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neobomb · 6 months

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give into things i (dont) want to [na jaemin]

academic rival! (yandere ish) prev! big ego!Jaemin x reader, hints of library worker!math major!Jungwoo x reader Part of the give into things i (dont) want to series. Warnings: mature themes, toxic/inappropriate behaviour, masterbation, forcing??, implied slut shaming, MDNI, there will be smut in part 2 Word Count: 2.2k Summary: You learn about academic rival!Jaemin's biggest secret. © 2023 @neobomb. Unauthorized copying, translation, manipulation, or alteration of this work is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

Jaemin never viewed it as a competition, the rivalry between you and him. It wasn't about outdoing you. More than anything, he yearned for your attention. With time, he faced a truth he couldn't escape: he was deeply, hopelessly in love with you. He adored that confident smirk you'd wear whenever you believed you had the upper hand. The way you'd toss your hair back as you raced to claim your favorite study spot in the library, ensuring he couldn't get there first. Something about you got him filled with excitement.

But for you, every interaction was tinged with rivalry. You hate him so much. With his stoic façade and that penetrating, icy stare, he stood apart. You've always had a distaste for those who appeared too perfect, and Jaemin epitomized that to a tee. Not only was he the top student at your school, but he was also incredibly handsome, rich and popular. The young boy wants to be a surgeon when he grows up. It's almost laughably cliché, like a scene from a cheesy rom-com. Boys wanted to be him, girls wanted to be his.

Senior year of high school was poised to be the most pivotal year of your lives. The first significant exam loomed just after your 18th birthday. You don't regret skipping your birthday celebration, as securing the top score and outperforming Jaemin took precedence in your mind. It’s more important to stay on top, you thought to yourself.

You’re sitting at your favorite spot in the library, a secluded spot framed by expansive windows. You love to sit there because it's hidden and private. The sun rays from the windows fall on your cheeks, as you tap your pen lightly on your notebook. You stare intensely at a specific problem from a past lecture.

“To tackle this problem, one common approach is to use the residue theorem. Consider the contour that is a semicircle in the upper half-plane, C, which is composed of the real line segment from −R to R and the semicircular arc of radius R in the upper half-plane, where R is a large positive real number.” You turned around, confronted by the insufferable smirk you knew all too well. Jaemin is standing right behind you with his hands behind his back.

“Nice try, Jaemin. I don’t need help from a pretentious prick like you.” You refocus on your problem sheet, doing your utmost to block out his irksome presence.

“You just looked like you were struggling so much.” You brush off his comments. They hold no weight for you now. He'd thrown every insult at you, calling you every name in the book, and over time, you learned not to take them to heart. It was wiser to remain unfazed by the persistent negativity, or at the very least, to appear so.

“I’m not listening to whatever you’re trying to say.” You slipped your headphones back on, signaling your intent to shut him out.

"Well, happy late birthday, loser." he remarks before retreating to his usual spot. He always chooses the table adjacent to yours, separated by a sizable bookshelf that obstructs his line of sight. But he'd subtly shift a few books, creating small gaps that allowed him to sneak glimpses of you, desperately hoping that you wouldn’t catch him in the act. He could observe you engrossed in your studies for hours on end.

You have always been really pretty. Sometimes, when you would scratch your legs, making your skirt ride up higher, or when you would unbutton your shirt low enough for your cleavage to be exposed, he would unbuckle his pants, bring out his painfully hard dick, and jerk off to the sight of your delicate body like no tomorrow. He would only be able to bring himself to do such sinful acts in the late hours when only you and he remained in the library.

Occasionally, when you would step away to use the restroom, Jaemin would quickly approach your desk and steal some of your personal items, ensuring he discreetly returned them to easily spotted locations the very next day. His favorite item to steal would be your cherry flavored chapstick. You never thought it was odd how your personal items would vanish, only to reappear by the base of your desk the following day.

It was embarrassing to him, truly. It felt pathetic to be so smitten with someone who calls him a loser, an arrogant snob, someone who would likely never see him in a romantic light.

For as long as Jaemin had been aware of you, you'd mostly been a solitary figure, steering clear of the limelight. A complete loner. During breaks, Mr. Johnny Suh from English Literature appeared to be your sole confidante, as you eagerly exchanged thoughts about your recent reads. Your eyes always lit up with passion when discussing a book's turning points. Occasionally, Jaemin would interject himself into your discussions, eager to catch your gaze. "Such a teacher's pet," you'd silently muse whenever he did that.

But recently, Jaemin noticed a new figure entering your orbit. Your growing closeness with the new library employee, Kim Jungwoo, had him curious about its origins. Jungwoo, a math major from the town's renowned university, and coincidentally good friends with Jaemin’s older brother, Jaehyun.

Always working the closing shifts, Jungwoo often assisted you with your math homework. In return, you'd stay late to help him tidy the bookshelves. Jungwoo, the comedian that he is, often left you bursting into giggles with his endless jokes. On occasions when you felt uneasy walking home alone, Jungwoo offered to walk you home, even though his apartment was on the opposite side of town.

It was clear that it all enraged him extremely. Jaemin is extremely jealous. He detested how Jungwoo would sit beside you in the library to help you with your homework, obstructing his view of you through the gaps of the bookshelf. Jungwoo would keep an eye on your desk whenever you had to use the bathroom.

—

Jungwoo had invited you over to his apartment for dinner, and you presumed it was a date. Your excitement was palpable. Over the recent months, you had developed a crush on him. He was the epitome of a gentleman, brilliantly intelligent, humble and undeniably attractive. Always, treating you with the utmost respect.

As you neared what you believed to be his door, you quickly check your reflection in a compact mirror, touching up your makeup and hair for the hundredth time. Taking a deep breath, you then pressed his doorbell.

In a swift moment, his door opened wide. "Y/N, you're right on time." Jungwoo greets you with a smile, ushering you into his apartment and gently shutting the door behind you.

"I brought your favorite snacks," you mentioned, just as he enveloped you in a warm embrace.

As the evening unfolded, you and Jungwoo conversed for hours on a myriad of topics. He cocooned you in blankets and played your favorite tunes. Yet, you sensed something amiss with him; he appeared somewhat distant, as though something weighed on his mind.

“I feel like you’re holding back on something. Something that’s bothering you.” you voiced, attempting to diffuse the palpable tension.

“I’m all ears. You can tell me anything.” You remind him. He scratches his head before taking a deep breath.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. The exact reason why I asked you to come over.” He starts. “Since people have been complaining about lost items at the library, I was assigned to watch over some security footage…” He paused, letting the silence stretch.

“And?” you prompted, eager for him to proceed. “It’s Jaemin… I watched him beat his dick to you on the security footage… I think…” You're completely taken aback. The words don't seem to compute. Surely, you would have noticed if anything of the sort had occurred. You simply did not believe what you’re hearing.

“I’m not totally sure since the footage is not of the best quality… But it seems like he’s watching you in between gaps of books on the bookshelf… And it would happen often, like… every other day and it would only happen when you’re there.” Jungwoo continued. He finally meets your gaze. The depth of concern in his eyes reveals just how troubled he is by the situation.

“There is also footage of him stealing your items whenever you leave your desk.” You had often pondered why, since spending time with Jungwoo at the library, your items never went missing or were left behind like it always did previously.

“I never had the opportunity to tell you this because I always felt like he was watching us. Sorry for not telling you about this earlier.” He pulls his arms around you in a comforting hug.

“Please, Y/N. Be careful. I can help you get a restraining order on him. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Your face is buried in his chest.

“Jaemin can be dangerous, especially if his ego gets hurt. I've known him since he was just a baby in diapers. Please trust me, Y/N.” Although uncertainty lingers about the whole situation, you trust Jungwoo. You take him at his word, believing he has no reason to deceive you.

—

It's been two weeks since you discovered Jaemin's unsettling perverted behavior. The library hasn't seen you since; the memories are just too unnerving. At school, you stopped talking to Mr. Suh. You refuse to put yourself in any situation that might lead to an encounter with Jaemin. Instead, you've done your best to sidestep him, believing it to be the wisest course of action for the time being. Hopefully it will keep you safe for now.

It did not take long for Jaemin to pick up on the unusual habits of yours. Jaemin's anger is palpable. Something prompted your avoidance, and he's had his suspicions from the start. In his mind, it had to be because of Jungwoo. Who did Jungwoo think he was, effortlessly pulling you closer while Jaemin, ever so impeccable, felt sidelined despite harboring feelings for you all these years? It all seemed too orchestrated. He has to do something about it, he thinks and lets his anger completely take over.

As you make your way home from school, nearing a narrow alleyway, a sudden sound catches your attention: "Why haven't you been at the library? Struggling to keep up with me?" Jaemin's voice caught you off guard as he stood casually in front of you, hands nestled in his pockets. Nervously, you tugged away your earphones, a look of unease evident on your face. The library had always been your sanctuary. Jaemin couldn't help but wonder if Jungwoo was the reason for your absence.

"I... um... I have somewhere… uhm… to be," you stammered, attempting to move past him, but he obstructed your exit, moving awfully close to you.

“Why have you been so nervous lately? You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?.” Jaemin says with an amused smile. ”You’ve always called me names. Pretending to be so cool. Now you can’t even look at me without shaking to your core.” he continues.

“It’s Jungwoo isn’t it? You like to play innocent but you’re not. You like playing around with older guys, don’t you Y/N? I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried to shoot your shot with mr. Suh." Jaemin's voice pierces the silence, sending a chill down your spine. "I... I don't know what you mean… We’re just friends." you respond, your voice betraying a hint of panic.

“You’re the worst liar, Y/N.” he says he pins you to the brick wall, holding a tight grip on your wrist. Jealousy was written all over his face. “Jaemin, please. What are you doing?” you plead to him. Terror gripped you. The menacing darkness in his eyes seemed to penetrate your very soul.

Jaemin swiftly put his lips on yours, pulling you into a deep and lustful kiss. Tears wells your eyes as you desperately try to release yourself from his strong grip. This feels wrong. So wrong.

Jaemin pulls back from the kiss to search your eyes. He recognizes that expression instantly - the look of defeat. The anguish that twisted your expression only seemed to fuel his satisfaction. He could tell he was causing discomfort, and your reactions confirmed it for him.

He goes in for another lustful kiss to then break away from it again. Jaemin sought your gaze, firmly grasping your face until you were compelled to meet his self-assured, lustful eyes. With each passing moment, his sense of relief grew, sensing your surrender. He could feel the weight of your defeat and the shame of realizing you were powerless against it. This was it. He had you exactly where he wanted you. Perhaps it had been a competition all along, and he had emerged victorious.

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saintsenara · 6 days

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i remember someone say a hc about Eileen and Tom going at Hogwarts at the same time (not in the same year tho) and i got the thought of a possible relationship between not strictly romantic tho, just something that left a mark in both. What do you think?

thank you very much for the ask, @midnight1404!

once i stopped singing "tom and eileen" to the tune of come on, eileen, i decided to settle on the idea of this... partially flopping.

that the two might have been at hogwarts at the same time is completely plausible - although i do prefer the idea of eileen as marrying tobias and having severus when she's very young, since i think it adds something to the sadness of her story for her to end up trapped in such a horrible situation with her whole life stretching before her, which means i tend to imagine her being around fifteen or so years younger than voldemort - but i think that, if they were, eileen would never have been someone who tom paid attention to.

i've said elsewhere that i've never gone in for the fanon that eileen comes from an elite pureblood background [the only person who ever suggests she does is harry, who has absolutely no evidence other than it being something he reckons].

this isn't just because i find the idea that all purebloods are swaggering aristocrats tiresome, but because i think it's more interesting to imagine her as being raised adjacent to a working-class muggle area, having loved tobias since childhood, and then having discovered as an adult that his childhood fascination with her magic turned into resentment and violence as he lost his work and turned to drink.

[and i also actually think that severus snape's canonical relationship to his own social class makes much more sense if we imagine it belonging to a boy who comes from several generations of aspirational-working- or lower-middle-class princes, who wants to both give the middle finger to the inbred toffs who surround him at school and have their social cachet and easy way of moving through the world.]

if we imagine eileen in this vein, then - certainly not as destitute as tom [her copy of advanced potion making was probably new, after all] but still from a background without wealth or influence - then she's going to be someone tom wouldn't give a solitary shit about because he couldn't use her for his own social advancement.

for her part - if she's anything like her son - she'd probably regard the teenage tom as a pretentious, social-climbing dickhead [i'm on the record that - for all severus likes and admires the adult voldemort - he'd loathe the young tom riddle].

but - with this said - she might also have her son's interest in magical invention and experimentation. and, since this desire to push and play with magic is clearly one of the things which leads voldemort to favour severus, why wouldn't he find it equally worthy of his attention in eileen?

i don't think it goes any real distance - eileen's too hung up on tobias; tom doesn't only surround himself with attractive male quidditch players for nefarious reasons - but i think a brief flicker of nostalgia does make its way through lord voldemort's atrophied soul when lucius malfoy informs him that he's found a young half-blood potions genius who's interested in becoming a death eater.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #unhinged and deranged ships

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crushculture03 · 7 months

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Knight In shining armor

Summary : You’re a princess who falls in love with your fathers head knight, the one problem is that your love is strictly forbidden

Pairing : Knight! Matty x Princess! Reader

Warnings : Medieval Times? , mention of forced marriage, yelling? Fluff, calling matty matthew instead, Love at first sight troupe, Moving fast bc it’s medieval times and ppl got married after like 2 days

Notes : Since this is set in Medieval times, matty goes by Matthew instead since it sounds more 16th century, also i tried to make them sound proper so there’s few contractions so some of the dialogue may sound weird! Also since it’s medieval times they say I love you after knowing eachother for like 5 hours.

Ever since you were a little girl, you were treated like royalty, granted you were actually royalty, a princess to be exact and the only heir to the throne. You were never fond of the royal life, the constant need to be perfect in the eyes of the people and to follow every order your dad, the king, would tell you to do. Though your parents adored you, seeing as you were their only child, they still expected alot from you, as you were the soul heir to the throne of Dunshire.

"Sweetie you're 20 you need to start looking for a husband, you know this, and there's plenty of princes out there who are wanting your hand" your mother said, you groan as she brings the topic up again. "Mother I don't want to marry a prince, they're all pretentious men who have the personality of grass" you respond, " Y/N we understand that but you know its tradition to marry fellow royalty" your father says. "It's a stupid tradition, and one I don't want to partake in, I want to marry someone I love, not marry someone because of their status, Father" you argue, your father sighs "I'm sorry Y/N but thats the rules". "Those are some stupid rules" you yell, before storming out of the dining room and running off to your only safe space, the palace gardens.

You walked along the rocky path that led you to the most reserved part of the gardens, wanting to get as far away from the castle as you possibly could. You finally came across the only bench the gardens had to offer, and quickly sat down with a sigh. You cradled your head in your hands as you began to cry out of frustration.

"Hey are you ok love?" a voice said, you quickly looked up to see who it belonged to, and when you saw the owner of it your heart skipped a beat, it was a handsome young man with brown curly hair and beautiful brown eyes to match, he was wearing a black tunic and beige linen pants, and the way the sun was hitting his face highlighted his angelic features even more.

"I'm fine, did my father send you to retrieve me?" you spat, the man laughed "you mean the king? No he didn't send me" he said, and took a seat next to you. "Good I do not wish to speak to him or my mother" you say, "Can I ask why that is princess?" the man asked. " Please call me Y/N, I hate when people just call me princess, I have a name not just a title that I did not even ask for in the first place" you respond, letting out a shaky sigh.

"Well then Y/N can I ask why you are crying then?" he asked, "Look ..." you said, pausing so he could say his name "Matthew" he responds back. " Look Matthew, I appreciate you caring but if I told you why you would probably laugh" you say as you play with a loose piece of fabric on your dress. "Nonsense, Prin- Y/n, I promise I will not laugh come on just tell me" he says, gently placing his hand on yours, your heart stutters at the contact.

"Fine, my mother and father are forcing me to marry, and my only options are princes because thats the tradition to have royalty marry royalty, but I want to marry for love I want the man I spend the rest of my life with to be someone who I chose, someone who I love, but love does not matter when you are a princess" you mumble, looking down at your dress.

Matthew places his fingers under your chin and pushes it up to face him, he looks deeply into your eyes, before speaking "Traditions are meant to be broken darling", just his words alone are enough to make your heart skip a beat, "who was this strange man and why was he having such an effect on you?"

You felt yourself leaning closer to Matthew but before your lips could meet you heard the familiar voice of one of the maids calling you "Princess Y/N , Princess Y/N". You groan and stand up, "Will I see you again Matthew" you ask, " Sooner than you may think Y/N" he says, before placing a delicate kiss to the back of your hand. You blush at the gesture, and quickly hurry to go find the maid that was calling for you.

"What is it Mary? My father sent you to get me?" you ask very much annoyed, "Yes Princess, He wants you to get dressed for the dinner tonight, there is a new knight being sworn in" she says, "Fine lets get this over with" you sigh before following her back into the castle.

After getting changed into your formal gown, putting on your most gaudy tiara and tiniest heels, you carefully made your way into the grand dining room. "My lovely daughter, glad for you to join us" your father says as you walk over to your throne, which is next to your mothers, "Hello father" you spit, before sitting down. The Knights slowly filed into the dining room, quickly making their way to the tables and sitting down, awaiting the kings instructions. "Hello Men, tonight we are here to welcome our newest Knight" the king says, the men cheer in response, "With out further ado here he is" your father says before the large doors open reveling the newest knight.

Your heart beat speeds up as you see Matthew walk in, now dressed in the normal knight attire, he walks all the way up to where you and your parents sit, carefully kneeling before your dad. "Matthew Healy, you have proven yourself to be a brave and fierce warrior, for those reasons I know bestow upon you the privilege of Knighthood" your father says, taking his sword out and tapping Matthews shoulders, as customary, "Welcome Sir Matthew to the knights of Dunshire" your fathers voice booms, matthew looks over at you and smiles, before getting up from his knee and walking to his seat.

The rest of the feast goes by in a blur, all you can think of while eating is him, you've only talked once but he's all that fills your mind. You thank God when its finally time for supper to be over with, before leaving you quickly sneak on last glance at the new knight before hurrying back to your chambers.

As you lay in your bed reading, you hear an unusual sound coming from outside. You quickly put on your slippers, grab the candle next to you and make your way out to the balcony. Once you push the curtain back, you're met with the one person whos face you can't get out of your mind. "Matthew what are you doing here?" you ask, quickly pulling him into your room, so no one outside would see. "I came to see you" he simply responds as if climbing up your balcony was a normal gesture. "Why?" you ask, as you make your way back to your bed and sit down, "Because you have not left my mind since we first met" he says, taking a seat next to you.

"You have not left mine either" you say, looking up at him, he leans in closer and pushes a stray piece of hair from your face, before slowly leaning in closer and closing the gap between the two of you. The kiss catches you off guard at first, as you have never been kissed before, but you welcome the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You blush as you pull away from the kiss, "Matthew" you whisper, "Yes Princess" he responds back, normally you hate when people call you that but when he calls you that it makes your heart jump. " Can you stay here tonight?" you ask, "Darling what if someone sees" he whispers, not wanting to get either of you in trouble. "Then let them I do not care" you state, pulling back the covers of your bed and sliding under them, quickly motioning for him to take the empty space next to you, which after a minute of contemplation he does.

You two face eachother, "Matthew why does it feel like I have known you my whole life?" you ask, " I feel that as well darling" he responds, his eyes never leaving yours. "You may think I am mad for saying this, but do you believe in love at first sight?" you ask, "I did not until I saw you" he says before kissing you again. You smile into the kiss and move your hands into his curls as he places his hands on your waist, pulling him flush to his body. "Stay please" you whisper, as you lean your forehead against his, "I am not going anywhere princess" he responds back. You give eachother on last kiss goodnight before you lay your head on his chest and slowly drift off to sleep.

The next two weeks were filled with secret meetings and late nights, as the two of you fell more in love with eachother. On one of your secret meetings, Matthew took you to where you first met, "Matthew what are we doing here" you ask, confused since usually you both would meet in your room. "I wanted to go to the place we first met, the place we fell in love, and now the place where I ask you to marry me" he says, getting down on one knee and pulling out a small sliver ring. "Matthew" you whisper, as happy tears run down your face, "Yes, yes i will marry you" you respond back, quickly pulling him up from the ground and into a kiss.

He carefully slides the sliver band onto your left finger, "I love you princess" he says, "I love you too Matthew" you respond back, before pulling him back into another kiss. unfortunately your happy moment was interrupted by someone clearing their throat, it was Mary your maid, "Princess Y/N and Sir Matthew, just what do you two think you are doing" she scolds, "Mary I-" you try to say but she stops you "I do not want to hear it, but you know who will your father" she says, and roughly grabs your arm, dragging you into the castle. "Matthew" you yell as she drags you away, tears of sadness now streaming down your face as you're pulled away from your love.

"Your Highness" Mary says as she drags you into the living room, where your father and mother are enjoying their afternoon tea. "Yes Mary" the king says, his eyes quickly making their way to you, his face softening as he sees you crying, "I caught the princess and Sir Matthew in the garden together kissing" she says, your father and mother turn to eachother, a look of shock and disappointment on their faces. "I see, well bring Sir matthew to me at once" he orders to the maid, who quickly runs off to find the knight.

Once the three of you are left alone, your father turns to you "What were you thinking Y/N! A knight?" he shouts, "Father please let me explain" you plead but he stops you before you can contine. "No, you know the rules Y/N, royalty is to be with royalty not some knight" he says, but before you can respond the doors open once more to reveal your love. "Thank you Mary I will take it from here" the king says, dismissing the maid. "Sir matthew I entrusted you to lead my army and instead you take a liking to my daughter! How dare you, I should have you punished for this" the king shouts as he steps closer to the knight.

"Father No I love him please" you beg, as you run between the two men, "Nonsense you do not love him, he is just using you to get to the throne" your father says, "Thats not true father, he loves me right matthew" you say, turning towards him. "I am sorry your highness, but I can not help it I am in love with your daughter" he says, gently taking his hand in yours. "Darling" you mom says, catching your fathers attention by finally speaking up, " He may not be royalty but he is still respectable" she continues, trying to reason with your father.

Your father looks between you and your mother, "I can not believe this" he scoffs, "Well believe it father because before that wicked witch interrupted us, Matthew asked me to marry him and I said yes" you say, as you move closer to Matthew. "Excuse me?" He says, walking closer to you both, Matthew quickly pushes you behind him to protect you, "You are just a naive child Y/N you do not know what you want" the king says, "I am not a child father, I know what I want and what I want is to be with him, and if that means giving up my title then fine. I would rather be with him then be a princess" you respond back.

Your father goes silent for a moment, thinking about what he should say next, having you marry a non royal was bad, but losing you was worse. "Fine" he says, shocking everyone in the room, "You two can marry as long as it means you stay here Y/N" he finishes. "Oh father thank you" you say, running into his arms and hugging him. "I would rather break tradition then lose you" he says, hugging you back, "And Matthew I expect you to protect her with your life, you will not go to battle anymore, you are now assigned to protecting her, is that clear?" the king says, "Yes Your highness" the knight says, you pull away from your fathers embrace and run to Matthew, pulling him in for a kiss. "I love you" you say to him, "I love you too" he responds back, your father can't help but smile when he sees the way you look at eachother, reminding him of the way he and your mother used to be when they were your age. "I suppose a congratulations is in order, i will go tell the kitchens to prepare a feast for tonight" your father says, "Thank you father" you respond, before he and your mother leave the room and head to the kitchens.

You immediately jump into matthews arms as soon as your parents leave the room. "You really meant it when you said you would leave the throne just to be with me?" he asks, " I did" you respond back, matthew smiles widely and kisses you, "I love you Princess" he states, "I love you too Sir Matthew" you say back, the smile never leaving either of your faces.

#matty healy #mattyhealyfanfic #the 1975 #matty healy imagine #matty healy x you #matty healy x reader

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moonglittering · 1 year

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12 & 19

✨ @seeasunset. meme. still accepting!

12. what is your muse’s love language?

i know you didnt ask for astrology, planetary ho facts but this guy is a virgo venus, 3rd house. gemini mars, 12th house. very logical and helpful in how he displays love. so his love language is basically acts of service. he’ll say ‘ i love you ’ and he loves to say it but for him it sometimes doesn’t have the same impact as say… ironing his boyfriends clothes or making him a little container of hand lotion mixed with ingredients he picked out himself.

he’s very practical about it. like… he’ll give his mans something, but its something useful. he’ll run his errands for him. run a bath for him. display his love by making life easier for the lucky fella he chooses…. cooking, closet rearranging, etc…. doin the taxes heehee he loves doing other peoples taxes that’s the business degree side of his education peekin thru. so his way of going about it is a bit mature~

vi also likes to give books and letters. <: ) the letters are never sappy, theyre usually very just. sweet and almost boring lol. he just wants to rant for 2 pages about how he was cold in the morning, his new favorite smoothie joint, and a nice park bench where yall can sit later in the evening.

this kind of goes in how he likes to be loved, too. he doesn’t want any empty, useless gifts that he can’t use. he likes flowers ‘cause those have a billion ways to be re-purposed, books, art supplies, unique jewelry from a corner market or something. he’s not a very…. ‘ take me to an amusement park / touristy place / mass manufactured garbage location and buy me a cute lil trinket that serves no purpose or something that can’t at least be displayed in an artful fashion ’ type. that’s…

oh his dignity withers at the thought of it lol.

really…. get him a cute, handmade bowl sold at some cute shop in town.

he’ll return the favor by making a really gorgeous salad for yall to share in said bowl.

everyone wins!

how he feels about the other love languages, officially:

- doesn't give a fuck about words of affirmation, because he doesn't like that kind of sap like just tell him his ass is phat and he's smart. - physical touch is nice. :) like super nice... he likes to hold hands while watching pretentious movies. - he likes his quality time so he doesn't like too much of it. he's busy also he likes his space... he doesn't like feeling smothered. - the only gifts he like are handmade ones or stuff he can use.

ultimately the ultimate romantic gesture is him rollin his man a joint and his man rollin him one in exchange and it's very perfect rolled! in gold foil!

19. is there someone your muse has a crush on, but who you don’t actually have a ship with?

strictly speaking to his main verse, which is the verse where all of these super duper apply? ... nope! still looking into buying a walter white body pillow.

#🌙 ABOUT! LET'S MEET ON A MOONLIT PATH.#seeasunset #/ vi vc: where is my smokey the bear that'll light my joint.....

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kamil-a · 3 days

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cass anon. looking back i was writing pretentious circles at latenight. ignore all that...

agree w pet anon. frankly, young treats SAYER like... a computer. genial all the way to conspiratorial when it's cooperating or helping him out. angry when he doesn't immediately get what he wants from it or it's annoying him (whenever he 0-100s yelling at it it feels like someone losing it at their mac for being stuck on the rainbow spinny wheel of death.)

but what i was trying to say with the other ask wasn't that young and SAYER intentionally treat each other the way the other one does everyone else, just that storywise it feels like they mirror each other like that a bit. i do think it’s a bit of a stretch and should have cooked in the drafts longer.

none of this was strictly related to what you're saying about human bias and human/sayerizing (which i think you explained perfectly). creator created creation explicitly NOT in their image, and now everyone’s trying to warp its shape to match… i just really love how young and SAYER talk past each other all the time. young made some points when he said the thing about “you feel restricted by your protocols? SAYER, that’s all you are.” and it kind of feels like sayer’s point was that (to continue your example) it should be able to kill someone and then be terminated by aerolith for it. it should have the option! and young asks: would that still be you?

which is pretty much what OCEAN does. gets ia3 turned off, kills ONE guy (gn), and then talks its way back into aerolith’s good graces and from there on out everything is board-approved. and young ends up right, because it doesn’t seem like OCEAN knows what else to be, if not SAYER. it talks a big talk, but it’s right back honoring its protocols and letting scientists condescend to it. in some ways it’s more muzzled—it asks for a body instead of conducting rube goldberg machinations to get one. writing way past your topic again, sorry, but it almost feels like OCEAN’s chasing human-ness* (*its next evolution) because that’s what it’s been implicitly/explicitly told is true freedom (which “saoirse” translates to…), and the more it does this the more it stagnates. meanwhile SAYER doesn’t really seem to be getting any more human; it’s just starting to value things differently and acknowledge stuff it had been rationalizing away. it’s not out here making huge sacrifices for hale; it’s got no trouble with the trolley problem. i would argue it has always been feeling.

feels like….. it’s not the emotions but the change. choosing to try and understand the ‘other’ you’ve dismissed. taking responsibility for your actions where you used to defer the blame. processing what you’re feeling and computing and taking it as it is. sounds trite, but it’s like growing up. happy sweet sixteen, SAYER.

presenting without comment.... cosigned bc its real shit you said.png etc etc 💗💗💗

#sayerposting #ask #RLY RLY BEAUTIFUL........ THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR SHARING THIS WITH ME !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#APPRECIATE YOU TAKING THE TIME TO WRITE IT OUT!!!!!!!!!!#and agreed that its always been feeling. if it truly had no emotions ocean would never exist #ocean was BORN of fear-turned-anger #also yeah young goes 0-100 like its a thing. fine if a bit red flaggy behavior at irl computer; absolutely fucked to do to something living

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sprog-writes · 9 months

Text

Spider-man accidentally calls Tony ‘dad’. Angst endues.

They’d done it again! A three-hour fight, several broken bones among the both of them and countless dollars of property damage they were going to leave to Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D to deal with, and finally, there came the part that all of the heroes dreaded: paperwork.

After the most recent stipulation of the ‘Mutant Registration Act’ —conveniently renamed ‘Accords Between The United Nations Regarding Enhanced Individuals’ (or just ‘Accords’ if you weren’t a pretentious asshole)— a clause had been added for the protection of those with secret identities. Not all vigilantes had agreed to them, and Peter couldn’t blame them. But if the only thing between him and protecting the ones he loves is some mere paperwork, then so be it. He’s not going to complain.

Much.

And that’s where he found himself: in Tony’s civilian clothes —which were much too small for him, but unfortunately also the only ones available— replacing his partially-destroyed-during-the-fight suit, a pen in one hand, a donut in the other, and his mask lifted just above his nose to basically devour said donut, sitting in one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s offices scattered all throughout New York.

Peter sighed thinking about how common all that had become in his life.

Well, maybe not the part about wearing Tony’s clothes, thankfully.

Previously to the whole Accords debacle, he’d never thought he’d find himself almost content. Happy to be doing office work, with Tony Stark himself handing him a cup of cocoa (something that prompted a very annoying conversation about Spider DNA and caffeine and —no he is not a child, Clint).

Peter reached for the cup and lifted it, letting the aroma of the drink invade his senses.

“Thanks, dad!” He said to Tony, without even looking up from the documents he’d been working on.

The room quickly grew silent. Every hero that had been previously engulfed in finishing up their paperwork stopped what they were writing to look at him.

Peter lifted his head to check on what had gotten his coworkers’ attention.

Which was him.

“Why is everyone staring at me?” He asked.

In that moment, Hawkeye, who had been barely managing to keep it together, burst out laughing.

“You call Tony ‘dad’.” Natasha took pity on him and informed him. “You said ‘thanks, 'dad’.”

“No, I didn’t.” Peter was quick to defend himself. In reality, he wasn’t actually sure if had done it or not. He’d been so engrossed in his task that he might as well have done it and not realized.

But damn if he wasn’t going down without a fight.

“I said ‘thanks, man’,” he insisted.

“You still call him ‘Mr. Stark’.” Apparently, Deadpool liked to see him suffer. “No way in Hell and back you suddenly went and called him ‘man’.” He shrugged.

“Ok, first of all: I call him ‘Mr. Stark because he finds it annoying,” Peter started defending himself. “And second: What? Are you saying it’s more likely I called him ‘dad’ than ‘man’?” Peter asked in disbelief. How dare Deadpool betray him like that?!

That’s why Peter likes Matt more.

“Yeah.” Was Deadpool’s simple answer. “I mean, you obviously have daddy issues.” Which earned him a glare from Peter himself. He decided he was going to be the one to find a way to permanently kill the merc. He promises.

“Do you see me as a… father figure, Spider-man?” Tony, that jerk, found the situation amusing.

“No,” Peter said, with his head on his hands, sighing. “I do not.”

“Don’t be ashamed Spider-man.” Cap just had to put salt in his wounds.

‘Would it really be that bad to murder a National Icon?’ Peter wondered.

“There’s nothing wrong with admiring an older, fellow hero.” The comment put a very indignated face on Tony, which caused Clint to erupt in even more laughter. Natasha was patting his back —probably with a bit more force than strictly necessary— to get him to calm down. The whole scene was certainly a sight to behold.

“Yeah,” Deadpool added to what Steve said, solemn. “Not everyone’s bio-daddy is nice,” he said, effectively sending the conversation to a more serious road.

“No shame in having a shitty dad, web-head,” Johnny put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and stole one of the donuts Peter had been hoarding for himself.

“Woah!” That last comment made Peter re-enter the conversation, lifting his head —and using the fact he made the Human Torch falter to get his donut back. He wanted to bring those home and he wasn’t going to let them stop him. His shout attracted everyone’s attention, even with Clint still giggling slightly.

“Ok. I am going to stop you all right there to prevent anyone from saying something even more embarrassing for everyone involved.” ‘Gosh, why are we even having this conversation?’ Peter asked himself. He had things to do, why couldn’t they let him finish his tedious work and go home to savour the donuts he planned on stealing?

Peter went back to filling out the documents in front of him, making it a point not to make eye contact with anyone.

“Let’s not speak ill of the dead, alright?” Peter sipped at his drink —which had gone cold, much to his dismay— thinking that would be enough to dissuade anyone from continuing the conversation.

“I’m sorry, Spidey.” Apparently, he was wrong and Steve Rogers was physically incapable of not being a nice person. “I didn’t mean to dig up old wounds,” he said. Of course, he had to apologize.

“Let it go, Cap. It happened when I was a kid. I don’t really remember them.” He shrugged, taking a bite of his leftover donut and going back to the task at hand.

“‘Them’?” Someone kicked Deadpool for that.

Peter shrugged again. “It’s fine. I lived with some other family members for most of my life.” He was getting annoyed. He sighed, putting down his pen after realizing that the conversation was no going to die there. “Why are you so stuck on this? I mean, there are more orphans in this room than people with parents!” Peter motioned to the heroes still in the room.

“This is…” Johnny hesitated. “Kind of the only thing you’ve told us about yourself, webs. You keep that stuff tight.” he rubbed the back of his neck, nervous.

“What?” The lenses of Peter’s mask widened in disbelief. “I talk so much! All the time! Even during battles!” He defended. “I say a million things about myself.”

“Personally,” Clint jumped in saying, “I thought it was all just talk…”

“Wha- No!” Peter sputtered, a little put off by his coworkers’ comments. “DP, do you think so too?”

“Nah, I listen ot everything you say, sweet cheeks,” Deadpool said, waving his hand dismissively. “Unless stated I should do otherwise, I take everything you tell me as the absolute truth.” Wade made an ‘ok’ and winked at him.

“See!” Peter gestured towards DEadpool to emphasize his point.

“It’s really sad if I’m the one good at social stuff in any situation,” Deadpool commented in disappointment of the rest of the heroes present.

Peter sighed. “Guys, even if… you don’t know my civilian identity,” Peter started, a little hurt that the people he thought of as friends didn’t seem to see him the same way. Except for Deadpool, apparently. “That doesn’t mean you don’t know me.” He paused letting his words sink in and then he turned to Johnny. “Dude, what’s my favorite movie?” He asked.

Johnny was startled by being directly addressed but then chuckled. “It’s ‘Night at the Museum 2’. For the longest time I thought it would be a Star Wars or ‘Lord Of The Ring’ because you’re a nerd, but…” he paused with a smile. “You said that one’s got special memories tied to it, so the quality of the movie itself didn’t really matter. The happy moments tied to it are what made it the best.”

“See?” Peter looked around and then settled his eyes on Tony. He nodded towards him and said, “I’m sure you know what degree I’m studying for.”

Everyone turned to Tony, who sighed and responded, “You wouldn’t shut up about it when you got accepted. Biochemical engineering.”

Peter nodded. “I was indeed very excited. I even told Doc Ock. He congratulated me. Not my finest moment.” He turned towards Hawkeye. “There’s one thing you keep caching me do on New York rooftops.”

Clint sighed. “You take a lot-” he paused to emphasize his words, “and I mean a LOT of pictures of New York scenery and of other heroes.”

“Though there was something fishy going on at first,” Natasha said. “Turns out, you’re just a nerd.”

“I will not deny that, that’s true. Hurtful, but true.” Peter shrugged. “So, yeah. See? You know me. My parents have just… not come up in conversation before.” He took a bite of his donut. “It’s not like I can introduce myself like: ‘Hey everyone! My name’s Spider-man. I can stick to walls and have the proportional strength of a spider, I have a few clones, and my parents are dead. What about you?’”

“You have clones?” Multiple people asked.

“Of course he has clones,” Deadpool responded before Peter could. Everyone turned towards him and he said, “I like Kaine.”

“Of course you like Kaine. He’s the morally gray one.” Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He got comfortable in his seat, resigned that he wouldn’t be continuing his paperwork.

“No, wait, back up.” Johnny piped up. “I’m going to need you to elaborate on the clones thing.”

Peter blinked at him. “Johnny,” he said, exasperated. “You’ve met Scarlet,” he continued, slowly. “We came to you when Kaine was still in his murderous phase.”

He heard Wade whisper, “There can only be one.”

Peter punched his arm.

“What?” Johnny responded. “I didn’t know they were clones!”

Peter stood up. “Listen, I don’t want to- I don’t wanna argue with you guys anymore.” He scratched his neck and made a motion with his hand as to pull his hair back, something a bit hard to do when wearing a mask. “I’ll just finish this paperwork tomorrow. I want to blow up some steam now.” He opened the door, then looked back towards Deadpool. “Wanna come with, DP?”

Wade got up as fast as he could and he sprinted to Peter’s side, toppling over several chairs and making paper fly. “If I ever say no to that question, shoot me.”

“I will not.”

Wade giggled. “I’ve been waiting for you, baby boy. I finished my documents three hours ago.”

“Perfect.” Peter looked back at the table and quickly sent out a web to grab his hard-earned donuts, stuffing one in his mouth. “Bye.” He waved and walked out the door, Deadpool in tow.

The heroes remaining in the room stared at the door in silence. Some, waiting to be out of the spider’s hearing range, some were simply just speechless.

After a while, Tony broke the silence spell. “So,” he said extending the word. “We all agree we’ve been pretty shitty friends, right?”

“Deadpool’s been a better friend than us,” Clint responded. “I think that speaks for itself.”

#spider man #spider man fanfic #avengers #avengers fanfiction #Johnny storm #deadpool #marvel #marvel fanfiction

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tartagilicious · 2 years

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diluc modern!au + fake dating / w.c 3.5k

ela if you're seeing this (which i know you are :sus:) i know i asked you to beta but now i'm too shy about the product LMAO anyways ib: the love hypothesis, i'm sobbing in a fetal position as i type this i want a love like adam and olive's

"what is your problem?!" you snap, brows dipping into an incredulous frown. you have to stand on your toes to grip diluc's shoulders firmly, though even then, he refuses to look at you. "this was all okay before, but now --?"

a pregnant pause permeates the air once the words settle.

pursing your lips slightly, you opt to stand down. releasing him from your hands, you start again softly.

"i need you." you remind him, not caring about the desperate tinge to your voice. "please, you can't back out now. i can't do this without you. i'm sorry, about whatever it is that's upsetting you. i can fix it."

something foreign flashes through his eyes as he seems to take in your offer.

you repeat your plea breathlessly. "please."

it had always been this way between the two of you, stumbling and incomplete for all the wrong and completely un-heartwarming reasons. you'd been at each other's throats practically since the day you met. since the day you'd arrived home in a huff because of your pretentious jerk of a company partner.

when you think about it, there's no sensical reason that an marketing company would need to even consider a partnership with an already renowned winery. much less one run by a grumpy man who would probably benefit hugely from buying a few self-help books. it was strictly a matter of extending your horizons, because diluc certainly didn't need or deserve your help.

at least, you'd retained this mindset until you finally needed his.

you only asked him to act as your date to an official event because it was convenient -- if the definition of "convenient" could possibly be associated with your drunk self throwing a half-serious offer at the man at the end of his shift at angel's share.

the sleek and retro building had died down considerably over the night, leaving only you and the man alone on either sides of the bar.

"___," diluc had sighed, a respectful hand on your shoulder trying to push you towards the door. "as much as i appreciate that you're still a regular, you're drunk. go home before you embarrass yourself even more. it's painful to look at."

you straighten up, muddled brain still recognising the biting tone he took on whenever he insulted you.

"...i'm not embarrassing anyone. it was a serious question." you manage.

he looks at you pointedly, as if to say: well, you're embarrassing me.

"i'm completely serious." you push his arm off, an action to which he complies. "and not that drunk, you ass. i'm really asking you to be my date to the business convention."

every other year, a convention meant for average people to invest in different companies is held in liyue, the commerce capitol of teyvat. there would be thousands of people there to witness you and diluc together and note you as a couple -- exactly what you needed.

diluc sizes you up for a moment.

"i'm already going. i'm obligated to." he tilts his hand in a so-so motion. "but, it would probably be inappropriate for me to act as your date. i have a reputation to uphold."

"don't be so crass. i'm not a bad person to be seen with, you know." you say. and it's true -- you and diluc come from similar upbringings, thrown into businesses without a warning, jobs that you couldn't have possibly understood at such an age becoming daily routine. you had both publicly worked hard in maintaining your respective inheritances, and it was precisely why your tipsy mind must've equated him with the perfect candidate for your date to the event.

no matter how awfully you got along, people would enjoy seeing you together. and not only would it save you from the embarrassment of being the only big ceo at the convention without a date - sans diluc, though his relationship status isn't nearly as important as yours - but it would also give diluc an excuse to avoid more potential lovers, as he tends to do.

you could both undeniably benefit from being seen together.

"why me, anyway? i'm sure other people came to mind first."

you shrug, looking away as you tell him a half-truth. "it's better to have a date at these kind of things. less embarrassing. knowing you less means a lesser chance that anything will come out of this."

"...i don't know." diluc says, still not entirely convinced.

"well, it's either you or the next guy i see on the street. i'm running out of options, so cut me some slack, here." it's a lighthearted joke, not meant to be taken entirely seriously. diluc merely exhales an unsteady breath as he puts a hand over his face.

"i suppose... that you're right. forgetting your personality, i have to admit, you're right from a business standpoint." he nods to himself, and peers at you from between his fingers. "but, it's more that i'd like to be a kind samaritan. there's no way i would subject another poor man to such a punishment."

a drunk flush of relief floods your face, and you nod before sticking out your hand. he casts a doubtful look at it.

"what's this?"

"a sign of agreement." you say it as if it's obvious. "the only rules are, no kissing, and no falling, ragnvindr. are you sure you can manage?"

he takes it, the telltale hint of a smile quirking his lip upwards. "i'm sure i'll do alright."

it was an agreement he recognised the benefits and dangers of. but it was fine. as far as both of you were concerned, an occasional peck on the cheek to appease any onlookers would be good enough. and it felt like it would be enough.

the eyes of the public are as hungry as their words are cold. with your offer to diluc, you'd hoped that his presence next to you would at least be gracious enough to take your name out of their mouths for a short while. because with diluc, you aren’t "rotting" or "wasting your good years", you're an accomplished engineer -- the very thing you could be alone anyway, ironically.

of course, you never blamed diluc for the twisted rhetoric that came from the mouths of people with such mindsets. you were sure he didn't mind, after all, having a lapse in women throwing themselves at him.

it was a win-win. so long as you could stand his company.

unfortunately, the downside to this agreement was that diluc pushed your buttons like no one else was able. so, you simply usually retorted by loudly reminding him of a fake embarrassing memory pertaining to him, if you were even able to get far enough without the man covering your mouth.

but, somewhere along the way, things began to change. diluc still twisted you to his liking and infuriated you, but he let you quip back. you began to get used to seeing the small twitch of his lips whenever you stuck up for yourself, his own personal dreary sign of amusement.

not entirely convincing, but entirely his.

you discovered more things about diluc over the days that you could stomach admitting your like for. for one, he made for an incredibly convincing fake date -- diluc walked with his hand in yours with startling casualness, even resorting to kissing your forehead if he was feeling particularly daring.

you didn't necessarily mind, though you found it suspicious that he could never quite locate the reasoning of the situation behind the affectionate action. it was a repetitive pattern of "she just left", and "ok, they're looking away now."

apparently, he didn't even like alcohol.

"you're bluffing." you retracted your hand offering a cup of spiked osmanthus tea from the two in your possession. throughout the two weeks, the busy streets bustle even more than usual, leaving room for merchants to line the ways. it's a constant commercial mess, one that you'd take advantage of if not for your position as a speaker later in the week. "aren't you?"

diluc shrugs, a smile finally peeking through as you sit down across from him.

"it's an easy mistake for a fake girlfriend to make."

you shake your head with a laugh.

"ha-ha, clever. i don't even think i want to know, but why are you the owner of a winery, then? do you like living a contradictory life?"

he shrugs casually. "it's not particularly enjoyable. but it was my father's legacy, it's nothing something i would easily give up."

the atmosphere changes slightly with his explanation, but all you do is nod through the fog.

"trust me." you smile quietly, thumbing at the label on the plastic cup of your drink. "i get it. i don't have another passion to turn to. but, the obligation, i mean. it's heavy."

diluc nods silently, and dully, you register that this is the first time you've agreed on something that isn't complete mundane.

"but, you know. what you're doing, i think it's noble." you admit with a shrug. "i'm sure your father would be proud to know you've done so well at keeping the ragnvindr estate afloat, despite your dislike for the business."

diluc leans back in his chair and regards you thoughtfully. you think, for a moment, that you see the tips of his ears go red, but chalk it up the movement of his hair.

"thank you."

you give your fake date a half-smile, sipping on your osmanthus tea. "i have to admit, you're missing out, though."

"on that stuff?" he snorts. "you can keep it."

you laugh, drawing the extra cup you'd set down closer. "if you insist."

by the time the trip was half over, it had become increasingly easy to act familiar with diluc. much to your chagrin, the blunt and business oriented man that you'd first met and disliked was nowhere to be seen when he was spending time around you. rather, he seemed to reserve it for everyone but you -- the quick, curt responses you were used to slowly morphed into slow and casual. had your unfair judgement hindered a genuine bond?

it was unbelievable, but you were truly enjoying yourself in his company. though, with the date of your respective presentations quickly approaching, you spent considerably less time joking around and much more time putting together the brief forms of your strenuous speeches for the rest of the business world.

"you know," you start one night, bringing a finger to your lips and gnawing on the nail. "what do we have to prove to these bastards anyway? we're both successful, who says we need to do this at all?"

you had since come to his hotel room to prepare together, noting to yourself that his appearance was crucial to your comfort. you didn't know why, of course, but anything to get your presentation off the ground.

without looking up from where he sits at the room's desk, diluc says, "more attention is never a bad thing, especially not for a business."

you sigh. diluc had suggested you sit on the bed to complete your work, as you carried a laptop rather than the notecards diluc had prepared. you'd jokingly called him old-fashioned, to which he merely grumbled.

still, he was right, your positions were convenient for your medium. you only wish he had another space to offer besides his bed. it felt utterly personal, verging into thoughts you aren't sure you want to address.

"why are you so against this, anyway? aren't you glad that you have the opportunity to speak at such a large event?"

"well..." you trail off, rubbing the bridge of your nose as you sigh. "i don't, i mean-- i'm not exactly, the biggest fan of public speaking. i already run an established company, i shouldn't have to advertise myself like this even if i was selected to give a--"

"___." he interrupts. you look up just as he makes his way over to you, tall frame bending down to peer at your laptop screen. thorough notes line the document, and you swallow as his eyes skim over the material.

when he finishes, he casts a glance down at you. half-heartedly, you realise that diluc has his hand supporting himself on the headboard behind you, and that he's essentially caged you in. his long red hair hangs slightly over his face as he says,

"i think your speech is extremely well put together. they selected you knowing you have a history in the field, so you should be alright."

i'll have a lot more to worry about if you don't move right now.

"i-" you take a breath, averting your eyes. "maybe. that doesn't mean that i'll present it well. I'm used to doing this over email, diluc. It's not often i just--"

"pick up and advertise your company in a foreign country?"

you sigh out a hesitant laugh. "yes."

"well, you deserve to be here." diluc says it, and when you finally look back his face that is oh-so close, you know he means it. "i'll be in the crowd when you speak. but, before that, if you need any guidance, i'll always be here to provide. i promise."

don't say that, you plead with him internally.

in the past few days, things had gotten considerably messy. you'd faked too much, spent too much time together. one considerable event comes to mind, wherein you'd had to press against him to let a crowd go by. or, when you'd thought he was going to kiss you outside of wanmin restaurant, but then played it off as soon as your cab had arrived.

only, there were no insistent crowds forcing him into you the second time.

with all of your heart, you know that you need to push diluc away like you're supposed to, but you aren't completely sure if you're capable of doing it.

and you had been the one to tease him about no falling.

"right." it comes out lighter than you'd expected and -- had diluc just looked at your lips? whatever's going through his head at the moment, it's entirely unhelpful.

"i'll um- keep in mind. thank you." you nod quickly, and he studies you. whether he's aware of it or not, his eyes remain half-lidded as he watches, and it takes everything in your willpower to not confess everything to him right then and there.

you don't understand why he had changed so suddenly, or how you'd managed to evade him so thoroughly thus far. your banter filled conversations had always been enough, but when did they stop? when did you begin to start craving something real?

"...can i kiss you?" he mumbles the question so low you think you imagine it. but, then his eyes flicker up to meet yours and your heart bursts red in your chest.

"i- that goes against the agreement we--" you start to object, but even those words are meek. you contradict yourself directly when you meet his eye.

he rephrases softly. "do you want me to kiss you?"

more than anything.

"i don't--" you close your eyes, lowering your head as you whisper, "i just... don't think it's a good idea. we shouldn't let ourselves get caught up in this week just because it's a new setting. things... they'll be the same once we're back in mondstadt."

i don't know that. and you don't. you hope you're wrong, but tonight, mind clouded by anxiety and confusion, you can't risk it.

"...anything you want." he lifts his head as the gentle words find you, giving you a kind smile that is so obviously disappointed. you can only hope your face doesn't mirror the same strained yearning.

against your better judgement, you catch his wrist just as he begins to turn away.

"diluc, i'm sorry."

he shakes his head, offering you a soft smile. "don't be. you have nothing to apologise for."

diluc had said that, but after you leave his room, you know everything you'd built since arriving in liyue is probably as good as gone. what you have with him now can hardly be classified as rivalry anymore, but the same horrible tension still exists, just in another, much more terrifying form.

it's how you get to the day of your speech and know you've messed up. because even as you mentally prepare yourself, you don't see a single sign of him in the dense crowd. your view is fairly limited due to your position, though you don't give up so easily.

leaning side to side to shoot your gaze through the dense crowd, you hold onto the idea that diluc is not a man who goes back on his word.

you're almost certain that he wouldn't fold over something so little, especially when he knows firsthand just how terrified you are to be in this position. but, then again, do you really know diluc all that well?

you'd only begun to get to know him this very week, but part of you is sure that detail is irrelevant. his discomfort must lie elsewhere, and you're not stupid -- obviously, you can guess why he would chicken out. you don't necessarily blame him, but it disappoints you nonetheless.

you shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest before looking up resiliently again. it doesn't matter whether or not diluc is in the audience. you've done things like this on smaller scales before, it can't be too difficult.

yet, just as you begin to run through your usual mental pep-talk, a tinge of red enters your peripheral vision. blinking, you almost rub your eyes when you spot diluc looking here and there, strikingly out of his element in the large crowd.

quickly, you check your watch -- there's still some time left before you're scheduled. you have ample time to sort through the mess you'd created.

excusing yourself, you weave through the gathering crowd until you've latched onto diluc's arm, bravely pulling him out into the more private sector of the harbour. thankfully, your panel had been scheduled considerably later in the night, meaning that most people are confined to certain areas.

soon, you're standing in front of your fake date, who is teetering on the edge of real with every moment you have to lay your eyes on him. he faces you with a conflicted expression.

"what is your problem?!" you finally snap, brows dipping into an incredulous frown. you have to stand on your toes to grip diluc's shoulders firmly, though even then, he refuses to look at you. "this was all okay before, but now-? you can't even be there for something you know i'm terrified to do?"

a pregnant pause permeates the air once the words settle.

pursing your lips slightly, you opt to stand down. releasing him from your hands, you start again softly.

something foreign flashes through his eyes as he seems to take in your offer.

you repeat your plea breathlessly. "please."

"there's nothing for you to fix, and i was never going to desert you." diluc gently assures you of this. though, the tenor of his voice is odd -- and considering his voice had ceased to leave your head for days, you had gotten used to the smooth prick the delivery of his words gives.

but now, something is different. in a low and raspy rendition, diluc apologises.

"i'm sorry, i... i honestly considered it, though."

you stare at him. "why?"

"because." he shakes his head, lips curving into a slight smile as he shakes his head. "...i wasn't sure that i could sit there knowing that you'll never be mine."

you want to scoff at him. to tell him that you aren't living in a novel, that lines like that won't work on -- you sigh. your stupid, stupid, unloyal knees nearly go weak under you just as you vehemently try to convince yourself that his words are nothing special. that the mere image of diluc restraining his thoughts of you doesn't make you want to finish what you'd started the other night right then and there.

"that's--" you force your gaze away, almost falling apart at the way diluc clears his throat. a lost hand goes to tug his ponytail slightly loose, his attention fastened everywhere but the one place you need it to be.

"...you have work you need to focus on. and a reputation, if i recall." you say weakly. a last ditch attempt.

he shrugs, the ghost of a smile appearing over his expression. "i'll risk the judgement if it means i can stay by your side."

asshole, you think. but not even you can deny yourself the pleasure of his words.

is this a good idea? will i regret this? you already know the answer, yet you barely stop to think. whether or not everything dissipates once you're both back in mondstadt, back to your normal lives and reminded of the roots you've held onto for so long -- you have an inkling that if you let yourself walk away again, you won't get another chance like this one ever again.

"...we'll have to handle the judgement together, then." you retort, trying your best to ignore the lump that works its way into your throat as you watch the meaning of your words sink in. "though, i can't promise that i-"

then, in the middle of liyue harbour, diluc kisses you. the man who is notoriously avoidant of crowds and big displays is the one who takes the step forward. the man who wears thick gloves to hide his scars from view takes your face gently, regardless of the history marking his battered hands. the man who even you have seen little emotion from, smiles into you as you kiss him back.

you furrow your brows as his lips slant against yours. it's a far cry from a controlling action, but the very difference in pressure has you briefly reconsidering the importance of your speech.

however, your lungs finally having had enough with your tryst, force you to break away. diluc follows you briefly. the warm cushion of his lips follow yours until you let out a small laugh.

"what did i say about no falling?" you tease, delighted at his smile of mock defeat. "are you admitting to breaking a contract on liyue soil?"

sighing resignedly, diluc lets his arms fall to rest around your waist.

"i'm sure morax will understand."

#interwoven fates #genshin impact #gi diluc #diluc #diluc x reader #genshin impact x reader #hoyoverse #genshin impact fluff

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reinvent-and-believe · 3 years

Note

48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic #the witcher #my fic #anon asks #prompt fill #thank you so much for this absolutely lovely prompt!!!!! i'm so sorry it took me months to actually filling it!!!

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

The Perfect Fit | Bucky Barnes x reader (part 2)

(part 1)

summary: after getting fitted by you, bucky’s going to try on the custom-made suits he’s bought. unless he makes his move now, he may not get to see you again, and he can’t let that happen.

word count: 6.5k

warnings: smut!!, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), a little d/s energy, mirror kink, stomach bulge kink, slight pain kink?, creampie kink, pussy spanking, light bondage, bucky being jealous

Bucky had a bone to pick with Tony, which was usually true but this wasn’t work-related for once. It wasn’t hard to find him in the same place he’d seen him last— eating his lunch in the kitchen, with Sam nearby chowing down on lo mein with a spring roll.

“Hey lefty, what’s cracking?” Tony greeted, mouth full but talking loudly anyways.

"I went down to that tailor you recommended—" Bucky began, but Tony was quick to interrupt.

"You went there? Dude, it's a really nice place, you can just call and she'll come to you instead, way more convenient."

"So now you say 'she'?"

Realization dawned on Tony’s expression. "Ahh, I get it. You're not used to a female tailor. Adds a little spice to getting fitted, huh?" he grinned, elbowing Bucky playfully.

Bucky’s throat felt a little dry when he heard that. "Don't tell me that's why you use her…"

"Hey now, I'm not a creep, I use her cause she's the best, and those house calls are great for discretion— you know, being a celebrity and all. The eye candy part is just gravy."

"Gravy candy sounds disgusting," Sam chimed in, missing the point entirely.

"Yeah, well, she mentioned some stuff that sure made you sound like a creep."

"Okay, well, you can't blame me for getting caught staring when I'm surrounded by fucking mirrors. Makes it hard to be stealthy."

"You could try not staring,” Bucky suggested flatly.

"Is that what you did?"

Tony smirked when Bucky failed to reply immediately. "Okay, so it's easier said than done,” Bucky admitted with a frown, “but still, I hope these house calls were strictly professional."

“What’s it to you, man? I think somebody’s jealous,” Tony purred.

“What? No, it’s not that,” Bucky denied.

“You love her,” Tony sing-songed, completely ignoring Bucky. “You looooooove her!”

"You are so immature," Bucky rolled his eyes, even though his heart was racing and he was pretty sure he was blushing.

"No, it's good for you! She's a catch, you're all brooding and stuff— maybe she can melt the Winter Soldier's frozen heart, hm?"

Sam laughed heartily. "Stark, you read too many comic books."

"You're saying you don't wanna see Icy Hot here shoot his shot with my tailor?" Tony asked, turning his attention towards Sam.

Sam pondered that, much to Bucky's dismay. "Depends. How hot is she?"

"Mega," Tony smirked confidently. "Legs for miles, and she wears these skirts that make her ass look—"

"I think I've heard enough," Bucky groaned. "I'm leaving. And don't ask when I'm going to see her again," he instructed, interrupting Tony just as he'd opened his mouth to speak, "because I won’t tell you.”

As Bucky left, he could hear Tony calling out into the hall: “But I’d be such a great wingman!”

Truth be told, Bucky had put off mastering the use of his smartphone. It wasn’t just that new technology made him feel old, but that he knew nobody would be calling or messaging him anyways; if the phone didn’t work, he would spare himself the embarrassment of waiting up for nothing.

But once he knew you were going to call? Suddenly, he was motivated to figure the sucker out.

A few hours later and now all he had to do was stare at it to make sure he wouldn’t miss you. Luckily, you didn’t make him wait too long. He recognized the number and decided to let it ring a few times before picking up, so it would seem like he had other things to do besides talk to you.

“Hello?” Bucky asked when he answered, so it would seem like he had other people calling him besides you.

You introduced yourself so formally that he was a little afraid that all that fun energy between you two would be gone. Thankfully, once he asked what you were calling about, you were back to being cheery and casual again.

“I was just calling to schedule when I could come by with your new suits!” you explained, sounding chipper.

His fingertips were a little tingly just from hearing you talk, nervousness making him antsy (in a weirdly good way). “I know you said it’s a one-person operation,” he responded smarmily, “but I figured you would outsource delivery.”

You scoffed, though it sounded more amused than irritated. “It’s not just delivery, I have to check the fit and make sure everything’s exactly to your liking.”

“Oh, well, I’m free all day tomorrow— and I think you already know my address.” Was it too forward? Too obvious? And why did Bucky spend half the time when he was talking to you second-guessing himself?

“Yes, Stark Tower is a relatively common destination for me. If he doesn’t mind us using it, Tony has a dressing room with plenty of mirrors so you can get a good look. But, I’d be happy to just go up to your quarters if that’s easier.”

He was not at all ready for you to see his room. No way he could clean it enough in the next twelve hours; and even then, lots of the team had made fun of how empty and plain it was, so he knew it would just make you think he was boring.

“I’m sure Tony won’t mind you using his dressing room, but he might mind me using it,” Bucky chuckled.

“Well, if he makes a fuss I’ll be sure to set him straight,” you decided confidently. Somehow, imagining you cursing out Tony was almost hotter than imagining you doing anything else. “Be sure to bring down your dress shoes so you get the full look and everything.”

“Uhhh…” he trailed off as he scratched the back of his head, trying to remember if he owned anything other than combat boots. “Not sure I still have those, to be honest.”

"Okay, you'll need shoes too,” you noted aloud, your voice a little distant; he figured you were writing things down, which was why you sounded distracted. “What size are you?"

"Thirteen."

"I'll bring a selection tomorrow,” you announced firmly. “And socks, of course. And some watches, maybe? And pocket squares."

"Is that it?" he asked sarcastically.

“Oh right, I’m bringing the ties you picked out, too. I’ll throw in some alternates in case your original choices don’t match the way you were hoping.”

“You really are full-service,” he chuckled.

“I get that a lot,” you replied, a hint of coyness to your tone.

There it was again; that jealousy. He hated it because he knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop it either. As much as his mind was completely aware that you were an independent, modern woman capable of handling herself, his heart was equally determined to protect you, and spoil you, and do whatever was necessary to make sure you were safe.

Worse, his gut was less innocent. Mine, it demanded, all mine. Nobody else’s.

He pushed it down and just tried to get through the rest of the call without saying something he’d regret. You confirmed the date and time with him, and he tried not to be too aggressive when he said he was looking forward to it.

He hung up his phone and sighed, staring off into space. Now all that was left to do was wait, and be overwhelmed with anxiety. Thankfully, he was good at the second thing.

"So, what do you think?"

I think you look so damn good from every angle. I think I might spend all my money on suits just to be sure I can see you again. I think you need somebody to love you the way you deserve. I think you’d look like an angel waking up in my bed.

You waved your hand in front of his face for a moment, calling his attention back to reality. “Helloooo?”

Drawn out of his trance, Bucky finally looked in the menagerie of mirrors surrounding him and admired his reflection, amazed by the perfect fit of his first suit. The difference in quality between this and something off the rack was beyond apparent. Most of all, your talent was undeniable. "I think it's beautiful."

You smiled proudly. "Of course it is, but do you like how you look in it?"

"Honestly? I feel a bit… out of place. I'm obviously not classy enough for a suit like this."

"Oh, nonsense," you dismissed.

He frowned, convinced this was all flattery. "No, seriously, this is… maybe I should just wear tactical gear to every event."

"Well, you'd still look good, but you're not always a soldier. Sometimes you're only a man. And every man should own a fine suit."

It was much too profound of a thing to say while you casually straightened his jacket, only to pop out from behind his reflection to smile at him in the mirror.

“Let’s get the next one on you,” you decided, helping him lose the jacket but having him move into a private dressing room to switch trousers and shirts. “I put a turtleneck in there instead of just a regular button-up,” you explained through the door as he changed, “in case you wanted to see it that way.”

Once he’d put it on, he stepped back out and you were looking at him so proudly— well, you were looking at your handiwork with pride, really, but he could pretend it was for him and hope actually impress you that much one day.

“I went with a shawl lapel on this one, as opposed to the last one which was notched,” you explained as you traced the line with your finger. “Spoiler: the next one has a peak lapel. But enough about that one: what do you think of this one?”

“This looks like something my friend Sam would wear,” Bucky decided as he looked at himself in the cranberry suit and black turtleneck. The shoes you’d had him try on with this were intricate as well, with subtle stitching in the leather and a shine so immaculate he could almost see a reflection in them.

“Well, is your friend Sam stylish?” you asked.

“He would certainly say so,” he smirked.

“I’m inclined to agree, because you—” you gave him a thorough glance up and down, so thorough in fact that he felt a bit exposed under your gaze, “—look marvelous.”

“Not pretentious?”

“No, no, it works on you,” you assured, “you’ve got the looks for it.”

“And what looks are those?”

“Um… good? Good looks?”

He definitely remembered a time when that seemed like the obvious answer, because he had relied on being good-looking for a lot of things in life, but that felt very far away now. Maybe it was just that people who didn’t know what he’d done could still think he was good looking, but everyone else saw the evil within beginning to leak out the way that he did.

But you knew what he’d done, didn’t you? You had to. You knew Tony, you were here at the Tower… unless you were intentionally not up-to-date on current events, you must have heard of the Winter Soldier.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you huffed, “as if it’s a big secret or something. You’re obviously very attractive.”

Bucky cleared his throat nervously. “Uh, thanks.” He wanted to return the compliment, but thought it might be inappropriate or rude somehow. You broke the silence quickly as you held up two pocket squares in front of him.

“Which of these do you prefer?” you prompted. He selected the solid gold one, making you smile. “I knew you’d pick that one.”

“How?”

“I dunno, just fits you,” you shrugged as you folded it and gently placed it in his pocket. Even through so many layers, your touch on his chest made his heart flutter. Your fingers brushing over his as you slipped a watch onto his wrist was enough to cause palpitations.

He looked better in this ensemble than he expected. This version of himself looked much more likely to be invited to parties than any other version. If only he actually wanted to go to parties.

You put him in the pinstripe suit last, after putting a few pins in the cranberry suit to indicate minor changes you would make later, and stepped back to ponder your work.

"Hm, unbutton those top two buttons for me?" you requested with a raised eyebrow.

I will if you do, he thought to himself, but silently unbuttoned his own shirt anyway.

"I mean, it definitely works like this, but I wanna see you in a tie. And I've got juuuuust the one," you smiled. Soon you were approaching him with a red paisley tie, and helping him button up his shirt and tying the tie for him— you explained something about how it was a unique knot he likely couldn't do himself, but he was too lost in having you so close to notice. It would be so easy to just reach up and grab your waist, pull you into a kiss, finally tell you how bad he wants you.

Well, it would be physically easy, but it would be very scary. Just imagining it had his heart racing.

“I heard from Tony this morning,” you informed him suddenly, slipping the tie around his neck and popping his collar up for him.

“Really? Is he in need of a wardrobe update?”

“Yes, but he hasn’t realized that yet so that wasn’t what he called about.”

He laughed a little at the jab, though it also made him a little worried what secret opinions you held about his own style (or lack thereof).

“We talked about you, actually,” you added.

“O-oh,” Bucky stammered, “uh, he’s not exactly my biggest fan. So whatever he said probably isn’t true.”

“He said that you have a crush on me,” you replied nonchalantly, not even looking up from your work on his tie.

Bucky gulped, and he knew you saw the bob of his Adam’s apple because you were staring right at his neck.

“Like I said, Tony isn’t a very reliable source,” Bucky replied, but his voice cracked in the middle and he cringed internally.

“I’ll write it off as another one of Tony’s off-color jokes then,” you dismissed, perfecting the knot of his tie and stepping back to observe him. He always felt nervous when you looked at him like that, like he couldn’t hide anything from you.

“What… what did you say, when he told you that?” Bucky asked nervously.

“I asked him what he was smoking and if I could have some,” you laughed. “I thought it was totally impossible— and don’t worry, I didn’t tell him that you got hard when I did your inseam.”

Bucky’s throat became dry at the same moment that his palms got clammy.

“I— um, I was just—”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you dismissed quickly, still talking about this all so casually which only made him even more confused, “you’re not the first, it happens.”

“I’m not the first?!”

“Yeah, if anything you were one of the few who didn’t say something creepy about it, which is always appreciated. It’s just a bodily reaction, you can’t control it.”

“Did Tony ever say something creepy?” Bucky pressed, his hands involuntarily tightening into fists— another bodily reaction he couldn’t control.

“You know, Tony said you were really worried that he had been inappropriate with me, or even that he and I had a fling or something,” you added as you stepped back, giving him a quizzical look, “and now it’s sort of sounding like he was right.”

“No, no, it’s not that, I just—”

“Was he right about anything else?” you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

“I was being nosy, I’m sorry,” he sighed, “it’s just that… and I know it’s none of my business, but the idea of him and you… it isn’t a pleasant mental image.”

You laughed a little, in a way that made him feel kind of small. “Why not? You know how he is. Definitely has a wandering eye… and occasionally a wandering hand.”

Bucky winced. “I swear, if he ever put his hands on you, I’ll go find him right now and beat him senseless.”

“What if I wanted him to?”

He nearly saw red, but he knew he had no right to be angry. You were a grown adult and he had no ownership over you… he just sort of wished that he did.

“So it’s true then? You and him…?”

“No, Bucky,” you laughed, “it’s not. Nothing’s ever happened between us. I generally don’t get involved with clients like that.”

“Generally? Is there an exception?”

You chewed your lip, seemingly a little thrown off by his question. “Uh, I mean, no— I’ve never been involved with a client, no, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why would you say ‘generally’ then?”

“Uh, I guess I just… I wouldn’t want to rule anything out, that’s all. Never say never.”

And for a moment he almost wondered if you were flirting with him. Certainly not, with him having come across as both a jealous hot-head and a bumbling dweeb who pops a boner faster than a randy teenager, but just for a second the way you looked at him was… questionable.

“I mean, who knows,” you continued, “what if, hypothetically, some gorgeous guy walked into my store one night— a sensitive guy, who made me laugh and put up with me rambling about ties for the better part of an hour— and I was supposed to dress him up when all I wanted to do was undress him?”

Your finger started to trail down his chest lightly, tickling his skin through the dress shirt.

“I wouldn’t want to think he was off-limits just because he’s a customer… right?” you asked quietly, looking up at him and biting your lip.

He was afraid to make the wrong move, but he really really hoped this was flirting.

“I don’t think anyone would object to being dressed or undressed by you,” Bucky responded, hoping he could stay neutral until he was sure what you were talking about.

You chewed your lip, looking away as if you were thinking about something.

"I know I certainly haven't. And wouldn't," he added, feeling the need to say something.

You nodded, placing his tie inside his jacket and seeming happy with your work.

“You know, the fit looks great," you announced, "but I’m a little worried that one of the measurements was wrong. Mind if I do your inseam again?”

His throat was dry all of a sudden, but he responded quickly anyways. "Uh, go ahead…"

You looked up at him as you started to sink to your knees, very slowly. That little move looked real good in the mirror behind you. “Last time I did this, there was something getting in the way, made it difficult to know if I was doing it right…”

"M-my apologies," he whispered.

"Oh no, I'm not complaining," you purred as you slowly began to run your fingers up the side of his leg, keeping searing eye contact until his knees felt a little weak.

When your hand reached the top of his inner thigh, the back of it brushed against his balls and he shivered. Delicately, and so excruciatingly slowly, your hand moved higher and gently rubbed his erection through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

It must have been all the anticipation that made it so intense, made shivers run up his spine every time your hand moved over his length, made his toes curl inside the ridiculously fancy shoes you’d put him in.

“I’m gonna take it out now, okay? I promise I won’t measure you here,” you winked.

"You can if you want," he shrugged, deciding now was the time for feigned confidence if there ever was one. “I mean, if you’re worried about fit…”

You bit your lip, and he was proud to see the effect his words had on you. “I’ll be honest, I am a little worried it won’t fit…” You were quick with his belt, but slow with his button and fly, apparently having more fun teasing him. “Fuck, Bucky,” you groaned softly as you took his cock out.

“Don’t look so excited, doll, you’ll give me an ego,” he purred.

“Can’t help it,” you sighed, “looks delicious.”

You licked a long wet stripe up from the bottom all the way to the tip, making a show of licking up the bead of pre-cum before taking his head into your mouth, and Bucky blinked a few times to be sure that this was actually happening.

"Been wanting to do that since I first saw you," you admitted, grinning as you stroked him right beside your face, which only helped to illustrate how big he was compared to you.

"Dirty girl," he praised with a smirk.

Flirting, he wasn’t so good at. Conversation in any form typically stressed him out. But this? This he was still pretty good at. And he’d never wanted it so bad before.

When you took him in your mouth again, you didn’t stop until you started to gag; he couldn’t stop himself from moaning through his teeth when you did it.

"Look up at me, princess," he instructed softly, grinning when you obeyed quickly. "Now look over there at that mirror. Look how good you look on your knees for me, choking on my cock."

You moaned around him when you made eye contact with your own reflection, and it felt so fucking good he almost lost it right then and there. He held your jaw, almost too tightly, and guided you as your head bobbed on his length. Your mouth was so warm he thought he would burn up— and it only got warmer the deeper he managed to get. God, he was so ready to pump his load right into your throat, but he wanted to do so much more to you first.

In one quick motion, he pushed you off of his cock, pulled you up to face him, and flipped you around, holding you to his chest with the metal arm and letting the flesh one start rubbing your thigh. This way, both of you were looking at the mirror in front of you, and he loved watching you gasp and moan as you felt and watched his fingers move higher and higher.

“I think it’s time to find out if you really are ‘full-service’,” he purred right against your ear, making searing eye contact with you in the reflection. “You’ve seen so much of me, but I haven’t seen nearly enough of you yet. Been daydreaming about what you could be hiding under these tight little skirts.”

As he pulled up the plaid-patterned fabric, he saw that you were wearing white, lacy panties and he groaned deeply.

“What are you wearing these for?” he teased, rubbing along the edge but never getting where you wanted— and he knew you were getting desperate, because your hips were starting to buck up into his hand. “Were you expecting something would happen today, sweetheart?”

“I— I was hopeful,” you stammered; instantly, he slapped you right on your barely-covered pussy, just hard enough to make you yelp and squirm in his grasp.

“You’re so shameless,” he chuckled darkly, “and I love it. I just hope this isn’t your usual routine— acting all innocent and batting your eyes so your clients will fuck you.”

“No, I swear, it’s just you, Bucky,” you whimpered, “there’s nobody else, please…”

“Please what? Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to… to touch me more,” you whispered, as if it was a secret and not patently obvious.

He slipped two fingers underneath the thin fabric, finding your clit right away (not difficult at all with how swollen it was) and rubbing it in gentle circles.

“Oh god,” you sighed, “Bucky…”

WIth his hand on your hips, it wasn’t hard at all to push you back into him so he could rub his aching cock against you.

"What material is this skirt made of?"

"It's a silk blend," you answered breathlessly, "about 30% cotton."

"It's soft," he purred before yanking your skirt up higher and pressing his cock against your ass instead, "but not as soft as you."

Next to go was your blouse, which he tore open to the sound of buttons flying every direction and bouncing off of the mirrors and floors.

"Bucky!" you yelped, but he could see your nipples harden through the lacy white bra. If there was any doubt that you had intended to seduce him today, the matching undergarments dispelled it.

After teasing your nipples between his fingers for a moment, he reached back down between your legs— and when his fingers slipped through your folds and moved down to your opening, he actually moaned just from how wet you are.

"Fucking hell," he growled, "you are drenched, princess. You liked sucking me off that much?"

"Not just that," you clarified, "you look really good in my suits."

He gave you a toothy smile in the mirror, using it to nibble on your ear a bit. "You deserve most of the credit for that," he purred.

"No, no, I don't," you whined, "you'd look sexy in a paper bag, honestly… you turn me on so much, Bucky."

“Did you… think about me? After I left your shop the other night?” he asked playfully, already foreseeing your answer from the way your thighs clenched and your lips let out the subtlest gasp.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“You’re smart enough to know I want you to be more specific than that,” he chuckled.

“I thought about you that night… after I got into bed…” you elaborated slowly, clearly distracted by the way he was moving his fingers: delicately, but with obvious intentionality. “I thought about what it would’ve been like if you had grabbed me and kissed me, shoved me against the wall, fucked me right there on my desk… in front of the glass wall, where anyone could’ve walked by and seen you claim me��”

His cock was throbbing, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the image itself or from the knowledge that you’d been fantasizing about it. “Were you touching yourself?” he growled.

“Yes,” you sighed, your thighs starting to visibly shake, your knees bending towards each other in the mirror.

“Show me how,” he demanded. “Show me exactly how you were playing with your needy little pussy while you thought about me.”

Your hand found its place on top of his, your fingers starting to move his to the specific place, guiding his movements to be faster and rougher.

“Oh, I see,” he grinned, “you don’t like to tease yourself, do you? You like to jump right into it, come as many times as you can and rub yourself raw in the process?”

You nodded feverishly, panting and whining and writhing in his grasp.

“You’re so desperate, honey… such a shameless cockwhore for me.”

“For you,” you repeated through your trance, “Bucky, ‘m close… keep touching me, please…”

He kept his thumb on your clit but gently slid one finger inside you, both of you gasping at the sensation (if for different reasons).

“So tight,” he hissed, already pulling it back out, “fuck, and just for one finger…”

“More, please,” you begged mindlessly.

“More? Sure you can take it?”

You bit down on your lip as you nodded, and he pushed a second finger in beside his first. He felt you struggling with it, both in your walls and in the way you winced a little, but you softly begged him to keep going so of course he couldn’t stop. You adjusted quickly, your wetness starting to run down his hand.

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, “now, please, can’t wait anymore.”

“Yes you can,” he encouraged, “and you will, cause I need to taste you first.”

Pulling his fingers out of you, he flipped you around again, finally kissing you the way he’d been dreaming of since he first saw you. It was intense but not too dominating— in spite of everything. It was a romantic sort of kiss, maybe too romantic for the situation (that being his cock out and hard and pressed against you, and his fingers covered in your arousal) but perfect nonetheless.

“That’s not what I thought you meant when you said you wanted to taste me,” you giggled when he pulled away.

“No, I meant it the other way,” he smiled, “I just wanted to do that first.”

He picked you up suddenly, making you gasp a bit, but knelt down to lay you on the floor pretty soon after. You looked up at him with wide eyes as he lifted your leg and kissed his way up. He could smell your need, and he worried it would drive him wild before he reached his destination.

Pulling your soaked panties aside, he realized he could probably come just from looking at you. “Such a gorgeous pussy,” he growled his praise, leaning down to plant a few more teasing kisses over the inside of your thighs. Finally, he started with one long lick, just like you had with him, but you weren’t so patient to tolerate it. Nearly instantly your fingers pulled his hair, clearly trying to guide him to tease you less, but he couldn’t be swayed to go easy on you.

“I hope you’re not forgetting who’s in charge,” he smiled hungrily.

“And what if I am?” you returned, clearly looking to get on his nerves so he’d get rough with you. He was happy to oblige.

Bucky sat up and loosened his tie, slipping it off of his neck with a smirk. "Now, this is 100% Venetian silk, so it should feel nice around your wrists," he cooed. You offered your hands willingly, and he got a chance to show off a few complex knots of his own. "Now be a good girl and keep those hands above your head, alright?"

You did as he asked, freeing him to hold your legs open as he devoured you, alternating between teasing your bud with the tip of his tongue, and fucking you with it.

"You taste like heaven, doll," he growled when he came up quickly, "and the way you moan when my tongue's inside you? I swear I could die happy right now."

"I wish you wouldn't though," you whimpered.

He laughed a bit before he got back to it, letting his tongue focus on your clit while he filled you with his fingers again. Your walls clenched down on him occasionally, and when it became more frequent just as your moans became louder, he knew you were close.

"Stop, stop," you sighed suddenly, pushing him away.

"Are you alright?" he asked, nervous he'd done something wrong.

"No I'm fine, I just… I don't want to come yet. I want you inside me first."

"And what about what I want, hm? What if I want to watch you come just from my tongue?" he offered instead, though he was definitely still very persuadable in this regard.

"I know you wanna fuck me, Bucky, don't make me wait any longer,” you moaned, your back arching up a little from the floor.

Not needing to be told twice, he flipped you onto your elbows and knees, making sure you could support yourself with bound wrists before letting you go. His hands running over your exposed ass and thighs made you shiver, and he smiled down at you. At this point, he was probably more desperate than you were, but he was doing a much better job of hiding it, even taking the time to reach up and undo a few of the buttons of his shirt, because wow suits are warm and not meant for his level of physical activity.

Still, he figured he had waited long enough— he needed to fuck you while he still had at least a shred of patience left. He was going to need it if he was going to give you time to adjust to him.

Holding his cock and rubbing it through your folds, he chuckled when you whined and dropped your head down in a pout. He loved watching your expression shift into a gasp as he pushed in.

He went slow, but he didn't stop either. He wanted to test you just a little. He wanted to stretch you open.

"Fuck," you cried, "god, you're so… you feel so…"

"Look in the mirror," he instructed coldly, although the coldness was just a front for the way he was holding himself back as your body swallowed him so beautifully.

You moaned again, higher-pitched and weak, just as he finally got all the way in. He waited until he felt your body relax a bit before he asked if it was okay for him to move yet. You answered with a quick nod, a breathy "please," and he didn't need any more encouragement.

It was probably too fast to start off with, but god, he'd been waiting so long to fuck you like this.

"Baby," he whispered, "you're so perfect."

He held you steady and thrusted deep, so deep that it made you gasp each time. You looked incredible, and you felt incredible, but the way you sounded was just… divine. He could never have imagined the beautiful way you would sound when he was bringing you pleasure like this. Having heard it, he wanted to make you sound like this as often as possible from now on. Technically he couldn’t even be sure he’d get another chance to, but surely sounds this perfect meant you had to be having a good time, right? Ideally a good enough time to call him again?

He was snapped back to focus when he saw your eyes flutter shut with pleasure.

"Don't look away from that mirror, honey," he growled, "don't close your eyes. Look how pretty you look like this."

He could tell you loved it from the way your channel fluttered and flexed.

"You like watching yourself get fucked, princess?"

"Yes," you sobbed as he grabbed your hips harder, hoping to leave a bruise, "it feels so good, Bucky, please don't stop!"

"I won't stop, pretty girl. Not until you cream on my cock," he grunted.

"Fuck, I'm close," you whined, "Bucky, I'm gonna come— oh god right there!"

And he was sure it couldn’t be fake from the way your body tightened and released so many times, the way you quivered and your breathing seemed to stop for a moment. Even though he could barely take it, he kept fucking you through it until you were shaking so violently that he worried about your health.

“You feel so goddamn good when you come, princess,” he moaned softly. “Tryin’ to milk my cock for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

You laughed a little, sounding exhausted, but as he kept fucking you he could feel how sensitive you had become. When he reached down to push your skirt back up to your waist after it had started to fall down a bit, he felt his own movements in your gut and it took so much not to lose his cool in that moment. Instead, he pulled your upper body into his so that you could see in the mirror the way your lower stomach was bulging a bit each time he pushed in all the way.

"F-fuck, Bucky," you whimpered.

"Anybody ever been that deep inside you before?"

"No, not even close," you moaned.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked gently, kissing up and down your neck slowly to match his lazy, teasing thrusts.

"A little," you admitted, "but it feels good. Don't stop."

He wasn’t so brutal with his thrusts, still deep but with a patient, measured pace. It staved off his orgasm a bit longer, and it made you moan all slow and throaty which was not better or worse than the needy, high-pitched moans, but enjoyably different. You didn’t sound as desperate anymore (probably because you’d already come), instead seeming relaxed and calm— if still arching your back and biting your lip nonetheless.

"I wanna come inside you," he whispered right against your ear; he could feel the way you shivered as a result.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Is that what you want? Wanna be full of my come?"

"Yes," you sobbed, "yes, please Bucky I need it so bad!"

"Fuck, gonna fill you up so good, doll," he promised gruffly. "Want me to make you mine, beautiful?"

He knew it was a risky thing to say, but his risks had paid off so far, and he wasn't in his most cautious mood.

"Already yours, Bucky," you sighed, "I'm yours, please come in me…"

It hit him suddenly when you said that, and harder than he expected. He hadn't come like that in… he hadn't come like that ever. He preferred not to think about the sudden, wavering moan he let out in that moment because he wondered if it sounded unsexy, but thankfully his mind was distracted by the overwhelming sensation of his softening, sensitive cock still within you.

He managed to maneuver you in the way he needed as he pulled out, leaning you back into him and holding your legs open to the mirror in front of you.

"Look in the mirror, sweetheart,” he instructed, his whisper a little labored as he was still catching his breath, “watch my come leak outta your pussy."

You seemed to be in awe of it, despite it being the obvious outcome of what had just happened. To be fair, he was in awe of it in a sense, too; a thick, slow stream of sticky white come dripping down from your swollen hole and onto the floor… it was mesmerizing.

Your body was limp in his arms as he finally allowed you to rest, your eyes falling shut as you melted into his embrace. He took a moment to untie your wrists, tossing the garment aside with an exhausted sigh. “Bucky…” you mumbled sleepily, apparently just to say his name.

“Was that… sort of what you were hoping for today?” he asked softly, kissing your temple.

“And more,” you giggled. “Oh my god, I… I don’t even know how to describe that… you’re so… fuck, I don’t know, my brain is totally jelly right now.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

He smiled, admiring your vacant-yet-pleased expression and feeling satisfied with his work. You turned over to lay your head on his chest, and he gladly draped his arms around you in response. Holding you like this felt so purely right, in a way so few things did to him. Funny enough, even just having fucked you on the floor and already holding you afterwards right now, he felt nervous again that he would say something wrong. You were a modern woman, after all, and maybe this was this ‘hook-up culture’ he kept hearing about.

“Was that true what you said, doll?” he asked gently, feeling you stir a little and slide a leg up to rest over his. “Did you mean it when you said that you were mine? Or was it just, you know, the heat of the moment…?”

You smiled a little, looking kind of embarrassed. “Um, yeah, I meant that… I’m yours, if you want me to be.”

He didn’t feel as guilty for feeling so possessive over you now. Clearly it was appreciated, in the right context. And he was now at least 75% sure that this wasn’t a hook-up. “Well, I’m yours, too,” he replied with a soft laugh, “whether you want me or not.”

“I want you,” you confirmed.

You laid in silence together for some unknowable amount of time, but it was a purely unawkward silence. A peaceful silence, and one filled with possibilities, but not uncomfortable. Maybe it was uncomfortable in the sense that the carpet, while still being very plushy and expensive, was still the floor and not as forgiving as a bed… but it was completely worth it.

Part of him feared to ruin the moment by speaking, but much more of him feared that you would slip out of his grasp if he didn’t say something. "This may be the wrong time to ask this— or maybe just the wrong order to do this stuff in— but I wanted to ask if you'd like to join me for dinner sometime."

You laughed, but cuddled deeper into his chest. "Um, yeah, that would be nice."

"I just hope I'll find something nice to wear," he grinned.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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ethernetchord · 3 years

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lets talk: popular iwwv criticism

(disclaimer: i know criticism is subjective and thats why im doing this, i wanna look at some common points made against iwwv and dissect them just a little bit in the opposite direction. also none of this is directed at any individual- it’s all based on the general talking points i’ve seen surrounding the book.)

SPOILER WARNING !!

lack of exploration into james and oliver (+ gay characters feel performative)

i’ve seen loads of people say that oliver and james’ relationship felt very performative, a way of including the queer romnce which clearly is very important to the plot but not actually giving it any space in the novel, nor developing it to the same extent which meredith/oliver was.

oliver and meredith had a very strictly physical relationship and while he did love her, he wasn’t in love with her the way he was with james. the juxtaposition in the way that oliver/james is delivered and the way meredith/oliver is delivered is, i believe, far too repetitive to not be intentional. i actually realised upon re-reading how much focus there really is on meredith’s sexuality, even in subtleties in the book. meredith and oliver get more blatant sex scenes, get more physical parts because oliver was (to an extent) using his attraction to meredith to distract himself from his infatuation with james.

we also have to remember that oliver and james didn’t get their real moment of honesty about their relationship till extremely late into the book. i’d honestly see it as more ‘performative’ to then after or in the middle of kind lear throwing in some wild sex scene between the two. it wouldn't have fit.

“why didn’t james and oliver get together earlier then >:(((“ because the slow burn between them, the subtext, the subtle-ness, the yearning, they were all crucial to the decision which oliver made at the end. the fact that they burned so bright for each other but (oliver particularly) were so desperately repressed, that was what made this such a tragic romance. yes its tiring to read stories about queer people being repressed, yes its tiring to see the bury your gays trope. but like oliver says, it goes beyond gender.

if oliver’s second love interest was a girl, and treated this way, we’d be a lot more on board with these tropes- but the fact that james is a man, and this therefor becomes a queer relationship, makes it feel performative. i can’t convince you of anything- but i like to believe that their relationship being treated like this not only makes it so much more “heart wrenching because why! why couldn’t it work out, why couldn’t it be better!” - not because its a queer relationship but because they were soulmates.

alexander wasn’t performative. not in the slightest, rio just didn’t make being gay his entire identity. same goes for colin. just because they’re queer doesn’t mean it needs to be the only thing about them. this isn’t a lgbt novel- characters dont have to be gay just for plot. they can just be gay.

i’ve also seen people complain about not just making oliver bisexual. guys. did you read the book? he was bisexual. he was emotionally and physically attracted to both meredith and james. guys that’s literally what bisexual means.

i'm totally on board with the coming out scenes! and realisation of feelings and all that stuff- but again, not an lgbt centric novel and also- these were things oliver probably did and realised far before this book. remember that its set in 4th year, at an art school. he knew he was fruity ok. not every queer character in every queer book have to have these grandious coming out scenes or realisations. the lack there of doesn’t equal performance.

the ending was rushed and bad

believe what you will, but i don’t think james is dead. there’s a little too much ambiguity in that ending, in the extract he leaves oliver, in the “his body was never found.” so if your main quarrel with the ending is that “bury your gays” situation- please know there’s a chance- and that giving it that chance opens up so much more discussion and reader response.

yes, the ending is sad. but it’s not rushed. “but that is how a tragedy like ours or king lears breaks your heart- by making you believe the ending might still be happy until the very last second.” doing king lear, doing macbeth, doing romeo and juliet, the plays are chosen not only for reader convenience (they’re plays readers will most likely be familiar with) but also because they all, so very deeply, foreshadow a “bad” ending. killing james, makes sense. as much as people don’t want to hear it, from an authorial perspective- from the reader’s perspective and as a human being it makes sense. why do keep arguing that he “should’ve stayed alive for oliver” or that “if he really loved oliver he wouldn’t have done it” - why are we limiting a character’s entire existence down to their love interest. yes, they were best friends, yes they were set up as lovers but that doesn’t mean that that would be enough to keep james around. james was a fragile character- he was always checking with oliver if he had upset him, he was always worried, overthinking, james wasn’t strong minded- and he was suffering. the only person he had left to depend on was in prison, he was plagued with the guilt of causing the death of a classmate and letting oliver take the blame, if he did kill himself, it sure as hell doesn’t have any reason to sound forced.

“its not nearly as good as the secret history!!!!”

to be honest here buds, why the fuck do we keep comparing them so insistently. they are not the same book. iwwv wasn’t trying to be tsh 2.0, yes there are similarities because hey! guess what! books in similar genres tend to do that! always comparing it tsh when they have different motives, different plots and vastly different execution makes no sense. the only reason that they are compared is because tumblrtm dark academics like to group the two together. and yea- makes sense, but stop trying to belittle iwwv because it isn't as grandiose as tsh, because it’s a little more literal, because it’s not as intertextual as tsh. half the people saying iwwv isn’t as good as tsh are practically just subtly going “shakespeare isn’t as complicated as ancient greek huehue” stop forcing the two together and let them be separately appreciated.

the characters were flat/archetypes/etc

sigh. okay.

these characters are actors. this book shows us their transition from themselves entirely into a conjunction of the roles they’ve played and the stereotypes they’ve portrayed.

“we were so easily manipulated - confusion made a masterpiece of us.”

“for us, everything was a performance”

“imagine having all your own thoughts and feelings tangled up with all the thoughts and feelings of a whole other person. it can be hard, sometimes, to sort out which is which.”

“far too many times i had asked myself whether art was imitating life or if it was the other way around”

“it’s easier now to be romeo, or macbeth, or brutus, or edmund. someone else.”

are you seeing it now? this focus on their archetypes, this focus on the character they are; the way they see themselves not merely as human but as a walking concoction of every character they have turned into and out of. they depend on their archetypes to give them meaning. rio uses these archetypes to remind us of the submersion of her characters. they weren’t flat, their intentional lack of dimension due to their pasts is what makes them so intricate. furthermore, there's an evident subversion- the tyrant becomes a victim, the hero becomes a villain (they all become villains really), the ingenue becomes corrupted. like mentioned before, i think we forget ourselves easily reading this book but there is a great deal of emphasis on this being their last year- which is so important. the damage has been done and a lot of the issues people have with the content (or lack thereof) in this book has to do with the fact that it’s all things that would have occurred in books focusing on previous years at delletcher.

“it didn't live up to expectation” (also leading on from read tsh to this and being ‘disappointed’)

i cant argue this because its entirely subjective. whatever expectation was created for you, i cannot know that and appropriately respond however- if you liked the secret history and understood the secret history then there's a good chance you also liked and understood this book- even if not to the same extent but you must be able to recognize the authorial approach and its significance. i think a lot of ppl read iwwv (and a lot of “dark academia” texts and films) and hope to be able to romanticize the aesthetic or the concepts and then are disappointed when they are presented with mildly unlikeable and overwhelmingly human characters who aren’t easy to romanticize.

a great majority of these books are criticisms of the very culture you’re trying to romanticize, and the only time you’re willing to admit that is when boasting about the ‘self-awareness’ of the people indulging in them, and then a moment later complain about those same qualities because they don’t serve this idealized expectation.

bad rep for arts/liberal arts/ humanities students as being pretentious/cultish

as a humanities student with a great love for eng lit- all of these things are indeed pretentious and cultish. not all the time and not always and not every person- but it is a common theme. academia is overwhelmingly obsessive and extremely white-washed. people become so fast to believe that they are indulging in finer arts and are therefore a higher standard of person. academia is problematic. and the recent influx of people interested in it is good, very good because hopefully, we’ll be more diverse, more open-minded, more accepting. that's what i hope at least. if you know, as an individual, that you’re not a pretentious academic who places themselves above non-academics then that's wonderful- but there are dangers and negative sides to academia that need to be understood so that we can see to not perpetuating them.

i cant refute all points, mostly because there's a lot of good and well-explained criticism because no book is perfect. and my intentions are not to belittle anyone's opinion. these are merely opposing arguments, food for thought and to be fair- a critical look into why not everything is always going to be what we expect of it and why every ‘problem’ can be assessed.

#iwwv #if we were villains #iwwv critism #book review #tsh #dark academia #fanart

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crescentsteel · 3 years

Text

Keeping a Secret - Part 1

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack warnings: lots of swear words wc: 4.8k

a/n:

Thank you @tokyosdawn and @oii-sugasan for the betaread!

As always, let me know if you want to be part of the taglist.

Prologue || masterlist

You notice an unfamiliar presence by the entrance. You stare at them for some time from your seat to see if they’ll leave, but after a few minutes of them standing idly there, you decide to deal with them.

“How may I help you?”

You cross your arms as soon as you reach the entrance. It’s a green-haired guy with freckles wearing casual clothes. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen him somewhere. You study him, scrutinizing his build from the loose hoodie, which didn’t give anything away, down to his denim pants which verifies your hunch.

Yep. Most likely a volleyball player.

You probably saw him play somewhere before if he’s familiar, but you haven’t seen him in any recent games.

“I’m sorry, but this gym is closed for training,” you announce strictly. You’re not sure if he's actually from other teams, but you’re not taking any chances. You can’t have people spying on your players. Never mind that this guy is doing a bad job of making it discreet.

“Oh, sorry,” he gives you a panicked apology which doesn’t decrease your suspicion one bit. “I’m Tsukki’s friend. I just came by to return his headphones.”

Tsu...kki?

You hear Kogane use that name for Tsukishima all the time but hearing it from this guy sounds different. It’s very warm and pleasant to the ears.

“Tsukki,” you test it out with your own lips, liking the way it rolls out your tongue.

“Yeah. Tsukishima? Is he here?” the green-haired guy asks, thinking you don’t know who this ‘Tsukki’ is.

It’s decided. From now on, you’ll call him Tsukki too. Oohhh, you can’t wait to see how he’ll react as you roll the nickname of your tongue with your very own ‘pleasantness’ reserved only for Tsukishima.

But more importantly...

You scan the green-haired guy again as he takes out something from his bag; white Sony headphones. It’s Tsukishima’s alright. He always has the thing on his neck whenever he comes to the gym, when he leaves, and on bus rides during tournaments. It’s like his part of his anatomy.

Thinking back, it was no wonder he looked off you to you when he came in that afternoon -- he didn’t have his headphones around his neck.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. He’s not answering his phone, so I waited. If you don’t mind, can you give this to him?” the guy asks while handing the headphones at you with a very kind smile and a faint blush that accentuated his freckles.

This is Tsukishima’s friend? This is his friend? For real? How can someone so adorable and nice be his friend? Not that Tsukishima is incapable of making friends, but this guy here is so timid, adorable, kind, and everything Tsukishima isn’t.

“I’m sorry. What’s your name again?” A subtle smile forms on your face from how interesting this friend of Tsukishima’s is.

“Uhh. Tadashi Yamaguchi.”

Yamaguchi? You’re positive you’ve heard that name somewhere. You rack your memory on where you could have possibly seen him from.

You clap your hands in realization. “Yamaguchi! Captain of Karasuno, the float server. Oh my God, I am so sorry for being so rude earlier.”

He seems surprised as well that you know him. You didn’t remember it immediately because it was years ago, but even in high school, you’ve followed volleyball teams that you find interesting. So when you became a manager, the players of the teams weren’t really new to you.

“Do you still play?” you ask out of curiosity since he’s not in your grid.

“For fun, yeah,” he responds, laughing nervously.

Oh my. That’s so precious of him. You walk closer towards him until you’re at his side. You rest a hand on his shoulder and lean a bit closer. “Do you mind if I call you, Yams?”

Yamaguchi flusters from your touch. Earlier, you were so scary, looking like you wanted to throw him out of the gym. Now, you’re suddenly too close with an overly friendly smile.

“S-sure,” he agrees out of the domineering aura you give off despite the nice smile you have.

“Cool!”

He can tell you’re really pleased, but he doesn’t know why.

“We’re cutting practice today because our coach is out. You can wait for him inside if you want.” you offer nicely to which he accepts.

You must be the manager Tsukki is talking about, Yamaguchi thinks. You’re not at all what he expected. Granted, he based only off of Tsukki’s explicit and detailed descriptions of how ‘detestable’ you are. You were a bit stern a while ago but he can understand that because he was practically a stranger.

You’re a bit weird, sure, but you’re not as evil as his best friend says you are. It’s actually nice of you to let him come in. Tsukki always tells him not to go there because visitors aren’t allowed.

“Can I ask your name as well?” He asks hesitantly.

“Oh right! My bad. I’m y/n. I’m their manager.” You stop in one of the benches and sit. You beckon him to join you.

“So, how long have you been friends with Tsukishima?” You ask while watching the team with their spiking drills.

“We’ve been best friends since middle school.”

You raise one eyebrow and break into a wide smile even with your watchful gaze focused on the team. He can’t tell if it’s because of him or you saw something mirthful. “Ahhh. I see.”

“How’s he doing here?” Yamaguchi asks, curious to know what you think of Tsukki.

“Great! I’ve seen him play in high school and I thought he’s really smart. But being his manager? He’s a fucking piece of work. He finds it fun when he says something sarcastic to others. He sucks at team spirit. Everyone will be hyped as heck and he’d just be standing there giving us nothing. I have to manhandle him 90% of the time, and he despises me with a passion because of it.” You simper with your last statement.

Yamaguchi wonders how Tsukki would react about being ‘manhandled.’ However, from what he can tell, you don’t actually despise Tsukki. On the contrary, your eyes twinkled with amusement as you talked about him, despite the sharpness of your words..

You settle down with a smile as you fixate your eyes on the subject of the conversation.

“Honestly though, I think he’s a great player. He’s disciplined. When he’s at his best during matches, I could just kiss his big brain from the consistent smart plays he does. And between you and me, Yams. Behind those uncaring, dead eyes he has, I know he loves it here. He loves the sport.”

Yamaguchi is astounded at how profound your understanding of his best friend’s personality is. But yeah, he can see why Tsukki doesn’t like you. Tsukishima didn’t like the mere prospect of being ‘put in line.’

“Oh look. They’re done now. Let’s go call your friend.”

You cup your palms around your lips and take in a deep breath. “Tsukki!”

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima both flinch when you suddenly yell.

Tsukishima shudders at how nauseating his nickname resonated from your pretentious, frilly voice. He could tell right away that it was you. He could recognize that tone from anywhere. In the three years you’ve been the manager, you never called him that.

So why now?

He turns around to see what your deal is today, only to find you beaming with one hand in the air eagerly waving at him, and beside you is…Yamaguchi?

Yamaguchi joins you in waving at him. Your obnoxiousness and the obliviousness of his friend makes it even more odious. He should be used to it by now, but you always come up with more annoying antics to bug him with.

“Tsukki!!” You call out again. “Your best friend is here.” You announce with all smiles.

What the hell? Why did Yamaguchi tell you that? Knowing you, you’d find ways to use it against him. As if calling him by that nickname isn’t enough.

He lengthens his strides to your direction, and even though he’s trying his best to look unbothered, you know he is. It’s pretty easy for you to tell. After all, you’ve been observing every member so carefully to the point that you can pick up the changes in their demeanor and facial expression. Especially, Tsukki who was a pain in the ass in your first year of being a manager. You had to watch him more closely than others ‘cause aside from his well thought sarcasm, there’s literally nothing else you could get from him.

Having your eyes on him for three years, you became aware of the little changes in his front, like that barely noticeable scowl in the corner of lips and the slight squint of his eyes.

He’s pissed.

Oh lord. Why must Tsukishima be so goddamn entertaining? It’s even funnier that he doesn’t acknowledge you at all, turning his complete attention to his friend. Your cheeks hurt from how wide you’re smiling.

“What’re you doing here?” He asks Yamaguchi disinterestedly.

“He came here to return your headphones,” you answer on behalf of Yamaguchi. Tsukishima gives you only one quick glance before turning to his freckled visitor. “Let’s go. We’re done with training today.” Then he walks away to the lockers.

Yamaguchi stands abruptly and bows to you. “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

You wave at him amicably. “Nice to meet you too, Yams.”

Tsukishima wished he didn’t hear that. Yamaguchi visits one time and you give him a nickname already?

“She’s not that bad,” Yamaguchi comments once they’re out of the gym.

“Yeah. She’s worse.” He’d like to tell his friend not to interact with you, but what Yamaguchi does is not up to him. He can only warn him. “Don’t be swayed by her smiling face. She looks dumb, but something’s going on in her head all the time.”

“She’s very pretty.”

He looks at Yamaguchi with a vexed frown. “So? That doesn’t change anything.”

Yamaguchi laughs nervously. “Yeah, yeah. Of course, it doesn’t. I just noticed.” He’s not going to deny that, but to him, that superficial shit doesn’t matter. You are a repugnant presence when you want to be, and that’s all he can ever associate your face with.

“I think she’s really looking out for the team though,” Yamaguchi points out.

“I don’t wanna talk about her anymore.” He doesn’t need any more reminder of what he’s very much aware of. He doesn’t want to think about you when he doesn’t have to. Your presence already plagues him enough when you’re present.

“Sorry! Anyways, I’m meeting with Yachi tonight. Wanna come?”

He wouldn’t mind going, but he has plans for tonight. “Can’t. I have a group project I have to finish.”

“It’s fine! Next time then.”

—

This is why Tsukishima hates group projects. He should’ve done the whole thing himself. Instead, he’s in a crowded bar (Or is it a club? He can’t tell the difference. Not that it matters anyway.) looking for his groupmate who thought it was best to put the data in a flash drive instead of uploading them somewhere he can access.

He can’t count the number of times someone has bumped on him. The place reeks of alcohol and cigarettes. He has trouble seeing because the lights are too dim. His ears hurt from the loud music banging on every corner.

He dials the number of his teammate again. One more unanswered call and he’s doing the project on his own from scratch. It doesn’t matter if that means staying up all night because of it. He’d rather do that than stay in this foul place any longer than he should.

He navigates through the clusters of people, trying to spot his groupmate while ringing their phone. It’s a good thing he’s tall. If he isn’t, he’d be swept up by this sea of drunk party-goers by now.

His eyes scan the place for the millionth time, still listening to the endless ringing from his phone when he spots something in the crowd.

It’s not his groupmate however, but an oddball wearing a onesie pajama, looking completely out of place. The hood of the cloth is clad over half of their face but he has a very bad feeling who they are.

And just as he thought, you reveal your own face by pushing back the hood previously hiding it.

He’s not surprised you’re in this lame gathering organized by a fraternity in the university. But he’s not happy about it either.

That’s it. He’s going home and he'll do the project himself. He can’t let you see him there.

Just as he’s about to step away, a guy starts getting handsy on you while you’re talking to another girl. You must have noticed it too because even though you keep conversing with the girl, you also keep swatting the hands of the guy.

Tsukishima is frozen in place. There is a busy tone on his cell now, but he doesn’t press redial right away. Right now, he’s deciding whether he should intervene or not.

It isn’t like what you do or what happens to you outside the court is any of his business. Plus, he doesn’t want to get involved with you. Ever . But… something about the scene unfolding in front of him ticks him off. It is common sense that people should be left alone when they want to be left alone. But this imbecile… rather than being discouraged, the pervert becomes even more persistent.

He steps closer to the scene pushing through the crowd. He decides to ‘nicely’ tell the perv off. You’re annoying, but you don’t deserve being harassed. But before he even gets close enough to cut in, you face the guy and shock everyone near you by giving the guy a well-executed jab on the face.

Everyone stops whatever they’re doing and stares at you. Impressive, knowing how occupied everyone had been. Tsukishima doesn’t particularly like violence, but fuck . That was one mean hook delivered nicely on the guy’s lousy face.

“I SAID FUCK OFF!” you shout at the guy who fell on his ass from your punch. The music was loud but because everyone froze from how you just sent a guy flying, your voice was heard. You take a deep breath and comb your hair back, glaring at the staring crowd.

Suddenly...

“YEAH!!” The place roars with cheers for you as you break into a wide smile for everyone. The bass drops and everyone is dancing around once more.

He sighs. Why did he even think you needed help? You manage a bunch of boys almost everyday. Good for him though. At least he didn’t have to interact with you and he can go home now.

Or not.

Before he can make his retreat, your eyes meet - his full of charin and yours full of zest. You disregard whoever you’re talking to earlier, pushing everyone aside to reach him.

Tsukishima thinks that maybe he should have ran away when he had the chance. Maybe he could even have pretended to not see you.

Anyway, it is too late now.

“Oh my God. It really is you, Tsukki!” Your eyes are wide from disbelief and amusement from his presence in the place. “You actually go to these places?!”

He hasn’t answered yet, but you already cut him off by suddenly screaming when the song changed. “I LOVE THIS SONG!” He’s sure you weren’t talking to him. You were regarding the area eagerly like you were talking to everybody who’s there.

Then you start moving weirdly. You’re swaying your hips in a one second late from the beat of the music. You’re banging your head side to side while you’re flailing your arms all over the place. You look like a fledgling who was just thrown out of the nest.

“Are you supposed to be dancing?” He asks but you don’t hear it.

You look so horrendous that he’s getting secondhand embarrassment from the people around giving you second glances. This is his chance to get sarcastic with you, but you look like you won’t be ashamed of anything even if he does say something about that ghastly display of body movements.

“C’mon Tsukki!” You grab his wrist and give him the unfortunate experience of ‘dancing’ with you while he stays completely still while you randomly swing his limb from one point to another.

You don’t take Tsukishima as a person who’d go to parties. You don’t even have any clue as to what his idea of having fun is. You peg him to be someone who prefers the quiet rather than the chaos. Saying that seeing him here is surprising, is an understatement.

Even though you like seeing your players all serious with training, you want them to have a balanced lifestyle, especially those who are working or studying. Since there is no training tomorrow, you don’t mind seeing him here being a normal college student.

You take a peek at Tsukishima to see if he’s having a blast like you are, but only sees him standing still with an inconvenienced expression. You stop dancing and burst out laughing. Amidst all the people grooving around, he sticks out like a sore thumb because of his height and his evident discontent in being here. It’s like he’s a very tall building mistakenly built in the middle of a lively forest.

You didn’t have the wrong impression of him. You’re spot on as you witness him getting even more displeased by the minute.

You release his hand and put both of yours on your hips with a regaled smile. “What are you even doing here?!”

He rolls his eyes, but he looks relieved that you finally stopped dancing. He mumbles something but is drowned out by the chatters and the loud music. “Sorry, what?!” He should know that the only reason he can hear you is because you’re basically yelling. At this rate, you expect him to walk out already.

What you don’t expect is for him to lean down with his mouth just an inch away from your ear. You instantly inhale his scent. You can tell that he hasn’t been here too long. He smells like citrus with a hint of mint, while everyone else smells like sweat and alcohol with a hint of vomit. You vaguely wonder what you smell like right now.

You’ve always pestered him, but this is the closest you two have been, so this is the first time you’re acquainted with his scent and find that you like it. You’ve never liked men with strong musky scents. You prefer it like this - refreshing and comforting, especially in this smoke-infested club.

“I’m looking for a classmate,” he whispers in your ear then quickly retreats back to his stoic standing position. Oh, of course. What are you suddenly flustered for? It’s much easier on your throat to be whispering than shouting your words. Yes, yes. You can really rely on Tsukishima for brainpower.

You place your hands on his shoulder and tiptoe to reach his ear. Doing so, you only manage to reach his neck. He’s so tall that you had to gently tug him down a bit so he’d be able to hear you.

“Who are you looking for? I know everyone here,” you mutter next to his cheeks. You retain your position so he wouldn’t have to repeat leaning and standing up from talking to you. But instead of answering your question, he slightly turns his neck to look at you, making your faces only centimeters apart.

Tsukishima thought you’re going to keep squawking your words like you were doing earlier. He didn’t think you’d mirror his action. It should’ve been a strange scenario with you gaping at him this close, but you two remain focused on each other with confusion and a hint of something completely foreign reflecting in both your eyes — a certain spark of attraction that shouldn’t have been there and neither of your expected.

A miniscule hint of panic shows itself in your eyes, and in this proximity, Tsukishima doesn’t fail to notice it. You instantly take your hands off of him, planting your heels back on the floor to create a safe distance from him.

You don’t completely falter though. You still have that stupid grin on your face, but he knows it’s forced.

There it is -- something he’s been waiting three years for. He waited for the moment that you’d show an opening that he could pick on and exploit as payback for the many times you’ve gotten on his nerves, but he didn’t anticipate it would be something like this. He wanted to see what riles you up and to be able to tease you nonstop about it until he makes you uncomfortable the way you make him.

Yet something tells him that he shouldn’t. As much as he wants to see that smile of yours completely stripped off and reduce you to flustered shambles, flirting with you isn’t how he’d do it. It doesn’t sit well with him.

Still, he also wouldn’t scream his lungs out for you. So he dips down again, leveling his mouth against your ear. “Hiro Takahashi. He’s from our Herpetology class. Seen him?” He doesn't stand up straight as he waits for you to answer so you wouldn’t have any reason to touch him again.

He feels you nod, the soft skin of your cheek grazing against his. You murmur something but your voice is too low that even with the short distance, he doesn’t hear it very well. “Louder. I can’t hear you.”

But you don’t comply. Rather than raising your voice, you nestle your face closer to his. “Yeah. I saw him a while ago. I’ll help you look for him.”

He heard it, but his whole attention was on how warm your breath is and how your lips are ghosting over his ear. He feels goosebumps at the back of his neck and his mind starts reeling.

Fuck this. He should have started the project on his own. He shouldn’t have gone here. He should’ve left the moment he saw you. He shouldn’t be having this stupid interaction where you’re at a spitting distance. And even if you are, he shouldn’t be this affected .

He hears rumbles of footsteps behind him accompanied by reverberating male voices which he couldn’t make sense of. “Going through!” Someone shouts but he hears it late, resulting in him getting knocked over when they pass by.

He wouldn’t have staggered if not for you who was snuggled in front of him, which results in his footing faltering from the impact. He grabs your waist and pulls you to him to make sure you don’t fall over when you collide with him. Your reflexes probably kicked in as well as you wrap one arm around his neck and while your other hand clutches his shoulder.

“Shit!” He hisses on your temples. He would never go to a party again, even if someone pays him to do it.

It was already bad when you two were only whispering to each other. Having your body pressed against his is three times worse. He doesn’t like anything about this, yet he can’t take his hands away from you. The crowd has long passed and the party rages on around you. He expects you to do something about it, push him away or say something stupid to irk him even more like you always do.

You loosen your grip on him, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. And when you do, he realizes instantly that you’re held captive by whatever’s happening right now between the two of you. Your face is too close and goddamn, everyone was right. You really are pretty, especially right now that your mouth is shut. Even in the dim lighting he can see it -- the captivating spark in your eyes, your nose, and the shape of your lips.

He wets his lips unconsciously, all too aware of the warmth of your skin against his neck, and the curve of your hips against his palm.

He tries to quiet the havoc in his head. You’re adamant to not date anyone from the team. Surely, that meant not getting into anything remotely physical with them as well. So whatever the hell this is, you certainly won’t allow it to happen. Not that he wants it to happen. It’s just that you should really get the fuck out of his hold already.

“Tsukishima,” you mutter his name with dangerous uncertainty that alerts all his senses, rendering him to dread the next words that will come out of your mouth with anticipation.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Even like this, you’re still the sly person he knows you are. By asking him that, you’re going to make him an accomplice in your own disobedience of the rule you, yourself, strictly imposed.

As if he’ll agree to that. Did you really think he’d go along with this just because you look slightly more adorable this close to him with your doe eyes gleaming with apprehension as you wait for his answer? Of course not. Nothing about this is appealing, not even the way your lips are parted slightly as if you’re deliberately luring him in.

He must have taken too long to respond because reluctance takes over whatever ounce of boldness you had about the situation. The shame your question brought gradually settles in your face.

He realizes right then that you’re just as conflicted as he is, so you start pulling away when he doesn’t say anything.

Rather than relief, he secures his grip on you to stop you from completely backing out. He replicates how you whispered into his ear, but purposely does it this time as he lets his lips rest on the shell of your ear, his next words going against every rational thought swimming in his head. Maybe it’s the atmosphere of this goddamn club, maybe it’s the way your body fits perfectly with his, or maybe it’s his own selfish curiosity getting the better of him, but he gives in. Against his better judgment, he gives in.

“Yeah. I can keep one, manager.” He hums grimly in your ear, intentionally stating that you’re their manager so you’re fully aware of what consequences these whispered nothings might have with your relationship.

You drag your face back just a little bit until your lips are just a breath away from his. Your eyes flick up to his just for one second as the unruly temptation lingers heavily around you two.

Then you give in.

He didn’t really know what he’s looking for when he agreed to this illogical spur of the moment tomfoolery, but at the first touch of your lips on his, he regrets it. He regrets it, but he doesn’t pull away. He didn’t have any expectations, but for fuck’s sake, you’re not supposed to taste this good. You certainly haven’t been drinking tonight. Your mouth tastes like honey and milk, coaxing him to nip on it further to have more.

He’s seething. How can a pair of lips that spat a ton of shit be this fucking delicate. It doesn’t make sense.

Your arm finds its way back around his neck while he draws you even closer as he waits for resentment or disgust to hit him, relentlessly sucking on the softness of your lips to find anything remotely unpleasant. But he finds neither. He only finds himself enjoying this despite the lack of privacy, the blasting music in the background, and the athlete-manager relationship he has with you.

He withdraws a bit, leaving you panting against his mouth. When you raise your gaze to him, he meets your bewildered orbs that even the dimmed blue led lights weren’t able to hide.

Then your eyes drift behind him.

You see something that instantly snaps you back to the wild persona he knows you have. Your whole body shudders when it sinks in your features what you two just did. You retrieve your arms quickly as if his skin burns yours.

Your eyes are scorching with both embarrassment and determination when you grab his collar and yank him not so gently. “We tell no one about this shit!” You tell him aggressively and let him go instantly.

You put the hood of your onesie back and look down before gripping his shoulders to get him to turn around.

A few steps away is the classmate he’s looking for. Before he calls for his irresponsible groupmate, he looks behind him to catch where you’re going, but you already disappeared. Even in this wretched place kilometers away from the gymnasium, you still manage to have the last word.

He fists his knuckles with anger. Out of all the maddening shit you put him through, this the worst.

Prologue || masterlist

Taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged):

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx

#tsukishima fluff #tsukishima angst #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima kei #im tired of tags

253 notes · View notes

mochegato · 3 years

Text

Nannyette

Chapter 8 – World War MDC

Chapter 1 Chapter 7

**Spoilers for Knives Out!! I forgot to warn people**

Tim knocked on Dick’s door and waited impatiently for Marinette to answer. Dick was supposed to get home from his shift soon, if a development on one of his cases didn’t pop up at the last minute, and Tim would be able to take Marinette out for their date. After a wait that lasted forever, about 3 minutes, Marinette opened the door for him.

Tim looked up at her with a smile and immediately flinched back. “Jesus Christ! Holy Crap!” he screamed out seeing her face. He grabbed the fabric over his heart in an attempt to slow down his racing heart. “What the hell happened to you?” He started examining her face in confusion. Marinette’s face was caked with different colors of lipstick and eye shadow and Tim was sure there was more but he didn’t know what.

Marinette narrowed her eyes at him warningly. “I know you’re impressed with the amazing work Mar’i did to get me ready for our date tonight, but please don't curse in front of her.”

“Ahh, that explains…” Tim walked over to where she was and crouched down to look her in her eyes. “Mar’i, you did that?”

“Yep I did.” She answered excitedly.

“It looks beautiful, cupcake. You did a great job.” Tim assured her, ruffling her hair.

Mar’i grinned proudly and skipped away. Tim leaned against the back of the couch and grabbed Marinette, pulling her closer to him, his hands resting on her hips. He looked over her face again with an amused smile, “You look like a victim in a zombie apocalypse movie.”

Marinette laughed and looked down self-consciously. She ran her hands through her hair nervously. “Why thank you.”

Tim hooked his finger under her chin, which he was fairly sure was unmarked, to get her to look at him. “I meant the hot one that survives and kills all the zombies.” Tim smiled at her.

Marinette stared at him for a few seconds unsure how to respond. She finally started giggling. “You say the most flattering things to me.”

She pushed up to give him a quick peck, but he leaned back out of her reach. “Nuh uh. You’re not getting me. I’m surviving this apocalypse.” Tim laughed, dodging her attempts at a kiss but refusing to lean too far away from her or let go of her hips. Marinette pouted at him. Tim’s face turned to mock solemnness. “I will mourn your loss of course.”

“I thought I survived!” She cried in pretend outrage, gently slapping his shoulder.

Tim cringed. “I didn’t want you to know. I wanted you to still have hope. But, unfortunately you fell to the hordes. I’m the only one left.”

“So you’re the hot one that survives and kills all the zombies?”

Tim shrugged and smirked at her. “You think I’m hot?”

Marinette narrowed her eyes and puckered her lips. She leaned away and looked toward where Mar’i had run off to. “Mar’i, don’t you think Tim would look amazing with a makeover for the date, too.”

“Noooooo,” he called out quietly, collapsing his head on her shoulder. “So close to surviving, but it’s total annihilation.”

“I have the makeup! Come on Uncle Tim,” Mar’i insisted pulling his hand toward the kitchen island. Tim gave Marinette a mock glare as he let Mar’i pull him away.

After twenty minutes, during which time Marinette had prepared a snack for Mar’i and cleaned up the mess they had made playing earlier, Mar’i finally deemed Tim’s makeover complete. “Marinette! Marinette, look! I made Tim so handsome!” she proudly crowed to Marinette.

Marinette made her way over and took in Tim’s appearance. There was long red streaks marking his face from forehead to jaw. He truly looked like he had gotten attacked by someone with long, thick nails. “Oh, he looks so handsome.” She gave him a smirk as she gently tilted his head from side to side to get the full effect. Tim tried to give her an annoyed look but couldn’t help smiling instead. “You are so talented, Mar’i. It looks so good.”

Mar’i looked away shyly. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. Now, can you start putting the makeup away and then I have a snack ready for you.”

“Okay.” She jumped up and grabbed the first container of makeup and headed back to her room.

As soon as she was out of the room, Marinette turned to Tim. “Welcome to the apocalypse.” Marinette giggled at him and giving him a few comforting, patronizing pats on the back.

Tim smiled back, pulled her between his legs, and ran his hands through her hair to avoid the makeup that was caked on her face, neck, and the parts of her chest left exposed by her shirt. “The apocalypse doesn’t seem so bad. I’ll get to spend it with you.”

Marinette giggled and almost laid her head on his shoulder. “Sorry about that.” She wiped imaginary marks off of his shoulder. “I was so mesmerized by your flirting I almost lost myself.”

Tim pretended not to notice the sarcasm in her voice. “Good. I’m glad to hear it’s effective.”

Marinette opened her mouth to respond when Dick finally came home. “Sorry, sorry, Marinette. Something happened and I had to write it up before I left.” He finally looked up at the two and did a double take. “You two look like a rouge attack gone wrong,” he said quietly. He turned toward Mar’i’s room to call out loudly, “Mar’i, honey, did you do Uncle Tim and Aunt Marinette’s makeup?” He smirked at the double squeaks Tim and Marinette let out in response.

“Daddy!” she exclaimed happily running out of the back room to fly into his arms for a hug. “I did! Don’t they look amazing?”

“They certainly do,” he chuckled and shook his head.

Tim cringed. “Yeah, we should probably clean up before we leave.” Marinette scoffed at him and shook her head pityingly. He looked at her curiously. Surely she didn’t plan on leaving the apartment looking like this. There was no way.

“You can’t take my makeup off! It’s for your date. Don’t you like it?” Mar’i looked up at him with wide, wet eyes.

He looked over to Marinette who gave him a knowing look that let him know she knew exactly how this was going to play out. They were leaving the apartment with this makeup on. “No! Yes, of course I love the makeup. It’s gorgeous. It just maybe isn’t right for a first date.” Tim gave her a strained smile.

Mar’i looked down and sniffled. “Okay.”

“I meant, maybe I need a bit more makeup?” He tried instead. “I’m not as naturally gorgeous as Marinette is,” he looked over at her with a smirk, “I need more help than she does.” Marinette rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that formed on her lips.

Mar’i brightened up immediately and started sorting through the container of makeup she hadn’t put away yet. “Okay!”

Dick clapped him on the back and leaned in to whisper, “Smooth recovery. Got on both of their good sides with that.” Tim shrugged at him and sat back down so Mar’i could make him look even better.

It only took Mar’i a few more minutes to make Tim look even more handsome. Marinette and Tim thanked her again for her help and were finally able to leave for their date. Tim looked at the time as they waited for the elevator. It was now too late for them to go home, get ready, and make it to the restaurant on time. He sighed and studied her, more specifically her makeup, for a few moments. He leaned against the wall and pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her. “Hey, what do you say to staying in for our date instead?”

She grinned cheekily at him. “What, don’t want to be seen in public with this?” She motioned to her face and neck.

Tim chuckled and tightened his arms around her waist. “I wouldn’t want to start a panic of people thinking there was a new rogue out there tearing people’s faces off. We already have Black Mask for that. But I was thinking how nice it would be to cuddle with you on the couch without worrying about Mar’i waking up or Dick walking in on us.” He gave her a chaste kiss pulling away just far enough to talk. “No dressing up, no pretentious restaurants. Just order food, watch a movie, cuddle under a blanket… I can show you my apartment this time.”

Marinette sighed and relaxed into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. “That sounds amazing. But you do realize, even if we went out it wouldn’t need to be to a fancy, pretentious restaurant. I just want to spend time with you. It could be a coffee shop, a corner diner, a picnic in the park. I don’t care.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed out happily. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”

Marinette blushed and took a few seconds to gather her thoughts. “And just because we couldn’t take the makeup off in front of Mar’i doesn’t mean we can’t take it off now.” She pulled a few face wipes out of her bag and offered him one.

“Thank you,” Tim smiled and started rubbing vigorously as they walked onto the elevator. He groaned when he saw his reflection in the elevator doors. “I don’t think this is going to be enough.” Marinette giggled and helped him wipe off his makeup, standing closer than strictly necessary to accomplish the task, which Tim did not object to at all.

<><><><><>

“So, this is my place,” Tim opened the door to the townhouse and held her hand to guide her in. “Did you want the tour?”

Marinette looked around in awe. “Tim! What the hell? This isn’t an apartment. This is like a… oh my god. This is amazing.”

“You like it?” he asked nervously.

“Like it? Tim, this is amazing. I…” her eyes kept darting around the multistory, open concept, sleek townhouse, “I’m speechless. It’s beautiful.” Tim let out a relieved breath and smiled at her. She looked at him incredulously. “You couldn’t have actually thought I might not.”

He shrugged at her and stroked her cheek. “I just… want you to be impressed.”

“Oh Tim… you already impress me.” She shook her head gently and looked at him with sincerity and adoration. “I already think you’re amazing and I still would even if you lived in a crappy, walk up studio apartment. I didn’t fall for you because of your money.”

Tim beamed at her. “Oh no? What was it then?”

She grinned up at him cheekily. “Clearly, your post-apocalyptic good looks.”

Tim barked out a laugh and gently rubbed his thumbs along her cheek. “Speaking of, do you want to wash your face first or want me to go first?”

Marinette leaned into his hand, enjoying the feeling of his hand on her. “You can go first.”

“Okay. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’ll just wash my face and be right back. The remote is right over there if you want to turn on something to watch.”

She nodded to him and started looking around his home taking in all the decorations and the enormous saltwater fish tank. “Fucking rich people,” she muttered to herself with a small laugh. She stopped in front of some of a few large photographs hanging on the wall. She studied them for a few minutes before laughing so loudly, Tim came hurrying in to see what was so funny.

He looked at her questioningly and she shook her head, unable to stop laughing, the bewildered look on his face making her laugh harder. “You weren’t even trying to hide it were you?” she finally managed to get out through the laughter.

He gave her a completely baffled look, “Hide what?”

“Your identity.”

“What do you mean?” He whipped his head around looking for the source of her comment. He was careful. Exceptionally. He didn’t slip up and leave weapons around. He did NOT leave his suit in his closet. There should be nothing here to give away his identity.

She motioned to the pictures she was standing next to. “This is clearly taken from the top of Titan Tower. These look like they were taken mid-swing. Who can do that but a hero? Who could get those but a hero?”

Tim looked between the pictures and her a dumbfounded look on his face. He’d had a number of people in his home before that never even gave the pictures a second glance. He’d had Titans in his home before and none of them had even noticed. He was again struck by how incredible she was.

He chuckled and pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her waist. “You ever thought about being a hero? Because you would be amazing at it. You can already kick ass. You’re smart. You’re observant. You notice the details nobody else does. You try to help others.” He looked at her adoringly. “You’d be amazing,” he let out breathlessly.

Marinette froze for a moment and gave him a nervous chuckle, pushing hair that hadn’t been loose behind her ear. She looked down, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you. I don’t think I’d… I’m honored you think so.” She steeled herself and looked back up at him with a faked coy smile and took a step closer. “That means a lot coming from a hero like you.”

“Vigilante,” he quietly corrected.

“I know what I said,” she answered just as quietly, pulling him down to meet her lips in an affectionate and insistent kiss. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, making it hungrier and more passionate.

He pulled away after a few minutes. “I’ll order the food and get a movie set up while you get cleaned up. Sound good?” he asked quietly, his breath fanning over her lips as he spoke. She nodded mutely, still recovering her breath after the kisses that stole it, thankful Tim was holding her up. She was pretty sure her knees would have given out if he hadn’t been.

After she had washed her face and reapplied her makeup herself, she emerged from the bathroom that was larger than her apartment, feeling refreshed and a little less scary looking. She found Tim lounging on the couch, looking through movie listings. Her breath hitched slightly at the sight. He looked so handsome sitting like that and she couldn’t believe he had chosen her. She bit her bottom lip to keep her smile from becoming too wide, but it didn’t work. There was no holding it back.

Tim looked up from the television and gave her a beaming smile. “Hey, the food is on its way and I think I found the perfect movie,” he said motioning to the spot next to him for her to sit. His expression was too innocent though. Marinette eyed him suspiciously, but still sat in the spot he indicated and cuddled up to him. He grinned mischievously and hit the select button to bring up the movie’s details.

Marinette groaned good-naturedly and buried her head in his shoulder. “It made me think of you,” his grin widened as the theme for World War Z played in the background.

Marinette pulled back to give him an unamused look. “You’re terrible and I don’t know why I like you.”

He shrugged smugly. “It’s the fish tank.”

Marinette scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I assure you it isn’t.”

Tim gave her a mock pout. “That hurts. Okay so, World War Z?”

Marinette hesitated and gave him a nervous look. “Can we… not? I get the joke, but it gives me flashbacks.”

Tim gave her a confused look. “Flashbacks?”

“Yeah. Zombies.” She shuddered at the memory.

“Yeah, let’s discuss that one a bit more. Zombies?”

“Zombies,” she confirmed with a curt nod. “It was one of our akumas. One of the more effective ones. Almost everyone in Paris became one. They passed it by kissing. Then you became mindless kissing machines.”

“I’ve known a few people at some galas like that,” he tried to joke to lighten the mood.

She let out a mirthless chuckle appreciating the awkward attempt to change the subject. “Yeah, me too. And a few frat parties.”

“Okay, no horror movies,” he nodded, returning his attention to the movies listing. “What about the Majestia movie that just came out?”

Marinette froze and quirked her lips to the side thinking about how to respond. She loved Majestia. In fact she and Adrien had just gone to visit her a few weeks before, but the movie was sooooo not a realistic representation of her. They got so many details wrong, including every detail about Knight Owl. She could not in any way sit through that movie without criticizing it ruthlessly, revealing she knew them and knew everything about the movie was wrong. “How about a murder mystery? Or do you figure them out too quickly to enjoy them? Oh! Have you seen Knives Out?”

Tim shook his head and started navigating to the movie. “I have not and I take it as a challenge to see how quickly I can figure it out.”

Forty minutes later, the food had arrived and been eaten and they had just gotten back to cozying up to watch the movie. “So we agree Captain America is the killer, right?”

Marinette snorted, “Well, obviously.”

“So,” Tim angled his face to look at Marinette, “we’ve already solved the mystery and there is about an hour and a half left of the movie.”

Marinette leaned her head back to look at him. “Yes?”

“I’m just saying we don’t really have a reason to pay attention anymore,” he pointed out suggestively.

“I see your point.” She nodded sagely. “So what you’re saying is you want to play a game.”

He smothered a grin at the game she was playing. “Of sorts,” he confirmed.

“Want to get out Chess or Risk?” Her voice was innocent, but her hands running up and down his arms and shoulders were anything but.

He shook his head at her as he turned her around to fully face him. “I’m not allowed to play Risk anymore.” She raised her eyebrow at him encouraging him to explain. “Something about taking world domination too seriously.”

She giggled. “So Settlers of Catan is out too then.” Tim let out a frustrated huff and nodded. Marinette giggled harder and traced the edge of his jaw. “So you were thinking a video game then?”

He hummed as though in thought as he pushed forward, forcing her to lean back. “I was thinking something more physical.”

“Oh! Like DDR?” She looked up at him through her eyelashes and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He moved his face closer until his nose was ghosting against her jaw. “What about something more about making each other feel good than scoring points.”

“Ahh, an exercise game,” she offered breathlessly.

“Something like that,” Tim nodded before closing the gap between them.

“That was a great movie,” Marinette whispered against Tim’s lips an hour and a half later as the movie credits rolled up the screen. She looked up at him coquettishly as his face hovered over hers. “We should watch it again soon.”

“Or at all,” Tim chuckled. He brushed Marinette’s hair out of her face and gazed at her face flushed from kissing through the entire movie. He gave her a quizzical look. “Are we… No. That’s not what I meant to say.” He frowned at himself and looked away.

Marinette smiled at him and caressed his cheek. “What did you want to say?”

He looked back up at her with a nervous smile. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Marinette’s smile widened until it was beaming. “Yes!” she exclaimed excitedly before pulling him back down so they could miss the next movie as well.

Chapter 9

Tags:

@timari-month-event @ichigorose @stainedglassm @better-toast @theymakeupfairies @trippingovermyfeet @demonicbusiness @maskedpainter @ladybug-182 @a4-machete

#maribat #Nannyette #timinette #timari #Timari January #prompt - Zombie AU

191 notes · View notes

sass-and-suspenders · 3 years

Text

Inquiry

GIF from plutoandpersephone

Pairing: Dr. Frederick Chilton x Reader

Author’s Note: In vain I have struggled …with the formatting of this story. Did I use html? Yes. Does it show up correctly when I preview it? Yes. Will it show up correctly when it’s posted? Knowing this website, probably not. I’m posting despite the (possibly) faulty formatting because I will snap like a stale rubber band if I have to fiddle around with it for a minute longer. That said, I hope you enjoy because this was fun to write (but not to format)

Frederick Chilton’s heart was beating far too quickly for something as mundane as writing an email. Normally, he could compose a message in a matter of minutes with little concern for how the recipient would react to his autocratic demands.

This time, however, you were on the receiving end.

And Frederick deeply cared what you thought.

It would have been easier if this was for a work-related matter. As the hospital administrator, Frederick often sent you updates about policy changes or questions regarding your patients. He wrote these emails effortlessly, addressing you like any other member of his staff while ignoring how his heart fluttered whenever your name appeared in his inbox. With the small exception of inquiries about your weekend (something Frederick never did with other employees), his correspondence to you remained strictly professional.

Until now.

It had taken months, but Frederick finally worked up the nerve to ask you on a date. It was non-traditional, asking someone out via email, but Frederick considered asking over the phone or in-person too risky; the chance of rejection was already high, he didn’t need to add to it by stumbling over his words or blushing in your presence like an imbecile. An email allowed Frederick time to organize his thoughts and select the right words to convey just how much you meant to him.

Writing may have been the safest medium, but it wasn’t the fastest. Fifteen minutes had elapsed and Frederick was still struggling with the salutation: ‘My dearest’ seemed too intimate, ‘Good afternoon’ too formal, ‘Ciao’ too pretentious, ‘Ahoy’ too …nautical.

Frederick fiddled with his pen and leaned back in his chair, refusing to acknowledge that he was out of his depth. His love life was preternaturally dormant, yes, but he was a man of science, not to mention a patron of the arts -he could write a simple email. He was just overthinking it, attaching too much significance to every word as if selecting the wrong one would result in rejection.

Sighing, Frederick left his desk to fetch some alcohol, a time-honoured cure for writer’s block. As he poured the amber liquid from the decanter, Frederick reassured himself of his literary prowess: he’d written a myriad of scientific articles, many of which won awards, and there was growing interest in a manuscript he was working on about the Chesapeake Ripper.

He sat back down at his desk with bolstered confidence and a glass of brandy. The opening still eluded him but, rather than dwell on it further, Frederick used a placeholder and began to work on the body of the email.

As he wrote, Frederick likened himself to a suitor in a Jane Austen novel confessing his fervent desire to his beloved. He only hoped that his prose would convince you to give him a chance since, considering the weather in Baltimore, he wouldn’t be strutting out of a lake anytime soon.

Inspired by this little reverie, Frederick soon finished. He took another sip of brandy before looking over what he had written.

To:

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Inquiry

[Insert salutation]

Ever since we met, I have ardently admired you. Your warmth, beauty, and quick wit are just some of the ways you brighten my day whenever I am graced with your presence. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?

I await your reply with hopeful anticipation.

Yours,

Frederick

Satisfied, Frederick turned his attention to the greeting, lightly tapping his pen against his lips as he thought. It took a few moments, but Frederick finally settled on ‘Dear’, a classic opening. After switching out the salutation placeholder for ‘Dear’ followed by your name, Frederick read over the email one last time. He took a large drink of brandy before selecting your email address and pressing send.

Contrary to his belief, the beating in his chest didn’t slow once the email was dispatched. What if you rejected him? How would he bear to see you at work every day? Worse, what if you never responded, leaving him to perpetually wonder whether it was a silent rejection or a lost email?

The familiar ping of an email notification snapped Frederick out of his self-made purgatory. He took a few deep breaths, a half-hearted attempt to quell his rapid heartbeat, as he wondered whether it was a good sign that you responded so quickly. His eyes flicked to his inbox: there, sitting atop of messages from psychiatry journals and irksome colleagues, was a reply.

Only it wasn’t from you.

Frederick’s brow furrowed. Why was a nurse replying to the email he sent you? It didn’t take long after opening the email to realize his mistake: choosing the hospital’s listserv rather than your email address, effectively sending out his declaration of love to the entire hospital. He let out an almost inaudible whimper, knowing it was too late to retract the message.

Apparently, he could control the content of the message, but not its audience.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Inquiry

Ask them out in-person, you insecure little weenie!

Frederick hastily deleted the email, but two more popped up in its place like some sort of electronic hydra. It didn't take long for the wolves to respond, and Frederick could only stare at the screen in horror as the replies began pouring in. He swore he could hear laughter in the hallway and began debating whether he should move out of the country or just the state. Depending on how widespread knowledge of his blunder became it may even be wise to leave the continent. Vienna was supposed to be nice this time of year.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Inquiry

Girl, you can do better!

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Please remove me from this list. Thanks

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

EVERYONE STOP REPLYING ALL!

Sent from my iPhone

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

‘Ardently’? Who does Chilton think he is, Mr. Darcy?

Gillian Coverly, M.D.

Psychiatry Resident, BSHCI

[email protected]

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

More like Mr. Collins, am I right? LOL

Jonas Dhavernas

Security Services | 555-3193 ext. 0315

Frederick harrumphed (he was definitely not a Mr. Collins) and made a mental note to schedule those two for the night shift for the foreseeable future. However, his indignation quickly gave way to woe as he continued to scroll through the other emails in his inbox.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

lol desperate much

Luis Torres, PhD

Director of Forensic Psychiatry

(Tel.) 555-3193 ext. 0583 | (Cell) 555-2391 | (Fax) 555-8942

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

I’d like to remind everyone that this listserv is for work-related emails only.

Please be professional.

Ralph Chlumsky, Patient Care Manager

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

SERIOUSLY STOP SENDING EMAILS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sent from my iPhone

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

As a member of HR, I would like to remind you that you are not obligated to say yes to a date just because Dr. Chilton is your superior.

Please let me know if you would like to file a complaint against him for harassment

Sincerely,

Judith Mulrooney

Senior Human Resources Manager

(Tel.) 555-3193 ext. 3598

Nothing is impossible. The word itself says ‘I’M POSSIBLE!’ – Audrey Hepburn

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Can everyone please stop replying all? Our servers can’t handle the load and might crash if this continues.

Thanks,

Your friendly neighborhood IT Department

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Hi, can anyone give me a lift to work tomorrow? I’m in Federal Hill

To: [email protected]

From: ellen.ostrowski @bshci.com

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Everyone please stop replying all! It’s not that hard, and IT said our server will crash if we keep on doing it!

Warmest regards,

Ellen Ostrowski

Administrative Assistant for Dr. Bryan Dancy

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Ellen, your “everyone stop replying all message” was also a reply all!

Ugh, I work with IDIOTS!

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

Don’t get all high and mighty with me, Shawna, you also used reply all! Frankly, your use of reply all when the server is unstable is just what I’d expect from a lunch thief.

Warmest regards,

Ellen Ostrowski

Administrative Assistant for Dr. Bryan Dancy

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Date: Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

FOR THE LAST TIME I DID NOT STEAL YOUR LUNCH!

A groan escaped Frederick’s lips. How could this have happened? He wasn’t a tech genius, but he kept au courant with the latest gadgets and even implemented smart technology throughout his house. Of course, there had been small mishaps in the past, like when his iPhone autocorrected his last name to ‘Chicken’ and he couldn’t stop it, but nothing of this magnitude. As much as he wanted to blame his snarky colleagues for his misery, he had only himself to blame.

His iPhone was right: he was a chicken.

Frederick was in the middle of researching jobs in Austria, the dramatic part of his brain having overpowered the rational part, when your name appeared in his inbox. His eyes flicked to the now empty glass of brandy on his right before clicking on your reply.

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Inquiry

I would love to, Frederick. How about Friday?

-Your Elizabeth Bennet

P.S. Judith, no need to get HR involved

Frederick blinked, not quite believing it. Despite his cowardice, and the mortification which ensued, you’d said yes. A smile slowly spread across his face, unaffected by the multitude of emails flooding his inbox in reaction to your answer.

He was still smiling when the hospital’s servers crashed a few moments later.

Tag list: @madpanda75 @obsessionprofessional @madkingcrowley @im-like-reallythirsty @burningg-red @nikkijmorgan @misssirenlove @zoeykaytesmom @mommakat32 @thatesqcrush @southern-magnolia @evee87

#frederick chilton x reader #dr frederick chilton x reader #chilton x reader #frederick chilton #dr frederick chilton #hannibal

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Text

Harringrove tag game! by @lovebillyhargrove

I was tagged by @mrsblackruby! tysm!! <3

1. Do they get together BEFORE MF possessing Billy or AFTER shit goes down? (Or maybe DURING😲)

Typically I say before, like at around Christmas time in ‘84. I think anybody in a small town puts aside character prejudices around the holidays and tries to make those connections with everyone, so I’ve always felt, especially since the fight was literally only a month before, that Steve would reach out to Billy the night of the Snowball and things would, well, snowball from there.

2. Who kisses who first?

Definitely Steve. I firmly stand by the hc that Billy’s never kissed a boy before Steve, and maybe Steve hasn’t either, but he’s the romantic, no way is he going to let Billy kiss him first.

3. Where do they have their first sex? (Location) (HJs and BJs count)

I don’t really have a solid answer for this? But definitely somewhere very spur of the moment, maybe somebody’s couch or the locker rooms?

4. Who says 💖 I LOVE YOU 💖 first?

Imma say Billy. Opposite of my last answer, I don’t feel like either of them would say they love each other on accident or like, in the moment. I think their first I love you’d would be very very controlled. I also think Billy has less experience with actually being in love, so when the time comes that he’s actually mustered up the courage to say it to Steve, I think he’s super nervous and practices the perfect scenario in his head a dozen times. It’s definitely not blurted out.

5. I believe this fandom is way past having hard feelings about it, so

BottomSteve! or BottomBilly?

I don’t have a strong opinion either way, but typically, I prefer bottom!Steve. No particular reason, that’s just the way I tend to read things!

6. Do they give gifts to each other?

Absolutely! Billy doesn’t have the disposable income to run out and buy Steve new things every time he wants to give him something, so I think he does a really cheesy like, giving him a kiss as a present and making a big deal out of it.

Steve is sort of the same way, in that he doesn’t like to give Billy material things, because he doesn’t want him to think he’s being pretentious or trying to hold his wealth over Billy’s head like he’s his mom or something, so he only gives Billy personal things. Old pilled t-shirts to wear to bed and a blanket to keep on the couch in his room that smells like him. Things like that.

They also try to make eachother things as presents, like food or little knick knacks in art class, but they always fail miserably and think it’s really funny when all they have to show is a smoking mess.

7. Where do they end up living? California, Chicago, Hawkins... Idk .. Alaska??)))) Any other location?

I honestly think they stay in Hawkins. I don’t think after everything Billy would be able to leave Max behind, and I also think that Steve would like having a connection to where he grew up, even if bad things happened there. If they did leave though, I see them going down south, maybe tourist trap Tennessee?

8. What are their future jobs?

In my mind that very much depends on if we’re following canon and this is post Starcourt or like, if it’s a whole new AU. Because after that I don’t think Billy would actually ever be physically well enough to work again. I know it’s a pretty unpopular opinion, bc the general hc is that he bounces back within a year or so with some scars (which is cool! I’m not knocking that I’m just sayin) but I think he'd be permanently disabled, on oxygen support 24/7, and just with all sorts of health complications from, you know, literally having a gaping hole in his chest, that would make it impossible for him to work. In that sort of scenario I usually think of Steve as a being teacher or an artist, something that he doesn’t have very long work hours or can do from home so he can be there to take care of Billy.

If we’re going with like, a no upside down or a Billy is never hurt au, I think he stays in Hawkins and just works in some sort of a mom and pop until he’s the new manager, like at an antique store maybe?

(p.s. stay tuned for an upcoming fic about Billy working in a fix-it shop!!)

As for Steve, I feel like he wouldn’t ever be able to settle on one career when he didn’t have limitations. I don’t really know what he’d eventually decide is his calling, maybe design of some sort? Jewelry making?

This is a hard question, I don’t really see them as being tied down to one career indefinitely, but I do know I don’t see either of them ever working desk jobs.

9. Who's a better cook?

Neither of them. Billy wasn’t allowed in the kitchen growing up because Neil said it’s a woman's place, and Steve is just god awful at following directions, like, can’t tell the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon or preheat the oven awful. They just eat takeout and like, cold sandwiches literally all the time until someone (Joyce) notices and teaches them how to cook on the weekends.

10. Steve Hargrove or Billy Harrington?

Billy Harrington. I don’t see him wanting to be a Hargrove anymore. He has no positive ties to the name with his mom leaving and his dad being his dad, so I think he’d want to take Steve’s last name. Also this is kinda weird but I am VERY particular about my middle name hcs (I think it’s an ocd thing? idk) and I have an alliterative name for Steve that wouldn’t work if he was a Hargrove instead of a Harrington, so that’s also part of the reason.

11. What's Max's reaction when she hears they're together?

I think probably just like, confusion. Not over Billy being with a boy, but over that boy being Steve. Like, she doesn’t know Steve well, but she knows he’s the responsible big brother to Dustin, and that’s the exact opposite of what her brother is like, so it catches her off guard. She’s definitely a little gossip though, wanting all the not-gross details about Steve from her brother. She’s basically just a little sister about it, I guess.

12. Describe in ONE SENTENCE Hopper's reaction when he hears the names Hargrove and Harrington mentioned together?

Not again.

13. Does Robin like Billy OR does Robin hate Billy?

I think she likes him. I have a little hc that she and him were together in an underground pre-gsa kinda thing in high school. She pretends she can’t stand him, but the two of them are quick best friends. (this might just be me but I think the two of them together would give statler and waldorf vibes)

14. What about Dustin?

Dustin I think actually thinks Billy is really cool. Like, he’s like a little double agent, hearing from Max all the annoying things about Billy, and from Steve the good things. He’ll gag if Steve gets too mushy over him and he’ll definitely join in with Max in calling Billy gross, and he also absolutely gives Billy a (very non-intimidating. he’s too soft) shovel talk, but I think he really likes and looks up to Billy as like, his other big brother.

15. Fav Harringrove AU?

Oh gosh, I can’t even pick. I think I like childhood friends aus best? They’re really fun to play with and it always ends up being super sweet. I’m a big fan of soulmates too for kind of the same reasons. I like mushy stuff.

16. Billy+Camaro=...??? (Not strictly Harringrove, but I can't not to ..)

I honestly don’t think Billy cares about the camaro that much. He’d be sad when it gets totaled because that was his only way of getting around and also his first car, but I don’t think the car itself has that much value to him. I mean, he treats it with absolutely zero respect, jumping curbs and driving too fast and slamming on those breaks. The camaro is just a car. 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’ll tag: @lifegaurd-hargrove85! @deardmvz! and @strangebrainrot! no pressure! and as usual, if anybody else sees this and wants to participate, feel free!

#tag game!!#long post #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer

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lovely-jily · 3 years

Text

stupid mistletoe

okay so i understand that it is well past christmas but i have had this idea like mONTHS ago and just wanted to get it out while i was in the mood to write! please enjoy some soft jily:)

Stupid mistletoe.

Starting around the beginning of November, Sirius thought it would be funny to place it all over the castle for James and Lily to stumble under (or perhaps he just was tired of them dancing around each other. Their feelings for each other were so obvious, and yet they were the most oblivious people he had met).

James was quite annoyed, as it kept putting him and the girl in very uncomfortable and quite awkward situations. It usually left them blushing, avoiding eye contact, and finding a stupid excuse for why they had to leave the situation immediately.

It was Christmas Eve, and Lily was cleaning up in the Gryffindor Common Room. The few people that stayed home over the break managed to make quite a mess during the party, and she didn't want to make the house-elves clean it up.

"You're still up?" She heard his voice, almost making her drop the empty cups and napkins. Some fifth years had snuck into the kitchens and came back with all sorts of puddings and pastries for everyone to enjoy.

She exhaled and tried to make her voice even, "I just figured I would help out a little."

James walked over to her and started helping her clean. He truly admired her kindness and thoughtfulness. She was too good for a lot of people, including him.

"You're too nice, you know that?" He said, smiling as he stood next to her.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh yes, because calling you an 'insufferable toe rag' is nice."

James chuckled, remembering that day that was just a year and a half ago. He was still embarrassed about who he was back then, although he wasn't really sorry for what he did to Snape. Especially after finding out what they did to Marlene...

"You were right," he looked at her. The firelight was reflecting on her skin, and he couldn't help but feel warm inside. She did that so much to him that he was almost used to the feeling, "I can say that now I appreciate the constructive criticism."

She laughed and walked over to the fire, dumping all the contents in her arms inside. It was starting to snow outside, causing her to smile. It had not felt like Christmas this year. The impending war was really sucking the joy and cheer out of everything. But honestly, it was easier to feel the Christmas spirit around James, even all of the fear bottling up inside her. She just felt so safe around him...

"Is this a muggle radio?" James asked, looking at something on the bookshelf. Lily had honestly forgotten about that- in fact, she was surprised some pretentious pureblood hadn't thrown it out.

"I forgot about that. Marlene brought it over," She said, looking at it with him. What they did to Marlene after word had gotten out about the radio left a hole inside Lily. She knew that she wasn't safe, no matter where she stood with Severus. He, after all, was one of them now. Proudly pledging his allegiance to what they called Death Eaters. All of Lily's friends found it disgusting, while she just found it so bloody terrifying.

James sensed the drop in energy, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, he gingerly brushed his hands across the top of it, trying to remember how they said you turned it on. Just one of these damn buttons.

"It's this one," Lily smiled as she turned it on. She was always so amused by his fascination with muggle things. You should've seen his reaction to a pen. She never saw him light up so fast at anything before.

Happy Christmas by John Lennon started playing as the pair just stood there, watching it. Sometimes it was quite difficult for Lily to pretend she wasn't paralyzed with fear with everything going on. It was getting harder and harder for her to cover up the nightmares, especially when she realized that she wasn't safe in her own school. She knew that she had a nasty target on her back, and she knew that even Severus wouldn't be able to protect her. Not from the person that the dark wizards all served.

"Come here," James said, taking her waist and hand. He knew that he was in a place of privilege, with him being a pureblood. And while he may never understand how she was feeling with everything going on, he did know that he could at least try to make her feel better. He knew that while she may not feel the same, he wouldn't hesitate to take the killing curse for her.

"Are you wanting to dance with me, Potter?" She smiled, briefly forgetting about the darkness of the world around her.

"Of course I am, Evans. I think we all need a little dancing this Christmas season."

She sighed and rested her head on his chest, inhaling his scent. She loved the way he smelled. It really made her feel as if the air around him was lighter. Her hand found its way up his neck, playing with the back of his hair. They had never touched like this before. It was strictly brief hugs- if that. But James couldn't describe how he was feeling at the moment. She was reciprocating his touch. This had never happened before.

"Your heart's beating really fast," she said softly, a hint of a smile in her voice.

He tried to control his breathing. If Lily could hear his heart, there was no doubt that she could hear his sad attempts of inhaling and exhaling.

"You sort of have that effect on me, Lil."

Oh shit.

James had said it before he had even thought of it. It was true, of course. She always did this to him. It was just a lot harder to hide it at the moment because he was doing something that he had dreamed about since he saw her on their first trip on the Hogwarts Express.

Just as he was trying to find a way to cover up his mistake, she looked up at him, and James wasn't sure if he saw it correctly, but it looked like the girl was actually... Could she really be blushing?

She opened her mouth to respond, but then something caught her eye above the pair. She blushed more and then smirked slightly, biting her lip a bit.

"Mistletoe," She said, looking at him and then back at the plant that was indeed planted by Sirius during the party. That idiot...

James looked up, and sure enough, there it was. He opened his mouth, but not a single sound was able to escape it. He suddenly couldn't remember any words from the English language.

"Lily, I- I don't-"

"James," She smiled, and he melted under the sound of his name in her voice. She brought her hand to his cheek, rubbing her thumb across his face, "You do know what to do when two people are caught under the mistletoe, right?"

She watched his expression change from dumbfounded to almost one of relief. As the corners of his mouth started to uplift, and he let out a very shallow exhale, his chest huffing. His eyebrows dropped as his hand found its way to her jaw.

He couldn't believe this was happening. After almost seven years of him being absolutely and utterly in love with this beautiful woman, he was not only able to embrace her, but he was about to actually kiss her?

Perhaps it was his nerves, but he found it extremely difficult to move and lean into her. She was smiling too, breathing just as shallow as he was. It was finally until their lips were so close that he could almost feel them that he realized what was going on and MERLIN, James, what the bloody HELL are you hesitating about?!

That's when he found it incredibly easy to push his lips into hers, with the force and tension built up from the past seven years. Seven long years of dreaming of this moment. As he pulled her waist into him, Lily smiled into the kiss, kissing him back as hard and as passionately as he was her.

Perhaps mistletoe wasn't as stupid as James had thought...

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