#//dwight responds

[nervous-leader-idv]

How are you holding up in the manor, cutie? Any opinion on the survivors or hunters?

Do you think you'll find a way back home?

"C-Cutie...? Um.. th-thank you for that compliment?? Oh God, this is embarrassing..."

The "Director" could only rub the back of his neck nervously, slouching in any means to feel invisible. What he didn't expect was the onslaught of questions thrown his way.

The manor...? What is that? I-Im still here at this w-weird church... It's so quiet here... there are scrows, but... well, they don't seem to take interest in me just yet..."

"There's other survivors here...? Ah! M-Maybe the other's are here too! I-I have to find them, I need them to stay alive! But... But I don't know where I am..."

"... Wait, a Hunter...? Don't you mean vicious killers? Oh no, there here too? Oh no, no, no, no! I-I can't get hooked! I-I dont want them those brutes to enjoy their sick th-thrills!"

...

....

"Home...? When was the last time I went home...? I don't want to be here or back in those stupid trials! This cursed Entity won't let me leave no matter how hard we fight for freedom!"

A quiet yelp escaped the "Director's" lips. A small spider like appendage nicking the other in the back. The creature was there for just a moment before disappearing behind the human it was clinging to.

[raven-at-sea]

hi raven! how are you doing? did the plane crash hurt you anywhere? do you need help? i can help you if you’re hurt. just let me know! if you need anything, i’m here for you

-ann

" it is good to see you again! " Raven smiles some, touched that Ann even thought to check in on him. " I am fine. Just a few bruises and scrapes - the whiplash was the worst part. but I really appreciate this. Thank you. "

[chiosblog]

GUYS omg...I just sent a fanmail directly to Dwight 😳😳

Now i'm anxious, lets see what will happen...

[townofcadence]

"Perfect." Jace beams now, focused entirely on the task at hand. He had stood on his own pole, and a few hard jumps to throw all of his weight on the it was enough to break it as well. The snapped end was a bit sharp, but between the two hopefully he could make this work. And this one had a nail in it. Get out of the room? Check!

Taking the pole from Dwight, Jace hurried back to the door. Maybe he wasn't the expert at situations like his friend was, and maybe he really needed to remember how much Artair harped on having tools for cases because they came in handy, but he could adapt! And anyways, it hadn't been a case so he was doing his best. No, don't get distracted! Focus.

Jace took the pole he'd snapped where the nail jutted out, and pressed it into the bottom of the hinge, wedging it as close as he could into the small hole at the bottom-most hinge part (he couldn't remember the name) and the pin thing that threaded the hinges. Once he was satisfied with where he had the wood, he took the other pole.

"Can y'put some o' th' beddin' against the bottom 'f th' door? Then can y'hold th'e door f'r me, Dwight?" He asks. "Less 'f a racket, that way." Once he'd complied, Jace swung the free pole into the other. It was an audible noise, but it was as quiet as he could make it, like a hammer-sound. Another swing, and he could tell the nailed top of the the pole had wedged it's way up into the slot for the pin. A handful more, and he could see the top of the pin peeking out, just a little. Just enough.

"When I pull this, I'll need y' t' hold the door up, so the angle 's still good fer the bottom." If the alignment of the circles the pin thing went through were too warped by the weight, it'd be hard to dislodge. That said, Jace adjusted one of the wood pieces, so its tapered edge was against the pin where it was raised. A few more strikes against the wood with the other pole, and it was jarred up further, bit by bit. When it was high enough, Jace grabbed it with his hand and yanked it the rest of the way out.

"One down." He sounds proud, as he crouches to start on the others. The bottom one would be a bit of a problem, but honestly if the other two were free, they might not even need to worry about it. They'd cross that bridge when they got there. And not he had a pin, he could use to dislodge the other pins much easier!

Dwight looks over to the rather lumpy and stuffy bed that was were their resting spot. Upon closer inspection, it did look cheaply made or at the very least, old and worn down from use. He approaches the bed carefully and kneels down to pull at one of the legs. He could feel the soft creaking of the poles, but it didn’t really budge at Dwight’s pulling.

He was reminded of the day he first met Jade, when he fished him out of that lake with unbelievable strength. Of course it was with the help of magic. Which reminded him once again the loss of his magic. Dwight frowns deeply but keeps pulling at the wooden legs as much as he can. Magic or not, he’d still try if it meant there was a way out.

Dwight even scooted backwards and kicked at the legs with all his might. Around the fifth kick, Dwight hear a low cracking noise €*\ eyes widened at realizing that the poke has become lose. Dwight reached out to grab the pole again and tugged with force. Eventually, the wooden leg gave out and Dwight went backwards a bit with the force he used. “Oof!” Dwight says as he fumbles on his back, his view staring up at the ceiling. He sheepishly holds up the wooden leg frame.

“Will this do?”

[wandascosmic]

typical tuesday night (10)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part ten of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 1796

tags: swearing, mostly just fun, one-sided pining as usual, sam being insane as usual, wanda and y/n best friendship, y/n may or may not making moves/internally screaming, they're very very cute

taglist: @reginassweetheart @rroyale-109 @marvel-posts @sheriffhaughtearp

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

“Okay, she had done a background check on me,” Bruce says. “She had it printed out.”

“No way,” you say.

“Yeah,” Bruce nods. “And she was asking me stuff line by line while we were having dinner.”

“That’s unbelievable,” you answer as everyone laughs in agreement.

Suddenly, Wanda walks into the kitchen holding a mug of tea, smiling as she walks over to stand next to you.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Oh, we’re doing worst first dates,” you answer with a smile.

“Oh my god, I win,” Wanda says, eyes widened.

“What?” you laugh.

“Okay,” Wanda starts, and you look over to her curiously. “It was a minor league hockey game, he brought his brother,” she pauses. “A when I went to the bathroom, the game ended. And they forgot about me.”

“Okay, that’s a joke,” Bruce says.

“No,” Wanda shakes her head. “They had to come back for me.”

“Wait, when was this?” you ask.

“Um..it was not that long ago,” Wanda gives a small laugh.

“Wait, no way it was Vision,” Natasha says, putting down her sandwich.

Wanda laughs awkwardly before looking over to you.

You smile, walking in front of her and starting to lead her out. “Want to go play Dwight’s mug basketball?”

Wanda nods with a relieved sigh, following you out eagerly.

You keep a happy expression on your face, because now you finally know why Wanda’s always refused to go to sports games with Vision.

“Shield Industries, this is Wanda,” Wanda answers the phone.

“Wanda, it’s Tony. I need you to go into my office and read some data for me please.”

“Okay,” Wanda says, picking up the book Tony’s requested her to read in his office. “You want me to read the jokes for you?”

“Yes, please,” Tony responds on speakerphone.

“Okay, um, a fisherman is walking down 5th Avenue leading an animal behind him–”

“No, no, nope!” Tony cuts Wanda off. “I already told that joke to Fury earlier at the dinner. Pick another one.”

“Okay. There’s a transcript between a Naval ship–”

“Oh, yeah! Bingo,” Tony says. “Great, thanks, Wanda!”

“Sure,” Wanda says awkwardly. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. But would you be able to put all those joke books back where you found them?”

“Sure,” Wanda agrees, hanging up the phone with a sigh.

Opening up the drawer to return the books strewn across Tony’s desk, Wanda’s eye immediately catches a thick stack of paper. Picking it up, Wanda has to cover her mouth to stop from bursting out in laughter.

You’re mindlessly clicking your mouse when suddenly, a huge stack of stapled paper is thrown onto your desk.

Reading the title, your eyes widen as you look over to Wanda who leans against the table casually.

“Is this real?” you ask, near giddy.

“It’s a screenplay,” Wanda pauses. “Starring himself.” “Agent Iron Man,” you read out.

“Of the FBI,” Wanda finishes.

“How long is this?” you laugh, flipping through the pages. “Oh my god, Wanda. Good work.”

Wanda laughs.

“Oh, no way,” you say, finding the last few pages and holding them up. “Drawings.”

“What is that?” Wanda asks.

“Oh, those are drawings,” you respond easily. “In case the writing didn’t really put a picture in your head.”

Wanda snickers, biting her lip to keep from laughing too hard.

“And there he is, in the flesh,” you say, pointing to the drawing. “Agent Iron Man. Now we know what he looks like.”

“So, do we all have our copy of Armored Adventures, by Tony Stark?” you ask the office staff gathered around the conference room table.

Everyone makes a sound of agreement.

“Great, so, let’s get started. I’m gonna be reading the action descriptions,” you say. “And Steve, I would like you to play Captain America, the first Avenger.”

“Oh, cool that’s the name of the character?” Steve asks.

Suddenly, Sam barges into the room, and angered expression on his face. “Okay, you guys should not be doing this,” he states firmly.

“Why not, Sam?” you ask. “This is a movie. This is for all of America to enjoy.”

“You took something that does not belong to you,” he responds.

“Sam.”

“You brought it in here, you made copies–”

“Sam, do you want to play the lead role of Agent Iron Man?” you ask, giving him a questioning look.

Sam pauses.

“Okay, sure.”

“Inside the FBI, Agent Iron Man sits with his feet up at the desk,” you read. “Captain America enters.”

“Tony, you have some messages,” Steve reads.

“Not now!” Sam reads emphatically.

“They’re important,” Steve says.

“Fine, what are they?” Sam asks.

A few moments pass, when suddenly, a knock on the door is heard.

“Vision,” Wanda says, making you turn around suddenly, noticing the man.

Wanda runs up, greeting him with a kiss. “Hey, um, I have to work late,” she says.

Vision gives her an incredulous look, hearing the absurd scene between Spider-Man and Agent Iron Man currently being read in the conference room. “You’re joking, right?”

Wanda shakes her head.

“Agent Iron Man takes out a nine millimeter gun and shoots the cake to bits,” you read.

Sam imitates the shooting of the cake.

“Ha ha ha, Agent Iron Man, you’re so funny,” Peter says.

“A man sitting several seats down who has clown makeup on, turns to Agent Iron Man,” you turn to Bruce. “Bruce, want to play the Joker?”

“Sure,” Bruce nods, clearing his throat. “Agent Iron Man, perhaps you would be more comfortable in my clown car?”

“Yes, perhaps I would, Joker,” Sam says. “Spider-Man, get my luggage.”

“Sorry, I forgot it,” Peter reads.

“God, Spider-Man, you’re a terrible assistant!” Sam reads. “I can’t believe I hired you, Sem.” Sam pauses. “Wait, who’s Sem?”

You turn to Wanda with an amused smile, who matches your expression.

“I don’t think the search and replace works on typos,” Wanda says to you through a burgeoning smile.

“So, Spider-Man is the terrible assistant ‘causing the downfall of the United States?” you ask, holding back your laughter.

“Also known as Sam Wilson,” Wanda chuckles.

You and Wanda look over to Sam, who before your eyes, realizes what Tony has done, making the man throw the script onto the table in anger.

“Okay, you know what, this is stupid. I’m done,” he says, abruptly sitting up from his chair and leaving the conference room.

“Sam, some of us want to keep reading,” you tell him.

Sam turns to you. “Uh, you don’t speak for everyone, Y/N,” he responds, crossing his arms, before turning to the rest of the office. “Okay, announcement. My uncle bought me some fireworks. And anyone who wants to see a real show come outside with me right now.”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” you nod, starting to sit up from your chair. “We’ll all take a brief intermission.” You turn to Wanda. “Hey, are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Wanda says, grateful you’ve asked.

“Yeah?” you ask. “Okay, come with me.”

While you may have had plans to meet a friend tonight, which you’ve now had to cancel, spending your evening preparing grilled cheese sandwiches for you and Wanda in the office kitchen isn’t something you’re upset at whatsoever. In fact, you would say it’s pretty great, and you’re not really a complainer either.

“Hi,” Wanda says, greeting you as you make your way up the ladder to the roof of the building, holding a box of accessories for the two of you as you watch the fireworks together.

“Hey,” you laugh, setting the box down before making your way to sit in the chair next to hers. “What’s that for?” you ask, pointing to the candle she’s attempting to light.

“For the bugs,” she answers easily.

“Nice,” you nod, before turning to grab the sandwiches you’ve prepared. “That’s great, because bugs, tend to love my famous grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Them and me both,” Wanda laughs, grabbing the plate you’ve made for her. Then, after a moment, she speaks, “I can’t remember the last time someone made me diner.”

You pause, before grabbing your sandwich from the bag as well.

“Oh, look,” Wanda points to the fireworks Sam’s beginning to light. “Wow,” you say, finally enjoying something Sam has created in the 7 years you’ve known him.

“They’re really nice,” Wanda states, before resting her head on your shoulder as the two of you spend the evening watching the sparkling lights together.

“They really are,” you say quietly.

“So, I guess I’ll see you in,” Wanda pauses to check her phone. “10 hours,” she grins.

“Mhm,” you nod, following her out the building.

“What are you gonna do with your time off?” she jokes.

“Travel,” you answer easily with a nod. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” You smile. “I’m gonna really find myself, you know?” you finish, fishing your phone out of your pocket and putting in one of your earbuds.

Wanda looks over to you curiously. “You have new music?” she asks.

You look down to your phone. “Oh, yeah! Want to listen?” You offer her the other earbud.

Wanda nods, smiling as you hand her the earbud she immediately places in her ear, the two of you standing within inches of each other as you share your song.

“Wanda,” you run up to her desk excitedly the second you walk in the next day.

“Yeah?” Wanda laughs.

“I think Tony might’ve gotten together with someone from corporate last night,” you say, making Wanda gasp. “He didn’t come back for his car.”

“Oh, my god, that makes so much sense! That’s why Tony had me read out his stupid jokes over the phone,” she says in realization.

“Well, good for him. I don’t think he’s had a first date, in like ever,” you laugh, before looking over to her. “You know, some might say we even had our first date last night,” you smile.

“Oh really?” Wanda asks. “Why might some say that?”

“Uh, ‘cause there was dinner. By candlelight,” you answer.

“Mhm,” Wanda nods.

“Dinner and a show, if you include Tony’s movie,” you continue. “There was a bit of dancing, and fireworks. So, pretty good date.” “We didn’t dance,” Wanda says, chuckling.

“You’re right,” you say, suddenly feeling very awkward as you put your hands in your pockets. “But um, it was more like, swaying.”

“Right,” Wanda says. “Pretty good first date with you.”

You perk up. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” Wanda nods. “Now, I have some faxes to get out, okay?” she says, standing up from her chair, giving you a kiss on the cheek before heading to the fax machine.

You smile, watching her leave, forgetting for a moment that it truly isn’t a date if the girl goes home to her fiancé at the end of the day.

[hinacu-arts]

Finally found a moment to work on FFPS. Heres a little excerpt

“Fenton.”

Both Dannies turned around. “Which one?” Tucker asked.

“Daniel.”

The Dannies looked at each other. “Which one?” they said in unison.

Damian was clearly getting frustrated. His face scrunched up and his voice tone was clearly annoyed, “How do you usually differentiate yourselves?”

The Dannies started listing off names as they counted on their fingers.

“Danny-with-a-Y,”

“Dani-with-a-I,”

“Boy-Danny,”

“Girl-Danny,”

“Him,”

“Her,”

“The tall one,”

“The shorter one,”

“The older one,”

“The younger one.”

Damian remained frustrated, “I am not calling either of you either of those names.”

“Well, we both respond to ‘Dannie’ or ‘Fenton’.”

“But that does not resolve the issue.”

Dani tilted her head, “Why do you not want to call us ‘Dannie’?”

“‘Dannie’ is a nickname, which would imply we have a closer relationship than we have.”

“What if you called one of them ‘Fenton’ and the other ‘Daniel’?” Steph suggested.

“Fair warning,” Tucker spoke up, “neither of them like to be called ‘Daniel’. Like they really don’t like it.”

“But that is their name, why would I call them anything else?” Damian looked genuinely confused.

“Call me by a name I don’t like and I’ll call you by a name you don’t like.”

“Ditto.”

Damian crossed his arms, “I insist you allow me to call at least one of you ‘Daniel’.”

Danny crossed his arms to mirror Damian, “Alright, Ian.”

Steph tried to smother her laughter. Damian was outraged. Tim had never seen his face that red before. Damian opened and shut his mouth a few times in shock before he found his words, “That is not my name.”

“Sure thing, Dames.” Danny was grinning.

Damian stood up, “I demand you call me by my proper name!”

“Hmmm… maybe we should call him ‘Dami’ instead?” Dani suggests.

“No!”

“How about ‘Day’?”

“No. ‘Amy’?”

“‘Dameron’?”

“You’ve started a war you cannot win,” Tucker sighed and slumped in his seat.

“‘Day-Way’? Because ‘day’ in Damian and the ‘way’ in Wayne.”

“Day-Way, Daway, D-Way- no. Dwight.”

Steph was howling with laughter now.

[starrgazed22]

THE OFFICE'S HALLOWEEN

Jim Halpert x gn!Reader, but Pam and Dwight are also in this. :) Word count: around 600 Summary: Reader needs to quickly think of a Halloween costume to not get K.O.'d by Dwight's ego. Author's note: I became obsessed with X-men again after seeing Deadpool & Wolverine and I've got this idea! Enjoy!

As you step into the office, a sinking feeling hits you like a ton of bricks. The atmosphere is different today, buzzing with an excitement you can't quite place—until you look around. Every single person is in a costume. Pam at the reception, with her whiskers carefully drawn on and a headband with perky cat ears, looks up at you and offers a soft smile. Across the room, Kevin stands proudly in a superhero costume that’s almost comically tight, and, unsurprisingly, Angela is also in a cat costume… and Phyllis too.

You freeze for a moment, dread creeping up your spine. Halloween. How could you forget?

You walk to the reception, greeting Pam. Then, like a scene from a horror movie, you catch sight of Dwight. He’s sitting there, shrouded in a long black hooded robe, his eyes piercing you.

“You’re late…” Dwight announces, his voice dripping with ominous intent, clearly trying to stay in character.

“Yeah… there was crazy traffic down there,” you respond, scrambling for an excuse.

He inhales deeply, then lets out a dramatic sigh, clearly enjoying his role a little too much. “What are you supposed to be?” His tone suggests he’s already anticipating your failure.

Your mind races. You can’t let him know you forgot it was Halloween. That would be handing him a victory in whatever unspoken battle the two of you are constantly fighting... sometimes three of you, when Jim joins.

You need to think of something fast. Something that’ll completely throw him off.

You got it.

Dwight opens his mouth to speak again, ready to announce your defeat. “I could’ve—” he starts.

You cut him off, smoothly drawing your index and middle finger up against your temple and squinting your eyes in concentration. “—thought so…” you finish his sentence, trying to mimic the deep, contemplative voice of someone who’s just accessed the hidden corners of their mind.

Dwight’s expression falters for a second, his usual expression of suspicion giving way to genuine shock.

“I am Professor X, Charles Xavier,”you declare, trying to sound as confident as possible.

He snorts, immediately slipping back into his usual skepticism. “No you’re not. He’s bald.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus, just imagine him young!”

“He was always bald, because of his mutation, dumbass,” Dwight snaps back, and you can tell he’s savoring this moment.

You lean in closer to Pam and whisper, “What a nerd.”

Pam stifles a laugh, as she watches you stroll to your desk, which, unfortunately, is directly across from Dwight’s.

“And you are?” you ask, gesturing to his dark, ominous ensemble.

“I am a Sith Lord,” he declares, his voice dripping with melodrama as he pulls back his hood slightly, revealing his intense, steely gaze.

You tilt your head and smirk. “Oh really? I thought you were having an identity crisis. No offense.”

Dwight opens his mouth, ready to retaliate, but he’s suddenly distracted by the sight of Jim walking in through the door. Jim is wearing his usual attire, except for three black circles taped to his shirt.

Dwight is done. “And you are supposed to be?”

Jim glances down at his shirt, then back up at Dwight with a grin. “Three punch holes, Dwight. Normally I’m just Jim. Today, I’m three-punch-hole Jim.”

Dwight stares at him, annoyed that no one seems to take Halloween seriously here. “You’re both so boring. Seriously, you’re made for each other,” he mutters, shaking his head as if the sheer absurdity of it all is too much for him to process.

Jim gives you a look, clearly remarking the last sentence Dwight said. You can’t help but blush slightly. Suddenly Dwight storms off in disgust, robe billowing behind him like a dark, disgruntled shadow, making you, Jim and Pam laugh uncontrollably.

In this bizarre office, it’s the small victories that matter, and you and Jim know you’ve just won this round without even trying.

Another author’s note: I know Professor X as James McAvoy had hair in the films, but they only know the X-Men with Stewart + I read somewhere that in the comics he didn’t have hair at all so Dwight may be right. :D

[floraltypes]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ psychic lies (🔮)

Pairing - jim halpert x fem!reader

Synopsis - a new woman has opened a psychic shop in the building, and Michael is determined to have her come into the office to showcase her talents. however, when jim mentions her looks, a twinge of jealousy starts to stir in Y/N. now, with the new woman in the picture, Y/N can't help but worry that jim might fall for her.

"Good morning, loyal citizens of Dundermill!" Michael cheered out, loudly entering the office with a slam of the front door and displaying himself right by Pam's desk. His hands were extended outwards to showcase his image, dressed in a tighter-fitting blue suit (maybe a woman's once again) adorned by his classic hair do of it slicked back but one side heavier than the other. He awaited in silence as you and your fellow coworkers were still getting comfortable in their respected areas.

Dwight popped dutifully out of the backroom, a hot cup of coffee in hand that slightly spilled onto the skin of his hand, resulting in a quick curse. Nonetheless, he still rushed towards Michael.

"Good morning, Michael!" He responded, giving him a large grin while trying to avoid the slight spill trail following him to the boss.

"Yes, hello, Dwight," He quietly regarded the man, his cheery demeanor dissipating in the slightest before he addressed the room once again. "Anyone notice anything new?"

"You got new insoles for your shoes so that you'd be taller?" Phyllis looked over at him, swiveling in her chair while squinting her eyes at the black pair.

"What? No!" Michael shook his head quickly, rolling his eyes slightly. "Look again; it might be tinner than you are expecting."

"Oo!" Kelly jumped from behind Stanley, raising her hand high up in the air.

"Ah yes, Kelly! The fashionista yourself would notice," He winked over at her while putting a little spin on his voice with the word 'fashionista'.

"You finally popped that large zit on your left cheek," she nodded with determination as whispers seemed to erupt around the office at that notice.

"What? You guys are so bad at this! And my zit is not big, not like the one on your nose" He laughed, looking around the room for acknowledgement of his words. "Roasted!"

"Oh Michael," Pam groaned from beside him, shaking her head in embarrassment.

"What? It was funny, she said-"

"Not cool," Oscar piped up, a look of disappointment on his features.

"Whatever," Michael lightly stomped, pinning the attention back onto him. "Okay, last hint, it's lower."

"Michael?" You spoke up, sitting at your desk with your steaming cup of coffee and loading the computer screen across from you.

"Ah yes, y/n! You got it; go ahead."

"Don't tell me you're referring to," your eyes widen, trying to show an indication to a lower area past his waistline far from being appropriate.

"I don't think you should be talking about enlargement medication in the workplace," Jim was quick to chip in, not before sending you a little glare and then delivering the sentence with complete seriousness and tone that seemed to represent concern.

Groans erupted around the room of disgust, shaking their heads or covering their eyes, besides an overly curious Meredith, who took a few steps forward.

"Michael, that is beyond being appropriate for work and truly very sinful." Angela emphasized.

"You all ruined this completely appropriate work guessing game! Now I'll just have to tell you which ruins all the fun." He grumbled, reaching up to hold out a small pin on his shirt. "I got a new pin to support the new business in the building. It's of the sign Aries because that is what I am!"

"That's great, Michael." You put up a fake, small smile, nodding to the man before spinning back to start typing at your screen.

"See! Thank you for someone understanding the excitement. Alright, now all back to work, except I will need to see my best man in my office." Michael shot finger guns in front of him, landing between the two men.

"Coming!" Dwight voiced, rushing to stand closer to Michael's new position near his office door.

"I was referring to Jim," his voice trailed off. "But you can come too."

"Would you want me to come too, Michael?" Kevin questioned, standing tall at his desk.

"Oh no, no, we are good," He waved his hands back and forth in means of denial.

"If I'm not out in five, I'll need backup," Jim muttered to you, a small giggle leaving at his comment. "I'm serious, L/N."

"No, of course, of course, I'll be there!" You jokingly saluted him.

"You're one of the good ones, he sent one of his classic looks to the cameras, moving to walk into Michael's office. 

"What did I mean by that?" Jim sits in the uncomfortable chair, opened blinds behind him as he speaks to the camera for the confessional. "Well, it's just a joke, a saying."

There are mumbles that errupt behind the camera and a slight zoom in to where you are seated at your desk, working diligently, hair falling a bit messily around your face.

"Y/n is just different from everyone else. I mean, that is pretty obvious; you guys have even seen these guys," He let out a small chuckle, scratching at the back of his neck. "She's kinder but not so kind that she can't make a quick quip back when needed. I mean, she's super dedicated and looks cute even—that doesn't matter. She's just different."

"So, I've gathered you both here today to discuss a very serious matter." Michael sat at his desk, hands clasped together, as he stared down at the two men in front of him. "The economy is turning into all these big companies, and it's not okay! We need to help the small business; it is our duty as a company for the people!"

"You do realize we are now a fairly large company ourselves?" Jim reminded his boss.

"See, that proves why we have to help the little man out. Lucille, the wonderful woman who created this specialty pin just for me -"

"It looks like a generic zodiac sign pin." Dwight put his hands on the desk, pushing his chest forward so that his face could get a more upclose look at the pin on Michael's suit.

"No, Dwight, it's a specialty. Men, Lucille needs our help, and luckily enough, for us, she can help us too. It's too tense in this office with all the ups and downs the bigwigs are putting us through. We need a little fun. She does special fortune-telling sessions and I think we bring her in."

"Michael, if I may?" Dwight raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"If this is done on company time, it is vastly irresponsible and also fortune tellers are fake."

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Jim asked, highly interested in the conversation now.

"Obviously, my Aunt Sherlie's basement was haunted with her Uncle Lenord, my great uncle. He was a dangerous man so sparks always flew from the wiring down there."

"No more aunts and uncles," Michael waved his hand, snapping Dwight out of his thoughts before he kept rambling on. "Jim, what do you think?"

"I don't think it's great."

"Don't you want to know about your future? Who will you soon date? Who you'll be getting it on with?"

A knock at his door stopped the sounds of distaste leaving from those across from him. Michael got up and opened the door to where you stood with a kind smile, quickly eyeing Jim before looking back at your boss.

"There seems to be someone needing to speak to you at the front door of the building. He called on the phone and I answered it since Pam is in the bathroom."

"Oh, okay," Michael turned back to the men. "Alright, think long and hard!" He moved out of his office to go and find the mystery caller.

"Did they say a name? It could be dangerous if not," Dwight commented, concern etched on his features.

"Maybe you should go with him for protection," you innocently replied, moving over to take the seat Dwight once occupied with his frame rushing after Michael. "So, loyal soldier here to save."

"Quick on your feet, L/N, impressive," Jim complimented. "Things are getting dangerous. Michael wants to invite the new lady with the fortune business to do a fortune telling for the whole office."

"The one he got the pin from?"

"Exactly."

"That could be interesting; do you believe in that stuff Halpert?"

"Oh, I read my daily horoscope always in the papers." You both laughed at his sarcasm. "No, he just wants her because she's hot."

"Oh?" You questioned, your voice faltering in the slightest, which caused you to try and cough it off. "She's hot?"

"Well, you know?"

"What?"

"Micheal thinks everyone but Meredith and Phyliss are hot. Anyone under thirty-five."

"Do you?"

"Do I what?" It felt to Jim as if he were sweating at this moment, hands being wiped repeatedly against his pants leg as he prayed to get out of this sinking hole.

"Find her hot?" You leaned in very close to his figure, your face much closer to his and there was a slight expansion of the top part of your shirt, allowing more skin of the upper area to be exposed. Though you or him didn't say anything more as the door was swung back open and you quickly sat back with a fired-up Michael and Dwight rolling in.

"There was no one there!" Dwight was quick to tell you.

"That's so weird!" You stood up, walking over to the front door. "I swear there was this really convincing voice over the phone," you trailed off, pretending to be lost in thought. "Wait, you don't think...?"

"Think what?" Michael wondered in response.

"Well, that new girl has her business now; what if the spirits followed her and it was a ghost?"

"That seems highly plausible," Dwight nodded at your assumption. "They are known to follow those that associate with them. Michael, it could be dangerous messing with her."

It felt as though there was an awkward air between you and Jim the rest of the day. He would try to make little jokes but they just weren't landing the right way or had the same amount of comedic timing as all of his other pieces. It was so oblviant that even Pam had caught on to the off nature that Jim was exuding. Luckily for Pam, she could read her best friend like a book, cutting it up to an awkward interaction that he must've had with you.

"It isn't that bad," she shrugged, collecting a few leaves of the lettuce in her bowl and catching some extra dressing and tomato onto her fork.

"Really?" Jim looked at her as if she were lying, chomping on his tuna salad sandwich after. "She was not herself and I felt..."

"You felt what?"

"Weird."

"Would you feel weird if it was, let's say, Angela? Like if she seemed out of character?" Pam pointed her fork at him, now filled with a new bite of salad.

"Well, no, not really. What are you trying to say?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Pam laughed at the camera, sending it an incredulous look. "Obviously, I'm trying to get Jim to recognize his agonizing crush on the girl. I'm his best friend; of course it's plain in sight for me."

"Well, Pam," the camera panned over to where Andy sat, one eyebrow raised, and his legs crossed. "Tuna and I go way back. We are practically brothers in a way. So, I, of course, as his brother from another mother, can tell he digs her. One time Angela made a comment about her outfit and Jim was like some scary monster!"

"It wasn't that bad." Pam looked at Andy, shaking her head with a weirded-out expression. She then angled over back to the camera, "He was pretty angry though; put her on the spot real quickly!"

"I am thrilled you all could make it today!" Michael cheered, standing in front of the conference room with his hand wide and the classic white board written on with 'Let's go psycho for the psychic!"

"You said this was mandatory," Stanley commented, flipping to another page of his crossword.

"Well, you still could have decided not to come," Michael tried to explain.

"You said you wouldn't pay us if we didn't," Ryan reminded him.

"Actually, due to the business policies, Michael isn't allowed to withhold pay for those not attending this," Toby quickly explained to the group.

"If I could withhold pay, yours would be first," Michael grumbled, shaking his head before putting back on his cheery expression. "Okay, fine, if you don't want to be here, then leave." He sighed.

Immediately at his words, Stanley, Creed, Meredith, Ryan, Kevin, Oscar, and Angela left the room. Kevin was visibly disapointed in the lack of refreshments for the occasion, Angela with the unholyness of such an event, and the others all their own reasoning. You stood up to exit, but the man besides you—Jim—reached up to hold you by the wrist, sending a pleading glare to stay. Which you answered by taking back your seat.

"Well, fine, we don't need those haters!" Michael yelled the last word louder, hoping those outside of the conference room would hear. "Now, who came up with this?" He pointed to the whiteboard.

"I did," Phyllis shyly raised her hand, a small smile on her lips. "I was talking about it with Bob, my husband, and he thought it was pretty creative."

"Well, that doesn't mean anything," Michael rolled his eyes, crossing out the 'psycho' and rewriting on top of it 'happy'.

"Let's go happy for psychics?" Pam read the board.

"We want Lucille to know we are happy, not insult her." Michael explained, smiling proudly at his work.

"Isn't it true that all psychics are psycho?" Dwight had spoken up, though unfortunately his words were poorly timed, as at the same moment the woman in question opened the door into the conference room carrying a filled purple sack.

"Oh, really now?" she questioned, heaving over while trying to lift the gigantic bag, basically dragging it now into the room. Michael quickly stepped over, trying to take the bag from her and sling it over his own shoulder but instead was not met with such luck, leaving him to have to drag it as well.

"I have spoken to fellow friends apart from my laser tag group; they have been in a few runs with witches like you."

"Well, I do not classify myself as a witch."

"Yeah, she looks nothing like one! She's really hot," Andy mentioned from the row behind you. The girl in question brushed some hair away, smiling graciously at his comment.

"Thank you," she accepted the compliment and began to pull out different materials onto the table, a crystal ball, a deck of cards, and multitudes of other random items.

"Do we really know how credible she is?" You leaned over, cupping your hand to whisper in Jim's ear. "Why is there a random shoelace?"

Your breath felt hot on his skin, sending shivers up his spine along with a rising pink that brushed over his cheeks. He tried to cover up his subtle laugh, earning a rude stare from the bossman himself.

"Let's get started," she cheered, Michael jumping up to be the first person to get his fortune read and engage in all the different activities that she was offering.

"So? Is she the hot girl you were wanting?" You let one hand rest on the armbench of the chair, placing your other arm on top and leaning over to give him a little stare, narrowing in on his expression as if you could decipher if he sees such attractiveness in the blonde in front.

"Woah, I never said I was wanting one," he quickly declined, waving his hands all around in order to express his deep feelings about not wanting the connection to this being his goal. "This was all Michael, all him wanting a hot girl."

"Wouldn't you want one?"

"Maybe," he shrugged, trying to catch the slight twinkle in your eye—the way you stared so deeply and paid close attention to his words. Soon enough, the both of you were shushed, as apparently Michael 'was getting deeply distracted' enough, 'deeply affecting Lucille's concentration'.

His session definitely played out the longest, continually picking out different things or questioning a simple sentence she said just to keep her attention on him for as long as available. Though her gaze kept slipping through to where you and Jim tried to keep your giggles on the down low. You both wrote on spare pieces of paper from your notebook, playing tik-tak-toe, scheming different pranks to pull on Dwight, and commenting on Dwights incessant comments about the legitimacy of her practices, and noticing Phyllis's large interest and passion to get more involved. You and the man were always able to find little ways to connect in those boring, unkown moments that working at such a paper mill brought along.

"I would say I'm sensing some spiritual pull between Jim and Y/n over here," Pam finally spoke aloud, her expression filled with deep boredom as she tried to write down all that Lucille was saying to Michael due to his orders. "What would you say, Miss Lucille?"

"You know," the girl turned to watch once more as the two of you bonded, soon enough looking back at Michael, who was still wanting more. "Hon, there are more people wanting to go," she patted the top of Michael's hand. "We should let them enjoy; I will have to go soon too."

"Well, okay, but if we have extra time we can loop back to me," Michael nodded, staring down at where her hand once touched his own.

"Alright, time to switch!" She announced with much excitement, eyes scanning the crowd as if to choose.

"I would love to go." Phyllis raised her hand, setting down the knitting gear that once preoccupied her time to the empty chair beside her.

"No, not you," Lucille dragged her hand across the multiple empty chairs as if she were looking back, deciding on who in the crowd to choose. "You," she pointed at Jim, who was pointing at something on the paper. He looked up to Lucille in utter shock, which furthered even more as she got up from her own place to pull him from the chair and into the one by her own.

"Oh, I am okay," he shook his head, reluctantly following her to the chair, giving a couple look backs at where you sat with a concerned expression. "I know Dwight, this guy over here," he pointed over to where the man sat with a scowl. "He would love to get some information on your business."

"No, I want you. I am sensing a multitude of energy from you—very hot, red energy," she dragged on, taking a look at him by dragging her eyes up and down his body. "The spirits are calling to me."

"Well, that is a little frightening," he uncomfortably laughed. She took his hands in hers, taking them and then soon comparing her size of hand to his.

"Wow, such strong, big hands. Clearly you are one destined for greatness."

"Uh," it was clear to almost anyone—except the psychic trying her very hardest to flirt and Michael, who was widely jealous—that Jim was not in the best place and very much searching for an avenue to get away.

"Oh Jim, we have to go make that call to the sales rep of Rocky's reps, that fitness center." You stood up, walking over to try and offer an opportunity so he could have an out.

"Just take it yourself," Lucille was quick to speak up, now looking you over. "Do your job?" she turned to Michael, putting on her best pouty face. "Michael, right?" The man in question nodded with much enthusiasm and pride. "It is important that I do Jim," she turned back to the man in question, "Is it?" to which he just stared at her as she switched back to Michael, "So then I can do you," she said flirtaously.

"Y/n, go take the call," Michael demanded, shooing you away, leaving Lucille with a victorious smile. You followed your boss's commands, leaving the conference room to see the rest of the office empty, and went to begin packing your things for the weekend to come.

"I should really be on thi-" Jim had tried to speak before Lucille pulled his hands to now touch the crystal ball, her hands encasing his on the cheap plastic.

"I am sensing something about your romantic life."

"Alright, tuna," Andy cheered.

"It seems that today you will be offered to make a move on one special beauty. The confidence will overtake you once you touch hands with the one who you are to be more with," her eyes winked over at him, rubbing his skin. "You are a lucky man."

"Well, that is enough." He pulled his hands away from the woman, stuffing them into his pockets as he got out of the chair. "I do not want to take away all the time because Michael hasn't even gotten to see your trick with that.." he leaned over to look at the assortment of odd products on the table. "Bean can?"

"Yes! You are right, Jimbo." Michael stood up quickly, taking Jim's seat and giving her the tuna can. "Now this looks fancy."

With this opportunity, Jim made a quick exit, heading to the office in hopes of finding you sitting. Unfortunately, you were gone from the area, so in response, he speedily packed up his things and rushed to make it to the front of the building. Once making it out to the cold, he noticed you standing by the door, one earbud in, arms wrapped around your body as you tried to keep as much heat in as possible.

"She definitely is not a real psychic," Jim laughed, coming up besides you as he still tried to button up the remaining buttons of his jacket. "I mean, there was a bean can." He waited for your response—a little laugh or quick quip back—but instead he was met with silence. "What's going on?" He put his hand on your shoulder to where you finally turned around to face him, little tears falling down your cheeks. "Y/n!"

"I am fine," you shook your head, trying to wipe the tears away with your mittens. "I am sorry for being odd lately."

"What is going on?"

"I do not know how to explain without making it weird," you fidgitied with your mittens, trying to pull it on and off until you slipped your grip and the acessory hit the ground. Both you and Jim bent over to grab it, hands touching one another before he grabbed it for you.

"Let me help," he said, taking your hand in his cold one, opening up the mitten so that you could push your fingers in. "You always have such trouble once you have the other one on," he lightly chuckled, one you now returned.

"Thanks," was all you replied with, looking down at the ground that began to pile up with snow. "You can go ahead; I am just waiting for a cab."

"I did not think she was hot," Jim admitted, now catching your attention so that you noticed his concerned look resonating on you. "She is not my type. To be honest, I like someone who is funny, where we share a connection and jokes."

"Oh."

"Someone I work with, desk right next to me. Someone who is widely specific in the routine for how she dresses for the outdoors, who is meticulous about her sandwhich choices, has a waterbottle filled with random stickers, and actually listens to Phyllis drain on and on about her relationship with Bob. Somehow."

"It is not easy," you grinned.

"I like you, L/N. Not Lucille, the fake psychic, or a random bartender at Poor Richards. I don't want them; I want you."

And to his confession, you were quick to place your covered hands on both of his cheeks, leaning his face down in order to place your lips upon his, a small snowflake methodically landing upon both of your noses at the special moment. It was nothing long, but definitely said all that there needed to be, and with that, you two separated, cheesy grins taking over.

"I will admit, she is fake but she did say I would touch hands with someone beautiful and gain courage to express attraction. Maybe she knows what she is saying."

"Oh, quit it."

the office masterlist

[drcrespi-is-mean]

I would like to get to know you better as well.

Daddy.

That's all I have to say

((GENUINELY TWEAKIN' RN, HE'S SO DADDY IN CRIME OF DOCTOR CRESPI I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE))

[nervous-leader-idv]

Hey hey look at this locker I put blankets and pillows for you!

"Oh..! Th-Thank you? I don't see how this will help, but they do look... comforting in s-some way!"

"Although.. this looks m-more cramped than what I'm u-used too..."

[cup1dluvhss]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 written by cup1dluvhss

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊jim gets jealous after ryan asks you out

| warnings: angst, tension, flirting

| taking requests!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

‘oh my god, you are evil.’ you laughed sweetly as jim told you about the prank he used to torture dwight today. it was a regular thing that he’d come up to your desk to talk and take his mind off of work. you were a good distraction.

‘yeah, well he deserves it. and it’s also incredibly funny.’ he responded, triggering another round of giggles to erupt from your mouth. he loved the sound of your laugh, as well as you in general.

‘promise me you’ll let me help next time?’ you asked in that same tone that always drove him crazy, looking up at him with a wide smile on your face.

‘only if you help me come up with some ideas. think you can do that for me?’ jim said, watching as your eyes practically lit up at the idea of coming up with more ways to torture dwight.

‘i’ll get right on it.’ you said enthusiastically. before jim could respond, ryan had glided up to your desk and slotted himself next to jim, his eyes glued to you as if he was about to say something.

‘hey, y/n—‘ ryan paused, before turning to look at jim with an expression of distaste. ‘jim. i wanted to know if you were busy this weekend?’ ryan asked you, and almost instantly jim’s eyes darted to you.

‘just hanging out with my cat. other than that, im not. why?’ you said, already knowing where he was going with this. you liked ryan, he was sweet and seemed to be interesting enough. you wouldn’t of minded getting to know him, if it hadn’t of been for your crush on jim that had developed the moment you spoke to him.

‘do you wanna go out with me? i know a few places you might like.’ ryan said, and you swallowed a lump in your throat. oh boy.

you found yourself quite caught off guard when jim suddenly walked away from your desk, but you couldn’t imagine he’d want to stay and listen to ryan ask you out. you were secretly hoping he would save you somehow, but there was no way he was going to now.

‘okay, sure. how about saturday? i’ll email you my address.’ you said rather quietly, watching as ryan profusely nodded his head before walking off back towards his desk.

after he had left, your eyes found themselves hovering on jim, and you didn’t miss the look of annoyance plastered on his face. what was up with him?

you walked into the break room, your heart rising as you saw jim sat down at one of the tables. you walked quickly over to him, eager to tell him about the ideas for pranks you had conjured up instead of working.

‘hey! i have some awesome ideas for you. wanna hear them?’ you said, a bright smile on your face as you pulled out one of the other chairs at the table, sitting down in front of him.

‘go for it.’ he said almost blandly, but his eyes weren’t on you. he was focused on his cellphone which was in his hands, and you found your eyebrows knitting together.

‘hey, what’s the matter with you?’ you asked innocently, and jim slowly let his head look up and eyes meet yours, a look on his face that told you he was not happy.

‘ryan? seriously?’ jim said, annoyance lacing his tone as he rolled his eyes at you, sending your heart plummeting into your stomach.

‘jim, are you kidding me? he asked me out, i wasn’t gonna say no!’ you said defensively, and he dropped his cellphone on the table with a loud clatter.

‘well you should’ve. he’s a douchebag, y/n.’ jim said, his gaze fixated on you as you tried to ignore the lump rising in your throat. you had never fought with him before, and you didn’t like it.

‘why do you care who i go out with? it’s none of your business anyway.’ you snapped at him, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned back in your chair.

‘well it is my business when he asks you in front of me, y/n.’ jim said, standing up to exit the room before you shot up in your chair, blocking him from leaving.

‘no! you’re not leaving until you tell me why you’re so mad.’ you said, standing in the doorway in front of him, watching him as he rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue at you.

‘seriously, halpert. i’m not kidding.’ you said, looking up at him. he was pissing you off, yes, but that still didn’t mean that you couldn’t admire how he looked standing over you. the height advantage he had over you always made you weak.

when he didn’t say anything and just stared at you, that’s when it hit you. and it hit you like a brick.

‘oh my god. you’re jealous, aren’t you!?’ you said with a scoff, tilting your head at him as looked away, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘you are so pathetic. you know that?’ you said, looking up at him. he barely gave you any time to get the sentence out before his large hands met your waist and picked you up, before slowly letting them slide off of your body as he placed you down away from the door.

he then walked through door without another word, leaving you in his dust.

‘hey, don’t just walk away from me.’ you said now a bit quieter, as you didn’t want to rest of the office to hear your little feud.

you lingered next to his desk as he sat down, waiting for him to acknowledge your presence and answer your questions.

‘what do i have to do to make you shut up, hm?’ jim said, turning his chair toward you. just as he did, an idea popped into your head.

‘take me out on saturday so i won’t have to go out with ryan?’ you said, your tone pleading as you looked at him through your eyelashes, hoping whatever you were doing was working.

he stared at you for a moment, before a smirk found its way onto his lips. that was how you knew you’d won.

‘deal.’ he said, extending his hand to you to shake, your cheeks heating up as you shook it. you gave him a smile before walking off back to your desk, briefly shutting your eyes to actually process what had just happened.

you had a date with jim halpert.

[writella]

hi! s10 is so fun so enjoy it when you start it! can i request a daryl smut of any kind?

Before We Leave

Synopsis: Here’s one about you sitting all sweet on Daryl’s lap because I have not stopped thinking about him holding you in his arms and giving you all the kisses after reading this headcanon! ♡

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, set during the period between seasons 8-9, kissing, smut—grinding, thigh riding, fingering, making a mess when you have places to go (such sillies). Mostly proofread. Feel free to give feedback!

A/N: It’s been a minute, guys, I know :( and to ava, so sorry for the wait ♡ I hope you like this and I can’t wait to get to season 10 too!! And know that I definitely still have your initial request in mind for later on!!

First, you noticed his hair: ever so endearingly disheveled, the waves falling so effortlessly as they did in their shaggy way; and then you noticed his skin— it shined. Normally, this would have been because of work and sweat from the late spring heat, but he was clean, he had showered today. He even changed his clothes, and surprisingly, his light beard was trimmed, his face was washed too– it illuminated with his small lazy smile that appeared as you came through the door. He looked so nice and ready to go. Your handsome man. He was waiting for you.

He wore a dark blue long-sleeve, the buttons at the start undone, exposing the top of his chest as he always preferred. And his sleeves, only just big enough to be slightly loose around his arms; they were rolled up at the forearms. It looked good. Though the better fit was his equally loose vest that was layered on top. Seeing it reminded you of how much you missed it. It took him so long to get it back from Dwight. It’s only now that you’re realizing how it fits again, how well it suits him. It’s not that he needed it of course, but you did love how it completed every outfit he wore, making it just so him.

In fact, everything about him was so, so—

“Hey,” he calls to you, his voice itself a finger snap to your attention, “you alright there?”

“Yeah,” you respond, meeting his eyes as you pathetically try to joke, “Just can’t think of the last time I actually saw you sit. We’re always… fighting or doing something aren’t we?”

“Mmhm.” He smiles inwardly. Your staring was nothing short of obvious, and you both know it: You were leaning against the door frame, eyes wide and lingering, trailing over him as he sat on your desk chair. But to him it was sweet, honestly. Almost humorous to see. It was nice to see you smile over nothing other than looking at dumb old him, or at least that's what he assumes of himself. He should know better by now than to think like that, but it's still just his way sometimes. You were in love with him though, and he loved you; and you liked looking at his dumb old face, and he knew that. That's why he doesn’t mind your gazing. That’s why he says, “C’mon,” patting his lap, knowing you wanted to come closer; his eyes catching how much yours went lower and lower, changing from innocent peerings to just a little something else, something more.

You’re hesitant at his invitation, but smiling like a kid. It's true you couldn’t help how good his thighs looked and how good the fingers that splayed over them were— rough and thick— their feeling on your skin taking you back to the past— but his noticing… Well, it just makes you blush. It makes you take slow footsteps, one in front of the other as you come closer to him, bashful and snickering. Once you’re near enough he holds you by the hips and you skip to meet his movements towards him. He turns your backside to him on the right side of the chair and sits you down, horizontal from his forward figure.

“Silly,” he calls you, flicking your nose as he taunts. It’s gentle and harmless even in his typical, slightly grumbled tone.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your wrists and hands curling at his neck, your side pressed into him. He feels bigger when you’re in his arms like this. As if he can comfort you or sheild you from anyone or anything— and you know he could. So safe is what you feel with him; the sigh you let out proves it. The fighting may have finished almost a year ago now, but moments like this are truly what feels like peace. And with that, your mind drifts backwards again. Realizing how you don’t remember the last time you’ve sat like this. With him. Just holding you.

One of his hands holds your thigh while the other grounds you by the lower waist, nearing your hip. You turn your face to his, raising a hand, parting some of the hair in front of his forehead, holding his jaw and you kiss him. You put your tongue between his lips. It’s quick but tender. There is a tiny trail of spit between you two as you let go. Tilting your head, you look at him with an already happy and dazed little smile. You don’t remember the last time you got a good look at him either. And you’re not talking about any of the times you’ve looked at him while simply talking or standing by him, that was almost all the time; but for so long standing next to each other was to cover one another in a fight, kill a walker, but this— this was simply because you wanted to, because he was yours, and you loved him, and you could.

He goes in to meet your lips first this time, holding you by the neck and jaw with one hand, and the other is at your back making you lean in closer. You give in to him, let him take the lead. Your feet curl under the chair and you smile into his indefinite kisses. It makes you accidentally nip at his lower lip which turns into him intentionally biting your lip thereafter. It’s just a bit harder, but he might have done it a tad more sharply than he intended.

���Ow,” you hiss, hushed and soft between breaths, but he’s already soothing the area at the corner there, giving you a lick and little pecks before returning to what he was doing before: kissing you and kissing you.

“You’re fine,” he tells you dryly in between.

Your hands lowers to his chest, feeling his collarbones, then down to his heart. Your fingers rest on the exposed skin there, then trailing lower, ghosting over the closed buttons. You want to, but maybe you shouldn’t. It wasn’t exactly the time.

Originally, you had come home to shower and change: Everyone was having dinner together at Rick and Michonne’s tonight, the first time in a long time. In fact, it was Judith who requested it; she said specifically how much she wanted all of her friends to be there. And you couldn’t disappoint the sweet girl who gave you a construction paper and crayon written invitation, asking you to promise Uncle Daryl would come. The ticket was for both of you, a little picture of you two holding hands at the bottom. ‘Pretty smile you,’ and ‘grumpy pants him,’ she explained.

It was hilariously perfect and it made your heart leap. You and Micchone laughed for a whole minute about it and you hugged Judith immediately after.

Though you couldn’t believe that she could possibly think Daryl wouldn’t come. Of course he’d do anything for her, and you would too, so just as much, ‘Of course,’ you told her, ‘We’ll even be there 10 minutes early so we can pick seats next to you,’ you had said.

But now you’re here, in such a cliche you’d roll your eyes at if you weren’t so in the moment, with Daryl touching up your leg and you allowing it. For once, you’re the one all dirty in your work clothes. And the longer you kiss him, and the longer he holds you on his lap, the more you feel it; the want, the need. You’re getting restless and you’re struggling to weigh the options in your mind.

You lived in Alexandria, helping Rick, Micchone, Rosita… And Daryl, he was sent off to head reconstruction at the Sanctuary: you two don't get to see each other as often as you’d like.

And the Sanctuary wasn’t a place you particularly liked visiting anyways, especially not at first, and he didn’t blame you. But you had still talked to him about trying it, staying there. Maybe a week, maybe longer, maybe seeing if someone else can take over your Alexandria responsibilities, but honestly, he didn’t want you there either. He didn’t even want to be there. Every week that went by was another step closer to talking to Rick about leaving.

Still, moments like this are when you wonder about asking again, if you should be the one to finally move instead… The thought fades as Daryl now groans slightly into your mouth, you had pushed yourself down on his groin which elicited the dark sound, and you moan into him in response. Your hand gripping tightly to his bicep and his digs into your side, holding you tight— you’re losing the ability to think.

His tongue is twisting with yours, and his hand goes lower on your hip, the other deeper into your hair. You’re starting to have a heat pool at your center and you're squeezing your thighs together.

Daryl can sense it and feel all of it: the indecision, the squirming– your feet shuffling and curling against each other, your legs slowly swinging up and under the chair as you do so, as your continue to melt into his lips.

And he does feel it too, though he’s better at not showing it, but you do start to feel him shifting underneath you. An erection starts to harden as your hand goes lower on his chest and the little sounds of you humming into his mouth become more sexy, more desiring, than simply sweet as you continue.

He lets go, slipping his fingers between your knees, “We don’t gotta do too much.”

This makes you laugh. You’re still looking at him all dopey eyed, and more than slightly needy despite your words terribly trying to fight it, “What’s just enough then?”

His hand moves up along your inner thighs as an answer. His fingers trail up until they reach the center, and press into you at the inseam of your jeans. You start to buck up to his movements just as they begin. You even put your own hand over his, pressing into yourself more, your head tilting back. You bite your lip, whining lightly.

“Like that?” He asks, your neediness surprising the both of you.

“Last time I saw you was last week— for a day,” you’re speaking between light, out of breath pants, “outside- scavenging- no time.” Leaning forward into his touch, pretty sounds trail out, “-uh, mmm.”

You continue to grind against his hand harder, adding your other hand on top of his for more pressure until he says, “Get up.”

You stand, starting to undo your jeans and Daryl pushes the back of your chair further against your desk and starts to unbuckle his belt, but right before he finishes, you stop him. You grab his hands, “Wait,” you tell him, slipping off your shoes, and discarding your pants until you sit down again, straddling his lap.

There was something about the way you could see the outline of his bulge by how his pants laid on him, and the nice friction you knew the jeans would cause underneath you that felt so enticing. And more importantly, his bulge looked huge, fat even, you wanted to sit yourself perfectly right on top of it, making sure you could feel it all squish deliciously into your pussy lips with only your thin underwear covering you.

You begin to rock, pushing down against him. Your tiptoes reach the ground, helping you dig in and your hands go to grab onto his shoulders. Daryl holds your hips, thumbs pressing into your back, helping to roll your body into his.

His legs shift beneath you and it makes you think about his thighs again. How yummy they would feel just like his bulge…You have a little bit of time, right? Never mind- you’ll do it fast.

You get up once more, now placing yourself on his left thigh and you start rocking against him again.

Daryl quietly lets you, his hands go under your shirt and you let him take it off, leaving you in only your underwear while he’s fully clothed. He doesn’t mind letting you do what you want right now, he’s enjoying it. Grunting lowly, loving how he can watch you in your blissed out state: your open mouth, your sloppy humping and riding, how you're whining and panting as he touches up your stomach, how you’re so needy that you take one of his hands higher to caress your breast. He licks his teeth, “Need it bad, huh?” He tenses his quad, applying pressure so perfectly, just as you’d been thinking about for days. “Huh, sweetheart?”

“Think about you everyday, Daryl.” You sound just a bit too pathetic, but he eats it up, a small wicked grin coming to his face just looking at how much you wanted him. Not only thinking about his cock stuffed in you, but even how you wanted his thighs too? Just him in general? His poor girl, so deprived of him. He hated being apart, but fuck did he love how desperate it made you when he visited, desperate for him, desperate for him to give it to you or let you have it in any way. It gave him ideas of what he would do to you after you got back from dinner.

Your knee is centered in the middle of his thighs, pushing against his groin with each roll of your pelvis and the rock of Daryl’s hands as he pushes your hips forward, both helping you reach that point of pure bliss, going hard and deep, while giving him just a bit a release from the tension he feels because of you.

You close your eyes, head tilting up to the side lightly, mouth agape. “Ah, mm-” Your frustrated sounds then turn into you sighing so light, so sweetly, “I missed you.”

His hand reaches the side of your face briefly, rolling over your hair and cheek, “Missed you too.”

You knew your underwear was more than damp at this point, but you hoped the dark denim of his pants would mean it wouldn’t be that bad. You were lying to yourself honestly, but you did have wipes anyway, and… Was it bad to say you wanted to soak his jeans? For him to see the mess you made? Remember how big of a spot you created for later? There was no mistake, he had to spend the night. Having dinner in Alexandria made it so that it was too late for him to go back to the Sancutary afterwards. You wondered what he’d do to you later, what you’d let him do. He did miss you, he said it himself after all. And you feel his stare on your lower stomach as you continue to roll yourself on him, as he watches your clothed pussy make a mess of his jeans. And he sees the way his unintentional grunts and slight growls to the sight of you make your head tilt back, mouth opened so wide like you were already preparing to suck him off.

Your eyes are closed, your open mouth allowing a string of “ahs,” to come out as you continue to rub yourself against his muscle, wiggling a little, back and forth, going in a circle for a second to get more attention onto your clit, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter from your boyfriend’s big, and thick thigh. Your knee digs into him harder and he uses one hand to push it against him more.

After he lets go, one of his hands slips into your underwear, placing his middle finger over your clit, rubbing fast circles into it as much as he can as you continue to rock down on both thigh and fingers now. The extra friction feels so good. You’re whining, your panting, holding onto his shoulder with one hand, the other hand grabbing onto your desk, trying to stabilize yourself as you attempt to go faster, your movements becoming more erratic. “Daryl, please,” you whine, “help me.”

He places his free hand on your ass, kneading it forward and his other hand tries its best to circle into your pussy as much as it can.

As his middle finger continues to circle your clit, his two other fingers push into either side of your labia. “Go on,” he encourages, “Already made a mess. Make it bigger.” He moves his hand to your hip again, pushing you down. “You got it.”

Then he starts bouncing his leg, you bounce along with him, trying to rock as hard as you can. You start moaning louder, it’s continuous, you’re getting closer, you see yellow white light behind your eyes as a release takes over you, it’s hot and you can barely breathe, you almost wail as you coat his hands, ruining your panties, soaking his jeans. It felt amazing.

You huff out heavily now, finally opening your eyes to see Daryl take his hand from beneath you, licking his fingers clean. Wet popping sounds come out after he sucks each one, looking you directly in the eye. “Mmm.”

You blush gingerly at him. Getting up you see the large wer spot on his pant leg. It wasn’t a circle, it was ovular, taking up half the area of his thigh. Your teeth clench, you thought it would be big, but… you didn’t know it would be that big. This wasn’t something you could quickly clean off. “I guess it’s a good thing you keep your extra clothes here?”

He keeps his face straight, he figured as much would happen, but it was fun to see you squirm. “These were my extra clothes.”

“Oh.”

You should have let him take his pants off.

[ohhappyday123]

Office Dynamics

The usual chaos at Dunder Mifflin was in full swing as you settled into your desk. You glanced around the office, noting the familiar faces: your best friend Pam at the receptionist desk, Dwight giving one of his many stern warnings to an uninterested Jim, and Michael hiding behind his office door, occasionally peeking out to see if anyone needed "managing."

You had been at Dunder Mifflin for a few years now, and over time, you had built strong relationships with your coworkers. You were especially close to Pam and Dwight. Pam was your confidante, the one who shared your love for art and a good cup of coffee. Dwight, with all his quirks, had become a surprisingly loyal friend. And then there was Jim, with whom you'd developed a complicated yet exciting "fling."

The camera crew caught you at your desk, and you gave a small wave before starting your work.

Interview with Y/N: "I love it here. Everyone's so... unique," you laughed. "Pam and I have been friends since I started, and Dwight, well, he's an acquired taste, but he's a good friend. Michael... he kind of sees me as his secret favorite. I don't know why, but I'll take it."

As you typed away, Michael's voice echoed through the office. "Y/N! Can you come into my office for a second?"

You rolled your eyes playfully at the camera before standing up and making your way to Michael's office. He shut the door behind you, a serious look on his face.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something very important," Michael said, his tone hushed.

"Sure, Michael. What's up?" you replied, curious.

"I've been thinking about the next office party theme. What do you think about a ‘Scranton Renaissance Fair’?" he asked, his eyes wide with excitement.

You couldn't help but smile. "I think it's a great idea, Michael. Everyone will love it."

Michael beamed, clearly satisfied with your response. "I knew I could count on you, Y/N. You're the best."

You left Michael's office, feeling a bit lighter. As you walked back to your desk, you noticed Jim watching you with a smirk. You raised an eyebrow at him, silently asking what he found so amusing.

He got up and sauntered over to your desk, leaning against it casually. "So, the boss's favorite, huh?"

You shrugged, trying to hide your smile. "What can I say? I have a way with people."

Jim chuckled, his eyes sparkling. "Well, you certainly have a way with me."

Before you could respond, Pam appeared beside you, a stack of papers in her hands. "Hey, Y/N. Got a minute?"

You nodded, grateful for the distraction. As Pam led you to the break room, you glanced back at Jim, who was still watching you, his smile never wavering.

In the break room, Pam set the papers down and turned to you, a knowing look on her face. "So, what's going on with you and Jim?"

You felt a blush creep up your neck. "Nothing, really. We're just... having fun."

Pam raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Just be careful, okay? Jim's a great guy, but office flings can get complicated."

You nodded, appreciating her concern. "Thanks, Pam. I'll keep that in mind."

As the day went on, you found yourself in the middle of a prank war between Jim and Dwight. Dwight had somehow managed to get himself locked in the conference room, and Jim was pretending to have lost the key.

Interview with Dwight: "Y/N is one of the few competent people in this office. She understands the importance of structure and discipline. Jim, on the other hand, is a menace."

Interview with Jim: "Y/N and I have a good thing going. She's smart, funny, and knows how to keep Dwight in check. Plus, she's got this amazing smile that just... well, it's something special."

As you tried to mediate the situation, Michael called another impromptu meeting. Everyone gathered in the conference room, and you took a seat next to Pam. Jim sat across from you, giving you a playful wink.

Michael started the meeting with his usual enthusiasm. "Alright, everyone! I have exciting news. We're going to have a ‘Scranton Renaissance Fair’! And it was all Y/N's brilliant idea."

You felt everyone's eyes on you, and you gave a modest smile. "It should be fun."

After the meeting, as everyone was getting back to work, Jim cornered you near the copier. "So, a Renaissance Fair, huh? Any chance you’ll dress up as a princess?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Only if you dress up as a knight."

Jim grinned, leaning in closer. "Deal. But just so you know, I'm pretty sure I'd be the one saving you."

You felt your heart race as you looked into his eyes. "We'll see about that."

The rest of the day flew by, and as the office began to empty, you found yourself alone with Jim. He walked you to your car, his hand brushing against yours.

"So, dinner tonight?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I'd love that."

Interview with Y/N: "Jim and I... we have this connection. It's fun, it's exciting, and it just feels right. I'm not sure where it's going, but I'm enjoying the ride."

As you drove home, you couldn't stop smiling. The day had been filled with the usual office antics, but amidst it all, you felt a sense of happiness and anticipation. Tonight, you'd get to explore whatever this was with Jim a little further, and you couldn't wait.

[strikexlightning]

Ryan Howard x Male Reader

notes: this might not be show timeline accurate, I'm not even gonna lie :'), it's supposed to take place in season 6, I had the wiki open the whole time so hopefully it's at least passable, also sorry if the characters are ooc a little, I'm still in the process of rewatching the show.

cws: mention of ryan being into pain, fucking at work, they don't use lube

Your head falls into your hands, overwhelmed by whatever bullshit Jim was doing to Dwight today. Sometimes you found it funny, but on days like today, it made you question why you accepted the accounting position all those years ago. You at least wished you could work in the annex, or in that cozy little closet Jim put Ryan in.

You push back your chair, getting up and walking into the kitchen, deciding to get more coffee because you couldn't possibly think of going back into that area of the office without any sort of caffeine.

“Hey.” Someone behind you says. It makes you jump and almost spill scalding hot coffee all over your hand, and you turn, wondering how you didn't hear anyone walk in before you remember Ryan's “office” is directly behind you.

You give him a little nod in return, not in the mood for listening to his pretentious bullshit. The last time you came into the kitchen, the closet door was open and he made you look at the…interesting pictures he's been taking, trying to be artsy. He literally made you stand there for 30 minutes straight while the phone on your desk rang.

As he looks through the fridge, it's clear he's just pretending, using it to hide the fact that he keeps glancing over at you, trying to see if you acknowledge his presence. As you finish up making your coffee, he shuts the fridge, realizing it's not gonna work.

He passes behind you, leaning against the counter as you clean up the small amount of coffee you spilled. He's too close, his elbow almost touching yours.

“Got any plans after work?” He asks, and you shrug.

“I think everyone's planning on going out for drinks.” You answer, taking a sip from the mug. You weren't really interested in talking to him but you didn't want to be rude.

“Well I was asking about you specifically…silly.” He says, with a weird, awkward laugh. He added the “silly” at the end in a way that made it sound like he was debating on whether or not to say that, and you can tell he instantly regrets saying it as he awkwardly glances towards the film crew when you don't respond and then retreats back to his closet, shutting the door.

You squint at the door before slowly walking back to your desk, Dwight now back in his seat and Jim nowhere to be found. You work for a little bit before you start to get bored, switching tabs to a random game. When lunch comes, a few people leave together, leaving the break room empty because the few people still there were up to other things. You didn't really care, all you heard was ‘empty room all to yourself’.

You grab your food and get comfortable, being the only one in there. You read as you eat, some random fantasy book you had picked up somewhere. It was peaceful, without any shenanigans, no camera crew because they were off filming the interesting stuff.

And you jinxed it, because the second you start to enjoy your lunch, Ryan himself comes striding in, straight towards you. You didn't know exactly why you disliked him so much. He wasn't really that horrible to you, though he did kind of suck, and you didn't really care much about the others’ to hate him for any personal reasons. Part of you wondered if it was some kind of sexual frustration, because he was kind of hot and clearly didn't have anything against sleeping with coworkers. Maybe it was the sex dreams you had of him when he was VP, you just really wanted to put that man in his place, but he kind of did it to himself when he got arrested so after that the dreams kind of just stopped.

The fact that you found him sexually attractive freaked you out, not because he was a guy, but because it was Ryan of all people. The last thing he needed was another ego boost.

He stands in front of the table you're sitting at, staring at you until you look up at him. He sits next to you, getting comfortable and once again, way too close. He's practically on top of you, his hand squeezing your arm tightly, probably so you can't get up and leave.

“Listen, man. I found this new…business venture, let's say. I figured you'd be interested.” His voice is a low whisper, like he's telling you some mystical secret or something, and he stares at you expectantly.

You have literally no idea what the fuck he's talking about.

You stare back at him, a confused look taking over your face. “...you’re not doing coke again, are you?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I just think you and I should…discuss…business strategies. After work. Tonight.”

You're pretty sure he's just trying to fuck you and can't come up with a better reason to get you alone other than straight out asking. You're not completely opposed, so you shrug.

“Sure, I guess.” You glance over and see someone from the camera crew recording you through the window from outside of the door. There goes your undisturbed lunch break.

He grins, letting go of your arm and patting your back, his hand lingering for a little bit. “Sweet.”

You nod in response, not knowing what to say. Now that you're aware of what he's doing, it just makes it weirder that he's doing that rather than coming right out and saying it. You saw how he was with women usually, so you figured he just didn't know how to flirt with men.

He stands back up and stops in his place when he sees the crew filming the both of you, and then he continues to leave. You can see him saying something to them, but you can't hear it. You sigh when you check the clock, realizing your lunch is over and you barely got through the first ten pages of the book. You retreat back to your desk, finishing out the rest of the day playing computer games and avoiding doing actual work.

When it's time to leave, you grab your jacket, relieved that the day was over. You were actually intrigued to see where Ryan was going with his horrible attempt at asking you to come over. You knew it was some kind of sexual advance just by how see through he is to you, but you didn't exactly know how it would play out and it was a little exciting.

“Are you coming to the bar with us?” Meridith asks you as she comes up next to you. You shake your head.

“No, I'm…going straight home. Gonna get some rest. You have fun though.” You respond in a suspicious manner. Luckily she doesn't care and says goodbye to you before leaving with everyone else.

You see Ryan out of the corner of your eye, and you turn your head, not expecting him to be staring directly at you as Michael is trying to talk to him. Michael sees that Ryan is looking in your direction and he waves you over. You give him a small smile as you walk over.

“I was just telling Ryan about that new Mexican restaurant that just opened, we should check it out one of these days. You know, just us three guys. Hangin’ out.” Michael tells you. He seems really excited at the idea of that so you nod along, not wanting to decline.

But Ryan isn't even paying attention, eyes still locked on you. He's basically just eyefucking you, running down your body and back up to your face. He doesn't look away when you stare back at him. The two of you stay locked in a sexually charged staring contest, and neither of you notice when Michael realizes you aren't paying attention to him and leaves.

You make the first move, lightly pushing him against Jim's desk, to which he leans back immediately. That one action seems to awaken both of your urges, urges that were held back for the sake of being professional. He pushes a few things out of the way to fully get onto the desk, pulling you closer by your tie as your hands fall to his waist.

He presses his lips to yours in a heated kiss, letting you get in between his legs as he holds a hand in your hair and the other gripping your arm tightly. You unbutton his shirt and loosen his tie, hands grabbing at his waist and torso underneath his shirt. He wraps his legs around your waist, pulling you even closer as you make out while he bucks his hips up against you, moaning into your mouth. He pulls away, hands unbuttoning your shirt and then sliding down to your belt.

“I've always wanted to do it here.” He says, his face slightly flushed as he catches his breath.

“Why?” You ask. It didn't surprise you that he wanted to though.

Ryan shrugs as he gets your belt off. You do the same for him and he ruts his hips against you again, groaning softly.

“It's one thing you're not supposed to do, obviously I'd want to do it.”

You make a short humming sound to acknowledge what he said as you grab his hips again, grinding your clothed erection against his, straining against his pants. He moans, looking up at you with the most desperate look you've ever seen from him.

You lean forward, lips brushing against the man's neck. He lets out a soft sigh, moving his head to give you access to his neck. You kiss down to his shoulder before biting down, pulling a moan from him. One of your hands comes up to the back of his head, tangling itself in his hair as you kiss and suck at his neck and shoulder, trying not to make marks in spots that could be easily seen.

“Fuck..you can do them wherever, I don't care if people see.” He says, his voice breathy.

You raise a curious eyebrow and then move upwards, your hand sliding up to the side of his head and pulling it to the side more, which he softly moans at. You leave a mark in a very visible spot before you can tell Ryan is getting impatient.

Your fingers loop around the waist of his pants and you pull them and his underwear down, his painfully hard cock springing out. You do the same for yourself, your dick against his thigh. He stares down at it, biting down on his bottom lip. You stop what you're doing and he looks up at you.

“We don't have lube. Unless you have some.” You say. He looks off towards where the closet is, thinking for a minute.

“There's some in my desk.” He responds, but he grabs your arm to stop you from going to get it. “Just leave it, it's fine.”

You raise an eyebrow again. “Are you sure? It'll hurt.”

He looks away from you, grip on you loosening and moving to rub at his eye. “I don't, uh. I don't mind.”

You instantly understand and you even laugh slightly. You wrap a hand around the base of his dick, rock hard and dripping. It throbs when you slowly start to move your hand, pumping it up and down a few times. Ryan bucks his hips into your hand, letting out breathy, desperate moans.

You lift your other hand, spitting into it and wrapping it around your cock. Moving to hold his thigh, you guide yourself into him, making him suck in a sharp breath. He presses a hand to his forehead, and once you're fully in, he releases a high pitched moan. You're about to comment on it but decided against it, slowly starting to thrust in and out.

Ryan's eyes are shut tight, his mouth open as breathy high pitched moans escape him every time you push back in. You start to speed up, your hold on his hips getting tighter as you groan. One of his arms reaches out behind him, looking for something to grab onto and knocking over a cup of pencils and pens in the process. He grabs onto the edge of the desk, the whole thing rocking with you, things falling over and being knocked onto the floor.

You dig your nails into the man's skin, and his head falls back as he cums, landing on his chest and stomach. His cock twitches from the sensitivity when you only speed up more, pounding into him. He moans loudly, not caring if there's anyone still in the vicinity.

His legs squeeze tighter around you as he loudly begs you not to pull out with a lot of expletives. You groan out a “fuck” and bury yourself in him, releasing your load and riding out your high before slowing to a stop.

You both are silent while trying to catch your breath. Eventually, you pull out slowly, and back up, letting Ryan hop off the desk. He stumbles a little bit, his legs weak underneath him. He pulls his pants back up.

“I'm gonna go clean up, I'll be back.” He says, going off to the bathroom. You readjust your clothes, buttoning your shirt back up, and tying your tie back on the right way.

You try your best to fix Jim's desk, picking up all the stuff you knocked over and hoping he doesn't notice something is off. While you wait for Ryan, you think about the fact that you had sex with a coworker. In the place you work at. On top of your other coworkers desk.

You kind of understand why Ryan wanted to now, it was fun.

He comes back out, tie still loose and the top few buttons of his shirt undone, but his hair is fixed and he's less flushed. The two of you walk outside, walking past a few cleaners you did not know were in the building yet. Some of the camera crew are standing outside when you walk out the door and you almost jump. You and Ryan are silent before awkwardly going your separate ways to separate cars, the cameraman zooming into Ryan's marked up neck.

They had a lot of interesting questions to ask on Monday.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Cowboy At Your Door: Dwight Manfredi x Reader (feat:  Bill Bevilaqua)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @skellyagogo @sca3a @kenbechillin @mandy426

Companion piece to:

Poker Face - Dwight's night takes a turn when he meets you for the first time at a poker game.

Dior - Dwight wakes up to the scent of Dior and lipstick on his chest.

Gunpowder & Roses - Dwight's enemies make a mistake when they come after you.

Hell of A Message - You send a message to your ex Bill.

There’s a cowboy at your door. One with a black hat, heated eyes and a smile that’s made for sin.

“I got your message.” Bill Bevilaqua says as he stands on your porch, his hands tucked into the back pockets of his Wranglers.

You tuck your hair back behind your ear so he can see the bruising blossoming across your features.

“I got yours too.”

His gaze darkens, his jaw tightening as he surveys the butterfly stitches, the busted lip. He reaches out, his fingertips tracing over the place where Joey’s ring split your skin.

“I’d kill him myself if you hadn’t done it already.” He tells you and you can see the sincerity of it in his eyes before you open your door and invite him into the house.

“We should talk.” You say and he doesn’t respond as he steps into your living room, drinking in the essence of you.

It’s the first time he’s been to your home. It’s light, airy and somehow cosy at the same time. Soft greys give way to berry and blush undertones creating a warmth that was never present in the house that you lived in together. His personality and heritage had dominated the ranch that you’d shared. It was always harsh, always masculine, the same way that everything was in his family.

“This is what our home should have been like.” He says as he turns to face you, his thumbs looped through the rungs of his jeans.

“There was never any room for me underneath all that toxic masculinity.” You remind him as you settle down into the stone grey love seat.

No there hadn’t been, not in the world you were both born into. You were the only child of Vinnie Cincinetti, head of one of the most powerful crime families in Oklahoma. You would have been a force to be reckoned with if you’d taken up the mantle, instead you’d been married off to the Bevilaqua syndicate because you weren’t the right gender to lead.

It may have been an arranged marriage but Bill had fallen in love with you almost immediately. Instead of being the pretty, little wife that sat at home and spent his money, you earned your own by running poker games and pulling in whales that thought nothing about throwing down six figures at one of the most exclusive card tables in the country.

It isn’t until he catches a snide remark from his cousin Frank that he realises that your success is making him look weak, like he can’t control his wife, that he’s not providing for her. The thing is, he’s never seen you as exhilarated as when you’re running those games. You’ve never been so happy, so engaged and he knows in that moment he has to let you go because you were destined to be much more than just a gangster’s wife.

So he divorces you, sets you free and he hopes that maybe one day, when you’ll return to him. It’s been five years since you left Kansas and you’ve still not come home. He’s starting to doubt you ever will despite the nights you’ve shared since.

He takes a seat on the sofa close to you, taking off his hat and setting it upon the dark wood coffee table.

“You need to meet with Manfredi.” You tell him, running a hand through your hair and shaking it out so it falls across your features. “Sort out this territory dispute before it turns into something.”

He sinks into the plush comfort of your couch, his gaze drinking you in. It’s only now as he looks at you that he realises you’re wearing a man’s dress shirt and it riles something inside of him.

“Darlin.” He drawls. “It’s already something. I can’t have New York coming here and stepping on my shit….”

“It isn’t really your shit though is it?” You respond, leaning forward and his gaze strays to the dip in the shirt you’re wearing. Your bra is visible, he can see the contrasting black lace against your skin. “You gave Tulsa to me.”

“You’re still an extension of the Bevilaqua Family even if we aren’t married anymore.” He reminds you, shrugging his shoulders.

“Tulsa is my playground.” You say fiercely before giving him a knowing look. “The real problem is you don’t like the fact there’s another kid playing in it.”

“No.” He says pointedly. “I don’t.”

You sigh as you recross your legs and he catches a flash of that tattoo on your inner thigh, the one that covers his mark. His family, they brand their property. Horses, drugs, their wives too. You hadn’t screamed when they’d forced it on you, you’d bitten down on his belt instead, stifling your agony. He still wears the damn thing around his waist, your teeth indentations still etched into the leather.

“I heard you got it covered.” He says gesturing to the space between your legs. “I want to see it.”

You sigh as you part your thighs, the dress shirt creeping up so that your black panties are on display. His gaze comes to rest on the greyscale dahlias inked onto your skin, they cover the entirety of the brand, obscuring it from view. He sinks to his knees in front of you, his calloused palm coming to rest on your thigh as his thumb traces over scarring underneath, the ‘B’ etched into your skin for eternity.

“I’ll always be a part of you.” He whispers, his lips ghosting over the edge of your tattoo. “And you’ll always have a part of me.”

Your hand rakes through his dark hair, grip tightening on the roots, making him moan against your skin. He’s been hard since he laid eyes on you, it’s the way he’s always been with you. He gets off on the coolness, the indifference, it only makes him try harder to earn your attention. You tug his head back to meet your eyes and his whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“So…” You say, your voice dropping an octave. “Do I get my meeting or not?”

He’d give you anything you in this moment because all he wants is to spend the night between your legs, his tongue thrust in your pussy until you see God. He wants to feel you coming on his cock as you use him like a fucktoy, like he’s nothing but a vessel for your pleasure.

“Bill.” You say, your voice like silk caressing his skin. “Do I get my meeting?”

“Yes.” He bites out.

“Good boy.” You murmur, your palm lightly slapping his cheek and his dick fucking leaks, smearing the inside of his underwear. “You can go now.”

“Dahlia…” He implores but he knows he’s lost because you’re wearing sitting here in another man’s shirt, your gaze already flickering to the clock on the mantlepiece.

“No Bill.” You say, indicating to the bruising on your face. “You don’t deserve my pussy tonight.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[daryltwdixon]

Part VI

word count: 3.2k

no warnings apply

The hallway feels colder than usual, or maybe it’s just the memory of his screams still ringing in your ears, the sharp smell of burned flesh clinging to your senses like it’s embedded in your skin. You can’t shake the image—Amber’s face crumpling, her sobs choking out as Mark’s face melted under the iron. Daryl had been there too, silent and stiff, forced to mop up the filth while the rest of you watched Mark slump into unconsciousness in the chair. The tension is raw, biting at the edges of your nerves as you move through the halls, and when Sherry turns the corner, catching sight of you, it’s clear the memory isn’t far from her mind either. You imagine it is worse for her to have to hear the screams through the halls, what must be even worse nightmarish memories of Dwight facing the same fate only months ago. 

But knowing exactly where she had gone when it was all over, you had to confront her. You’ve been at this long enough to know when someone’s got a pattern. And Sherry? She’s predictable, slipping out when no one’s looking, always vanishing around the same times as Dwight. And with their history…

Her footsteps echo softly as she rounds the corner, moving quickly, her chin tucked down like she’s trying to make herself small. The second she spots you, she freezes. It’s brief—a blink-and-you’d-miss-it flash of panic—but enough to make you hold your ground, waiting for her to come to you.

“Y/N,” she says cautiously, her voice even but tight, like she’s already preparing for a fight. “Something you need?”

“Just you,” you say, straightening up and stepping into her path. You don’t bother softening your tone. It’s not your style, and Sherry’s not the kind to respond to anything less than directness. “We need to talk.”

Her expression hardens, shoulders squaring slightly as she stands her ground. “I’ve got things to do. Negan—”

“Negan’s busy with Amber,” you cut her off stiffly, tilting your head. “And this can’t wait.”

She hesitates, her gaze narrowing slightly, but she doesn’t back down. That’s the thing about Sherry. She might be under you in the chain of wives, but she’s not a pushover. You can almost admire it, if you weren’t so annoyed.

“What do you want, Y/N?” she asks, her voice sharper now. “Because if this is about me and Dwight—”

“It is,” you say plainly, watching how her jaw tightens. “You’re not as subtle as you think. Both of you disappearing at the same times, same places? C’mon, Sherry. I’m not stupid. And you should know better than to think Negan wouldn’t lose his mind knowing you two were cozying up at every opportunity,”

Her lips press into a thin line, and for a second, you think she’s going to argue. Instead, she exhales, her posture stiff but her tone controlled. “We’re not! And so what? You gonna run to Negan, Mrs. Smith? Tell him I’ve been breaking the rules? Get me or D killed?”

You let the question hang, your gaze steady as you step a little closer, enough to feel the tension ripple between you. “That depends,” you say evenly. “On how much you’re willing to tell me.”

Sherry snorts softly, the corner of her mouth twitching in what might’ve been a smirk if the stakes weren’t so high. “So, that’s how this works? You play the boss card, and I spill my guts? Real cute, Y/N.”

You don’t rise to the bait. Instead, you arch a brow, crossing your arms tighter. “You want cute and meek, go talk to one of the new wives,” you say coolly. “I’m here because I need answers, and you’re the only one who can give them to me.”

She tilts her head, considering you, but there’s still that spark of defiance in her eyes. “Fine,” she says finally. “Ask.”

“Dwight,” you start, keeping your tone measured. “And Daryl.”

That catches her off guard. It’s subtle—the way her eyes widen just a fraction before she schools her expression—but you notice. You always do.

“What about them?” she asks, voice guarded.

“Dwight talks to you,” you press. “I know he does. So, tell me—what’s he saying about Daryl? How’s he holding up?”

For the first time, Sherry falters, her confidence slipping just a little. She looks away, her jaw working as she debates whether to answer. “He’s… surviving,” she says at last. “Barely. Dwight’s been riding him hard, but he hasn’t broken yet.”

Sherry bites her lip, hesitating again. It’s enough to make your patience start to fray. “Look,” you say, your voice hardening just a little, “if you want me to keep quiet about this, you’re gonna start talking. Don’t make me regret giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

Her eyes snap back to yours, and now she’s irritated. “What do you want me to say, Y/N? That he’s fine? He’s not. But he’s tough. He’s handling it better than most people would.”

That’s not the whole story. You can see it in the way her fingers twist at the hem of her sleeve, in the flicker of guilt she’s trying to hide. You narrow your eyes, taking a step closer.

“What aren’t you telling me?” you demand.

Sherry flinches, just slightly, but her voice is steady when she sighs, “We… knew him. Before. When Dwight and I ran off with Tina’s insulin.”

The words hit you like a slap, unexpected and jarring. Your mind races, piecing together fragments of what you know. Daryl, Sherry, Dwight—connected in ways you hadn’t even considered.

“He saved us,” Sherry continues, her voice softer now, the guilt bleeding through. “We didn’t want to come back here. He helped us, even though we were assholes. We stole his bike, his crossbow…. If it wasn’t for him, Tina wouldn’t have made it as far as she did. Even though she ended up…ended up…” her eyes glaze over as they stare as if a million miles away, lost in memory. 

You stare at her, trying to keep your expression neutral, but your chest tightens. Daryl, helping them escape, risking himself for people who didn’t deserve it. The thought makes your stomach churn, and not for the first time, you wonder how much he’s already sacrificed.

Sherry meets your gaze then, her own eyes sharp with conviction. “I just want him to live, Y/N. That’s all. After everything he’s done… he doesn’t deserve this.”

For a moment, the hallway is silent, the weight of her words settling heavy between you. You take a slow breath, your mind racing but your voice steady when you finally speak.

“Sherry,” you say, your tone quieter now but no less firm. Her eyes narrow slightly, cautious.

“I need your help.”

You knock twice on Negan’s door, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway. A moment passes, and just when you consider knocking again, a low, familiar voice calls out, “Come in.”

Pushing the door open, the first thing you notice isn’t Negan. It’s the boy standing stiffly in the center of the room, his chin high, his one good eye glaring up at Negan in defiance. The other side of his face draws your attention next—a raw, angry scab where his right eye should be, exposed and unflinching as he turns his head to look at you.

For a second, the sight freezes you, the image of what this kid must have been through pressing against the fresh memories of the iron burning skin earlier. But Negan’s voice pulls you back, a low chuckle vibrating in the air as his grin stretches wide.

“Well, look who it is,” he says, his eyes sparkling as they shift from Carl to you. “Just in time to see our little friend here show me his big boy scowl.”

Carl doesn’t say a word, just stares Negan down with a quiet rage that would be almost impressive if it weren’t coming from someone so young. The tension crackles in the room like static, but Negan’s already moving, stepping toward you with that playful glint in his eye that always makes your stomach turn.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he says, closing the space between you in long strides. Before you can react, his hands are on your waist, pulling you close as he dips his head.

“Negan—” you start, but it’s too late. His mouth is on yours, hot and demanding, his tongue pressing against your lips until he takes what he wants. You push lightly at his chest, a huff escaping when you manage to pull back, your voice low and clipped. “What are you doing? There’s a kid right there.”

He grins, his teeth gleaming as he glances back at Carl, whose expression hasn’t shifted an inch. “What?” Negan says, voice dripping with amusement. “Gotta teach the boy how to handle a woman someday. Might as well start with the best example he’s ever gonna get.”

“Negan,” you snap, your tone sharper this time, and his grin softens, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he finally lets you step back.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” he says, “Didn’t know you’d get so shy in front of our guest. Maybe I’ll save the rest for later.”

You roll your eyes, deciding it’s not worth the argument. Instead, you clear your throat, straightening. “What’s going on?”

Negan leans back slightly, his posture loose but his eyes sharp as he tilts his head toward Carl. “We’re takin’ a trip,” he says casually. “Back to Alexandria.”

The words hit you harder than they should, your chest tightening as your mind races. “I should come with you,” you say quickly, trying to keep your voice even. “You know I—”

“No,” Negan says, cutting you off, his tone losing all its playfulness. His gaze locks onto yours, firm and unyielding in a way that leaves no room for argument. “You’re not comin’.”

“Negan,” you try again, your voice softer now, but he’s already shaking his head.

“I said no,” he repeats, his voice like a knife’s edge. For a moment, the room feels colder, heavier, the playful mask slipping to reveal something darker beneath. “You don’t need to be there. End of discussion.”

The tension hangs thick in the air, but as quickly as it came, it’s gone. Negan’s grin is back, wide and glittering as he claps his hands together. “Now, our little playdate’s over. I gotta drop this kid back off with his daddy before Rick starts havin’ a heart attack.”

Carl’s lip twitches at that, but he still doesn’t speak, his one-eyed glare burning into Negan like he’s trying to set him on fire with sheer willpower. Negan just laughs, turning back to you with that same, infuriating smile.

“Don’t wait up for me, sweetheart,” he says with a wink. Then, with a wave of his hand, he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him as he ushers Carl out.

You stand there for a moment, the echoes of his voice still lingering, and the quiet stillness of the room crackling.

The busyness of the Sanctuary does little to quell your unease with Negan being gone. The constant hum of activity—the clinking of tools, distant murmurs, and heavy footsteps—feels off tonight, like it’s all teetering on the edge of something. You walk the corridor with your mind weighed down by the last things he said to you before leaving, his voice low and teasing but lined with an edge you couldn’t ignore.

The sound of frantic footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. A subordinate rounds the corner, his face pale and drawn, his breath coming fast as if he’s run straight from hell.

“Ma’am,” he gasps, his voice sharp with urgency. He stumbles to a stop in front of you, his wide eyes locked on yours. “Do you know where Negan is?”

“He’s gone to Alexnadria to take the kid back,” you answer with unease, “Why, what is it?”

The man reaches for his walkie, one that connects to the outposts that work to send messages to further posts, and eventually, the people at Alexandria.

You stop him, hand on his wrist, “George, tell me what it is. Now. I have the authority to know.”

George hesitates, the walkie static clicking on for only a brief moment before shutting off, lowering his hand, “It’s the prisoner, Mrs. Smith. He’s gone.”

For a second, the world stills. The clangs and chatter around you blur, leaving only the pulse pounding in your ears. “What prisoner?” you ask, your voice cutting through the haze like a blade.

“The one from Alexandria, ma’am,” he says.

The words hit like a hammer, sharp and unrelenting. Daryl. Your chest tightens, but you force your expression to remain steady, unreadable.

“How?” you demand, your tone colder now, each syllable laced with quiet fury. “Who was watching him?”

George shifts uncomfortably, his hand twitching toward the walkie again before he catches himself. “He was supposed to be in his cell,” he stammers. “I was assigned to take him to yard duty, but when I got there... the door was open. No sign of him.”

You step closer, narrowing the space between you until George flinches slightly. “And when exactly were you planning to tell someone?”

“I came straight here, ma’am,” he insists, his voice shaky. “I thought... I thought either you or Negan would handle it.”

You narrow your eyes at him, the weight of his words settling heavily in the pit of your stomach. “You thought right. Now lock it down. No one leaves or enters without my approval. And don’t even think about alerting Negan. You hear me?”

You turn sharply, your pace quickening as you make your way toward the cell block. The damn heels and dress make it impossible to move with stealth or ease. Each step feels heavier than the last, the knot in your chest tightening. You run through every possible scenario in your head, every excuse you’ll need to give if this spirals.

When you reach the cell, the door hangs ajar, its hinges creaking faintly as you push it open. The space inside is barren and cold–empty. Your eyes sweep the room until they catch on a crumpled piece of paper near the wall.

You crouch, your fingers brushing over the rough concrete as you pick it up. Unfolding it slowly, your chest tightens at the hastily scrawled message:

Go now

The writing is hurried, unrecognizable, but the intent is unmistakable. Someone helped him. Someone within these walls.

Your jaw tightens as you fold the note and tuck it into your pocket. The faint buzz of static from your own walkie crackles to life, a voice cutting through.

“Mrs. Smith? We’ve got a sighting—south corridor. Should we engage?”

You press the button on the walkie, your voice calm and measured despite the storm brewing inside you. “No. Hold position. I’ll handle it.”

You don’t wait for a reply. You’re already moving, your heels clacking against the floor as the corridors stretch out ahead of you. The air feels heavier now, pressing in closer with every step, each sound amplified—your breathing, the amplified hum of the Sanctuary thrown into action, the sharp echoes of your footfalls.

When you reach the south corridor, your breaths are heaving, adrenaline surging while you venture the dark halls. The dim light barely cuts through the shadows that stretch and writhe against the walls, making the space feel smaller, suffocating.

Then you hear it—the unmistakable scuff of shoes against the floor, hurried and uneven, the frantic rhythm of someone running hard. The noise ricochets through the corridor, quickening your pace until you round the corner and nearly collide with him.

Daryl bursts into view, moving fast and wild, his sweat-dampened prison set now hidden beneath a stolen flannel. A hat’s pulled low over his face, and he found shoes.

His chest heaves, his hair clinging to his forehead, wild eyes locking onto yours. For a split second, neither of you moves. Then, as if on instinct, he darts left, his shoulders lowering like he’s ready to charge past you.

“Don’t even think about it,” you snap, drawing the gun from under your dress in one smooth motion and leveling it at him.

He stops dead in his tracks, his feet skidding against the floor, and his lip curls in frustration as he raises his hands halfway, palms out.

“You really gonna shoot me, Y/N?” he asks, his voice a rough growl and the Southern drawl sharper than usual.

“Don’t test me,” you bite back, your finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger. “You have no idea what I’m capable of now, Daryl.”

He huffs a sharp, humorless laugh, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. His eyes narrow, scanning your face. “Yeah, I do,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re Negan’s now, huh? Playing one of his pretty little lap dogs?”

His words burn, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you fire—a sharp crack that echoes down the corridor. The bullet slams into the wall just behind his head, close enough to make him flinch.

Daryl’s head snaps to the side, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing again. His lips twist into a bitter snarl, disgust etched across his face.

“You missed,” he mutters, his voice thick with venom. 

You shoot again without responding, this time closer to his arm, the wind of the bullet wafting his sleeve.

He jumps away, his gaze locking on yours for a beat longer, and it’s all there—disgust, betrayal, the kind of raw anger that cuts deeper than any words could. Then, without another word, he turns and bolts back, down the opposite corridor, his shoes slamming against the floor as he disappears into the shadows.

You stand there for a moment, your gun still raised, your pulse hammering in your ears. You quickly lower your gun and follow suit.

The hallways stretch endlessly, every corner pulling you closer to the exit, the faint echo of Daryl’s retreating steps your only guide. You round the final bend and see the doors leading to the courtyard already swinging shut.

By the time you push through them, the cool night air hits your face, and he’s there—on one of the motorcycles, bare feet gripping the pedals, his sweat-drenched shirt clinging to his back. He kicks the bike into gear, the engine roaring to life, and for a second, he hesitates, glancing over his shoulder like he knows you’re watching.

You stand frozen in place, your chest tight, your breath coming in sharp bursts. The faint scent of exhaust lingers in the air, and your fingers curl at your sides. You know what’s coming, whether it’s Negan’s fury or someone else bearing the brunt of the blame. Either way, someone’s going to pay for this, and the thought alone sets your teeth on edge.

Your fingers curl tighter around the walkie as you pull it up, your voice steady despite the chaos building inside you.

“Prisoner escaped.” you say, your voice steady and sharp, “Alert the gates and tighten the perimeter.”

You lower the walkie, letting it rest in your palm as you glance back at the gates. The faintest flicker of a smile ghosts your lips, a treacherous, fleeting thing that vanishes almost as quickly as it came. 

Whatever happens next, you tell yourself, you’ll deal with it when it comes.