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simpjaes · 6 days

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desecration. (s.j)

the one where no gods exist when you’re alone with jake sim.

minors dni !! | if you read it, reblog it.

WORDCOUNT ― 6.4k

PAIRING ― jake sim x afab reader

GENRE ― top/dom jake sim, characters are in their twenties, sub/bratty reader, religious kink/fetish

WARNINGS― mild dub con, desecration of holy a relic, inaccurate descriptions of whatever religion this is– im not doing research for a 5k fic that’s mostly smut, sorry.

NOTE― if you’ve read this before, it’s because I wrote it for mark lee over on my other blog [ncteez]. we wanted to make it jake, and by we i mean me. i wanted to read this as jake. sorry to religious ppl, don’t read this if you don’t wanna be railed by a hot guy wielding a cross.

smut tags under cut::

smut tags― DUB CON. use of the words: whore, slut, for the record, the cross is not raw wood and has a smooth finish, reader is first attempting to seduce the priest through confession lmao, she’s also just a massive whore just like me :), jake is the priest’s son, jerking off, penetration using a wooden cross, unprotected sex, spitting, choking on and/or sucking off a cross, degradation, and name-calling, he’s a godfearing man but also he likes sexual perversions, humiliation, explicitly getting fucked in a church, kind of fingering?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake wonders why you’re always making confessions, time and time again, once a week, every single week….eagerly. Like you’re excited for your sin or something.

Huh.

Then again, once a week his father is expected to listen to confessions from the other churchgoers, even Jake himself is expected to confess. Often he will make up sins that he has committed just to seem as though he has been learning from some sort of mistake. Never would Jake actually tell his father through a confession booth what he has done or is willing to do. He’s an adult, he can confess whatever he wants.

You, on the other hand, you’re working his father to the bone in terms of forgiveness.

Jake’s interest piques at the very idea of a young woman, around his age, wanting to confess so much. Did you hurt someone? Does you hurt yourself? Did you kill someone? Or maybe you’re just caught up in a situation that makes you commit atrocities? He can’t even imagine what one person could be doing to elicit such an eager need of forgiveness so consistently.

Always the first in the box, always with those inappropriate outfits too.

Jake makes his way to the back of the church to complete his duties and, of course, he isn’t surprised to see you enter the confession booth. After all, it is the start of a new week.

Hushed whispers were echoing through the large space and only now does he realize that you almost always confess when the church is nearly empty. You must not be unaware of his presence at all, unaware that he is the son of the priest that you spill your sins to, and unaware that he can absolutely hear you when he walks closer.

He isn’t entirely sure why he is listening. The walls of this church echo any and every sound, and to be fair, the only reason his interest is piqued is because his father was silent from the moment you had entered the booth. All he heard was you. You didn’t seem to start the confession off in a proper manner either, so yeah, maybe it caught him off guard too.

His ears make attempts to adjust to the words coming from the booth, but your voice is coming out in a tone that he has never used himself when seeking salvation. Minutes pass and he still hasn’t heard his father speak a word back to you, not to encourage you, not to stop you. It’s just you, addressing dreams, visions, wants, and needs.

Certainly not confession. In fact, you’re actively sinning, attempting to seduce.

“I woke up shaking, Father. What should I do?”

Jake notes how quiet his father is still, despite you asking him what to do about the dream. His face sours when you continue to speak, this time in a slightly louder tone.

“I just can’t help myself sometimes, I–”

It’s not that it’s intentional, really, it isn’t. If anything at all, Jake is incredibly disgusted by your attempts to dirty talk during a confession. Disgusted that you’d do such a thing, and…maybe intrigued by what you may have said that he wasn’t quite able to catch before. He quietly moves to the other side of the booth, the side where you seem to be spouting off all sorts of things, and he raises his head to listen a bit more.

“You were big, you know? I can’t get thoughts of you out of my head. Have you ever touched a woman, Father?”

Jake leans in further, his body reacting more than his disgust. Unfortunately, his length growing in his pants ceases the moment his father cuts you off.

“Enough.” His father finally stops you from abusing the booth, from abusing him.

Not another word is spoken and Jake does his best to back away quickly and quietly as you exit the booth. Of course, he’s acting as though he is sweeping a corner when he turns to look at you. Eye contact is made and he can feel an intense rush of heat spread across his cheeks.

Ah, so you’re a whore.

His father stays inside of the booth for a long, drawn out, three or so minutes before exiting and all Jake can think about is if you walked out of the church soaked and warm between your legs. It’s not even that Jake is into sinning. He isn’t. His entire life was built around this church, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a man. He has needs just like you do, apparently.

Never would he get what he needs from a woman as dirty as yourself, though, it doesn’t stop him from thinking about it and how your voice sounds when you were actively trying to fuck his dad.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You’re disgusting.” Jake narrows his eyes at you when you pass by, spitting the words at you with a grimace.

“Excuse me?” You ask, stopping in your tracks and looking back at him just as harshly. You didn’t provoke him to speak to you at all, let alone fucking insult you?

“You think I can’t hear the way you speak to my dad during your little “confessions”?” He takes a step forward as he whispers at you, air quoting the word confession with a roll of his eyes.. “You really think he’s just going to take you up on the offer?”

Narrowing your own eyes, you step closer to Jake to stop anyone else from hearing his little tantrum.

“Wanna tell me why he always listens to my “confessions” then?” You question back, mimicking the air quotes and smirking as you walk away from him, not even letting him answer.

Jake watches as you leave, upset that he didn’t get a rise out of you at all and instead was offered a genuine question that sits in his mind. Why does his father allow you to make a confession after confession if all it is, is an attempt to seduce him? You’re even ashamed of it, it seems, and it pisses him off to no end.

Rushing after you, he is quick to grab at your dress and pull you back.

“Might as well just show up naked with the way you act around here,” He starts with a bite in his tone, dragging you off, down the hall and into a side room that usually remains empty.

He intends to put a stop to this because he’s heard several more of your confessions by his own will and learns that, apparently, your only sin is being a fucking slut.

“You have no place here.” He adds as he closes the door behind the two of you. Unintentionally locking you into a space that he’s directly saying you don’t belong in.

“Acting like you don’t think about fucking. Hah. We both know I’m not the only one,” You laugh, walking across the room with a shrug. It’s not the first time you’ve been reprimanded in a church, and it probably won’t be the last. “Besides, your dad probably thinks about me late at night after tucking your grown ass into bed like a child.”

Jake narrows his eyes even more at you.

“Bet that pisses you off.”

“You’re ridiculous to think he would even want someone like you.” Jake scoffs harshly at you, gut bubbling with annoyance. “To think about sex this often too? I can’t imagine anyone would want to touch such a slut.”

You watch him walk towards you, with his perfectly tucked shirt and his darkened and angry eyes. Being alone with him doesn’t help his argument though because, in all fairness, he’s just as hot, if not hotter than his father.

“What about you then?” You ask, leaning against one of the shelves in the room, running your hand up your legs, and hiking your dress up a couple of inches.

“Your dad with his lingering eyes won’t admit to having ever touched a woman. Yet here you are.” You call out the priest’s lie with a snide chuckle before continuing. Fingers massaging your own fleshy thighs, watching the way Jake struggles with his own lingering eyes. “What about you? You ever fuck anyone?”

Jake grimaces, wrinkling his nose as he watches you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He questions, stomping over to you and pushing your dress back down below your knees.

“Oh!” You laugh, ticking your tongue at him and tilting your head. “You said a bad word. Aren’t you going to ask for forgiveness?”

He stares at you for a few seconds, being face to face with a woman that seems so desperate for any touch has his heart racing. He’s trying to call you out, not turn you on.

“Can’t you act decent? I barely know you and you’re flaunting yourself at me.” Jake bellows, stumbling back from you and examining the way your body is relaxed.

You really seem to be enjoying this.

“You’re the one who pulled me in here. Was it really to argue with me, or were you trying to get to me before Father does?”

Thinking for a moment, Jake realizes he’s the reason this is happening. He could have just let you leave like everyone else, after all, you were attempting to go home. Here he is though, and there you are.

“He would never.” Jake laughs, mocking your attempts to pretend his father would be interested in you.

“And again, what about you?” You shoot back instantaneously, watching the way his words get caught in his throat.

He’s a weak man, truly, because the very thought of what’s under your dress, the very idea that you’re so willing, fogs his brain to the point of almost malfunctioning. It would be so fucking easy if he wanted to.

No one would even know.

Before you even know it, you can feel the air in the room change as he storms closer to you and rips your dress upwards to your waist. Instantly, he’s shoving his hand straight between your legs.

A small yelp leaves your throat followed by a laugh. Perfect.

“I knew it.” You giggle, bumping your head a bit against the shelf at the force of his movement. You can feel the way his palm cups your core and presses in harshly through his silent breaths. “I fucking knew you were dirty.”

“Stop,” Jake demands, bringing his other hand to cover your mouth. “Stop talking.” He continues, already pulling his hand from your core and second-guessing himself.

“If you want it so bad, I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up.”

You nod with a smile against his palm, breathing in when he pulls it back and trusts your ability to stay quiet. He’s staring directly into your eyes as if he’s threatening you. As if he will stop if you make a single peep. A promise that he will probably get you banned from the church if anyone were to find out what’s happening in this room right now. At his darkened gaze, you poke your tongue out, licking his palm and watching him pull back in aroused shock at how unashamed you are regarding your arousal. But, you do stay true to your work and remain quiet once his eyes trail down.

He looks at you as if you’re some sort of monstrous entity, and for him at this moment, you probably are. But even with that, you see what’s growing in his pants before he lowers himself onto the floor. Positioning his face right in front of your clothed pussy.

What a dirty, dirty boy.

Jake can see the wet stain of your panties and all he can do is roll his eyes.

“You’re insane.” He laughs, eyes darting up to your face, looking at you like he wants to shame you. “Getting so messy in such a place, all for men who don’t fucking want you?”

You nod, wiggling your hips at him in an attempt to entice his lips to attach there. But he doesn’t. He just stands right back up to his feet and takes a step backwards.

“I bet if I left you here, you’d chase after me.” He mocks. “I bet you think I’m gonna stick it in you, don’t you?”

Proudly, you smile with a nod. Of course he's going to stick it in. You can see how hard he’s gotten. Sin or not, you know when a man wants to fuck you. Jake won’t be able to resist sooner or later, son of the priest or not.

“Wow,” He laughs quietly, shaking his head at you as he reaches behind a podium and pulls out a large, lacquered wooden cross. “You really are stupid.”

Great, you think as your face falls. He’s definitely about to start preaching to you with that stupid fucking cross. Maybe he will even attempt to perform an exorcism to expel the horny demons out of you.

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, standing yourself up straight from against the shelf and patting your dress back down into position. “Don’t start this shit.” You’re already preparing to walk out without looking twice at him, but he laughs right back at you.

“You think you know everything.” He chuckles, walking towards the door and locking it. He stands in front of it now, crossing his arms and staring at you.

“Don’t I?” You ask, eyeing the way he presents himself to you right now.

“Did I not just imply that I wouldn’t use my cock on you?” He questions, twitching in his pants at the way you stand before him, much smaller in energy now.

He can tell you’re still trying to act brave, and it delights him to see the realization spread across that pretty, silent mouth.

Oh. Oh.

“You’re going to–?” You swallow hard, realizing that of all the sins you could commit, the implication of being penetrated with a cross, solely so this man doesn’t have to fuck a whore isn’t one you ever thought of.

This room doesn’t even feel like part of a church now as he holds the cross with more reason than praying.

“Yeah,” He assures you. “I am.” Stepping forward toward you and looming down at your face. “Now get on the desk.”

You don’t know why, but your body acts on instinct for him. Immediately walking to the desk and propping yourself onto it.

“Take off your clothes.” He demands again, watching you intently as he stays in place, rubbing the long end of the cross much like he’d like to do for himself right now.

God, watching such a stubborn woman do everything he says is…well, it’s new for him and it ignites a new type of arousal within him.

And you watch him back as you begin to slip your dress from your shoulders, lifting your ass so that you can push it down and onto the floor.

“Oh, now you wanna act shy?” He mocks, walking towards you as you attempt to tug at your panties. “And keep those on. No one wants to see that.”

Goddamn, you don’t even have the decency to wear a bra to service? Lucky for him though, your breasts are enough to drive him past the point of return. There’s no thought, fear, or prayer in his head right now as you reveal yourself to him. Going as far as trying to flash your pussy? Oh, he could laugh.

You stay quiet, doing as you’re told and watching the way he examines you. He must feel so in control right now and you’re happy to let him, but you can see him falling apart behind his eyes.

His cock is incredibly obvious beneath his nice dress pants, but you wouldn’t dare reach out to touch him, not yet at least. You’ll let him have his fun, despite the slight nervousness within you regarding that cross.

“Open your mouth.” He says, dragging the cross against your nipples and onto your chin. “Suck it.”

You almost shake your head at him. Such a hard wood sliding down your throat would surely hurt. It’ll bruise, it’ll fucking suffocate you.

Jake doesn’t seem to care about any of that though, because all he does in response to your widened and fear-stricken eyes is press the wood against your lips with a face of concentration.

You purse your lips, muffling a displeased grunt at his acts.

“You scared?” He smiles first, pulling the cross away and now tracing his fingers along your lips before prying them inside and hooking your mouth open. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know how to suck.”

You relent this time, feeling the cold and smooth tip of the cross enter past your lips when he resumes his previous assault. It’s not that you are against doing it, you just…haven’t done it before.

You’re not exactly sure of how to respect a holy relic such as this one when you’re expected to choke on it.

“That’s it.” Jake coos, pressing the cross further into your mouth. “Open up real wide.”

You close your eyes at his voice, licking the smoothed object with an intensity you didn’t know you had. After all, it’s been so long since you’ve been intimate with a person, hence the constant wet dreams about your priest. This is somehow, incredibly hot to you. To have his son fucking your mouth, regardless of what object he’s using to do it.

Still, it does hurt. The intricate edges of the cross bruises each time it hits the clenching walls of your throat and mouth, but Jake seems to like the sound of you choking and sobbing around it. After all, he just continues to press the cross further and further in. Probably relishing in the way you try to swallow around it and relax your throat.

His eyes are so focused, seeing how much of it you can take and only imagining how good it would feel if it were his cock choking you right now. Despite your sputtering and crying eyes, you’re taking it so well.

Yeah, you’ve definitely done this before. Probably swallowed up some guy’s cum and begged for more despite still having a cock wedged in your throat. How lucky for them to have someone so desperate to be gagged.

“You’re filthy for doing this, you know that?” He laughs at your pain and how you don’t try to pull at his pushing hand, tipping the cross just a bit so that its hardened wood hits your throat in a way that hurts a bit too much.

You cough around it, only now pushing his hand back in protest. The tears are pouring from your eyes when the cross slides out of your mouth, and all you can do is blink up at him as you try to regain your breath.

Half expecting him to immediately hold your head in place just to shove the cross back in, Jake pulls back instead, tilting his head down to look at your panties.

Your legs instinctively cross to hide your arousal, but he prys your legs open regardless, forcing you to act as the whore you so wanted to be. For his father, for him, for anyone who would be willing, honestly.

You’ve gotten wetter.

“You’re so gross, I can’t believe you get off to this–” He laughs, feeling his cock begin to fucking ache. “You can take more, then.”

No, no. You don’t want to keep sucking it, but your mouth opens anyway. Too turned on by the idea of seeing Jake’s reaction to watching you be so dirty, so blasphemous.

The way he moans when you open your mouth willingly this time is…well, he looks fucking good. He sounds even better.

You take it into your mouth without so much as a second thought this time, allowing him to slide the cross back and forth against your tongue and into your throat. You willingly swallow around the harsh edges, tears falling all the while, of course.

You’re gagging so softly around it, he’s almost jealous over how you wanted his dad before you wanted him. Surely no one would do this for you, right? His father would never be with such a horny, needy, and dirty woman.

Jake though….shamefully, is very into it.

Into you, rather.

When he pulls it out this time, your saliva coats the cross in a way that nearly breaks his brain. Intensely, he stares at your lips, slack and waiting for him to continue his abuse. God, he’s so jealous. To think you would do this with someone else? With anyone? Anything?

It turns him on beyond belief, but feeling jealous of the fucking cross isn’t exactly something Jake wants to admit. His father? Sure, whatever. But a relic he’s prayed to his whole life? Growing resentful of it just because you take it down your pretty and bruised throat?

No.

Jake shifts now, unable to satiate the arousal within him without grabbing your hand and forcing you to grope his hidden cock. So hard, so fucking hard, he nearly lets out his own sob at the euphoric touch when he actually does it.

You’re a bit shocked that he’s letting you touch him, but you take the opportunity and run with it. You press your palm against him without any amount of shame, and all you can do is watch as he hangs his head, the saliva coated cross still gripped in his other hand.

“Bet you wanted to fuck my mouth.” You croak out, your voice sounding just as raw at your throat. “Bet you wanted me to take all of it and beg for your cum.”

His head shoots up in response to that as he grabs your face harshly, bucking against your hand at the same time. “Stop talking.” He seethes, releasing your face and inserting his fingers into your mouth instead. “Stick your tongue out.”

You do as he says, feeling his heavy cock twitching against your palm with each press.

Jake seems like an expert at this, you aren’t sure, but when he presses your tongue down with his fingers to open your throat up, he spits into your mouth so easily that you have no choice but to swallow it.

Well, okay. He could probably get away with doing that a few more times if he wanted to.

You moan when you swallow, lending him a dopey smile that shocks him. You weren’t supposed to like that in his eyes, but when you grab his cock in response rather than just palm at it, he can’t help but moan back at you.

His fingers continue to hold your tongue down as you jerk him off over his pants, and his hips stutter all the while until he loses all composure. Within a second, he stalks even closer, slamming both hands against the desk on either side of you and leaning forward to pin you there.

And then he grinds forward against your weak hand, pinned between him and the edge of the desk.

Yet still, he’s gripping that fucking cross as he pins you here.

“You want me to fuck you so bad, I can see it.” He croaks, not even allowing you to offer him a nod before he’s got his lips attached to yours and he’s licking into your mouth. It feels impossibly better than that cross pressing against the back of your throat but you swallow his kiss just as easily.

His hips continue to grind as he licks into your mouth like a man who doesn’t know how to kiss at all. So rough and messy with it, groaning more and more before he’s nearly a panting mess before you. He pulls back from the kiss only for a moment to stare at you, eye contact more fierce than it was before.

“I think you’re the one who wants to fuck me.” You manage to slip out before he can silence you again, and his eyes narrow instantly.

More than anything, that’s what he wants to do to you. He wants to shut you up in as many ways possible right now, and he definitely wants fucking you to be one of those ways. But he can’t, and he won't.

“Hah–you’d love that.” He laughs, reaching his empty hand between the two of you to press his pants down enough to let his cock spring free.

You can’t even get a good look at it, because he’s instantly grabbing himself and fucking his fist before looking back up at you.

“Go on, look.” He says, leaning a bit so that you can watch him jerk off in full view now. “Bet you’d beg for it if I told you to.”

“Please?” You instantly let out, eyes staring at the angry head of his cock leaking and pulsing.

“I didn’t say to actually beg–” He groans, halting his hand and instead, thrusting his hips into the tightly formed hole he’s created. “I’m not going to fuck you.” He laughs again, now pulling the cross back and into your view with a wicked smirk.

Of course. The cross. Well, at least you’re going to be fucked with something right?

You eye the piece of wood and then go back to watching him. You’re not sure what it is about this situation but it feels like your body is on fire. Maybe it’s because hell is right beneath you, just a floorboard away from what the two of you have gotten yourselves into behind this locked door.

“Oh?” He halts his hips and licks his lips. “You actually want me to fuck you with this?”

You nod frantically, spreading your legs in front of him and showing off how large the spot on your panties has grown since he last inspected it. You watch as his eyes practically burn a hole through your pussy.

Only then does he release his own cock and look back into your eyes. More seriously this time when reality and guilt clicks in his head.

“You are aware of what we are about to do, right?” His confidence falters blatantly as he glances at the cross. “Like, if you ever tell my dad about this, I will be disowned.”

“You think I’d snitch on you?” You roll your eyes, body nearly shaking to get fucked. God, why does he have to stop now?

“Well, since you’re so inclined to confess every fucking day–”

“Jake, you literally just fucked my throat with it.” You deadpan, hooking your legs around him to pull him close enough to feel his cock hit your wet panties. “You’re the dirtiest one here, I’m not going to give that up just to see you get disowned.”

He laughs at you for that. Because yeah, maybe he is. Maybe he’s the one who shouldn’t be in church, and maybe he’s the one who should have been confessing this whole time. Never in his life has he ever done this, or so much as imagined doing it, it’s so perverse. So, wrong. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what’s attractive about it.

For some reason, his cock jumps when you say you’re not giving him up because he’s dirty.

“And–” You soften your voice, trying to lure him. “You don’t have to use the cross, you know.”

“No.” He barks out, pulling his hips back and pressing the cross against you instead. “Now, keep your legs open.”

He gets right back into it without a second thought. He doesn’t care what he’s doing or what the repercussions of doing this will be. It’s not like he wasn’t going to hell before any of this, not based on the fantasies he’s had anyway.

Jake hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down your legs harshly, to the point that they’re stretching so far that it feels like they could cut through your skin. He backs away for a moment upon seeing you grimace at that, allowing you to slip them down your legs before positioning himself back between them.

“I’m dirty?” He says, looking at your pussy and the way it clenches around absolutely nothing. He sees the slick seeping out of you already, and it’s not only pathetic but so fucking desperate of you. “Fucking look at that.”

You smile at it, knowing that he’s degrading you but absolutely loving the view if his focused eyes are anything to go by.

Before the cross, he experimentally traces his fingers along your folds until he gets to your hole, and without hesitation, he slips one of them in. The grip of your walls alone could probably send him over the edge if he were to make a last-minute change and shove his cock into you, but he holds back. Instead, he traces the cross against you in the same way he did with his fingers, slowly inserting it alongside his digit.

Pulling back, Jake watches your face as the cross opens you up, probably dragging against your walls uncomfortably as a reminder of the ultimate sin you’re committing with him right now.

When your face doesn’t contort into that of pain, he pulls his finger out of you and places his hand back on his cock. Still staring at your face, he fucks the cross in and out of you. Relishing in the sound of how wet you are for this, and for him to give it to you.

He does this until, finally, you moan.

Upon that little whimper of a moan, Jake is sent into a different headspace. One that quickens his pace with the object inside of you, one that tightens the grip on himself.

Now, oh now, he’s playing for fun. He presses it in and then pulls it all the way out just to see your pussy beg for more. Holding back a moan over how fucking hot it is to see, he opts to coo out at you.

“Bet it would feel so good.” He breathes, trying to ignore the shiver that shoots through his body at the way you yearn for it. “Could shove my cock right in, you’d just take it, wouldn’t you?”

Before you can answer, he’s thrusting the relic right back into you. In, out, in, out. Deeper, harder, fucking faster. And he offers the same for himself, tightening his fist, nearly abusing his own cock at the sight of your swollen hole swallow up the wood. Really, he makes a point to fuck himself just to imagine it’s you that’s squeezing him.

If he thinks hard enough, it really is almost like he’s the one fucking you.

He keeps this up for a few minutes, up until your legs are shaking around him and you begin to reach out with your hands. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s incredibly fucking horny right now, he’d probably be rushing for the altar to save you from whatever demon is possessing you.

But, he knows that this is no demon, this is all his own doing. He’s loving it. Every single bit of this situation is being burned into his memory, and when your legs shake, it only urges him to fuck the object into you harder.

You whimper out strings of nonsense, almost begging for a release from this grasp he is holding over you both physically and mentally, but he doesn’t relent. Your pathetic cunt is being pounded by an object that should have you crying in fear, but instead, you’re so close to release you can only beg for more, more, fucking more.

And god, he keeps giving it to you.

In an attempt to open your eyes, you feel dizzy with lust. Your hips buck up against the object with intent, and you can’t stop watching him.

“Goddamn.” Jake stutters a sin, watching you fuck yourself against the holy relic. Thankful to rest his arm and be able to just…watch.

And oh, he’s watching and intensely imagining that it’s you on him. He can’t stop thinking about how fucking warm you must be, how tight, how sinfully delicious your pussy must be for you to be acting like this. And that thought is what forces him to lose it.

You were so focused, on the verge of your orgasm when you feel him practically tear the cross out of you, dropping it to the floor before – oh fuck.

You feel him. Something bigger, something thicker ramming into you. He’s prying you open more than he did previously, already pumping in and out at a frantic speed. Instantly, you cling onto him with a bruising grip, listening to his shameless moans as he realizes the lack of control he has over his own body or thoughts.

Jake practically falls over you in euphoria as you cling, forcing you to fall back against the desk as he relentlessly plunges his hips. His breath is heavy against your neck as he loses himself, and all you can do is thank the same god you just disrespected for this cock that’s abusing your hole in all of the right ways.

“I can’t–” He groans out against your ear, his hips not stopping their relentless assault. “You’re so fucking dirty.” He insults, pushing you up the desk with each thrust. “So good.”

You can barely make a sound from the force behind his hips, only small yelps leaving your throat each time he slams in. And fuck, you want nothing more than to rub your clit right now. You could cum all over him, you could really make him feel good.

And as if your prayers are answered, Jake apparently knows exactly how to pleasure a woman. Hm, curious. He knows how to do it fucking well too, as you feel his fingers rub against the swollen nub in the exact same way you would right now. Painful, intense.

The fact that he wants you to cum is delicious.

Your orgasm hits you almost instantly, pussy sucking in him each time he goes to thrust, and the sounds coming from your throat could be considered demonic by some, but he swallows them up with ease when he notes that you’re cumming all over him.

Jake licks into your mouth, soothing you with dirty words when he pulls back to breathe.

“You should see yourself–” He pants out, sticking his tongue out to lick against your lip. “Getting me all messy too?” He says again through a moan. “You’re beautiful.” He adds like a period at the end of a sentence.

That alone makes you feel…different. In fact, it prolongs your orgasm far past sensitivity when he continues to thrust into you. You can’t tell if he said that because he’s close, or if it’s because he meant it.

Quite frankly, you could give less of a fuck if he meant it.

Jake stutters his hips when you lift your head just slightly, gripping his hair and skewing his head to the side so that you can whisper into his ear.

“Want me to beg for your cum?” You whisper with a shaking voice. “You’d love that too, wouldn’t you? I know I would.”

His eyes squeeze shut as he aggressively turns his head and, once again, pries your mouth open with his tongue. A bruising kiss follows as he fucks his last few thrusts into you, doing just as you implied he should.

He pumps his cum into you relentlessly, thankful that it’s not all over his pants and entirely milked into that sinful cunt of yours. Thankful that you also got off around him instead of that forgotten cross on the floor.

He wants nothing more than to remind you time and time again who got to you first. It was him, not his father.

You smile at him when he pulls back out of breath, examining his pants before stuffing his sensitive cock back into them and reaching down for the cross.

“If you ever fucking tell my dad about this–” He seethes out of breath, trying to pretend that he can regain composure so soon after fucking you the way he just did. Still, he narrows his eyes at you much as he had done before.

“Go on.” You say, voice shaking as you try to grasp back onto reality from whatever world his cock had sent you into.

Jake is at a loss for words, because, what could he possibly do about it if you were to tell? He looks at you, still spread out against the desk, dress crumpled, his cum seeping out of you in a messy show of how much of an absolute whore he forced you to be.

“Just, don’t tell him.” He finally says, averting his eyes from you and looking at the cross in his hand.

“Do you feel bad already?” You ask out, finally lifting to get off of the desk.

“Don’t you?”

You shake your head, struggling to stand as the seething pain of having a wooden cross stuck into you shoots through your body. “Not really.” You try to laugh, but you wince instead.

“Yeah, I figured you’d probably be hurting after all of that.” He finally says in a somewhat apologetic tone, walking up to you with a soothing hand.

You’re a little shocked by his kindness.

“Yeah, a little.” You laugh it off though because, at the moment, it felt good. You wouldn’t have wanted it any other way despite how blasphemous the act was.

“Oh.” Jake seems sorrowful in his tone, but his gaze doesn't leave you. “I- um, I don’t know how to make it like, not hurt?” He scratches the back of his head.

In your attempt to put your dress back on, you do note that the pain inside of you isn’t unfamiliar. You’d been fucked hard before, but that was a long time ago. You missed this feeling, realizing that it was exactly what you think you needed.

“It’ll pass.” You assure him, taking a deep breath and trying to stumble your way to the door. “I guess I’ll see you later, then?”

Jake dips his head with a small nod, feeling guilty for what he’s done. Not because of the cross, not because of the sin, but because he’s unsure of how to pretend like he wouldn’t want to do it again.

#enhypen smut #sim jaeyun smut #jake sim smut #jake smut #enhypen hard hours #enha smut

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teaboot · 4 months

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Your post about art vs content got me thinking about the differences between the two. To me there is no difference besides the mindsets. One is of creator and the enjoyer, the other is content and consumer it removes the personhood, the joy/emotion, from the equation. Like a writer or video creator may not see their work as art so content creator maybe a way to refer to themselves comfortably but it sounds so machine, emotionless and lifeless, like a cookie cutter recipe mass producing something verses people lovingly crafting something...then again Disney uses a cookie cutter recipe for the most part and it brings out bangers cause people lovingly make it their own so maybe I'm thinking too hard on this

Does my long-winded rant make sense?

see, I get what you mean, but I still feel like the willingness to entertain calling art of any kind "content" reduces it to the facet of consumption where in reality, the experience of consuming art is not the sole defining trait of it.

Reducing arts like music, writing, painting, dance, voice acting, theater, etc. to the role of "content"- a thing created to be consumed, measured and valued by how pleasant or easy it is to digest- I feel that it was our biggest red flag to herald the incoming tide of AI "art".

Because if art is "content", if arts are nothing but consumable matter, then obviously the key to success is to produce as much soft, tasty, edible paste as we possibly can at the lowest possible expense.

It's the same issue I have with "meal replacements", diet culture, nutrient slurries, twenty-step skincare routines, 24/7 body padding and shapewear and laxative teas and "grind culture". It's not a cause, but a symptom, of the disease that is late-stage capitalism.

Things must be produced at low cost and remain in high demand forever. Things must be perfect and palatable and the new hit trend forever. People must pay hand over fist to consume without asking anything in return, and if they start dropping like flies at the unending unrewarded thankless demand of it all, then that must be treated as a weakness. We should all take pride in how much we can spend, pay, give, produce, and think as little as possible about what we ask for ourselves.

So, who cares if, of two identical paintings, one was made by a person and one was made by a computer program? It's the same work, so what does it matter? What does it matter?

I am an artist. I make art. I ask a question, make a statement, declare something horrific or challenging or upsetting or wrong or grotesque, and when you respond, we are together experiencing a conversation. We are existing, two people living one life and reaching out and touching across time and space. No matter the work, you're at the barest minimum saying, "I'm alive, and you're alive, and at one time or another we shared this same world, and at the end of the day we aren't too terribly different. My heart is worth sharing, and your heart is worth the struggle of understanding."

An AI-generated piece, a computer-generated voice, a CGI puppet of someone long since dead and gone, they cannot speak. They have no voice. Ay best, they are the most chewable, consumable, landlord-beige common denominator possible that you can sit and listen to like the lone survivor of a shipwreck listening to the same three songs on a broken record, and at worst, they're the uncaring vomit of an empty, unloving, value-addled hack wearing the skin of someone I know over their own.

When you abandon art to say that you make content, that should not be a point of pride. That's an embarrassment. That's not sitting down for an intelligent discussion with an equal, that's kneeling at the feet of the crowd and saying, "what do you want to see me do? I can be anyone you've ever loved. I can be them, I can be anyone, as long as you love me."

I can make content. I can be consumed. What do you want to consume? I'll make myself consumable. I'll make myself just like anything you like. And I'll make so much of it that you'll never have to go anywhere else, because it'll all be right here, and under all the cut-and-paste schlock you've seen before I will sit alone in the dark and the silence and I will know that I am safe, because I am valued, because I am desired, and I need to be desired or else I am worthless like a factory that no longer churns out steel or a hen that no longer lays eggs or a cow that is too old to make milk.

Content, the most literal meaning, is something which is contained inside a container. What it is doesn't really matter, and the best it can hope to be is something worthy of being scooped out and used.

Art is an experience that transcends value. Art is something you can eat without paying for. You can make it out of anything and anyone can do it. It can be crude and vulgar and bad, and that's a strength because it means something. It always, always means something, and it doesn't matter if you like it or not. It's not content because it doesn't fill anything. It's a living, breathing thing, and whether you want to birth it or eat it, then you're going to have to be willing to put the fucking work in

#I want to apologize but I'm not going to #This is important to me #I do not want to create content #I do not want to be universally loved #I do not want my existence to revolve around being used #I'm not a machine I'm a person and I'll do what makes me happy #Even if that isn't good or useful #I don't want to be pretty I want to be alive #Don't look at me #I'm breathing #I'm screaming #I'm ugly and sharp and painful to hold #And that is not a bad thing #To come back to

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wandering-winchesters · 10 months

Text

Don't Push Your Luck

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,707

Summary: After a bad argument with Dean, over the reader putting herself in danger, another hunt goes wrong. Will there be time to reveal the feelings that lie beneath the anger?

Trigger Warnings: SPN level violence, injuries and blood. Mentions of punching a wall, anger

A/N: It has been terribly long since I have posted and I am very sorry! Life has been utterly crazy and I have not had much time or motivation to write. Please let me know what you think!

Masterlist

Arguing with Dean was one of the most frustrating things in the entire world, once he was fixated on something it was nearly impossible to change his perspective on it. Which is how we wound up here, my chest heaving with exertion as I tried my best to calm my nerves. I can barely stop my body from trembling, anger pulsating through me enough to exhibit a physical response. My voice shakes when I try to speak, causing me to stop and take a few deeps breaths, unwilling to appear weak in front of my best friends brother.

“Just because you have been doing this longer than I have, doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do, Dean.” I respond, my voice as even and low as I can manage. A sharp contrast to moments before, when our raised voices carried throughout the entirety of the bunker. Rippling through the numerous rooms and corridors, alerting Sam to our disagreement. He had made an appearance, carefully placing himself between the two of us, but off to the side, just incase anything got out of hand. Not that it would get physical, but Dean and I have a track record of saying things that we shouldn’t when anger is raging between us.

“I never claimed I could tell you what to do, Y/N. But I know that you have been reckless, ignorant and foolish the last few times we have gone on a hunt. You throw yourself into places that you shouldn’t be, you take risks that aren’t necessary. And you’ve just been an absolute idiot!” He yells, his fist slamming into the wall beside him. I flinch, shocked by his sudden movement, his words stinging as they rush over my ears. I take a few steps away from him, crossing my arms across my chest and steeling my nerves, willing the tears that were pricking my eyes to fade.

“You really think you know everything, huh.” I reply, my voice shaky and thick with emotion, a single tear falls from my red rimmed eyes. I hurriedly brush it away and in that moment, I can see Dean break. His shoulders release and his face falls slightly, he runs a hand over his face letting a sigh of frustration pass his lips.

“Maybe you two should call a truce, it seems like enough damage has been done.” Sam chimes in quietly as he shoots Dean a look of disapproval, his earlier words hanging heavy in the tension filled air. Without a word, I turn on my heel, seeking refuge in my room. I can hear their voices as I flee, distant murmurs of a conversation that I have no desire to take part in.

By the time I close the door to my room, tears are flowing freely. I stifle a sob, my hands coming up to cover my mouth, as more course through my body. Reckless, ignorant, foolish and idiotic. All descriptors that Dean knew would strike a nerve, insecurities I have voiced to him in the past. Things that I had shared with Sam and Dean on one of our many late night dinner conversations, shared between the four walls of a rundown motel in the middle of nowhere. I could see the regret spreading through his features the moment the words left his lips, but there was nothing he could do to take them back. He spoke them into existence and there they would stay, a permanent stain on my subconscious. I let myself fall into the comfort of my bed, tension escaping my body. What was left was a void. My lungs that had been so full of air to scream into his face now merely pumped enough oxygen for a sigh to leave my lips. The argument was spurred on by a recent incident on a hunt from a few days back, the tension had been simmering, threatening to boil over all of that time. For whatever reason, today was the day where it became too much. The heat grew and the water overflowed. I had been jolted out of my thoughts by the slamming of the front door to the bunker, followed by Deans booming voice. Even though I knew it was coming, that didn’t make it any easier.

There is a knock on my door, quiet yet enough to alert me to their presence. I ignore it, unwilling to budge from my place underneath the sheets on my bed. The desire to speak with either one of the Winchester men tonight was at a resounding nonexistent. My silence is not accepted, however, another knock follows. There are a few seconds of silence before Sam’s voice travels through the door. “Y/N, it’s me. I just wanted to check on you, talk for a bit.” He sounds upset, concern flowing through his tone.

“I’m fine Sam, I don’t want to talk.” I call back, willing him to listen and not press me for more social interaction than I have energy.

“Okay, you know where I am if you need anything. Goodnight, Y/N.” I respond in turn and wait for him to leave, confirmation comes in the form of his footsteps retreating down the hallway.

My sleep that night is filled with numerous nightmares, each one worse than the last. A spattering of different conclusions to the hunt that had spurred on the argument with Dean. I had pushed him out of the way of danger, throwing myself into the path instead. Something that I had done for both of the boys numerous times, a fact that I was not ashamed of in the slightest. They were needed and had jobs to do. These nightmares were all of the numerous ways that the night could have ended if I hadn’t put myself in the path of death. Dean’s body, slumped against the wall, his final breath being drawn as Sam and I stood helpless in the room. Sam replacing Dean in the path of the bullet and both of them meeting their demise. Over and over, the nightmare repeated, changing slightly each time. No matter how many times I woke up, every time I returned to sleep it continued.

I pull myself into a sitting position, the last nightmare had been the worst. I had been helpless and forced to watch Dean be tortured by the monster of man that had us cornered. I had watched him bleed, watched Dean beg for him to spare Sam and myself. I jump as my door swings open, soft barefoot steps resounding through the otherwise silent bunker. My eyes land on Dean, disheveled and tired. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, the handle of the Bowie knife that he often uses, clutched between his fingers. I blink, staring back at him, hurt still fresh in my mind.

“I-uh, you screamed my name. So, I had to make sure you were okay.” He mutters, shame present throughout his features. The hand that isn’t holding his knife, comes up and rubs the back of his neck, before falling back to his side.

“I’m fine, just a dream. Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep, we have to be up early tomorrow.” I respond, my voice even. I am unwilling to show him any weakness or emotion, the fight still hanging fresh between us. He nods, but hesitates in the doorway to my bedroom. I can see that he is searching for the words and I pray he doesn’t find them, I can’t hear them tonight. He nods once again, murmurs a goodnight and shuts my door behind him.

—

I manage to make it through the next morning with zero interaction with the older Winchester, both of them are distracted by preparations for the next hunt. No words are exchanged at all until we are an hour into the drive, the radio on but low as Dean focuses on the road ahead of us. I pretend to be oblivious to his glances through the rear view mirror, unwilling to be the first to speak. But I notice. I notice the way his eyes land on me, scanning my face for any hint of emotion. I notice the way he has destroyed his bottom lip, by the constant anxious biting. I notice the way his hair isn’t combed into place like it normally is, how his appearance in general is disheveled. He didn’t sleep last night. Good, he deserves to be upset by the things that he said to me.

“Y/N?” Sam calls, and I turn to look at him. The look on his face leads me to realize that he had been talking to me and I had not heard him.

“Hmm? What’s up?” I ask, giving him a small sheepish smile. His eyes are questioning but he doesn’t speak on it, simply repeating his earlier statement. “According to Bobby, he thinks we are dealing with a Harpy.” I groan, letting my head fall back against the seat of the Impala. A harpy hunt is one of my least favorite, something I have only encountered a couple of times before, but I have the scars to prove it.

“You can stay behind at the motel, if you prefer.” Dean chimes in, “Sam and I can handle it.” His words catch me off guard, it was an offer that was by no means wanted.

“I can handle myself, thanks. It’s not like this is the first hunt I am participating in, Winchester.” I bite back, my voice cold. Sam shakes his head, in a manner that displays the smile tugging at his lips, even though I can’t see it.

"I am aware that you've done this a hundred times Y/N, but maybe a little caution wouldn't hurt.” Dean says, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the steering wheel of the impala.

“Don’t push your luck, Winchester.” I mutter, returning to looking out the window of the Impala.

Unfortunately, Deans words would ring true. The anger and desperation I had to prove him wrong, land me in a very sticky situation. I threw caution to the wind and wound up paying for it ten fold.

—

“Dammit,” I cuss, a gasp leaving my lips as I struggle to pull myself into a sitting position. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, screams of protest are rising from deep within me. The hard wood wall of the old house provides support as I slump against it, my hands cradle my abdomen, pressed tightly against the gaping wound, that was caused by a violent stabbing moments earlier. I listen carefully, searching for any sign of the boys.

In the fight with the Harpies, we had gotten separated and I was unsure of where they were, or if they were still alive. A wave of pain rushes over me and I let out a groan, blinking rapidly to try to clear my field of vision that is rapidly fading around me. “Y/N?! Where are you?” Dean yells, his voice traveling through the house, panic evident. I try my best to draw enough oxygen into my lungs to respond, but it is a losing battle. My lungs are on fire, along with the rest of my body. My ribcage is a vice and I cannot inhale enough to begin to speak, let alone yell. All I can do, is sit and wait. Hope that he finds me in time. Frantic footsteps fill my ears, barely heard over the rushing of blood through my head. A small rush of relief floods my body as Dean rounds the corner, our eyes meet and he crumples. His face is defeated ever so briefly, before he puts on a brave front, his eyes scanning my body an explanation of the amount of blood surrounding me. He’s at my side In record time, his hands gently prying mine away. He surveys the situation quickly, before pressing the fabric of his flannel against my stomach. A motion that pulls a guttural scream from my lips, I beg him to stop but he doesn’t, his lips pull into a tight smile and he brushes the sweat soaked hair from my forehead.

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.” He murmurs, searching around frantically for something, anything to add to the flannel that he already has pressed against my body. I glance down and quickly realize, its even worse than I could have imagined. The material he had pressed against me moments before, was already soaked red.

“No, look at me. Right here.” He says, gesturing for me to focus on his eyes and not the blood soaked flannel.

“Guess you were right after all,” I whisper, a small laugh that quickly turns to a cough leaving my lips. Once I catch my breath, I continue. “ I was being reckless.”

“Stop, don’t think like that. I am so sorry for what I said, but we can’t focus on that right now sweetheart, we gotta get you out of here.” Dean says, his eyes growing sadder with every passing moment. “You think you can hold pressure on this while I carry you? Can you do that for me?” The desperation in his voice pains me, I know I don’t have the strength to do what he asks, but I nod anyways. I know that if he doesn’t do everything he can, he will always blame himself for my death. So I will try, I’ll try for him. I grab onto the flannel and pull it against me with all of the strength that I possess, as he carefully picks me up. His attempts to avoid causing me pain are useless, every step and motion causes a wave of nausea and dizziness to overtake me, but I do my best to not let him see.

“Dean, I have to tell you now, just incase,” I stop myself, unable to finish the what if scenario that is playing in my head, outloud. “Dean, I love you, always.”

“Hush, I’m not confessing my feelings to you until you are better.” Dean says, his breath catching in his throat as he focuses on each step he takes.

I can’t tell you how we made it to the Impala. My eyes are closed for the majority of the journey, only opening when Dean demands that I look at him. His voice begs me to stay with him, stay awake. Stay Alive.

—

“She lost so much blood, what if- if she doesn’t wake up?” I can feel a hand grasping my own, gently stroking my skin. Dean’s voice is there, he’s talking to someone. Warmth is covering my skin. It is almost peaceful, until it is interrupted by my nerves screaming out in protest. A groan leaves my lips and the hand on my own jerks away.

“Y/N, sweetheart, can you hear me?” It’s Dean again, I can feel the mattress shift underneath me as he sits on it, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek.

“Sweetheart is new, what happened to idiot?” I whisper, my throat dry and my tongue faltering to enunciate the words.

“You almost died and I couldn’t bear that thought, that’s what happened.” Dean says, his hand brushing over my skin. I open my eyes, squinting at the sunlight pouring in through the open blind. It takes me a second to realize that I am in fact in a motel and not the bunker.

“Who knew you had feelings, Winchester, thought you were all tough and no mush.” I say, moving to push myself into a sitting position, but quickly regretting that and abandoning the motion. He laughs, a clear and full sound. One that lifted my spirits ever so slightly.

“It’s no fun making you miserable, Y/N, not when you are already miserable. So I need you to get better, okay?” He says, pressing a very unexpected, but desired kiss against my forehead.

“Now who’s being the idiot?” I meet his gaze and smirk. He shakes his head, still smiling at me. He presses another kiss to my forehead, the breath he lets out through his nose rushing over my skin. “I love you, too, Y/N. Always have, always will.”

Tag List: @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

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bonny-kookoo · 2 months

Note

PLEASE.

LO King Yoongi, what happens after the first kiss?

Please.

I know what you are

He must've tricked you. There's no way he needed any form of 'demonstration' at all- he seems very much aware of what he's got to do to make your head spin already.

He's giving you a short second to breathe after a second or two, face still close to yours as he watches you, face devoid of much emotion but eyes full of curiosity. "You really are so fragile." He almost mocks you, and you simply nod, admitting to it- and it earns you a reaction you've not yet witnessed before.

He chuckles, clearly amused.

"I am." You answer. "S-so maybe you should be a bit more.. gentle?" You ask, and he simply leans his head to the side a little bit, still up close to you, leaning halfway over you at this point.

"Am I not gentle right now?" He questions you. "Have I not been gentle with you the entire time since I've taken you as my partner?" He asks further, reaching out to tuck some hair behind your ear. "Physically you are no match for me. If I so desired, I could've taken whatever I wanted from you by force."

"But you wouldn't." You say, and at that, his lips turn into a slight smile.

"I indeed would never." He confirms. "Like I said; you are physically no match for me." The king repeats himself. "But you have something I want. And I am willing to... devote myself to you in order to get it."

"I.. what is that?" You wonder, not sure what he's talking about. You don't really have anything- you have no strength, you're not talented in anything particular, you're not outstanding at all compared to what he could have in any other Temian woman-

"Have you ever taken a life?"

The question cuts off your thoughts, like the needle on a record player falling off the disk, music stopping abruptly. You don't have to think for long before you shake your head- no, you've never killed someone.

"Have you ever wielded a weapon?" He questions further, and again, you deny that.

"I've.. cleaned them. But they're.. too heavy, and I'm not strong enough to ever be accepted as a knight anyways." You explain.

"That is what I crave." He offers you. "You are what I want to, but cannot ever be." Yoongi explains, and you realize suddenly what he's talking about.

The fact that he even considered surrendering. How it's known that he himself is a quiet king just so he doesn't put any interest on him to be challenged. How he is said to be always rather lenient when it comes to punishment, way less aggressive than the other kings or the kings before him.

Yoongi doesn't like violence.

"You can." You offer him, and his eyes narrow in question. "When.. you know. When it's just us, you can be what you want to be." You tell him. "I'll accept you as, you know, King and.. partner all the same, even if you're gentle and kind." You tell him, his eyes opening wider as he watches you with this distinctive look of curiosity again.

"The more I speak to you.. and get to know you.." He offers, leaning closer again. "The more glad I am that I have taken you in." The king explains to you. "As my partner, that is."

"I.. okay?" You say, shy from the close proximity.

"Maybe the fact that you were given to me by chance and not someone else.." He hums towards you. "..might just be fate. Don't you think?"

"M-maybe?" You stammer, his lips only a breath from yours.

"Maybe, huh." He chuckles. "I guess.. we will have to see how compatible we really are." The king smirks. "See if you will actually bloom."

"I- what?" You want to ask, but he just shuts you up with another kiss-

a gesture of affection he's clearly more than fond of.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi imagines #yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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zombholic · 6 months

Text

| 𝐃𝐑. 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐 |

“dude i swear i will get on my knees for that woman!” you rolled over on your best friends, dina’s bed as she passed you a blunt, taking a hit before passing it back to the dark haired girl sitting against her bed on the floor.

“you saw her two times y/nn” she shook her head looking at the blunt before looking at you. “ok but listen, she is like ethereal dude, i’d gobble her-“ “and you’re done speaking, go to sleep you have work tomorrow” you almost puked at the thought of work.

dina rolled you over to the wall side as she got under the covers “i should have a heart attack and then you can take me and ask for her” “go to bed y/n!”

hearing your stupid alarm go off, dina took it upon herself to grab your ankles and drag you off her very comfortable bed “i’m going to put you in my 13th record” you rubbed your face before getting up to her bathroom “love you!”

—

you were only a little happy today because it was pay day so you decided to be nice to the annoying customers as well. “have a great day ma’am” you gave the most fake smile to the customer, flipping her off when she left “no sign of doctor goddess this morning?” jesse walks in to start his closing shift.

“she’s the only reason i’m even here right now, can’t believe this is how she breaks up with me” you fake a sad sign, shaking your head at him causing him to chuckle at your attitude.

quickly going around the counter to help jesse clean up for his shift you started by wiping down the tables, the bell to the door chimes, leaving the rag and spray bottle on the dirty table, you saw abby. “hey doctor” you walked back to the register, throwing the latex gloves in the trash, giving her a smile. “hey sweetheart” the nickname giving you a tingly feeling in your stomach.

“the usual? and why so late?” you started with brewing the coffee “night shift and can you make that 4 please, my co-workers need it too” she sighed giving you the sweetest smile.

i want you to fuc-

nodding at her request you grabbed a couple more cups and a cup holder “so as a doctor do you get like any days off? it seems so like exhausting” you tilted your head looking at her “well, because i am a very needed doctor in the field i get at least a month or two off for vacation but on my days off i need to have my pager on me always” she shows you the little black box on her pocket.

you feel jesse “accidentally” bump into you with a sorry ass apologize and a cough, giving to the look. “so um, i was wondering if i could like maybe get your number?” you held your breath, fiddling with your fingers only giving her minimal eye contact. abby pulls her phone out, handing it over to you “why not” she maintains her eye contact.

quickly adding your contact in her phone you gave it back to her, giving yourself a fist bump in your head “you know like incase i have a heart attack or something and need to call for help” you joked biting the inside of your cheek out of a nervous habit “i hope you never have a heart attack sweet thing and i really hope you call the ambulance first” she laughed.

giving her the coffees you gave her a small bye “i’ll text you on my break, if you’re awake by then?” she gave you a flashing smile before walking out.

“holy shit! you got her number” jesse patted your back “holy fucking shit! i like almost shit myself, im gonna pass out” you inhaled deeply after holding your breath for so long “can i be the maid of honor” he wiggled his brows at you with a stupid smirk on his face “you can sit in the back with the grass.”

—

getting out the shower you started getting ready for bed, not to sleep cause tomorrow is your day off but you wanted to just chill and watch the vampire diaries.

buzz buzz

grabbing your phone you see a number text, your heart racing knowing it’s literally the love of your life texting.

—

Hello, it’s Abby from the coffee shop.

omg hey! didnt think u would text me

Of course I would, why wouldn’t I?

i mean, you are a busy heart doctor so i assumed you would be too busy 😭

Why are you crying?

crying? no abs it’s supposed to be me laughing LOL

Oh, well I still have a lot to learn.

you’re literally adorable, are you off tomorrow?

During the day, yes, but I have another night shift. Why?

do you maybe want to go out for lunch or something?

Of course, I would love to.

What time and which restaurant?

you can pick that for us, im down for anything :)

How about 12pm at Vue Rooftop?

oh that sounds fancy and i probably can’t afford it 🥲

Sweetheart, who said you were going to pay for anything in the first place? It’s my treat.

no, i cant let you pay for me thats not fair on you

It’s a date Y/n, I’ll see you tomorrow. I have to get back to work now, Goodnight beautiful.

AUTHORS NOTE: yeah i have adhd and i am making part 3 already … EHEHEHEH

#lesbian #lgbtq #wlw #the last of us ii #abby anderson #tlou2 #the last of us #tlou #abby anderson imagine #abby x you #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #doctor!abby

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thefreakandthehair · 7 months

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@eddiemonth prompt, oct 4th: Rejection | Arsonist’s Lullaby - Hozier | Lost a/n: pre-steddie post-s4, angst with soft, happy ending because I'm a marshmallow. un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour. read on ao3 | link to series on ao3

All Eddie Munson has ever wanted to do is play music.

That’s it. There are other hobbies, of course, other things that bring him joy– D&D, fantasy novels, art– but ever since he was a kid, whenever a teacher would ask what he wants to be when he grows up, it’s always the same answer.

I wanna play music.

As a kid, it seems less daunting. He just has to practice, he just has to play, he just has to have the passion to make it big. To be the next Kirk Hammett, or Eddie Van Halen, or Ozzy Osbourne if he can teach himself to carry a tune.

Making friends is hard, but he manages to find a few in middle school who can play the instruments he can’t– drums, bass. Eddie takes the role of frontman, not exactly a singer still but he’s charismatic enough to get away with it at their school talent show.

High school comes, and Corroded Coffin is revamped. New vibe, new members. He’s older now, a little more jaded with each rejection.

No one wants their EP, recorded by hand in Gareth’s garage onto cheap cassette tapes.

No venue will let them play, and Eddie knows that it’s probably because they’re in high school but hadn’t The Cure started in high school?

No one believes in them, trying to push them– especially Eddie– to consider more successful careers, safer paths.

But eventually, they book a regular gig at The Hideout and Eddie’s certain this is it. This is their big break. Until they play week after week, staring at the same five plastered faces every Tuesday. If they can prove themselves though, the owner will have to let them play on a Friday or Saturday.

He never does.

The final nail in the proverbial coffin comes after Eddie’s final senior year. Being accused of murder should have beefed up his credibility if nothing else– he’s already been traumatized, terrorized, and hunted like a goddamn dog, nevermind almost killed via hoard of angry mutant bats. Surely, he’ll catch at least one break.

And then the owner at The Hideout tells him he can’t play there anymore.

The hoards of people who still blame him for Chrissy Cunningham’s death are too much for him to manage himself and, in his words, Eddie’s driving away good business. His heart shatters, his breath catches, and Eddie leaves without a word because if he were to try to speak, all that would come out is either an enraged scream or a choked sob and Eddie doesn’t want to risk either.

He drives around aimlessly for an unknown amount of time, just circles around the outskirts of Hawkins. Maybe I’ll just leave, he thinks. Indianapolis might be far enough. Maybe Chicago. Fuck it, maybe Argyle and Jonathan can put me up for awhile in California. Eddie wants to go somewhere that makes him forget just how lost he is, how unwanted and forgotten he’s become. Being the social pariah is only fun when he’s making speeches on cafeteria tables, not when it boots him out of his one and only career path.

Somehow, he ends up in Loch Nora. He can’t face Wayne right now, he doesn’t want to bother Robin or Nancy, he’s already let Jeff, Gareth, and Freak down in the worst way imaginable, and if he goes to his mom’s or Chrissy’s tombstones with one more sob story, he’s afraid they’ll start haunting him. Steve’s become a friend over the last year or so it makes sense. Process of elimination and all of that.

He doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to realize that he’d started driving that way before he ruled everyone else out.

Steve welcomes him like he always does and offers him a beer, sitting with him in companionable silence on the couch as they watch Monty Python and The Holy Grail and laugh at the same parts. Eddie knows Steve can see that he’s upset but instead of asking questions Eddie isn’t ready to answer, he just sits a little closer with their thighs touching and one arm strewn over the back of the couch, just barely grazing Eddie’s shoulder.

The movie ends and Steve moves to switch the tape when Eddie finally speaks up.

“The Hideout kicked us out. Can’t play there anymore.”

Eddie sees Steve freeze from behind before turning, his eyebrows knitted together above his nose. “Are you fucking serious?”

He nods and sighs, lifting one hand to chew on this thumbnail as he looks at the wall beyond Steve.

“That’s bullshit, dude. Why? Because of the protestors or whatever?”

He nods again.

“Want me to go down there? I’ve still got my bat around here somewhere. It might be nice to swing at something that’s not trying to like, eat me.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh through his nose and meets Steve’s eyes, their righteous anger blending with his own as he sees Steve cross his arms over his chest. It’s hard not to stare.

“Well, then at least I wouldn’t be the only guy in this town wanted for murder.”

Steve shakes his head and just chooses another movie, Howard the Duck this time, before returning to his spot on the couch. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite movies but he can’t focus to save his life because Steve is even closer now, his arm draped fully across Eddie’s shoulders and creating a space for Eddie to easily just… rest. So he does.

The title sequence starts and Eddie’s head drops to the side, resting on Steve’s shoulder. It’s one of his favorites but he can’t follow the plot to save his life. All he can focus on is the way Steve’s fingers trace symptoms and shapes against the cotton of his tee shirt, and the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the feeling of Steve’s head leaning against the top of his.

“I had a new song and everything,” Eddie whispers, surprising both himself and Steve.

Steve hums and tightens his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, a ghost of a hug. “Play it for me sometime?”

All Eddie Munson has ever wanted to do is play music. And maybe he still can.

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naamahdarling · 7 months

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So...this makes...maybe the third or fourth time in 30 years I have gotten an apology for garbage behavior from a clinic? I am shocked.

What happened yesterday at the doctor's office is this: I was very anxious and needed someone with me as backup for an exam. Because of a history of medical assault and neglect, I have a really hard time with that sort of thing. This clinic is the only place that I feel safe going to for this kind of care.

The facility told me I could not bring my boyfriend back with me, I told them I had a governmentally recognized disability, and that I needed someone with me because of anxiety and PTSD. They said that was fine and gave me a release sheet to fill out. That should have been the end of it.

Instead, I was told again when they called me back I could not bring him. They indicated at that time that they had a few private questions for me first. I knew this would be the "do you feel safe at home" screening questions (I support these), so I said "Okay, but he comes in for the exam."

They took me back, did not even ask those questions, and when the time came to bring him in, I was again told he could not come.

I am on the edge of a panic attack and now I am angry because this is both inhumane and a clear violation of the ADA. I am also barely able to speak articulately let alone advocate for myself because I am in a rough patch and totally alone in a scary environment that has now proved itself threatening.

The exam turned out to be unnecessary, thankfully, so I didn't push the issue and just got through the appointment and got out of there so I could have something to eat and stop shivering. But it made me sick inside, and I rapidly regretted not staying to speak to someone about it.

I used the portal and the phone to send a message asking the manager to call me about it, stating that I felt disrespected and unsafe, and that my right to reasonable accommodation for my disability had been seemingly ignored.

And to my utter SHOCK I got a call back from the manager who listened to me describe the incident, IMMEDIATELY apologized, and then told me that due to that incident and something else that happened this morning, they had a staff meeting to make sure it never happened again and it is now "set in stone" that patients may have someone they choose in the room with them. She was probably very aware that breaking the ADA in such a clear-cut way is really bad.

She also seemed personally sorry, and was very professional. Apparently the issue was that some staff were under the impression that the clinic was still using COVID protocols, which include not allowing anybody but the patient back. Which still would have been invalid in the face of "reasonable accommodations as outlined in the ADA", but it explains the confusion somewhat. They were just prioritizing rules over people, specifically disabled people, which is sadly typical.

The apology does not eliminate the last 24 hours of feeling like I'm doomed to be disrespected everyfuckingwhere I goddamned go, how scary it is to be devalued and dehumanized, and how helpless and hopeless it feels to be turned against by a clinic that prides itself on inclusivity. It doesn't take away feeling very depressed and being largely unable to sleep, or the fact that this has reinforced, again, the knowledge that I cannot let my guard down with medical professionals in the moment, even if changes are later made. Apologies don't fix everything. I came out of this another step behind, warier, less trusting. The only bright side is that MAYBE in the future this one clinic will fuck around with me less and with others less. I maybe helped fix a thing.

But I DO have the manager on a recording saying it won't happen again. So I can hold them to it. And I hope the people who were unclear on whether or not disabled people have the right to ask for what they need are very clear on the concept now.

#rambling again

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serenefreakgeekao3 · 1 year

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I have one!!!

Jim Halpert x gn!reader with fluff prompt

“Sad…I have a blanket with all this room and no one to share it with.”

With that episode ‘After Hours’ (yes I looked it up 🥲) where Jim is trying to get Cathy out of his hotel room so Dwight helps, but then Jim gets stuck with Dwight. So R comes to Jims rescue and offers him to stay with them in their room.

Summary: Jim is sent on a business meeting along with a few other prospective candidates for Vice President. When everything begins to spiral out of control, Jim doesn’t know who to turn to next //AU where Jim and Pam never got together, Pam went through with her marriage and the two children she has are with Roy, Pam is a sales associate, and Reader is the receptionist / being used as Nellie’s personal assistant Warnings: Use of Y/N, switching POV (between reader and Jim), use of the word ‘whxre’ (not at anyone), Author's Note: I’ll be completely honest my friend, I’ve completely forgotten who Cathy is! If she worked as the receptionist for Dunder Mifflin Scranton, then no she didn’t! In fact she’s not from Scranton at all cause reader doesn’t know her so how about that, there we go. Did I go back and rewatch the episode you mentioned? Yes. did i hate myself for it? Maybe a little bit. But it was during work so what else was i supposed to be doing? Work? Nah (ok look i wrote literal notes for this fic like it was a damn english project in school ok pls love this for me) Also on a side note, there needs to be more fics of Jim Halper x Reader ok I am literally dying without them. picture im like a dehydrated person in the desert just dragging my body around ok I need more fics

Arriving at the hotel in Tallahassee should’ve been a lot smoother than it turned out to be. They were all told that Dunder Mifflin had it ‘handled,’ which should’ve been your first clue. What really tipped you off was the number of rooms available.

“What do you mean? There should be one extra-”

“That’s all the rooms we have on record, sorry.”

“No,” You sighed, rubbing your face with your hands, “No, I know. It’s not your fault at all. Just- do you have any extra available rooms? I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket.” It’s not as if you were being paid millions to be a receptionist at Dunder Mifflin, but you’d rather not have to ask to bunk with anyone. Everyone here were adults, and half of them seemed dead set on performing some sort of sexual act for the evening.

You had driven over with Nellie after she insisted you both carpool to cut costs. Then you had to suffer an entire car ride about how pent up she was, how she just wanted to get laid and she wasn’t above using her decision on who will be the new VP to get herself into bed. You tuned out before she could start listing names since there was nothing in the world you wanted to know less than what kind of guy Nellie was into.

“I’m sorry, it looks like we don’t have any extra rooms available.”

You were about to speak when you were bumped into, turning around to see the large crowd of Dunder Mifflin employees lining up behind you. You start handing out the proper keys to their proper rooms, having Dwight snatch his key cards out of your hand before immediately pouncing on Nellie. You were extremely thankful when Jim finally squeezed his way to the front. You hand over the card you labelled with his name, then sighed, looking back to the woman behind the counter.

“It does seem like there are a few rooms that have been reserved but haven’t been checked into yet. Their estimated check-in times are varied, so if you wait here there is a possibility that I could get a room for you at some point tonight.”

“I would really appreciate that, thank you,” You mumble over to her, then lean closer to Jim when he starts insistently tapping your shoulder.

“Can you be my new Tallahassee buddy? Stanley keeps going on and on about how we’re both bachelors and I’m pretty sure he’s wanting to get laid tonight. And I’m so not about to be around all of that anymore.” You chuckle at the similarities, shaking your head.

“That’s horrible. It’s like there’s something in the air here. Nellie was saying the same stuff during the car ride!” It was hard to talk with the loud crowd, but you weren’t complaining about how close Jim was standing next to you. “Unfortunately, I won’t be much of a buddy today. I would, but the company messed up, they didn’t reserve enough rooms!”

“They didn’t mess up!” You jump at the foreign voice, spinning around to see Nellie sliding up close to you, practically hanging on your shoulder. She already had Dwight and Packer trailing her closely from behind. “I told them the correct number of rooms, I swear it!”

“There’s not one for me-”

“Yeah, because I told them you didn’t need one!” You furrow your brows in confusion, watching her for a moment. “I figured you’d bunk with me! We’d be bunk buddies!”

“Nellie,” You hesitate, eyeing the men behind her before leaning forward, “There is absolutely no way in hell I’m sharing a room with you, considering what you talked about on the way up here.” Nellie stood there for a moment, obviously confused before suddenly jumping and spinning around to see the men trailing her. She laughs loudly, winking at them before turning back to you.

“Oh! Good idea!”

You watch Nellie just say this, then turn and leave. You sigh again, shaking your head and turning toward Jim. “If things can get settled in time I’d love to, Jim, but I-”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear,” A woman sidled up close, brushing herself against Jim’s arm. You watched the man jump, then turn and furrow his brow at this woman.

“Cathy?”

“Yes! It’s so good to see you, Jim! If you need a new Tallahassee buddy, I am willing and available.” You choked on your spit at the innuendo, watching her practically rub herself again Jim. You watched him try to take a step back, then bump into the counter behind him. You could feel something burning your chest at the way she was acting toward him. Much too forward, in your opinion, though maybe that’s what Jim likes? Should you do that, would that gain his attention?

“Oh, well, that sounds fun-”

“Great! So we can-”

“Hello?” You turn quickly at the receptionist’s insistence, raising your eyebrows toward her in a gesture that you were listening. At this she smiles back, looking back to her computer. “So the first one that may be available should be checking in within the hour. If by the top of the hour they don’t get here, I can make a phone call for you.”

“Oh, thank you so much. Really, I appreciate it.”

“Of course!”

You turn back to Jim, watching the woman walk away with a sway to her hips. You chuckle, shaking your head. “So you know her?”

“Oh, she works with the company.” He tears his eyes away from her, smiling down at you once more. “She’s willing to sit with me so I don’t have to deal with Stanley all weekend.”

“Oh good!”

“Of course, unless you would like to sit with me?” Jim smiles, and you could tell he was trying to charm his way into the seat next to you. If only he knew you would do anything for him.

“If I’m there in time, definitely. But this whole hotel business is turning into a real-” You’re interrupted by a phone call, cursing quietly and smiling apologetically to Jim. “I’m so sorry- I’ll just be a second,” You answer the phone, stepping aside to deal with some business for Nellie. You miss Jim giving you a longing stare before he finally turns around and begins making his way toward the bar.

Jim felt lonely. He was almost excited to go on this trip, to get away from Scranton and all of the normalcy and monotonous days and maybe even spend some time with you outside of work for once. Or, as outside of work as he could get. But instead, he was sitting at the bar while nursing a drink and wishing you weren’t busy. Your hotel room hullaballoo lasted throughout the entirety of the company meeting, Nellie having complained that she had to take her own notes, and they still haven’t found a spare room for you.

Jim even offered to bunk with you, but then you had mentioned that there was only one bed in every room that was given out, and you had asked with raised eyebrows whether he was fine with sharing a bed with you. Jim- who obviously was more than okay with sharing a bed with you- had stuttered and mumbled and eventually the consensus landed in the field of no, you wouldn’t end up rooming with him. Nor did you have time to be his Tallahassee buddy. Which was extremely unfortunate, since the majority of the reason he had been excited about this trip was you.

Jim jumped at a weird noise, glancing over to see Packer blowing onto Nellie’s face with Dwight making what was probably supposed to be seagull calls into her ear. Sighing, he finished the rest of the drink he was nursing and mumbled something to himself before getting up and heading for his room. Maybe the sooner they’re back in Scranton, the sooner he’ll be able to talk to you again at the receptionist desk like normal. That would be 100% better than anything that was going on in this hotel at the moment.

When he got to his room he had turned on the tv, flipping idly through until he landed on the channel showing an NBA game. He leans back, watching for a little while. He’s not really sure what else to do, he didn’t exactly plan anything aside from ‘See what Y/N is doing and follow them around while they do it’ except you had said waiting in the lobby of the hotel room was extremely boring and you wouldn’t want to put him through that. He had acquiesced- for some reason- and had wandered back to the bar. Thinking back on it now, if you were bored down there then the best thing he could do would be to sit with you and entertain you. How had that thought only just crossed his head?

He was reaching for the remote to turn the tv off when he heard a knock at the door. Redirecting his attention, he left the remote for a moment and went to go see who could possibly be visiting him.

“Hey!” Jim’s brows furrowed seeing Cathy standing there in front of him. “The heating in my room is going a bit wonky, do you think I could hang out here while they fix it?” Without waiting for an answer, Cathy pushes past Jim and into his room.

“O-okay,” Jim drags out the word, closing the door slowly and hesitantly following Cathy into his room.

“What do you have on? Some kind of game?” She jumps onto his bed, scooting near the middle with her back against the bedframe. Jim hesitates, nodding toward the tv.

“Yeah, y’know. The NBA.”

“O-oh, sounds fun,” She sings back, patting the spot beside her. Jim slowly lowers himself onto the corner of the bed, then lets himself continue sliding until he’s sitting on the floor in front of the tv.

“Yeah. Fun.”

“So how’s the night going? Retiring early already?” Jim felt a tap on his shoulder and glanced up to see Cathy laying on her stomach, her head at the foot of the bed and close to Jim. He clears his throat, subtly trying to scoot away. “Didn’t know you were such an old man, Halpert!”

“Yeah, well. You know me. Old man Halpert.”

“Maybe we could stay up a little longer together? Have a little fun?”

Jim jumps up, taking a few steps back from the bed with a stutter. “Oh, you know, actually I was planning on heading down to the lobby-”

“I can come?” She asks, pushing herself up to sit on her legs.

“No, I just meant-”

Another knock on the door interrupts him, and thanking god under his breath he practically ran to the door. “Stanley! You do not know how glad I am to see you!”

“Mmhmm,” Stanley hums, pushing past Jim and walking into his room.

“You should stay! We’re watching the NBA, it’ll be like a party!”

“I’m just here ‘cause I ran out of refreshments in my room.” Stanley straightens up, carrying every single little bottle of alcohol that the hotel provided Jim’s room. Jim watched him look directly at Cathy, then back at Jim with raised eyebrows. Stanley immediately begins his exit, calling out behind him, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Jim glanced back toward Cathy on his bed, who only taps the bed beside her in an indication to sit down. Jim takes a big sigh, looking back to the tv immediately. He wanders over slowly, taking his position back on the floor.

“Oh! I wonder if you have-” Jim doesn’t hear the rest of it, glancing over to see what Cathy was doing only to be met with her rear-end as she completely bends over at the waist, digging through Jim’s closet. He turns his eyes to the ceiling of the hotel room. What was he supposed to do? Just kick her out? Why was he such a nice person that he didn’t want to hurt her feelings about all of this?

After some time, and Cathy making herself comfortable on Jim’s bed once more, Jim begins to stand and attempt his well-thought-out exit strategy once more.

“Actually, Cathy, I think I’m going to head down to the lobby-”

“Why?” Cathy stood on her knees on the bed, walking over toward the edge and placing a hand flirtatiously on his chest. “Is something the matter with your room?”

“Well- uh, no-”

“Then everything’s good! Come, sit with me!” Cathy jumps back once more, throwing the covers back and settling back in her spot, patting the open area next to her. Jim chokes for a moment, unsure what to do before pulling out his cell phone, and holding a finger up toward Cathy as if asking her to wait.

His plan to call Dwight into action, claiming he had seen a bed bug, hadn’t really worked out exactly as planned. If the plan had been for both Cathy and Dwight to be naked in his hotel room, then it actually went exactly as planned.

Jim was stepping outside of his room for a breather when he finally spotted you. He let out a long sigh, a fond smile lighting up his face without his permission. He wasn’t too worried about it anyway when a matching smile appeared on your face. You were standing near some person who looked to be wearing a hotel uniform, and he jogged over as the person entered the hotel room. “Hey! Did they get you situated finally?”

“Not completely sure?” You hesitated, shrugging at him. “They said they’ve been having some sort of appliance malfunctions on this floor so they need to make sure the room is okay for me to stay in. I asked to tag along, just in case.”

“Well, I hope it works out! Then you’ll be just down the hall from me!”

“Yeah! You could have a visitor for once!” You tease unknowingly, giggling. Jim’s face crashes though, and as he raises a hand to rub his face you begin to grow concerned. “Is everything alright?”

“Well if you count having a naked Dwight in my bed as alright-”

He’s cut off by your laughter, though you’re clearly trying to hold it back. You raised a hand to cover your mouth, and Jim can’t help but smile seeing you act so cute. You finally speak through your laughter, trying to hold yourself together. “Oh, well congratulations I guess? I gotta say, I didn’t see that coming. You and Dwight-”

“No, no, no,” Jim interrupts, laughing himself and shaking his head. You finally dissolve into laughter, and Jim lets the moment last a bit longer before finally explaining. “No, Cathy came into my room.”

“Cathy came by, and now you have a Dwight naked in your bed?” You seemed curious but confused, and Jim could feel his nose scrunch in adoration for you.

“Well, Cathy is naked in my shower so-”

“Oh!” You interrupt, and he could see your cheeks lighting up red. “Oh, I didn’t realize. You two-”

“No!” Jim calls out, probably a bit too loud and too quickly. He clears his throat, leaning closer to you and slumping his shoulders. “No, I mean, she obviously wants to. She told me her room was having heating problems and then has done everything in her power to flirt with me since pushing herself into my room. I’ve tried everything to be polite, I really don’t know what else to do.”

“And,” You begin, narrowing your eyes at him, “I’m still failing to see how a naked Dwight comes into play.” He laughs, then watches as your smile widens as he does.

“Well I kept trying to tell her I needed to leave, but she kept insisting I stayed. Then Stanley came by and stole my alcohol, and he was absolutely no help at all. So I called Dwight. Told him I saw a bed bug in my bed. He came through tearing my room apart, and Cathy said she was going to go take a shower in my room?” He rubs a hand across his face, shrugging. “Everything kinda devolved from there. He started stripping, saying he needed all the skin access he can have, that his body heat was going to attract the bed bugs to his body.”

“The bugs that- aren’t there?” You question, raising an eyebrow. He nods along and you laugh, shaking your head. You’re both quiet for a moment before you take a step toward him. Jim could feel his heart rate beginning to spike at your closeness. “But, help me out here. All this just because what? You don’t want to have sex with her?” Jim watched some sort of emotion cross over your face, though it was brief enough that he couldn’t quite catch it. “I mean, she seems like a good person?”

“She’s not the one I want though,” Jim mumbles, staring into your eyes. ‘Woah there, Jimboy,’ He thinks to himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself but only inhaling more of your scent, setting butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “I- I just mean, well. I like someone. And it’s not her.”

You were just opening your mouth to say something- ‘Anything, say anything,’ Jim pleaded in his head- when you were interrupted before you could even start.

“I tried my best, but I couldn’t get it to work. I don’t think this room is hospitable. I’m sorry.” You had turned around, taking a step away from Jim. He could finally breathe normally now, though he would still much rather be in your orbit than face the possibility of going back to his room to deal with things.

“Oh, that’s alright. I guess I can go see Tara back at check-in and see if she has anything else.” The disappointment in your voice had Jim’s chest clenching, and he reached forward to take your hand before you could walk away.

“My offer is still open, you know.” You laugh at him, shaking your head and pulling your hand away gently.

“What, stay with you and your two naked roommates?” Jim could feel his face begin to blush, and you shook your head once more. “Go have fun, Jim.” You walk away with an audible sigh, and Jim knew he would have done anything to make you happy again.

‘Go have fun, Jim,’ You mock back at yourself, shaking your head. ‘Yes, just tell your crush to go have sex with someone ‘willing and available,’ that’s the exact thing you need to be doing.’ You were currently sitting on the uncomfortable furniture in the check-in waiting area, balancing your briefcase on your knees and hoping desperately that everyone in Scranton that wanted your attention via phone had finally gone to bed. You hadn’t received a ‘super important’ not-so-important phone call for the last thirty minutes, so your hopes were beginning to look up.

“Excuse me, Y/L/N?”

“Yes?” You stumble as you stand, fumbling with your briefcase before finally catching it and dropping your phone. Thankfully, Tara waits patiently for you to pick up your phone as well before you rush over to her desk. She had been so helpful, and it had only taken you an hour of being in her company before remembering it was polite to ask about names.

“I’ve just got off the phone with-” She hesitates, glancing at her computer and scanning it before huffing and turning her attention back to you, “Well, doesn’t matter. They aren’t showing up, they told me as much. So we finally have a room available to you! I sent Max back up to check the room again, but if I remember correctly then this isn’t one of the ones having problems!”

“Oh, Tara, thank you so much!” You lean across the counter, and thankfully Tara meets you halfway for an awkward hug. She giggles as she backs away, leaning over and placing a card key on the counter.

“And it’s on the house, darling.”

“What? No, I couldn’t do that to you, Tara!”

“Look, with the whole misunderstanding, and then you having to stand here for hours and just wait around while that cute guy kept coming back trying to get your attention-”

“Wait, who, Jim?” You ask breathlessly, sliding the card into your hand. You laugh, though Tara seems unconvinced. “Oh, no, we’re just friends. It’s nothing like all that-”

“Sure, darling. Just take the room.”

“Thank you again!”

You back up, turning to quickly run into the room and almost knock directly into the camera guy that seems to have taken the position of following you around constantly. You sigh, nodding at the guy behind the camera before taking off quickly.

Your room was in the same hallway as Jim’s, and you weren’t sure yet whether you were going to curse the fact or thank Tara with an entire fruit basket. You were about to find out, though, now that you’d set your briefcase down and had taken a cursory look through the room. Making sure to have your card key on you, you exit the room at the end of the hallway and begin what felt like a walk of doom to where you knew Jim was staying- the room he had exited earlier in the night when you had almost been given a room and he had seen you.

As you were getting closer, you started hearing some kind of commotion. It sounded like muffled yells- then extremely loud screams as Jim’s door is flung open. A woman- Cathy- comes running out with a bedsheet held around her body, screaming and waving her free arm around her head as she pushes past you and runs down the hall. You hesitate, then take a few steps closer, just in time to hear Dwight’s mumbled voice.

“It’s not safe in here, Jim. I think you should room with Cathy for the night.”

You knock on the open door, peaking your head in to see Dwight with a facemask and large rubber gloves, holding two different spray bottles with some weird coloured liquids inside. Dwight was practically in Jim’s face, though at your knock they both turn to look at you. Dwight with exasperation, and Jim with nothing but relief.

“Y/N! Yes, please, save me from this nightmare.” He rushes toward you, taking one of your hands with both of his and practically drowning you with puppy dog eyes. You take in a quick breath before Dwight begins to crowd the both of you.

“No! Nope! No more bodies need to be added to the situation, go flirt outside.” Dwight slams the door closed behind the two of you, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbles up.

“So, naked Cathy and Dwight turn into-”

“Naked Cathy running away clutching a bedsheet and a fully decked-out Dwight spraying my room with mysterious chemicals? I guess so.” You both laugh and you could feel your cheeks heating up at Jim’s attention. “But, seems like I just lost my room.”

“Oh, what a shame,” You mumble, waiting for him to look back into your eyes before your smile grows wider. “So sad… I have a blanket with all this room and no one to share it with.”

Jim’s face lights up and he starts looking up and down the hallway as if your room number would just jump out in front of him. “Wait you finally got a room? That’s amazing, Y/N!”

“We finally got a room,” You insist, then hesitate as he locks eyes with you again, “I mean, if you’re still-”

“Yes!” Jim jumps in, grinning. “I would love to. Should’ve said that to begin with.” You both laugh, and you lead him down the hall to your room. Once inside, Jim begins to take a look around while you grab the remote, pushing yourself onto your bed and settling your back against the bedframe. As you turn on the tv, you start flipping through the channels.

“Shouldn’t you go back and rescue your stuff from Dwight’s wrath?”

“I think I’ll give it a night to air out,” Jim mumbles, settling himself slowly at the head of your bed, scooting in to sit next to you. You settle your channel-flipping on some sort of basketball game. You didn’t know much about it yourself, but nothing else seemed interesting and you knew Jim liked the game.

“So,” You begin, turning your position to face Jim fully. “Tell me all about what happened.” He laughs in response, raising a hand to rub the back of his head.

“Oh, well. I basically told you everything already. After you left I went back to my room and Cathy had apparently decided not to put on any clothes and just jumped under the covers on my bed like she owned the place. I got really sick of all of her flirting, so I tried telling her straight to her face, ‘Cathy, I’m sorry but I’m not interested.’”

“Really? Appropriate, given the circumstances.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. She just looked at me like I was crazy and asked if that’s what I thought of her. If I thought she was a whore.” You gasped at the name and Jim nodded, turning to look at you more directly as well. “Of course, I said no. Then she just said ‘Okay good, that’s settled,’ and then continued to flirt with me!”

“No!” You gasped, laughing again. “You did everything including telling her you weren’t interested and she still kept pressing on!”

“Yeah! So I called Dwight back. He came running in with those spray bottles and she tried insisting she didn’t see anything, but when Dwight asked ‘Where’s the bug?’ I didn’t even think about it, I just pointed straight at her.” You widened your eyes, unconsciously scooting closer. You watched Jim track your movement, his grin widening. “She screamed when he started spraying her and jumped off the bed and I thought to myself, ‘Well she got that far, I wonder if she’ll go all the way?’ So then Dwight asked if I saw it and I kept pointing at the sheet she was clutching around herself and-”

“That’s why she ran screaming from your room!” You blurt out, placing your hand on his arm, and then you both begin laughing. “That’s horrible!”

“I know! How could Dwight do something like that!” You laugh harder, shaking your head. After you both manage to calm down, another thought strikes your mind.

“So,” You begin, biting your lip and unsure how to phrase this. “You kept saying that you were sending signals that you obviously didn’t want to do anything with her, right?” You look up toward him, watching his eyes track your lips, realising you're biting them again.

“Uh- well, yeah. Yeah, I did that. It was like she was blind or something.” Jim mumbled, the tips of his cheeks were turning pink and it looked way too nice on him. “Or just, y’know, deliberately ignoring them.”

“What were they?” You ask- mumble, more than anything. Jim hesitates for a second, tilting his head.

“What?”

“What were the signs?” You could see the moment it registers what you’re asking in his eyes when they slightly widen.

“Oh, well. When she originally came in, she jumped on my bed and patted the spot next to her. I ended up sitting on the very corner of it,” He turned to point at the corner of your own bed as if you needed an explanation, then turned back toward you. “But even that felt a bit too much like giving in so I just ended up sort of sliding onto the floor. The entire time she was there I was either standing or sitting on the floor at the end of the bed watching tv.”

“Oh,” You whisper, trying to keep a smile tampered down at the fact that Jim had unflinchingly sat right next to you at the head of the bed. “Well, what else?”

“She tried to bend over directly in front of me.”

“No,” You gasp, laughing again. You hear Jim chuckle a bit before he continues.

“Yeah. I just looked up the whole time, I didn’t want to disrespect her or anything. Then there were the innuendos.”

“O-oh,” You drew out, smirking at him. “Saying innuendos to one Jim Halpert. I’m surprised you could resist her.” He’s quiet after, staring into your eyes. You begin to worry you said the wrong thing before he finally speaks up, his voice sounding a little rough.

“Yeah, maybe if it wasn’t her saying them.” You bite your lip, watching him momentarily before looking away and pretending to watch basketball.

“So what kinds of things did she say then?” As you finally glance back Jim just shrugs, looking quickly at the tv. Was he trying to pretend he wasn’t staring at you? Had he been staring at you? You bite your lip once again, thinking hard. “Ohh, I’m just so cold.” You tried to push your voice into a sultry tone and felt satisfied when Jim turned suddenly, his eyes wide and cheeks red.

“What?”

“That was one of the things she tried, right?” You asked, indicating what you had meant by saying that. You could feel Jim slowly relaxing against you and- wait, against you? When had the two of you got so close that your arms were resting against each other? Your faces were even closer than you remembered and you were beginning to get lost in his eyes.

“Y/N?” You blink a few times, realizing you had zoned out for a moment. If he had answered you, you had definitely missed it.

“Yeah?” You couldn’t help how breathless your voice sounded, and you could only hope that Jim wouldn’t realize why and then leave.

“Are you cold?” His voice was low and rough again and distracted you from the words he said for a few beats too long. Even after, his words had your brain scrambling to a halt, and you could feel your mouth opening and closing- gaping like a fish. How attractive. And yet, through all this Jim maintained how close he was to you. How he was slightly hunching over, his face closer to yours than it maybe should’ve been.

“I- yes,” You answer, nodding your head slowly, in obvious disbelief. “Yes, I’m cold.”

“Would you like help to warm up?” Jim was already shifting slowly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in closer to him.

“Yes, I- I would,” You stutter out, pushing yourself slowly down to lay your head on his chest. Once the both of you were settled, you were essentially laying together on your hotel bed and were cuddling. You were laying on Jim, you could feel his chest rising and falling with breath, and you had your arms wrapped around him to hold him close and he was letting you.

Maybe this trip didn’t turn out so bad after all.

#the office #fanfiction #jim halpert #jim halpert x reader #jim halpert x you #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #the office cathy #dwight shrute #the office nellie #bad flirting

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cosmic-crybaby · 5 months

Text

Break My Heart Again- Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part 1

Summary: After being childhood friends, you and Thomas made a promise one day to get married, but when he returned from France, he came back a completely different man.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, tommy before the war (Lowkey OOC)

She's known Tommy almost all her life. They met one day at the cut when he was ten, trading cigarettes with the other kids, and she was eight, tagging along with her older cousin. It was merely a passing glance, maybe an introduction of names, but she hadn't seen him until years later. At the ripe age of twelve and fourteen, when he defended her when the older boys pulled at her hair and pushed her around. She was forever grateful to him after witnessing him take in three in a fight, punching the daylights out of one, shoving another's head into the mud, and threatening the third. 'If you ever come near her again, I'll fuckin' take your eyes!'. That was enough to scare them off. The two were almost inseparable ever since. Years of growing up together the two would often get into mischief together and cause trouble in the smoky streets of Small Heath. As [name] got a little older, the more she started to fall for the future gangster, and the more time passed, the more she started to change.

And of course, Thomas began to notice.

By the time they were seventeen and fifteen, the two delinquent teenagers seemed to be more than friends. The way Thomas would hold her hand as they run up the grassy hills, the way [name] would stare into his eyes as they lay on the grass under the shaded tree.

"I don't know what I would do without you, Tommy Shelby..." She spoke softly, her voice was like heaven to him. "I can't picture myself beside anyone else," She admitted. Thomas just stared into her eyes, his soft hands rising to brush his knuckles against her cheek, tucking away the pieces of hair that came undone from her clip.

"You don't have to...because I'm going to make a promise to you [name]," He suddenly sat up, causing her to sit up as well and gaze at him in confusion.

"What kind of promise?" She asked, curiously. He opens his mouth to speak then quickly closes it before thinking for a moment. Collecting his words carefully. Clearing his throat so his voice wouldn't crack, because he knew he wouldn't hear the end of it from her if that happened.

"That one day, when I have me own money and me own house, we will get married," He finished confidently. She sat there, her lips slightly agape.

"Stop joking around!" She laughed, swatting at his arm, causing him to laugh as well and to catch her hand before she should hit him again. This time both of his hands enveloped hers as he stared at her with a content smile.

"I'm being serious, trust me when I say I want to marry you one day [Name] [Lastname]!" He said, laughter hidden within his words. She thought for a moment then nodded once, reaching for his hand. She kissed the back of his hand, her soft lips were warm upon his skin.

"Okay, promise," She smiled lovingly as he returned the kiss on her hand before bringing her close to kiss her forehead.

"Promise,"

In the years that followed that day, she was by his side, even when he was starting to work at the betting shop with his family. At first, she was just there for moral support, but right when she finished high school Polly saw her potential and how educated she was, and on the spot, she was hired. Checking the maths and records in each book, making sure everything was in its place.

It was a dream being with Tommy at nearly every waking hour. Of course nothing would go beyond holding hands, gently touches, and friendly affection . But even when those were at a minimum, she was falling in love with him.

Her love for him only grew since they first met. It was unconditional love and ever since he made that promise to her, she only fell harder. It almost felt like she was already married to him. With the way he kissed her forehead or cheek, the way he was so kind to her and checked in on her work whenever he needed an escape, and how he would tell her he loved her. Every night after work when he walked her home. He would kiss her knuckles, her cheek, and her lips before saying.

"Goodnight [name], I'll pick you up in the morning, I love you,"

It wasn’t until she began to notice his slow distance from her. At first, she thought nothing of it as he wouldn’t give her as much affection as he normally did. Her hands grew cold as they were empty from his. His touch was slowly detaching from her own. The emotional distance was noticed quickly, but the physical distance made her heart cold. He went from seeing her every day to nearly every other day, now...she was lucky to even catch him at the betting shop. As much as she wanted to convince herself that it was nothing, she couldn’t help the emptiness she suddenly felt. She had wondered what he was so busy with and deep down she had hoped he hadn’t gotten in any more trouble than he already was getting himself into.

The weeks and months went by, her resentment for Tommy only grew. On the days he went to the shop, she tried to make her presence known, nothing but a simple "Hi [name],"would be his response. Sometimes not even making eye contact with her.

One day, in 1914, he approached her in her office. She was too busy organizing files and writing down and calculating the records to make sure they were accurate. She didn't even notice his presence at first. He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets as he stared at her, waiting for her to pay him any mind.

“I’m busy,” She simply mumbled, seeing him in the peripheral vision of her eyes. He scoffs before stepping in further and closing the door behind him.

“So that’s how you treat me now, eh?” He asked, sitting across from her in a chair. He was met with silence as she kept her eyes glued to the page. “[Name]” He called.

Again, silence.

Tommy suddenly slammed the book shut and grabbed the pen that was in her hand.

“Hey! I'm trying to work, you just made me lose my spot!” She shouts, quickly standing up as the chair behind her scrapped against the wood floor loudly.

Tommy just smirks. She stomp towards him to retrieve the pen back, but the older boy just held it above her head as he extended his arm up, barely just out of her reach.

“Thomas, this isn’t funny!” She pleads. He just laughs.

“There you are, finally acknowledging me,”

She sighed in defeat and set herself back on her feet, holding his gaze with a glare.

“What do you want now? Go on with it, Polly needs these by the end of the day and she’ll have my neck if I don’t have em ready,” She crossed her arms over her chest. Tommy let his arm down, setting the pen on the desk.

“What makes you think I want something?” He asked. Her eyes widened slightly.

“I don’t see you for months and you barely even talk to me let alone look at me whenever you’re here, so this sudden change in behavior is quite a shocking one,” She explained, her tone still stern. She was met with his eyes, a guilty look on his face.

“I know...I know and I do apologize-”

“You were supposed to be my closest friend, Thomas...” She interrupted him. Her voice was calm, almost meek.

“I am your closest friend, never forget that [name],” He held her slumping shoulders. She takes an exhale through her nose.

“Listen to me...I’m sorry, I had some prior engagements that needed my attention,” He said quietly as he tried to get her to look into his eyes.

“I know but I just wished you had just talked to me...I felt so alone,”

Thomas held his breath and clenched his jaw. He couldn’t tell her now...Not yet at least.

“When you’re with me, you’ll never really be alone,” He told her, holding her close. She knew there was some truth to his words but pushed herself away from him.

“I have to get back to work,” She said. He rolls his eyes at her sudden coldness.

“I’m not leaving until I get a smile out of you...and maybe an ‘I love you’,” He smirked, still holding her, his hands on her shoulder blades. She scoffs, giving him a small, ingenuine smile.

“Happy?” She asked. He shook his head. His hands slowly crept to her sides, going unnoticed by her.

“Tommy...” He gave her that look. That look of mischief. “Don’t you dare-” But her warning came too late. His fingers began digging into her sides, it didn’t take long before she began giggling profusely.

“Tommy stop! I can’t- I can’t breath!” She squealed in between fits of laughter as she tried to push his hands away. He was too strong.

“Tell me you love me [name]!” He laughed.

“N-No! Never!” She laughed, the tears in her eyes started to seep down her cheeks.

“Say it [name] and I’ll stop!,”

“Fine! I love you Thomas Shelby!” She gave in. The tickling had stopped, yet she barely caught her breath when Tommy pulled her close and picked her up from the ground and kissed her cheeks.

“I love you too, [name] [lastname],” He said quietly. Looking into his eyes made her even forget why she was upset with him. He looked at her with perfect love in his eyes and a small smile on his lips as he quickly kissed her hand before leaving her to continue your work.

A week later, Tommy had told her the secret he had been keeping from her. Finally letting it out.

“No...Tell me it’s a lie...” She was in denial. Shaking her head as the tears welled up her eyes.

“[Name]-”

“No...”

“[Name] please...listen to me,” He approached.

“Please don’t do this you don’t have to do this!” She cried.

“We have to go, [name]...it’s the only choice,” He calmly stated.

“To put your lives on the line? To leave your family behind to leave me behind?”

The silence was daunting. She sniffled and turned away from him.

“I understand the sacrifice you’re making, but I can’t bare the thought of my life without you...Arthur, John, you...You three have been in me life every day since I was a child, if you were to never come back I don’t know what I would do without you,” She shook her head as she choked up once again.

“Don’t think of it that way, love...We will come back once it’s over...and when it’s over I will come back to you,”

“Tommy...” She felt his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her.

“You will be the one I am living for...who I am looking forward to come home to...” He steps in front of her, grabbing her cheeks in the palm of his hands as they locks eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you,” She whispered. He pressed his forehead to hers. Closing her eyes tightly to stop the tears.

“You won’t...I promise,”

She has always known for Tommy to keep his promises. But deep own she wasn't sure if this was within his control. And it scared her. Shattered her heart and soul to know he was leaving in just a few weeks. Every day after that he spent every moment with her as if it were his last, even though it felt like it to her.

The day the three Shelby brothers left, Polly, Ada, and Martha were in shambles. [Name] tried to stay strong but the second she approached the train station she began to tear up.

She had said your goodbyes to John and Arthur first as she held off her departure from Tommy. She stood in front of him, he seemed to put on a brave face for his family and for her but she could read right through him. He was just as scared as she was. She embraced him tightly.

“I will write to you every day...and pray for you three while you’re gone,” [name] told him. He nods quietly, he reaches into his pocket to pull out a small, simple, ring to held it to her.

“Remember that promise we made when we were kids?” He asked.

“That we’d get married one day?” She nods.

“I am giving this to you, so that when I do return we will get married...That way I will come home with a purpose...to marry you,” He said. She gasped a bit as he slipped the golden band on her ring finger.

“Just promise me you’ll never take it off, for as long as I live and love you,”

“I promise,” She smiled at him. He gave [name] a quick kiss. The train whistle blows.

“Come home to us soon...please,” She begs. He nods again before Arthur and John pulled him away to board the train.

Watching the men wave off their families as the train took off was heartbreaking. The four women of Small Heath held onto each other, comforting each other when they watched the three men in their lives leave on a train. [Name] rested her head on Polly’s shoulder as she rubbed the young girls back, quietly sobbing beside her.

[Name] went home that day, sitting alone as she twirled the ring on her finger, counting the days until his first letter came.

#Spotify #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #x reader #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #tommyshelbyxreader #light angst #friends to lovers

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silassinclair · 20 days

Text

Introduction!!

Yandere Ghost x Reader

CW// Suicidal Thoughts, Paranormal Activity, Murder Mention

My other yand OC Maddox was a hit with ya’ll so here’s a short introduction of a new oc!! Hope you like him as much as I do. This is gonna be very boring because it’s an introduction but I’ll make a oneshot right after this one!!

Masterlist!!

“This key unlocks every door in the manor. Except the door to the attic for some reason, but there’s nothing of importance up there. Apparently it’s just some old junk the first owner left.” The agent said with a tight lipped smile. Her matte red lipstick was as bright as a stop sign.

Taking the key from her hand you’re surprised to feel how heavy it is. “Thank you.” You mutter.

“All the legalities are settled so she’s all yours. I recommend blasting that ivy off the side wall of the house though. The roots can mess up the brick.” The agent adds.

“Alright, I appreciate the tip.” You say and shut the door in her face, leaving you alone in your new home.

Maria was a total pain in the ass, like all people who work with selling things. Oh and for the record, you like the ivy that grows on the side of your new home. Makes it look pretty and natural. Anyways, her being gone was like a breath of fresh air. All was good now that you finally had a place to call home.

Your Grandfather died and in the will he left you his summer home in Italy. It was a grand manor that was located on a hilltop surrounded by forrest. It was perfect for your hermit self. Never in your life would you imagine leaving the states to come live in Italy but here you were. After all the manor was handed to you on a silver platter, the offer would be foolish to refuse.

There was nothing for you in the states. Your life was miserable, draining, and filled with nothing but painful repetition. Being worked like a machine and stepped on like a doormat. Having a horrid and overly possessive ex boyfriend who was a serial cheater didn’t help either. You were so close to ending your miserable existence until a woman named Maria gave you a call.

And now you were here, standing in the foyer of your new home. Some work would need to be done. Floors needed polishing, corners dusting, windows wiping. Maybe you should make a checklist?

"This is gonna be a long day.." You think to yourself.

"There she is again. She must be the new owner." I think to myself as I watch the young woman clean the floor.

The past owner, Lorenzo, must have passed away and put the ownership of the manor into this girl's hands. It has been a while since I’ve seen the old man. But did he have to put my home in the hands of some uncultured American? I find this terribly irresponsible of him, I mean look at her!

She's using a bleach based product on the hardwood! Lorenzo was a good owner of the Verona manor. He hired staff to keep it well maintained and he rarely ever visited. But this girl... she's an utter buffoon. Before she can torture the hardwood any longer I swiftly hover behind her and move the bottle a few feet away from her while she isn't looking.

"Huh?" When she reaches for the bottle she finds it has moved away. I snicker at her confused reaction.

"It was just right here..."

She reaches over and grabs it again but before she does I kick it, sending it flying across the foyer and hitting the front door.

“Any minute now she’ll run away screaming, she won’t even look back.” I think to myself with a devious grin.

But when I hover in front of her I only see an annoyed expression on her face.

“Uhm… Did I do something wrong?” She says.

I freeze, is she not afraid? Why was she talking as if she were talking to someone? Can she see me?

“I asked if I did something to upset you.”

And then her eyes move up and look right into mine. For the first time in centuries I feel as if I have ignited, that I am alive and that my heart once again beats like all other human beings.

“You… Can you see me?” I ask hesitantly, afraid that if I may speak too loudly she’ll scamper away like a mouse.

Her soft lips part slightly as she nods.

He told me his name was Dante Verona. He was the original owner of the Verona manor and he comes from an Italian royal family. But he was assassinated centuries ago in this very manor during a masquerade party. So I assume that his spirit is trapped here. He was wearing an intricate black, red, and white Venetian mask that hid his face. He wore matching black and red noble attire and his hair was a curly dark chocolate brown that went down to his neck.

Overall he was a total mystery. His entire existence was perplexing to me. Yes I do believe in the paranormal but never would I think I’d meet a real life ghost.

“I assume your grand father is Lorenzo? Has he passed on?” Dante asks, cutting through the thick silence.

I blink a few times, maybe if I blink hard enough he’ll disappear and that’ll confirm that this was all just my imagination. So I blink, but Dante’s translucent self is still hovering in front of me. The blank expression of his mask makes me slightly uneasy. I couldn’t get a read on the guy at all.

Coughing, I finally answer, “Uhm yeah… He was my grand father. He left me this manor in his will. And he didn’t mention any ghosts or anything like that.” I add.

“Lorenzo couldn’t see me. You’re the first to see me actually.” Dante says. His voice sounded smooth but the mask muffled it slightly. But he also sounded like he was in pain. I wonder how long he’s been here, trapped in this manor.

“So this whole time you were all alone?”

“Yes.” He softly replies. “Just me. Only my spirit is here.”

“That must be hard.” I say, but not in a pitying sounding way. The last thing he wants is pity probably.

Dante hovers away and I follow him into the living room. Looking up I see him hover up to the chandelier. He looks down at me, I can see his dark green irises through the black holes of the mask.

“Every day is hard. God has cursed me, rejected my entry into the heavens.” His voice cracks. "My death occurred in the very room we are in."

I look around the oriental room we are in. It has been modernized over the years, but I can imagine how it looked in his century. The masked party people, music, drinks, lies and deception. All of it in the room we are in but centuries before.

"My killer has not been found but I know they are long dead. Knowing that they burn in hell brings me peace. And I have learned to accept that I am to remain here.”

Then he rambles on about his life story. The tragedies he lived through, the friends he made and lost, wars and battles faced, and lovers went and gone. But I don't mind that this conversation is one sided. He has had no one to talk to for centuries so he deserves a listener.

"I apologize my lady. I have droned on for far too long. It's impolite..." Dante says in a dejected tone. But I reassure him.

"Y-You're okay! I understand. You haven't had someone to talk to in a long time I imagine. Besides, I found your life story very interesting."

Dante hovers down to where I'm sat on the couch. He also sits beside me. Leaning in close he tilts his masked face to the side as he comes closer to mine. I move away slightly; his body emits an eerie chill.

"Tell me about you. What is your name?" He asks, his eyes twinkle with an emotion unknown to me.

"I'm Y/n L/n. I originally lived in the United States, but I moved here as you know." I mutter. I've never been one to talk a lot anyways.

Dante looks me up and down. His fingers reach out causing me to flinch back, but he goes to touch the fabric of my black dress rather than my skin. To my surprise his fingers can touch the fabric, they don’t phase through it.

"Why do you wear black? Are you a widow? Has your husband passed on?" He asks softly.

I feel myself giggle slightly and he looks up at me with probably a confused expression.

"I've never been married silly, I'm only 23 years old.”

Dante’s emerald eyes widen. “23 and unmarried? Has the societal norm changed? Because my sister was married off to her husband when she was 16.”

I cringe physically. “Oooh yeah, lots of things have changed. But also I’m wearing black because it’s just my style. It’s called goth, it’s a music based style. I can tell you about it sometime.”

Dante looks at me like I’ve grown three heads. I can see it in his eyes.

“Ahem- Anyways. Why do you wear that mask?” I ask.

Dante breaks the eye contact and looks down at the side. “It does not come off. No matter how hard I try to remove it, it only stays. I cannot remove the clothing either.”

I nod. “Is it because it was the last thing you wore before you died?”

He nods in return.

“I assume so.”

He moves closer to me ever so slightly. His gloved hands caress my h/c locks of hair and then he brushes his fingers across my cheeks and jawline.

“What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly.

Dante’s hooded eyes shine with an emotion I cannot read. But I feel like my life from this day forward will never be the same. Can the living and the dead co exist?

Dante Verona. Will we be able to share the same roof?

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #obsession #yandere ghost x reader #yandere ghost #dante verona

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roanniom · 2 years

Text

Animals

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You and Eddie go camping with Steve and Robin, but when you both go off to get something from the car...you end up getting frisky. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Note: This was born both from a request from @boomhauer who said “I’d be totally down for Eddie getting freaky on the hood of a car” as well as a post I made earlier today about pet names Eddie would call you. As you shall see, I had him use a record amount and I am rightfully proud of myself.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, unprotected sex / PIV sex / semi-public sex, fingering, creampie, dirty talk but really more humorous than anything, alcohol and drug consumption

~*~

Eddie Munson is a menace. You know this to be true, and you have known it since you met him. But getting into a relationship with him opened you up to a whole new level of extreme. Even though you’d been close friends for years, you’re only just learning now that he’d been holding back facets of his personality. And you’re more than happy to discovery them - more Eddie just meant more to love.

Which is how you find yourself tipsy and traipsing through the woods with Eddie draped around you from behind. You squeal as he rests way too much of his weight on you, arms loosely slung around your shoulders, his chest to your back.

You’re on a camping trip with Steve and Robin, but you all had run out of the first case of beer that you’d packed for the night. Eddie had chivalrously volunteered to make the trek back down the hill to where you all had parked your cars to grab the extra case he’d left in the van. Of course, you’d immediately jumped up and volunteered yourself as bodyguard and guide.

“After all, you can be directionally challenged and the woods are dangerous, pretty boy,” you’d cooed, stepping forward to encircling him in your possessive embrace. He’d smirked down at you.

“Gonna keep me safe, my warrior Princess?”

You’d stepped onto tiptoes and pulled him down for a kiss, whispering against his lips, “I’d slay dragons for you, Munson.”

“Ooookay, so I’m gonna need about four more beers if I’m gonna have to deal with this sickening nerd shit for the rest of the night.” Steve’s voice had broken through your moment, along with the sound of Robin fake gagging.

“Yeah you guys are cute and stuff but can you be cute while, I don’t know, actually getting the beer?” Robin had whined. You’d flipped them both off and grabbed Eddie by the front of the shirt, marching defiantly into the woods while Eddie had thrown a shrug and a wink over his shoulder at your shared friends.

And now you’re stumbling through the trees, feeling Eddie plaster sloppy kisses down the side of your neck from behind. You cause him to almost trip as you come to an abrupt stop, but even that doesn’t cause him to miss a beat in his assault on your skin.

“Got us lost, baby? I thought you knew the way,” he teases between wet, sucking kisses. You sigh in frustration even as you tilt your head to the side to give him more access.

“I didn’t get us lost, it’s just…hard to concentrate when you’re…fuck.” You’re laughing in spite of yourself as you struggle to speak, words coming out with a moaning pitch.

“When I’m ‘fuck’?” Eddie questions. He takes advantage of your current stand still to push your back up against the nearest tree. He edges your feel apart and slots his thigh between your legs leaning in to continue his mauling kisses down the front of your throat this time. “Is that an inarticulate way of saying I’m ‘sex literally embodied’?”

“No, you’re a fucking gremlin, Munson,” you gasp out while grasping tightly on his messy hair. Eddie hisses, both from the sting and with faux incredulity.

“You’re turned on by gremlins? That’s kinda sick, baby. Maybe I should let the town know that you’re the freak, not me— ” You cut him off by yanking him down to your level and beginning to kiss the life out of him. He groans loudly into your open mouth and you register that the volume of his sounds has probably scared away any nearby nocturnal wildlife.

You and Eddie are the things that go bump in the night.

Your hand slides down Eddies chest to clutch at the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his skin below. Just as you do that he lifts his knee so that his thigh slots higher up between your thighs, giving your rolling pelvis something to grind against. You pull away from his mouth to pant heavily.

“Okay fuck, sue me. You’re sex embodied. You happy?” you groan. Eddie chuckles and maintains eye contact as his hands on your waist guide your hips to grind against his thigh.

“Ecstatic. That’s all I wanted.”

Pleasure courses through your veins and you slide your hand down further from Eddie’s chest to meet your favorite package. Straining in his jeans.

“Anything to say about me, pretty boy?” you fish with mischief gleaming in your eyes. Eddie’s lips are parted as he grunts in response to the way you’ve begun palming the outline of his member.

“You’re ethereal. Exquisite. My goddess divine,” Eddie rambles, placing kissing on your throat, jaw, and collar bone between each descriptor. You throw your head back and laugh.

“Oh fuck you.”

“Would ya?”

You bite your lip and nod coyly. As if you aren’t practically jerking him off through his jeans already. As if you aren’t already rubbing yourself to pleasure against his thigh.

Without warning Eddie peels you off the tree he had you pressed against and hauls you forward through the forest.

“Where are we going?” you ask breathlessly, holding onto his arm for dear life as he practically runs.

“The van,” he says as if it was the most obvious answer ever. You dig your heels into the ground to try and make him stop, giggling furiously.

“The van’s that way, you idiot!” you pull him the opposite way. “I fucking told you you’re directionally challenge. Thank god I’m here.”

“My hero!” Eddie pretends to fake swoon onto you and you shove his body away with a smile, running the last few meters into the clearing where the little pull off parking area was which harbored your cars. Eddie chases after you, practically tackling when you reach the van, making you squeal.

“Robin and Steve are waiting...oh...waiting for the beers!” you try your best to gasp out as Eddie descends on your lips, hands squeezing you all over. He’s got you pressed into the side of his van, much more purposefully than he had pressed you against the tree.

“Robin and Steve are drunk,” Eddie replies, moving to sloppily kiss your jaw.

“And you aren’t?” you challenge, jutting your chin up to coax him down to your neck. He happily obliges.

“Drunk on you.”

“That’s cheesy as fuck.”

“Yeah? Let’s see if your pussy agrees with that sentiment.” Eddie wiggles his eyebrows at rucks up your skirt, pawing at the front of your panties. He’s met with even more wetness than he expected and his eyes go wide with glee. “Exactly as I thought. This pussy is on my side.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, rolling your eyes. But your hands betray you, fingers digging into his arms as Eddie’s digits slip past the hem of your panties to slide through the waiting slick beyond.

“She doesn’t think I’m ridiculous.”

“You are NOT anthropomorphizing my pussy right now.”

“She’s upset you’ve been neglecting her,” Eddie says with a pout, eyes puppy-dog-round even as his fingertip swirls sinfully around your clit. Your hips buck into his hand.

“H-how could I have neglected he - I mean it,” you add on pointedly, glaring daggers at him. Eddie licks his lips which pull up in a smirk.

“She’s so wet and needy and I’ve been right here all along. It’s a crime you didn’t ask me to make it go away.” He leans forward and mouths wetly at your collar bone, pulling down the sagging off-the-shoulder neckline of your oversized sweater.

“Okay stop talking about my pussy like that,” you command without any heat. Eddie nods sympathetically.

“Alright I hear you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Eddie breathes, nosing into the valley of your cleavage. Your head rolls back against the side of the van as Eddie works his finger inside you, the heel of his palm taking over applying pressure on your clit.

“Mmm thank you.” It is gratitude both for the pleasure he is bestowing upon you and for his promise to stop being ridiculous.

“Besides, I need to show some love to my other two favorite girls,” Eddie murmurs sweetly, pulling away from you long enough to lift the lower hem of your sweater up over your breasts.

“Wait, what?”

Eddie’s free hand is on your bare tits immediately, lifting and squeezing and molding his palm against the plush flesh. You groan.

“Jesus Christ, Munson.”

“Jesus Christ yourself, sugar tits. You want me to stop being ridiculous, you shoulda had a less spectacular rack.” His voice is affecting a cliche jock-esque accent and he gives you a roguish wink, which makes you swiftly smack him upside the head. He lets out a moan.

“Fucking of course you like getting smacked,” you laugh in frustration. Eddie nods his head vigorously.

“Hit me harder. Come on baby, that the best you can do?”

“Eddie!” you’re rolling your eyes again, but this time they roll back because he’s added another finger inside you. He’s pumping with intention now and your hips roll and your back arches so that your tits are more fully pressed into his touch.

“Slap me? How about choke me a little - just a little!” He’s barely able to get the words out himself through his own gleeful laughter. Deep down you know he’s only partially joking. You’ve seen the way he reacts when your nails dig into his skin. The way his eyes almost cross when you tug too hard on his curls. But something to dig into another night. Because now you’re already rocketing towards that great precipice.

“Fuck, princess. That’s it. Give it to me.” He’s talking about your orgasm. He owns it. It’s his. So you acquiesce. You cum all over his fingers, abdomen stuttering with the force of the contractions as waves of pleasure ricochet throughout your body. You cry out his name and he does his best to muffle the sound by kissing you but you’re sure the woodland animals, and Steve and Robin, and fuck - even god himself - must have heard you.

You’ve barely started to come back to your senses when you feel your back being pressed down against cool metal. Your skirt is bunched up around your waist and your sweater is still gathered up under your under arms, your tits still exposed. Eddie stands between your thighs, ripping open his belt buckle and yanking down his pants and boxers. He pulls out his swollen, hardened cock and strokes it a few times, his other hand pressing down on the crease between your pelvis and your thigh to keep you open and exposed to him.

“Fuck yesss,” he exhales, as if the sight of your practically transparent wet panties stretched across your pussy lips is the exact kind of relief he needs after a hard day. And maybe that’s not too far off. He has been hard practically all day.

Watching Eddie fist his cock is mesmerizing and you spread yourself open even further, welcoming him in. When the outer sides of your thighs also meet cold metal, however, you begin to recognize your surroundings.

“Eddie...” you say as a warning.

“Yeah, my beloved?” he singsongs down at you. He leans over, one arm supporting him beside your head and the other guiding the tip of his cock into your folds.

“We’re...we’re on the hood of a car.” You gasp when suddenly Eddie slams forward, sheathing himself all the way inside you. A million emotions flicker across his contorting face as he tries to calm himself down from the initial squeeze and how good it felt to be inside you again.

“That we are, yes,” he hums, eyes closed against the pleasure.

Your head turns wildly from one side to the other for a full assessment. Your own eyes fly open wide.

“You’re fucking me on the hood of Steve’s car?!”

“Well yeah. The hood of the van is too high up. Wouldn’t be able to get the right angle.” He gives this explanation as if the original question is silly and not worth his time. As he begins to find a rhythm with his thrusts, he places a sweet kiss to your cheek and then forehead. “And I know my baby needs the best angle, isn’t that right?”

“Eddie I can’t fucking believe - oh my god.” He shifts between your legs and tilts his pelvis so that his next thrust hits right at the spot that has you seeing stars. He clocks this positive reaction and doubles down, dedicating all his force and energy on hitting repeatedly into that place. Your fingers scrabble against his shoulders for purchase. “Oh my fucking god.”

“You were saying?” Eddie taunts. Sweat has begun to bead on his brow and he’s panting openly over you now. His thrusts are so hard Steve’s car begins to bounce on it suspension. Your mouth opens and closes a few times but no further words can come out, neither praise nor reprimand. Eddie definitely notices this. “Aw, sweetie. A few minutes with my cock in you and I’ve already fucked you dumb, huh? What happened to that mouth?”

You do your best to glare at him, but your eyes begin rolling back of their own volition. Eddie’s grinning down at you now.

“It’s hot, right? Fucking on Harrington’s car?” He leans further down over you, burying his face in your neck as he doubles his efforts pistoning his cock in and out of you. “Now any time he pulls up you’ll have to remember this. You, flat on your back. Smudging this nice car. Taking my cock so well.”

You let out a hiccupping moan, nodding. Eddie kisses your neck and tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you up and down on the surface of the hood now so that your body crashes into his with each forward thrust of his hips. Your pelvises meeting each time with toe-curling force.

You begin chanting his name, in a whisper this time. A big difference from earlier when you screamed his name as he fingered you. The pressure is intense. The situation is too damn wrong and hot and sexy. His lips are stationed at your ear so you can hear every one of his strangled breaths, his moans, even a full on whimper or two.

“Eddie...so...good...I’m...”

“Mmm again, baby? Is it my fucking birthday? C’mon, give it to me again, fuck.”

His words are fucking ridiculous, yet again, and you end up cumming and laughing at the same time. A combination that has you spasming and clamping down on his cock in a way that has Eddie practically convulsing and shouting out. His own release takes him utterly by surprise and he thrusts into you a few more times before biting down on your shoulder and anchoring you to him by your waist. His cock plunges deep inside you and twitches, painting your inner walls. He grunts against you until his cock stills, at which point he laves his tongue across the indents his teeth left on your shoulder.

“I....you...” you struggle to breathe out as you yet again return down to earth from your high. You gaze unseeingly up at the sky above him, your hands squeezing weakly at his back. “I think you killed me.”

“I killed you? I think you squeezed my soul out of my fucking dick, baby,” Eddie barks with a laugh.

“And here I was supposed to protect you,” you joke with a shaky chuckle. Eddie lifts up, propping his hand against the car so he has enough room to press a sweet kiss to your bruised lips.

“You can steal anytime, you beautiful siren.” You kiss him back with feeling, wincing when he pulls out of you and dropping your head back down against the hood. Eddie whistles low and you look up just as he begins pushing his cum back into your dripping hole.

“Eddie!” you admonish. He gives you a wolfish grin.

“What? You can’t leak cum all over Steve’s car. What are we, animals?”

He lunges forward and swallows your answering laughter before it, too, can fill up the night air.

~*~

When you arrive back at the campsite, the case of beer tucked under one of Eddie’s arms, you tucked under the other, you’re greeted by a swirling cloud of musky smoke. Robin and Steve peer back at you with dumb smiles and bleary eyes, Steve’s head resting in Robin’s lap.

“Is that from my stash, Harrington?” Eddie asks, dropping the case the floor and pulling two cans out, handing you one. Though it’s an accusation, Eddie is smiling and there’s only amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, you brought the good shit. Thanks for that,” Steve says, his dopey grin getting even wider. He passes the joint he’s holding up to Robin, who takes a long drag. When she exhales, she coughs a little.

“We didn’t think you’d mind. Since you were taking a fucking lifetime with the beer.”

You busy yourself cracking your beer open, sitting down on an open log next to Eddie and looking anywhere but at your friends, willing your embarrassment not to consume you.

“It was a long walk to the car,” Eddie says with a shrug, tossing his arm back around your shoulders and taking a sip of his own beer.

“Yeah and an even longer couple orgasms,” Steve says with a cheshire grin. Robin slaps his forehead lightly and he flinches. “What? Those sounds were spread out. What’d you do, fuck in the forest and then fuck in your van with the doors open?”

You know his loose lips are a product of his high but you gape at Steve’s forwardness, unable to respond. Eddie doesn’t have the same problem. He laughs and shrugs again.

“Well actually we - ,” but he doesn’t get a chance to finish because you immediately slap your hand over his mouth.

“Say another word, Eddie Munson, and I’ll hurt you in a way you won’t find hot.”

“Ooo, kinky,” Robin pipes up, wiggling her eyebrows. She and Steve dissolve into a fit of giggles that builds and builds until all four of you are practically rolling around laughing on the forest floor. The sounds of your mirth definitely scaring away any creeping and crawling creatures who could have considered your little campsite.

Because all four of you are the things that go bump in the night.

~*~

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from-memphis-with-love · 23 days

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Songbird - Ch. 1 - The Handsome Stranger

Summary: The year is 1969. The place is the International Hotel. Valerie Pedretti, an aspiring singer, has a chance encounter with one Elvis Presley in an elevator that will change her life forever. Notes: To me, 1967-1971 EP is kind of peak Elvis, and so I wanted to write a fic with him smack dab in that time period. In the 1969-1970 period, especially, Elvis was probably the most handsome and alluring man in the galaxy. Lots of anachronisms and historical inaccuracies in this one, but just roll with it because it's fun! I based Valerie, in a sense, off of a mixture of Kathy Westmoreland, Joyce Bova, and Linda Thompson. Kathy met the real Elvis for the first time in an elevator, and that really inspired this work. Priscilla exists in this universe but she and Elvis get a divorce far earlier than in real life. Theirs, in some ways like real life, is a marriage of convenience and an "arrangement." Lisa Marie does not exist in this universe.

Las Vegas, Nevada, 1969

Vegas was shimmering mirage of bad decisions just waiting to snare me—a sucker-punch I never saw coming. The lights, the noise, the impossible promise of it all crashed over me in kaleidoscopic waves as my cab cruised down the strip towards the International Hotel. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching slack-jawed as sequined showgirls and vacationers blurred by in streaks of neon and rhinestone.

The cabbie swerved to the curb with a jolt, snapping me out of my daze. "International Hotel," he barked, his voice an ice bath to my face. I shoved a crumbled wad of bills into his hand and stumbled out and into a swarm of hairspray and cigar smoke congregating under the hotel's blazing marquee. Blinking in confusion, I took in the frenzied scene unfolding—beefy security shoving their way through the sea of pompadours, vendors hawking glossy headshots, teddy bears and "I 🖤 ELVIS" pins. The realization hit me like a freight train. This wasn't just any weekend at the International. It was the kickoff of Elvis Presley's residency. Ground zero for absolute Elvis mania.

The irritation set in, simmering beneath my skin. "Shit," I muttered, suddenly feeling foolish for forgetting. Of all the rotten luck. Out of all the times to visit Las Vegas, I had unwittingly chosen the kickoff of Elvis's shows—an event drawing crowds I had no desire to mingle with.

I wove through the throng, lugging my cumbersome suitcases behind me. Inside the lobby was even more chaotic—a swirling kaleidoscope of big-haired fans and cigarette smoke lingering over shag carpet. Elvis was everywhere, his angelic face beaming down from posters, gold records, life-sized cardboard cutouts. A veritable religious shrine. Groaning internally, I caught my bedraggled reflection in a mirrored column. Of course I would show up to the Presley Promised Land looking like something the cat dragged in. Normally I'd at least try to pull myself together for check-in, maybe swipe on some lipstick or fluff my chocolate curls into place. After all, I didn't want to look terrible in front of people dressed to the nines. But after the day I'd had, I couldn't muster the effort.

My flight from Chicago had been delayed six excruciating hours due to "mechanical issues," which apparently was airline-speak for "sit tight while we screw you over." By the time we finally took off, I'd already stress-eaten two sleeves of Oreos and read the in-flight magazine three mind-numbing times. To top it off, I'd spilled coffee all over my only nice blouse right before landing. Clearly, some divine power had it out for me today.

Feeling sweaty and vaguely nauseous, I trudged to the front desk. The angular blonde behind the counter, Brenda, barely glanced up from her well-thumbed issue of Variety as I approached.

"Welcome to the International Hotel. Checking in?" She smacked her gum, eyes never leaving her magazine.

"Yes, uh, reservation should be under Deena Lovelace."

That finally got her attention. Her penciled brows shot up as she inspected me, taking in the coffee stains and rumpled slacks. "Wait, you're Deena? The Deena who told me she booked for the Sinatra audition tomorrow?" The doubt was palpable.

I gritted my teeth into a tight smile. "No, actually. I'm her friend Valerie. Deena got sick at the last minute, some kind of exotic flu, so I'm filling in for her."

Suspicion clouded Brenda's face, but after a long beat she shrugged. "Huh. Well, takes all kinds, I guess." She signaled to a bellhop in a red monkey suit and thrust a key into my hand. "Room 2806, elevators are that way. If you need anything, ask for Hector."

Hector the bellhop scurried over and hoisted up my bags with surprising ease for such a slight guy. I made a weak attempt to protest, but he just grinned and ushered me through the cacophonous lobby to the first hallway. The doors slid open and I thanked him, pressing a few crumpled bills into his white-gloved hand.

“I can take it from here, Hector.”

As I walked along, I looked at my reflection in the mirrored wall and exhaled slowly. My nerves buzzed like an exposed wire as I thought about tomorrow's audition. Landing a spot in the Sinatra chorus line seemed about as likely as shooting the moon at this point. I barely knew the song Deena had been rehearsing for weeks, my go-go boots had a broken heel, and my voice was ragged from practicing the whole weekend.

But damn it, this was the first real shot I'd had in ages to claw my way out of the chambermaid grind and actually make something of myself. To prove Ma right for always saying I had stardust in my veins, even when it landed me more trouble than applause growing up. I had to at least try. For all those thankless nights warbling in dim lounges, waiting for my big break. For Deena, who I knew would kill for this chance.

I'd barely begun my little pep talk when someone brushed by me, sloshing their vodka tonic onto my sleeve and snapping me back to the present moment. I weaved through the crowd towards another inner hallway, clearing my throat.

I turned on my heel and started hoofing it towards my room. The hotel's layout was an absolute dizzying mess of twists and turns in every direction. My thudding, ungainly footsteps were muffled by the shag carpet and the dulled roar of fans congregating throughout the hotel.

As I trudged on, the ambiance shifted gradually. The hum of voices faded away, replaced by an overwhelming silence that signaled I was getting farther away from the bustling core. Exhaustion tugged at my bones while I navigated the maze of hallways. My room was somewhere in this labyrinth, but my bed felt worlds away at this point.

My steps sank into the plush carpet as I drifted into a quieter, dimly-lit corridor that seemed less traveled. Finally, I found myself alone in front of a bank of elevator doors. I stabbed the call button and waited impatiently, my arms aching from the weight of my overstuffed suitcases. God, why did I pack so much useless junk?

"Must be close now," I muttered out loud, my voice barely audible.

With barely a thought, I slipped out of my heels and bent my toes backwards and forwards, allowing my sore feet to relish the heavenly softness underfoot. It was soft, springy, and absolute relief for my aching soles. Automatically, I began humming a familiar, nameless tune under my breath - just a few sweet, absentminded notes I always turned to for comfort when I needed it. The thought of finally washing this endless day off my face and jumping into a crisp hotel bed was the only thing on my mind as the gilded doors opened with a tinny ding.

The cab was empty. Relieved to finally have a moment to myself, I dragged my heavy bags inside and slumped against the mirrored wall. As the doors started to slide closed, a large, ring-adorned hand suddenly shot out, halting them.

I straightened up with a jolt, my exhaustion replaced by a flash of irritation. Great, just what I needed, another overzealous Elvis fan trying to cram into my personal space bubble.

But as the interloper stepped into the elevator, my breath caught in my throat. Standing before me, in all his smoldering, technicolor glory, was the man himself. Elvis fucking Presley. The aura he gave off was undeniable, that much was sure. And I recognized his face immediately, the same one splashed all over the posters and knick knacks in the lobby. There he was, outshining the garishly glitzy elevator cab like a supernova eclipsing neon. And next to him, a well-built redheaded man, his hand resting at something shiny on his hip. Bodyguard, most likely. Quickly, I shoved my feet back into my heels, silently cursing myself for having taken them off in the first place.

I blinked hard, convinced I must be hallucinating from sheer fatigue. But no, he was unquestionably real, from the polished black shoes to the perfectly coiffed onyx hair that shone like quicksilver in the light. His lean, powerful frame was draped in an immaculately tailored black suit, a shock of pink peeking out from the silk scarf knotted at his throat. But it was the penetrating, electric blue gaze behind tinted shades that truly unraveled me.

I'd never considered myself much of an Elvis fan. Sure, I could appreciate a catchy tune like "Don't Be Cruel" or "Teddy Bear," but I'd always been immune to the mass hysteria he incited in his besotted admirers. Yet here, in such close proximity to his cosmic charisma and undeniable sex appeal, I finally understood. This man was a force of nature.

The redhead caught my awestruck stare and chuckled knowingly. "I see you've met my friend Jon Burrows here," he said with a wink.

But this was no "Jon Burrows." I knew who it was, plain as day. And his affect on me was immediate. Was I dreaming? My pulse started racing. Should I say something? And just how the hell did this happen? I opened my mouth, then closed it, swallowing hard. Play it cool, Valerie.

Any lingering self-consciousness about my frazzled appearance just evaporated in the sheer force of his presence. Though judging by the unmistakably mischievous curl of his lip, my travel-battered state didn't seem to faze him one bit. His perceptive eyes met mine, always accustomed to the spotlight but now studying me with curiosity. He took in my slumped posture and visible fatigue without a hint of judgment.

"You've had yourself a long day, haven't you, honey?" That voice, richer than a Mississippi smokehouse, sliced right through me.

I could only nod dumbly, a lump forming in my throat. "I—uh, yeah. No. I mean... yes, you could say that," I stammered like an idiot. Get it together!

His smile was pure bewitchment. "Well, you'll be tucked in in no time, I reckon. I hear the beds are mighty comfortable here."

I looked up at the ceiling in silence, tracing the swirling pattern with my mind's eye and trying to give off a vibe of cool indifference. But my stomach was actually rolling.

To my surprise, he kept talking. "Pardon my manners. My name's Elvis, and this is my pal Red. Who might you be?"

My throat locked tighter than a cowboy's bullwhip. "Valer—?"

"Valerie." He drew the name out, savoring each note and curve as if testing its ring. Each single syllable seemed to undergo some mystical transformation, alchemized to pure liquid amber from his lips. "A pretty name for a pretty little songbird." A ringed hand discreetly adjusted the bejeweled cups shielding his gaze, maybe hoping to make out my sides better.

Elvis was still steadily playing the blue suede shoes off me, from his elegant bent stance to the teasing half-smirk barely shadowing those indolently hungover features—the whole routine daring me to go chasing his bait. But I was far too busy trying not to spontaneously combust. I screwed my eyes tightly shut for a half-moment, desperately grasping to regain some sense of composure with an oxygen-deprived brain.

How did he know...?

Dumb question, Sherlock. The very notion conjured images of me, sweat-glazed and punchy-tired, mindlessly vocalizing sweet lullabies straight from my Off-Off-Broadway chambermaid days while I waited for the elevator. Of course he would've overhead that.

I cinched my mouth into what I hoped was a blasé half-smile, refusing to come completely uncorked by his pet name. I replayed the embarrassing moment in my head, wishing I could dissolve into the elevator shaft. Every breath I pulled in seemed to crackle with electricity. First I randomly share an elevator with The Elvis Presley, and now he'd overheard my nervous vocalizing and was complimenting me on it?

"Baby." A rich, salt-cured chuckle melted off his tongue, resining deep in my nerve center. "I got ears like a well-tuned radar dish. You in town for a show?"

I shook my head slowly. "Technically yes, but no. Just an audition," I replied, my heart thundering in my ears. I hoped he couldn't hear it pounding.

"Who for, if you don't mind me asking?" he inquired with that laser gaze.

I sucked in a steadying breath. Might as well take the bait since I'd already been barb-hooked but good. "I'm here for an audition, actually. Tomorrow. For Sinatra. I'm a singer. I mean, not like you, but hopefully one day..." I paused, unsure of how much backstory was worth burdening Elvis with. "Just got a last minute sub-in for a friend who's under the weather."

Something flickered across Elvis' handsome features before the mask of idle curiosity slid back into place. "Is that right?" His gaze raked over me again, slower this time, more deliberate. "And what will you be singing for Ol' Blue Eyes?"

Shit. Why was he asking me so many questions? My palms started to sweat as I racked my brain for a suitable answer. It wasn't like I could admit that I barely knew the material, that I was flying by the seat of my pants on a far-fetched favor for a friend. So I settled for a half-truth instead.

"Oh, you know. Just a little medley of standards. 'To Keep My Love Alive,' 'I Can Cook, Too,' that kind of thing."

Elvis nodded slowly, a shadow of a smirk still playing on his lips. "A classic set list. I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead, honey."

I started to stammer out a thanks, but Elvis was already moving past me towards the door as the elevator finally shuddered to a stop. He paused, throwing a glance back over his shoulder. There was a new intensity in his eyes when they met mine, a dark promise that made my toes curl involuntarily in my heels.

"I'll be rooting for you, songbird. Break a leg."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me weak-kneed and dizzy in a cloud of his smoky-spicy cologne. I sagged against the wall, trying to collect myself. What in the ever-loving hell had just happened? Had I honestly just been shamelessly eye-fucked by Elvis Presley in an elevator?

More importantly, why had I liked it so much?

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the treacherous thoughts as I finally stumbled out into the harshly lit hallway. It was late, I was tired, and I had an audition to rest up for. The last thing I needed was to dwell on smoldering looks from a celebrity Casanova that I had no business panting over in the first place.

But even as I went through the motions of unlocking my room and sinking face-first into the marshmallowy duvet, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering back to the electric encounter in the elevator. The way Elvis had stared at me, equal parts scorching and inscrutable, as if he was trying to crack some tantalizing code. There was no way I could have imagined that. The effortless command he'd exuded, the sheer magnetism rolling off of him in waves. How ridiculously, unexpectedly good he still looked, hips swiveling in slow-motion in my mind's eye...

I punched a pillow in frustration, annoyed with my traitorous libido. This was so far beyond the scope of anything I'd anticipated when I'd agreed to sub in for Deena's audition. But one thing was certain—my time in Vegas was shaping up to be a hell of a lot more interesting than I'd bargained for. And something told me that a chance run-in on a hotel elevator was only the beginning.

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