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Of course it did. Lloyd needs to be remembered so he is the last one.
He's coming...
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Ooooh best for last day. I like it.
He's coming...
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Oooh maybe he could kill him too.
He's coming...
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Not for the advent calendar I hope. That’s cheating if he got two. I mean, Lloyd did not get one day yet 🤣🤣🤣
I protest !
He's coming...
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Oooh sinful Sunday 🤤
timblakeley Throw back! Training Tom Hiddleston @twhiddleston for Kong! Scull Island in Hawaii. Toms biggest problem was getting food in. He has a crazy metabolism and is a natural middle distance runner. A truly gift athlete.
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Awww that was so sweet. Dr. Studmuffin is adorable and it suits Steve pretty well. I think you depicted him quite well, so awkward and not so confident about his physical appearance.
Poor reader went through a lot. Bryce is a dick but somehow her «��friends » are worse.
They really deserved that kiss ❤️
Dr. Studmuffin
A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.
Prompt: new years kiss with a stranger
Warnings: Drugs used in a medical setting, Emergency room setting, Ex-boyfriend angst, Physical injuries. Please let me know if I missed any.
You're in tears, and not just from the pain. This was supposed to be your comeback. Your personal revolution. New Year's was a time for renewal and remaking yourself. You were going to prove to everyone, especially Bryce, that you didn't need him. That you could stand proud on your own two feet.
You'd splurged on the clothes, finding ones that not only fit you like a second skin, but that made all your best features pop. You got your hair done by a professional, even adding some highlights that would match the dress and your makeup choices. Every time you looked in the mirror you knew you were killing it! This was going to be your night. Your year!
And then you tripped on your too-high heels and likely broke your ankle.
It took everyone at the party several minutes to stop laughing. You're certain Bryce is still laughing about it. No one wanted to give you a lift to the emergency room so you had to call yourself an ambulance. Thankfully the paramedics were nice enough. Especially after the pain meds kicked in and you went from uncontrollably sad to uncontrollably sad and loopy.
You hated being loopy. You just couldn't stop talking and you inevitably said too much. Doesn't matter you primarily apologized for things that weren't your fault and made it rain compliments, you still talked nonstop and would eventually be called annoying. Thankfully the redheaded nurse taking care of you didn't seem to mind every time you repeated how pretty you thought she was. She actually was pretty good at assuaging the worst of your fears.
And then he showed up.
The first time you laid eyes on the ER doctor you blurted out, "well hello, Dr. Studmuffin!" You slapped your hands over your mouth, face burning with embarrassment. Apparently he felt it too with how pink his cheeks got.
"I see Natasha wasn't exaggerating," he chuckles as he rubs on some hand sanitizer.
"I am so sorry, doctor! I know that was very disrespectful. I mean, it's not disrespectful to call you handsome, because you really are. But it's wrong time, wrong place, right? Plus, you're a doctor! You've gotta be super smart for that! So reducing you to Dr. Studmuffin just feels so inadequate. I'm---"
He raises a hand to stop you from talking. His cheeks are still blushing but his smile is, thankfully, gentle instead of condescending or egotistical. He puts on some gloves and walks to your heavily bruised ankle. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"
"I tripped on my shoes," you explain. Tears start to form as the embarrassing memory comes back. "I tripped in front of everyone and they just laughed and didn't try to help me and I was just trying to be better! Trying to improve myself and stand on my own without my ex and then I tripped and fell, right in front of him!"
The doctor grabs some of the tissues from the table nearby and gently wipes the tears from your face.
"The notes from the paramedics say that you had to call them yourself? No one tried to help?"
You nod, a fresh flow of tears starting. "It was supposed to be my night to remake myself. My night to be...to be not me. To be bold, daring, and kiss a stranger at midnight. But instead, here I am with...Can you please tell me your name so I might stop calling you Dr. Studmuffin?"
"I'm Dr. Rogers, but you can call me Steve."
"Thank you, Steve."
"I'm gonna examine your ankle now. I need you to tell me if, when something hurts, okay?" You nod your understanding.
After several squeaks and hisses in pain with explanations as to the type of pain he tells you it's likely a minor fracture but he's going to have to get some x-rays to confirm that.
You sigh, "I was supposed to be drinking champagne and, instead, I'll greet the new year with a dose of radiation." The tears start forming again. "Maybe they were right about how much of a loser I am."
Steve's jaw clenches and he gently lifts your chin, wiping away the tears with another tissue. "Don't do that. Don't let the bullies win. If you do that, they just get worse." He sees the confusion on your face and continues, "I don't like bullies. I got bullied pretty much my whole life."
"Who'd bully a Studmuffin like you?" you blurt.
He chuckles. "I wasn't always built like this. Used to be super scrawny."
"Aww! I bet you were so cute!"
That alone would make his cheeks burn but then Natasha walks in, "Dr. Studmuffin, you're needed in room 32." He gives her a glare but she just smiles back. He sighs, knowing he's never going to hear the end of it.
"Okay, she needs some x-rays and can you make sure Mace is her Radiologist? He'll probably have the most patience for her loopy state."
"Oh, yes, please let me have someone patient!" you exclaim. "I cannot be trusted not to annoy someone right now!"
Natasha smiles at you, "don't worry. I'll make sure you're in good hands."
After Steve catches a few moments to breathe, he looks around to see if you're back from getting your ankle x-ray. He's disappointed to see you're not back yet.
"Don't worry, Dr. Studmuffin," Nat teases. "She'll be back soon enough."
Steve's face goes pink. "I just wanted to do a follow up is all."
"You know you can't lie to me," she smiles. "She's someone who was trying to pull herself together, indicating personal strength. She cooed when you told her you were a scrawny kid, indicating a lack of shallowness on her part. And, I know you saw her chart. She's a chemist, so she's likely highly intelligent. She's exactly your kind of girl."
"She doesn't actually find me attractive," Steve counters. "It's just a bit of Nightingale Syndrome."
Nat laughs uncontrollably for a minute. "Steve, that's when the medical caretaker has a thing for the patient. Not the other way around."
Steve's face goes completely red as he realizes his slip up.
"I'll make sure you're on break around midnight so you can give the lovely lady that kiss with a stranger she was looking for," Nat winks before heading off to another patient.
Your back in your room, wallowing in misery as you look at the time. So close to midnight. You know your "friends" are having a blast. Likely still laughing about you. And here you are, alone and miserable.
Dr. Studmuffin, Steve, you internally correct yourself, comes in.
As he rubs his hands with sanitizer he says, "good news. While it is a partial fracture in the bone, your tendons and ligaments are unharmed. That'll make the healing process a lot easier on you." You nod glumly and he checks his watch. "I'm actually going on break here in a little bit, just in time for midnight. I...I was wondering if, maybe, you'd like to greet the New Year with me?"
Your eyes widen in shock. "You...you want me...you want to kiss me for New Year's?"
"Only if you'd like that," he's quick to assure. "Stick it to those bullies, get a kiss with a stranger, and all that?"
"Yes, please!"
He checks his watch again, "and with that, I'm on my break." He turns on the TV. It's muted but you can still see the countdown.
When the clock hits zero, he leans in for a kiss. Still loopy from the pain meds you wrap your arms around his head and pull him in for a deep kiss, catching him off guard, but making him smile.
Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad year for either of you.
Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63
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Oh gosh…I am both excited and scared about that. He would not take care of her. Maybe the mother could.
Mama Walker: What on earth did you do to this poor girl ?She is sweating…
August: She is fine, mother. It’s probably because she did all the housework this morning.
Mama Walker: In that state ?! It’s obvious she got a fever. She needs to lie down and rest.
August: …you can put her in my room.
Hypothetically.
If I did a sequel to Baby, I'm Cold.
It would be funny if reader caught August's cold.
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Nick, coming back with some vaporub: Doc said to rub it on my chest.
Stitches: I will leave you to it.
Nick: Someone else. He said someone else should do it. Because I am too weak.
Stitches: …
Maybe Nick might need Mama’s help too. 🤔
No doubt Auggy will need some more vaporub for his poor chest.
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That’s completely normal and Mama Walker will be more than happy to see her taking care of him. She is already getting the wedding invitations ready.
No doubt Auggy will need some more vaporub for his poor chest.
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Of course, he will ! At least three times a day. His sweet maid has to stay for a bit longer.
No doubt Auggy will need some more vaporub for his poor chest.
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I like this August. He is rough and cold but in a vulnerable state, he seems to appreciate the softness of her care…and the one of her body as well.
She has been working for him for three years and he has not made a move but something tells me it was in the back of his mind. He was probably too proud to admit he was attracted to his maid. Now the cat is out of the bag even though reader doesn’t believe it for a second. She was very cute and serious, very methodical as well. She knew what she was doing while taking care of him. She probably did it with her brothers before. That’s exactly the kind of scene I imagine could happen between Nick and Stitches (except he might fake it a bit to get her attention and care)
I also love his parents, they seem nice…even if Mama is overprotective of baby Auggie 😅 I know those advent calendar are one shots but if at one point your muse feels like continuing this, please feel free to do so. I definitely would like to know more about this August and his maid…
Thanks for this ! ❤️
(I admit I am also strongly picturing Ransom with an overly mothering reader taking care of his whiny self while sick 🫣He would be so demanding and…baby like )
Baby, I'm Cold
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Summary: Your boss is a stubborn man but even he can get sick. (plus!reader)
Character: August Walker
Day Twenty-One of the December Daze Challenge.
Prompt - I swear I'm not sick
Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
Mr. Walker leaves his bag at the door, his jacket too. You move his shoes so they sit neatly on the drip tray and hang his jacket. You pick up his briefcase and carry it up to his office. As you near the closed door, you hear him coughing from the other side.
You slow as you approach and knock on the door, “sir, I have your things.”
He coughs again then calls through hoarsely, “in.”
You twist the handle and dip inside. You set the bag on the leather armchair where you always do and retreat as your employer sniffles. He lets out a crackly sigh after. He sits behind his desk, silent, stony. His usual self except for the raspy breaths he lets out.
You don’t await his dismissal. You know if he has to tell you to go, it means you’ve overstayed. Mr. Walker prefers discretion. He prefers solace. It makes your job both easy but difficult.
You leave and go down to the kitchen. At this time, he won’t have eaten. He’ll need dinner. With his cough and stuffed nose in mind, you prepare him some chicken and rice soup. You put a thick hunk of artisinal bread with it and a cup of tea.
You carry it up to him and announce your purpose at the door, “dinner, sir.”
He grumbles. You know his sounds well enough to enter. You bring the tray to his desk as he sits back in his chair, unmoving, eyes closed, hands firm around the rests. You hear the rattle in his chest from there.
���Anything else, sir?”
He opens one eye and the icy blue chills you. His single iris flicks down as he considers the tray. He opens his other eye and sits forward. He swallows another cough.
“What is this?” He touches the mug’s handle.
“Tea, sir. I found some ginger. I added a touch of honey--”
“Why?”
“Why, sir?”
“I don’t drink tea. I haven’t ever drunk tea. It’s for my mother. So why--” He snaps his mouth shut and his throat strains as he holds back another cough. He lets out a single croak and clears away the rocky crags. “Why are you serving it to me?”
“Oh, uh, sir, it will soothe your cough--”
“I’m not sick.”
“Yes, sir, the air is dry this time of year,” you agree.
“I don’t want the fucking tea.”
“Sir.”
You come around and take the cup. He sits back again and turns the seat away. You hold the steaming cup and quickly head for the door. You stop, remind by his reprimand of something else.
“Your mother and father will arrive tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged their room and all else.” You confirm.
“Great, you did your job,” he sneers dryly.
“Sir,” you murmur and turn to the door.
Just a few more hours and you’ll be free. It’s the holidays and even Mr. Walker gave you a day to spend with your family. Though you suspect it’s more that he doesn’t want you around his.
For the three years you’ve worked for him, you’ve never met a single other person in his life. You clean the house, you pick up his laundry, and you order groceries. You are peripheral. You are the tedium that fuels the more concerning parts of his life.
🌟
Your mother and stepfather are arguing on the porch. Again. Your aunt and uncle are showing off their toddler grandchild, and your brother, the terrible twins, more than a decade your junior, are flipping through their phones. You sit and observe it all.
You glance at the window, your mom’s anger expounded in the wag of her finger. You get up as the smell of ham draws you into the kitchen. You check to make sure it’s not overdone then piddle around, trying to distract yourself from the chaos.
Your back pocket rumbles. You ignore it. It’s some promo trying to entice you into ordering food. On Christmas of all day. As the vibration persists, you assume it’s some poor telemarketer, forced to make the rounds for a bit of overtime pay.
You ignore it. You work on finishing the brussel sprouts your mother left in the strainer. You cut of the ends and slice an X into them. Your phone starts again. You don’t put down the knife until the third call.
Walker.
You hesitate but pick up. Why would he be calling, today of all days. You fix your posture as you answer, as if he can see you.
“Mr. Walker,” you eke out, nervous you might have missed something.
“Hello, is this...” a woman says your name curiously.
“Uh, yes, it’s me,” you affirm.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to bother you, especially today, but we are in need of some help,” her voice is tremulous.
“I told you,” a male can be heard more distantly. “We shouldn’t bother them. There’s a reason they aren’t here, dear.”
“Pish,” the woman dismisses. “Very sorry again but my son--”
“Katherine,” you say, “Mr. Walker’s mother?”
“Yes, Auggy is my son,” she tuts. “As I was trying to explain, he’s doing rather poorly but he’s refusing my care. He’s always been awfully stubborn, you know?”
“Kath,” the man drones.
“Oh, I know, I know,” she squeals at him. “He doesn’t want his mommy fluttering around him like an old hen, but you understand, he’s my baby. I’m worried. And so we were looking and saw your name. A girl’s name so you must be someone special.”
“Katherine,” the man sighs once more.
“I’m his housekeeper, ma’am,” you explain.
“Hum, oh, of course. You would be,” she says. “Oh, my, I’m afraid I’ve assumed so much.”
“Is he still coughing then?” You ask.
“Oh, yes, terrible. He sounds as if he’s swallowed glass.”
“We’ll call a doctor,” the man intones.
“Octavius, please, which doctor do you suggest we call? They all fly out of the country on their salaries,” she chirps. “Honey, please, if you don’t mind, you might be able to coax him. If you are his maid, you’d only be doing your job. He can’t turn you away.”
You frown. She doesn’t know how wrong she is. He would and he will.
“Lucine, please,” your step father’s voice blows through with a gust as he comes inside. His anger is forged into his tone and the door slams. You wince.
“I can be there,” you tell Katherine. It won’t make a difference but it will get you away from all this.
🌟
Katherine as good as drags you through the door. You didn’t even knock before she swung it open. She’s a tall woman, plump, and her face is rosy. She’s not what you expect.
“Yes, come in, come in,” she says. “Oh, what’ve you brought?”
She gestures to the canvas bag on your elbow.
“Just some stuff to help,” you explain as the warmth of inside seeps beneath the chill in your cheeks. “Hopefully.”
“Oh, yes, how clever of you.”
She takes the bag and you let her. She sets in on the bench and unbuttons your top button before you can stop her. You gently catch her hands then do the rest yourself.
“Sorry, dear, sorry. It’s only, I’m so worried.”
“He’s a man, he’ll be fine. If you’d stop pecking at him, he wouldn’t be hiding,” a man appears in the archway to the den. He’s big like Mr. Walker, with white hair and paler eyes. He crosses his arms in the same way. That must be the father.
“He’s sick! You heard him. He wouldn’t listen--”
“He was doing just fine, Katherine.”
“Tosh, you don’t know that. You never were there when he was home sick. He needs his orange juice and chicken noodle.”
“He needs you to stop,” the man you assume is Octavius reproaches.
“I can check on him but... it’s probably just a cold,” you say as you slip out of your boots.
“So long as you try.”
“Right,” you grab the bag and twist the handles.
You go to the bottom of the stairs and look up. You peer side to side, from mother, to father, both tentatively watching you in turn. It seems Walker puts everyone at arm’s length.
You take the first step with trepidation. Then the second. Up and up, you climb until you reach the top. You turn down the hallway and come to the office door. You bite the inside of your lip and knock. You don’t get an answer.
You look at the bag in your hand and contemplate running back downstairs. You can say you tried and got the same result. Still, that Walker doesn’t shout for you to scram is worrying.
You knock again to the same result. Several more taps go unanswered before you are faced with another decision. Do you go in, just to make sure?
It would be a waste. You left your family, Katherine waited around for you, you suppose you can brave Walker’s wrath to give her the gift of knowing all is well.
You inhale and hold it in. You enter the office, peeking through as you do. It’s dim but for the light of the glass lamp on the desk. As you look for the broad figure behind it, you find only an empty chair.
You frown. He must be in his room or--
The grumble jars you. You squint as you try to see through the dark. You find Mr. Walker on the leather settee near the artificial fireplace set into the wall. Great. You should go. You can do that still. He’s not answering you so obviously he doesn’t want to be disturbed.
He coughs, a sharp, agonizing cough that makes even your throat hurt. You let your breath out. Ugh. He’s a big boy, literally, he can handle it. Right?
Shit.
You cross the room and turn the dial on the artificial fireplace. It lights up, casting a soft glow over the office. You turn to find Walker shivering on the cushions, arms crossed as he hugs himself, legs bent to accommodate the short furniture.
“Mr. Walker, I brought some cough drops and some cold medicine,” you say.
He groans and doesn’t move. He hacks again, the couch frame creaking under his weight. Why? You shouldn’t feel bad for him. Not for as unpleasant as he’s consistently been.
You move a leather stool closer and sit. You cradle the bag on your knees and sift through the contents. You take out the bottle of Buckleys. You shake it and reach with your other hand to touch his shining forehead. His eyes pop open and his mustache twitches.
“Mr. Walker, I have cough syrup--”
“I’m fine,” he insists, only to cough again. “I don’t want that—sh-- *cough*-- shi-- *cough*” He devolves into a fit and you wait patiently.
“If you don’t want it, you should try some of these ginger drops.”
“Why are you here?”
You steady your agitation. “Your mother called me.”
“Why did she--” He can’t finish the question.
“She asked me to help you. I’m trying but I can’t do much if you won’t let me. However, you are my boss so you can tell me to go back home to my family,” you shrug.
He looks at you then closes his eyes. He shifts onto his back and lifts his legs, extending them over the armrest. He is ridiculous big on the short sofa.
“Do whatever. I thought you were a maid, not--”
He can’t finish the insult but you get the gist. You dig around in the bag and take out the tin of menthol rub. You uncap it as his face contorts in an effort to repress his coughing. You hold it out under his nose and he sucks in and flinches.
He grabs his nose as you recoil and blinks, “what is that?”
“Just menthol, it will clear your airways a bit.”
“Oh,” he furrows his dark brows.
“Typically, you put it on your chest but it’s kind of greasy so--”
“Do that,” he insists and sniffs deeply, “it’s helping.”
“Oh, uh...” you stare at him.
He’s sallow, the brims of his eyes reddened, and his face drawn. You nod and lightly touch the gel. You hesitate. You won’t be able to reach him and... right.
“Can you...” You look at his shirt collar, “unbutton.”
He coughs again, a rumble in his chest, and he clumsily pinches his buttons until he frees them. He pulls the fabric apart to reveal his furry chest and you stand. You move closer and bend over him as you gently trace beneath his throat, that little crook of bone above his muscled pecs. You focus on spreading the menthol as he breathes deeper, further puffing out his chest.
“Better?” You ask.
He makes a noise, something akin to a purr. You rub the cream in until It’s absorbed then pull away. You cap the container and put it back in the bag. You put it all on the stool and back away.
“Where are you going?” Walker mutters.
“To wash my hands,” you say.
“Mmm, be quick.”
You take his orders and hurry out. You come down the hallway and dip into the bathroom to rinse your hands. As you dry off, you nearly squeal as a shadow appears in the door. Katherine wrings her hands as she shifts back and forth.
“Is he okay?” She asks.
“He’s fine, I think. Just sick. Stubborn.”
“Oh, very,” she agrees with your last statement.
“I’m just trying to get him to take some cough meds,” you explain.
“Ah, good luck,” she trills, “I will make some tea, if you like?”
“Uh, yeah, we can try that,” you agree.
She hurries off and you go back down the hall. The smell of menthol and the crackle of the fake fire welcome you in. You go to the settee as Walker lays quietly, breathing in and out, as his shirt remains open.
“I think the cough syrup will help,” you say.
He doesn’t respond. You watch the cadence of his chest. Is he asleep. You move around slowly, trying not to knock anything with your hip or step too heavy. You gather up the bag. He can probably sleep it off.
You let out a squeal as you feel a brush against your bum. You spin as Walker’s arm extends to you and he catches your hip. You stutter in surprise.
“S-sir!”
“I’m sick,” he whines, though the surrender is hardly a triumph. “Please...”
You stare at him. You don’t know what’s worse. The brave face or the pathetic victim.
“Baby, I feel so bad,” he squeezes and you look down at his large hand. He must be really sick if he’s calling you that.
“It’s alright, Mr. Walker,” you take his hand and move it off your hip. You lower yourself onto the edge of the couch and bend his arm over his chest. “Your mom’s going to make you some tea.”
“Mmmm,” he drones and reaches for you again. “Don’t leave.”
“Sir,” you look down as his touch follows your sleeve to your shoulder then curls down your back, stopping on your waist. You grab his wrist again. “I’ll stay, just... relax.”
“Yes, baby,” his fingers dip into your soft side, “whatever you want me to do.” He tugs free of your grip and trails along the top of your butt, “just stay.”
You narrow your eyes and once more stop his stray hand. You cling to it as you direct it away from you, keeping hold of him to keep from another rogue groping. He’s sick for sure. So sick, he must be delusional.
“Alright, I'm here, Mr. Walker.”
He opens his eyes and looks at you. You wince at the intensity in his glassy irises. His cheek ticks and he hums again.
“Mm...” he drawls weakly. “So... soft.”
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Same 🤣
Goals for today:
Finish up this Dr. Studmuffin story for the Advent (I'm running behind!)
Baking Christmas crack or Christmas cookies.
Clean up at least a little bit.
What I'll probably be doing all day:
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Jake is a sweet, awkward and hot mess for me. I am glad you think I managed to write him well 😉
Birthday Girl
Pairing: Jake Jensen x Reader (Zombie) Genre: Romance Words Number: 881 Warnings: None A/N: Just a little something for my sweet Lady December. Happy birthday, @thezombieprostitute !
You squinted at your computer. All those data and resources were going to kill you...or make you blind. The end of the year was always hectic and you could not wait for the holidays just to enjoy some cozy time at home and relax.
“Zombie, tech guy is here for you. Jack…James….”
You frowned at her. Since the moment he had started working here a few months ago, most of your colleagues were looking at him disdainfully and calling him the weird nerd behind his back, which was not fair considering how sweet he was and how good of a job he was doing so far. The two of you had bonded over your love for Tetris and it was always a joy to have him pay you a visit – which you would admit was becoming more and more frequent but you did not want to read too much into it.
“Jake.” You cut her off a little bit sharply and raised from your seat. She was not impressed and just rolled her eyes before going back to her own desk. You went out of your office and a smile appeared on your face the moment you saw his bright own smile on his ever overly cheerful face.
“Hello, there.” You asked. “To what do I owe the pleasure to your face today, Mister Jensen?”
His cheeks pinkened and he pushed his glasses up his nose nervously. “Yeah, err…is there any way we could go somewhere more private?” He sent an embarrassed glance to your colleagues who were watching the two of you through the glass doors.
You glared at them again. How nosy they could be sometimes. “I guess we could go to the breakroom.”
He nodded and you led the way, quite worried. Why would Jake act so suddenly bothered by your colleagues and what they could think about the two of you talking? He had always been very shy and awkward but never truly embarrassed.
Maybe he had some bad news. You heard how talented he was so it was possible he was offered another job far from here. Far from you.
You sighed and opened the door of the breakroom. Luckily, it was empty. You turned to look at Jake when you heard the door close itself behind him. His demeanor seemed to be more joyful.
“Perfect. I just wanted us to be alone to give you these.” He smiled, handing you two parcels. Lost in your inner thoughts, you had not even noticed them before. “Happy birthday, Zombie.”
“Oh Jake, that is so sweet of you.” You said in a whisper as you took them and sat on the couch to open them. He had neatly wrapped them in red and green wrapping papers and had put a sparkling golden bow on each one.
He cleared his throat. “I know it’s not a lot but I think you might like them.”
You ran your hand over the first package softly. “I am certain I will like them, Jake. Just remembering the fact that today is my birthday is more than enough”. You looked up and saw he was blushing again. It always made him look so cute. If only he could find you cute as well.
He cleared his throat again and you blinked, chasing your thoughts away. “Well, aren’t you going to open them? Unless you want to be alone…”
“Of course not! Please stay.”
He smiled and sat down next to you on the couch as you cautiously opened the first parcel. You gasped when the content was finally revealed: three little cats from the Sylvanian Families. “Aww, they are so cute.”
“You told me you love cats and I heard you talking about those cute little figurines so I figured you would be happy to have them.”
You gave him a wide smile. “I am really happy Jake, thank you.”
“You are more than welcome.” He whispered. “Come on, open the second one.”
The second gift was a crochet kit of Christmas ornaments. It was truly adorable. You had only known this man for a few months and he was already knowing you better than anyone here. You could not help yourself and hugged him as tears burnt your eyes.
“I take it you like the second one as well?” Jake asked and hugged you back.
“I do. Thank you, Jake. So much.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was a lot, believe me.”
You leaned away from him and he let you go gently. “Thank you for this, really. You did not have to do…”
“I wanted to.” He cut you off. “Actually, there is something else.” His cheeks took a nice shade of pink again and he cast his eyes down, rubbing his neck nervously.
“Yes?” You took his other hand in yours. That made him stop and he looked at you.
“I wanted to invite you to have dinner with me in some nice little restaurant to celebrate. I know the owner. I promise it’s not crowded and the food is good. What about Friday? If you are free, of course.”
“Friday sounds great.”
He gently squeezed your hand. You smiled and he smiled back. There was something else there. Something more. And you could not wait to explore it with him.
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Jake is indeed a sweetheart and he doesn’t deserve their disdainful attitude. It’s a good thing he found someone who knows his worth and it was about damn time he asked her out 😊
Thanks for reading and giving some feedback ❤️
Birthday Girl
Pairing: Jake Jensen x Reader (Zombie) Genre: Romance Words Number: 881 Warnings: None A/N: Just a little something for my sweet Lady December. Happy birthday, @thezombieprostitute !
You squinted at your computer. All those data and resources were going to kill you...or make you blind. The end of the year was always hectic and you could not wait for the holidays just to enjoy some cozy time at home and relax.
“Zombie, tech guy is here for you. Jack…James….”
You frowned at her. Since the moment he had started working here a few months ago, most of your colleagues were looking at him disdainfully and calling him the weird nerd behind his back, which was not fair considering how sweet he was and how good of a job he was doing so far. The two of you had bonded over your love for Tetris and it was always a joy to have him pay you a visit – which you would admit was becoming more and more frequent but you did not want to read too much into it.
“Jake.” You cut her off a little bit sharply and raised from your seat. She was not impressed and just rolled her eyes before going back to her own desk. You went out of your office and a smile appeared on your face the moment you saw his bright own smile on his ever overly cheerful face.
“Hello, there.” You asked. “To what do I owe the pleasure to your face today, Mister Jensen?”
His cheeks pinkened and he pushed his glasses up his nose nervously. “Yeah, err…is there any way we could go somewhere more private?” He sent an embarrassed glance to your colleagues who were watching the two of you through the glass doors.
You glared at them again. How nosy they could be sometimes. “I guess we could go to the breakroom.”
He nodded and you led the way, quite worried. Why would Jake act so suddenly bothered by your colleagues and what they could think about the two of you talking? He had always been very shy and awkward but never truly embarrassed.
Maybe he had some bad news. You heard how talented he was so it was possible he was offered another job far from here. Far from you.
You sighed and opened the door of the breakroom. Luckily, it was empty. You turned to look at Jake when you heard the door close itself behind him. His demeanor seemed to be more joyful.
“Perfect. I just wanted us to be alone to give you these.” He smiled, handing you two parcels. Lost in your inner thoughts, you had not even noticed them before. “Happy birthday, Zombie.”
“Oh Jake, that is so sweet of you.” You said in a whisper as you took them and sat on the couch to open them. He had neatly wrapped them in red and green wrapping papers and had put a sparkling golden bow on each one.
He cleared his throat. “I know it’s not a lot but I think you might like them.”
You ran your hand over the first package softly. “I am certain I will like them, Jake. Just remembering the fact that today is my birthday is more than enough”. You looked up and saw he was blushing again. It always made him look so cute. If only he could find you cute as well.
He cleared his throat again and you blinked, chasing your thoughts away. “Well, aren’t you going to open them? Unless you want to be alone…”
“Of course not! Please stay.”
He smiled and sat down next to you on the couch as you cautiously opened the first parcel. You gasped when the content was finally revealed: three little cats from the Sylvanian Families. “Aww, they are so cute.”
“You told me you love cats and I heard you talking about those cute little figurines so I figured you would be happy to have them.”
You gave him a wide smile. “I am really happy Jake, thank you.”
“You are more than welcome.” He whispered. “Come on, open the second one.”
The second gift was a crochet kit of Christmas ornaments. It was truly adorable. You had only known this man for a few months and he was already knowing you better than anyone here. You could not help yourself and hugged him as tears burnt your eyes.
“I take it you like the second one as well?” Jake asked and hugged you back.
“I do. Thank you, Jake. So much.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was a lot, believe me.”
You leaned away from him and he let you go gently. “Thank you for this, really. You did not have to do…”
“I wanted to.” He cut you off. “Actually, there is something else.” His cheeks took a nice shade of pink again and he cast his eyes down, rubbing his neck nervously.
“Yes?” You took his other hand in yours. That made him stop and he looked at you.
“I wanted to invite you to have dinner with me in some nice little restaurant to celebrate. I know the owner. I promise it’s not crowded and the food is good. What about Friday? If you are free, of course.”
“Friday sounds great.”
He gently squeezed your hand. You smiled and he smiled back. There was something else there. Something more. And you could not wait to explore it with him.
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What a peculiar duo and yet, very interesting. The sleaze ball against the English gentleman. I can’t believe he even bribed an employee to get her room key. Bastard. Jonathan Pine should have broken his nose.
I am happy she might start something with Jonathan Pine and who knows…maybe a Christmas wedding (I would love a Christmas wedding) next year.
Great story !
Hands Off
A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.
Prompt: i didn't know the egg nog was spiked!
A/N2: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.
Warnings: Implied drugging with alcohol, Not taking "no" for an answer. Let me know if I missed any!
Another year, another Christmas wedding that isn't yours. At this point you were certain you'd never get any wedding, let alone one at your second favorite holiday. Maybe it was for the best. Your job had you traveling too much for a sustained relationship. Maybe you can be an example for the others to be grateful for what they have.
Then again, if "what they have" is anything like Pete, the groomsman you've been paired with, they'd be better off single. He's apparently bought into the stereotype that bridesmaids are desperate and needy because he has yet to stop hounding you, trying to entice you back to his hotel room. No matter how many times you told him you're not interested. You'd even started only pretending to drink anything he hands you during the rehearsal dinner. He made you grateful the happy couple had decided on going alcohol free for the wedding reception as he was likely to ply you, or any other target, with whatever libation he could get them to drink.
You duck out of the dinner as soon as you're politely able, hoping you can get to your room before Pete even notices you're missing. It's kinda late so there's almost no one around. As you turn the corner to get to you're room you almost walk into a very tall, lean, handsome man in a suit.
"Oh, my apologies," he says, his accent catching your attention.
"It's okay. These things happen," you assure just before you notice how blue his eyes are. You think you could get lost in them.
"Are you alright?"
"Oh, yes, I'm just...I'm with the wedding party?"
"Oh! You aren't joining them for the rehearsal dinner?"
"I just need some time away from the crowd, you know?"
"Ah, yes," he nods. "Crowds can be cumbersome, especially when you are not used to them."
You smile at him, still a little lost at how handsome he is. "I'm just glad they gave us a discount on the rooms."
He smiles back, "it is hotel policy for hosted events." When you give him a confused look he continues, "I am the Night Manager of the hotel. You caught me doing my rounds."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I should let you get back to work."
"I do appreciate that," he says, but you swear you see a hint of disappointment on his face. "But if there's anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask for me, Jonathan Pine, at the front desk."
You giggle and give him your own name before you part ways for the night.
The wedding goes well and you're all smiles for the happy couple. The reception is themed like a Christmas Dinner, complete with eggnog. It's not your favorite drink, but in the spirit of the event, you have a few glasses. Especially as it pairs well with the dessert heavy menu.
Around your fourth cup you start to realize you're feeling buzzed. Initially you'd brushed it off as excitement from the event, or maybe even all the sugar, but this is a feeling you distinctly remember as alcohol induced. You start patting the person sitting next to you mumbling, "alcohol," "eggnog," but they don't react.
Other people seem to have caught on as well and they've started making the rounds, checking in on everyone after removing the alcohol.
When they get to you, Pete puts an arm around you. "I'll get her to her room," he says. His voice is laced with fake concern. You don't want him to take you and you try to fight, try to argue, but you just seem like a whiny drunk so your protests are ignored.
"I didn't want it to be like this," Pete whispers as you reach the elevator to your floor. "I really tried to be a gentleman but you forced my hand."
The elevator doors open a couple floors before yours and you almost cry from relief when you see Jonathan enter. Pete painfully squeezes your arm, the warning clear, so you pray that Jonathan can see the panic in your eyes.
"Is the reception over already?" Jonathan inquires, looking at you.
"Eggnog got spiked," Pete answers. "Helping this one get to her room to sleep it off."
"Oh how dreadful! And in my hotel!" Jonathan seethes. "Any idea who did it?"
The elevator dings as you reach your floor. Pete quickly moves you into the hallway saying, "nope. No idea. Probably just a bad prank."
Jonathan follows the two of you, "what kind of prank is that to pull? Seems like a bad omen for the poor couple."
"Nah, probably just someone being dumb," Pete argues. "I know a few of the people on the groom's side would definitely be the type to think it's just a bit of fun."
When you reach the door to your room, Pete starts feeling you up, presumably for your key. You keep trying to bat his hands away, but he doesn't stop.
"I think the lady doesn't want you to touch her," Jonathan observes.
"She's being a pain and not letting me help her into her room," Pete argues. You start crying, babbling, and slapping at him, encouraged by Jonathan's words.
Jonathan pulls Pete away from you. Suddenly without a support, you fall against the wall and try to keep yourself standing. As Pete protests, Jonathan stands between the two of you and pulls a flask out of Pete's inner pocket. Pete tries to get it back, but Jonathan holds him at arm's length and takes a sniff of the flask.
"Smells rather potent," Jonathan comments. "I wonder if it would be a match for the spiked eggnog."
Pete stops trying to fight him and puts on his best used-car-salesman expression. "C'mon, man, I was just trying to have some fun and get laid. Can you blame me?"
"Yes."
"It's not like any real harm was done!"
"Sir, you could have poisoned dozens of people with this antic, or worse."
"It's not poison, it's just alcohol!"
"Which someone may be allergic or addicted to."
Pete rolls his eyes, "it's not that big of a deal!"
"And then you try to abscond with this lady, whom you've been harassing throughout the entire event."
"Harassing? That's a bit strong---"
"Did you not try to bribe one of my staff for a copy of her room key just last night?" Pete goes quiet at that. "You will leave my hotel now or I will call the police."
"Whatever," Pete grumbles as he turns back to the elevator.
It isn't until the elevator doors close that Jonathan pulls out his walkie-talkie and makes some orders about making sure Pete leaves, getting the reception cleaned up, and refunding half the money the couple spent on renting the reception area.
While he does that, you struggle to keep yourself upright. Your cardkey is in the sleeve of your glove. You can't reach it so you take the glove off, only to have the key fall to the floor. You struggle to bend down and pick it up and almost fall flat on your face but, thankfully, Jonathan catches you before that happens.
"My apologies, Madam," he sighs. "I should have gotten you settled first.
You try to shake your head and say it's okay but, between the alcohol, the adrenaline spike and the events of the day, you're crashing, barely awake.
Jonathan gets you into your room and onto your bed. "I will make sure you get the best breakfast our chefs can make, along with some advil and water when you awake." He places a card next to the phone. "Simply call me when you are awake, and I will make sure you are taken care of."
You're barely able to mumble your thanks before you fall asleep.
You wake up with a surprisingly mild headache. Memories of last night start filtering in and your breath catches as you remember the fear you felt. And then your rescue. You look over to the phone and see the card there.
Taking some time to wake up, take a shower, put on some more comfortable clothes, you ponder whether or not to take Mr. Pine up on his offer. By the time you're feeling more like yourself, you decide to treat yourself to some good food.
You call up Jonathan and he sounds delighted that you've accepted his offer. Feeling bold, you even ask if he'd be willing to join you for that breakfast, as you find his company quite calming and pleasant, though you don't say that part out loud. You swear you hear a smile in his voice as he agrees to join you.
Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly
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Oh…angst. Now I am even more excited
New Years Eve is on Tuesday...
I'm not sure he's ready for it just yet, but I kinda wanna have Ransom and Bubbles kiss at midnight.
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Oh please, please, please 🙏 Ransom would be so 😳
New Years Eve is on Tuesday...
I'm not sure he's ready for it just yet, but I kinda wanna have Ransom and Bubbles kiss at midnight.
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