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#what are they drinking in minnesota

brightynb · 10 months

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sorry but can we just talk about the fact that the mini best dancers from 2020 - 2023 have all been from larkin

#what are they drinking in minnesota

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crazyoffher · 7 months

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THOUGHTS & PRAYERS.

jenna ortega x fem!reader

summary: drunk at a party, it takes you more effort to calm jenna's actions than you expected.

warnings: smut (18+) — masturbation, strap-on referred to as “cock”, praise, teasing, small mention of light choking, finger sucking, nipple sucking, slapping (yippee!), shortly withheld orgasm, begging -> mentions of alcohol (drunk!jenna), weed, and use of vulgar language. dom!r + sub!j

word amount: 4700+

a/n: happy (very late 😭) birthday, wes :) @wesstars

“Maybe we should go, Jen.”

You tugged the short girl by her arm mindlessly, failing to remember her drunken, unstable frame of mind. She stumbled into you, her hands moving to stabilize herself on your chest with a sharp yelp of terror.

Your hands wrapped around her waist to keep her upright, sending fake smiles to those who eyed the two of you. “Sorry! This is what I mean, Jenna. You’ve had enough to drink; why don’t we call it a d-”

“No!” Jenna’s face buried itself into your chest for a split second, seemingly to catch her breath, before she pushed herself off you with a lazy grin. “I’m fine, love. Go,” she pushed your chest playfully, “and enjoy yourself for once! I’ll be by the table.”

Her speech slurred, and you reminded yourself to give a couple of her friends an earful later for getting her into that state. You watched with a sigh as she stumbled into the house's living room, shoulders tense from your worry, and you laughed at the irony of her words. She was the one causing you the stress she claimed you needed to get rid of, so how could she advise you to unwind?

You followed your feet to the backyard of the house, where the view of a softly illuminated pool area and the scent of the outdoors offered a welcome contrast to the raucous noise of people chatting loudly over booming music and the lingering smell of alcohol and marijuana (along with whatever else was circulating inside the house). The only break in the noise was the group of four people by the hot tub, engaged in animated and playful banter.

The pool shone as you grew closer to it, sitting down on the edge of it with your knees hugging up to your chest. You never liked loud things or partying, and everybody you met and knew found humor in it, as that was mainly what your entire acting career was built around. You couldn’t go a month without being dragged to a lousy party that consisted of at least one person trying to get you high, and hell, the only reason you went to the one you sullenly found yourself at currently was because of your girlfriend.

“Uh, hey.”

Your mind snapped away from your lost thoughts, and you turned to be met with a girl who gave you a delicate smile, wrapped in a towel with wet hair dripping down the top of her back and onto the covering fabric. “Can I sit with you?”

You only nodded, the tips of your fingers drumming along to a beat that played in your head, to try and disregard the half-naked girl beside you. She didn’t seem to be much of a bother, though, awaiting only the soft company that she felt you would provide.

“Not a talker, I suppose?” Her head quirked up from its formerly bent stature, turning with raised eyebrows in the hope that you’d answer her question, which you did. “Not really with people I meet, let alone a girl that seems to be naked underneath a towel.”

Her smile grew at the monotone joke you spurred, and she let out a mild breath to resemble the humor she found in it. It was only when she first sat down that you realized, from your peripherals, that there was no strap of a bra or bathing suit visible on her shoulders, and you almost knocked yourself in the head in a physical manner for not realizing sooner.

You questioned her. “Come on; aren’t you freezing? It’s like 45 degrees out.” Your neck craned away, feeling your tenses of shivers overcome you, and you pondered how the girl seemed unfazed by the chilly weather. “I grew up in Minnesota. I used to go skinny dipping in frozen lakes, so I think I’m good for this weather.”

Her speaking to you made you feel uneasy in a way, considering the lack of clothes she stood in and the thoughtless conversation she was advancing toward you. Jenna would undoubtedly give you an earful for even allowing her near you, but you shook the thought away at the girl's following words and the overcoming fact that Jenna was probably cornered by flirtatious men at that moment.

“Plus, this wasn’t even my idea.” She gestured to her covered body, and you picked up on the fact that she was referring to her lack of clothing. “It was my boyfriend's over there. Bet me around twenty bucks I couldn’t last in that volcano pool even in this weather, but that sucker quit before I was even getting started.”

Her finger stretched outward, pointing in the direction of a man covered in two towels, visibly shaking from the frostiness, and you let out a small snicker at the sight. Alright, maybe it wasn’t such a tense situation then, but you still couldn’t help but worry about Jenna in the back of your mind and whether you should go check on her.

As if the universe could read your mind, your phone buzzed with a custom ring that you had designed for Jenna’s messages, and the semi-naked girl's eyes widened at the sight of you practically clawing into your pants for the device. You pulled it out with strength, almost dropping it into the pool in the process, before hurryingly clicking on Jenna’s message.

Com gt me i thined ive hac enuh two drivnk

Where are you?

K154hen flerr

“What do you think this says?” You pointed your phone toward the girl, darted a finger at the most recent text sent by Jenna, and her eyes squinted in an attempt to decode. “Kitchen floor?”

“Bingo.” You rang, pulling yourself up from the concrete floor, and the girl held onto her towel as she managed to get on her feet. You darted your eyes between her and her boyfriend, who still sat there, wrapping a third towel around him that seemed to be for the remaining people in the hot tub, and you raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, if you excuse me, I have to go and retrieve my drunk girlfriend.”

“I might as well go with you,” she said as she adjusted the towel, turning to glance at her boyfriend. “I left his and my clothes in a room upstairs, and I think he needs his.”

“Be my guest.” You moved to the side, allowing the unnamed girl to go ahead, to which she sauntered, giving her boyfriend a warning of her temporary absence as she headed up the small hill to the back door with you trailing behind. The stench of weed and alcohol hit you like a flash flood, and you mentally recoiled at the stench that seemed to have grown stronger.

“Jenna?” You called out as you turned to the kitchen, swerving past girls and guys who were spilling their drinks, and you spotted the girl on the floor with a tired expression etched on her face. A smile grew on her lips at the sight of you, though it dropped almost immediately when her eyes met the semi-naked girl behind you, who whispered to you with curious eyes, “Hey, I think you forgot to mention you were dating Jenna Ortega.”

“Hey!” You lunged forward at Jenna’s attempt to stand up, holding the drunken girl in your grip when she stumbled on nothing but air, though that didn’t deter her attitude toward your new friend. “Keep away from my girlfriend!”

“Jenna,” you warned, sending the girl behind you a look of sorrow, to which she just nodded, “Relax, baby. You’re drunk, you know that?”

“Nuh-uh.” She pouted, clinging onto your torso in an iron-grip hug to try and divert you away from the girl, sending her looks of anger that she seemed to back up at. “I’ll go get my clothes.” She pointed to the stairs behind her all the while backing up, to which you nodded while trying to stabilize Jenna further.

“Yeah, leave, you whore!”

“Jenna!” You scolded her, and she muttered something incomprehensible before burying her face in your chest. You could smell the mixture of alcohol and her perfume, and that alone told you enough about her current state. “You got it?”

“Mhm.” She hummed when you had to pull her away from you and set her on her feet, only for her to take one step forward and crash into the table in front of her. You held back a laugh and put on a face of worry, pulling Jenna up only to see her laughing at her tumble.

Once more, she wrapped her arms around you and buried her face into your chest with a sigh, her drunken haze spurring more than just her inability to walk stably. “Do you know what I would love to do?” Her words were slurring, and she gave out a slight giggle at the end of her sentence, giving you a small idea of her next words.

“What is it?”

She spoke one word that you couldn’t comprehend before she giggled again, moving her face from your chest to raise herself an inch or two on the tips of her shoes, her lips grazing your ear as she spoke out a slurry, “For you to bend me over this table and fuck me raw for everybody to see.”

Your eyes widened immediately, and you felt a small burn in your stomach when her fanged teeth nibbled gently at your earlobe and her hands slid down your abdomen. You could only thank God and your alcohol-addicted party-thrower friend for managing to get 95% of the party attendees drunk out of their minds.

“Freaky and tempting,” you said, leaning into Jenna’s touch and watching a small grin tug its way onto her face, “but no.” And so you pushed her away, getting a small whine out of her while her hands bawled into fists on your shirt, trying to pull you closer to no avail.

You wrapped an arm around her shoulders, your hand gripping the base of her right one as you tugged her along and out of the kitchen area. “Now come on. I can’t drive you home without the fear of you somehow making us crash, so you are going upstairs.” You pointed to the staircase that the two of you advanced toward, and Jenna let out a small giggle at the thought of you and her alone in a guest bedroom, her mind rushing to dirty thoughts.

It took a while, with emphasis on the ‘while’, to get Jenna up the stairs; her legs seemed to have forgotten how to raise themselves, so with multiple rounds of struggle, you ended up dragging her by her torso up the stairs while she laughed wildly. Your key plunged into the hole of the lock, cracking open the door with the small piece of metal your friend had gifted you when he first bought the mansion, seeing as he kept all his guest doors locked for privacy.

“Okay, ther- baby, no.” A grunt left your mouth when Jenna attempted to pull you down on the bed with her; a loud whine of her own left her mouth when you pulled away your hand that was formerly in her grip, trying to be pushed down into her crotch.

Her head dug into the bed, whining from the sexual denial you granted. “Why not?”

“I’m not going to touch you when you can’t give me a truthful form of consent, baby. I’ll be back.” You turned to the door, shaking your head at Jenna’s loud groan at the idea of your temporary departure. “We’re dating, for fucks sake! How much more consent could you need?”

With a slight hop in your step, you hurried down to the kitchen, where you had previously encountered chaos, to get water bottles with the intention of trying to sober Jenna up. You ran into your friend on the way back up, and he gave you a good laugh at your explanation regarding Jenna before approving your request to stay the night.

“Just don’t fuck in my bed, ‘aight?”

“I promise I won’t!” You meant it at the time, though your statement didn’t withhold itself later, to his demise.

“Jenna?- oh!” You shut the door behind you quickly, gulping at the sight of Jenna sprawled out on the bed, her pants long discarded on the edge of the bed along with her underwear, and her hand in between her legs. She moaned breathlessly, finding relief in rolling her hips into her hand, and she bit her lip to suppress a moan when she locked eyes with you.

“Please, baby, this isn’t enough.” She begged, her hand circling her clit with a sloppy pace, and her heaving breaths contracted her sentence. “Need you so bad, please.”

Your hand dove for the door handle from behind you, turning the lock, and that gave Jenna a glint of excitement; she’d finally get what she desired and-

“No, and drink these.” You put your hand up, referring to the four water bottles that you managed to stack into a single hand, before walking forward to set them down on the nightstand beside the bed.

Jenna’s hand retracted from her clit, the nub throbbing with need, and she pulled herself up with the remaining strength that held her to sit on the edge of the bed, facing you. “I can see it,” and even through the slurs, her voice still sounded like honey, “You want it too, and this is me giving you my co-consent, or whatever the hell it is you want.” Her arms stretched forward, grabbing you by the shirt and pulling you flush against her, hands snaking to your bottom half with an erratic shiver from you.

“Please,” Her thighs managed to encapture your left leg, and she wasted no time in thrusting her hips into your clothed body, a burning sensation pooling its way back into her stomach. “Fuck, I need you, ri-what the-?”

She yelled out in shock, pulling away from you and moving to wipe off the liquid you had thrown at her face. “What the fuck, (Y/N)?”

You sighed, closing the cap of the now half-empty water bottle before throwing it toward her. “Is that bringing you to life, finally?”

“I’m not drinking this.” She argued, throwing it toward you just for you to deflect it and toss it back in her lap. It only took the look in your eye for Jenna to open the bottle and start drinking, shrinking under your dead gaze and dribbling water on herself.

She maneuvered around on the bed in discomfort from both her wet shirt and her aching clit, moving to discard her shirt. Jenna’s body was breathtaking, and she still found hope that she’d get what she desired most when you couldn’t tear your eyes off of her perky breasts no matter how hard you tried, eyes darting back and forth to try and not make it obvious, but she could see right through you.

“(Y/N),” she whispered, her words like silk, and you turned your head to meet her gaze. “Please.”

Her voice, formerly smooth, had turned desperate, her thighs rubbing against one another to find a sense of relief, and she whimpered at the small senses of pleasure while making eye contact with you. You practically drooled at the sight of her completely naked, desperate for your touch, and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold off.

“Jenna?” Her head shot up at your voice, the same sense of desperation lingering in her eyes and through the small whimpers that left her mouth. “What’s your last name?”

“Ortega. Is that good enough confirmation for you now?” Her voice grew in angst, becoming more deterred by each moment you left her naked, completely vulnerable, in front of you.

“Alright.”

You sighed, and before Jenna could comprehend what you had said, you were on top of her with your legs entrapping her thighs, pulling her into a brutal kiss that she immediately reciprocated. Her hands roamed your body, sliding underneath your shirt to feel the way your muscles contracted under her touch, sending excessive shivers down your back that she ached to deepen.

In a merciless grind against your clothed core, Jenna's hands dug down to your belt, only to be slapped away and repositioned above her head, linked together as your hand bound them with your wrist. Her back met the bed, and you wasted no time in angling her head to the side with your other hand to sink your teeth into her neck flesh, like a vampire, to create a later painful and dark hickey—a marking.

“Fuck.” She moaned out, eyes shut, with a whimper to follow at the piercing mania. As you felt up her waist, your fingers trailed along the center of her body before you licked her neck, moving your hand per the arch her back made. Jenna’s fingers dug into your scalp, pulling you closer to her neck while she resumed her hip movement.

“Come here,” you whispered, removing yourself from Jenna. A whine fell from her lips until she was directed onto your waist, her breasts jumping straight in your face, and you sneered in satisfaction. Your hands ran up and down the outline of her body, feeling the way her body curled inward from her perfect figure, and you always made sure to acknowledge it.

Your eyes traced from where your hands led before meeting her gaze with a tilt of your head, and how your eyes looked oh-so innocent drove Jenna’s mind wild, a drastic comparison forming from her desperate, needy eyes. She followed your eyes as you moved your head forward, taking a nipple into your mouth, sucking on it feverishly. You relished the way Jenna reacted: a loud moan, head flying back, and her hands digging into your scalp to push you further into her, if possible.

“Agh- fuck!”

The contact itself wasn’t all that pleasurable, but the recognition that it was your mouth on her body was enough to send her mind spiraling. She was too swept up in the lust, acting as if she had never experienced one’s touch, to pay attention as your fingers slid into the tiny space between her core and your waist until one of your fingers bumped against her clit. A loud gasp erupted from her, and her hips immediately ground down into your hand.

“Baby, no,” you warned, but she didn’t stop her movements, pushing and rolling her hips into your hand to gain sensational pleasure. Boldly, she reached both her hands down to grasp at yours and push it further into her core, but her plan would not succeed by itself.

You pushed your body forward, leading Jenna’s movements to a halt in a collapsed state. Now resuming the position on her back, she let out a whine that grew into a loud yelp when your hand met her dripping pussy with a harsh smack. “I said no; you got that?”

When she didn’t reply, you sent another smack to her pussy that made her legs shake, a blissful whine erupting from her, and she nodded her head eagerly. “Yes!”

“Good girl,” you purred, leaning your weight down to give her a chaste kiss on the lips. Your fingers lingered on her cheek, running their tips along her jawbone, before you withdrew your hand to deliver a light smack to the skin, compelling Jenna to groan and bite her lip. “You’ll never realize how mad you drive me.”

Jenna’s eyes widened when she felt a hard surface rut against her dripping core, drowning the surfacing fabric of your pants in her slick, and she bit back moans at the slow pace you ground on her. “You’ve had that the whole night?”

“I didn’t expect you to get drunk, baby,” your thumb encircled her lips, “and I didn’t want to do anything else tonight but fuck you rough in that pool outside, but this will do.”

Jenna sucked on your finger when you inserted it in her mouth, running her tongue up and down the skin, and it gave you a purposeful reminder of how she’d suck off your strap-on any day, her knees constantly bruised from the wooden flooring she’d kneel on while whoring out her mouth for your cock.

The imagery that flashed through your mind made you drive your thumb inside her deeper while your other hand worked at your belt, taking off the leather lining to release the grip it had on your waist. Instead of unbuttoning the clothing article, you simply unzipped it to open the crotch and wasted no time in pulling out the silicone material, pushing the tip against Jenna’s clit to send her mind spiraling.

She let out pitiful moans as you continued to finger-fuck her mouth, ‘accidentally’ pushing the silicone tip further into her clit and making her hips buck up in desperation, and her teary, doe-eyed pupils looked up at you with silent pleads. You enjoyed the view more than anything; finding Jenna underneath you, so needy and ready for your cock, was a sight people yearned for, but only you could ever get it.

“You want it, hm?” Your hips drew forward with a stern smirk growing on your lips, swiftly entering the tip halfway into her before snapping your hips back, and Jenna bit at your thumb. The hair that covered her face in her disheveled state jumped up as she nodded her head eagerly, finding difficulty in begging when your thumb was knuckle-deep in her mouth, tickling at her throat.

“I can tell; you’re practically drooling, baby.” A dribble of spit was rolling down her chin, and you knew it was solely because of your thumb shoved deep into her mouth, but why waste a perfect opportunity for teasing? It’d be so unlike you.

With a loud pop and a string of saliva attached, you removed your thumb from Jenna’s mouth, and she let out sharp breaths that soon grew into whines of discomfort. Her whines grew heavier as she started to grind her hips into your cock, her head flung back, and her hands gripped the bedsheets with intense strength while she tried to bring herself to orgasm from just grinding on you.

“No, alright? Can you hear me this time?” You pushed down on her hips in an attempt to still them, but your words only fell on deaf ears. Her movements were unwavering, and she pressed herself against you while whining louder and louder. Her back arched, and her nipples hardened from the intensity of what she was feeling, all the while disobeying your command purposefully just so she could feel something.

A shaky moan escaped her lips when your hand brought itself forward for a harsh smack to her breast, immediately taking two fingers to tug at her nipple afterward and leaving Jenna to choke for air. “What, you can’t fucking listen to me? I said no.”

Jenna never got her chance to apologize insincerely, flaring her mouth with the expectation of words to come out, but the only thing that left those plump lips was a high-pitched moan at the unexpected movement of you sinking your entire cock into her. Despite having no neural connection with the silicone that drove your girlfriend crazy, you could feel Jenna stretch around it, and the acknowledgment alone could have left you braindead.

“Fuck,” you groaned, finding pleasure in the dumbed-up expression on Jenna’s face alone, “taking me so fucking well. I can almost feel you, baby; it’s driving me insane.” Your hips retracted with no intention of slowing down, finding enjoyment in the tormented countenance that shone on Jenna, the pain and pleasure mixture practically splattering on her face.

You thrust along at a moderate speed, holding Jenna’s waist and upholding her slightly to drive your cock deeper into her, forming her into a moaning mess in a matter of seconds. Even through the loud music booming from outside the room, your attention was focused on the breathtaking girl in front of you, all submissive and so needy for you with those pleading whines that left her mouth, mindlessly begging you to go faster.

“Yeah, want me to go faster, hm?” Jenna’s head perked up at your inquiry, bobbing back and forth in a wordless answer, and you gripped her nipple tight once more. “You have a voice. Use it.”

She let out a whiny “please” before reaching up to grasp your hand that was around her breast for support, discreetly trying to roll her hips further into your cock. “I said to stop doing that.” You tugged at her nipple upward, farther than last time, and Jenna let out a shriek at the shock of pain that inflicted her. “A simple please won’t get you anywhere; you want to act like a whore tonight? Then beg like one.”

The only thing that left her lips was a grunt when you snapped your hips forward, bottoming into her with a single movement, and the slowed retraction of your hips was enough to get her going. “Fuck, please, baby! I need you so bad…” Her words droned out in a sobbing tone, throwing her head back in disoriented whines. “Need you deep in me right now. Please.”

You bent down to give her a kiss of appreciation before driving your hips deep inside her. A girthy moan left her lips that turned into high-pitched moans when you thrust faster into her, holding on to her hips for support. You met her eyes, melting in the way they looked up at you with a combination of gratitude and pleasure. Oh, how she looked so pretty under you.

Your pace grew faster by the second, sweat beads forming at the edge of your hairline while your hand dove down, rubbing Jenna’s aching clit. Her back arched up almost immediately, letting out a moan that you’d be surprised nobody heard even through the music that played through the house, droned out between the two of you behind the locked door. Your eyes lingered on the way her thighs started to tremble and the way her breaths grew heavier between moans, making you smirk in satisfaction.

“God, I wish I could feel you, ‘cause I know that you would feel so good.” You breathed, unintentionally letting out a small moan that was soon discarded from Jenna’s mind when you snapped your hips roughly, sending her mind spiraling. “You’re close, hm? Think you can hold it off for a little, baby?”

“I-I’m not sure,” she managed to say, her mind dumbing down when your hand slithered up her chest to squeeze lightly at her neck. Her pleasure increased with each passing second, and her cunt ached for a release that she knew she could not grant without making you angry at her for disobeying.

“Just a little longer, okay?” You reassured her, not failing to notice the way your movements became more restricted. Jenna’s walls tightened to hold back her orgasm, which desperately ached against the walls of her cunt. Her breathing labored as her hands clawed their way up to your shoulders, pushing you down and against her to hook her thighs on your hips.

Her head leaned into the crook of your neck, filthy moans leaving her mouth instantly when you spewed out the words, “Cum for me,” and so she did. As she rose to her high, your hands dove to her back, arms encircling her torso. With each passing second, her body trembled increasingly, until the only sensation left for your hands to hold onto was the feeling of her labored breathing.

One of your hands made its way to her chest, dipping between the small gap of her breasts to settle over her heart, soothing the area with your thumb while you directed her breathing to try and ease her mind. “Are you okay?”

She only nodded her head, her hands sliding their way up to the back of your head to pull you in for a deep kiss, showcasing her appreciation despite her former misbehaving antics. You gave her a solemn smile, rehooking both your hands on the small of her back to push her onto your lap. Your back met the headboard, and Jenna’s head dipped down to give you one more kiss. Shivers ran down her spine when your breath tickled her ear.

“Think you can give me one more?”

☟

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whatsnewalycat · 4 months

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Once in a Blue Moon

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

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

Rating: E (Explicit 18+ Only)

Word Count: 12.9k+

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

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

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 2:00 PM

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

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

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

So it begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just 302. Lucky you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of cour—”

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

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

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

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

“I, uhh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“An elephant?”

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

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

So fucking professional.

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

“Anything else I can get for you?”

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

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

“Oh, it’s not cigarette smoke.”

“I can smell.”

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

His eyebrows shoot up in a surprised expression.

“I apologize, Mr. Bravo—”

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

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

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

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

The remaining daylight you spend cleaning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re the options?”

“Chicken roulade or salmon.”

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

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

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

“Dining room or room service?”

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

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

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

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

“But still—”

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

“What? I’m not—”

“Besides, it should be legal—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Bravo,” you smile in greeting.

“Dieter.”

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

“I’ll take it.”

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

“Just you.”

“What about you, where do you eat?”

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

“You could eat out here.”

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

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

“Unless you want me to join you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I… shouldn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cheers,” he holds up his glass.

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

“Dieter.”

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

He watches you as he absorbs this, face inscrutable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not doing Christmas?”

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

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

“No shit, you have to work?”

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

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

“I have my pick of the empty suites.”

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

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

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

“Oh well obviously, fuck 201.”

“Obviously,” you laugh, shaking your head.

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

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

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

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

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

—

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:00 PM

DING

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

“Hi—”

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

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

“Dieter.”

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

“Help yourself.”

“Do you want one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because—well, because—”

“Can you make me grilled cheese?”

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

“Right now?”

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

“Can I shovel first?”

“Sure,” he shrugs.

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

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

“Probably. Want some with your grilled cheese?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

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

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

What a fucking nightmare.

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

“The fan doesn’t work.”

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

—

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:45 PM

The range hood’s fan roars to life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whadda you mean?” you frown.

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

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

You shake your head.

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, seriously?!”

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

“Because we’re snowed in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does grilled cheese help?”

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

“Is that a good thing?”

“Absolutely.”

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

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 10:00 AM

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

DING

Regrettably, your heart skips a beat.

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

“Good morning, did you sleep ok?”

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

“No, what can I get for you?”

“Denver Omelet?”

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

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

“Down here or in your room?”

“Here is fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? What’re you painting?”

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

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

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

“I agree, it’s a special place.”

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

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

“In pictures.”

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

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

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 2:00 PM

You may be in trouble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that the shitty one?”

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

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

“Sure—”

“Or the uhh… the smallest blue whale.”

“Yeah, I mean—”

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

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

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

It is undeniable.

You have a big fat crush.

So fucking professional.

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

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

Curiosity prods your heart.

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

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

Dusting it is.

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 6:59 PM

Every minute that drags on feels like an eternity.

The grandfather clock in between the library bookshelves mocks you.

Tick-tock-tick-tock

Begins to sound more like:

He-doesn’t-like-you

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

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

It’s so dumb.

Really, you know how it sounds.

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

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

Can’t get far enough away from you.

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

You sigh at the clock.

—DING! DING! DING!

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter.

The lights die.

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

“Fuck.”

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

Well, he seems chipper.

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

Footsteps thud down the steps onto the first floor landing.

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

“Genny?”

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

“I’m coming with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, sir—”

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

“Cute,” he teases.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to carry that?”

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

“No, I got it.”

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

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

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

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

“Were you painting?”

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” you say as he steps aside.

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

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

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

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

“Oh god, what?”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

He doesn’t, though.

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

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

“Shit.”

“And power might be out until Tuesday.”

“Tuesday? Are you fucking serious?”

“I apologize, sir—”

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

The words come out sharp and bitter.

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

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

He pauses to take a swig of the liquor.

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

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

“Oh, fuck off. I’m annoying?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you be joining me?”

“Do you want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck it, why not?”

So fucking professional.

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

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

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

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

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

“What is this, a role reversal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the possibilities.”

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 9:30 PM

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

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

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

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

“Can I open another bottle?”

“Go for it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, sir.”

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

“Sorry. Habit.”

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

“Hmm?”

“The book.”

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

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

“Palm reading?”

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

“Have you ever been to a palm reader?”

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

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

“You know how?”

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, it seems like quite the opposite.

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

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

“Ominous.”

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

You do.

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

But really, you know he’s right.

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

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

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

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

“But what if it’s right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“But it feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Underwear too?”

He nods.

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

“What about me?”

“I wanna see it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god—I do, Dieter, I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes yes yes yes yes—”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

“Holy fucking shit—”

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

“God yes, please, baby.”

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me,” he pants, reeling you in.

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

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

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

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

“So fucking good—Ffffuck—”

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

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

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

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

“Amazing,” you chuckle, “Wow.”

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

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

“Hmm?”

“It’s dumb.”

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

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

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

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

“Is that weird?”

“I don’t think so. Do you?”

You shake your head.

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

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

—

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 8:00AM

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

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

Was it a dream? Did that actually fucking happen?

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

“Doing what?”

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

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

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

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

“What’re you freaking out about?”

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug.

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

Again, you shrug.

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

“You do?”

“Cross my heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

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

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

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

You snort with laughter.

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

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

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

—

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 6:00PM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naturally, your nerves have been buzzing since.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dieter—”

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

“Sad? Lonely?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Once in a Blue Moon.”

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

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octuscle · 5 months

Note

Ho? Ho ho ho? Already! Damn, the infidels are your pain in the ass… First Halloween, then Thanksgiving, and now it's Christmas. Your perpetually stoned and drunk roommate is constantly listening to remixes of Christmas classics, drinking eggnog and hanging up the colorful lights his mom sent him along with gingerbread and Christmas cookies. You swear the next time you hear "Last Christmas", you'll run amok. Somehow everyone here expects that from a Muslim like you anyway. Especially during Advent.

All you want is to finish your degree as quickly as possible and get back home to Egypt. With a computer science degree from the USA, you're king there. And finally far away from the infidels again. And thank Allah you don't make half as much fuss about Eid as the infidels here do about Christmas.

"All I want for Christmas is you…" Shit, are you already humming along to the music? No wonder, it's the purest brainwashing. But the music isn't bad. And be honest: you had a Christmas tree at home in Minnesota in December. Your parents emigrated to the USA 20 years before you were born. Of course you are circumcised. But you're basically a corn-fed guy from the Midwest.

Damn, your mom's cinnamon stars are the best cookies of all. The recipe is still from your great-grandmother from Swabia. Old family tradition. Even your father couldn't resist it. Perhaps you inherited the black hair and brown eyes from his ancestors in Egypt. But basically, you grew up in the traditions that your mother's family brought to the farm from Germany generations ago.

What you hate about Christmas is writing Christmas cards. But your family expects it. Your father's parents in particular, who once again can't come for Christmas and will be celebrating far away in Malmö, would be very unhappy if they didn't receive a card. You make every effort to write in correct Swedish. Speaking is admittedly better. It was cool to grow up as a blond boy trilingual in German, Swedish and English. They always called you "The Hun" or "The Viking" in football. Who cares, your qualities as a linebacker got you the scholarship after all.

Ho! You can hear your stupid, musky-smelling, muscle-bound roommate outside in the hallway. He's on the wrestling team. Not really in your league. But he sucks damn well. The door opens. You're prepared. Or rather, decorated.

"Ho ho ho, Dasher! I've hidden a present for you!" Your roommate gets down on one knee without hesitation. You love the Christmas season!

Xmas decoration found @swoleisthegoal

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #male transformation #muscle transformation #race change #xmas tf

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cobrakaisb · 1 year

Text

no strings attached

summary: it always starts with not strings attached, but feelings turn into secrets turn into drunk calls turn into full blown confessions

warnings: mentions of a sexual relationship (no actual smut though), alcohol usage, partying, ANGST

word count: 2.05k

it was never supposed to be this way. no strings attached. that’s what mark said the first time you woke up in his bed. it was after a long, and fun, night of partying. one of the hockey team’s big wins before making it to the final four in boston. they beat minnesota maybe, or was it quinnipiac? you couldn’t remember, but you remember mark.

he was always there. maybe you always thought there was something brewing, but for him, it was just a friendship. then they won. and someone was smoking this, and another person was drinking that, and you and mark got caught up in it all. his hands were all over you, fingers digging into your thighs as he pulled you down onto his lap. yours knotting in his hair, tugging and pulling at the strands. whispering, trying to convince the other to leave, chapped lips brushing against your ear. until it finally worked and he had you wrapped in his jacket, leading you back to his dorm.

everyone knew. and ethan, god bless ethan, because he never said a word. the first time it wasn’t a big deal. he woke up to find you and mark tangled together, a mess of limbs and sheets. then it happened a couple days later. and again when the boys lost in the frozen four. and it just kept happening. but nobody knew, except you, mark, and his pesky roommate ethan.

it was never supposed to be like this. yet you found yourself in michigan for the summer, spending a week at mark’s house. his mom smiling and chatting with you at the kitchen counter, skimming through photo albums and telling embarrassing stories. she asked what you were, and you tried to answer, really, but even you didn’t know. friends? lovers? dating? a hook up? there was no real label. everything was convoluted, covered in a haze.

maybe it was the trip at his house that made you reconsider your feelings for him. seeing him interact with his mom, watching as he helped around the house. listening in as he played with his younger cousins, granting their every wish. how he kept his arm around the back of your chair, always. he leant you a hat, or two, offered up sweatshirts for you to wear at night when it was too cold for short sleeves but not cold enough to want to be inside. when he took you to that small little breakfast joint, laughing and teasing as you drove down the street.

as the summer went on, it seemed like more and more strings were getting attached. you met his family, and he met yours. your mom asked about him once he left. your friends kept poking and prodding, saying that he was cute and you should go for it. then sophomore year came and he was getting a house, moving out of the dorms and in with some of the guys.

now you didn’t have to worry about ethan sleeping in the bed directly across from you; there was a wall separating you. there were two floors. it was easy to sneak away unnoticed and unheard. that’s what you told yourself at least.

it was easy. you were fine. there were no strings attached. but it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

you don’t remember when the final straw was. maybe it was when he got that five minute major. or was it when he was given a game misconduct? either way, he called you after both, and for the first time throughout this whole shabang, you didn't want to be just a call. as much as you tried to avoid it, your strings were attached. they were so heavily intertwined that it was like a failed friendship bracelet, a knotted, tangled mess of strings. you had to tell him, so you came clean.

“i don’t want you to hate me,” you started, sitting criss-cross applesauce on their porch. “i could never hate you,” mark assured, leaning back on his forearms, he was getting too comfortable. you were getting too comfortable. “i caught feelings, mark,” you said softly, voice barely above a whisper. he was silent for a long time. “who is it?” mark asked.

his question has you reeling. how was it not obvious that it was him? your whole world revolves around him. “what?” you whispered softly, still feeling confused. “who is this guy that’s gonna break this great thing we have? who’s the one getting in between us?” mark snapped. the way he talked about your relationship made you nervous. his strings weren’t attached, that much was obvious.

“his name is mark estapa. he’s a defenseman for the michigan hockey team. know him?” you replied, already getting up from your seat. mark stayed there, mouth wide open. “but we said…” he started to say. “i know what we said! i get it okay! you don’t want this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you, “in the same way that i do.” he was still silent. “believe me, i know. and i also know that i can’t keep doing this. not how it is right now at least,” you trialed off, hoping he would want you too.

“i’m not…i was very clear y/n…fuck i don’t want,” he said, hands playing with the backwards hat on his head. you swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding while simultaneously blinking back your tears. “right. i’ll see you around mark,” you answered, turning and leaving before he got the chance to break your heart anymore.

someone must have grabbed the scissors and cut apart the ball of string because there was no way you were coming back from this.

yet somehow, mark didn’t seem to get the message. he kept calling and calling and calling. and when you declined he’d start texting and texting and texting. finally, you just had to block his number. it was too much for you, the bitter taste of rejection and the tears of regret arising whenever his name flashed across your screen. at one point, he tried talking to you, but your friends helped you hide in the bathroom, quickly shutting that down.

so, what started as a casual relationship ended with you, alone and bitter. in all fairness, mark warned you. he was upfront from the beginning, so you really had no one to blame but yourself. he told you that there would be no strings attached, just makeouts and hookups, but of course you couldn’t follow those simple instructions.

then, you made your own code of conduct. one that consisted of ignoring him. it didn’t last long though. nothing regarding mark ever seemed to last long. especially when you were drinking. that’s when it was worse. all the feelings would come up and your usually bubbly persona went down the drain. once you had a solid buzz going, thoughts of mark would infiltrate your brain, reminding you of your lonely status. until saint patrick’s day weekend.

obviously there were darties and parties and everything in between. so it wasn’t a surprise that when michigan won, the partying was only amplified. in your inebriated state, calling mark was the best option. to say congratulations. that was it. that’s what you kept telling yourself as you unblocked his contact and hit the green call button.

you waited and waited and waited. voicemail. but you were persistent, so you kept calling. again and again and again, you dialed his number. foot tapping on the sticky, alcohol covered, floor as you held your phone to your ear. the cool screen sticking to your flushed skin. after ten calls, he kept count not you, he answered.

“y/n?” he asked, hesitancy clearly in his voice. “mark! i saw the game! you won, so i had to…i had to call. you deserved a call,” you mumbled, words escaping your mouth faster than you could comprehend. “oh yeah. thanks,” he answered.

the effort was minimal, you could feel it through the phone. he didn’t want you to call. he didn’t want you then and he still doesn’t want you know. your sobbing before you can hang up, before you can shake yourself and get a grip.

“y/n? why are you crying? what’s wrong baby?” he said. if you weren’t crying, if you weren’t drunk, if you were able to comprehend, your heart would’ve skipped a beat. “i’m drunk. I’m drunk and my first thought is always you. it’s always you mark. and i want you so bad, but you never wanted me. no strings attached,” you explained, taking a long sip from your cup. “y/n…” he started, but you wouldn’t let him. he hurt you enough. “don’t pity me mark. i don’t…i don’t want a guy to be with me out of pity,” you said. you heard him take a breath, but before he could answer, you hung up the phone.

it shouldn’t have surprised you when mark arrived at your dorm the next day. but it did. he stood there, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “hi. can we talk?” he whispered. you hesitated, feeling nervous. your plans were sweaty and you felt like there was a frog in your throat. all you could muster was a nod as you grabbed your keys and followed him outside. the walk was silent, deadly silent. the kind of silence that exists between two people who don’t know what to say, how to say it, or when to say it. the type of silence that shouldn’t exist between you and mark.

“so you called me last night,” he blurted out. “i did,” you replied, interested in your scuffed up converse. “you did. do you remember what you said?” he asked. you shut your eyes, embarrassment washing over you like a wave at the beach. “if i said i didn’t would we just move past it?” you tried to joke, but mark didn’t laugh.

“no. i would remind you,” he answered, face serious. you stopped walking, turning to face him. “why? why do you do this?” you demanded, poking at his chest. “me! you’re the one that left and then refused to let me speak! you blocked my number and flat out ignored me for weeks. then you call me last night, and tell me that all you do is think about me,” you opened your mouth to interject but he doesn’t let you. “let me finish. god y/n just let me fucking speak because if you let me talk, you’d know that i’ve always loved you. and i still do! even though you ignore me and basically cut me out of your life, i still love you. i want you just as much now as i did last week, and two months ago, and this summer, and even last year.”

you're crying; tears streaming down your face as you listen to him rant. “why didn’t you say it sooner?” you croaked out. mark swallows, looking at you with utmost regret in his eyes, “because we said no strings attached.” you laughed. you were crying but now you’re laughing because how did you two agree to this? why did you agree? you think back to your freshman year and wonder what possessed you to say no strings attached. you wanted them to be attached, every single one. your strings and mark’s strings woven together into a tightly knit friendship bracelet, or maybe a keychain, or anything that involved the two of you being together.

it was silent between the two of you. both of you just standing there, waiting for the other to make a move. finally, mark had the courage to do so. “i think we should let our strings attached . maybe they could get jumbled up in a giant knot, and we wouldn’t be able to untie it, because i,” he paused to take a deep breath, “i don’t think i could live my life without you.”

“mark?” “yeah?” “let me kiss you.” his laugh echoed through the quad. his smile overtook his face, scrunching up his eyes and cheeks. his eyes brightened. his hands reached out for you, pulling you into him. his lips met yours.

your strings were pretty much attached.

#mark estapa #mark estapa x reader #mark estapa imagine #mark estapa blurb #mark estapa blurbs #umich hockey #cobrakaisb writing

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geralts-yenn · 5 months

Text

Memories - part 1

Walter Marshall x OFC Maxine (second-person pov)

summary: At your brother's wedding you have to face a ghost from your past - Walter Marshall - and you find yourself lost in memories

warnings: 18+, minors DNI! drinking alcohol, vaginal fingering, hand job, protected p-in-v sex

word count: 4,8k

A/N: a little idea that got me out of my writer's block 😍 special thanks to @peyton-warren for being my wonderful beta and @raccoon-eyed-rebel for the constant support ❤️

My masterlist

“Oh, hello! Who’s that guy and why are you not throwing yourself at him?” Your brand-new sister-in-law nudged you in your side and pointed her chin towards a man standing at the bar. You followed her gaze and noticed a pair of wide shoulders under a head of untamed chocolate curls. For a second you weren’t sure, but then the man turned to the side and you cursed. You’d always recognize that dimpled nose, even when he gave his best to hide the rest of his beautiful face under a wild beard.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s Walter fucking Marshall.” Your eyes were rolling in your head furiously. Up to this moment you were praying to all the goddesses in the universe that he would be stopped by a blizzard or whatever would have kept him in Minnesota. But there he was, which meant you had to face him. Something you’ve dreaded ever since your brother told you he’d invite him to his wedding.

Vicky snorted into her champagne flute. “So that’s why Josh never showed me any photos of his most precious childhood companion.” Her eyes were roaming over Walter’s features unashamedly. “He’s delicious. Now I’m really curious why you hate him so much.”

Your prom night should have been the best day of your life. You had been so excited, your friends and you were giggling and cheering for weeks every time you were speaking about what you had planned. After dating Paul for almost a year now, you had promised him to let him get to the fourth base that night. Not just to do him a favor, you were ready. Or so you told yourself. But then the day came and with every minute that passed you got more nervous. Paul had sneaked a flask of liquor into the place and you took a sip, hoping it would loosen you up but it only made you feel more nauseous.

When you left the party, Paul’s hands kept running up and down your thigh that was revealed by the high slit in your dress. You wanted to tell him to stop, but you couldn’t. You had promised it to him after all. When Paul parked his car at the motel, you were about to vomit. You really, really couldn’t do this. And so you stopped him just as he was about to unlock the door to the room where you were supposed to lose your virginity to him.

You were scared to tell him, and rightfully so. As soon as you had finished explaining, he started yelling. Calling you a frigid whore. You still remember how you thought that this didn’t make any sense. But that night you couldn’t laugh about it. You were shaking and crying when he drove off from the parking lot, leaving you sitting on the sidewalk. The rain starting to fall felt like punishment for your stupid decision. Though you weren't sure yet if your foolishness was to say no or to come here in the first place. Either way you were cold and wet and alone.

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t call your mom. How would you explain to her that you were in front of a cheap motel instead of your friend Kelly’s house, where you told her you’d spend the night? You couldn’t call Kelly either, she was with Charlie and probably doing exactly what you had planned for tonight. Going through all your friends in your head, you didn’t come up with one name that you dared to tell the truth about what had happened.

But then it didn’t matter anymore because a car stopped next to you and when the window rolled down you were ready to die of embarrassment.

“Need a ride?” Walter’s face was hidden in the shadow of a tree, so you couldn’t make out whether he was hiding amusement or showing concern. It didn’t matter anyway. He was your only option to get away from this stupid place, so you nodded and got up. You hadn’t expected Walter to actually get out of the car, but he did. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and guided you to the passenger’s door that he held open for you.

When he crawled back into the driver’s seat you finally could make out his handsome features. He didn’t look at you, his eyes were glued to the road. You noticed that he was clenching his jaw constantly, his muscles flexing, and the knuckles of his hands were white as he held the steering wheel in a murderous grip. Definitely concern. You were relieved about this. If there was one guy you really cared about what he was thinking about you, it was Walter, your older brother's best friend, the guy you had a crush on since forever.

“Did that stupid asshole leave you there all alone?” His voice was shaky. He was mad. You nodded with a sniffle. “I’m going to kill him! Did he hurt you?” You were shaking your head, but Walter turned to look at you, his eyes piercing. “Use your words, Max! Did he hurt you? I need you to tell me!”

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. “He didn’t.” It was a whisper but the tension in Walter’s face diminished a little, so you guessed he had heard you. “I told him that I don’t want to do this and he just got a little angry and left.”

Walter grunted through gritted teeth. “A little angry? Max, do you even hear yourself? You’ve got every right to say no and that bastard should have taken it like a man and accepted it. Fuck! I’m so mad, I want to rearrange his face.”

Walter’s anger somehow made you feel better. The way he was protective of you left a warm feeling in your chest. “I appreciate this, Walter, but there’s no need to. I told him to fuck off and never ever try to call me again.”

There wasn't really more to say and you were grateful to Walter for letting you sob in silence and not making this more embarrassing than it already was.

But then he stopped at a crossing, looking at you. “Can I bring you home? Or do you want to go somewhere else?” His look was a lot softer than earlier, as he studied your face. “I know Charlie has taken Kelly to our cabin. Else I could have let you spend the night there. But you can sleep in my room if that's ok with you. I will take Charlie's. My parents are visiting friends for the weekend.”

The thought of spending the night in Walter's bed got your heart's pace to speed up again. It almost made you laugh. Isn't this what you had dreamt of for years? The crush you had on Walter never really faded, even after you had started dating other guys. But all of this wasn't even nearly the way you had imagined it so many times, laying in bed and picturing Walter's face. Yet, it was your best option right now and so you agreed.

Walter even asked you if he should change the bedding, but you shook your head firmly, hopefully not revealing how much you wanted to sink into those sheets that held Walter's scent. You were just finished changing for the night, fortunately you had packed a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, when Walter knocked on the door. After you answered with a yes, his curly head appeared in the door frame, glancing carefully into the room.

“I brought you some water.” When he had checked that you were decent and comfortable with him in the room, he took a step forward and put the bottle on his nightstand. “If you need anything, I'm in Charlie's room.” He had already turned to leave, but then you heard yourself calling his name, not knowing what made you do it. And you couldn't believe your next words yourself either.

“Would you stay a little with me? I don't want to be alone.”

Walter froze in his movements. A small eternity later, he turned to face you. “Are you sure?”

Ignoring your racing heart, you nodded and rolled to the side of the bed, making space for him to join you.

Walter moved carefully, almost as if he feared you would change your mind if he startled you. He crawled under the duvet with you and wrapped an arm over your shoulder, his hand stilling at the nape of your neck.

“Comfortable?” he asked you, and you couldn't get out more than a small yes. More comfortable than you had ever been in your life, you thought, but you would rather die than tell him that.

You lay in silence next to each other for what felt like hours, even though it probably wasn't more than a few minutes. Then you finally had gathered enough courage to speak.

“Thank you, Walter. I wouldn't have known what to do without you.” His fingers started to draw little circles over your skin.

“No need to thank me. I'm glad I found you.” He was staring at you with an intensity that left you completely unable to form any word or even thought. So instead you raised your hand to his face and carefully traced the sharp line of his jaw with your fingers.

Walter's lips parted ever so lightly, but it was the only sign it took for you. You leaned forward, your nose brushing over Walter's, his warm breath scraping over your skin. Without a second thought, you crossed the last little distance and your mouths found each other. Your heart skipped a beat as you felt his warm and soft lips against yours. This was better than everything you could have ever imagined. Walter parted his lips, inviting your tongue to explore and taste him. Butterflies were fluttering through your stomach, you felt like you were floating in midair, as his tongue started dancing with yours.

Walter’s hands roamed over your back as he deepened the kiss even further. You moaned into his mouth. You had never felt like this. There was this strange tension building in your center that you had never experienced with someone else before and it was shooting straight to that point between your legs. You wanted him to touch you. You wanted his mouth on your skin. You wanted him. So bad. But Walter seemed to hold back. His kiss was not that urgent and consuming any more and his hands stopped whenever they were touching your skin, going back to your clothed shoulders.

“Please, Walter!” you begged. Your own hands found their way under the hem of his shirt and as you brushed your fingers over his abs, he flinched, accompanied by a groan. You felt the soft tuft of hair that ran down from his stomach into the waistband of his pants. Damn, just minutes earlier you would have been sure that it would be gross to feel this. But now you were clenching your thighs together in an unsuccessful attempt to still your desire to feel something. He was everything you ever wanted and he lay here in your arms right now, grinding his hips against your thighs and pressing kisses onto your neck, making sure you felt how much he wanted this, he wanted you.

You gladly noticed that his will to resist you crumbled under your touch. He pressed himself against you and you could feel what it did to him, feeling his cock hard against your soft thigh.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage and brushed your hand over his length, restrained by the fabric of his jeans.

Walter answered your touch with a sharp breath followed by a grunt. “Fuck! Are you sure you want to do this?” His reaction made you insecure for a tiny moment, but the way he rutted into your palm gave you new courage.

“I am.” You sounded confident, but Walter wasn't convinced yet. “Promise me that you will tell me if you want me to stop, Max!” You saw the tension in his face as he waited for your answer. Nodding wasn't enough for him, his eyebrows furrowed. “I promise,” you breathed finally.

After he had heard you, Walter wasn't able to hold back anymore. He grinded his crotch up against you as his hands found their way under your shirt. When his fingertips brushed over your sides, electric shocks ran through your whole body.

Frantically, both of you tried to remove each other's clothes. Your hands got tangled as you tried to unbutton Walter's jeans. He chuckled and then helped you with the task.

You swallowed hard when you saw his erection hardly hidden in his boxer briefs. He was a lot. Definitely more than you had ever seen. Not that you were very experienced in the department of hard-ons, but it made you hesitate for a moment.

Of course, Walter noticed. “Are you okay?” You nodded as you bit back your insecurities and gave him a determined yes. You reached for him, but Walter pushed your shoulders back onto the mattress. His body pressed you down while he was licking and sucking along your neck. Your shirt was in his way as he moved down your collarbone and he gave way just long enough for you to tug it over your head before his mouth was back nipping on your tender skin.

Walter's head sank lower, his face soon buried between your breasts. You felt his lips and tongue move over your chest, leaving a trail of wetness behind that made your skin prickle.

When his mouth found its destination on one of your hardened nipples and he bit down on it, the sensation shot right to your core. You wouldn't have been able to suppress the lewd sound you made, even if you wanted to. His tongue lapped over the hard bud to soothe the ache but it only made you moan louder. Walter responded to the noises you made by grinding his cock against your thigh.

All this felt incredibly good. Way better than everything you had ever felt with Paul. When Walter moved to your other breast and treated it in the same passionate way, you pushed the thought of your ex aside. In fact, you just stopped thinking at all and let your instincts take over. Your head fell back as you moaned loudly when Walter pinched your one nipple while sucking on the other. All this wasn’t enough, there was this need between your thighs that made you feel so desperate. Your hand wrapped around Walter's wrist and guided him firmly into your panties.

“Oh, fuck!” he groaned when his fingers met the wetness that pooled between your legs. He ran his fingers along your slit a few times, gathering your arousal before he switched to rubbing circles around your clit. You bit your lip when he found just the right spot and pressure, only to curse when he left it way too soon. “No, please, this felt so good.” You weren’t even ashamed of begging. You just wanted to feel more of this.

“Let me make it a little more comfortable?” Walter asked you as he tugged on the waistband of your panties. You lifted your hips and he made quick work of rolling your underwear down your legs. Your knees fell to the side, opening up for him. And Walter was eager to get back, his fingers now moving with even more skill through your folds and around your bundle of nerves. His mouth was back on yours now, kissing you hungrily, his tongue darting into your mouth and swirling around yours the same way as his fingers were now circling your entrance.

You rolled your hips in response, showing him to move on, to finally give your aching pussy something to clench around. And Walter obeyed your silent pleas, pushing one of his fingers into you in a painfully slow movement. He was not just pumping into you, he was exploring you, inch by inch, feeling for every spot that evoked a reaction from you. And when he found what he was looking for, when you arched your back, crying out, he curled his lips into a smile and he added a second finger. You noticed the stretch, but it felt good, the way he pressed against your walls exactly where you wanted him.

Now he started to thrust his fingers into you in a steady rhythm. You moved your hips against him, fucking his fingers. Walter’s other hand held your jaw firmly as he devoured your mouth, swallowing all the sounds that wanted to pass your lips. You felt the tension building in your core, spreading through your body. “Please, I’m close!” you whimpered, Walter answered with increasing pressure against your sweet spot and you snapped. Waves of pleasure ran through your body. You were a shaking mess in Walter’s arms.

“Shush, I got you!” he whispered in your ear, pressing kisses along your neck. He held you close until your soul was finally back in your body. And you couldn’t help it, you weren’t able to suppress the stupid giggles. Walter grinned down at you. “What?” he just asked, with the smug confidence of someone who knew exactly what he had done to you. “This was good!” you told him with a wide smile.

You continued with kissing and hands roaming over each other’s bodies. But the hard cock pressing against you reminded you that Walter hadn’t gotten nearly the attention that you got from him until now and you really wanted to change this. You brushed a finger up his length until you were at the waistband of his boxers. Your thumbs dug into it and carefully pushed it down to free his cock.

Your hand wrapped around his length and you found yourself surprised at how soft the skin felt over his hard flesh. Slowly you started to stroke him. Your thumb ghosted over the tip of his cock and Walter let out a sharp hiss in response. Your eyes shot up to him, fearing you had hurt him, but the expression on his face told you had done quite the opposite. He had his eyes closed and his lips parted and when your hand started moving up and down his length again, he bit down on his lower lip. Seeing him like this made you all weak in the knees and you drank in the sight of it. Your pumps got more hasty now in the attempt to make it feel better for him, but that made Walter’s hand reach for you and stop you. “Wait!” He immediately saw the panic flashing over your face and he tried to chase it off by kissing you softly. “It’s just a little too dry. But we can change this.”

He had his hand already reaching out to his nightstand when you took it and guided it between your legs. “I know a place where it’s not too dry.” Walter cursed at your suggestion. His chest was heaving. “Baby, do you really want to do this?” His voice was deep and raspy. His constant check-ins half annoyed you, half melted your heart. “You already made me promise, Walter. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t suggest it.” To make your point clear, you steered his fingers through your wet folds and he moaned as he felt the slick at your entrance. Walter swallowed and then moved to sit on his heels. “Okay then.” He couldn’t hide his nervousness in his shaky voice, and it was relieving to know that you were not alone with your excitement. He rummaged through the drawer of his bedside table until he held a condom and a bottle of lube in his hands. He rolled the condom over his dick and spread some lube over it. You watched him pumping his sheathed cock a few times, your heart almost breaking through your chest. So this was really happening.

Walter moved to settle between your legs, holding his weight on one elbow as his other hand guided the tip of his cock to your entrance. His eyes locked with yours, a last reassuring that you wanted him, and then you felt him enter you. The feeling took your breath away, it was overwhelming. You had expected to feel pain, but there was merely a small stinging that ebbed away immediately. Slowly Walter pushed deeper, until he was buried completely in you. He was looking at you with an expression you had never seen before. Something deep and vulnerable. His chest was heaving as he hovered over you. “Breathe!” he whispered and you obeyed, taking in a deep breath as Walter started to move. You whimpered as you felt him deep inside of you. “Does it hurt?” he asked you, concerned, but you just smiled. “No, it feels unfamiliar, but in a very good way. Keep going.” And so Walter started, retreating from you and thrusting back in. It was amazing, it made you scream, nothing had you prepared for feeling this way. It was heaven. And it must have been the same for Walter. He lost his rhythm, now slamming his hips desperately into you. You loved how vocal he was, grunting with every stroke. And then he threw back his head with a loud growl and you felt his hips shudder as he reached his climax.

He pulled out of you, carefully, not to lose the condom. You felt empty without him and the kiss he pressed so firmly on your lips could barely make up for it. He held you in his arms as you both gasped for air. But when your breathing was almost back to normal, he left your side. “Just a minute. I need to take care of this.” He made a vague gesture toward his softening cock that was still covered by the condom.It took him only a minute until he was back in bed with you. “I’m sorry.” he said and you weren’t sure what he meant until his fingers were parting your lips and rubbing circles over your clit. “Let me make up for it, okay?” he asked you. You moaned but then held his hand in place. “You don’t have to do that, Walter.” you told him. And you meant it. All that you had felt with him tonight was better than you had ever imagined.“But I want to.” He resumed his ministrations between your legs. “I want you to feel good, too.” Another shaky breath later, you were able to answer him. “You already did that.” Walter smiled as he pressed a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Another one surely won’t hurt.”

*****

You were sitting in the kitchen, making up your mind how long it would take you to walk back home. Too long. But did you have any other choice? Just as you were about to get up and head back home, you heard keys in the door and a few seconds later, Walter’s little brother was standing in the room looking at you confused.

“Hi Charlie! Would you please drive me home?” He blinked at you and scratched his head. “Do you want to talk about it?” he just asked, probably running through all the possible scenarios how you ended up at his home early in the morning. But fortunately, he let go of it as you shook your head. So you had at least a little part of dignity left in his presence until Walter had time to fill him in about his last night’s conquest.

That afternoon, you found Walter standing on your porch when you were on your way to meet Kelly. “Josh isn’t home,” you told him indifferently, not even slowing down as you passed him. You had ignored all his calls and the messages he had sent. You didn’t want him to feel obligated to talk to you. To act as if he cared. Seeing him wouldn’t change this. Though it made it impossibly hard. It was just unfair how handsome he was. And when you looked into his face, he almost appeared to be sad. But you knew better, he was just tired of you already.

His hand wrapped around your wrist as he stepped in your way. “Maxine, stop acting like nothing had happened. We need to talk.” You rolled your eyes at him and tried to free from his grip. Walter let go of your hand with a sigh.

“Don’t make this bigger as it was, Walter.” you told him, rubbing your wrist as if his touch had burnt your skin. “We’ve been having fun, that’s it. Can we go on with our lives now?” You couldn’t even convince yourself with your words, but that was never the plan. You had to keep Walter away from you. Getting your heart broken by him was more than you could bear, so you decided to run before it was too late.

Walter was shouting after you as you stormed down the steps. “Let me take you on a date! Give me a chance, Max!” A heavy weight pooled in your stomach as you heard it. This was all you ever wanted. But you were way too scared to act on it. Just thinking of your night with him almost broke you. How would it be to have more precious moments with him and then losing it all? Because that’s what was supposed to happen. He’d go back to college and find someone else. In no way could he ever be truthfully interested in you.

You had to turn him down a few more times. Later you started ignoring him just completely. That didn’t stop him. He gave you his damn puppy eyes and tried to talk to you. So you started to be mean to him. You said stupid things you didn’t mean, just to keep him away. And after a while it worked. The looks he gave you had changed. They were filled with anger and frustration now. And soon you found yourself hating each other. Initially, you weren’t sure if you just pretended to feel so, but after a while you had convinced yourself that this was what you felt for him. You hated looking at his stupidly gorgeous face, you hated his voice, the jokes he made, the way he was strutting, as if the world belonged to him. You hated that all the girls lay at his feet, acting as if he hung the moon. You hated him.

And Walter hated you. His jokes always went against you. He mocked every one of your life decisions. He laughed about every single thing you did.

And then he moved away. And somehow it almost felt like you missed him. And that made you hate him even more.

“I guess you never told Josh about that night?” Vicky smiled at you with amusement. She loved hearing about dramas like that. But you couldn’t be mad at her. It had been such a long time. It should be a funny story to tell by now. Yet, it still hurt to think about it. You never managed to get over that heartache. Well, that’s just how it is when your heart gets broken for the first time in your life, right?

“You know, you should have talked to him.” Vicky told you and you looked at her quizzically. “Who, Josh? No! He would have killed Walter. Or me. Probably both of us.”

Vicky chuckled but shook her head. “Not Josh. Walter! You should have been honest with him about your feelings.”

You sighed. It wasn’t as if you had never thought about it. To be fair, you have asked yourself the same questions every day ever since. Should you have told him? Would it have been a bad idea to let him take you on a date? Would you two have had a chance? But it didn’t matter because you didn’t let him. And you would never know what could have been if you had decided differently back then, when you were eighteen and so much in love and so incredibly stupid.

Your sister-in-law watched you with narrowed eyes as you sat there thinking about your past with Walter. “It doesn’t matter, Vicky. We’re not teenagers anymore. It’s too late for that now.”

But she shook her head. “It’s never too late. He’s here. You can tell him now.”

A ridiculous voice in your head told you that she was right. That all it took was to take a step towards him and see what would happen. But you shook it off.

Part 2

#walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x ofc #walter marshall fic #henry cavill characters #memories #walter marshall #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall smut #walter marshall fluff #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

Text

‘Friendship’ Bracelets — Rooster x Bambi (18+)

Synopsis: Rooster gets half of a friendship bracelet

Warnings: unabashed size kink, unprotected sex, pinv, creampies

…

You sigh softly, lifting your head from his chest and propping your chin up on your palm. Rooster’s brows knit together, his muscles tensing under you as there’s another near miss for his team. He relaxes again and brings his beer bottle to his lips, taking a long drink and then setting it back down on the floor beside the couch.

“You okay, baby?” Rooster hums without managing to tear his gaze away from the screen, smoothing his palm along your back. You turn your gaze to the rain pouring on the window, and then to the football game on the television.

“Mm.” You shrug, pushing yourself up from where you’re laying on his chest, stretching your arms up above your head. “Bored.”

“I can fuck you at half-time, if you want.” He jokes, tucking an arm behind his head and shifting to find comfort again now that you aren’t acting as his weighted blanket.

Your lips quirk, rolling your eyes playfully as you turn away from him in search of something to occupy your Sunday stuck inside. He won’t play a board game with you, and you don’t want him to break one of your puzzles trying to mash the pieces together with his big fingers. Reading sounds like too much effort. You sigh softly and pull open your closet.

There’s usually something entertaining that you have forgotten that you own in here. Bradley gasps and grumbles something discontentedly from the living room as you rifle through the closet.

He looks up as you wander back in, grinning at him and holding a little plastic box.

“What’s that?”

“My friendship bracelet kit, I’m gonna make us matching ones.” You explain, setting the box down on the coffee table and sitting down on the floor with your back to the couch. Rooster hums to show his interest, stroking your hair back away from his neck.

“That’s nice.”

“What colours should we have?” You ask him as his thumb strokes absent-mindedly along the exposed curve of your neck, stopping at the collar of your sweatshirt.

“Purple and gold.” He replies, nodding towards the television. Immediately, you scrunch your face up in distaste. With your back to him, he doesn’t see that. You peer down into the box and hide the purple thread under the green.

“I don’t have purple.” It’s an innocent, little white lie that means you don’t have to walk around with an ugly Minnesota Vikings bracelet on. Rooster doesn’t even notice.

“Whatever you want, baby.” He decides, taking another sip from his beer bottle. His lips quirk softly as he rests the chilled glass against the exposed back of your neck and watches you squirm away from it. You smack his leg and scowl at him, he winks at you and settles back some to watch the game again.

Making your own bracelet is easy work, you’ve been doing it since you were six. You pick out pink, blue and yellow threads, twisting them intricately around each other until you’ve got a thread long enough to fit around your wrist.

“Will you tie it for me?” You turn to Bradley, pushing yourself onto your knees. His eyes never once leave the screen as he reaches for the two ends of the bracelet. “Not too tight, but don’t let it fall off either.”

“Mhm.” He frowns at the game and glances quickly downwards to make sure he’s doing it right, securing it in a knot and dropping your wrist. “Looks pretty, Bambi.”

You turn back around and start working on his bracelet immediately, braiding the threads together until they should be long enough. You grab his arm from where it’s resting against his middle, wrapping the bracelet around as much of his wrist as it’ll cover.

Frowning, you drop his arm and turn back around to fix the length of it. His arm’s just bigger than you had anticipated. Adding an extra little bit, you turn again and pick up his wrist. He lets you without complaint, too focused on the end of the first half.

The thread almost fits, you could maybe make it fit if he was willing to compromise on his blood circulation. Frowning again, you drop his arm and watch it flop back down against the couch.

He doesn’t react, brows raised in anticipation as the quarterback heads towards the end zone. You reach out delicately and take his arm again, this time shifting around and extending your forearm beside his.

“Almost finished?” He asks.

“Mm, almost,” You answer quietly, placing your open palm in his, stretching your fingers out to see how far they are from the tips of his.

Glancing back up at his face, he sips on his beer, oblivious. You trail your index finger along the veins in his forearm, up onto the firm skin of his bicep.

He’s always wandering around here shirtless, even on days like today when it’s miserable and drizzly outside, he’s still warm under your touch. You’re wearing a sweater and a big t-shirt, fuzzy socks and grey sweats, and he’s still warmer than you are.

You exhale quickly and turn back around to your little workstation, picking up more thread. You wonder what size gloves he wears in the ring. Then, you try to shake that thought from your head all together and focus on the wholesome activity you had chosen for the afternoon.

Rooster’s hand is on the back of your neck again. Just an absent-minded need to be touching you, his thumb stroking along the top of your spine delicately. You’ve never noticed how softly he touches you before now, wondering to yourself if he has to hold back — if he knows how strong he is.

“Damn it!” He yells from behind you, fingers squeezing softly around the curve of your neck. You tense, glancing up towards the screen, then slowly turning to peer back at him over your shoulder. He softens and squeezes at your neck again, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry, baby, didn’t mean to make you—“

He stops, brows furrowing as you drop the bracelet to the ground and push yourself up from the floor, swinging a knee over his hips swiftly. You brace your palms against his broad shoulders, kissing him hard before you’ve even settled in his lap.

Instinctively, his hands find your hips and he pulls you down hard against his groin. You pull back just to tug your sweatshirt over your head, groaning in frustration as your arm gets stuck in the struggle and then your necklace catches on the collar of the sweatshirt.

“Slow down, I’ve got you.” Rooster chuckles softly as he sits up and untangles you from the nice little straight jacket you had just made for yourself. You drop the sweater and the t-shirt to the ground at once, sitting in his lap in just your bra and your sweats. “Is there like a go button on you somewhere? — where the hell did that come from?”

You place both palms, flat and open, on his bare chest and push against his muscles, feeling them flex against your hands as he doesn’t let you push him back. “Just want you.”

Rooster’s lips quirk softly as he relents and allows you to push him down against the couch, his head resting against the arm. “Sure, but that doesn’t answer my question. Kinda leapt on me out of nowhere, baby.”

You shrug your shoulders and squirm around him as you quick your sweats and socks off, his body heat does more for you than they did anyway.

Taking his hands in yours, you open them up and place them on your skin. He curls his hands around your ribcage and flexes his palms softly, keeping you in place.

“Fuck.” You exhale softly. His brows knit together a little, cocking his head. Trying to figure out what’s got you so flustered all of a sudden. You smooth your fingertips over his collarbones, the swell of his broad shoulders, over his thick arms.

His hands trail innocently, coming down to rest against your thighs on either side of his hips. Palms open, he squeezes softly at your legs, still confused but not complaining as you grind yourself against the growing tent in his shorts.

“I can’t wait, I just really need you.” You rush out, all in one big breath, pressing your palms harder against his chest. Rooster’s lips tug at a smile as he nods slowly at you.

“Alright, it’s alright,” He sits up and presses his chest into yours swiftly, hooking an arm around your middle and lifting you so that he can push his shorts down. You hum as his thick fingers nudge your underwear to the side and swipe between your legs gently. “Fuck, baby, you’re soaked.”

Grabbing a handful of the short hair at the back of his head, you kiss eagerly at his neck as he works his fingers into you. You could whine and argue as much as you want, he isn’t going to give you anything more until he’s satisfied that you’ll be able to take him.

His fingers curl upwards, massaging that spongy spot inside of you that makes you dig your nails into his shoulders. Mewling into his neck, fucking yourself down onto his thick fingers. The game long forgotten, Rooster shoves his boxers down and withdraws his fingers, grabbing your hips instead.

You slowly sink down on him, taking in his tip. A soft squeak slips your lips. He squeezes softly at your thighs again. His eyes shut, preventing himself from grabbing your hips and forcing you down to take him in all at once.

He breathes out hard and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you into a bruising kiss. You whimper softly against him. You breathe out softly through your nose, pushing your chest against his as you sink the rest of the way onto his length. Rooster grabs your hips with both hands and pulls you tight against him, driving himself as deep as he possibly can.

You lift yourself just slightly, rocking back down once again, finding a soft rhythm. Sinking up and down on his length. More full than you’ve ever felt. Head lulled back. His hands, big and strong, squeeze your middle and guide you on him.

You pick up speed, your bodies sloppily colliding as he kisses the salt from your skin, peppering his mouth over every inch of skin that he can reach.

Rooster moans, desperate and panting into your chest, fingers bruising your skin. You arch your back, grabbing onto his thigh for support as you fuck yourself on him. He squeezes softly at your hips, sliding his hands down to your ass instead.

“Bra — ungh — Bradley — I’m gonna — I’m-“ You can’t manage real words right now, interrupted by his mouth on yours anyway. He grabs a handful of your hair and tugs as his other arm tucks around your waist and keeps you steady as he pounds into you.

You cum, careening against him, his arms keeping you steady. Panting hard, you’re locked in his embrace as he drives into you, relentless. Overstimulation creeping in, your thighs tremble around his as he spills into you.

Mind hazed, you hum as you fall forwards against his chest, a soft smile on your lips. He groans, resting his head back against the arm, closing his eyes.

“So you get off on doing arts and crafts now or something?” Bradley asks, squeezing you in his arms. Your cheeks burn at the notion as you shake your head and settle down against his chest.

“Or something.”

…

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #blow by blow #drabbles #rooster x bambi

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billthedrake · 7 months

Text

THE VETERAN

(This is an idea I've been batting around for a while. Thanks to @maturedadsandmen for the inspiration to see it through.)

"This round's on me, Ackerman," Jim Bowers said, with a quick squeeze of my shoulder before he went to get us another round of beers. His blue eyes twinkled, and I could see the wrinkles and crows feet on his weathered, tanned face. Bowers held his liquor better than me, but he was definitely buzzed, too.

It had been a long week, but the summer MLB draft was now complete and a lot of the front office guys - and gals, too, but mostly guys - were out celebrating. Only now, some of the guys were heading off to dinner or going home. A few were in a corner trying to hit on some women at the bar. Which left me chatting with Bowers.

I don't know why Jim had decided to be buddy-buddy with me. Over the last month, the sarcastic putdown of calling me Moneyball had somehow turned into a friendly nickname, when he wasn't calling me by last name. But I leaned into it. The man was a former professional player and a legend in Royals history. He'd coached for a good decade once the boredom of retirement finally sunk in, but then the wave of analytics pushed him out the door. So now he was a special advisor to the GM and the face of the business side of the organization. Not exactly a mascot, but Jim brought in more when his gravitas and old-school knowledge of the game mattered. Which wasn't all the time, and Jim knew that.

I tried not to have the hard-drinking ways that a lot of guys in baseball do, but it was a good occasion to let loose. I was feeling good, and I'd probably get drunk by nighttime. Thank god for Uber.

It was well-earned, but the problem was my sexual thoughts were coming to me with less filter than usual. Jim was making those sexual thoughts come hard and fast. I didn't even go for older guys, at least not that much older, not older like Bowers. The man was in his late 60s, old enough to be my granddad. But there was something powerfully sexy about the man. 6'2" and still had a decently muscled build from his daily gym routine, even if yeah, Bowers was getting his granddaddy on, more by the month.

And, damnit, that day, he was going commando in his shorts. I didn't try to scope him out, I swear, but Jim Bowers had a huge package. Thick, heavy genitals that looked obscene in his khaki shorts. Maybe the man was a show-er and not a grower, but the part he was showing looked pretty damn oversized. I'd forever think of him as Big Jim now.

I wasn't some green virgin. I was 28, with one long term relationship under my belt. I'd gotten my PhD in Applied Math at Minnesota and a plum job with the Royals right off the bat. It was why I'd studied what I'd studied. It was my dream job, doing analytics for a major league baseball team. From my little league days and collecting baseball cards, through playing baseball at my prep school to too many hours spent at college playing fantasy teams... it all led up to this.

My boyfriend Tom wasn't eager to switch jobs and move, and I wasn't eager to do the long-distance thing. We talked it out and, a week before I packed up my belongings, we broke up.

Breakups suck, but the consolation prize was rediscovering the world of hookups in a new city. I'd developed a fondness for Midwestern guys, and as a somewhat nerdy Jewish dude from New England I had fun having a different blond hunk every other weekend. I even hooked up with some older guys. I preferred guys my age but responded to a guy's personality and a shared sexual vibe over looks. And sometimes a daddy fit the bill.... Different looks, different body types and different sexual energy. It was all great.

But for me, Daddy meant like 40. Jim Bowers was rearranging my self-identified age range. Or maybe it was the beer.

"Here ya go," he said as he sauntered back with two beers in hand. Goddamn, the veteran looked FINE. I mean, no one would mistake his body for a 40 year old's or even a 50 year olds. It was mature muscle, but fit. Platelike pecs beneath the man's team-logo polo shirt, and pumped arms stretching the tanned, almost leathery skin that was covered in gray hair, matching the thicker silvery fur on his legs.

And, damn, that package: I could make out the contours of Jim Bowers' junk. There had been rumors of his heyday with the groupies. For all I knew he still had 'em, though maybe not like the current players.

We clinked glasses and the man looked me in the eye and said, "Now that the draft is done, you gonna stop being a workaholic, Moneyball?" he teased. "Maybe you can finally get a goddamn boyfriend."

Everyone in the front office knew I was gay and that was never an issue, but I also didn't make it an issue. No talk about my private life, no mention of the gay thing unless it was brought up. I was the epitome of professional, and when it came to happy hour drinks, well, I'd learned straight-dude male bonding as a way of blending in years ago.

"Come on, Jim," I said. And he knew exactly why.

"I know you got your work self and keep the rest private, buddy..." he said. "But, man, you're not as different as you think sometimes."

I don't know that I resented his words, but they rubbed me the wrong way. How was Bowers to know what I dealt with? Maybe if I hadn't been perving on the guy, I would have been more bothered.

"How so?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Take Campbell," he said, referring to Mitch Campbell, who was one of the scouts. "Good looking guy. Goes on dates all the time, but can't think of a goddamn thing to talk about to girls except baseball." Jim gave a smirk. "Girl doesn't call back, and Campbell's back to Square One."

At another moment, Bowers talk would be too old-school I-told-you-so in its condescension. Now, I was amused as hell. "You got Mitch all figured out, huh?" I teased.

Jim's blue eyes lit up some. "Tell me I'm wrong, Moneyball."

I smiled. "You're probably right," I conceded. Then, feeling my guard let down, I added, "You know, with gay guys, they like the idea of a baseball dude, but it's more the fantasy than the reality, you know?" I blushed as I spoke, but something about the drunken happy hour moment was removing my filter. "Maybe if I were a player, they'd be into the jock thing."

Bowers laughed and gave a smirk. He'd been the recipient of jock worship, even if it was from women. "You're just like Campbell, Moneyball... deep down." He patted my back. "But you're a good looking dude, and a good kid... any man would be lucky to land ya, buddy."

I ate up the words but had to reply, "Not the pep talking I was expecting tonight, Jim."

He reflected a second. "Yeah, I guess I dish out the advice easier than I can take it." Bowers had married three times and was now divorced and, as far as I knew, single.

Our conversation shifted subjects, but we got caught up in talking. I ate up his stories from his pro days, and Jim asked me about the math stuff I did. Maybe the man was right, I wasn't good at talking about much other than baseball, but he was a lifer and his whole life was the game, too.

I emptied my pint glass and had to do a mental calculation if I was gonna have another. I was on the fence. I should go home, but if Jim was having another, I knew I would too.

Instead he gave me a questioning look. "Feel like coming back to my place, Ackerman?" he asked. "We can have another one there."

The last part felt like it was added on to save face. In case I wasn't on the same wavelength. Maybe I'd been dumb in not reading the signals. Maybe I was misreading them now. But that was my first inkling that Jim Bowers was making a pass at me.

I blushed as I replied. "Sounds good, Jim," I said. "But neither one of us is driving."

"Yeah," he admitted. He was buzzed all right. He patted my shoulder. Kind of paternal but with a definite look of sexual interest in his gaze. Damn, this was not what I'd been expecting. He broke that look as he pulled out his phone to get an uber.

The guys had all gone by then and we stepped outside to wait for the car, it was getting dark out. We'd been in there a while.

"Damn, I'm starving," Jim said. "Maybe I can order us a pizza."

"Sure," I said. Hands in my pockets out of nervousness more than anything. This was probably a really bad idea, but I felt crazy attracted to Bowers, more than I'd let myself admit before tonight. This was playing out so different than a gay hookup, so I was feeling out the dynamic. But his touch between my shoulder blades as he guided me first toward the car... that touch alone was enough to make me chub.

Jim's place was big, too big for a bachelor. But it felt surprisingly homey.

"Let me get us some waters," he said. I wasn't overly drunk but he was right, it was good to drink something besides beer.

I chugged down a few sips from the plastic bottle and looked at Jim. "Nice place," I said.

"Thanks," Bowers said. Then with a soft voice, he added, "Damn, you're really fucking cute, Dave." He set down his bottle and stepped up to me.

I hadn't expected Bowers to be into dudes, at all, and I definitely didn't expect him to kiss. But he had no hesitation pulling me into a soft, wet kiss. It was a little drunken, but it was the surprise sexual attraction that made my head light. Fit as he may be, Jim was a mature guy, and I knew I was kissing a 60-something man, a man nearing 70. It was a strange thrill.

"You're into this, right?" the man hissed as he pulled back, giving me an up close view of his handsome features: roman nose, round cheeks, and gray hair growing more silver by the year, cut in a medium-short style. His hairline receded just a little but remarkably he still had a full head of hair. "I'm not looking for any HR issues," he chuckled.

"Oh I'm into it," I answered. "I guess it's just between us, right?" I was asking for his assurance as much as I was giving him mine.

"Absolutely," he said. His eyes were on me but his arm was reaching down. In my peripheral vision I could tell he was unzipping. And pulling out his dick. His grin cocked. "I'm really horny, man," he said.

I looked down. There it was, that pro-veteran baller cock. Heavy was an understatement. Jim Bowers packed a very thick, powerful 8 inch tool that jutted out of his open crotch. It was big and spongy and rock hard all at once. I wondered if he took a pill for his erections. I didn't fucking care. Bowers had an amazing cock.

I gave him one last look, a playful, sexy look, then crouched in front of him. I reached out and touched that meat, holding it. It had a soft give to the erection, but also twitched in my hand. It was my first mature cock, and I decided I liked it. Jim was hot to the touch as I angled his erection down to my lips.

"Oh yeah, buddy..." he hissed. "Lick my cock... like that."

The more I ran my tongue up and down his shaft, the bigger and heavier it felt. He tasted salty but then as I bathed his dick the flavor was cleaner. I finally figured I'd given enough foreplay and pulled that dong between my open lips.

He had enough girth to challenge me. I liked sucking dick, but I wasn't an expert at it. I guess lately I'd gotten more into anal and more into topping in my hookups. Even if I still went down on a guy, as foreplay or the main event, Bowers was bigger than I'd encountered.

But it was like riding a bike, I suppose. My initial difficulties gave way to a steady bobbing on his fat rod, feeling a good four or five inches push the confines of my throat with each motion of my mouth. It was a surprisingly pleasant feeling.

Nothing compared to the pleasure Jim was feeling. "Oh God... hell yes... work my fucking cock, man.... like that, yeah.... "

As I bobbed up and down I could see the silvery hair in his crotch, just a few darker hairs among them. And my hands felt up his mature legs, still strong, and now very furry. I was sucking a 68, maybe 69 year old and I realized I fuckin' loved this.

I always figured old guys took a long time to cum. Jim wasn't a quick cummer, but after about three minutes of giving him head I sensed the telltale signs. The urgency in his voice, the quiver in his quad muscle.

"FUCK! Here comes my fucking load, bud," he announced.

That heavy fat mature dong jerked in my throat as Bowers fed me his seed. I did my best to keep working him through that ejaculation, accentuating his orgasm with my mouth and suction.

He finally pushed my off with a friendly laugh. "Easy there, man... I think you got it all."

I looked up, knowing I felt proud. More than I'd been with my hookups. If I was honest, happier in sex than I'd been with my ex Tom. "Fuck, that was hot," I hissed.

Jim nodded. Face flushed red, his gray hair looked whiter. He somehow looked younger and older at the same time.

"Give me a second and I'll take care of you," he announced.

Not what I was expecting but I wasn't going to turn down the offer. I stood up, feeling drunk and light headed from the BJ. I started undoing my shorts and pulling them and my briefs off.

Jim grinned and reached down to grip my boner. "You 27 year olds are always rock hard," he teased, pulling my dick down to let it thwap up at the release.

"28," I corrected. "And how many have there been?" I laughed.

"Enough," he grinned. He gave my meat another look then said, "All right." And like that, the former baseball star, a man whose card I'd collected as a kid, was now getting down to suck me off.

If it hadn't been for the alcohol, I would have blasted in 20 seconds. Instead, now, I enjoyed getting head from Bowers. The slow suckling, the gentle bobs, the vision of his mature muscled bod in front of me. I ran my hands through his silvery hair.

Grandaddy was gonna work for my load, all right, and that idea was enough to get me to cum.

"Jim!" I gasped, surprised at how quickly orgasm snuck up on me and wanting to warn him.

He was a trooper, readying himself or my cum and then steadily sucking it down as I shot good and heavy into his mouth.

"Like I say," he teased when he finally pulled off. "You fucking need a boyfriend, Moneyball." He gave my leg a gentle pat then stood up. Reaching over he picked up his water bottle. To rehydrate or to wash down the flavor of cum, I wasn't sure.

Sheepishly, I pulled my underwear and shorts back on. Crossing some boundaries with Bowers had been naughty fun and all, but this part felt awkward. I started imagining what life was going to be like in the clubhouse from now on.

But Bowers stood in front of me, unabashed being naked from the waist down. His pJim hung fat and heavy, past his low-hanger balls covered in silver hair. He was definitely a show-er, even if his hard on had measured big.

"The offer for pizza still stands, Ackerman," he said, his blue eyes now normal friendly rather than lusty in their gaze. "If you wanna stay."

"You sure?" I asked.

Jim shrugged. "I'm not gonna be offended if you dash off," he said. "I've done it plenty, you know."

"It's not that," I started to say. Then, "Well, maybe it is.... but if you're OK, I could definitely eat."

That made Jim chuckle. "All right. You a peperoni man?"

****

The drunkenness was wearing off as we scarfed down the pizza. As I worked on the last slice, Jim came in with a freshly opened beer can for me, and one for him.

"I promised you a drink," he said.

"I figured that was just a pick up line," I replied. Something about sex made me feel I could be familiar with the man.

"Oh, it absolutely was," he said. "I'm not the most original guy in my lines."

I looked at his body. Relaxed on the couch. I calculated how his current body compared to a couple decades ago. I liked what Bowers had going on now, the contrast of hard and soft, muscled and aging. "You don't need killer lines when you have a killer bod," I said, flirting some.

Jim laughed but seemed into what I was saying. "You think I have a killer bod, Moneyball?"

I nodded. "Definitely." I looked at him openly. I wasn't gonna bone for round too but I was still feeling sexual. "That bug you?"

"Not at all," he said. He took a sip of beer and seemed to be looking me over, too. "You into older guys?"

"Not really," I answered. "At least not before you." I blushed as I admitted that. "Let's just say you're expanding my horizons, Jim."

He seemed to take that in. "You know, I haven't seen all your goods, Ackerman... feel like showing off a little for me?"

"You wanna see my body?" I confirmed.

"Yeah, I wanna see your fucking body," he said, leaning back into the couch cushion and spreading his legs.

I set down my beer and stood up. I peeled off my T-shirt, then undid my shorts. I spent a lot of time in the gym and had a pretty good body. By most standards it would be considered a great body, but being around professional players, I seemed more ordinary in comparison.

"Nice," Jim said. Genuinely into what I had going on. "Not just a pretty face, huh?"

I blushed. "I try, Jim."

"You do more than try... turn around," he instructed. He took in the view of my backside and my ass, before I turned back to face hi.

"Sorry, I'm getting a little chubbed." My dick was rising up and fast.

"That's hot," he said. With a concerted look he peeled off his polo shirt. I practically gasped when I saw that white-furred muscle. It was magnificent and everything I imagined Jim Bowers would be bare chested. Still had a lot of that ball-player power to him.

"Wow," I gasped. My dick was standing full up at the sight. "OK... I definitely have a thing for older men," I said. Then, "I hope you don't mind my saying that, Jim."

He gave a soft smile. "I don't mind, Dave." He leaned back and showed off his upper body some, inviting my gaze before he reached down to undo his shorts once more. They slipped off easily. I noticed that his legs were strong and sinewed but he had more muscle loss there than his upper bod.

His prick was fully and semi-firm but not throwing hard. "Think I can feel up some of that 28-year-old muscle?" he asked. Scooting down, he lay on the couch, face up and bared in his magnificent nakedness.

I took the invitation and went back to the couch to lie on top of this former star. I still had to pinch myself this was happening. The sex, but the whole evening. We both groaned as I made body contact, my hands on his chest and his on mine, while our cocks touched.

"So, Jim..." I started. "I don't wanna kill the vibe, but what's your deal?"

His hand traveled along my upper chest and over my arms. "I guess I reached a certain age and decided to stop having hang ups. Sex with guys is just easier these days."

"Yeah?" I asked.

He nodded. "A young guy... you can fool around with and he doesn't expect anything, you know?" I could feel his dick move against mine and instinctively I knew our heartbeats were synching up. "I'm not gonna lead you on, Ackerman.... not looking to date or anything, you know?"

"No offense, Jim," I said. "But I probably should stick to guys closer my own age to date."

"Probably, yeah," he laughed. His hands were now openly feeling up my back muscle as I lay on top of him. He was taller than me by two inches and had some more weight to him. It felt comforting and relaxed being naked in this position. Sexual but not we-gotta-fuck-now sexual. "If you ever feel like having fun with an old man, though..." he started.

"I definitely do," I answered. "I didn't think I'd be into this, actually," I blushed.

"Be into what?" he asked.

"The age gap," I said.

He got an impish look on his face. "You into the Granddaddies, huh?"

Fuck, I hissed. It was such a naughty thing, but it made my dick jerk, which made Jim laugh.

He patted my bare ass. "Listen, bud. I'm 69. I'm not gonna be able to get it on twice in one night. But if you feel like staying over..."

"Yeah, I'd like that," I said.

He kissed, softly. And soon we were making out. Feeling each other up. I could have gone for a round two for sure, but I didn't need to. And that made this all the better, just connecting nude body to nude body with Jim's mature veteran-baller build.

By the time we got up off the couch, I was dripping precum heavily on that swirl of silvery hair on Jim's stomach. I was rock hard as I helped him up and helped him tidy up everything and take plates and cans back to the kitchen. Eventually my erection flagged but Jim didn't make a move to put clothes back on, so I didn't either.

I was starting to second guess myself. This was a man I'd see around work. Maybe this was gonna get complicated, real fast, even if we weren't looking for anything serious.

He had a spare toothbrush for me and set out some towels if I wanted to use them. I looked in myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. I often went back and forth in my self esteem, feeling cocky about my looks, then feeling all sorts of self doubt about my body and how I compared to whatever perfect guy I imagined or lusted after. But I saw myself in Jim's eyes. Maybe he went for me because I was an out gay guy, maybe an easy target. Maybe he liked that I had that nerdy but fit thing going on. Whatever it was, I was glad I'd spent the last couple of years hitting the weights and eating well.

He was already under the covers when I joined him in the king sized bed.

"Thanks for a fun evening, Ackerman," he said, his voice now sleepy. It was later than I realized.

"God, Jim, it's been wild."

"I don't normally have guys sleep over," he said. Maybe wanting me not to get any ideas.

"I don't always sleep over when they ask," I said.

He smirked. "All right, bud... ready for some sleep?"

"Yeah," I said.

And I watched his thick muscle bunch as he leaned over to turn off the light.

"Hey buddy," Jim Bowers said as he ushered me inside. I didn't always come over to his place. Sometimes the legendary veteran would swing by my condo for some no-strings fun before work, or after playing golf. I'd enjoying giving him a nice BJ - it was kind of my big challenge and thrill, getting used the girth and length of Big Jim's meat and getting off on our age gap. The latter was just as thrilling when Jim would have me kick back for his turn at reciprocating.

We even snuck in a BJ in a parking lot once, but while the risk felt fun, it was, well, risky.

I'd worried this would mess up things at work. Bowers wasn't my boss, but he held a senior position in the front office org chart, an advisor to my big boss. Yet the man was completely normal after our first hook up. It relaxed me for when he hit me up for a second time. Then another.

Sometimes it felt like a booty call, sometimes we grabbed a bite and a beer after sex. It was all good.

But today was different. Big Jim said he wanted to fuck me.

He was looking incredible now, shirtless and showing off that mature muscle, dusted with silver hair.

"Hey Jim," I said, stepping in. We met for a quick kiss, which became not a quick one. I could tell the ex-pro was really worked up today, and despite my nervousness, I was, too. We laughed a little at how horny we were when I finally broke the connection and stepped back.

"You look amazing," I said.

He flexed a little. Best of all, I could see that heavy dick in his mesh shorts. Not hanging either but boned up into a hard ridge. The man was in heat.

"How much you work out?" I asked. It had been on my mind for a while. For a man his age, Bowers was very well preserved.

Big Jim didn't miss a beat. "A hell of a lot, Moneyball," he said with a smirk. He cocked his head back toward his bedroom. "Feel like getting down to it? Or you want a drink or something?"

My heart fluttered a little bit. "I'm horny as fuck," I replied. "But I won't lie: I'm a little scared."

"Scared? Why?" Jim asked. I realized he was sincere in his question. Like it hadn't occurred to him.

"For starters, I don't bottom much," I said, then nodded down to his crotch. "And then there's that beast you got between your legs."

That made Bowers smile. I probably wasn't the first to compliment his endowment and wouldn't be the last. But the ego boost was appreciated. "You seem to like it."

"Hell yeah I like," I said. "I love it," I added in admission. "But that's a lot of dick to take."

He chuckled, stepping up to me, and running his fingers along my cheek. "You're overthinking it, Ackerman. Let's just enjoy this."

Easy for him to say, I thought. But something about him was charming me. The weathered face, the sea blue eyes, the craggly voice. I was gonna go with it. "All right, lead the way," I hissed.

I peeled off my T-shirt and shorts as I stepped into his bedroom. I'd learned to go commando for these hookups and as I freed my meat, my dick firmed up quickly as Jim pulled down the sheets and then slid down his shorts.

I saw one reason for that massive hardon. Bowers had a cock ring on, which made that dick firmer than normal. He saw where I was looking. "Hope you don't mind the ring, bud. Just gives a little more insurance at my age."

I crawled on the bed and showed how little I minded it. Scooting forward, I let Big Jim guide that hard meat to my mouth.

"Yes...." he grunted as I sucked in a few inches, then choked down another. I was getting better at this. My face blushed as I sucked, my bare ass up for Jim's gaze. I wasn't used for being so bottomy, so open in servicing with a guy, but it was a fun new mode. Particularly as I smelled Bowers' clean soapy scent and could see the silvery crotch hair in front of me.

He put his hands on his hips and let me do the work. The man loved a BJ. I mean, who doesn't? But Jim seemed to really crave oral sex. I half thought he'd change his mind today and let me get him off with my mouth. I'd cleaned myself out and prepped for anal, but a part of me wouldn't have been upset with a change of plans.

But I felt his hand on my head, nudging me back.

"Lie back," he urged.

I scrambled back, letting Big Jim see my naked body. The man got off on my youth, on the fact he had a 20-something stud in his bed. He'd told me as much, but his eyes confirmed it now as he stood next to the bed and pumped some lube into his hand, fisting that rock hard granddaddy meat.

"I hope to god you don't think you're just gonna ram that thing up me," I said in a nervous joking tone.

He grinned and shook his head. "Relax, Ackerman, I know what I'm doing." He got on the bed, his core contracting as he shifted his weight forward. Our lips met for a second and I took a moment to feel up that mature brawn. It was still a head fuck that I was having sex with THE Jim Bowers. Even if he wasn't quite my main childhood idle or on my favorite team growing up, I used to watch watch him play all the time, and it felt like I was in the presence of a legend.

He leaned up and I took in that view of Bowers's strong shoulder muscle and thick arms. He gave a couple of soft kisses along my abs as he scooted down. "Lift 'em up, buddy," he urged.

I was nervous but I wanted this, I decided. It had been a solid year since I'd bottomed, but I was getting in the mood now. As I pulled back my legs, Big Jim was gonna get me all the way there. He leaned in and I felt his breath and his five o clock stubble before his tongue darted out to lick me.

Here was a man of surprises, all right. Jim Bowers was really into eating ass. It tickled at first, and I fought to keep the tickling sensation from overwhelming me. It was just my body's defensiveness. It was half mental, but also the unfamiliarity of having my ass stimulated. But Jim's tongue pressed deeper in, and the feeling changed. Rawer, more overtly sexual.

"God," I grunted. It was a mind fuck, too, looking down at this older man, almost 70, going to town on my hole. And me letting him.

He took his time but I could tell he was horny now. After a minute or so he leaned up and let out a soft growl of approval. "Hot hole, Dave," he said, timing the pressing of his first finger perfectly. It was lubed, and I enjoyed the thickness of his digit entering me. He dug around some, worming my sphincter open more before diving in for another rim job.

"You got nice and clean for me, buddy," he said with approval.

"Yeah," I replied, holding my legs back and letting him prepare me. Alternating rimming with more fingering. Pretty soon he was focused on the latter, two then three then two then three fingers, drizzling more lube at the connecting spot.

He looked down at me, horny. Maybe that cock was viagra-ed up or maybe the cock ring was doing all the work. But it was steel rigid.

He pulled his hand back and lined up that heavy, hard meat. "You got this, man..." was all he said, before I felt that dull stinging of his penetration.

"Fuck!" I cried. Not in pain but more in fear.

He held steady, an inch of that fat dick wedged in my ring. "You're tight as hell," he observed. "Just relax, Ackerman."

"I'm trying!" I laughed.

Jim smiled. God he was so handsome and sexy. I didn't think I'd ever be into a guy pushing 70, but at that moment I knew I really was. He pulled back and fisted that big meat. I felt bad I was extra work to get in. But he leaned in and kissed me some. Sensual, tongue-heavy kissing while his fingers went back down to work my hole again.

I was ready this time. He broke the kiss but didn't pull back entirely. Deftly he placed that dong at my hole and applied just the right amount of force. And like that I had three solid inches of Jim Bowers' fatness in me.

I clenched my teeth and gripped his biceps in automatic response.

His eyes challenged mine. "You got this," he assured me. More confident than I was. More pressure was pushing that very wet, very lubed phallus into me. I was tight but also enjoying that stretching feeling. Maybe because Big Jim was going slow.

He nodded at me, his face now serious, not very sexual and horny. "You feel SO fucking good on my dick buddy," he growled in a low voice. That gravely Bowers voice. "You gonna make your Granddad feel good?"

We'd tossed back the granddaddy term. For me it was an extension of "daddy" - a daddy with a few extra years. Mature like Jim. But now that term hit me in a pervy place. My bowels unclenched and welcomed all of that magnificent cock into me.

"Yeah you are," Big Jim hissed.

"God, Granddad..." I moaned, hesitant at first, trying it out.

"I got ya, boy," he said, more aloud as he began his first thrust. Not hard, but a real fuck thrust into me. With Jim's size, it felt like a lot and was rapidly rearranging my previous assumptions - of being mostly top, of not being into grandpas.

His hips swiveled slowly as I held his muscular body and welcomed him into me. I felt like we weren't just having sex. We were mating. I was being owned from the inside out. I didn't normally feel whorish with a guy, but Big Jim was pushing some button deep inside me. Physically and psychologically.

"Fuck me, Jim!" I said, more assertively now. "Fuck me, Granddad."

His lips curled up and he threw more force into his thrusts. I was ready for it now. Unbelievably I was enjoying this. It was intense as hell, like it could become uncomfortable at any moment, but my ass felt alive, and I felt alive beneath this man, who was fucking for his pleasure. The lube on his cock kept my guts from clenching down too hard on his pistoning shaft, or when I did they didn't have anything to grip onto. The man was fucking me unimpeded.

I looked into his wrinkled, weathered, handsome face. Imagining how many groupies he'd nailed over the years. How easy it must have been for him to get laid in his prime. How easy it was for him now.

I didn't think a hands-free cum was a possibility for me. Maybe technically it wasn't since Big Jim's soft belly fur and belly were rubbing against my rigid cock. But I started cumming hard.

"Jim!" I exclaimed, feeling that immense pleasure rising up from deep within me.

That excited him all right. He fucked me and fucked me hard. Fast even, eager to maximize the sensations on his mature cock. "Right behind ya, kid," he grunted.

The idea he was gonna nut in me thrilled me and made another shot of cum push out of my cock.

I love watching men cum and seeing Big Jim in full orgasm was incredible. His older muscle tensing up and his voice sounding older as he cried out. Then him relaxing in tired stillness on top of me for a second before he moved his head to give me a soft kiss and pushed up to relieve the brunt of his bulk on top of me.

I felt that thickness retreat and plop out of me. I felt slutty and maybe not in a good way as Big Jim's cum ran out of my used hole. But in every other way I felt happy and satisfied. Especially seing the smile on the man's face as he rolled off and lay next to me, nudging my chin playfully.

"You were a trooper, Moneyball," he said finally.

"I don't know if I should have enjoyed that so much," I admitted.

"Why the hell not?" Big Jim challenged me.

"Long answer or short answer?" I replied.

"Let's start with the short."

"Maybe I'm a little kinkier than I realized."

Jim shrugged and leaned up, sitting back against one of the pillows. "Nothing wrong with that, fella."

I copied his move, but not before shaking out the cramps from my legs. My ass hole felt loose and wet but the new sitting position made it less exposed. "So the Granddad thing..." I didn't even know what I wanted to ask, but I knew I had to check in with Jim.

He chuckled. "Seems to get you going, buddy. It's a little weird, I guess," he added. "I mean, I have grandkids and all. But I figure this is something different altogether."

"It is," I assured him. I looked down at my body. Dick well sated, cum smeared on my belly and chest. "I'm a fricking mess."

Jim agreed. "Let's get you cleaned up, Moneyball." He slid out of bed and extended his hand to help me up. At that moment, despite being much younger I felt weaker from the sexual exhaustion. "If you have evening plans, that's cool, but I feel like I owe you a nice dinner for putting out like that."

I enjoyed this camaraderie and enjoyed the shower we shared together. A chance to soap up his mature body. A part of me worried if I should be seen in public extensively with Bowers, alone with him, but we did work together and I'm sure could come up with a reason if anyone saw us.

Then as Jim soaped me up from behind and pulled me into his sudsy wet body, that fat dong there, the one that had given me what felt like a second deflowering... I realized Big Jim was right. I was overthinking it.

#drakestories

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adriennebarnes · 2 months

Text

Prison For Life pt. 2

Paring: Walter Marshall x Hispanic/Latina Reader

Summary: more of Walter and Y/N’s relationship

A/N: there are probably many spelling mistakes

I'm no damsel in distress, no But I like assertiveness, so

Y/N and Walter have been dating for almost a year now and she was sleeping over at Walter's house. It was the middle of the night and Y/N woke to get a drink of water when she heard a noise that definitely did not come from her. She walked to Walter's side of the bed and started shaking him awake.

"Guapo, guapo, wake up." Y/N whispered as she shook him.

"Mm, baby girl, its late, we'll play later." Walter said, snuggling up to the bed and Y/N slapped his shoulder.

"No seas payaso, I heard something coming from downstairs, I’m gonna check.” Y/N said. She grabbed the hockey stick that Walter keeps in the closet but Walter got up from bed and took the hockey stick out of her hand. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up.

“Darling, I’ll go check downstairs. Relax, stay calm, I’ll be back.” Walter kissed her forehead and he walked downstairs to check where the noise was coming from to see his daughter raiding his fridge. “Faye? What are you doing her? I thought you were supposed to be with your mom.”

“I was. But then I went to this party and your house is closer. What is this?” Faye asks Walter, holding up a Tupperware full of food Y/N cooked.

“It’s lomo saltado.” Walter said, Faye shrugs her shoulders and starts beating up the food in the microwave “Does your mom know you’re here?” Walter asked.

“I called her before getting an Uber here, I am not that irresponsible, father. Is she upstairs?” Faye asked.

“Yes, she woke me up because of the noise she heard downstairs.” Walter said.

“Sorry, it’s hard to raid a refrigerator quietly when there is so much Tupperware, when does she find the time to cook?” Faye asked. She took out the food from the microwave and started eating it. “It’s really good, I’m glad you stopped eating those frozen dinners.”

“Just wash it when you’re done, do you need me to set up the guest bedroom?” Walter asked.

“I can set it up myself, dad. Go with your girlfriend, get some sleep, love you.” Faye said, hugging Walter.

“Love you too, don’t stay up too late.” Walter said, kissing her forehead and went upstairs. He entered his bedroom and saw Y/N in bed. “Everything is fine, it was just Faye.” Walter gets under the covers.

“Thank you for checking.” Y/N said.

“I’ll always check downstairs for strange noises, either with a hockey stick, baseball bat, or my gun.” Walter said, he wrapped his arm around Y/N.

“Do you even play hockey or baseball?” Y/N asked.

“It’s Minnesota, the police department has hockey games with the fire department.” Walter said and Y/N laughed.

“Oh, que funny, that’s hilarious. Okay, Goodnight, oso gruñón, i love you.” Y/N gave Walter a kiss.

“You did not just call me ‘grumpy bear’, baby girl.” Walter said.

“I’m sleeping, can’t hear you.” Y/N said and Walter laughed to himself and just spooned her, falling asleep peacefully.

Wrap your arm around me babe And say that you’ll keep me safe

Walter was making popcorn while Y/N was on the couch with a blanket over her, they were watching a scary movie, 16 months of dating.

"Walter, te lo juro juradito if you don't get your ass back here." Y/N started

"Mi vida, the popcorn is almost done." Walter said,

"Why the hell are we watching a horror movie?" Y/N asked.

"I distinctly remember you saying that you could handle a scary movie, I told you that we could watch one of those romcoms that you like, but you insisted. So we are watching a horror movie because of you. Besides, aren't you a big fan of Supernatural? Horror movies should be no problem." Walter said, pouring the popcorn into a big bowl.

"Supernatural is different, it stops being scary after season 5, honeslty. Most of the episodes are about monsters and demons, the scariest epsiodes are when it was humans behind the killings. Also, there was a fucking crossover with Scooby Doo, not scary, now sit, I don't like where this is going." Y/N said

Walter leaves the kitchen and sits beside Y/N, immediately wrapping his arm around her, pulling her to snugglie into him, which she does gladly. There was a jumpscare and Y/N hid inthe crook of his neck. Walter chuckled, rubbing her back attempting to soothe her. Walter the leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"It is just a movie, I'll always be here to keep you safe, no matter what." Walter kissed the top of her head and changed the movie. "You clearly need to watch 'Confessions of a Shopaholic' after that." Walter said and Y/N perked up.

"I love Hugh Dancy! He was so cute in that movie, but he will always be prince Charmont to me." Y/N said.

"Is he the reason why you like British guys?" Walter asked,

"Yes, yes he is." Y/N said.

"I need to send him thank you letter, maybe a gift, lets watch the movie." Walter said, getting comfortable again with his arm wrapped around Y/N.

I know it's bad to fantasize About robbers and bad guys But if he were there to save the day, ha Think I'd let that man marry me

Walter was cooking in Y/N’s apartment and shewas sipping wine, watching him, a year and a half into the relationship.

"Oso, are you sure you don't want help?" Y/N asked.

"I'm fine, hermosa, I really want to get this recipe right, I don't want you to have to do all the cooking." Walter said.

"Thats sweet, Oso." Y/N said, she walked over to where he was standing and kissed his cheek. She went back to where she was and like most women do, she asked a hypothetical question. "Hey Oso, what would you do of someone broke into the house?"

"What?" Walter turned away from the stove, looking at Y/N

"If we were home and someone broke into the house to try and rob us or kidnap me, or whatever, what would you do?" Y/N asked.

"Why are you asking?" Walter said.

"I dont know, curiousity, boredom, just answer the question."

"If they try to rob us, I'll put you behind me and tell you to call 911 or text Harper so he could send squad cars immediately. I'll keep you out of harm's way. If they try to kidnap you, I am putting my fight training and gun to use, because anyone who lays a finger on your head, theirs would be on the ground next." Walter said.

"That was such an amazing answer." Y/N said.

"What can I say? I am very protective." Walter said and he turned away so he could focus on the sauce.

I know I can protect myself (Ah) But when you do it for me, it's hot as hell (Ah) You got my heart, you know me too well (Ah) Think I'd even send you love letters in jail (Ah)

Y/N was at the bar drinking with her friends to celebrate Monica's promotion.

“Hey, I think I'm gonna call it a night. ” Y/N commented.

“Of course you are! If i had a man like yours, I would be dying to go home and let him do whatever he wanted to me.” Y/N's bestie. Isabela slurred, the other girls laughed.

"Yes! Girl, you gotta tell me something, how is he in bed? How BIG is he?" Monica asked.

"Okay I'm not answering that." Y/N said, walking away so she could call Walter.

"He has to be amazing and pretty big, I've seen the way she walks after she spends a night with Walter." Another friend, Tori, said. Y/N shook her head giggling before calling Walter. It took two rings for him to pick up.

"Hey baby girl, how's your night out with your friends?" Walter asked as he was making a coffee.

“Hey Oso, my night is good, my friends are a little tipsy, I'm spent though, can you pick me up?” Y/N answered, folding the laundry.

“Sure thing, baby girl, let me just coat, which bar are you at again?” Walter asked as he put on his coat and got his keys.

“You know the bar that's by the ice cream shop where we had our first date?” Y/N asked, sitting at the bar to wait for Walter, Walter smiled at the memory.

“Yeah, I know the one, I'm on my way, baby girl, love you.” Walter said before hanging up the phone, leaving the house and getting into his truck.

Y/N stayed at the bar so Walter doesn't have to look for her but it looks like it was a bad idea because an older man sat next to her.

"How you doin', doll, can I buy you a drink?" he asked her. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"I'm fine, but I don't accept that drink, thank you though." Y/N said, trying to be polite and avoid confrontation.

"Oh come on, whats the matter? A sexy woman like you alone in a bar amd you're not accepting my drink?" the man asked.

"I am not alone and i have a boyfriend." Y/N said, again rejecting the man.

"Every woman says that." The man said and Y/N had enough so she got up from the chair and tried to walk away when the man grabbed her wrist, thats when Y/N's friends spotted her and went over to the bar. The one time Y/N doesn't bring her knife, what a nightmare.

"Let go of our friend right now." Monica said.

"Tori, go get security." Isabela said. Tori did as she asked. Walter then entered the bar and spotted that his baby girl was in a situation.

"Your friend here was being a bitch." the man said.

"She has a boyfriend, now let her go." Monica demanded.

"I don't see him." The man said and thats when Walter appeared next to the women.

"Now you do, what seems to be the problem?" Walter asked. Walter easily towered over the man.

"This cabrón is pissed that i said no to a drink and now he won't let go." Y/N addressed Walter, looking up at him..

"Let go of her sir before we have a real problem." Walter threated. The man let go of Y/N and she went with Monica and Isabela.

"Next time don't let your girl leave the house dressed like a whore, bitch was asking for some attention." That was when Walter said 'fuck being civil' and punched the guy in the face."

"Don't ever speak that way about my girl again or it will be the last thing you do." Walter said over the man on the ground.

Looks like this man wasn't going down easily and he got up, trying to punch Walter but Walter had police training and it became a full blown fight between these two men. When Tori finally got security, he called the police and Walter and the man were put in different holding cells because Walter knew if that dumbass kept running his mouth, Walter was going to spend the night in jail. Y/N came in and posted bail for Walter, an officer walked out to Y/N with Walter and his belongings.

“Since Detective Marshall explained the man had his hands on you and of course him being an officer, this is a warning.” The officer said. "Next time its a cell." He warned Walter.

“Thank you, officer. Vámonos Oso.” Y/N said, holding the door open for Walter so they could leave. Once they’re in the car, no one spoke a word.

“I’m fine, baby girl.” Walter said, breaking the silence. “I’m not hurt at all.” Y/N was still silent. “Listen, I’m sorry i scared you, I lost my temper and I wish you didn’t see that. But he doesn’t get to badmouth you in front of me and walk away with his teeth still intact.”

“Im not scared that you hit him.” Y/N said.

“Then what scared you?” Walter asked.

“It scared me how much I liked you going all protective like that.” Y/N said and Walter paused for a second.

“You’re telling me that me going all caveman on that bastard is attractive to you?” Walter questioned.

“You know I can protect myself, but you are always there to protect me, and I find that very hot. It was very primal in a way.” Y/N said. “And for some reason I like it.”

“But how far is too far?” Walter asked, genuinely curious.

“I’ll tell you this, Walter, if you end up in jail for murdering a guy because you’re defending me or protecting me, I will write you love letters.” Y/N said seriously. Walter out his hand on Y/N’s thigh, rubbing his thumb over it before grabbing her hand and kissed the back of her hand.

I'm a feminist obviously (Oh) But I wouldn't really mind him savin' me (Savin' me) And I know that I'm fine without a man (Without a man) But I think I'd like his protection And God knows that I don't need no one But pretending that I do is kind of fun (Kind of fun) Yeah, I know that I'm fine without a man But I think I'd like his protection (I'd like his protection) I'm just bein' honest, can't change what I like I'll never forget it, he told me one night (Night) "If anybody hurts you, oh I'm goin' to prison for life"

Y/N’s friends were over for hot chocolate and pan dulce and Walter was busy installing a new light in Y/N’s bedroom.

“Hey love, can you get my toolbox? I left it in the living room!” Walter called out.

“Sure thing, Oso.” Y/N said. “I’ll be right back, ladies.” Y/N got the toolbox off the living room table and went to her room where saw saw Walter on a ladder, wearing a gray t-shirt, blue jeans, and his tool belt.

“Thank you baby girl.” He got down from the ladder to kiss her. “Save me a concha please, the chocolate one.”

“Of course, Oso.” Y/N said, she got into the kitchen and her 3 friends stared at her. “What? Like you don’t have husbands doing this stuff?”

“Yeah, we have husbands, but didn’t you tell us that your dad taught you how to fix this stuff so you wouldn’t depend on a man?” Tori said.

“Well I know how to do things but I don’t want to have to, you know? Like can i take my car to the shop? Of coarse I can! Do I want to? No, Walter takes it for me and I don’t get hustled.”

“Love that for you.” Isabela said.

“Yeah, he’s the best, would do anything for me. He’s protective.” Y/N said. “But seriously, don’t eat all the conchas, Walter wants a chocolate one.”

An hour later, the friends left and Walter finished the maintenance in Y/N’s room.

“Ooh yes, a chocolate concha.” Walter said as he sat at the table to eat it.

“Thanks for installing my light.” Y/N said.

“Yeah of course, as long as your with me, apartment maintenance is my job.” Walter said, kissing her.

“Thank you. Quick question; you remember what you said to me a year ago? When you saw my scar?” Y/N asked.

“You mean where I said I would go to prison for life to protect? Of course, and I still mean it, and I’ll always mean it.” Walter did, kissing her again.

The End

Taglist: @warriormirkwood @nerdyreaderpapi

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #henry cavill x reader #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #henry cavill #night hunter #walter marshall

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welcome-to-green-hills · 2 months

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Do you think that we’ll explore the town of Green Hills, Montana in the series and Sonic 3? Like slice of life stuff or more history? I don’t think that there’s a whole lot to the town other than it being described as a “dinky backwater town.”

Hi Honey! ❤️✨

Believe it or not, the town of Green Hills is very fruitful in its foundation! It may not feel like it, but there’s definitely a rich history of when the town was established. (Whew! Now y’all get to see how big of a nerd I am. That’s either a really good thing or a bad thing). I’ll hyperlink all of my sources/claims to specific information so y’all can review it at a later date. Hopefully, this add a bit more detail than what the Sonic Wikis have for the films.

Down below are bullet points and photos of Green Hills, Montana:

Green Hills was founded in the early 1800's by a group of explorers surveying and mapping that state of Montana. The rugged explorers took nearly 30 years in making a complete map of the state and claiming the area as home. Green Hills is located in the middle of the state and known to have fascinating geological features. The town was called "Green Hills" due to the unique shades of green found in its flora. Essentially, the town was founded by chance because it took so long to survey between 1806 to 1835.

One of the town's founders, Morgan McConnell, specifically wanted to build a town in the heart of Montana because of the area's geological feature--checkered patterns. Morgan McConnell was credited for charting nearly a quarter of the state, including the town, and coined as as THE explorer of Montana. His favorite location to sit and work at was the Devil's Pinkie (the ledge that Sonic stands at in the first and second film). Unexpectedly, McConnell fell off of the Devil's Pinkie and died. According to town legend, McConnell's name echoed through the valley ranges for hours after he died. It's unknown if these are still heard in the area today.

Between 1870 and 1883, the town of Green Hills became one of the firsts settled areas along the Northern Pacific Railway. The transcontinental railroad system stretched from the State of Minnesota, the Pacific Northwest, and along the main line opening at the Great Lakes. A town plaque describes Green Hills as a "golden spike" by former USA president Ulysses S. Grant and viewed as an important hub. The town is credited as a supply depot, as well as known for bringing in large immigration populations. The railroad system is still a crucial necessity of the town today.

The first settlers of Green Hills, Montana didn't start making their migration to the area until the 1860s. The settlers were faced with hardships of the land, lack of infrastructure, and brutal winters. Families were known to mingle together in small dwellings and form small communities. Polygamous families were common until Christian morality arrived to the area in later years (Welcome-to-Green-Hills, 2021).

Main Street features the town's first general store, a feed and gardening supply store, and post office.

Green Hills, Montana takes pride in country hospitality. The warmer months have communal events such as hoedowns, harvests and festivals, fishing derbies, farmers markets, and horseback riding events. The business district features Dr. Maddie Wachowski's veterinary clinic, antique shops, a brewery (AKA, the Beer Gardens), a stationary shop, a butcher's shop, and the Mean Bean Coffee Shop (the slogan: "drink mean"). (Tails Channel, 2021).

The Green Hills Community Theater is a town gem. It was established in 1905 and has been known to put on spectacular and successful productions for over 100 years.

The Green Hills Bulletin (the local newspaper) says that they've been the hot spot for a classic car show for the past twenty years, have a "Dog of the Week" section, a local artist guild that does mosaics for the town, recently had a worker's strike on repairing the railroad system in town, and are in the middle of a movement for accessibility laws for disabled residents.

In the first movie's novel, Green Hills is known for its massive Blueberry festivals in the fall. This is an event that's welcome to all of the farmers in the state and neighboring states. Tom is known to actively take part of the festival.

In the 1900's, the town saw an influx of United States veterans occupy the area. It's seen as a "retirement community" to those not actively serving.

The town as a population of nearly 2,000 residents, as implied by the "Welcome to Green Hills" sign at the speed trap.

There's definitely more that the town has to offer in terms of history. When I have the chance, I'll give this post some more attention and add to it. Until then, enjoy some historical facts about our Dinky Backwater Town!

#sonic movie #sonic movie 2 #sonic cinematic universe #mystery anon #off topic

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bitchinbarzal · 1 year

Text

Last Christmas | M.Barzal

this is my entry for @antoineroussel christmas fic exchange!

this is for you, @lhugh! happy holidays annie 🎄🤍

this fic does use they/them pronouns as they are annie’s pronouns! 🫶🏼

word count: 2,461 words

Last Christmas, you walked into December planning every festive activity possible; the Rockefeller Christmas tree, Nutcracker at New York City ballet, Radio City Rockettes even letting Mat show you up at skating.

That was until Mat dropped the break up bomb on you. You couldn’t really comprehend it all, too confused and hurt at once.

You were supposed to spend Christmas with Mat and the team at the Martin’s. You never answered Sydney’s texts after the breakup.

You spent Christmas alone.

You were thankful the islanders tanked their 21/22 season. It meant that they all left to go home as soon as possible.

That meant no islanders, no jerseys, no chants on the train home from work.

No Mat.

He went home to Coquitlam two days after the islanders lost to Tampa.

Mat spent his first summer in seven years bouncing around from place to place. He was out on the lake with Tyson for a few weeks and he visited Anthony and Emma when they bought their new home in Quebec.

He wasn’t home long with his family until he got a call, from Brock. His dad had died.

He asked if you and Mat could attend the funeral, his father really adored you both in the time he’d met you and he knew Mat well. Mathew agreed to attend, claiming you were busy but sent your well wishes.

He flew into Minnesota the day prior, dropping off flowers to Brock’s mom and she welcomed him into her home giving him a drink and thanking him for coming.

“He always liked watching you play, unless you played against Vancouver of course” she laughed, Mat gave her a smile “It’s a shame y/n couldn’t come”

“Yeah, it’s a shame” he mumbled.

Next he saw her was at the funeral, listening while she stood talking about her husband, the love she had for him, how much she missed him already.

All Mat could think about when he heard her words were you.

You were his best friend.

You were the person who knew him best.

You were supposed to be around forever.

When Mat got home after that trip he didn’t do much, he was no longer in the mood to go out partying, celebrating with friends.

Mat returned to Long Island in the end of August.

He frequented the coffee shop you guys often did and he even walked the route in the morning you did. He didn’t see you.

It wasn’t until week 3 of attending the same coffee shop that the barista, Logan said to him

“Mat, they don’t come in here anymore I’m sorry. Said they needed a fresh start after the breakup”

He silently nodded to the girl, hoping she hadn’t caught his face falling. He simply took his flat white from the counter and exited to building.

Contract talks started in mid-september.

The organization called in May to the office to discuss; throwing around money and perks.

He took the time to digest the information. He called him mom and dad to see what their opinions were on the whole thing, called his financial advisor and even called Anders but the number he kept hovering over belonged to you.

Everyone’s advice was along the lines of “you need to see yourself settling down in Long Island with a contract term like that” and he did, with you.

The deal was signed on October 4th.

@ny_islanders: “I love It here” says Mathew Barzal, after signing his 8 year extension to stay here in Long Island 💙🤍🧡

You read the tweet, saw the posts and the stories from your mutual friends. You wanted to text him — tell him congratulations, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

So instead, you simply put an orange heart emoji under the islanders post about his extension and scrolled on.

Mat saw it. His heart soared at the simplicity of it but yet the fact he knew you were still thinking of him, that you in some way still cared.

Late October, the leaves were starting to fall and hockey was beginning again. Mat wasn’t playing his best — missing goals, easy passes and a lot of falling over.

People started doubting him; calling him a fake, a money grabber and claiming they wished Lou hadn’t even drafted his extension papers.

Mat started to doubt himself too.

was he good enough?

should he have signed the papers?

was he worth the money?

was Long Island better off without him? were you?

There is was! The real problem.

Ever since that last December his mind had been stuck on you and really it shouldn’t have because it was his fault, he broke up with you.

If anyone asked Mat why you broke up he would say “We just wanted different things”

If Mat was honest with himself he would say “I was scared I wasn’t enough for them”

The first few months of hockey came and passed with not a single goal from Mat.

Lambert pulled him aside one morning at practice to tell him “You better get your head out of your ass son because one more game the way you’ve been going and you’ll be benched for the rest of this year”

The last game in November, against Philadelphia Mat was a healthy scratch.

His punishment was over by the next game but Lane told him in no specific terms he had to step up. Mat just groaned and mumbled a “Yeah, I’m fucking trying” before leaving the office.

It was harder now that it was December.

In summer he could just pretend things weren’t different.

You weren’t at his families house? You had to be with your mom.

He was alone at the casino event? You had work.

But Christmas, that was different. Christmas wasn’t something he could sweep under the rug and pretend you were busy.

You’d spent every Christmas together since Mat was eighteen years old. Your first Christmas in New York was an overwhelming experience and Mat thought it adorable at how excited you were about everything.

He bought you a necklace that year. It had his number on it, the gold chain necklace held the number thirteen on your chest and you never took it off.

It was a staple piece in your collection, whenever someone at one of your fancy work dinners or meetings would ask

“Hey why does your necklace have the thirteen on it?”

You would smile so bright, in such adoration and reply “My boyfriend, mat. He plays hockey for the New York Islanders and he’s number thirteen! but always number one to me” and everyone would laugh and call you cute.

You’d left that necklace behind the night you’d packed your stuff up to leave. Mat found it when he returned home from Boston on an away game to find you’d obviously been in and cleared out your belongings too while he was gone.

He took the necklace and posted it to your mom’s house, the only address connected to you he knew. He never knew if you’d gotten it back, not that it mattered much anyway because why would you want to wear it after you’d broken up?

Mat’s no goal streak continued up to the last game before Christmas, December 23rd and he was goal-less.

He was so frustrated at everything he couldn’t think straight about getting this goal. He was spending Christmas alone for the second year in a row — alone, without you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. How you’d been here tonight wearing a silly Christmas jumper and cheering about the last game before Christmas.

They tanked the first period, Tkachuk got away with the puck leaving them up one by the end of the first. There were so many penalties, stupid penalties. It was a mess.

Second period, they equalised in the first few minutes with a goal from Beau before Brock got them up another which was matched not long after by Florida.

When the third period hit it was like something went off in Mat, that he had a surge of energy.

He got a goal, his first season goal! Then another and another with only a few seconds left on the clock.

Hat-trick. He got a hatty.

He’d done it. He finally scored a goal this season, they won the game and he got a hat-trick!

So why didn’t he feel like it was enough?

When he got back to the locker room, Mat pulled his phone out of his bag and looked at his notifications; texts from friends and family congratulating him on the goals, random emails but it was as though he was searching for something.

He clicked through the phone until he landed on what he wanted and pressed it before holding the phone up to his ear.

It rang twice before it connected

“Hello?”

“Um, hey! This is weird and I’m not sure why I’m doing this but I felt like I had to because, well because I scored my first goal of the season tonight. I scored my first season goal and I got a hatty too which I mean is a lot but I don’t feel like it’s enough”

Mat sighed, completely blocking out his team-mates listening to this conversation and looking on with sympathy

“It’s not enough because I know you’re not here-“

“-Mat-“

“No, please let me finish it’s taken me long enough to get the courage to call you. I was stupid for what I did last Christmas and I will wholeheartedly tell you that this year has been the worst year of my life and maybe you call that karma, I call it a wake up call that you… you’re the love of my life and that I want to be with you, I was scared and stupid but I’m better I will be better for you! I’m ready to be the man you need”

After his spiel, Mat took a deep breath awaiting your answer but instead was met with a dead line.

You hung up on him.

Mat looked dejectedly at him phone in hand before he got up to get dressed as he was very spitefully aware of the media and press awaiting him outside the door.

He breezed through media by giving them one word answers and a bored look, they usually let him away early when he did that.

Collecting his bag from the now empty locker room and sulking down the hallway towards the car park.

He wasn’t even looking up, instead opted for the wonderful view of his scuffed shoes. Paying so little attention he didn’t even see you standing at the end of the hallway.

“Nice shot!” His head whipped up, locking eyes with you almost immediately.

You watched his face go through a multitude of emotions before it softened and he muttered “What-“

“I was here Mat” is what you said, gesturing to the stairs you’d descended from your seat “I was sat up there and I watched it, I was cheering you on”

Mat was speechless, fumbling over his words and his eyes flickered across your body, trying to drink you in while you were stood in front of him before his eyes landed on your neck.

Lay on your black shirt was a necklace, the necklace.

The number thirteen lay to elegantly on your chest “You got it”

You looked down and smiled “Oh yeah, my mom sent it to my apartment” playing with it between your thumb and pointer finger.

A soft silence settled between you both, it wasn’t weird or awkward — it could never be awkward between you and Mat.

Until Mat broke the silence by asking

“Why are you here?”

You smiled gently “The islanders last game before Christmas has always been my tradition since I moved to New York you know that and so I never changed it this year, despite the circumstances” the last bit was a little snappy and he knew that.

“I meant what i said on that call by the way” you nodded curtly as a reply before holding out your hand for him to take

“How about you drive us around that neighbourhood with the good Christmas lights and we can talk, in the car eh?”

The Christmas lights, another tradition between you both.

Mat reached out, clasping his hand in yours and nodding “Yeah, let’s do that”

The lights on peoples home’s had somehow gotten better this year and you admired them all in a childlike fashion from the passenger seat of Mathew’s Range Rover.

“This is one of my favourite traditions we started” you say, still looking out the window. Your hand rested now on the console in the middle of the car.

Mat slipped his hand into yours, taking a leap of faith which paid off when you clasped it in yours and squeezed it.

“Yeah, i love it” he muttered, pulling the car into the side of the road now you’d reached the end of the street.

You turned to him now, waiting for him to say something.

“Listen, this is all really weird and I wish I was better with words because I would like to be able to tell you the million and one ways in which I absolutely adore you and regret what I did last Christmas every single day. However, what I can do is promise you, I promise you that I will work everyday to prove to you how much I love you and how sorry I am — I ruined Christmas and I think that’s what hurts the most is that I tainted something you love so much-“

You cut him off then, your hands resting on his cheeks; forcing him to look at you and you said “Christmas is not ruined, Christmas has brought me back to the boy I love with my whole heart and being. Don’t you ever think that you ruined Christmas because sure it wasn’t fun last year but we will have a million more Christmas’ to make up for it”

He nodded, head moving slightly so he could press a kiss onto your palm “I’ll make every Christmas the most special just for you”

“As long as I’ve got you, baby any Christmas is special”

On Christmas, when Mat arrived late to the Lee’s for Christmas with the team he walked in smiling

“Sorry, sorry I’m late I had to pick something up!”

“Dude it’s Christmas Day where could you possibly have gone to pick-“ Anthony cut himself off when he saw you enter the house, gifts stacked up in your arms that you placed on the table next to the door before grabbing Mat’s outreached hand.

“Oh my god, it’s a Christmas miracle!”

#mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagine

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lukemfhughes · 1 year

Text

‘so you are quinns friend?’

Jack Hughes x reader

Words: 1933

Summary: quinn brings his friend to the lake house and jack takes intrest on her.

Note: i hope you enjoy reading this! Send in requests!

You were scared but also excited to go to the hughes lake house. You knew that the guys who were at the lake house were childish. That made you feel better. Now you and quinn were in the car driving to the house. Your leg was bouncing up and down when all the thought ran through your mind. ”Y/n chill out, everything is gonna be fine.” Quinn says when he notices your anxiety. You just nod and start to watch some show.

When your car finally arrives to the house. Quinn and you take your bags and walk towards the front door. When you get inside it’s quiet. ”Everyone is prob on the backyard.” Quinn says and continues to carry his bags upstairs. You two drop your bags and unpack before heading back down. ”Let’s go outside.” Quinn says. ”I’m gonna grab water do you want?” You ask him. He nods and you go grab water from the fridge.

Quinn opens the sliding door for you to walk outside. The first thing you see is group of boys playing soccer on the land. ”Quinn and quinns friend is here!” Someone of the yells. ”Sup guys! This is y/n” Quinn answers. They all say hi to you. ”Y/n this is jack, trevor, cole, alex, matt, luke, josh and moyni.” Quinn says and points at everyone. You nod at him.

Quinn joins the soccer game and you sit down to the outdoor couch and scroll on your phone. ”Hey Quinn, i’m tired so i’m gonna take a quick nap.” You say and get up. You head upstairs and throw yourself to the bed. Sleep takes over you and you drift off in a minute.

”Y/nnn.” You hear quinn whisper. You open your eyes and look at him. ”Yeah?” You ask him and rub your eyes. ”We made food so come to eat.” He says and grabs your arm to pull you with him.

You sit down next to quinn and alex is on the other side of you. ”So y/n what do you do for living?” Cole asks. ”Umm well, i’m working as media worker for the canucks but this was my first season there. I played volleyball in texas for the Athletes Unlimited before going to vancouver.” You answer. ”Why did you move to vancouver and stopped playing?” Trevor asks. ”I tore my acl, and i moved to vancouver cause my ex boyfriend lived there.” They all look at you with sad expression when you mention your injury.

”Where are you from?” Moyni asks. ”Minnesota” you answer. They all nod and then switch the subject. The dinner goes past nicely with small converstation. Everyone was included in the converstation, but jack, he said couple things but he was diffrent than you thought. He was quiet.

“Lets go outside to start the fire, someone grab drinks.” Trevor says. “I can take the drinks.” you say and head to the kitchen fridge. You count enough cans but realise that you cannot carry them all at once. “I can help.” you hear jacks voice say from the doorway. “Thanks that would be needed.” you say and grab a pile of cans.

You two walk outside and hand out the beers for anyone. There are two chairs left next to each other so you sit down on the other what is next to Quinn. jack sits on the other one. Everyone starts drinking and chatting together. More drinks are being handed. You finally start to feel like you are getting closer to them. The music is playing and your fav song come up. You start singing it quietly but hear someone else also sing it. You look next to you and see jack singing it. He smiles at you and sends wink to you. This causes your cheeks to flush. You quickly hide your face to the can and take a sip. When you take a look back at jack you can see him smirking.

“I’m gonna head to bed, are you coming?” Quinn says and looks at you. “In a bit” You answer him. He nods and goes inside. Some of the other boys follow him. Now there is only Jack, alex and trevor besides of you outside. “I’m gonna sit on the dock for a moment and watch the sky so goodnight if you guys go to bed.” you say and get up. “Goodnight.” They all say together.

You sit down to the dock and watch out to the lake. It looks so peaceful, even your tipsy mind understand it. ”You should go inside so you wont come cold.” You hear jacks voice from further away. You turn around to look at him. ”I’m fine, don’t worry.” You say and turn back to the lake. He stays quiet. You look back and see that he is gone. Suddenly a warm blanket is thrown over your shoulders. It was jack again. He sits down next to you. ”Thanks.” You mumble. ”So you are quinns friend? Only a friend?” He asks. You nod at him. ”He is a really close friend of mine. And it’s a good thing ofc.” You say. He nods.

”So you told us about your ex, what happend?” He asks. ”when i moved to vancouver with him, we lived together for a month until i caught him cheating.” You say. ”Oh i’m sorry for you. You didn’t deserve it.” He says and looks at you softly. You just nod at him. He notices how sleepy your eyes look like. ”You should go to bed.” He says. ”I can sleep here im too lazy to walk up there.” You mumble. He chuckles before scooping up to his arms. ”What are you doing?” You ask him. ”I’m carrying you to sleep cause you are too lazy.” He says and continues his way to your bedroom.

He sets you to the bed next to quinn. ”Goodnight to you y/n.” He says and brushes some hair out of you face. ”Goodnight jacky.” You mumble and cuddle your cover.

When jack leaves the room he has a weird feeling in his chest. He decides to ingore it and get to sleep.

Next morning you wake up next to quinn. You remember things from last night, but some parts were empty. You get up and walk to the kitchen to grab water. You sit down to the counter chair and start to scroll on tik tok. ”Boo!” Is yelled into your ear as someone grabs your shoulders. ”Holy fucking shit you scared me.” You say and look at trevor who is laughing his ass of. Also alex and cole entered the kitchen. ”Well good morning to you too zegras. This feels like you didn’t meet me the first time yesterday.” You say. He just laughs. Everyone else also enters the kitchen, they prob woke up to trevor yelling.

”So what is todays plan?!” Jack shouts. ”The plan is you to not to speak so loud.” Quinn says at him. Jack just sends him a look. ”Beach volley?” Cole suggests. Everyone agrees with it. Soon you all are walking oit of the front door. You guys drive to the beach and set your bags to the sand. ”So what are the teams?” Alex asks. ”I take y/n!” Jack yells. Everyone looks at him confused. ”She used to play volleyball that’s why.” Jack says. The other make two people team and you and jack start against quinn and luke. On the other net there is cole and alex against trevor and moyni. Josh and matt are waiting for their turn.

The day goes on. You and jack win all of your games. ”We are the champions!” Jack yells and brings you for a hug. ”Hahaa you guys are losers.” You say and show L to everyone else. ”Y/n that’s rudee.” Trevor groans. ”Sorry not sorry.” You say and high five jack. Everyone sets their towels to the sand and the boys run to the water. ”So you and jack seem to get well along?” Quinn asks as he sits down next to you. ”What to you mean?” You ask. ”Well the beach vball games and then the fact that he carried you to bed last night.” Quinn says and gives you a look. “Oh i forgot about last night.” You say and rub your face. “Mhm, i’m fine with it as long as he doesn’t hurt you.” Quinn says and throws his arm over your shoulders. “Dude i met him yesterday.” You point out. He just shurgs his shoulders.

“I’m hungry.” Moyni says when he comes from the water. “Me too.” Alex groans. “Lets go eat then.” You say and start packing your stuff. “Can we eat McDonalds?” Jack pleads. Everyone agrees so we drive there and order. “I’m gonna find us a table.” You say and walk away from the line. You find enough long table were everyone can fit.

You sit down and some random guy sits next to you. “The full table is taken.” You say. “I can sit here for a moment” The creepy guy says. “Nah no need to.” You say and pull your chair further away. “Oh why don’t you pretty girl wanna talk with me.” He says and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. You slap his hand away and her grabs your wrist. “Let the fuck go off her!” You hear jack yell and run towards you. He pushes the guy of the chair and sends him the death stare. “Leave, now!” Jack demainds. The creep runs of and jack turns to look at you. “Are you okay?” He asks and sits down to the chair. You look down to your wrist. He gently grabs it and you see fire forming into his eyes. “There is gonna be a bruise on it.” He says. You nod. “I’m gonna ask for ice.” He says and leaves the table. You look around and see that all the other boys have came to the table, they look at you with soft expression.

“Here i got the ice.” Jack says and holds it to your wrist carefully. The food come and you all start eating, jack still basicly holding your hand. “So good.” You groan. Everyone laughs at you. “I’m ready to go home and sleep for 12 hours.” you say and get up from the table. You take out the ice from jacks hand and throw the melted ice bag to trash.

Once you arrive the lake house everyone trails their way to their rooms. You instead head to the kitchen to grab water. Jack also stays at downstairs and follows you to kitchen. “Does it hurt anymore, your wrist i mean.” he asks softly. “Not so much.” you answer and sit down to the counter chair. “He should have not touched you liked that.” He murmurs. “Jack, everything is okay now, you saved me, thank you.” You say and open your arms to offer him a hug. He immediately comes to hug you. He tucks your head under his chin. ‘Did he just smell my hair, shit it must smell so sweaty’ you thought. “You smell good.” He mumbles. This causes you to blush. You pull away and look at him. He looks at your eyes then his eyes trail down to your lips. “Can i kiss you?” He asks. You nod and he immediately presses his lips to yours.

“wow” You breath out once you pull away. “Yeah right, i could get used to that.” He smiles, ‘oh his smile’ you think and it causes you to smile back. “me too.” You whisper.

#jack hughes #quinn hughes #luke hughes #nj devils #alex turcotte #trevor zegras #patrick moynihan #matt boldy #josh norris #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #cole caufield

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m-writes-stories · 4 months

Text

The KC Couple - Part 9

Word Count: 1327

Warnings: language, pregnancy talk, hints to smut,

A/N: I am tag-teaming games. I am just going to give an update for week 4. I just didn't know what to write for the game part...

Week 4 - 10/1 @ New York Jets

Chiefs Win 23-20. Updated record of 3-1. Travis did not get a touchdown.

Y/N got ready to head to bed for the night. It was the night before the game in Minnesota and you were exhausted. You and Travis had ran around the house trying to get things ready for the upcoming week. It was a short week for the Chiefs. They had a game tomorrow, which was October 8, then another game on Thursday, the 12th. You knew it was going to be chaotic and you were expecting it. You were glad it was a home game on Thursday.

Travis was currently in the basement of the house working out. He wanted a light workout but didn’t want to go to the facility. You knew his workouts like the back of your hand, and you knew he was almost done. You walked into Travis’s office and plugged in his iPad for the rest of the night.

Travis came back upstairs a few moments later.

“I was gonna hop in the shower. Do you wanna join me?”

“If I join you we will be in there a lot longer than we need to be. And you need to finish getting everything ready for the big game.”

“Ugh, ok. I’ll be out in a minute.

Travis came out shortly after. He wrapped his arms around your waist rubbing your bump.

“She is growing.”

“Yeah she is supposed to be growing.”

“I know but she is growing even with her being underweight.”

You started to tear up.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“What if she comes early and we can’t control it?”

“We will deal with that if it happens and if it does it will be ok.”

“What if she comes during one of your games. Then what do I do?”

“Oh. I didn’t really think about that. I don’t know.”

“Travis, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to management and Coach tomorrow morning about what to do.”

“Ok. What time do you guys leave tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“What time Travis?”

“7.”

“Are you serious? It is a primetime game.” (A/N: I know it isn’t an actual primetime game but just roll with it.)

“I don’t know that is just what coach told us.”

“Ok. So what time are you leaving here?”

“Like 6:30. I’m not getting there any fucking earlier than I need to.”

“Awe you just want to spend the most amount of time with me before you leave.”

“Duh. I fucking love you.”

Time Skip to the next morning

Travis woke up around 6 and finished getting everything ready to go and took it downstairs to the living room. He came back upstairs and kissed your forehead.

“Are you leaving?” you asked, keeping your eyes closed.

“Yeah. I’ll call you when we land in Minnesota.”

“Ok, love you.”

“Love you too baby.”

3 hours later

Travis had no idea that you were currently on a plane to Minneapolis, Minnesota. You were still good to fly and wanted to surprise Travis. This would probably be the last away game you would go to before you started staying home. You had already planned everything out with Coach Reid. Saying that you were going to be surprising Travis on the sidelines during warm ups. Coach said warm ups would start around 5:30. The flight to Minneapolis was only an hour and a half long from Kansas City.

You made it to your hotel room around 12. You were going to meet Brittany for lunch and then go shopping for a bit before heading to the stadium.

Warm Ups

You were currently standing on the sidelines with a bunch of fans. You waited for about 15 minutes before the Chief’s players came out of the tunnel to the field. You saw Travis immediately, and a security guard came over to take you to the bench. You watched Travis for a bit before he came over to get a drink of water. You hid behind a group of people and waited. Once he had set the water bottle back down and turned his back you ran up behind him. He turned around and looked shocked.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“I am definitely surprised. Hi.”

“Hi. You looked good out there.”

He blushed.

“Thanks pretty girl.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No, my knee was feeling a little sore but it is good now.”

“Ok. I am excited to watch you play.”

“I am excited you are here. I was nervous that for the short week this week we wouldn’t be able to see each other as much as normal. So I am glad I get to see you now.”

“I think this will be my last week coming to away games until Baby K comes.”

“I think we should announce baby K to the world today. I want to tell everyone.”

“Ok. I was gonna talk to you about that tomorrow. But I like that idea. What if once you guys come back out in uniform we get Brittany to take a picture of you kneeling down kissing my currently hidden bump.”

“Oh I like that.”

You gave him a few more kisses before he had to go back to the locker room to change. You went over to Brittany and told her the plan. She was excited to tell everyone.

You waited a few more minutes before the team came back out. The stadium booed. You made your way back to Travis. You took off your jacket, that was hiding your bump. You were close enough to the stands to hear people asking if you were pregnant. Travis knelt down and kissed your bump as Brittany took the photo. She sent it to you immediately. Travis stood back up and kissed you.

“Good luck out there. Stay safe. Get a touchdown or two. I love you.”

“I’ll try. I love you too. Go enjoy the good pretzels you like when we come here.”

You watched him run back onto the field.

2nd Quarter of the Game

It was the second quarter and you were sitting next to Brittany in a suite. You watched as Patrick threw the ball to Travis. Travis went to run the ball before getting caught up in the turf. He hit the ground immediately.

“Come on Trav,” you said, getting anxious immediately.

“He’s ok,” Brittany said, trying to reassure you.

Travis limped off the field to the bench. The camera zoomed in on his face. He looked like he was in pain.

“It’s a low ankle sprain,” you said staring into the TV screen on the wall.

“It’ll be fine. He’s ok. He’ll go in and get an X-ray in a minute.”

“Nothing is worse than our rookie season and the two concussions he had in the 2017 season.”

“See that is somewhat positive.”

Time skip

Travis came back out in the second half looking like it hadn’t even happened. He went on to score a touchdown. The Chiefs won 27-20. Making the record 4-1.

You headed down to the family waiting area. Travis and his teammates came out about an hour later. Travis came over to you.

“How’s our photo? Did it blow up the world?” he asked you.

You hadn’t looked at your phone the entire game. You posted the photo shortly after kick-off, then turned your phone off for the rest of the game.

“I don’t know, let's check.”

You scrolled through the comments for a little bit. Most of your followers were ecstatic over the news. You had a few rude comments here and there but you had gotten used to them and learned to ignore them. Your normal posts got about 1-2 million likes, but this photo was currently sitting at 4.8 million likes. With the caption: “Mommy and Daddy can’t wait to bring you to your first game. We can’t wait to share our bundle of joy with the world. Baby Kelce (or Baby K) coming 2024.”

#m-writes-stories #travis kelce #travis kelce x reader #travis kelce fanfic

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mynameismckenziemae · 4 months

Text

She’s a Fire-Chapter XV

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OFC/Reader (no use of y/n)

Hotter than Hell

(previous chapter here, next chapter here)

Warnings: mutual masturbation, pretending to be into your BFF to tease your men…so queerbaiting I guess? Sending dirty pictures, unintentional orgasm denial, etc.

Three days pass in radio silence and it’s killing you. Sunny does her best to keep you distracted but she works 12-hour shifts with virtually no phone access.

10 PM on Thursday, you finally get a text.

Bradley: Hey, sweetheart. Sorry to text instead of call, but I’m sharing a room with Bobby and it’s lights out, so we’re both stuck in here. How’re you?

You laugh, knowing what he’s hinting…Please don’t turn me on right now.

Rowan: It’s okay, I understand. I’ll send you my dirty pictures next time. I’m good, just missing you. How are you?

Bradley: Can’t fucking wait. I haven’t gotten off since we left. They’ve been running us ragged. I’m so tired. Bob doesn’t cuddle like you. He’s all ‘Get off me…’ Why are you hard?’

Rowan: LOL, why do I feel like you’re not kidding though?

Bradley: …

Bradley: Kidding. Seriously, Sunny would kill me if I touched Bob (and didn’t let her watch).

Rowan: Wow…same though.

Bradley: Oh yeah?

Rowan: Definitely. I’d be ticked if I missed you getting dicked down by Bob. 😏

Bradley: No, it’d be the other way around. I’d be doing the dicking-downing or whatever.

Rowan: Not a chance. 😂

Bradley: Wow.

Bradley: Damn it, times up. Hopefully, it won’t be too long before we talk again. Love you, see you soon.

Rowan: I love you too, get some sleep.😘

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Even though Bradley keeps a tidy home, you spend Saturday doing a deep clean. You find some photo albums in the attic when you bring a box of your things up, not sure yet if you want to donate it yet or not.

Tears fill your eyes as you flip through the photos. There’s one of Carole holding teeny-tiny Bradley in the hospital, tired but glowing. The next one has the tears spilling over—Nick’s holding him, terrified but excited. You laugh at the one of Bradley on his first birthday, frosting all over his face and curly hair, grinning at the camera.

Your smile falls a few pages later when you see Bradley alone in front of his dad’s coffin, saluting. You turn the page, a wave of nausea hitting you imaging your own child in the same position. The next photo is at least a year or two later and you swallow your sob, knowing Carole was probably so devastated and overwhelmed trying to take care of herself and Bradley that capturing memories with pictures wasn’t even a thought in her mind.

You decide that’s enough for now and put everything back where it was and head back downstairs to finish cleaning.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Sunny picks you up on Sunday for brunch and wedding discussions. She and Bob picked a date next fall back in Minnesota when the leaves should be at their peak color.

Sunny snorts as you show her your conversation from the other night with Bradley about her and Bob. “Agreed. Bradley would definitely be the one bottoming.”

After eating and a few drinks, you both decide to shop off your slight buzz (in truth, neither of you wants to go back to an empty house).

“Ooo, let’s stop here, I want to pick something pretty up for under my bridesmaid dress for Jake and Nat’s wedding,” Sunny says, opening the door to a fancy lingerie boutique.

You laugh, but follow her in. Never should’ve let Sunny have that second tequila sunrise.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Maybe shopping wasn’t a good idea, you think as Sunny tosses items at you to try on.

There are only two fitting rooms and one is occupied so you share the vacant one as it’s roomy enough for two, and the girl at the counter barely looked up from her phone when you walked in.

It’s pretty in the dressing room; walls painted a dark burgundy, accented with a baroque chair and flattering lighting.

“You know what would be fun? To send the boys some sexy pictures of us together in here. I’ll put this little robe on for the ones we sent to Bradley and you can for the ones I send to Bob…?” Sunny asks in a whisper, checking her reflection in the mirror.

Apparently, tequila does more to Sunny than make her clothes fall off. But…it’s not a bad idea. Bradley would lose his mind.

“I like the way you think” you whisper back with a wink.

Sunny wears white, while you’re in black

You take a few photos of her alone; your favorite is her kneeling, eyes closed and your manicured thumb is pressing on her bottom lip. She then does the same for you.

“Go bend over that chair, arch your back, look over your shoulder at me….yeah like that, bite your lip now. Perfect! Bradley is going to die. Look at that butt!” She whispers excitedly, showing you what she snapped.

Next, you set your phone on the shelf and hit the timer for the ones of you together.

You put on your robe and then start behind her, one hand on her lower stomach, the other skimming her cleavage, eyes half-lidded on each other. You step around to her side, hands still on her body as you press your lips to her neck. A few more positions and then you switch; you drop your robe as she dons hers.

You start off the same way, her hands skimming over your body, she takes it a hair further and puts her fingertips in the tops of the lacy underwear, “Hey, buy my dinner first.” She snorts, causing you to laugh.

You take a few more, lips almost brushing in a near kiss before turning to her side and rotating you around, so your ass is to the camera. You bite your lip to not laugh as she squeezes a handful of your ass. “I’m straight but your ass is making me question things.” She whispers before delivering a hard open hand smack to your cheek.

“Jesus, Sun,” you whisper, trying not to laugh too loud, “You’re gonna get us kicked out!”

“Nah we’re fine. Wait, don’t move. I’m gonna take a picture of my handprint.”

You can’t help but laugh, and let her, knowing Bradley will like it.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You both end up buying what you had on for your impromptu photo shoot and a few things more. The girl at the counter didn’t comment on the fact that you were both in the same fitting room for 45 minutes; you weren’t sure she even noticed.

You two sit in the car and go through the pics, giggling as you send them to her.

“I’m not sure I should even send these…” Sunny laughs as she pulls out of the parking lot.

“What?! Why not? It was your idea!”

“I’m kidding. I’m so sending them. I may regret it though when I can’t walk the day after Bob gets home.”

You laugh. “Same.”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Later, you smile as you hit send, hoping you don’t have to wait too long before you can talk again.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Your 2 hours start now!” Cyclone yells.

Bradley heads to the common room, giving Bob privacy in their bunk room for the first hour. His phone is vibrating nonstop, incoming messages all coming in at once as it powers on.

Sitting on a chair, he pulls out his phone and scans the room—nearly empty save for a few others scattered around.

Rowan: Dirty pictures as requested, featuring a special guest.

What the…oh my fucking God, Rowan, he thinks as he clicks on the first picture of you, his cock hardening in an instant.

He slowly flips through them, looking you over in pretty lingerie, nearly swallowing his tongue as he sees one of you bent over the chair, looking at him so innocently over your shoulder, worrying your lip between your teeth.

He discreetly adjusts (palms) himself as he finds the first one with your “special guest”.

It’s his oldest friend clad in a silky robe. Sunny’s a beautiful woman, but he’s never been attracted to her.

There is definitely something attractive about the way she’s touching you though, skimming her fingers over your breasts. Holy shit, her fingers are almost in your panties.

He groans at the next one but covers it (poorly) with a cough. Sunny’s got a handful of your perfect ass. You’re looking at each other’s lips like you’re about to kiss.

His cock twitches and precum leaks as he swipes to the final one. A close-up of Sunny Girl’s handprint on your butt, the red a stark contrast to the pale skin.

40 minutes later he realizes he could’ve been talking to you this whole time.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You reach for your phone as a text comes through.

Bradley: Your pictures had me so distracted I forgot I could text you for the last 40 minutes.

You laugh as you type a response.

Rowan: Sorry?

Bradley: Don’t be. You are the most breathtakingly beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, hot, woman I’ve ever seen.

Bradley: Sorry, that wasn’t even remotely smooth, lol. I don’t even know what to say. All the blood from my head is in my dick, which is gonna fall off soon if I don’t get to jerk off.

Rowan: Lol, thank you. You’re always smooth. 😉Wait, you still haven’t been able to? It’s been almost a week.

Bradley: No. Shared bunk rooms, shared showers, shared fucking everything. There’s always someone around. We have phones until 9 so Bob’s in there now, we’re gonna switch at 8.

Rowan: 11 minutes and you’ll be able to. I’ll even let you watch me.

Bradley: I can’t fucking wait. Is the vibrator charged? I want to see you use it.

Rowan: Yep, charged it after I used it last night.

Bradley: Oh, don’t even say that. I’m gonna end up jizzing in my pants.

Rowan: Again? 😬

Bradley: Ha. Ha. So fucking funny. 🙄

Rowan: I thought so. ☺️

Bradley: I’m heading back, I’ll call you in a few.

Rowan: Can’t wait.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

A red-faced Bob is coming out just as Bradley approaches the door.

“Sunny send you pictures too I take it?” Bradley asks.

“Yeah. Never thought I’d be okay seeing someone else touch her but…Jesus Christ,” Bob says, running his fingers through his hair. Bradley’s never seen him flustered like this.

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Bradley says, slapping him on the shoulder as he walks into their room, locking the door behind him.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

You answer on the first ring, grinning when you see his handsome face and bare chest.

“Poor Bob looked like he was put through the wringer” is the first thing Bradley says, smiling when he sees you.

“Hey, it was Sunny’s idea…after we had tequila sunrises with brunch” you laugh, “I wore a robe for the ones she sent to him, just like one she wore” you assure him.

“Eh, I wasn’t worried. We share everything else nowadays.” He jokes, winking at you.

“Oh yeah, Sunny and I talked about it and she agrees, by the way. You’d definitely bottom if you two were to get together.”

He scoffs, offended. “Whatever.”

“Sorry babe, you just give off that submissive vibe” you tease.

“I’ll show you submissive.” He says, changing his tune, “Get naked. Now.”

“Yes sir,” you reply sarcastically but oblige.

You set your phone on the nightstand and strip quickly before flipping back on the bed.

“Good girl,” he says lowly, and a shiver crawls up your spine. “Now tease those pretty nipples for me. Yeah, like that. Pinch ‘em too…good.” He tells you, his voice rough. You can hear he’s starting to touch himself too.

“I wanna see all of you, baby, please?” You ask, still playing with your nipples.

“Yeah, hang on,” he says, setting this phone above him so you can see more of his stomach and his hand stroking his erection.

You sigh as you watch him. Out of all the things you’ve done together, this is the first time you’ve watched each other masturbate.

“Your body is incredible Bradley,” you say, fingers now circling your clit. You pick up the vibrator from the nightstand, turn it on, and replace your fingers with it. “God, just look at you.”

He groans, hating and loving your words. He’s so worked up from not cumming in a week, especially after getting off at least twice daily in the 10 days before deploying.

“Row, fuck, I’m sorry but I’m close already. I want you to get there first. Can you do that?” He pants, cheeks ruddy as he fists himself.

“Yeah, I’ll try,” you say, pushing two fingers in and pushing the vibrator setting higher. “I can’t wait to have you inside me,” you whine, curling your fingers and finding your G-spot.

“I’m almost there-almost…I-I…” you can’t finish your sentence as your orgasm hits you, whimpering as you do. It feels so good but it’s not the same without him here.

You notice he’s quiet you catch your breath, not yet able to open your eyes. “Bradley, did you cum?”

No response. You open your eyes and your phone is black. You pick it up and turn the screen on.

The call was disconnected.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

“Row? Can you hear me?” Bradley pants, so so so close as the screen going black.

“Are you still there? Fuck!” He growls, picking up his phone to call you back. But it’s no use. ‘No service’ is all that comes up when he tries.

He hears frustrated voices in the hall, so he’s not the only one affected. He looks down at his throbbing erection and sighs before pulling his pants back on, hoping to find out what’s going on so he can call you back.

Bob is about to knock as he opens the door.

“Something was detected on sonar, so they cut the phones early. I got a text out to Sun before mine went, I’m sure she’ll let Row know.”

“Thanks, man”, he says flopping back on his bunk, reciting the flight manual in his head to get his cock back under control.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

A/N: I hope the queerbaiting doesn’t offend anyone—if you read Sunny’s story, you’ll see that she (like Rowan) gets off on teasing her man and loves turning him on at inappropriate times (can you tell I like it too?) I am pro-LGBTQI.

Tagging:

@its-the-pilot

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@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

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