop brought you to a large van in a secluded little clearing. Two men stepped out, one looked like an underground fighter, the other could be his handler. You didn't see what they got, from your vantage point all you saw was Yeosang's back.

Not that I'm complaining, exactly. He's got a great ass. You thought to yourself, giggling quietly. Yeosang returned to his bike and you sobered, ready to continue following.

Next was a repair shop called Outlaw Customs. The place looked closed, but a tall male with black hair answered the door. Craning your neck you could see a shorter man just behind him, and further in the shop were the vague figures of two women. This time you could see what was being delivered, but you didn't recognize it at all.

The last stop was at a small house in a tucked away little area. A man dressed in leather took the container from Yeosang without opening it and went back inside.

After this he went back to the delivery company and you waited a beat before parking your bike and re-entering through the same back door. You were still for a moment, debating what to do, then decided it would be best to confront him about it.

Glancing around at all the eyes and ears present in the room, you approached Yeosang and quietly asked, "Can I talk to you out back for a minute?"

Expression equal parts curious and confused, Yeosang nodded and followed you out the back door into the alleyway that ran behind the building. Once you were out of earshot of the door you turned to face him.

"I didn't know you led a rebellion in your spare time."

"Oh I don't lead it, I'm just a member of-" he paused, realising you'd just caught him out.

You eye him seriously. "Please tell me you aren't always this easy to crack."

Yeosang shook his head. "No, it's just… you know how I feel about you. I can't help but want to always tell you the truth."

You nodded, figuring he'd say something like that. A revelation pops into your head just then and you look Yeosang in the eyes.

"This is why you never made a move, isn't it? You were afraid I'd get hurt if the government retaliated."

Yeosang looked down and sighed softly but said nothing. You stepped closer, placing your hands on your shoulders and causing him to look up.

"Hey listen, I'm stronger than you think. The last rebellion that failed, my dad was part of it. That's how I lost him. I have just as much cause to hate those in power as you and your friends."

"There was another rebellion?" Yeosang inquired.

You nodded. "Yes. But it was covered up, so no one was ever aware of it save for those who lost loved ones." Taking a deep breath, you continued. "I want to help you and your friends, Yeo. Dad always made sure I could protect myself should anything ever happen to him, and I've been keeping up what he taught me ever since."

Yeosang looked at you sternly as he spoke. "Alright, I'll speak to the others about it. But you have to promise me you'll be careful. I can't lose you."

His voice cracked at the end, and you saw his eyes start to glisten. Wrapping him in a tight hug you whispered, "I promise I will always come back to you, no matter what. I can't lose you either."

Leaning back a little, Yeosang looked deep into your eyes. "I love you so much, my sweet Bluejay."

Your heart soared at the words you'd been waiting to hear for so long. Coupled with the nickname he'd given you some time ago, you were sure how you were still on your feet.

Yeosang's eyes fell to your lips as you replied, "I love you too, Kang Yeosang."

At this he surged forward, wrapping you in a breathtaking kiss as your back hit the wall. When you reluctantly parted for air, his hands came up to cup your face as your foreheads pressed together.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to say it." He murmured.

You smiled softly and kissed the tip of his nose. "Don't be, I understand why you didn't. To be honest, I probably would have done the same if our places were reversed."

Yeosang smiled back, then a glint came into his eyes. "Now, about you sneaking around and spying on me without my permission. I think that calls for a punishment, don't you?"

Heat pooled between your thighs as his hands slid down your body to rest at your hips. “S-Should we go back to my place, or yours?”

Yeosang just chuckled. “I think this is as good a place as any.”

You gaped at him, protests forming on your tongue, but his lips met yours again and all complaints fled your mind as his tongue slipped in to tangle with yours. Your hands came up to rest against his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt to ground yourself.

He broke the kiss to nip at the shell of your ear, sending a shiver of delight down your spine. "Tell me the minute you become uncomfortable and I won't hesitate to stop."

"P-Promise." You stuttered as Yeosang began mouthing over your collarbones.

His hands made quick work of the button on your jeans, sliding them and your panties down to your knees in one smooth motion. His thumb found your clit immediately, rubbing it in fast circles as your body heated up rapidly.

"Fuck, Yeo, gonna make me c-"

"Hold it." He cut off your words briskly, voice deepened with lust. The command alone nearly had you cumming, but you were determined to be good for him. "This is supposed to be a punishment, remember?"

He removed his hand from your pussy and gripped your thighs, veins appearing on his arms as he did so. Bracing your back against the brick wall of the alley, you hiked your legs up to wrap around his waist. His clothed cock pressed against you and you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders as you struggled to hold back your orgasm.

"Gonna fuck you till you forget everything but my name, make sure everyone inside knows who you belong to."

"Oh God, please! Make me yours Yeosang!"

"You asked so nicely, how can I not give you what you want?"

After yanking his pants and boxers down with one hand, Yeosang dragged two fingers through your sopping heat and used your own arousal to coat his dick. Once ready, he thrust all the way to the hilt without warning, punching a gasping moan out of you.

He set a rough pace, bringing you to the edge twice more but each time backing off. You had been reduced to an incoherent mess, half-phrases and sounds of pleasure all your mind had the forethought to produce.

Teeth nipped your skin at the juncture between neck and shoulder, leaving behind a sizeable hickey as he came up to kiss you deeply.

"You've taken your punishment so well, I think you deserve to be rewarded." He began pounding into you for the last time, lips brushing your ear as he spoke. "You can cum now, little Bluejay."

The effect was instantaneous, your high crashing over you like a tsunami. Your body seized up, twitching and shaking from the intensity as a loud cry left you. You tightened around him, bringing him to his own edge as he buried himself deep inside you, stuffing you full of his cum.

When you had both calmed a bit, Yeosang helped you slip your clothes back on, then dressed himself.

"That was fun."

You laughed, kissing his cheek as you took his hand in yours. "Yes, it was."

There were bright smiles on both your faces as you stepped back into the building. Things would be different from now on, but it would be okay because you would face them with Yeosang beside you.