#the office right?? it's gonna be so so fun and great right?? to make all that hell noise worth it???

[theminecraftbee]

Wels hums as he walks through the shopping district. He doesn't need much, but with the recent release of Overlord, he wants to hear if any of the establishments are playing it. He doesn't expect it somewhere like the Permit Office--Grian's spent too much time and money getting a song that was as perfectly annoying to be put on hold to as possible--and if it is playing in the log shop, he will laugh. But music tends to spread around Hermitcraft fast, and sure, this isn't about anything specific, but who's gonna miss a good opportunity to dunk on Doc?

He hears the backing beats from a nearby shop and hums along with them, walking down the path--

--then turns a corner and leaps back.

"You," Wels hisses.

Hello. Awfully rude of you not to include me, you know, says the specter.

"No, there's absolutely no reason for you to be here. None at all!" Wels says, throwing his hands up. "The last time I saw you was--gosh, I don't even know. Season Seven?"

Yes, yes, and the only time you saw me, you aren't lying to yourself at all, the specter says agreeably. Come on. We both know I was haunting you for what little of Season Eight you bothered to be around for.

"If you were on Eight then you super shouldn't be here," Welsknight says. He shakes his head and looks up at the shop playing his song. Joel's? Huh. Wouldn't have thought he'd have a reason to make fun of Doc. Welsknight removes his shaking hand from his sword hilt again and starts walking.

On account of you leaving everyone there to die, yes, we're both aware, the specter says.

"Oh, screw you, you wouldn't have done any different, get new material," Wels says. "Also, you aren't real? You're like, all of my insecurities or whatever. You don't even have a real body right now, no one's made you one."

The specter shrugs. I mean, if I'm the worst parts of yourself, really, you're the one who needs better material. Abandoning all your friends to die and then abandoning them altogether--it's a wonder they let you stick around!

Wels rolls his eyes and forces his hand to stay out of his inventory. Wouldn't do to give away that still even gets him. He peaks at another shop. They're playing the song too, but it's ever-so-slightly out of sync, which is kind of terrible. As he does, Cleo waves at him. Their eyes sort of stutter right past Helsknight, which definitively tells him exactly how much body the specter even has to possess right now.

"I'm actually having a great time with my friends this season, so like, the whole 'abandonment' song and dance isn't going to work this time. Started the season with them and everything; hard to even go for 'they'll forget me at the first opportunity' or whatever."

The thing is, the more Wels says it, the more its true. None of the insecurities and pain points that the specter is echoing back at him are what he was actually thinking about. He's been like... fine? Sure, he's definitely still got repressed negative traits, but nothing like "Xisuma's evil twin brother playing around with his head" or "the moon crashing and killing everyone" or "too depressed and burnt out to get out of bed" or "sort of considering abandoning everyone because that's like, his thing" these days. None of the things that should bring the specter that had haunted him since Beef's cloning machine back to him without a body. But Wels is careful about clones outside of something like Vault Hunters, where they're explicitly under his control. He, like, doesn't even armor stand much. So that can't be this either; Helsknight clearly doesn't have a body to be messing with Wels yet!

...Helsknight doesn't even have a body or an actual insecurity to be poking at Wels with yet.

He stops. He puts his hands in his pockets, and turns around to face Helsknight. He is no longer shaking at all.

"Dude, why are you even here?" Wels asks.

I told you, it was rude to leave me out, Helsknight says.

"What," Wels says.

The final bars of Overlord play over the speakers. Welsknight hums and nods before it suddenly clicks.

"What," Wels says again.

Honestly, you're not normally this much of a moron. It was rude to leave me out. Rapping is also my thing.

"Dude," Wels says.

I could totally destroy Docm77 any day. I would obliterate the fool you call a "friend" in ways you cannot comprehend. You invoke a sacrificial goat? I know ways he'd never recover, gods he'd never be able to retrieve himself from. It would be laughable. And you left me out.

Wels stares at the demon from his nightmares.

"You're mad at me because you didn't get to be in my diss track," Wels says.

You let me be in the last one, Helsknight says.

"Dude," Wels says. "Dude, that's pathetic."

Helsknight sniffs. I'm your worst qualities. What does that say about you.

"I didn't even write this for this season," Wels says.

That makes it worse, Helsknight says.

"I don't even know where to start? For one--no, I still don't even know where to start," Wels says. "This is like, the lamest reason you could possibly have to come haunt me. Go away, I'm basking in my like, top 3 charting hit on the Hermitcraft server."

Top three? Pathetic. There are only three songs. You'd be the top song if you'd simply included my power, Helsknight says.

"I can't beat the streaming minutes Grian puts on that hold--look, uh, dude. You're, uh, a very scary representation of my fears and worst qualities and all. Appreciate that. Next time I need to do a diss track, I don't know, maybe I'll invite you? First you've got to stop appearing solely to make my life worse, though. Bring me a cookie or something. I don't know, whatever demons do."

I'm not a demon, I'm a Shadow. We're different, Helsknight says. ...I'll think about it.

When Wels turns the next corner, Helsknight has vanished again. Wels stops in the middle of the street, looks around, confirms the specter has vanished, and then bursts out laughing.

"What the Hels," he says, somehow feeling lighter and more bemused than before. That's a new feeling with his doppleganger. Then, he goes to visit Big Wood. While Doc definitely isn't playing the song of his own accord, Wels figures that Beef just might, and given the day he's having, that would feel like a kind of irony Wels isn't sure how to describe. Besides, he wants to see if Doc will notice if Wels sets the song on loop or something. What can he say--the man's reactions to being taunted are spectacular, and Wels loves seeing them. Call it a bad quality of his or something.

#hermitcraft #welsknight #helsknight #a bee fic #hermitfic #unreality #LOOK MAN I HAD TO. #...APPARENTLY. #i put slightly too much thought into what is effectively A Dumb Bit. i mean not the rap. this fic. this fic is the dumb bit. #i mean the rap is a dumb bit too but not the one i put too much thought into. the fic is #YOU KNOW WHAT NEVERMIND THIS JUST CONFUSED THIS FURTHER. anyway that helsknight huh.

[itsnotacostume]

we as a fandom do not talk about this scene enough. what the fuck is this. why did he feel the need to install this? so he could stare at his boybestfriend all day without having to get up?

#gregory house i know what you are. #does this even ever get mentioned again? #like oh yes this Totally Straight Man spent actual days around very loud noise (which he loathes) but he's adding something totally cool to #the office right?? it's gonna be so so fun and great right?? to make all that hell noise worth it??? #like in the eps before that the sound of the ortho saw things drove him insane #but this? totally fine #because it's worth it! #i mean come on. how are we supposed to take this. “oh he just wants to piss wilson off” WRONG. #wilson seems mildly annoyed at best. he's used to this. this is Normal just another day of being friends with house #but look at house's pleased little face. his stupid smile. i'm going to commit atrocities #house md #hate crimes md #james wilson #gregory house #hilson

[newtkive]

shift shenanigans - s1 social media au

note: jus for fun ! may or may not do more parts.

warnings: crude humor, slightly offensive jokes from richie sry

part two

liked by syd_adamu, marcus.brooks11 and 30 others

chefboyardee: my friends! i love my friends! the two on the right more than the left (i’m joking i promise) 😁😁😁😁

see all 8 comments

syd_adamu: brave of you to call him your friend y/n

↳ chefboyardee: boss man carmy save me

↳ syd_adamu: oh.. :///

marcus.brooks11: you did me so dirty, friend.

↳ chefboyardee: love you marcus you look spectacular

↳ marcus.brooks11: don’t start

richietheking: Where am I?

↳ chefboyardee: ya motha

liked by syd_adamu, chefboyardee and 10 others

richietheking: Getting sh$!t done.

see all 8 comments

marcus.brooks11: This is coolllddd.

↳ richietheking: You already know it man.

syd_adamu: this is actually crazy

carmyberzatto: can you show this on instagram? i think you should delete this.

↳ richietheking: Delete your life.

chefboyardee: come down to the beef for a number 6 the occy way 💯 the safest joint on the block 🤑💯we are 🔛🔝

↳ richietheking: Eyyy I know that’s right.

↳ carmyberzatto: please don’t advertise this.

WE HAVE THE BEEF 🥩

[ 8:25 am ]

y/n:

bruh im about to lose it. heads up when you guys get to work.

marcus: that catering order is about to be crazy

DO NOT REPLY: These white boards are stressing me out.

syd: we know, probably giving you ptsd from not finishing high school

DO NOT REPLY: Fuck you I did finish it.

y/n: oh i gotta change ur contact name richie

richie poo: ????? What

y/n: it was ‘DO NOT REPLY’ lols

marcus: valid

syd: real

richie poo: What? Why?! That’s so rude

y/n: cuz you piss me off

and you kept blowing up my phone yesterday

richie poo: You weren’t answering, and we needed help at the cook out.

syd: the one where you poisoned everyone?

richie poo: Fuck off.

y/n: when i’m off work, i’m off work.

marcus: don’t let carmy hear that, y/n

y/n: don’t remind me

syd: he’s trying at least, go easy on him. he really has great ideas

richie poo: You mean you have great ideas in that little notebook

tina: Never trust a broad with a notebook.

syd: hey! i’m just being helpful

y/n: do you guys think my ig post will hurt carmys feelings

marcus: it would make me a little sad if i were him, but i don’t think he cares

y/n: great i’m gonna cry now

syd: i doubt he even saw it y/n it’s fine

richie poo: Check the work chat. Cousin is in a mood.

y/n: oh great

tina: Help us all.

syd: be nice you guys

WORK

[ 9:15 am ]

carmy: Everyone, we have huge catering orders tomorrow to prep for today. Please get here as soon as you can, the earlier you clock in the better. Additionally, please be careful what you post on social media. I don’t want people to get the wrong impression

y/n: yes chef 👨‍🍳

syd: ok sounds good

richie poo: Cool it, Cousin. What’s the issue with the social media

tina: I use FaceBook. That not allowed now??

carmy: Tina, you’re fine. I’m talking about those who post work things on public accounts

marcus: facebook is crazy

richie poo: I can’t go private

y/n: he needs the likes

richie poo: No I’m disabled from doing so. Not sure why

y/n: liar

richie poo: 😑I don’t like you

carmy: Then please don’t post pics of yourself posting up with a gun and an air horn outside of my shop anymore.

marcus: that pic was fire can’t lie

carmy: Well, it’s bad for business.

richie poo: Fine, whatever

y/n: carmy

carmy: What, Y/n?

y/n: is this because of my caption on my post i’m sorry i promise i wasn’t being for real

carmy: I don’t care Y/n.

y/n: is that code for ‘i care a lot and i’m crying in the office right now and that’s why the door is closed’

oh

syd: ? why the oh

y/n: he opened the door and yelled no 🤨 but i think i saw red eyes

carmy: Please get back to work and I’ll comp a meal for you later

y/n: OMG yes chef 😍

richie poo: Inappropriate emojis and you shouldn’t have to incentivize her to work

y/n: shut up acting like HR i’m gonna beat your ass

jealousy is ugly which is why you have that mug on your face

carmy: Stop

y/n: yes chef 👨‍🍳

i heard your giggle tho

richie poo: Again with the schizo episode

syd: you can’t say that richie

richie poo: Oh sorry

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear imagine #carmy berzatto imagine #x reader #carmen berzatto imagine #sydney adamu #sydney adamu x reader #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #the bear reader insert #the bear text au #carmy berzatto text au #crack #fluff #social media au #text au

[c-nstantine]

sense of normalcy

description: Jason & Black!Batmom in four stages of his life

word count: 1.2k

warnings: angst, death, mommy issues, grieving, talks about Jason's death a lot

Jason: Age 12

Bruce had warned Alfred that there would be a guest joining him and of course, Alfred told Y/N. She was more than excited to have someone visiting the manor. It had been lonely since Dick struck out on his own. He visited but it wasn't the same as having a kid running around the manor. 

"Who might you be?" Y/N said approaching the boy who Bruce helped out of the Batmobile. He was rather lean for his height but his eyes looked like they sparkled as if the world never did him wrong. Y/N felt a pang in her heart and she looked towards Bruce who avoided her gaze.

"Jason Todd. You're on TV." He recognized the woman from the TVs that were on display in the stores that he passed as he walked down the street. Alfred had rushed back upstairs to fix the young boy something to eat.

"Sometimes, how would you like to stay with Bruce and me?" She had already decided that he would stay. She couldn't let the boy go back to whatever back alley Bruce found him on. 

"I'd love to," The boy's eyes twinkled once more as he smiled at Y/N.

Jason: Age 16

Jason was a good kid. He promised Y/N that he would be a good kid. He got good grades, and he excelled at English. Entering his teenage years, he only grew closer and more protective of Y/N but Y/N still saw him as the lean little boy who tried to steal the hubcaps off of the Batmobile. 

"Why is my son here?" Y/N asked, not even bothering to sit in the principal's chair. Her son had not a scratch on his face but he did have a bruised knuckle that definitely wasn't from patrol.

"He got into a fight, Mrs. Wayne," The principal of Gotham Academy said a bit smugly. Jason hated it here. He loved the teachers and learning but the kids were assholes. Not all of them, but the ones who thought he didn't belong because he wasn't born to the money. Kids could be cruel.

"Jason?" Y/N tilted her head towards her son, softening her gaze.

"He was making fun of me for being adopted and my accent," Jason spoke differently than the preppy kids of Gotham Academy but Y/N always encouraged him to speak how he wanted. His words were a part of him and he shouldn't have to change it for anyone.

"So my son was being bullied and he defended himself. Does that sound good to you, Principal Paulette?" Y/N gave the fakest smile known to the man while brushing faux loc behind her ear. 

"It sounds perfect, Mrs. Wayne," Principal Paulette simply groaned. 

"C'mon, Jason. We're getting ice cream." She smiled and waved for her son to follow her out of the office.

-

"Bruce is gonna be upset you're rewarding me," Jason said mixing his bowl of scooped chocolate chip ice cream together until it became the consistency of soft serve. He couldn't meet her eye yet. He felt like he had disappointed her and that maybe she regretted keeping him. What he didn't know is that he could never do anything that would make her not love him.

"You know I'll always love you, right? No matter what those kids say," Y/N said reaching over the table to ruffle his hair. He styled every morning with an absurd amount of gel but it didn't look like him.

"I know, ma, I know," He heard the words and wanted to believe them but he already decided that he'd leave and find his real mother. In his mind, she wouldn't miss him anyway, right?

"Good 'cause you my baby boy," She said with a bright smile.

-

He was in pain and cold. His mind was drifting in and out of consciousness. The faint beeping of the bombs was heard in the background and tears fell from his eyes as he realized this was his end. This was it. He was gonna meet the great big man in the sky and he didn't get to say goodbye to Y/N. He could die with disappointing Bruce but Y/N. Y/N had never seen him as more than a boy because that's what he was. He was just a child who didn't get to say goodbye to his mom. 

Jason: Deceased

Y/N was pacing a hole in the carpet. She stood in the study of Wayne Manor waiting here something, anything, back from Bruce. He hadn't contacted her since he left to find Jason and that was days ago.

"You said he'd come back," She said as Bruce walked through the grandfather clock entrance of the study. She noticed there was no Jason, she could hear his laughter like he normally did when he returned from a night out.

"Y/N," Bruce could see his wife about cry right in front of them. She tried to blink away tears so that they wouldn't fall down her brown cheeks. He could tell she hadn't been sleeping with Jason missing.

"You went to go get him. Where is he?" Y/N asked again with a bit more authority. 

"Honey, sit down. Alfred, bring her some tea," Bruce was trying to put the words together but Y/N simply fell apart on the couch. 

"No, don't tell me that, "She knew exactly what that meant, "He was just a baby," She whispered as Bruce held her in his arms. 

Jason: Age 22

"Ma?" Jason called for her as she was putting Martha and Alfred down for a nap. Y/N walked out of the nursery and closed the door behind her. His mom had aged a little since she took him home but not too much. Sure she had grey hairs mixed into her silk press but she was still the exact same woman who loved him at first sight.

"Yeah, Jason," She looked up at her son with a bright smile. Jason now towered her but he'd always be her baby boy. 

"I'm sorry," Jason said quickly. He had been holding it in since he died. He never told anyone but in the last moments before his death, he regretted not telling Y/N he loved her more and how much he'd miss her.

"What are you sorry for?" Y/N asked tilting her head slightly. 

"I'm sorry for leaving that night. I'm sorry for hurting you. I never wanted to hurt you," Jason's voice cracked as he moved to hug his mom. He didn't know how much pain one decision could cause.

"Oh, baby," She said rubbing his back. She felt tears coming to her eyes as she felt his on her cheek. 

"I'm sorry, ma, I'm so sorry," He muttered over and over again. His face had flushed red against her brown skin. Bruce had seen the moment but decided it was best for him not to interfere but he was happy to see Jason working through his emotions.

"You're here now and that's all I've ever wanted, okay? How about some ice cream?" Y/N said pulling away gently. Ice cream was one of her biggest pregnancy cravings so now they have a lifetime of Bluebell in their deep freezer.

"Yeah, ma," Jason spoke with a small smile. He was finally back to a sense of normalcy. 

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #black!batmom #jason todd #jason todd angst #jason todd x reader #jason todd x batmom

[whatsnewalycat]

Once in a Blue Moon

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

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

Rating: E (Explicit 18+ Only)

Word Count: 12.9k+

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

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

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 2:00 PM

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

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

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

So it begins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just 302. Lucky you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of cour—”

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

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

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

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

“I, uhh…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“An elephant?”

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

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

So fucking professional. 

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

“Anything else I can get for you?” 

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

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

“Oh, it’s not cigarette smoke.” 

“I can smell.” 

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

His eyebrows shoot up in a surprised expression. 

“I apologize, Mr. Bravo—”

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

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

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

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

The remaining daylight you spend cleaning. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’re the options?” 

“Chicken roulade or salmon.” 

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

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

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

“Dining room or room service?” 

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

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

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

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

“But still—” 

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

“What? I’m not—”

“Besides, it should be legal—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Bravo,” you smile in greeting. 

“Dieter.” 

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

“I’ll take it.”

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

“Just you.”

“What about you, where do you eat?” 

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

“You could eat out here.” 

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

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

“Unless you want me to join you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I… shouldn’t.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cheers,” he holds up his glass. 

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

“Dieter.”

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

He watches you as he absorbs this, face inscrutable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not doing Christmas?”

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

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

“No shit, you have to work?” 

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

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

“I have my pick of the empty suites.”

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

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

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

“Oh well obviously, fuck 201.” 

“Obviously,” you laugh, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

— 

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:00 PM

DING 

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

“Hi—”

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

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

“Dieter.”

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

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

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

“You sure?” 

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

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

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

“Help yourself.” 

“Do you want one?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because—well, because—”

“Can you make me grilled cheese?” 

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

“Right now?” 

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

“Can I shovel first?” 

“Sure,” he shrugs. 

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

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

“Probably. Want some with your grilled cheese?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

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

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

What a fucking nightmare. 

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

“The fan doesn’t work.” 

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

—

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 23RD, 8:45 PM

The range hood’s fan roars to life. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whadda you mean?” you frown. 

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

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

You shake your head. 

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

You nod. 

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit, seriously?!”

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

“Because we’re snowed in.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does grilled cheese help?” 

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

“Is that a good thing?” 

“Absolutely.” 

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

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 10:00 AM

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

DING

Regrettably, your heart skips a beat. 

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

“Good morning, did you sleep ok?” 

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

“No, what can I get for you?”

“Denver Omelet?” 

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

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

“Down here or in your room?” 

“Here is fine.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? What’re you painting?” 

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

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

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

“I agree, it’s a special place.”

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

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

“In pictures.” 

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

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

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 2:00 PM

You may be in trouble. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you alright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that the shitty one?” 

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

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

“Sure—”

“Or the uhh… the smallest blue whale.” 

“Yeah, I mean—”

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

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

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

It is undeniable. 

You have a big fat crush. 

So fucking professional. 

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

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

Curiosity prods your heart. 

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

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

Dusting it is. 

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 6:59 PM

Every minute that drags on feels like an eternity. 

The grandfather clock in between the library bookshelves mocks you. 

Tick-tock-tick-tock

Begins to sound more like: 

He-doesn’t-like-you 

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

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

It’s so dumb.

Really, you know how it sounds. 

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

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

Can’t get far enough away from you. 

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

You sigh at the clock. 

—DING! DING! DING!

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter.

The lights die. 

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

“Fuck.”

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

Well, he seems chipper. 

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

Footsteps thud down the steps onto the first floor landing. 

“Hello?” 

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

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

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

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

“Genny?”

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

“I’m coming with you.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, sir—”

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

“Cute,” he teases. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Want me to carry that?” 

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

“No, I got it.” 

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

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

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

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

“Were you painting?” 

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” you say as he steps aside. 

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

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

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

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

“Oh god, what?”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

He doesn’t, though. 

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

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

“Shit.” 

“And power might be out until Tuesday.”

“Tuesday? Are you fucking serious?” 

“I apologize, sir—”

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

The words come out sharp and bitter. 

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

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

He pauses to take a swig of the liquor. 

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

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

“Oh, fuck off. I’m annoying?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you be joining me?” 

“Do you want me to?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck it, why not?” 

So fucking professional.

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

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

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

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

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

“What is this, a role reversal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the possibilities.” 

—

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 24TH, 9:30 PM 

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

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

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

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

“Can I open another bottle?” 

“Go for it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, sir.” 

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

“Sorry. Habit.” 

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

“Hmm?”

“The book.”

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

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

“Palm reading?” 

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

“Have you ever been to a palm reader?” 

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

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

“You know how?”

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

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

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

You nod. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, it seems like quite the opposite. 

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

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

“Ominous.”

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

You do. 

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

But really, you know he’s right. 

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

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

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

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

“But what if it’s right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“But it feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod.

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

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

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

“Yes.” 

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

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

“Underwear too?”

He nods. 

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

“What about me?”

“I wanna see it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god—I do, Dieter, I do.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes yes yes yes yes—”

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

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

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

“Yeah?” 

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

“Holy fucking shit—”

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

“God yes, please, baby.” 

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me,” he pants, reeling you in. 

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

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

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

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

“So fucking good—Ffffuck—”

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

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

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

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

“Amazing,” you chuckle, “Wow.” 

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

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

“Hmm?” 

“It’s dumb.” 

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

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

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

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

“Is that weird?” 

“I don’t think so. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

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

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

—

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 8:00AM

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

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

Was it a dream? Did that actually fucking happen? 

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” 

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

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

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

“Doing what?” 

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

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

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

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

“What’re you freaking out about?” 

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. 

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

Again, you shrug. 

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

“You do?” 

“Cross my heart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.” 

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

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

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

You snort with laughter. 

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

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

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

—

MONDAY, DECEMBER 25TH, 6:00PM

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naturally, your nerves have been buzzing since. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dieter—”

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

“Sad? Lonely?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Once in a Blue Moon.”

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

[comicwritesstuff]

Vanessa Shelly/Afton x Fem!Reader

Reader is drunk and breaks into Freddys, Vanessa lets them off with a warning, but of course we have to go back and see the hot officer ;) 2k+ words SMUT BTW

18+ WARNINGSSS

Warnings: Dom!Vanessa, Sub!reader, lots of degrading, angry Vanessa, punishment sorta, a little bdsm, alcohol, fingering, getting eaten out and cursing.

Being 25 means having mid life crisis almost every day. And when your surprisingly fit, like to drink and really fucking stupid then the best thing to do is break into, and explore abandoned buildings. So that's what I’m doing. After drinking a whole bottle of wine and driving around like the responsible adult I am, I stumble upon a magnificent building. 

“Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria”, I snicker at the name and park super well (on the curb). I wattle my drunk ass around the building looking for a quick way in, I see a window and try to open it, after a couple minutes it finally budges, I open it and climb inside, falling on the dust filled floor. I giggle a bit then stand back up, just my luck I see a flashlight on the ground so I pick it up, smacking it a bit before it turns back on. Fun. I walk around, shining the flashlight at the various cobweb filled objects. I was to preoccupied on the spider crawling across the floor to hear the police officer that just walked into the building, I sprint out of the room that the spider was in, I fucking hate spiders. Apparently I caught the officer's attention after I sprinted across the room she was in, somehow not seeing her until she shouted at me. “Hey! Stop you're trespassing!” I don’t know what made me run faster, the thought of the spider, or the officer. A bit of both.

I run through the halls pausing looking around for somewhere to go, I see the doors to the kitchen so I slam the doors open, and shriek. There was a giant ass chicken, and I didn’t know if I was seeing it cause I was drunk but I really wasn’t in the mood to risk it. “AH WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT” Unforunately the officer was now right behind me, I didn’t realize that so when I went to run away again, she grabbed me. Ah shit. What a great night. 

“Why do you care about me, not the big ass chicken in the kitchen? Oh hey that rhymes.” I laughed at my joke, while the cop raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you drunk?” I look at the officer a little clearer, damn she's hot. “No I’m y/n, nice to meet you.” She stares at me for a second then looks away, trying not to laugh at me, she pulls me back up and holds tightly onto my arm while dragging me out of the building. I should really be putting more thought into the giant duck I just saw but all I can think about is the really pretty police woman holding my arm. 

It’s not until we get outside that I remember I'm really not in a good position to get arrested right now, so maybe I should stop admiring the police officer and make a run for it, while my drunk self tries to make up a plan of escape, I glance at her once more. Yeah, I'm gonna stay with her. She opens the side door to her cop car, motioning for me to sit in the car. She still holds the door open, and sighs. “Look, I can tell you weren’t really trying to start anything bad, you're just insanely drunk. So, I’ll let you off with a warning. If I ever see you come back here, drunk or not, I won’t hesitate to arrest your ass for trespassing, or a worse punishment.” I stare at her blankly, it takes me a couple seconds to process what she said. “So you're not arresting me?” She pinches the bridge of her nose before closing the door without saying anything. She walks around and gets in the front starting to drive, “Do you know your address.” I grin and nod, telling her my address. I started laughing a little bit, for no reason I just felt like laughing. I look back up at her and see her looking at me in the rearview mirror. She's got that look like she’s trying not to laugh at me but it's clearly not working. 

“So officer what's your name?” “Vanessa.” “Thas a really prettttty name.” I say slurring my words and giggling more. She glances at me again through the mirror, not saying anything, just grinning. “So how much did you drink exactly?” How much did I drink? I don’t remember so I answer the best I can. “Yes.” I hear her sigh while I’m looking at the raindrops on the window. “Yes? That's your best answer for how much you drank? Jesus you’re really drunk.” I whip my head around frustrated. “How many times do I need to tell you? I’m y/n not these names you keep calling me” I say in an angry tone. I see her bite her lip, grinning even more, clearly trying with all her might not to laugh at me. She composes herself before glaring at me through the mirror. “Don’t use that tone with me, I can still arrest you.” That was hot anyways, oh hey that's my house. “How’d you know my address?” I am baffled as she gets out of the car without answering me. She pulls me out of her cop car dragging me to my doorstep. “Open the door.” She tells me sternly, so I open it quickly. She follows me inside my house, looking around and taking the last bottle of wine I have left without me noticing. I see my couch and go to sit down then I decide to just flop down, I immediately fall asleep. Vanessa hears the plop sound of me passing out on my couch and smirks, walking over she finds a blanket, laying it over me. She does one last search for any more alcohol then finally leaves. 

I wake up with the worst headache ever, I stumble into my kitchen quickly chugging like 3 glasses of water before I notice the note on the counter. “No more drinking, don’t go back to Freddy’s. I drove your car back to your house. I took the rest of your alcohol and left your keys on the counter, take care. -Officer Vanessa”. Oh so that wasn’t some weird porno dream without the porn part about a cop. Staring at the note I decide to do the sensible thing that any person would do, go back to Freddy’s, even with a bad headache. Since she took my alcohol I'm going sober, and with the one brain cell I have sober I grab a flashlight this time. I also grab a hammer (for some reason??). I grab the keys and hop into my car, then I see another note there. “Don’t do it.” That's all the note said, she knew me for an hour and she already knows what i’m planning on doing, well she is a cop. I drove to Freddys, there isn’t a cop car, she probably forgot about me. 

I park in the front and go up to the building. It would be so cool to get on the roof. And so that's what I do, with my flashlight in my bra and the hammer in my mouth so I can climb easier. It was surprisingly easy to get up there. So I sit on the edge of it, swinging my feet waiting patiently for Vanessa to show up. It actually takes a lot longer than I wanted it to, I’m laying on the edge now, on my back staring at the sky. I only sit up once I hear the sound of tires pulling into the parking lot. Oh shit, she’s here. Well, I mean I wanted her to show up, so what did I expect? Vanessa slams her car door shut, and I mean slam, like she is pissed and it's obvious. She walks underneath where I’m sitting, looking up at me. “Get. The. Fuck. Down.” My face turns pale, ohh im fucked, and turned on. “Make me.” She cocks her head, before angrily smirking and with little to no effort, climbing to the top, I stare at her dumbfounded. She walks up to me, pulling out her gun pressing it into my stomach, hard. With her other hand she grabs the collar of my shirt. She pulls me off the edge, I gasp and stumble a bit, I didn’t really expect her to be THIS aggressive. “Climb down, if you run, I will shoot you.” I climbed down and waited at the bottom, I wasn’t in the mood to be shot. Once Vanessa got down she pressed the gun against my hip, standing behind me, she wrapped her other hand around the back of my neck, digging her nails into me. I whimper feeling her nails in my skin, she smirks as I do so. Walking me to her car, she slams me against the car, knocking the breath out of me, she handcuffs me before shoving me into the front seat. 

That's odd, I thought criminals sat in the back. Vanessa gets in the driver's seat, slamming the door shut again, but not driving. Her knuckles are turning white from how hard she's grabbing the steering wheel. “Why are you so upset? I didn’t do anything.” I say not looking at her, honestly a little scared. “One because I told you to do one simple fucking thing, and you didn’t listen did you?” I don't say anything. “That's right, and two you don’t know how dangerous that place is, I was trying to protect you and you have to come back out here like the brat you fucking are.” I gulp, my heart racing. To be honest I'm hella ashamed at how wet I am just from her being mean to me. I can feel her staring dead at me, but all of a sudden I just can’t bring myself to look at her. I'm praying that my face isn’t as red as I think it is. “Hah, are you really turned on by this?” She teases, well shit, I guess I am that red. “No! I'm not I..I swear.” The most obvious lie I think I’ve said. “Sure.” She says, finally starting to drive. It’s completely quiet in the car. Suddenly I feel Vanessa move her hand to my thigh and move it painfully slowly towards my core. I freeze up, I can instantly feel me soaking through my underwear. Vanessa moves her hand up sliding it into my pants and over my panties. She teasingly only puts one finger on my clit, before slowly starting to put pressure on it. “You should have stayed home brat.” She starts rubbing my clit with the same annoyingly soft pressure as before, I let out a soft whimper, I struggle a bit in the handcuffs, fuck, I can’t even move my arms since they are behind my fucking back. “But you're such an attention whore, huh?” She increases the pressure only a bit, rubbing at the same agonizing pace. I glance at her, she hasn’t taken her eyes off the road once, and she’s purposefully driving slow. 

She keeps that same pace for a couple minutes, before I can’t take it anymore. “Vanessa…please..” I say whiningly. “Not so cocky anymore? To busy wanting me to fuck you?” My cheeks heat up with embarrassment. To my surprise she slides her fingers past my panties, shoving two fingers inside me, causing me to buck my hips, and moan. “Look at you, so desperate for me like the little slut you are.” She curls her fingers, thrusting them rapidly, the only sounds in the car are my moans and whimpers that are embarrassingly loud. “I love all the pretty little sounds you're making for me baby, being such a good bitch.” Arching my back, I feel my climax already building up. “Nessa, I…I’m gonna cum..” I mutter, barely able to say anything before she swiftly pulls her fingers out of my pants, licking them clean and putting her hand back on the steering wheel. There's nothing I can do except sit there, and wait for her to do something again, I can’t move my hands, and rubbing my legs together isn’t enough friction, besides if I tried that I’m sure she’d shut it down real quick. Her gaze stays on the road, not bothering to look at me once, even when we stop. From Freddy’s it takes about 20 minutes to get to my house, so I had to wait 5 more minutes before we pulled into my driveway. I couldn’t tell if she was purposefully doing things slowly, or if it felt slow because of how desperately i wanted her to fuck me. Either way, once she finally got to my side of the car she opened my door and grabbed the collar of my shirt again, lifting me out of the car then pulling me to the door. She reaches into my pants pocket grabbing my key and unlocking the door, after we both get inside, Vanessa immediately pulls me into a kiss, her lips slamming onto mine with an unholy amount of lust. 

God, all I wanted was to wrap my arms around her neck, anything to deepen the kiss but the handcuffs stayed on, she pulled me to my bedroom, how did she know where it was? I don't know but frankly, I don’t care right now. Vanessa throws me on my bed, crawling on top of me. She starts leaving hickeys all over my jaw, and my neck. “I want people to know how much of a slut you are, baby.” Chills go down my back as she slowly traces her fingers down to my pants, before I lift my hips so she can slide them off. She starts leaving kisses on my inner thigh before she uses her teeth to pull my underwear down to my thighs, using her hands to get them off the rest of the way. “Be a good whore and keep your legs spread wide for me, can you do that baby?” I whine, nodding. “Yes Nessie”.

“Good girl.” She says before she quickly starts licking and sucking on my clit. At first not too fast, and Vanessa was planning on going slowly before she got a taste, then even she couldn’t resist it. Picking up the pace, she keeps sucking on my clit before curling two fingers inside my folds. How fast she's going catches me off guard, I arch my back, moaning loudly, I bite my lip trying not to be as loud as I was, not wanting anyone to hear us. As I become more quiet, Vanessa slows down. “Uh uh baby, I want to hear all the sounds you're making for me, or I'm not gonna let you cum again.” I whimper in protest but nod anyway as she now speeds up even more. She shoves another finger inside my tight pussy, curling them and hitting my sweet spot perfectly every time, and I listen to what she says and let out all the moans and whimpers I can, not caring how loud I'm being. “Fuck, V-vanessa Im cumming” “No your not. Not until I say.” She thrusts her fingers even harder and faster than before, I can barely hold it. “Fuck please Vanessa!” I shout at her in desperation, she doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds, the pain of holding it back getting to me as a few tears run down my cheeks. “Cum for me, my little slut.” And with one more curl of her fingers, I come harder than I have before, she lets me ride out the orgasm a little bit before licking my cunt clean. 

“You did so good for me, love.” She leans up, kissing me softly and wiping the few tears from my face. “Can you sit up for me baby so I can uncuff you?” I listen to her, already exhausted from the little she’s done to me, to be far I haven’t even had sex in a couple of years, let alone an orgasm that hard. After she uncuffs me, she grabs my blanket, covering the both of us as I cuddle into her chest, quickly falling asleep. 

THANKS FOR READING HOPE U LIKED IT :)

#vanessa shelly #fnaf movie #vanessa afton x reader #fnaf vanessa #vanessa afton #vanessa afton x reader smut #vanessa afton smut #vanessa shelly smut #elizabeth lail

[inkskinned]

accidents happen. accidents particularly happen around children.

we make scissors designed for children because we know they can hurt themselves on it. we cut their food up smaller so they are less likely to choke. we "babyproof" our houses, make sure our medications are all closed and locked, close all the outlets.

we are told to just carry a gun.

at some point a kid is going to get hurt. everyone with or around kids knows this. often adults (who shouldn't work with kids) are a little-too-okay-with-this. they sneer that in their time, kids just got hurt. which is great for them, but i don't feel it's particularly necessary to willfully allow children to break bones just to "build character". the kids do just fine when i do my job right. i make sure, to the best of my ability, that they don't break the bone. it turns out you can still learn life lessons without trauma. yes, at some point they'll get hurt. that's the nature of it. but i like to try to keep it to a minimum of bloodshed.

about five years ago, in the middle of my summer training, the cop that came in to prepare us for mass shootings actually happened to be the same cop that used to be my DARE officer. what a small world! his hair had gone grey.

before working with children, i had no idea how many things a child can hurt themselves on. i had never thought about the possibility that a child could climb a bookshelf, only for that bookshelf to topple over. everything has to be screwed down. nothing can have particularly sharp corners - what if a child falls backwards onto it? - or be particularly breakable. no plastic bags or choking hazards. watch out for allergens, do your best to clean your super-gross classroom with all-natural (and expensive) fragrance-free products. there's a million other considerations, most of which are difficult on a public school budget. i hate the calculation - either the kids get a new playground 5 years from now OR they get new books now and just risk the tetanus.

the gun is not included in the paycheck.

we do our best, you know? but like, there's the rest of the actual job to do. we're neither trained, paid, or aided in our one-person quest to somehow get jason to stop giving himself splinters. and besides, we have the 98 other things to consider for our 30 other students. one of which is, you know, teaching them.

the children aren't prisoners. we need to walk this incredibly fine line of "chaotic exploration" and "reckless endangerment." to be frank - they're gonna do stupid shit and get hurt while they do the stupid shit. it's my job to at least try to predict the stupid shit, and minimize the risk. and before you judge the kids - i'm going to remind you that adults die every year from shaking vending machines. people just do stupid shit.

did you know that the leading cause of childhood deaths in america is to guns? we're the only country in the world with that statistic. it used to be motor vehicles, which is why there are so many laws about seatbelts, air bags, babyseats, and other protections against accidents. 1 in 5 childhood deaths will be a result of guns. of these deaths, 65% are the result of an intentional attack.

my brother often takes me to archery. i fucking suck at archery, because i have no aim, bad eyesight, and no grip strength. it's fun, though! as a teacher, archery at my school is super banned, because kids could get hurt. no throwing rocks or sticks. no impromptu self-made bows or arrows, oh my god, why do we keep having to have this conversation.

i remember this one conversation with a parent. he was chatting with me during pick-up and mentioned that kinder eggs being banned is so stupid, because, like, if a kid is gonna choke - they kind of "deserved it" for being so stupid. without thinking, my response was, "we don't typically practice darwinism at school, but you can encourage that at home if you wish!" which did result in me getting written up - for "talking back", i guess.

but his idea isn't unusual, is the thing. there's this sense that there's somehow almost an "expendable" child trauma rate. that it weeds out the weak or whatever, which is categorically cruel & dehumanizing. children should be able to mess up and have fun and - again - do stupid shit. they might get hurt, yes. but the job of the adult is to just go help the kid.

i had to quit teaching. i was really, really good at my job - 15 years of practice. but i would wake up at night, coating in sweat. trying to figure out how to bullet-proof my public school classroom with a public school budget.

bad things happen. in every other category: we try to prevent them.

#gun violence #gun control #warm up

[writingoddess1125]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do buggy x reader, where we are apart of his crew and does aerial hoop? And act like we hate him but actually we have a crush on him so it’s like angst to fluff! Sorry if it’s to much

I gotcha! This seems really fun! I ended up taking this way too far BTW Sorry!

Chef Kiss Enjoy~

Buggy X FemReader

Solo Act

"Two months- That asshole" you grumbled as you ate another bite of your breakfast. A few peers sighing at you and just shaking their head. "What did you even do? I never heard of Buggy benching someone for so long- Hell wont even let you do lights!" Suki one of the contortionist said with a humored voice, chuckling at your faux glare.

"No idea-" You lied, However knew exactly what brought on the change. Two months ago during a drunken party hosted by the Captian. The two of you having always been flirty to some degree but after some rum the flirting increased, ending up with you and Buggy laying in his bed. Giggling and kissing on each other, while it was foggy you remember Buggy and you stripping each other down to take that extra- Then he just stopped. Pulling away from your kisses and climbing out of the bed with you, Grabbing his clothes and just leaving the room and you behind. You laid there, half naked in his bed embarrassed by the having just been left like that-

The next day he acted like nothing happened, playing it off that he was so drunk he fell asleep in the hallway but you knew the truth. You felt both humilated and angry he had just ditched you- not even explaining himself... You truly did like him.. But also loathed him- Now feeling damn angry after being benched so long too!

"That's it! I'm gonna talk to him!" You proclaim, Standing up angrily and marching from the mess hall. Knowing he would be in his office most likely talking about the upcoming show. A few of the other pirates making 'Oooh' Noises and like jabs as you marched.

Walking to Buggy's office you see he had the door open, Drinking a pint (at 8 in the morning like a asshole) and talking to Cabaji. The plans got the show laid out on his desk.

You look at Buggy and swallow the lump in your throat. Stepping forward and clearing your throat, Buggy looking up from his work and raising a brow at you. His ocean eyes racking your form like he expected something in particular.

"Yes (Y/N)?- You can see that we are busy pre-"

"I want to do a show- A proper one Captain.. I have been practicing and I want to do the Aerial Loop again" You blurt out, Your nerves getting the best of you. Unsure why you felt so nervous about this.

Buggy set down his cup, his eyes staring practically through you, There was a few moments of silence before Buggy bursted into laughter, Slapping his hand on the table like this was some grand joke. You couldn't help but feel some genuine anger rising in your chest ready to risk it all in throwing your own little bitch fit at Buggy-

"Fine, Ill give you your very own Solo Act in tomorrows show" You cut you off. Cabaji jaw nearly in the floor at hearing this.. Buggy never gave ANYONE a solo act, daring to give anyone a chance at a lone light so this was beyond unusual. You felt both excited and a bit scared at the same time, especially with how his eyes seemed to gleam with mischief.

"I.. Thank you Captain" You manage to mumble out, Buggy standing to his full height and peering down at you. Heart blooming on your face as you could feel the warmth of his body with how close he was to you.

"Best not disappoint me (Y/N)" He said softly, patting your head like you were some pet and walked put of his office. Leaving Cabaji and you in his office, the green haired man looking at you.

"You must have a magic mouth or great in bed for him to let you get so many damn privileges-"

He said with a almost jealous glare. You shoot one right back, giving him am angry sneer.

"I've never slept with the Captian or done anything like that- He usually hates me" You protest. Cabaji an amused huff as he walled past you. "I've seen the Captian hate people- That's clearly not how he feels about you" He resorted and dismissed himself. You following suit shortly after.. Spending the rest of the day a bit confused and just trying to prep for your show.

That evening while setting out everything you'd need for the solo act you heard a knock and the door open. Whipping around to see Cabaji, a almost amused look on his face and holding a box.

"Ever heard of waiting till someone says 'Enter'?" You ask annoyed, crossing your arms as Cabaji holds the brightly colored box out to you.

"Doesnt matter- Captain sent me to bring you this. You have to wear this tomorrow for the show. No questions" You raise a brow and take the box from him gently opening it, pulling out what at first you thought must have been a scarf or something- till the realization git you this was a leotard- a sparkly leotard. Peering down at the costume you felt your cheeks warm. It was a pale blue color, with diamond and silver studs decorating the front while the back was completely white mesh. Lace decorated the neckline that dipped rather low on it as well- While it was pretty and far too flash for your taste, the revealing aspect is what caught your attention more.

"He also wants to add this-" Cabaji said as he held out a ankle bracelet. It was silver as well studded with diamonds and a silver bell attached to the side.

"Cabaji I can't wear something like this- It's too revealing!" You protested and blushed, holding the thin leodard tightly in your fist. "Listen you got to, If you don't then you don't perform" Cabaji said, Smirking at your delema and leaving your room. It taking everything in your body to keep from punching him in the nose-It seemed Buggy had you by the balls.

The next day everyone was on high alert- like everytime. The whole ship was buzzing in anticipation, both to raid the for the performance later on. You stood to the side and watched as the village that the crew had landed and the fires that stretched out- Truthfully you never liked the methods that Buggy used however you could never voice that.

In a few short hours the Audience was set and chained to their seats. Cabaji acting as a director or sorts began to call out different acts as Buggy walked through his group of freaks. Yelling at each of them in wanting to be punctual and ready to not mess up this show- However when he turned to you he froze. His eyes staying only on your face, which made you feel a bit worried.

"...You look good (Y/N)" He said almost awkwardly- not even giving a dirty joke or openly gawking at you. Instead he quickly walked past you- you could have sworn you saw the tips of his ears red.

"Alright everyone show time!" He yelled out

Standing there you watch as act after act went before you. The audience clapping on cue, the transitioning of acts. Anxiety building inside of you as you were prepared to be blown off and not get the spot you were promised- the humiliation starting to hit you as you felt the show start to come to an end.

"And for our final act! A aerial performance! By our very own (Y/N)~" Buggy announcer, Smiling at the audience.

Stepping forward you glanced at Buggy, seeing him taking a seat in his throne, Leaned back with a amused look as you. The bastard seemed to be taking pleasure in this it seemed- That was evident by the costume he had placed you in.

Taking a breath you heard the slow music start, dancing out onto the main performing area you twirled gracefully grabbing the hoop with one hand and lifted yourself up. The breeze from the leotard reminding you of its thinness and smallness over your form, that and the eyes of Buggy who seemed to be watching every move of yours.

The audience having genuine interest in your performance as you twisted your body to the rhythm of the music. Feeling the music course through your body as you twirled through the hoop, picking your body up and spreading your legs in a upside-down split as your body began to spin quickly. Truthfully your mind lost in the feeling of your art, the interest of the audience. Thinking back to the night you should have shared with your Captian- The kisses that he placed up your neck, The feeling of his firm hands up your form and the taste of rum on his lips.

It wasn't until the music came to its dramatic end did you snap from your thoughts, Doing a incredibly fast turn and spinning tk the end of the song. Once coming to a stand still there was a brief silence, But it was Buggy's face you saw all to clearly. How his eyes stared at you like he could see past your leotard, like he wanted to rip it apart then and there. But the audience applauds snapped you from his gaze, Buggy standing up from his throne as he smiled at the Audience. You bowing to the group before practically running away- you could hear people congratulating you for the performance and the sound of Buggy talking to his imprisoned audience but you couldnt make out any words. Rushing to the dressing room quarters, Slamming the door behind you and sighing. Trying to throw out the image that had burned in your brain, but no matter what you did you saw his face- anger rising in you.

"God Damn it!" You yelled, kicking over a random basket and sulking to a chair infront of the vanity. Looking at yourself as you started the long process of removing your makeup, Ignoring the sound of your crew going about most likely to drink. Sighing as you took off your earrings and heard a knock on the door.

"I'm in here-" You called, hearing the door then open and someone step inside. In the reflection you Saw Buggy, Staring at you with a hint if a smirk.

"I know.. Just wanted to stop by and say you did good tonight" He said a bit forcibly, tapping his boot on the wood flooring.

"Thanks.." You say softly, Your tone colder then you ment. Still conflicted over what you saw out there, How he stared at you- How his gaze longingly followed you from up there. Pulling you from your thoughts you felt Buggy angrily pull your seat out so you faced him.

"What the hell is your problem? I gave you the spotlight like you fucking wanted- Having your little moment. Why are you daring to speak to me this way?" He hissed, inches from your face. That liquid courage from before or just the final straw but you snapped, Standing up and locking eyes with him.

"I didn't want the spotlight I- I just want to know why youre doing this? Are you trying to hurt me? Does it make you happy or something?"

"(Y/N) I am many things- I will harass you, Embarrass you, Hell ill Fuck with you- But id never Never hurt you" He emphasized. His eyes staring hard at you, you could see it.. A flash of hurt that you would assume that of him. Biting your lip you stare at him. "Then why did you never mention that night?" You hissed, still feeling a bit of anger from him not mentioning that evening you two shared together. Buggy pulled back and gave you a annoyed look.

"Why bring that up-"

"Because you just kissed and left me! didn't even acknowledge what had happened! Left me fucking naked in your bed like something was wrong with me!" You stomped your foot, ignoring the chime of the ankle bracelet still on you.

"What do you want me to say (Y/N)! Congratulations we kissed!? That we were drunk!" He threw his hands up dramatically, You scoffing in anger and disgust. "That you cared! Instead of just messing with my feelings you bastard!" Buggy eyes locked onto you, Hard.

"Watch it- I Let you get away with a lot of things.. But i am still your Capitan!" He said pointedly, his hand snatching your face rather harshly as that same anger he showed others finally fell onto you- For only a second did you feel fear- That those knives of his would come out. But it quickly evaporated from your body as you yanked his hand from your face.

"Oh- SO You where just messing with my feelings Captain? Just rewarding me for kissing you? That's it!?" You scream, feeling hot tears well in your eyes as you stare at him enraged.

"What did you expect me to think! That you wouldnt regret sleeping with me! That you wouldnt have woken up the next morning disgusted and embarrassed you slept the night with me!? That You'd actually like me!?" He yelled, his fist balled in anger.

"Yes! I do like you! And I would have loved to have sex with you!" You screamed back, Both of you froze at this. Buggy face turning red as did yours. The anger seemed to sap away from the room, Both of you just standing there in shock and out of breath from yelling. Buggy being the first to move as he took off his hat and ran a shaky hand over the bandana like he was fixing some invisible imperfections.

"...Truly?" His voice all but whispered, a sort of desperate tone to him as well. You felt yourself deflate at his tone, your eyes feeling hot wit tears before looking to him again.

"Of course Buggy... I always have-" Not even able to finish the thought Buggy rushed to you and crashed his lips against yours, desperate needy lips meeting meeting your own which you gladly returned. His hands cupping your face as your own rushed through his hair tangling the blue locks between your fingers, the force of the brutal kiss leaving you breathless and just as desperate. Having longed for his touch, his taste just everything about him. Pulling away briefly to catch your breath as your lungs felt like they were on fire.

Buggy eyes locked onto you as you blushed deeply, your hands pulling the bandana from his head and letting his blue locks fall and frame his face. He leaned forward and bit your bottom lip gently, tugging a noise of pleasure from you.

"B-Buggy what does this make us?-" You start but Buggy kisses your lips once more. Pulling away for only a moment to wrap his hands around your waist and pick you up, Forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

"Simple- The place we should have been months ago.. Where you always belonged. By my side" You couldn't help but give a goofy smile at his words. That's exactly what you needed to hear.

#x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy one piece #one piece #one piece x reader #buggy the clown

[surftrips]

nervous

pairing: jj maybank x reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: what happens when jj maybank develops a crush on the class valedictorian?

a/n: i haven’t written for jj in soo long so here’s this opposites attract oneshot for y’all. set before sarah and john b get together, it’s the pogue’s senior year of high school. lmk if you want more of this dynamic!

"You have a crush on Y/N? She's like the complete opposite of you..." Pope was saying to his best friend JJ.

"Dude, I know. But maybe that's why I like her so much." Maybank replied.

"What do you guys even have in common?"

"Uhhh... well. She likes to read and I- I can read. I just choose not to."

"We're off to a great start here," Pope said sarcastically, "What else?"

JJ thought for a second. "Oh! Her favorite color is green! I like green."

"Whose favorite color is green?" Kiara asked as she and John B. joined the rest of the Pogues at the lunch table.

"This girl JJ has a crush on," Pope explained.

"Ooooh, JJ has a crush? Who is it?" John B. nudged JJ's arm.

"I'm not telling you guys. You're gonna make fun of me," JJ refused.

"Oh, come on! Pope knows!" Kiara reasoned.

"Yeah, no keeping secrets from each other," John B. reminded them.

JJ sighed, "Fine. But only if y'all promise not to laugh or anything."

"Yeah, whatever, just tell us," Kie was dying to know.

"It's Y/N," JJ announced.

Silence. Then, all at once...

"Wait a minute..." from Kie.

"Y/N Y/L/N?" from John B.

and "That's what I'm saying!" from Pope.

"Guys, come on. You said you would be chill about it," JJ was starting to regret sharing his secret.

"Sorry, it's just... isn't she... like smart and responsible and stuff?" John B was saying.

"Literally... the opposite of you, JJ. No offense," Kiara added.

"None taken. But yeah, she is all those things, John B. That's why I like her. I think she would be good for me. Plus she's pretty," JJ replied.

"And you think you can pull her?" John B. asked.

"Come on, who can resist my charm?" JJ said, smiling.

—

For the past week, JJ had been working on a plan to get Y/N's attention. Which was hard considering the two ran in different circles and shared no classes.

So it must have been fate when JJ ran into her in the main office the following Monday. He was no stranger to the receptionist sitting at the desk, used to running late or being called into the principal's office for skipping class. It was for this reason that he almost missed the girl he had been dreaming about all week who happened to rush in right after him.

JJ wondered why a perfect straight-A student like her would be here, but the sounds of her trying to catch her breath and her frantic state answered his question. Little miss perfect was late, just like him.

He couldn't help but smile to himself, finally, they had something in common. Something he could work with.

But before he could turn around to spark up a conversation, the receptionist called him forward. "JJ, how many times has it been this month?"

"Uhhh.. I lost track after the fifth time," JJ shrugged.

"You know I'm only asking because I want to see you graduate, the disciplinary committee is not going to be as nice," she said.

"I know, I know miss. I'll be better next month."

"How about starting tomorrow? You're all set."

JJ turned around, trying to come up with an excuse to hang around the office, but he knew that he was already pushing his limits.

On his way out, he grinned at Y/N. “Fancy seeing you here,” and left before she could respond.

-

"Dude, you said what to her?" Pope asked, incredulous. It seemed like every conversation JJ had with his best friend these days elicited disbelief.

"Come on! That line is a classic, works every time."

"Name one time," Pope challenged him.

"Uhh that one time with Stacy, or Sasha, I forget what her name was."

"Yeah, great example."

"What's wrong with that line anyway?"

"It's less what's wrong with the line itself and more the situation in which you said it. You probably embarrassed her," Pope said matter-of-factly, chewing on his apple.

"What? How's that embarrassing? I'm clearly hitting on her."

"Because, she was late and probably already stressed out. Y/N is never late, and you just pointed out the obvious to her."

"Shit. I didn't think about it like that," JJ admitted.

"Think about what like what?" Kiara asked, coming over to their unspoken designated lunch room table with John B. JJ was starting to get deja vu.

"JJ saw Y/N this morning," Pope started to explain. "They were both late and checking in at the main office and on the way out he said, 'Fancy seeing you here.'"

Both Kiara and John B. winced. "Why would you say that man?" the latter asked.

JJ groaned. "I wasn't thinking okay! I didn't mean to embarrass or upset her or anything. You think she's mad at me?"

"I mean, you guys barely know each other. There's a chance she might have forgotten already," Kiara tried to reason.

"Somehow that's even worse," JJ said.

"It's alright, buddy. Better luck next time," JB tried to comfort him.

"If there even is a next time," JJ grumbled.

With his luck, there was a next time. This time JJ was in Y/N's territory.

When his teacher asked for a volunteer to run to Ms. Scheer's classroom, JJ's hand immediately shot up. He didn't care what the errand was, all that mattered was that Y/N would be in that room. He knew as much from watching her intently, but from a safe distance in the hallways.

He seemed to catch her attention the second he walked in. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Once again, he was wishing that the circumstances were more ideal. His usual charm seem to dissipate in the presence of teachers.

After handing Ms. Scheer the construction paper she needed, JJ turned to look at Y/N, settling for a wave this time.

To his relief, she softly smiled back at him. He rushed out of the classroom and quickly pulled out his phone to text the groupchat.

JJ himself could not believe it, that someone as beautiful, smart, and amazing as Y/N noticed him. That line has yet to fail me, he thought to himself.

Since it was the end of senior year, there was word of quite a few parties happening that weekend. However, JJ only cared about one. And that was whatever one Y/N decided to grace her presence with.

In order to find out this information, JJ employed Kie to ask around in her circle of kook friends if anyone happened to know where his recent infatuation would be.

It just so happened that John B. was also crushing on a certain kook during this time as well, Sarah Cameron. The two boys hoped that their respective crushes would be at the same place Friday night and waited anxiously by their phones the entire day for a text from Kie.

Click images to see full messages.

Still, JJ found himself looking in the mirror for longer than usual getting ready for Sarah's party. Even just the chance of seeing Y/N there was enough for him to go. Plus, John B needed a wing man because he knew Pope and Kie would just spend the whole time there together.

After taking one last look at his outfit: gray muscle tee, shorts, and his signature baseball cap, he headed out the front door and into Kiara's Jeep.

As they pulled up to the Tanny Hill mansion, JJ started to get a little nervous. Or excited. He wasn't sure which, the nerves and butterflies inside his stomach seemed to be dancing the tango.

Of course he had been to kook parties before, the kooks vs pogues thing had mostly died down by the time they got to high school, but he couldn't help but feel out of place amongst the drunk rich kids of Kildare.

"Are you coming or not?" Kiara asked, already out of her car.

She quickly rushed to meet up with Sarah and some other girls, Pope tagging along as JJ and John B. looked around in search of some liquid courage.

Kie had agreed to put in a good word for John B. after he practically begged her, so all he had to do was sit back and wait. However, JJ would have to be on edge for the next few hours, unsure if Y/N was going to show up or not.

"Dude, you should still have fun, regardless if she shows or not. It's our senior year!" Pope said to him later in the night, seeming more buzzed than usual. That's when JJ realized how sober he was, he was so anxious about Y/N's presence or lack of, that he was only on his second bottle of beer.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, not expecting to see 5 texts from Kiara.

Realizing that the last text was from one minute ago, he left the group of boys he was standing with and ran inside the mansion, making a beeline toward the kitchen.

He slowed down once he was close enough to hear Y/N's voice talking to Kie.

It's now or never, he thought. Entering the kitchen, his eyes immediately caught Y/N's and he swore he saw them light up. Noticing Y/N’s change in expression, Kiara turned around.

"Ah! Just the guy I was looking for!" she said.

"Uh, hey. What's up?" JJ said, trying his best to seem nonchalant.

"Y/N, this is JJ, the guy I was just telling you about."

"Oh, hey! I think I've seen you around," Y/N said, smiling at JJ. His heart melted. Was this real life?

"Kiara, Y/N and I go way back. Remember we were both late that one day?" JJ hoped that he wasn't bringing up a sensitive topic, Pope's words echoing in his mind.

"Oh my god, yeah! That was you!" Y/N responded.

He let out a sigh of relief, "Yeah, I hope I didn't catch you off guard or anything."

"Oh, no worries, it wasn't the first time I've been late."

"Good, I don't know why I thought I made you upset or something," JJ said, scratching his head.

"Why would you think that?"

"My friends, Pope and John B. They said that what I said was stupid and I could've embarrassed you."

"You told your friends about our 30-second interaction?" JJ could see her lips pulling into a smirk and his heart started to race. It was at this point that Kiara slowly began to back up, giving him a thumbs up and a grin when she was out of Y/N's eyesight.

"Well, I only tell them about the pretty girls."

"And how many have you told them about lately?" JJ knew what game she was playing and gladly played along.

"Just the one," he grinned.

"Good, I told my friends about you too," she admitted.

"Y-you did?"

"Yeah, I mean I didn't think much of the day in the office honestly, but after you came into Ms. Scheer's and waved at me, I felt like there was something more going on."

"Well, you would be right."

"I usually am," she said, shrugging.

"What else did you tell your friends?"

"Hmmmm..." she pretended to think, tapping your index finger to her chin. "I told them that there was this super cute guy stalking me and asking around about what party I was going to."

The boy could feel his face growing hot, unsure if it was from her calling him cute or the fact that she knew he was asking about her.

"Aww, no reason to be embarrassed. Guys ask about me all the time," she said.

JJ balked, unsure how to respond to Y/N's candor. She was entirely different from how he imagined her, even better somehow.

"I'm kidding," she laughed. "The truth is most guys are too intimidated by me to even try anymore."

"What? Really?" Sure, Y/N could be perceived as intimidating because of all her accomplishments and positions, but for JJ, that just made her more attractive. He wasn't sure how any single guy on the island could refrain from being pulled in by Y/N's magnetic pull.

"Yeah," she took another sip out of her red solo cup. "But it's whatever, half of the guys on this island are assholes."

"Cheers to that?" he lifted up his half-drunken beer to her cup.

"Haha, cheers to that Maybank," she smiled, downing the rest of her drink. "Wanna get out of here?"

"I was wondering when you were going to say that," he grinned, following her to the backyard.

She led him past the pool where people were throwing each other in, careful to avoid getting splashed, to the edge of the premises where a rock wall surrounded the lawn.

Y/N easily climbed up, taking a seat at the top, JJ following suit.

"I've never been up here before," he said.

"It's kinda like my hiding spot, consider yourself lucky I’m showing it to you."

"Oh, trust me, I do."

"Stop," she gently pushed JJ away. "You cannot possibly like me that much." Though she said it in a joking manner, he could tell that a part of her meant it.

"Oh yeah? Try me," JJ said, desperate to prove himself.

"Okay, name 5 things you like about me. Non-physical things."

"Easy. You're smart. You're ambitious. I like it when you get competitive like at Pep Rally and football games, and I like your sense of humor. Also, your smile."

"Hey! I said non-physical things."

"Yeah, but you don't just smile for anyone. That's what I like about you. Every time you smile, it feels special. Like you meant it for that one person only."

Y/N was blushing now, "You're kidding me."

"Nope, I'm being 100% serious right now. Look, Y/N, in case you haven't noticed, I really, really like you, and even though I just named five things about you, I want to get to know you more." JJ reached out to grab Y/N's hands.

"JJ, you're shaking."

"Shit. Sorry, I just get a little bit nervous around you. I'm usually not like this." Y/N had him acting like he had never done this before, and though he had been with plenty of girls, he had never felt this strongly about them before.

"It's okay," she smiled. JJ thought he would never get sick of seeing that. "I like you too."

"Really?"

"No, I just smile at everyone like this," she laughed.

"So what do you say? You and me on a proper date?"

"Hmmm, where would you take me?"

"Anywhere you want, as long as it's not on school grounds or a fundraiser."

"JJ!" she playfully swatted at him, unable to control her grinning from ear to ear. In the process, JJ was finally able to grasp on her hand and pulled her closer to him.

"Still need verbal confirmation, pretty girl. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal," she whispered, close enough to JJ that only he could hear.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #obx #outer banks #obx x reader #obx imagine #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #jj maybank x you

[plan3tjuniper]

"Insatiable" Leon S. Kennedy~

INCLUDES: fluff, friends(barely) to lovers, smut, jealous Leon, oral (m receiving), confessions, angry fucking?(close enuf), P in V, cream-pie, unprotected sex

Leon never thought of himself as possessive or even very monogamous til he saw you sucking another guy off..

Authors note: ok wow I'm finally back in the fanfic writing game after a long hiatus, hope you guys like this one. He's literally all i think about (this is gonna be a long one) also GOD HES SO MMPH UGWHDGSUJBUHSHIW

Leon Kennedy was an odd man romantically. He had had his fair share of sexual and romantic relationships, but he could never find himself to care too much for it. Did he enjoy a good romance movie here and there? sure! Does he enjoy sex? yeah who doesn't. And he has a pretty decent ratio. (its about a 3:50 for every girl who flirts with him which is pretty good seeing as most every woman who sees him gets a girl boner) He always wanted to settle down one day and be normal, cute wife, cute dog, cute little white picket fence life. But in reality, he only wanted that because what else would be do? His life was so far from normal that even to imagine it any different was insanity so he settled on the default, he had no idea how he would feel going from chaos and action to comfort and boringness. He had grown accustomed to the lifestyle in one way or another.

You on the other hand weren't in a relationship solely because you didn't want to be. And you were proud of it. You are young and just enjoying sex and fun while you still can. Kids and marriage were never in the picture for you and at the most you could see yourself raising a sweet little boy you adopted. But you'd never met anyone that made you want to settle down or that you could see a future with. You were a self-proclaimed slut. Your friends say you'd fuck anything in a 5 foot radius which isn't true but your body count is in the late 20s (ignoring blowjobs which don't realllyy count) And you enjoyed it, couldn't get enough.

You and Leon worked together, acquaintances but if someone asked you'd call him your friend. You had been on a few smaller missions together, you were hot for him and he was such a flirt. You could've sworn you threw out at least 3 pairs of panties just from just making eye contact with the man. But you were a professional woman and couldn't do anymore than glance and flirt with him on the job. Which is why you're thanking god and the heavens above that Chris and Jill and a few other people from the office invited you out clubbing tonight. They made sure to tell you Leon was coming because you are not an inconspicuous woman.

You'd finished your hair and makeup and slid on your little black dress, it may be basic but fuck you looked good it hugged you in all the right places(god you have a great ass). You put on your lipstick afterwards because you didn't want smears on the inside of the dress. and then put a bracelet and some earrings on, basic but you didn't want to get tangled up while dancing. You grabbed your little matching black purse and strapped your heels on and went and sat on your couch, eager. You had started getting ready 3 hours early, but who could blame you? It had been all you were thinking about all day. Your stomach churned in excitement as you tried to pull your attention to the TV to pass the 30 minutes you had to waste before they swung by to pick you up. You grabbed a piece of bread and nibbled on it to the incoherent talking it was hard to eat with your gut constricting in excitement. Really all you were thinking about was how to talk to Leon.

They finally arrived a minute late, a polite knock on your door followed by Chris banging on it and yelling "POLICE OPEN UP!" you giggled and opened the door to jill punching him in the arm. You were stunned for a second by the presence of Leon behind them just staring at you. He was like a sexy ghost. You regained your thoughts and said "you're two minutes late this is unacceptable" crossing your arms feigning anger. Jill gets on her knees and pleads "I'm so so sorry we had car troubles, whatever could i do to make it up to you" faking a cry. You put your hand to her face and say "you should've walked." You two make eye contact after your statement and cant hold it in any longer erupting in laugher. They start to walk to the car parked in the parking lot of your apartment building. You wait a second to lock the door and Leon stays by your side while the others start a conversation of their own. "You're quiet" you say pulling the key out and putting it in your bag. "I know, I honestly just don't know what to say" you share an awkward chuckle "you look nice" he said making eye contact with you. You look up at him nudging his shoulder with your own "thank you, I think this is my first time seeing you dressed like a normal person. Like if you ever wore sweatpants I think my head might explode." He laughs at that not a lot but it's genuine. You get to the car and climb into the back seat with Leon, he holds the door open "your seat madam" "why thank you sir" you say with a smile. You hear Chris say "knew itt" before jill hits him again.

The car was fun, listening fun trashy white girl music to get in the mood and singing along, cracking stupid jokes and doing bits with your friends in the front. Leon was making fun of the music the most but even he started humming along eventually, you're never letting him live it down. During the parts he was silent he would just stare at you talking and having fun, you were too caught up to notice the way he was studying your features, the curve of your nose, how you look when you laughed, the little moles and freckles on your skin, he was soaking it all in like a sickly victorian child seeing the sun. You sat back for a second to see him biting at dead skin on his lip when he brought his focus back to the conversation. You reached in your bag and pulled out some chapstick and handed it to him, he looked a little stunned (and a little turned on at your thoughtfulness) he put it on around and on his lips because they really needed it. You looked at him when his hand pulled away you noticed a sheer pink color outlining his mouth. You let out a giggle and he looked at you confused "what?." "I forgot it was tinted" you said hand covering your mouth in shock and interest. "I bet i look fabulous" he said with a flat tone and then puckering his lips at you. "yeah the smeared lipstick look is really in right now" you say giggling at his accidentally over-lined lips before leaning over and grabbing his face to wipe around his lips so he doesn't look insane. His breath hitched feeling your thumb swiping under his lips. "You know you could've just asked to kiss me, didn't have to make me look stupid" he said almost mumbling cause he didn't want to move him mouth too much and mess you up. "As if!! kissing you would be like kissing sandpaper! You are one cold morning away from a mouthful of blood from those cracks on your lips" you say pulling away from his face.

You knew what you were doing, and you knew that he liked you. You weren't dumb and you weren't gonna play it. You saw how he looked at you and god he had to know to some capacity how much you wanted him.

He was all you could get off to when you were alone now, sneaking a hand down to your panties and wishing it was his. Pumping your finger in and out of yourself almost antagonistically, you had assumed he'd be teasing and mean in your fantasies about him. And you would be lying if you said you said you hadn't been sleeping with more blonde guys as of recent to pretend that they're him. But none of them fucked you like Leon did in your head.

You guys pulled up the club finally, "The Alley Cat" stupid name but a dance floor and booze is a dance floor and booze. Starting to walk towards the door you notice that what you assumed was a busy sidewalk was a line around the block to get in. "This place is brand new how'd they find it so fast" jill said with a look of defeat. "Clubbers are menaces. Just give me a second I can get us in" you said adjusting your bra and arching your back very slightly.

You sauntered towards the bouncer, a man who looked to be in his late 30s, grown out buzz cut, brown mean eyes and a pair of sunglasses adorning his head. He was strong, not as strong as the men you worked with but you knew he could throw you around like you weighed as much as a napkin. He was tall too, too tall but that seemed to be good when your occupation is to be a human brick wall. His arms were crossed as he watched you strut up to him, squeezing your cleavage together and pouting. "Hello sir, i was wondering if you'd let me and my friends in" touching his chest "we were just sooo excited" you say slowly lips still in a pout looking up at him with half lidded eyes. "mmm.. I'll let you guys in if you make it worth my while" he said with a disgusting grin, you were such a hypocrite for being grossed out by the man when you knew that thats exactly what you were trying to get him to agree to. Just comes with the territory of being a woman I guess. You turn around with a wide smile on your face and wave your friends over. Jill squeals and trots over in her heels to hug you.

Leon had watched the whole ordeal go down, he had no idea what the two of you were saying but he could tell whatever you were doing was working. He had no right to be jealous so why was he, you two were barely friends he had no claim on you. Is what he tried to tell himself but his stomach was bubbling with jealousy and a little bit of anger. Anger that continued to grow when he saw the bouncer walk the group in and sweep you off to god knows where to do god knows what.

"She needs to stop doing this I would've been fine with waiting an hour or two" jill said with a sigh sitting down at the bar she ran her fingers through her short hair and looked around getting a scope of the place. "Doing what?" He said barely loud enough to hear over the music. Leon knew the answer to the question but he still asked anyways praying silently she wouldn't say it. "The last 5 times we've went to clubs she's pulled the whole seduce the bouncer thing and then suck him off in a backroom or closet. It's her choice at the end of the day but that must be really degrading mentally overtime for her. She may say she loves being a whore now but I don't think it's good for her to be treated like an object so often." Leon listened sympathetically but he was gritting his teeth internally at the idea of you sleeping with someone who wasn't him.

Leon didn't understand why he was feeling this way, you're gorgeous and he knew that, everyone knew that. But he enjoyed being around you. Every time he sees you he gets a little flustered thinking about how to talk to you and 'accidentally' eavesdropping when you'd talk about something you were passionate about, or recent news, or a mission or just something you enjoyed. He'd listen and wish he was the person you were talking to. He was absolutely infatuated with you. And he realized recently that the reason for it is because you're so interesting. He could never keep a girlfriend or fling before because he'd get bored so fast, he was addicted to the chaos in his life. It was his normal. And he wanted you to be that one constant in his life who he wakes up to every morning and wonders "what is she doing today?." because he knows it'll be a different answer every time. He wanted you to be his inconstant constant. By now the simmer of jealousy in his stomach had turned to a boil and it was spilling out. It should be him thats you're on your knees in front of not some loser who works at a club. He shivers at the thought.

The bouncer leads you to a storage closet about the size of a small bedroom, he starts nipping at your neck and groping your tits through your dress before pushing you to your knees in-front of him. his back against the cold concrete wall. You unzip his black pants music blaring through the door although the bass is louder than anything else. You pull his dick out, half hard and pump it a few times. "Just fucking suck it you little club slut." You knew it was his idea of dirty talk but it still didn't stop you from rolling your eyes. But maybe thats just because he's not Leon.

You take the tip into your mouth licking and sucking on it and finding his sensitive spot on the underside of his dick, you play with it for a little before he grabs a hold of your hair and starts throat fucking you. Drool pooling around your mouth and dribbling down your chin. Your eyes started to water as you relaxed your throat and just took him. That went straight to your panties, something inside you loved being manhandled. You were insatiable. Your makeup was probably fucked right now but you were too busy to care, and it was too dark in the club for anyone to notice. You started to move along with him as you could feel him getting closer squeezing your hair and his moans heightening in pitch, mouth falling into an 'O'. Or rather he was getting closer because before you could think Leon had busted through the door.

The mans whose name you still don't know's hand went limp on the back of your head as his whole body stilled. You pulled off of him a string of spit connecting you and his dick. Leon looked furious, jaw clenched and hands balled up into tight little fists definitely leaving little crescent-shaped marks in his palms. "Leon?" you said confused, barely able to think to ask why he's here before he punches the man straight in the nose. His head flies back holding his face, before he lunges on Leon. Theres a short lived battle of arms and legs before Leon is pinned down and cuffed. "You both are fucking out. now."

The man escorts you both out, Leons hands cuffed behind his back being held and you walking freely alongside, not wanting to embarrass yourself even more. He throws you two out on the curb and you hear a few people in the front of the line snicker. You make a quick call to Jill to say Leon got you two kicked out and that you'd update her later and you wanted her to enjoy her night, and to tell the people who haven't shown up yet that they can just say they're with her.

"Yeah, Yeah I'm sorry.. I know!! It's terrible, but he's probably just drunk. Yeah i'll get him home safe. Yeah. Okay, love you bye bye"

Thats all Leon hears as you're on the phone pacing back towards him, it was an odd habit you picked up. Needing to be doing something while talking to someone.

You look up at him with a mix of pity and annoyance and run your hands through your hair with a sigh. "C'mon, I'm walking you home. gotta make sure you don't beat anyone else up." You pat his back and start walking.

"I'm not drunk.."

"Sure Leon."

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like an eternity, the sounds of honks and angry drivers keeping you two sane. You take a sharp breath and contemplate your words before spitting them out.

"Why'd you do that Leon?" You say softly, looking over at him.

He refuses to look you in the eye, focusing on the sidewalk ahead of you. He responds with barely a mumble. "Jealous"

"What..?"

He finally looks you in the eyes and sighs "I was jealous.. can we just pretend like this never happened?"

You ignore his question. "Why were you jealous Leon.."

He groans and looks up to the sky, massaging his neck.

"Why do you think"

You smile at him, small. He doesn't notice though.

"Youuu like meee"

"You're making me wish I didn't right now"

"Shut up" You push his arm slightly, he stumbles over his feet to the side.

"So?"

"I mean I guess you're kinda cute" You say sarcastically, smile widening.

"Kinda?" He leers at you with that smirk on his face

you wanted to fuck it off of him

After a few more minutes of walking and bantering you arrive at his apartment, you climb up the stairs with him and he unlocks the door with ease. You follow him inside.

He takes his jacket off, revealing his toned back covered by a thin layer of cloth, if you weren't wet before you were now. He turns around to ask you a question but before he could even finish the first word you practically pounced on him.

Lips pressing against his, hands gripping onto his shirt desperately, like if you let go he'd disappear. He was shocked at first before letting out a low chuckle into your mouth, that went straight to your panties.

One of his hands grip your waist and the other grips your ass, pulling your body even closer to his. He slides his tongue into your mouth, making you melt at his touch. Letting out a whine into the kiss, the hand that was holding your ass moves up to your scalp and pulls your head back. Gripping your hair tight, a string of saliva connecting your wet lips as he pulls you away from him.

This time a whine leaves your mouth but its more of a beg and less of a moan. "Awww so needy" He says mocking you. "Leon please.."

His grip on your scalp stays strong as he forces you to your knees, he lets go and moves his hand to caress your face. Using a thumb to part your lips, you just look up at him dumbly. He puts his thumb in your mouth and you start sucking it mindlessly. "good girl.."

You look up at him and nod your head with a "mhm."

"Take off your dress" he says sternly.

You unzip your small, revealing dress to reveal a matching set of black lace panties and bra. He hums in approval.

"You were planning on getting fucked tonight.. probably by some stranger that couldn't treat you half as good as me"

You just continue to look up at him.

"C'mon baby, I want you to show me exactly what you would've done to that bouncer."

You nod at him again and work quickly at his belt and button.

"Someones experienced."

You pull his pants and boxers down to his knees and kiss around his dick, biting his thigh.

You take his fully erect penis into your hand, stroking it a few times. He looks like he's in complete bliss just from that. Eyelashes fluttering and looking down at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

You lick his tip, flicking your tongue on his frenulum. His hand grips tighter on the back of your head and he lets out a small gasp. You put his tip in your mouth, and he lets out a groan at that.

"Quit teasing" he says lowly almost in a growl.

"Thought you wanted me to do exactly what id do to him" you tease him.

And with that you put him in your mouth in an instant, deep throating him. You pull away for a moment, looking up at him "feel free to fuck my mouth."

You put him back in your mouth and with that he grips your hair and starts fucking into your mouth, you gag slightly, tears pooling in your eyes and drool leaking down your chin again.

He turns your bodies around so now you're pressed against the wall, still sitting. And now instead of moving your mouth back and forth he's thrusting his hips into your mouth, losing himself and moaning. Your fingers are now digging into his clothed thighs, leaving crescent shaped marks on his meaty thighs.

You were sopping wet by this point, trying to hump the ground or your heel for some friction. Your heel was now rubbing against your clit and you let out a moan around him.

"fuckfuckfuckfuck such a good girl, just a little throat for men to use aren't you?"

He grips your hair again and with another long moan he releases into your throat. Coating the inside of your mouth completely, pulling out slightly too soon and spurting a little onto your cheek. You swallow all of it and then open your mouth to show him.

"God you're such a slut"

He uses one hand to grab your face, pointer finger and thumb squishing each side of your face. Pulling you to stand up.

He takes you to his bedroom and you fall back onto his bed with a giggle.

He undoes your heels slowly, a more sensual and tender moment compared to what you guys were doing just minutes ago. He takes both of them off and takes off his shirt leaving him nude and you wearing your bra and panties.

He crawls over your body and plants soft kisses to your collar bones and chest, before unhooking your bra. you arch your back slightly so he can do it easier. He slides it off of your arms and continues trailing soft kisses all over your chest before licking around one of your nipples.

It was gentle and made you feel safe in an odd sense, he looks up at you with blown out eyes. Hair slightly messy and him looking sexier than ever.

"Gonna treat you so much better than any of those assholes, gonna make you cum til your sobbing happy tears"

You caress his face with a soft smile, your smaller hand giving him comfort. You pull his face closer to your own and pull him into a kiss, wrapping your leg around his waist. He brings a hand down to squeeze your ass.

"Was thinking about doing this when I saw you in that slutty little dress."

He leans back for a moment, to grab your panties and slide them off of you, throwing them somewhere in his room. Doesn't matter, you're not getting them back.

He moves back into you, grabbing inside of your knee and putting it back around his waist, lining his dick up with your pleading hole. Barely putting his tip in and watching himself just disappear into you.

"Quit teasing Leon, please.. need you" You look up at him with a pleading look, he snickers at your desperateness before pushing into you completely. Your soft walls hugging and squeezing him just right, you felt like heaven. He would stay right here forever if he could.

He lets out a groan and starts moving, you moan along with him. He filled you up so perfectly.

"Fuck, could get used to this cunt. Sucking me in so good, made for me"

He continues to fuck into you at an increasingly fast pace, your pussy making wet squelching sounds as he pounds into you. Abusing your g-spot.

"Say it sweetheart, no one could fuck you as good as me" he says smirking at you, your hips slamming together to make a harmony of moans and wet sounds.

"No one could fuck me as good as you Leon, feel s'good. Making me feel so gooomph" you choke out a sob as he picks up the pace even more.

"Clit.. Leon please" you manage to squeak out while he pounds into you. He brings a hand down to rub small circles on you, you're so close to breaking. This man knew how to press all of your buttons just right, you knew it was just sex talk but maybe he was onto something.. maybe he was made for you.

You could feel yourself reaching your high, you felt the pressure building in your abdomen as you tried not to clench around Leon but you couldn't help it. He let out a moan when you did, bringing you even closer to the ledge. "its okay baby.. just come for me, c'mon sweetheart"

He starts fucking you at an even more relentless pace, and with a scream you finish around him, walls of your cunt fluttering around his still moving cock. You can only whimper and say his name as he continues his assault on your pussy, chasing his own release.

He starts to pepper kisses onto your neck as he starts to quicken his pace "can I cum inside?, please baby. Need to, been thinking about filling this little pussy up since we met"

You let out a whine and nod your head, as he starts to whimper himself in your ear.

"So good, so good for me, gonna breed you. And you're gonna love it aren't you? Yeah you are, little fucking slut."

Biting down on your shoulder and he starts to spurt inside of you, seed filling you up to the brim as he thrusts a few more times, riding out his orgasm as he kisses around the bite mark he left on your neck. His trusts slow down and his hips eventually still inside of you.

He looks up from your neck at your face in a haze before pecking you on the lips. "Wanna be the only person who gets to fuck you, and kiss you and hold you like this. Let me take you out on a date okay? Be your little boyfriend"

You smile at him and wrap your arms around his neck and roll over so now you're on top of him "yeah.. I think id like that Leon"

You kiss him on the lips again, this one much more gentle and soft than the hungry kisses you two shared earlier. You lift your hips off of him, pulling his dick out of you with a wince. He watches in awe as his cum drips out of you onto his torso.

"I'm never letting you go now"

__________________________________________

OKAY HAII AUTHORS NOTE:

This took so fucking long to write and its pretty proofread but if there are any mistakes just tell me. Proud of this!!!!

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon s. kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #resident evil 4 #leon x reader #leon x you #re4 leon #ineedthatantagonizedpenis

[buckybarnesb-tch]

Hi can you do headcanons or one-shot about human yandere doctor klaus mikaelson and human yandere police officer Elijah in love with the same girl, maybe y/n was mugged/attacked and Elijah rescues her and falls in love with her and y/n takes some hits in her attack so Elijah takes her to the hospital to be cured and there Klaus meets her and falls in love with her.

ER Doctor!Klaus M. & Police Officer!Elijah M. HC’s

(This is an awesome idea and I will absolutely give you Headcanons about that! This was great fun to write!)

DD:DNE!!!

•You had called the cops after locking yourself in the bathroom, your ex boyfriend had come to your house drunk after losing his job (too drunk to remember you had broken up 2 weeks before) and as soon as you suggested him going to bed, he had turned around and smacked you so hard your nose began gushing blood. He had knocked you to the ground and hit you a few more times before moving to get himself a beer from the fridge and you escaped into the bedroom

•Police Officer!Elijah was the second on the scene after your Ex had been cuffed and put in the car. He knocked on the bathroom door and announced himself, telling you that you’re safe and the next thing he knew the door had flown open and he had a sobbing women in his chest

•He had seen pictures of you on the way in and he knew how gorgeous you are and as he felt your arms tighten around his waist he felt a flutter in his chest…it was an unfamiliar and wonderful sensation. He pulled you back and saw the blood on your nose and mouth which was still dripping on your shirt and he quickly moved to grab toilet paper and hold it over your bloody nose

‘Keep pressure on this sweetheart, it’s alright. I’m here, my name is Elijah and you’re safe now. I’m not going to let you go, I promise.’ He swore, holding you close again and escorting you out to his car, setting you into the passenger seat. You couldn’t help the feeling in your belly as he held your hand so tightly, genuinely feeling safe with a man for the first time in years. What you didn’t know was that Elijah’s body was reacting to you as well, in the exact same way, and he realized in another way as he felt his cock twitching in his pants

•Your Ex and you had been together since 9th grade and you stupidly moved in with him right after graduation, he was a drunken asshole who started hitting you basically the second he got a real job and couldn’t handle the stress. He had always been an asshole and you were too afraid to leave him, finally changing the locks 2 weeks ago but you accidentally forgot to lock them today. You hadn’t felt safe in years, but Officer Mikaelson made you feel protected

•He talked to you all the way to the hospital to make sure you stayed awake (and to get you to talk about yourself, wanting to know everything), texting someone as you pulled in and carrying you into the ER as you were light headed and weak. He set you on a bed just before a blond Doctor walked in quickly.

‘What happened?’

‘Her Ex attacked her, hit her in the head God knows how many times and her nose just stopped bleeding.’ He shined a light in your eyes to check your reaction as he spoke to you.

‘Hello Y/n, I’m Doctor Mikaelson, you can call me Klaus. You’re safe now, love, I’m going to take good care of you. I promise. How badly does your head hurt on a scale of one to ten?’

‘Maybe like, a 6? It’s getting worse with the light.’ You explained and the officer moved to turn the light in the room down.

‘Is that better?’ He asked and you nodded, wincing. ‘Don’t move, just lay back. Niklaus, I have to go and fill out the report before he gets booked. My shift is over in 15 so I’ll be right back-‘

‘Don’t go! Please? He’s gonna come back! Don’t-‘

‘No, no! Shh, Shh, Shh…he’s in lock up and he’s not going anywhere. I’ll let the investigating officer know that you’ll be pressing charges so he can’t get out, alright?’

‘No. No, I can’t…he’ll come after me when he’s released, it’ll be so much worse!’ You panicked but he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, hugging you to him.

‘I’ll help you, and if you press charges for Aggravated Domestic Assault he will get a minimum of at least 5 years, but if I testify for you it’ll be even longer, okay? I’m going to help you sweetheart, you’re completely safe now.’ He pulled back, looking down at you softly and raising his eyebrows. ‘Do you believe me?’ His smile grew wide as you nodded slowly before tucking your hair behind your ear and standing, looking at the Doctor. ‘Will you watch over her until I get back, Brother? Just so she feels safer?’ The Doctor and Elijah seemed to have a conversation without ever speaking a word. Klaus looked at him curiously before his face dropped and Elijah looked at him firmly before his face softened.

‘Of course I will. I’m going to order a CT Scan right away so we may be out when you get back. Is that alright, love? I want to make sure there’s no bleeding in your brain, depending on the results of that I may want an MRI but I don’t think we’ll need that.’

‘Okay. You’re the doctor, whatever you say.’ He seemed very pleased as you said that, actually they both did, smiling up at each other over you in an odd way but your head hurt so much you didn’t want to give any effort into thinking about it.

‘I’ll be here when you get back from the CT scan, okay?’ Elijah asked.

‘Okay. Thank you…don’t let him go, okay?’ You whispered and he shook his head.

‘Not in a million years.’ He surprised you as he leaned down and kissed your cheek, causing you to blush a dark red shade and him to smile before walking out the door.

•You spent the next hour getting tests done with Doctor Mikaelson who insisted you call him Klaus. You told him all about your relationship with your Ex and he was very interested to know more. In turn he told you a lot about himself and Elijah. Klaus told you all about his father and the abuse he suffered, explaining that that’s why he became a Doctor, to help people like himself when he was a boy. In turn, it’s also why Elijah became a cop because he couldn’t protect his little brother and he wanted to make sure he would never fail again. It touched you to know that and these men made you feel so safe that you trusted them, which was a strong development as you didn’t trust anyone

•Unfortunately, Elijah had to inform you that since the apartment wasn’t in your name, you had no right to kick your Ex out and now he was kicking you out, leaving you with nowhere to go until Klaus offered for you to stay with him. It was a shocking offer but after some discussion and both men insisting that they refused to leave you in a homeless shelter (as your only family lived across the country and wouldn’t talk to you anyways) you finally caved and agreed to stay with them.

•They both had an incredible plot of land in the woods, away from everyone and everything. It made you feel safe to know that even if your Ex was released, he would never find you here

•They brought you home in the early hours of the morning when Klaus got off work and you drifted off (unaware of the drugs Klaus had put into your juice in the ER as you were leaving) only to be carried into the house by Elijah who pulled you as close as he could before laying you onto a large bed in the guest room

•Klaus got you some clothes from his room and when he entered the bedroom he found his elder brother trailing his fingers down your torso and towards your pants.

‘So impatient.’

‘I’m impatient? You are such a hypocrite.’ Elijah laughed, unbuttoning your pants and getting a peek at the lacy white panties that you were wearing.

‘Such a innocent little thing…imagine how sweet she tastes…’ Elijah could see the gears turning in his younger brothers mind and he made him a deal.

‘You can taste her first, but I get to fuck her first.’ He proposed, knowing Klaus couldn’t resist.

‘Deal.’ Klaus climbed onto the bed, tossing the clothes aside and yanking her pants and panties off of her body.

‘Gentle! Don’t wake her-‘

‘I know exactly what I gave her Brother, Y/n will not be waking up for several hours at least. We have plenty of time to play with our new girl.’ The smirk on his younger brothers face probably would have frightened Elijah if he were anyone else but he knew Klaus. He knew his brother needed control over everything in his life since he had none in his youth, since Mikael took it from him every day like a sick game, and Elijah couldn’t fault him for that…especially when he needs the same thing…

•Claiming her together wasn’t something they had ever done before but it felt like second nature. They had shared everything their whole lives, why should a women be any different?

Klaus buried his face into her cunt and ate her like a man possessed. She was sweet and delicate and everything he had always wanted to love and protect his whole life. Elijah briefly thought she would wake up as her hips began rocking up into Klaus’ face making him groan but her eyes stayed closed, even as she whimpered and whined like their perfect little Princess.

Elijah removed his clothes quickly as Klaus dropped her legs, having finished in his own pants when Y/n came on his mouth. Elijah had never understood his brothers obsession with eating women out (not that he didn’t enjoy it himself once in a while) as Klaus could do it for hours and never tire of it, even as a women nearly rips his hair from his head from overstimulation.

‘That idiot boyfriend never made you cum did he, not once? She’s so Goddamn tight Brother, Christ!’ He pulled her up against his chest so that he could thrust up into her at a better angle. ‘Wanna live in this sweet little pussy, gonna let me whether you like it or not, aren’t you pretty girl? Fuck!’

•They both fucked her twice before they pried themselves away from her body, cleaning her up and dressing her once more before tucking her into the bed and laying on either side of her, drifting off for the night

•Y/n was comforted by the fact that they both slept on top of the covers under their own blanket to not make her uncomfortable, a sweet gesture that truly tricked her into believing they would never do anything to hurt her or make her uncomfortable.

•The both of them talked her into staying with them until she found a new place for herself, though they never helped her do that. Instead they manipulated her into a relationship with the both of them, making her never want to leave.

Klaus and Elijah didn’t mind having to share their girl in the end, quite content to have a girl who was as sweet and submissive as Y/n. She was perfect for them and they weren’t planning on ever letting her go.

(I hope that this was everything you wanted it to be)

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

Elijah Mikaelson Masterlist

#vampire #tvd klaus #tvd elijah #the vampire diaries #the originals #the vampire diares imagine #the originals imagine #niklaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #Elijah Mikaelson #klaus imagine #elijah imagine #klaus mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #yandere elijah mikaelson #yandere klaus mikaelson #Doctor!Klaus Mikaelson #Police Officer!Elijah Mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson smut #klaus mikaelson headcanon #Elijah Mikaelson Headcanon #klaus mikaelson x y/n #elijah mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson x oc #elijah mikaelson x oc #yandere!klaus mikaelson #yandere!elijah mikaelson

[bonny-kookoo]

Bonny if possible I'd love to know how the Stereotypes couple will face the new bond situation. Does it change anything else apart from being able to reach the O? Are they both happy and comfortable with it despite not having talked about the possibility beforehand (so was my impression at least)?

After Yoongi had taken a good look at your now shared bond, it's pretty clear that it's a proper one. A permanent one- because even now, after days, the scar still remains none of your body's usually fast healing affecting it whatsoever.

And another thing that's happened, is that it stopped.

No longer are you both being perceived as nothing but prey- no one dares to go after you no more, scent having mixed to a new one that clearly tells the fact of a mated couple, rather than two mingling omegas. But even that is not all.

Jungkook had gone on a trip with friends, despite Yoongi's warning to not go by himself. You didn't feel too great having Jungkook gone, but you managed, somewhat- not wanting to ruin his fun just because he's now mated.

But it's obvious that when Jungkook returns, that he now knows exactly what Yoongi was warning him about.

He had fun, he really did- but he couldn't sleep well if at all, he constantly felt an odd constricting feeling in his throat that just worsened the longer he was gone, mind constantly coming up with new reasons to worry about you back home, constant messages increasing towards you, anxiety growing if you didn't respond right away.

And now that he's back home, he's clingy, constantly attached to you, seeking any affection you can offer him.

Jimin laughs as he watches the young omega sleepily scent you yet again, moving around to properly hold you, both of you occupying the newly bonded couple's home. Yoongi has offered to let you stay with him and Jimin during the last day of Jungkook's trip- your side effects from not having your freshly bonded mate close having caused you great distress you don't want to admit to Jungkook.

You don't want him to feel bad- but you've been absolutely miserable, especially during the last day- crying until you felt nauseous, hidden away under blankets and Jungkook's clothes.

So now, earlier, when Jungkook came over to technically pick you up, you both fell into a different mindset- clinging onto one another to make up for lost time. You literally are touch-starved, and since you're both omegas, neither of you are currently really conscious enough to be left alone. Or at least, that's what Yoongi said- Jimin is convinced the alpha just feels protective with both of your distressed scents around.

And, since you're considered part of his 'pack', he feels almost obligated to offer help.

"How are the two?" The alpha wonders, entering the living room after having finished some stuff in his office, watching how Jimin puts a blanket over Jungkook and you who are finally able to find proper sleep. "I told him to take her with him.." Yoongi shakes his head.

"He has to learn, like you said." His mate offers. "He can't replace an alpha, neither can she. They have to figure things out themselves, and that's by trial and error." He shrugs.

"Still." Yoongi huffs, though he decides to no longer push the subject. "You gonna come to bed?" He asks, eyes still on you and Jungkook.

"I think we'll sleep downstairs here too, no?" Jimin purrs teasingly, hugging Yoongi. "I know for a fact you won't be able to sleep properly if you can't watch over them." He jokes, and Yoongi rolls his eyes-

though he does walk up to get some blankets and a sleeping mat for the living room.

#bts imagine #bts fic #bts fanfic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #yoongi imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader

[callmearcturus]

The Verge got ahold of Elon's meeting with his new pals and if you got time, you should scroll past the highlights and read the entire thing because its absolutely balls to the wall batshit. I just liveblogged it to my discord server.

I think I very rapidly want to improve every aspect of Twitter. Search I know we can improve immediately and in a number of ways. I mean, just this morning, I actually was just looking for Jack [Dorsey] actually. And I typed Jack into the search engine, and “@jack” was not the number one thing. But that should be the number one thing. So then I just had to type “@jack” in directly. If you type j-a-c-k, your number one thing should be Jack Dorsey. I mean, that’s probably what you’re looking for, you know? So I think anything we do to improve any aspect of the system, let’s do it right away.

Elon legitimately thinks we give a shit about how the search functions and that's a huge thing that'll bring people in. bitch, people read their TIMELINES?????

also the WILD assumption that if I type a very common 4 letter name i OBVIOUSLY want to see jack dorsey. what the fuck.

I’d love to see ads for gizmos. If I saw ads for gizmos, I love gizmos, of course, I’d buy them all in a click. Even if they’re not that great, I’ll still buy gizmos. I love technology. I’ll see content for gizmos but not an ad or an ability to actually buy the gizmo. So then I have to send it to my assistant like, “Please buy this gizmo.” That’s how it goes generally. But I’d be happy to just click on it and buy it.

Twitter, which is having an advertiser crisis of Elon's own making which may lead to lawsuits from the likes of Eli fucking Lilly, wants more fun ads.

oh and he wants to make twitter into A BANK. he wants to give verified users like 10$ (reminder: you pay 8$ to be verified) so people will start sending each other money. what happens when they wanna send to someone who doesn't want to hook up their fucking bank info to twitter? oh we'll send out debit cards with the amount. (for real) and elon says they'll take all the money ppl put on twitter and place it into a high yield account to collect the interest

elon, you don't HAVE cash to place into an account right now, and its a FUCKING RECESSION and you just TANKED twitter's credit advisory score, so who is gonna give you this high yield account, pal

I’ve been through the recession of 2000 and 2001 and 2008-9, and I’m somewhat paranoid about dying in recessions. I have recession PTSD from keeping X and PayPal alive through the 2000 recession, keeping Tesla alive in the 2009 recession.

i cordially invite elon to sit on a rusted steel dildo

oh also he's forcing everyone back to "the office" even if they live in remote locations in an attempt to get more people off the payroll. that's why he's doing it.

twitter genuinely might not last a month.

#twitter #this transcript is fucking BANANAS