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syneilesis · 2 years

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[fic, wip] Let It Stand | chapter one

Let It Stand

Ikemen Prince | Chevalier Michel x Main Character (Emma) | T ao3 link

Emma gets a new editor. This editor doesn’t like her that much.

A/N: Here it is! The Novelist AU Nobody Asked For. I confess that I know very little about the publishing industry; this was just written for fun. Originally this is supposed to be a one-shot, but I'm having a difficult time writing the second half, so I'm splitting this into three parts. I was gonna title this Stet as a pun, but I ultimately chose its definition lol. Emma's novels in this fic are Ikemen games lmao but it's been a while since I've played the alluded routes.

chapter one

“What do you mean my editor suddenly disappeared?”

There was silence at the other end of the line, punctuated by a heavy exhale then followed by a distant scream. Emma didn’t know who it was and why they did. She imagined that Sariel was in his office, and that there was probably some poor intern who bungled up the photocopying machine and was now facing Sariel’s slithery wrath. She silently prayed for the intern’s unfortunate soul.

“Not to worry,” Sariel’s baritone voice came back on. “We’re conducting an international manhunt right now, so it’s not going to be a problem—”

“Wait, international manhunt?!”

“—in the meantime, we’ll assign another editor to you as a substitute for Luke. We don’t want our schedules derailed just because one of our editors thought it nice to have an unannounced vacation.”

Emma was still stuck in ‘international manhunt’. “Excuse me, Sariel, what do you mean by ‘international manhunt’?”

Sariel’s voice was cheerful, which was an indication. “Expect an email from your new editor any time this week.” The line clicked.

Emma stared at her phone, willing for Sariel to materialize from the aether, just to explain what he meant by international manhunt. It sounded ominous—not for her, but for Luke. She hoped that wherever Luke was right now, he’s happy and enjoying life, because the moment Sariel found him it would be game over.

Outside the storeroom where Emma remained staring at her phone, the door chime jingled and Rio greeted the customers with bubbly energy. It’s a slow day, but the weather was nice. Emma thought about inviting Rio later to boba tea and telling him about Luke. Rio might be able to decode what Sariel was saying. She really couldn’t move on from ‘international manhunt’; it was going to drive her insane, she just knew.

“Emma!” Rio called. “Special order pickup!”

“Coming, coming!” Emma pocketed her phone and sighed. Work first, worry later.

✏︎

Emma was a reader first and writer second.

Her first book was about a girl who became a princess, and it stamped an indelible mark on six-year-old Emma’s mind—the magical transformation and the swell of true love. The climactic kiss between prince and princess after defeating the evil dragon. It was all so grand and exciting that she made her parents buy all the fairy tale books they could get, which filled half a wall in her room. Each book was an adventure, a journey, a window to all the things she couldn't experience and feel but wanted to someday.

In her teens she tried writing. At first: fanfiction. Exploring some untouched aspects in the stories she liked, Emma learned how to translate her imagination into words. It was a heady feeling—all the possibilities. After graduating from college she went on to original fiction, having enough encouragement from her readers and a few published stories here and there.

Rhodolite Press took her in with her debut novel, about an aspiring fashion designer who time traveled five hundred years into the past and met a haughty but competent feudal lord. It sold well—not to the point where it became a bestseller, but well enough that it ensured Emma the possibility of writing a second novel. Her readers, most of whom emigrated from her fanfic days, were solid and loyal, and she enjoyed interacting with them.

Luke was her editor, a towering teddy bear with the discipline of a lumpy bedsheet. If it weren’t for her literature degree, Emma would have floundered with an editor such as Luke. Though to be fair to him, while he forwent the technical aspects of fiction writing, Luke had impeccable intuition when it comes to storytelling. It would be nice if the warlord panicked over the main character so I can see that he’s already fallen for her, he had once said, after returning the original manuscript to her, pages clean and unmarked. It boggled Emma back then, expecting a thorough commentary of her characterization and narrative choices. But she noted Luke’s observation and revised the manuscript anyway. The second time they met, Luke was smiling and said, I really liked how he cried after he lost her. That was when Emma realized that she could work with this, with him.

And now, with Luke vanishing to who-knew-where, Emma was worried. Who could be her substitute editor? She hoped that they’d get along well. She’d adjust her work ethic, if need be.

✏︎

The email came on Wednesday, terse and to the point:

from: [email protected] to: [email protected] subject: Manuscript Editing I’m taking over while Four-Eyes is looking for Jumbo. Read my comments. Send the revised version in two weeks. CM

Emma blinked at the message. Then blinked again. Rubbed her eyes and blinked some more. The words didn’t change.

She opened the attachment; it was her draft manuscript littered with highlighted passages and comments. There’s less white and more color. Not a single page was spared from scrutiny.

She randomly picked one comment and it read: The mechanics of the portal is unexplained. If anybody can access that portal, how come only a few do that? Everybody would get curious about it, don’t you think.

Another one: The antagonist is weakly written. Motivation is vague; his goal is underwhelming. It does not match well against the motivation of the male lead.

And another: It is unclear whether this important scene happened within a dream or reality. How consequential is a dream in this world? And why is it brought up near the end of the story? There is no buildup at all. Review your world structure.

Emma read and read and read the comments. By the time she had reached the end of the document she’s ready to challenge C. Michel to a fistfight. The notes were less a review and more an execution. Was C. Michel a legitimate editor? Emma thought about the other writers who were assigned to this jerk.

She closed her laptop without replying. A walk to clear her mind was in order. It wouldn’t do her good if she replied right now, with her mood ready to erupt like a volcano. It wouldn’t be professional, and she’s also scared of Sariel anyway.

“Rio, I’m going for a coffee break,” she called out. With Rio’s affirmative, Emma donned a light jacket and went outside.

✏︎

Thirty minutes later and a white chocolate mocha on hand, Emma decided that C. Michel maybe had a point.

There were some parts, she felt, in her manuscript that required revising and restructuring. She wasn’t too keen on the world building aspect of this particular novel, but perhaps she had to flesh out the mythology and history in order to have a better grasp of the magic system embedded in the narrative.

If only C. Michel had been kinder with his words. They needed the editing more than hers.

The ringing of her phone jolted her out of her thoughts, and her brows raised when Sariel’s name appeared on the screen.

“Did you find Luke?”

“There had been a slight mistake,” Sariel said, which didn’t bode well for Emma.

“Um, what mistake?”

“Apparently somebody meddled with the names of editors available to handle you—” There was laughter in the background, and Sariel let out a resigned exhale. Emma could feel the exasperation coming through despite the mechanical filter of the speaker. “Chevalier isn’t supposed to be your editor.”

“Chevalier?” That’s what the C stood for?

“That’s right. Chevalier has enough work to last for ten years. I don’t want to saddle him with another task. I was actually thinking of asking Leon to guide you. He’s closer to Luke in approachability than to Chevalier.”

So. Chevalier was always like that, huh. Was it because he had a lot on his plate and the stress morphed him into a rude asshole?

Then Sariel said: “I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Emma didn’t know what possessed her—her smarted pride, perhaps, or the sheer number of Chevalier’s offensively incredible comments—to hastily say, “Wait, Sariel—”

There was a pause. “Hm?”

“If it’s all right with you—with Chevalier, if he agrees—then I’d like to stick with him as my editor.”

That pause became a deafening silence, as if the air was sucked out of the room. Emma could picture Sariel taking a moment to stare at his phone and confirm what he’d heard. She didn’t blame him.

“This is …” He hesitated. “This is quite a surprise. I’d like to ask why.”

Why, indeed.

Emma bit her lip and groped for the right words. “To be honest, I got upset with Chevalier’s feedback on my manuscript. He could have worded a lot of things differently. But when I finally understood what he was saying, it dawned on me that I truly wanted to improve my novel. I’m going to revise it according to his remarks. I think … I think I need that kind of guidance.”

She waited for Sariel’s response, tense amid the evaluative quiet. When Sariel finally said, “I see. I’ll talk to Chevalier about it,” Emma released a relieved sigh, before realizing that she voluntarily offered herself to a bossy snob.

“Are you sure about this?” Sariel asked, telepathically sensing Emma’s burgeoning regret.

“I—am,” she said, almost sounding like she swallowed something bitter. “Bring it on.”

That elicited a chuckle from Sariel. “Fine. I’ll call you when something comes up.”

“Right. Thank you.”

The moment she hung up, doubt filled her very core. What was she thinking—why would she willingly enter a tiger’s den? To hell with proving something—she didn’t need that level of stress in her life!

Emma frowned at her already-lukewarm drink. She’s beginning to anticipate a lot more coffee in her future.

✏︎

from: [email protected] to: [email protected] subject: Re: Manuscript Editing Four-Eyes asked me if I’ll continue being your editor. All that time and energy I spent reviewing your work would be wasted if you pulled out. I have no patience for a blustering writer.

from: [email protected] to: [email protected] subject: Re: Re: Manuscript Editing Dear Mr. C. Michel, I hope this email finds you well. I have expressed to Mr. Sariel my desire to have you remain as my editor while the search for Luke is ongoing. I have found that your wisdom in editing is crucial for my growth as a writer, and thus seek your continuous guidance. I am currently revising the parts you pointed out in your comments and will do my utmost to send you the edited version on the date you’ve provided. I look forward to our prosperous partnership. Have a nice day! Sincerely, Emma

✏︎

Rio offered to look into Chevalier Michel.

“He probably has a profile page on the website, but I’ll ask around for some further information if you want.”

He and Emma stayed in the bookstore after it closed for some inventory, with Emma crouching by the romance section and Rio starting with nonfiction. The fluorescent lights flickered, which nudged Emma into noting that they need to replace them soon.

“That’s sweet of you, Rio, but it feels weird to do it behind his back, you know?”

Rio paused midway in taking out a hardcover and shot Emma a funny look.

“It’s not weird at all! He should’ve introduced himself in the first place—he should’ve been professional about it!”

Rio had a point. If it were other people, acting the way Chevalier did would result in getting fired, but Chevalier had held on to his and, based on what Sariel had revealed, juggled more workload than other editors. Emma never recalled any dark undereye circles or stress lines maligning Luke’s carefree face, which meant that he took only what he could handle. Chevalier tackling work ‘to last for ten years’ would imply that he was competent at his job; plenty of people relied on him, and that included Sariel.

Rio had been tinkering with his phone while Emma agonized over Chevalier and job stability, and she was about to remind Rio to go back to work when he cried in triumph and rushed towards her, phone screen tilted in her direction.

“Look, I found him! Let’s see … it says …”

The sunny tone in Rio’s voice petered off and he suddenly went quiet. Emma craned her neck to see where his gaze was trained on and—oh.

“Oh, no,” Rio whispered.

“Oh, no,” Emma agreed.

On the screen was Rhodolite Press’s website, displaying the information page of one of its editors. A profile picture was affixed on the top-left of the page, and in that picture was the most beautiful man Emma had ever seen. Blond hair framing his ivory face, with eyes the color of the sky reflected on a placid lake, an aristocratic nose and steel-set lips embraced by a magnificent jaw. He was all elegant curves, sublime geometry. Emma was certain she would never meet another one as beautiful as him.

“Emma, you’re blushing!” Rio’s voice was frantic. “Don’t fall in love with him!”

He snatched his hand back and Chevalier’s radiant face disappeared before her. It was ridiculous for Rio to think that a pretty face would sway Emma quick and easy; she only had to remember his manuscript comments and her simmering ire for him would rekindle like it never went away.

“I won’t, Rio, don’t be silly.” She glanced at her inventory list; she doubted they’d finish work tonight. “What are his credentials?”

He read Chevalier’s profile overview aloud, and Emma felt her brows rise and her eyes widen.

“—best editor of 2018, 2019, and 2021. In just three years, he singlehandedly catapulted Rhodolite Press onto mainstream radar to the point that Obsidian Publishing expressed interest in acquiring them in the past. Edited consistently bestselling books. Hm, hm, graduated top of his class, has master’s degrees in publishing and comparative literature … O-Oh, Emma, I’m serious—don’t fall for him!”

“Honestly, Rio! Stop that. I’m not going to fall in love with him. He’s my editor who writes mean comments that drive me mad! How could I fall for him when he’s my primary source of stress?”

Rio seemed appeased by that, but a pout still lingered.

“Anyway, what else can you find? Are there any bad rumors about him?”

“Well …” Rio kept scrolling on his phone. “It says here that he started out as a writer and published a few books, but now he’s focused as an editor.”

“Oh? What books did he write?”

“No. No, Emma.” Rio pocketed his phone definitively and adopted a chastising tone. “We’re behind work and need to finish our inventory.”

The panic that settled over Rio had Emma laughing. It was cute, in a sisterly kind of way, that Rio—almost comically—was keeping up with the facade of an aspiring husband around Emma. It’s one way of easing her worries, and Rio knew that, so he wore that role like second skin. Sometimes, Emma wondered if Rio was serious about it because it felt at times that he was being too sincere.

“Fine, fine, let’s get back to work.” And because she couldn’t help it: “You know that I’ll just google him later, right?”

Rio’s wailing could be heard throughout the street that night.

✏︎

And Emma did. Google Chevalier Michel.

One novel, one nonfiction, and three translations (one on philosophy, one on politics, and one literary novel). Emma checked if the bookstore had copies of any of Chevalier’s books; there were none, and she found that his books were no longer reprinted, which was unfortunate. Fascinatingly enough, his books were published by Rhodolite during its pre-mainstream days.

His nonfiction book was interestingly a monograph about historical literature. It was most likely an expanded version of his master’s thesis, based on the back cover description. The summary of Chevalier’s novel, titled A Solitary Moon, launched Emma into an upright sitting position.

A Solitary Moon was about an art historian who fell in love with the woman in a painting and spent the rest of his life searching for her. It piqued Emma’s curiosity, more so because never in her entire exchange with Chevalier would she peg him as a romantic. How could a man like him—curt, gruff, and irritating—conceive, much less write, a love story?

The novel had a Goodreads page, with a couple of reviews dated some years ago. It had an aggregate of 4.6 out of five stars. Impressive.

Most reviews praised Chevalier’s prose and his talent for imagery. Some had high hopes for his writing career. Few lamented his stoic approach to emotions, but overall, the readers enjoyed his novel. Emma belatedly realized that her mouth hung open in shock.

There was one bizarre review that captured her attention, though:

My boy Chev wrote a novel! This is great! Have to give it 1 star though, just to even things out hahaha

It was from someone named Lulu SH, and it had three likes. Emma just chalked it up to the nature of the internet.

Now she wanted to read his novel. She wanted to know what the fuss was about, even if she’s late to it. She wasn’t certain if reading his novel would shed light on Chevalier, but there had to be something she could glean from it.

If the bookstore didn’t have any copies of the novel, maybe the public library did.

✏︎

He came in like a whirlwind of bad news.

Emma had a healthy, functioning radar for trouble; it helped her on a number of occasions when she had to bail Rio out from picking a fight with customers—not to mention those who’d bother her on the way to work.

When the door chime tinkled and a streak of purple flashed in her periphery, alarm bells rang inside her head, loud and frenzied. It confused Emma, who had no reason to suspect the color purple, so she tore her gaze away from the logbook and redirected her attention to the source of her sudden discomfort.

A handsome man stood in front of her wearing the most suspicious smile in the world.

“Finally we meet,” he declared.

Emma weighed her options: there was neither a bat nor a stick in proximity to her, so should the man make a move to harm her Emma had no weapon to bludgeon him with; her phone was tucked away beside the cash register, three shelves between her, but she’s a slow runner so the man could have caught her long before she could reach the counter; Rio was out on an errand and there were no other customers—she could stall for time until Rio returned, and they might have a greater chance of overpowering the man.

She chose to stall for time.

“I’m sorry,” she began, silently proud her voice didn’t tremble, “but should I know you?”

If anything, the man’s smile grew wider. “The Four-Eyed Fiend would say you shouldn’t, but I’ve always wanted to meet you. We have a mutual friend—ha—Chev, Rhodolite’s beloved editor. Let’s bond over him.”

‘Chev’? Did he mean—“Chevalier Michel?”

The man clapped his hands in delight. “Are you having a difficult time with him? He may be your temporary editor, but I can share with you some secrets to win him over. I know a café that makes excellent mille-feuille. We can talk about him there.”

His suspicious smile became winning as he talked, like he’s used to getting his way through life. He did give off an air of being spoiled, indulgent—his movements languid that bordered on sensual.

“No, thank you. You haven’t even told me your name.”

“I haven’t, have I?” His eyes narrowed in amusement and the alarm bells inside Emma’s head rang louder and louder. “My name is Clavis. I already know who you are, so you don’t have to introduce yourself to me. Now that we’re acquainted, off we go.”

He grabbed Emma’s wrist and panic set in. “Wait, Clavis, wait—Rio hasn’t returned yet! I can’t leave the store unmanned!”

Clavis paused, glancing around the bookstore and finding no other people. He released Emma and pondered over this development as if it was some national security problem, a hand migrating to his chin, humming in deep thought.

“Well, if we can’t go to the café …” Clavis began. Emma had a wishful thought that Clavis would drop his attempt to ‘befriend’ her and leave the store, never to return.

Of course, her wish went unheard.

“Then I’ll just have to bring the café here, hahaha!”

Emma blinked, wasn’t sure if she heard right. “I beg your pardon?”

✏︎

Rio returned to the shop forty-five minutes after Clavis arrived, but by then Clavis had already: 1) set up a makeshift coffee table and chairs for him and Emma; 2) filled said table with the most mouth-watering pastries and the most heavenly coffee Emma had tasted; 3) ordered somebody else to entertain customers as they passed by Clavis and Emma, shooting them curious glances as they did so; and 4) spoke about Chevalier like he was some walking encyclopedia of the guy, regaling Emma frame by frame of what Chevalier had done to a young but arrogant writer who took offense at Chevalier’s admittedly brusque manuscript comments and thought it wise to disparage the editor. Emma winced at the story; even if she hadn’t personally met Chevalier, she agreed that it was in character for him to flay people alive for something they’d foolishly done.

“Right, right?” Clavis laughed, and something in his laughter jogged a memory from Emma.

“Hey—you’re that guy! The one who Sariel said meddled with the list of my editors!”

Clavis grinned, rakish and gleeful. “How did you know?”

“I heard you laugh while I was talking to Sariel on the phone. You sounded like you enjoyed giving Sariel stress ulcer.”

“Haha, it’s all very exciting, isn’t it? You have me to thank for arranging Chev as your editor.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Clavis.” For emphasis, Emma took a large bite of chocolate cake. It tasted divine. “He may have given me helpful feedback on my novel, but he could’ve been nicer about it.”

“Nice? A nice Chev? I can’t wrap my head around the idea of a nice Chev. The world would end before that happens.”

“Emma, what’s going on?! Who’s that guy with you?”

“Rio!” Emma was midway to standing before she thought the better of it; the pastries and the coffee called to her more strongly than she expected. “Clavis and I were just talking about, um, work. He’s from Rhodolite Press.”

Clavis did nothing to alleviate the suspicious look Rio tossed his way; in fact, he seemed to stoke it further by waving and wagging his fingers, as if to taunt Rio that he got to disrupt whatever normal day they should be having.

Rio tore his eyes away from Clavis and then did a double take. “Emma, who’s the guy behind the register?”

“As I was saying,” Clavis intervened, denying Emma a chance to answer, “I thought it would be fun to put your novel in Chev’s editing pile. I’m so glad you liked it!”

“‘Liked it’? He said that my protagonist was an idiot!”

“Haha! Classic Chev.”

Clearly Clavis was living in a different reality from her. He deliberately misinterpreted anything Emma said about her experience with Chevalier as her editor.

“He wanted me to delete a whole chapter! A whole chapter!”

Clavis nodded in sympathy—or in schadenfreude, because that seemed more consistent with his personality in the forty-five minutes Emma had known him.

“In another chapter, he said that I had the main character and the male lead fall in love with each other so quickly it didn’t seem realistic. But my goal was exactly that—the magic of love!” Somehow the cake on Emma’s plate disappeared; ranting about Chevalier took a lot of energy. She procured another slice of cake—cookies and cream this time. It was equally divine. “How would he write about love?” she continued, waving her fork like it was some metronome for haranguing. “I want to know. I can’t rely on his Goodreads reviews alone. I have to read his novel.”

As if magic words themselves, her last sentence froze both Clavis and Rio. Clavis, sensing blood, perked up in predatory glee, while Rio clicked his tongue in irritation.

“No—you really googled him, Emma!”

“You want to read Chev’s novel?”

Their piercing and expectant gazes discomfited Emma. She shifted on her seat and took a huge gulp of her coffee, which was tragically lukewarm now.

“Um,” she said, convincingly. “It stopped reprinting, if I recall correctly.”

“Well, Miss Writer, today is the best day of your life,” Clavis announced, his excitement vibrating out of him like a defcon 1 alarm. Emma debated whether to decline him outright or inch away from him until she’s outside the bookstore altogether. “First you’ve met me—a very handsome, very attractive man; and second you’re going to get Chev’s novel—courtesy of me! No need to thank me, of course. I already know that I’m kind as much as I’m handsome. Now, do you want an autographed copy? Because I can needle Chev into signing a book. Don’t be shy—say, ‘Yes, please, Master Clavis, you’re my hero!’”

“No thank you, Clavis. I can always go to the library to borrow a copy.”

It’s Clavis’s turn to click his tongue. “Tch. You’re no fun at all. But I’m still giving you one, because Chev has some extra copies in his office that I can pilf—ask for.”

“Were you about to say ‘pilfer’?”

“Of course not, you must’ve been mistaken,” Clavis said without missing a beat. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid I must leave you now. Busy man and all. Don’t miss me too much.”

He made a show of bowing with exaggerated flourish, like a circus ringmaster, and then strode towards the door, patting Rio’s shoulder along the way. The sound of the door shutting was a relief that had Emma heaving an exhausted sigh, and Rio took over Clavis’s place across the table.

“He paid for this, right?” Rio asked, as he hoarded all the bread. They were, unsurprisingly, soft and divine as well.

Emma sighed once more.

#fic #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince fic #ikepri fic #chevalier michel x emma #chevalier x emma #novelist au #stet fic

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incarnateirony · 2 years

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that's two blatant ass queer dean/destiel open promotion cycles on social media for two episodes and 2p0 is still making confused unga bunga noises on what's happening. Meg all "it's all about the narrative parallels" literally what I have been telling these morons for over a year while they dogpile me and deny it.

how long until they accept reality that they all fucked up, and that 2p0 isn't getting what he wants?

I really

really

hope you remember that "only jensen's opinion matters" take of yours. Truly. Because you know, that man doesn't exist in a bubble. he talks to people whether you know it or not. and boy son him innocently smiling at low grade crew is not the dunk you think it is. nor is any sad semantics about dialect going to change it for you, or aggrandizing a scene being moved to a later episode for flow only for it to come back around like my old script draft process post indicated. None of it is going to change the end of the road, my man

jensen isn't a pokemon. he doesn't stay in a little capsule outside of the world until invoked for articles or appearances. he has like friends, and opinions not recorded by the media, and conversations about shit. And these people don't all magically turn up in consulting credits. But these people also are never, ever fucking serpentine ladder climbing fans, not even ones like jules being used as a political badge she's too daft to figure out. They're real industry colleagues and friends. They don't want you fuckin gremlins knowing their real shit.

Catch up. the system is built for DECADES to screen out goblins like jules and leave them rotting at the bottom of shit mountain never to be hired on another project again

welcome to destiel town. if you look on the right you'll see your mountain of failures and to the left, all the blatant ass deancas shit and overt marketing for the whole show complete with dean winchester shooting rainbows out of his head and the main account, meg and danneel all online all acknowledging the parallels you guys denied this shit is about. Either get in the clown car to fix the narrative or get out.

i know you and wigglebox threw in all your clout chips and lies to high school drama me but kids, no matter what childish drama rings you run, reality is reality. sorry you burned your chips. they're my chips now.

hey banned stalky pololers, remember all my history about the gulf? Unless you think I lied for 6 years in advance you might want to tell 2p0 and jules and wiggs to stop fucking around. I know wiggs never had real access to the tea because she wasn't trusted then either, but a few might. genuinely funny that the same people that screamed "nono never add wigglebox back here she can't be trusted!" ran to her the second they were told to stop being assholes. They'll all eat each other in time.

now the whole lot has sold out so bad they're working with wincels and lowkey j2 tinhats to spread bitter narratives and try to maintain old fandom clout proxy Wiki breaking her NDA for 8 months running and it's just sad all around

it's okay, banned people. you can just say you're salty as fuck you bet on the wrong horse, don't have meaningful leaks, leads or access, and zero meaningful involvement, and have been flying blind driven purely by grudgewank you're trying to pose as about leaks, when you lied to your followers for 8 months about the pilot, consciously. People that were banned that WERENT dipshits and figured it out politely requested to come back and did, but yall are just digging a hole all the way to fucking china

i've got people i don't trust now banging on my doors demanding to know how i knew what i knew, about things that haven't even aired yet, that you guys aren't even aware of, to the point a person begged and pleaded and apologized for how they mistreated me to know, mentioned "they" (wiki) were laughing and i reminded i didn't care because i been through this rodeo with mary manchin too and these kids dont understand their capacity limits. Manchin was wrong, I was right, and history is about to repeat. That person got it straight from jensen too. So like. you guys can all sit here and deny into the void. it is what it is. you've lost.

your grudges and malice and parasocializations and bad M&G spins and your anger at not being involved or meaningful or even having info worth two shits and realizing your wiki line is even moot, that's your shit to unpack, but you won't. Because the second you guys unpack that, your server driven by vendettas, five year old gotchas and denial is going to fall the fuck to pieces.

you guys don't even have spn scripts to hock anymore and nobody cares. any new attempts at sekrit info you or 2p0 spin are moot because they're getting disproven in matters of days. The only sustainability is trying to pspsps people with jules feeding scripts as they air, and pretending she hasn't been feeding you shit under the radar the whole time. but nobody cares, because it's fucking airing, and so far only one account in the fandom has been able to accurately stay on track on what's happening.

figure it out, douchecanoes. we won't need your scripts for the arguments you'll try to make about the end of the road in denial. it's pretty damn clear. you might want them to try to find some semantics to argue but the rest of the world won't

and it won't matter how much the outdated but self proclaimed cool kids screech or cry or throw drama bombs or twist things or lie, we're going where we're fucking going, so if you guys just want to convert to an anti server now, just rip off the bandaid and get it over with.

kids learning real quick that just because you don't like a fact or a person doesn't make the fact or person untrue. It just means you've been on the wrong side. enjoy that.

#spnwin #for the creatives in the tag #your tech consultant is leaky af

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fractallogic · 10 months

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I think I’m REALLY going to eat my feelings tonight because guess fucking what the day just was so weird on top of being rejected from the job (which, btw, the way they’ve handled the process has been pinging sketchy alarm bells in the heads of my friends who know industry better, so maybe it’s actually a bullet dodged)

At her defense, this poor grad student’s nervousness was PALPABLE during her presentation and I’m so so glad she seemed to loosen up and have more fun during the questions

I didn’t recognize one of my other fave grad students there because she’d cut her hair!!! But it was nice to talk to her after the defense … until she asked how my mom was doing. I told her that my mom had died and she got really emotional for me and was like “oh no I’m so sorry are you doing okay??? Now I’m crying!!” And I was, you know, sitting there being awkward like I tend to do talking about my mom when I’m not actively feeling sad about her dying because I’m like man uh right now I don’t even miss her… 😬😬😬

But we also talked about other things and I found out that there’s a new bubble tea shop near campus, and we exchanged phone numbers, and renewed our resolve to play switch together someday and hang out

But the emotional stuff was just overwhelming, so instead of going back to my office to eat lunch (AT THREE PM LOL) and work for an hour, i literally sat in my car in the parking garage for the two minutes it took to eat my sandwich and then went to the gym

And then at the gym I hit a HUGE wall doing deadlifts, because I decided to completely disregard how I didn’t sleep enough last night and how I’d only eaten an instant breakfast shake and a PB&J all day, and I was warming up by lifting 135 lbs before I tried my 175-lb set, and … it was one of the comical moments where I’m trying SO HARD to lift the bar and it doesn’t even move. The same thing happens when I go down to 165, and again when I go ALL THE FUCKING WAY DOWN TO 135, because apparently my body was like “no we DID our single set of deadlifts already, we’re DONE now wtf”

And then I did 15 min on the elliptical and felt like I was lowkey gonna die, and on the way home I got flashes of nasty migraine possibly coming

So anyway before all that comes to fruition, I’m going to take a shower and then try this new-to-me Chinese place and get scallion pancakes and mapo tofu, and then if I still want it as badly as I do now, go all the way across town to sonic to get a cookie dough blast because they put WAY more cookie dough in their thing than DQ does in its blizzards

@ self: you aren’t obligated to eat the whole mapo tofu. You CAN actually have everything on this list if you don’t try to stuff yourself. FYI.

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simonedawson · 1 year

Text

full name: Simone Isla Dawson (she/her)

nicknames: Sim, Dawson's Creek

birthday: October 10th, 1993 (29 years old, Libra)

hometown: Providence Peak, Colorado

neighborhood: Downtown

gender and sexuality: Cis, bisexual woman

education: Bachelor's in Secondary Education / Theatre from NYU

occupation: Drama teacher at the local high school

dependents: Haliyah Dawson (younger sister, 19 years old)

pets: Kirby (Shih Tzu mix rescue)

hobbies: Binging old reality shows all at once but keeping up with soap operas every day, open mic nights bc she doesn't really get to perform anymore, really any group activity (sip & paint, axe throwing, 5k bubble runs, house parties), reading tea leaves and tarot cards, drunken online shopping, sliding on her socks on hardwood floors.

aesthetics: Eating cake batter right off the whisk, clothes that could've been taken straight from Stevie Nicks' closet, the loudest cheer and best toast in the room, flecks of dried paint on soft hands, maximalism as a way of life, handwritten notes attached to baked goods made with love.

tldr; Theatre kid from Providence Peak goes to college in New York, moves back to town to be her old high school's new drama teacher and takes in her younger sister. Six years later, things have calmed down a little bit but now she's got new problems – problems like finding love, reuniting with her parents, and finding what makes her happy. C'est la vie!

(tw: panic attack mention)

Our Simone grew up right in Providence Peak; the daughter of two professors who taught at the local college for most of her life. They were open-minded and encouraging, but both regularly put their careers and studies above their children. Simone's younger sister Haliyah was a happy accident that came about when Simone was ten years old, and they were inseparable from day one. Simone was the spirited theatre kid constantly told she had a future in “the biz” and Haliyah was the piano prodigy their parents showed off at dinner parties. Ten years between them had never mattered for a moment. They bonded over music and the pressure of their parents' expectations, but around the time Haliyah hit her pre-teens, Simone could tell the pressure was already harder on her younger sister than it was on her.

Leaving for college (read: leaving her sister to fend for herself with their parents) weighed on Simone, but when she was pulled off of the waitlist and accepted to her dream college, no one (even herself) would let her pass up the opportunity. New York City felt like it was on a whole other planet, but she acclimated to the unknown environment in no time. Just like in high school, Simone was equal parts exuberant and helpful, and stole the hearts of plenty of co-eds and theatre audiences alike. For the first two years of college, she studied performance and had the stars in her eyes, sure she would make it on Broadway or the silver screen. It took those two years for her to figure out that she wanted to teach, not subject herself to the harsh industry her parents had always dreamed of for her. And it was a trip home to Providence Peak High's drama program that made her realize it.

The old drama teacher from Simone’s own high school days, easily her favorite teacher, was still working at the school and became her mentor after that fateful trip. Then, after her college graduation, she had a choice to make: accept a high paying job near the college she attended in New York or take a teaching assistant job in Providence Peak with the hopes of someday becoming the teacher herself. The decision was immediately made in her heart, which belonged in Providence Peak, but when her father was offered his dream job as president of his alma mater in Ohio, the issue became vastly more complicated. Her baby sister Haliyah begged her to take the job in Providence Peak so she wouldn't have to move to Ohio with their parents. A summer of arguing with their parents later, Simone and Haliyah moved into an apartment of their own downtown and waved goodbye to their parents' moving truck.

It's been six years since Simone moved back to Providence Peak, and six years of raising a teenager on her own; much harder and altogether more exhausting than she could've anticipated, and worth every minute. After five semesters (two and a half years) as her mentor's teaching assistant and one semester as their emergency substitute after a broken hip, Simone was offered the drama teacher position permanently. The drama classroom became Dawson's Creek, christened by a banner painted above the door, and Simone became Sim – the cool, young drama teacher who had pride flags in her room and knew how to take care of a kid's panic attacks without embarrassing them. If all she can do is create the safe space she always knew the drama department to be, then she reckons that's more than good enough. Now if she could just add a stable relationship, and to the equation, she’d really have it made.

♡

wanted plots

The Bartender Bestie – Being a teacher or a parental figure would be hard enough, but being both is a struggle. Simone has a couple of favorite haunts in town and absolutely has a favorite bartender - a true sight for sore eyes after a long day.

The High School Sweetheart – Simone grew up in Providence Peak and left right after high school, though she did return right after graduating college. There’s nothing quite like first loves, especially in a place like Providence Peak.

The Found Family – The relationship Simone has with her first family, as she calls them, is complicated and still unraveling. The family still in Providence Peak is made up of her sister, her best friends, the people she feels safest around, and the people she works hardest to keep safe. All people are welcome in this family!

The Self-Care Spa Day Squad – Decidedly not a "girl squad", but instead a trio / quartet / quintet of people that regularly get blasted at brunch together, plan long weekends in wine country, and are regulars at the nail salon.

The Parent Teacher Conference – The classic “I met you at your kid's parent teacher conference and see you on field trips & dances we both chaperone plus sometimes the coffee shop”. Whether it’s just a vibe that adds a little spice to the day or something with potential, it’s like living in a rom-com a couple of minutes a day.

connection ideas

Neighbors in Downtown

Parents of Simone’s students (current or former) or her sister’s friends

Childhood / high school friends

Friends from New York City / college

Exes, will they / won’t they, flings, crushes

Frenemies / old enemies

Happy Hour / bar friends

A D&D party / trivia night team / book club

#providence.intro #❝ 𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 ⟶ about ❞#tw panic attack

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simonehqs · 1 year

Text

Welcome to Aurora Bay, SIMONE DAWSON! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like AISHA DEE. You must be the TWENTY SEVEN year old DRAMA TEACHER AT AURORA BAY HIGH SCHOOL. Word is you’re KINDHEARTED but can also be a bit UNRULY and your favorite song is THINKIN BOUT YOU BY FRANK OCEAN. I also heard you’ll be staying in SEABROOK QUARTER. I’m sure you’ll love it! [dj, 28, cst, she/they]

full name: simone isla dawson

nicknames: sim, dawson's creek

birthday: october 10th, 1995 (27 years old, libra)

hometown: aurora bay, california

gender and sexuality: cis, bisexual woman

education: bachellor's in secondary education / theatre

occupation: drama teacher at aurora bay high school

dependents: michaela dawson (younger sister, 18 years old)

hobbies: binging reality shows all at once but watching soap operas every day, open mic nights bc she doesn't really get to perform anymore, really any group activity (sip & paint, axe throwing, 5k bubble runs, house parties), reading tea leaves and tarot cards, sliding on her socks on hardwood floors

(tw: panic attack mention)

Our Simone grew up right in Aurora Bay; the daughter of two professors who taught at the local college for most of her life. They were open-minded and encouraging, but both regularly put their careers and studies above their children. Simone's younger sister Michaela was a happy accident that came about when Simone was nine years old, and they were inseparable from day one. Simone was the spirited theatre kid and Michaela was the piano prodigy their parents showed off at dinner parties. They bonded over music and the pressure of their parents' expectations, but when Michaela hit her pre-teens, Simone could tell the pressure was harder for her younger sister than it was for her.

Leaving for college (read: leaving her sister to fend for herself with their parents) weighed on Simone, but when she was pulled off of the waitlist and accepted to her dream college, no one (even herself) would let her pass up the opportunity. Just like in high school, Simone was equal parts exuberant and helpful, and stole the hearts of plenty of co-eds and play / musical audiences alike. For the first two years of college, she studied performance and had the stars in her eyes; sure she would make it on Broadway or the silver screen. It took those two years for her to figure out that she wanted to teach, not subject herself to the harsh industry she had dreamed of. And it was a trip home to Aurora Bay High's drama program that made her realize it.

The old drama teacher, easily Simone's favorite teacher of all time, became her mentor after that fateful trip. After graduation, she had a choice to make: accept a high paying job near the college she went to or take a teaching assistant job in Aurora Bay with the hopes of someday becoming the teacher herself. The decision was immediately made in her heart, which belonged in Aurora Bay, but when her father was offered his dream job as president of his alma mater, Michaela begged Simone to stay in Aurora Bay so she wouldn't have to move with their parents. A summer of arguing for her to stay later, Simone and Michaela moved into an apartment of their own and waved goodbye to their parents' moving truck.

It's been five years since Simone graduated and moved back to Aurora Bay, and five years of raising a teenager on her own; much harder and altogether more exhausting than she could've anticipated, but worth every minute. After three semesters as her mentor's teaching assistant and one semester as their emergency substitute after a broken hip, Simone was offered the drama teacher position permanently. The drama classroom became Dawson's Creek, christened by a banner painted above the door, and Simone became Sim – the cool, young drama teacher who had pride flags in her room and knew how to take care of a kid's panic attacks without embarrassing them. If all she can do is create the safe space she always knew the drama department to be, then she reckons that's more than good enough.

♡

wanted plots

The High School Sweetheart – Simone grew up in Aurora Bay and left right after high school, though she did return right after graduating college. There's nothing quite like first loves, especially in a small town.

The Found Family – The relationship Simone has with her first family, as she calls them, is complicated and still unraveling. The family still in Aurora Bay is made up of her sister, her best friends, the people she feels safest around, and the people she works hardest to keep safe. All people are welcome in this family!

The Self-Care Spa Day Squad – Decidedly not a girl squad, but instead a trio / quartet / quintet of people that regularly get blasted at brunch together, plan long weekends in wine country, and are regulars at the nail salon.

The Parent Teacher Conference – The classic "I met you at your child's parent teacher conference and see you on field trips & dances we both chaperone, plus sometimes the coffee shop". Whether it's just a vibe that adds a little spice to the day or something with potential, it's like living in a rom-com a couple of minutes a day.

connection ideas

Neighbors in Seabrook Quarter

Parents of Simone's students (current or former) or her sister's friends

Childhood / high school friends

Friends from New York City / college

Exes, will they / won't they, flings, crushes

Frenemies / old enemies

Happy Hour / bar friends

A D&D party / trivia night team / book club

#aurorabay.intro #❝ 𝕗𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 ⟶ about ❞

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ailtrahq · 8 months

Text

From voice assistants to algorithms predicting global market trends, artificial intelligence (AI) is seeing explosive growth. But as with any emerging technology, there comes a point where innovation risks giving way to oversaturation.The rapid proliferation of AI tools and solutions in recent months has ignited discussions among industry experts and investors alike. Are we witnessing the zenith of AI’s golden age, or are we on the precipice of a market saturated beyond capacity?The tech landscape has always been dynamic, with innovations often outpacing the market’s ability to adapt. Historical tech boom-and-bustsThe late 1990s saw the dot-com bubble, a period marked by exuberant optimism around internet-based companies. Startups with little more than a web presence achieved staggering valuations, only for many to crash spectacularly when the bubble burst.In 2017, the world witnessed a surge in initial coin offerings (ICOs), a fundraising method where new cryptocurrency projects sold their underlying tokens to investors. This period was marked by immense enthusiasm for the potential of blockchain and decentralized technologies. However, excitement often overshadowed the practicality and viability of many projects. As a result, investments were made in ventures that either had limited real-world applications or, in some cases, no genuine ties to cryptocurrency whatsoever.A notable example was during 2017’s “blockchain naming” trend with the company previously known as “Long Island Iced Tea Corp.” The company made soft drinks and had little to do with blockchain. In a bid to capitalize on the blockchain hype, the company rebranded itself as “Long Blockchain Corp.”Following this rebranding, the company’s stock price soared, with shares rising by an astonishing 275% in just one day. This increase, despite no substantial shift in its business model or operations, highlighted the speculative nature of the market at the time and the lengths to which companies would go to ride the blockchain wave.The enthusiasm was short-lived, however. According to Bitcoin.com, almost half of the projects offering ICOs in 2017 had failed by February 2018.AI’s impact goes beyond speculationWhile the dot-com and blockchain bubbles were characterized by speculation and, at times, a lack of authentic value, the AI wave is fundamentally different.Companies like Microsoft and Google are not just dabbling in AI — they’re integrating it into products and services that millions use daily, showcasing real-world applications that are actively improving industries.Michael Koch, co-founder and CEO of HubKonnect — an AI platform for local store marketing campaigns — told Cointelegraph: “The AI market feels saturated because people who thought they were technologists and failed at crypto are now moving onto the next hot technology, which is AI — but there are actually real builders and leaders in AI. There needs to be advanced eyes out there for people to really continue to build and take advantage of the evolution of AI.”Google’s generative AI, Google Bard, attracted over 140 million visitors in May alone, sports teams are receiving real-time analytics, and AI chatbots are becoming more time and cost-efficient.The modern AI gold rushThe allure of artificial intelligence has led to a surge in AI-driven tools, solutions and startups. According to Precedence Research, the global artificial intelligence market was valued at $454 billion in 2022 and is projected to grow to $538 billion in 2023. Venture capital (VC) has been a significant funding source for the AI sector in 2023. Data from PitchBook indicates that generative AI startups raised over $1.7 billion in Q1 of 2023, with an additional $10.7 billion worth of deals announced that were not yet completed. Some of the most notable raises included Google-backed Anthropic, which secured $450 million at a reported $5 billion valuation. Builder.AI raised $250 million. Mistral AI managed to raise $113 million without a product or even a proof-of-concept.

With the injection of VC thrown at these AI startups like wildfire, one can draw some similarities to the ICO bust. In that situation, there was also a lot of hype without any actual use cases or proof of viability. However, what distinguishes AI is its multitude of use cases and real-life examples of success. Take, for instance, ChatGPT, which rapidly reached 100 million users in just two months, demonstrating AI’s tangible impact.Yet, with this rapid growth and high valuations, some feel the AI market is overheating. JPMorgan’s chief markets strategist, Marko Kolanovic, believes the AI market is near its saturation point. As reported by Forbes, Kolanovic said the recent market uptick is a result of an “AI-driven bubble” and that the hype around the technology was due to the “popularization of chatbots that often fail in basic questions” rather than “AI-powered earnings growth.” Leif-Nissen Lundbæk, founder and CEO of generative AI company Xayn, has a contrasting view and believes we are only at the tip of the iceberg. He told Cointelegraph:“The AI market is not close to becoming saturated. Currently, companies have tried their hand here and there, with some proofs-of-concept materializing. The real large-scale production cases are only getting started, or are yet to come.”Between saturation and innovationThe sheer volume of companies entering the AI space has raised concerns about a potentially saturated market. Companies worldwide are now utilizing AI as part of their core functionalities. From 10Web’s no-code website builder to RainbowAI’s weather app, and from ICarbonX’s AI providing personalized health analyses to SherpaAI’s virtual personal assistant, the stage has been set for countless others to follow suit.Lundbæk recognizes that the influx of new companies could lead to the market becoming saturated in some areas but does not see it as a pertinent issue, stating, “The business-to-customer market is perhaps a bit more saturated but has not yet reached full capacity, while the business-to-business market is only in its infancy, even though AI has been around for a while. The vast majority of corporations are only using AI or machine learning for a few visible projects, if at all, that are easier to implement with lower risk, but aren’t applying it yet on a large scale.”Koch says that the influx of newcomers might give the illusion of an oversaturated AI market, but he views initial saturation as a necessary phase to foster future advancements.He stated: “AI will never be saturated because we are only on the first off-ramp of the AI super highway. It seems saturated because people from other industries are trying to step into the space, but when it comes down to innovation, there’s already a select group of companies that are so far ahead and that have been in the AI space for decades. To be able to drive innovation forward, saturation will arise at a basic level, but there are elite players and companies that are leading the future of AI.”Reflecting on AI’s market dynamicsThe rapid growth, high valuations and influx of new entrants into the AI realm have sparked debates about market saturation. Historical tech bubbles, such as the dot-com era and the blockchain hype, serve as reminders of the potential repercussions of unchecked growth and speculation.However, the depth of AI’s potential is far from fully realized. The technology’s tangible impact speaks to its practical and transformative nature.It’s evident that the AI market is multifaceted. As with any burgeoning technology, the challenge is to strike a balance between rapid growth and sustainable development.

0 notes

nctsworld · 3 years

Text

two nights, one you

✩‌ jaemin ‌x‌ ‌reader‌ ‌|‌ fuckboy!jaemin | strangers (who f*ck) to (brief) enemies to lovers | ‌10.9k

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ a last-minute one night stand gone awry is extended into two nights when you’re snowed in at the cute (but rude) stranger’s apartment on christmas eve. [loosely based on the movie, two night stand] // part of the x-mas in ncity collection GENRES ⇾ crack | smut | fluff WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ‌lots of bickering and dialogue, smut, oral s*x (f and m receiving), fingering, mentions of alcohol/drinking, swearing, bit of angst before the end, jaemin’s an asshole... or is he? RATING‌ ‌⇾‌ explicit TAGLIST ⇾‌ @infnteen

AUTHOR’S NOTE ⇾ it’s late (and long fsldkm), srysry but here it is! i hope the humour comes out in this and look away if falls flat zzz fingers crossed that i can finish the last two installments for this collection asap!

⇾ gif created by me, please don’t repost or share without credit!

Maybe it’s because it’s the evening of Christmas Eve Eve and you’re feeling more lonely than usual.

Maybe it’s due to the two glasses of wine you guzzled down in the span of fifteen minutes that get you buzzed.

Maybe it’s your prominent six-month dry spell and you’re in desperate need for some much needed rain in your drought.

Or maybe it’s just pure impulsiveness.

Regardless of the reasons, you’re aiming to get laid tonight.

It’s 9:45pm as you make the rounds on Tinder. You’ve used it in the past, searching for a relationship in vain, but haven’t used it much since you broke up with your last partner. Bringing the app alive again, you’re already bombarded by distasteful messages, off-putting one-liners and jokes, and swiping left more than you’d like.

You haven’t had a one-night stand before, but isn’t there anyone on here that is just a little bit attractive, nearby where you are, around your age, and is somewhat chivalrous about the topic besides saying DTF? Maybe you need to lower your standards if you want to get dicked down tonight.

But then, you land on him.

One Na Jaemin, 20 years old, and only four miles away from you.

Scrolling through his profile pictures and Instagram feed, you assume that he’s into photography, is on the athletic side from the various hobbies he partakes in, and he must be at least half-aware of his beauty because there’s the occasional pic that shows off his lean, toned arms, which, if you can be frank, is more flattering than the shirtless ones you constantly see. Oh, and he attends the same university as you.

The cherry on top? His bio is simple and upfront:

“Not up for anything serious, but always down for a good time ;)”

You swipe right without hesitation.

“It’s a Match!” flashes instantly at you. Your mouth swings open in disbelief.

Usually, you’d wait for your matches to message you and play hard-to-get, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re initiating and leading all the conversations, completely driven by your thirst.

Messaging Jaemin is a breeze. He types with more than half a brain, and he flirts, but it isn’t overwhelming or repulsive. Segueing the current topic, you drag your bottom lip upward as you send the following message:

so, hypothetically... if one were to have good time with you would tonight work?

Not even twenty seconds later and he replies with:

-wow, dont you go straight to the point -im impressed -but yeah -tonight works ;)

He’s quick to send his address.

-let me know when ur here and ill come get you out front!

Smacking your lips together, you squeal to yourself in the comfort of your home, excited to meet with him, but then a thought hangs over you—this feels a little too good to be true. Horrible scenarios run through your head, so your fingers dash across your phone’s keyboard:

tbh i haven’t really done this b4 so im kinda new to this is it ok if we video call or smth? gotta make sure you’re real and not a serial killer i’m sure you understand 😛

-for sure for sure -totally get it -ive had my fair share of fake girls and serial killers so i feel u 😛

Grateful for his consideration, you rush to rearrange your hair after you send him a Zoom link, hoping you look decent enough to not have him back off from his initial offer. He appears in the video call on his phone with the front-facing camera on a few seconds after you connect.

“Hi,” you chirp.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Hey.”

Okay, he’s definitely cuter in real-time than in his pictures.

“You know, I’m not gonna lie, but I lowkey expected to see a dick or something,” you joke in an attempt to dispel your nervousness.

“Same,” he chuckles, running a hand through his black hair.

Oh God, he’s not just cute—he’s devastatingly gorgeous.

“So, this is my place...”

Jaemin moves around with his apartment in the background, revealing his living room first. Envy prods you as you note the brick walls, high ceiling windows, and well-appointed furnishings.

Recalling his address, you ask, “How’d you get a place in the heart of the city?”

“Lucked out,” he shrugs. His phone shakes a bit as he’s still moving. “My friend slash roommate—who is at his girlfriend’s place tonight, so we have the place all to ourselves—his parents own the condo and they gave me a friend discount on the rent.”

He finally stands in one place and turns the light on to reveal a room. “And this is my bedroom.”

Nothing out of the ordinary. A desk table with a gaming set-up, in tow with a gamer chair, and a decently-sized bed beside a nightstand.

“Oh, and here’s my closet.” Jaemin’s on the move again as he opens his closet doors. “Just to make sure you don’t think I hide the skins of my past one-nighters in here.”

A bubbly laugh rises from you. “Okay, I didn’t think of that before, but now you’ve planted the seed in my head. Maybe you hide them in the other rooms.”

“Nah, my roommate would kill me if I did.”

Both of you laugh in unison, and you bob your head with puffed cheeks.

“Okay, it all seems very promising. I’m going to get ready and I’ll guess I’ll see you in a bit, Jaemin.”

“Sounds good,” Jaemin nods, then winks. Although you’re sitting down, he’s still able to get you weak in the knees. “See you soon.”

You end the call and rush to bundle up for the snow starting to come down outside. A twenty-minute train ride later, you’re at the front door of a rustic, industrial apartment complex. After informing Jaemin you’re outside, you glance up at the snowflakes falling from the dark pink-grey sky, anticipating for what comes next.

Sex with a hot guy, what can go wrong?

So, you must’ve jinxed it because the sex is...

Unsatisfying. Finished faster than you’d like it to be. Sadly, overall disappointing. If you had to rate it, three out of five stars, at best.

But hey, he came, and you sort of did, and it wasn’t the worst sex you’ve ever had. It half-quenched your dry spell.

And enough happened that it tired you out, leaving you passed out in the handsome stranger’s bed until morning.

In the morning, your eyes slowly flicker, unused to the foreign, sweet scent engulfing you in your bed. Correction: Jaemin’s bed.

Your eyes flicker faster as you glance through the almost wall-sized window. The snow hasn’t let up from last night. On the contrary, it seems like it’s snowing non-stop. You groan at the thought of going home in this weather.

The bed is without Jaemin’s presence as you reach for your phone on the nightstand. 10:36AM and a few notifications greet you. You rub your eyes and start combing through them, rising upward to sit up on the bed.

“Morning. You’re finally up.”

Peering up from your device, Jaemin’s standing by the door with folded arms. His plain sweater and sweatpants match the colour of his hair. The dazzling smile he gives is so contagious, you’re not even conscious of catching one too.

“Out you go.”

You blink.

Once, twice, and then you tilt your head as you stare blankly at him, uncertain if you heard him correctly.

After a few moments, because you’re not moving an inch, his smile dissipates and he cocks an eyebrow in expectancy. A serious expression rolls over his face.

Suddenly, Jaemin strolls to the side of the bed and hitches his thumb towards the door.

You definitely heard him right.

And he’s dead-serious.

You replay the video call from last night, dissecting how you thought he was nice and funny and—

Realization dawns on you.

Why would you expect anything more from a two-faced fuck boy?

Still awestruck by the situation, you’re still solid as a statue, so Jaemin takes matters into his own hands and grasps you by your elbow, casually dragging you from his bed like he’s taking out the trash.

“What the fuck?!” you screech.

“C’mon, let’s go. Out out.”

“My clothes, though!” you protest in the middle of the hallway. He sighs in frustration, scurries to the bedroom, and returns with a small pile in his arms, then continues to drag you to the front door.

“Are you always this pleasant with your guests the morning after?” you rage, putting on the rest of your clothes by the door. “You don’t even have the decency to offer me tea or coffee?”

“This was a one-night stand, not a bed and breakfast, sunshine,” he says as he watches you put your shoes on. He’s folding his arms again and leaning against the wall, his attitude dripping with smug. If he wasn’t a stranger, you’d punch it off his face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were new to this, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a borderline virgin who needs to toodle-loo, get going and gone because you’re overstaying your welcome as we speak.”

Finishing putting on your coat, you’re fuming as your jaw hangs at the personal jab over your skills in bed. Jaemin swings the door open and shoves you through it.

“But I’ll admit, it was still nice having sex with you!” he chimes with a sickening grin and a hand on the door.

“Aw, thanks asshole, wish I could say the same,” you sarcastically reply, resting a palm upon your chest.

He scoffs. “From what I heard last night, I think I can confidently say that you had a great time.”

Flashbacks replay in your mind of your screaming fest from underneath him. Little did Jaemin actually know—

“You know, for someone who I assume has many one-night stands,” you spit with squinted eyes. “I’m surprised you can’t tell when girls fake it.”

You must’ve hit a sore spot because he grinds his teeth and you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Oh yeah, you’re definitely the winner in this fight.

“Okay, you know what, Merry Christmas and fuck you. Have a great life!”

“Fuck you, dickface. Wishing you a miserable Christmas!”

With a bitter smile, you flip him off as he slams the door in your face.

Carrying a basket filled with dirty clothes, Jaemin’s on the way down to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment with his shoulder scrunched up, squeezing his phone to his ear.

“Bro, she had the audacity to say that I didn’t make her come when she was screaming my God damn ear off—”

As he steps down the short flight of stairs and passes by the foyer area by the main entrance to the building, he notices you’re still here.

“Shit, uh, Jeno,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

He stuffs his phone into the pocket of his sweats and calls out to you as he strides closer. “Are you resorting to stalking me by my front door now?”

With crossed arms, you peer over your shoulder, eyes full of bitterness.

“Like I wanna be anywhere near you right now,” you grumble. You jerk your head towards the thick, wooden door. “It’s jammed from the snow.”

The laundry carrier shakes his head and places the basket onto the floor. “A little snow never hurt anyone. You’re probably just too weak.”

Stepping aside and holding out an arm, you signal for him to give it a try.

Jaemin twists the handle and, lo and behold, it doesn’t open. His forehead crinkles as he tries again and again, using more force each time.

Glancing through one of the partially frosted windows adjacent to the sides of the door, he notices the snow has piled enormously high, almost to the height of his chest.

“Well, shit.”

Reluctantly, Jaemin brings you back to his apartment. You’re technically his guest and if he left you in the foyer to freeze, trouble would surely come his way, whether it be in the form of his landlords (also known as his roommate’s parents) or the police.

Without a word, he settles a spoon in a bowl, a carton of milk, and a box of cereal onto the small kitchen table.

At first, you stare at it venomously in rejection, thinking you can easily last a day without any hand-outs from this son of a bitch, but your stomach roars ferociously three seconds later.

As you chew across from him, you enjoy the company of your phone over him, while he does the same but with a cup of coffee in hand.

After finishing your food, you adamantly place your phone down and lean back into the chair, boring holes into his head.

“Why are you such an asshole?” you seethe observantly.

“Why are you such a bitch?” he retorts, not pulling his gaze away from his phone.

“Because you started it,” you say slowly, stating the obvious.

“No, you.”

You sigh defeatedly at his childish behaviour. The weather apps predict the snow will (hopefully) die down by tomorrow morning, thus you’re officially stuck with him for the next twenty-four hours or so. Your hands rake through your hair.

“Whether we like it or not, the snow isn’t going away until tomorrow. Merry Christmas Eve to us, I guess.”

He’s still glued to his phone. You exhale another sigh.

“Since we’re not getting out of this until then, can we just...” You soften your voice. “Start over?”

His eyes are still on the screen, but from the way his shoulders tense and how he stops scrolling, you know he’s considering your proposition.

“At least call a stalemate over this.” You drift your hand in the air, gesturing between you and him.

Blowing out air and shaking his head, he rests his phone onto the table.

“Fine.”

He crosses his arms, imitating you, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other in a long silence.

One minute, to be exact.

You’re the one to break the silence game by running your hands over your face, letting out a hybrid of a groan and laugh.

“God, the fact that we had sex makes this kinda awkward, huh?”

Jaemin’s exterior melts slightly, letting out a snicker. He shrugs, “Then let’s just pretend that we didn’t have sex.”

“We can’t just pretend that we didn’t have sex,” you say, holding two upturned palms near your face.

“We did it, it’s done. I’ve seen your penis, you kicked me out, and you labelled me a prude—” You dart a finger towards him. “—which I am far from, by the way. All of those are pretty huge things.”

One of the corners of his mouth raises high. “Are you saying my penis is huge?”

“No, the implication of said penis is huge. Wipe that smirk off your face.”

He stretches an arm, holding an imaginary microphone to your face. “Do you deny that my penis is huge?”

Rolling your eyes, you swat his fist away. “What am I, on trial here?”

“Do you plead the fifth then?”

Annoyed, you roll your eyes again. Why do you get the feeling that you’re probably going to be doing this a lot more today? Another feeling tells you that if you don’t answer his question, he’ll probably pester you until you do.

You tilt your head side to side. “It’s... decently sized.”

“Bigger or smaller than average?”

“Perfect...” His eyes light up. “...ly average.” And a frown rolls over.

He squints his eyes accusingly at your sneer. “Are you lying like you did before about faking it?”

You scoff. “I wasn’t lying about faking it, and I’m not lying now about your average sized dick.”

Jaemin releases a disgruntled grumble and lifts his cup to his face. You notice he likes to take his coffee black and bitter, presumably like his heart.

“So, Miss I’m-Not-A-Prude-and-I’ve-Definitely-Had-Sex-Before.” His eyebrows perk up on the word definitely. “What’s your story? Why the last minute one-night stand?”

Shrugging your shoulders to your ears, you reply, “Haven’t had sex in a while.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asks mid-sip.

“Half a year ago,” you respond nonchalantly, perching your chin into your palms.

Jaemin immediately chokes, almost spraying the coffee through his nose.

“Half a year?!” he gasps. It takes him a few hits to his chest to dispel the coughing. “Six months?!”

“Wow, you can count!” you exclaim in a condescending tone. You change the position of your hands so that your chin is now atop of the back of your curled fingers and tilt your head. “Can you also spell?”

“As a premed student, I can assure you that I am capable of doing both,” he says with a slight strain due to the coughing fit. The humble brag brings on another eye roll. Of course he’s a premed student with the attitude he wears.

“It’s just—” He clears his throat and swallows the last bit of coffee stuck in his windpipe. “—The last time I had a dry spell was for like, a month, tops.”

So the fuckboy gets laid way more on the daily than you expect. You’re torn between being envious over how much action he gets in comparison to you, or remorseful, since you’re now just one of the many notches on his bedpost.

No matter, sarcasm is always the best defence mechanism.

“Good for you, Jaemin. I’m sure you’re very proud of that.”

There’s an awkward beat. His head hangs for a moment while his thumbs stroke the sides of his cup. A strange pinch of guilt occurs. Did you overstep an unspoken line? But then he drags himself back to reality in a heartbeat.

Jaemin brings the cup to his mouth again, mumbling, “At least the sex on your part makes more sense now; you’re rusty as fuck.”

Completely aware of what he said, you trash your guilt entirely and narrow your eyes. “What did you just say?”

Following a long sip, he hums, “Mmm, nothing.” Soon after, he stands up with his cup.

“I’m gonna go game now. Feel free to watch Netflix on the TV and stay in the living room.”

As if you had anywhere else to go...

He begins to walk towards his room as you mutter under your breath, “I’m not a dog.”

“Says the bitch,” he pipes up, taking you by surprise.

“Thought we had a stalemate?!” you shout, leaning your head forward as you watch him entering his room.

“Doesn’t mean we’re on peaceful terms!” he sing-shouts.

The flinging of the closed door echoes throughout the apartment.

Regret surges through you. You just had to choose a fuckboy fluent in assholery and end up incidentally being isolated with him during a snow storm on Christmas Eve.

You wonder if you can handle being around him for the next twenty-four hours without killing him first.

During the afternoon, you’re on the living room couch, playing a show as mostly background noise while you’re on your phone. At one point, your phone unsurprisingly begins to die and you tread over to Jaemin’s door to ask for a charger and if you can also take a shower. He’s still annoyed by your existence, but at least he hands you a charger and lets you know where the extra towels are.

Stepping into the living room with the towel in your hand as you dry your hair off, you peer out the large living room window and see nothing but white engulfing the streets and buildings as far as the eye can see.

You pray the snow will eventually stop as soon as possible so you can head back home.

By the middle of the afternoon, Jaemin emerges from his bedroom and shocks you by plopping down on the opposite end of the living room couch from where you’re sitting.

“Bored?” you ask, eyes fixated on the TV screen.

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p as he says it. His slings his arm around the top of the couch.

“Gotta keep an eye on you in case you do something.” Turning away from the screen, he faces you and motions circles with his hand. “You’ve got a little crazy in you, I can feel it.”

You quickly glance over at him, but try to refocus on the TV. “Need I remind you that you’re the crazy one, dragging me out of the apartment right as I woke up.”

That compels him to turn his whole body towards you. “Well, you’re the one who wanted a last-minute one-night stand.”

You match his stance. “As if I’m the first girl in your bed to stay in the morning?”

“Actually, yeah.” He aggressively tilts his head to one side. “Most girls leave before I even get up. The other percentage don’t fight me when I ask for them to go, so it looks like you’re the odd one out.”

You press your lips together, refusing to admit that maybe he has a point, under the assumption that he’s telling the truth.

Jaemin twists his body back to the screen and adds, “I make it very clear on my profile that I don’t do morning afters, sweetheart.”

And you agree that his profile is clear about his intentions, but that doesn’t mean you can condone his shitty behaviour.

“Well, sorry that I expected just an ounce of respect instead of getting kicked to the curb after you stuck your dick in me,” you grumble, shifting back to the show and crossing your arms.

“Morning afters lead to attachments, and attachments lead to feelings, and feelings lead to relationships,” he says the string of words clinically, as if it’s a mantra that he lives by.

Your eyebrows knit together as you whip your head towards him once more, studying him.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

Deliberately averting your gaze, Jaemin grates his tongue between his teeth, a slight tsk audibly heard, and his chin juts out. There’s definitely a story behind his ways. He huffs and changes the subject.

“Seriously?” He holds a hand out. “You’re watching this trashy show?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you could probably interrogate him further, but you decide otherwise.

“It may be trashy,” you concur, looking at the TV. “But it’s my trashy comfort show.”

Following an over-the-top acted out scene between the show’s main love interests, Jaemin shoots up from the couch.

“Yeah, no, I can’t handle this. Can we either put on something else or game or something?”

“Why don’t you go back to your room to game, Mr. I’m-Not-Bored?”

“Like I said, I gotta keep an eye on you,” he says while bending over in front of the TV, already setting up the Playstation. He tosses you a controller as he strides to his side of the couch again.

He mumbles to himself, “Need to make sure you don’t go crazy from the lack of human interaction.”

Either Jaemin is selfish and only looking out for himself, or he wants to make sure you’re not feeling lonely in a stranger’s home.

Likely the first reason, you deduce—because why would a guy like Jaemin care about a mere one-night stand?

Admittedly, you’re not the best at games, especially at fighting ones. You can comprehend the move lists, but you like to live by button smashing the controller and repeating moves over and over.

So it’s hilarious when you beat Jaemin every round with your surprisingly fruitful technique.

“Okay, this is bullshit,” Jaemin complains, sticking his tongue out in irritation. His ass is currently being handed to him on a plate again since you’re almost done killing his character off. “You must be lying to me; you have to be a pro player or some shit.”

Jaemin’s health bar is dangerously low as your character jabs his with a sword. He winces out loud and you snicker.

“Why do you think I always lie about everything?! Dude, you have serious trust issues,” you joke before you steal the opportunity to slice his character. One more hit and he’s done for.

“I do not! I just—nooo!”

You rise to your feet and pump your arms in the air, turning in circles in joy over yet another win.

Sulking, Jaemin eyes your little dance from his end on the couch, but as he watches you more, a feeling balloons in his chest. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Finally coming down from your post-win high, you spot an emerging grin from the corner of your eye, making you pause.

“What?” you eye him suspiciously.

Your suspicion pops the sensation in his chest and, like a fish out of water, his eyes widen and his grin melts away.

“Nothing, uhm.” He ruffles his eyebrows and palms the back of his neck, quickly facing the TV. “Let’s go one more round and then we can switch to another game—”

Suddenly, the TV and surrounding lights switch off. Both of you waver your eyes, anticipating for them to come back on, but they unfortunately don’t.

Jaemin rushes over to the window. When he swivels his head towards you, his face darkens.

“Looks like it’s at least the whole block. The streetlights are out too.”

Without another word, he dashes to the linen closet and brings back several blankets. He calmly explains that there won’t be heat since it’s connected to the electricity, so it’d be best to keep warm with the extra layers.

Not wanting to scare you, he doesn’t add the fact that due to the huge windows in the apartment, more unnecessary cold air will come in, but you’re already cognizant of it from your own logic and since the remaining heat dissolves rapidly.

You groan and retreat into the massive blanket over your shoulders, turtling your head.

You can’t believe you’re going to fucking die in this asshole’s apartment on Christmas Eve.

On the ends of the couch in your makeshift blanket jackets, both of you attend to your phones for a while.

From what people and the news outlets are saying, it’s not just the block, but the whole city grid is out. You frantically text your friends, giving updates on how you are and half-jokingly telling them that you’re going to die with your dreadful one-night stand. Some time passes and Jaemin tosses his phone off to one side.

“Well, since there’s nothing else to do and we should probably conserve our phone batteries—” You glance up at him from your phone and pout. Slowly nodding in agreement, you toss it aside too. “—why don’t we play a game of ‘I’ll-Give-You-Pointers-on-How-to-be-Better-in-Bed’?”

A smile burgeons on his irritatingly handsome face and your eyes roll. At this point, you wonder if the reaction is conditioned into you. “It’ll be my early Christmas gift to you.”

“Wow, so thoughtful, how could I ever thank you?” You drag the blanket closer to your chest in false gratitude.

You think for a serious moment if you really want to go through with this. Hearing Jaemin run his mouth on you unwarranted is already painful, but to give him the go-ahead to do so? Especially criticizing your skills in bed?

You blow out a sigh, noting the slightly visible cloud. You’re grateful Jaemin has thick, downy blankets.

Well, if you’re going to die, may as well know what went wrong, right?

“Fine, but if we’re playing this game, we have to say everything honestly and take the criticism we get.” You point a stern finger. “No rebuttals, just acceptance.”

“Wait.” Jaemin crinkles his face in genuine confusion as his hand peeks out from his blanket.

“You have things to criticize about me in bed?”

Your lips tremble before you burst into laughter. Displeasure is on Jaemin’s tight-lipped face as you laugh for a while, almost keeling over in your blanket ball onto the hardwood floor. “How conceited are you, oh, my fucking God?”

He slices his hand through the air. “I’ve never had any complaints—”

“Because you’re too busy focusing on your own orgasm, you selfish dickwad,” you say as your laughter dies down.

He sits in his snit for a few more moments until he gets over it.

“Fine, fine,” he huffs. Jaemin knows he’s not going to enjoy this, but he’s the one who suggested it. He can’t back out now. “Let’s just get this over with, you go first.”

With your blanket held by your chest, you hop off your end of the couch and shuffle over in front of him where he’s seated. Beaming, you begin.

“Let’s start with foreplay.” Jaemin’s eyes light up with confidence, thinking he’s at least decent with that. You crush his expression as your lips purse and you shake your head.

“Non-existent.”

“What do you mean?! I kissed you as you took off your clothes.”

You stick your free hand out from your blanket, extending your index finger.

“One: you only kissed my lips. You know, there are other parts of me to kiss, like, I don’t know, my neck, my arms, my shoulders.”

You extend another finger. “And, two: it’s weird to not help someone take off their clothes. Like you’re in a super rush to get somewhere or something—”

“We’re fucking!” he cuts in sharply. “This is a one-night stand, not a relationship.”

Closing your eyes and dropping your head, you pinch the bridge of your nose. You sigh in exaggeration.

“Thought we agreed no rebuttals...” you softly sing-say.

Jaemin’s head sinks a little into his blanket. “Sorry.”

Removing your hand, you shrug. “Maybe there’s some rule that I don’t know about one-night stands, so this could be on me.”

You start to aimlessly tread back and forth in front of him, dragging the blanket along too. “But fuck, foreplay is foreplay for a reason. You work your way up to the heat of the moment and it makes sex much better, regardless if you’re in a relationship with the person or not.”

“Next point.” You stop walking and direct your focus on him. Pointing your finger and looking him dead in the eye, you ask, “Do you know what a vagina is?”

He snorts with a simper. “Uhhh, is this a rhetorical question?”

“No, I’m legit asking,” you say with a raised eyebrow and snarky smile. “Because when you went down on me, all you flicked your tongue at was the outside of it, also called the labia if you didn’t know.”

“I’m premed, of course I—”

“Which is great! But you didn’t go any deeper nor did you go near my clit.”

You thrust your finger again. “Do you also know what that is?”

“Yes...” he groans with the flickering eyelids.

You swipe your arm through the air. “Maybe make use of it, and not only when you go down on girls. Even during sex, touching it is great.”

“And lastly,” you continue. “I’ll be honest here, you have a decent dick.”

Jaemin waggles his finger. “So you were lying before—”

“I wasn’t lying,” you retort firmly. “But anyways, you’ve got the stuff, but why don’t you put it to better use?”

With the following words, you attempt to gesture with your body and execute moves as graphic visuals. Jaemin giggles at the sight.

“Vary the speeds and the angle, don’t just slam it in me and go crazy fast from the get-go. Build up to the climax. Jesus, I couldn’t even get close to coming because you’re like a jackhammer from start to finish.”

When you finally finish, Jaemin’s giggles morph into hollow laughs. Frustration is blatant on your face, pondering if he even absorbed a single word you said.

After he calms down, he asks, “Are you done?”

You mumble, “Yeah, I think so.”

The two of you switch places. He shuffles onto his feet with his blanket while you sit back on the couch.

Jaemin pulls the blanket across the floor as he ambles. “Okay, your head game is decent—”

“Excuse you, my head game is strong.”

“Uh-uh, rebuttal,” he points out.

You sigh. Pinching your fingers together, you drag the invisible zipper across your mouth, then wave your hand, allowing him to resume.

“Your head game is decent. You definitely can deepthroat, but—” He mirrors you from before and extends his index finger.

“One: this happened only a few times, but your teeth scraped against my dick, which is why I assumed you were a borderline virgin.”

You fume silently at the accusation, attempting to not speak up with a heap of rebuttals. But he wasn’t wrong—if you teethed on his dick, that’s a classic virgin move.

“But that’s okay, because we already established that you’re just rusty.” Jaemin flashes you a fake comforting smile as he continues to pace. You flash him one back.

“And two—” He holds another finger out. “Don’t be scared to use your hands and stroke me. Give my dick some love. If it’s too wet, just wipe your hands on the bed or something.”

“Okay, duly noted,” you hum. “Next.”

“Don’t be scared to touch me.”

“I touched you so much during—”

He shoots you a glare. You roll your mouth inward, your lips disappearing instantly.

“Your hands were mostly on the sheets, which is hot, but guys like to be felt up too.”

The attractive individual peers up for a second, thinking to himself. “Even hotter when a girl feels herself up during the fucking, but that’s beside the point. Baby steps, just remember to touch the other person.”

Jaemin does a full-stop and faces you.

“And just... don’t fake it.” Distress is evident in his pout. You hate to admit it, but it’s a little cute. He raises an arm and jerks it in the air. “Why do girls fake it?”

“Because guys with egos like you can’t handle criticism,” you reply bluntly.

“What are we doing, having this conversation, hm?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation if it didn’t snow in and keep us here together.” You peel a hand away and gesture to the window. “If I walked out of here this morning, you would’ve just fucked the next girl the same.”

He defends himself, “Faking it just feeds our egos.”

“Yeah, well, if I told you afterwards that I didn’t come, what would you do?”

“Try to make you come in other ways?”

Shaking your head, you scoff. “Guys like you aren’t that considerate.”

“You’re right.” He assents, holding his pointer finger against his chest. “Because guys like me aim to please.”

A brilliant thought leaps in his mind and Jaemin gasps. You can only assume bad things from the wicked smile he sends your way.

“Why don’t we try it again?”

Perplexed, you squint at him.

“Try what again...?”

“Sex,” he says enthusiastically.

You blankly stare at him.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you deadpan.

“I mean, there’s nothing else to do and it’ll keep us warm.”

You continue to stare at him until you groan.

“Oh, my God...” Your blanket droops a bit off your shoulders as you drag your palms across your face. “I cannot believe I’m stuck in this snowstorm with you out of all people...”

Sitting next to you, Jaemin persistently reasons with you. “Think of it also as another learning experience for the future partners we’ll have.”

“Yeah, if we don’t die first!” you shriek.

“We’re not going to die,” Jaemin replies in a mocking tone and a dart of his tongue.

Outside the window, the snow seems to have slowed down, but not by much.

God, Jaemin better be fucking right because you want to live to see another day.

“Fine,” you mutter and match his gaze. “But we have to be vocal throughout the whole thing. Say whatever’s on our mind.”

“Fine,” he agrees to your terms. He produces the same wicked smile again. “But can we film it then? So we can study it after?”

You fire him a death glare that melts his face off, even in the frigid atmosphere.

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he says, waving his hand.

They say that jokes are half-meant true, but you think Jaemin fully meant it. Still in your blanket jackets, Jaemin snags your free hand and leads you to his room.

“You gotta give me credit for trying, though.”

“No.” You shake your head with an unwilling smile creeping on the edge of your lips. On second thought, maybe the joke was a little funny, but you still stand by your opinion that he’s the most annoying person in the world. “I don’t think I will.”

“Thank God Chenle has so many scented candles...”

On the edge of Jaemin’s bed, huddled by the blanket, you watch him light up several large jars, placing them on his nightstand and desk in hopes to brighten the room. It’s already late afternoon, but one could mistaken it for nighttime with the muddy sky due to the snow.

“Is Chenle your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers with a slight shiver, igniting the last candle near the bedside. He removed his blanket when he went to nab the matches and candles. “His girlfriend gets free ones from work, so she always gives him a shit ton, even though he never uses them.”

With a glowing hue against his face, he blows out the match. He makes his way to you, a cocky grin plastered on him, as he says, “Guess we’re making use of them now, though.”

Before you can even respond, Jaemin gets right down to business—sitting beside you on the mattress, he palms your face and drags you in for a kiss. You softly yelp, but immediately reciprocate.

The cover falls off your body as you reach to touch him, fingers drifting over his solid arms.

You don’t want to stroke his large ego, and maybe it’s because you haven’t had anyone else on you in a while, but Jaemin’s kisses are something else.

The cushiony pair of lips always executes enough pressure against your mouth, increasing and decreasing on command in perfect tandem and timing. His hands hover over your waist and the nape of your neck, fingers sinking into your hot skin.

His mouth trails downward the side of your neck. You crane your head back, indulging in his caresses as soft moans trickle out.

He gently signals for you to recline back and lay onto the mattress, moving the sea of blankets aside. Inclined on his elbow, almost atop of you, his cool fingers glide under your top layers, his thumb stroking against your stomach.

Pulling away from your body, he tugs on the ends of your clothes. You rise from the bed to better the angle for him to discard of them.

The hairs on your skin are standing on end from the frigid air, but you’re too focused on Jaemin’s mouth migrating over your upper arm and your bra-covered chest to care. Without notice, he stuffs a cup of the bra to one side and takes your bosom into his mouth.

Air’s seized from your lungs and your core contracts from the pleasure. Your fingers tug on Jaemin’s luscious locks and his free hand squeezes your unoccupied breast.

After a few twirls of his tongue and a gentle drawing of his teeth on the pointed tip, he mumbles hotly into your chest while he thumbs your other nipple, “Foreplay still non-existent?”

“It’s better, I guess,” you sigh with fluttering eyes. His chuckling reverberates against your cleavage, a sign of amusement from your obstinacy. A gasp pierces the room as Jaemin repeats his actions onto the other breast.

He aids you in taking off the rest of your clothes and, obviously aware of your goosebumps and shuddering, tells you to get underneath the blankets while he strips himself.

Under the toasty ocean of layers, despite how both of you are bare-boned and how easy it is to jump into the main act, Jaemin purposefully continues to prolong the foreplay. Side by side, your lips meld endlessly; your legs and hands are intertwined in an amorous pretzel.

Jaemin ensures he doesn’t leave any part of you untouched—the pads of fingers virtually graze over every inch of your body. Each grip and drag of his digits sends you in a frenzy. Your chest is pressed into him and your eyes are blinded with desire.

In the back of your mind, you think about how you were right about foreplay working up to the heat of the moment—literally, because you’re dripping, he’s hard, and you two have embraced so much that you don’t need the blankets anymore.

On the other hand, you wonder if Jaemin was right about skipping foreplay, because with every whisper of each other’s name, the intimacy rises immensely. You don’t know him, and neither him with you, but you’re both freely drowning in one another in a plane beyond the lust.

Although the room’s beginning to smell of a mix of all the scented candles, Jaemin hones in and drinks in your sweet aroma and your entirety behind his hazy eyes and already tousled hair. All of a sudden, one drag of his fingers over a particular sensitive spot on your body makes you giggle.

“I’m ticklish over there.”

“You mean right—” He drums his fingers over the area again. “—here?”

With a toothy grin, he generates more suffering from you and you begin to lively howl. Soon enough, you beg him to stop.

“You’re such an asshat, c’mon, let me live!”

When he ceases, his head hangs over yours and your gazes connect.

The same feeling blooms in his chest from before in the living room.

He gulps as his eyes waver over your face, unknowingly tracing your beautiful features and etching them into his memory.

Your starry eyes. Your glowing aura. Your everything.

You barely register the change in his expression because he quickly tramples on his moment of weakness by kissing you passionately.

Jaemin whips the blankets aside as he lowers himself between your legs. Your eyes are fixated on him, matching his stare, until he starts to devour you by swiping against your lustrous folds. Your back bows, and, following a few more licks, Jaemin makes a point of his knowledge of the vagina by spreading your lips and ravishing your pussy, tongue penetrating deeply.

Rippled moans release in harmony with your undulating chest. You swear you’re getting more wet, too wet, likely making it overwhelming for Jaemin, but he’s eagerly lapping every drop up.

“How’s that?” he inquires with a grin, hovering over your trembling nether lips. His mouth is evidently glossy, even under the dim lighting.

“Good,” you pant in the most nonchalant tone you can muster up. “Very good-ahhh—”

Jaemin kindly interrupts you by tonguing your clit as he fingers your sex deeply, shattering your fake indifference.

“Move your tongue up more,” you direct, creasing your eyebrows in despair. He follows your direction, and droning moans ensue.

Jaemin’s immersed in your pleasure, but also adding to his own. The more he laps up your wetness, the more he grinds his length against the bed, aching to be inside of you.

Your desire pulses faster, contracting tighter against his fingers, body winding tensely by the second.

“Fuck, Jaemin,” you whine, leaning your head to one side with a parted mouth. “I’m close.”

He draws back and temporarily replaces his tongue with his thumb.

“Good,” he pants, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are filled with determination. “Because I’m not stopping until you come at least two more times tonight.”

You exhale a light laugh. “That’s ambiti-ohgodohgod—”

His tongue works wonders on your clit once more, so much that he has to brace your bucking hips.

Okay, maybe Jaemin did learn a thing or two and actually listened to what you said during your critique.

But now it’s time to demonstrate to him what you’ve learned.

You don’t need much of a break to catch your breath, nor do you want to immediately freeze due to inactivity, so you pull Jaemin in for an intense kiss, tongue dipping into the remnants of your own nectar, then beckon for him to take your former place on the bed.

Perched on the bottom of your feet, you’re on one side of Jaemin, lackadaisically fisting his prominence. After a few strokes, you gradually swallow his inches, keeping in mind to relax your jaw and to not rush in order to avoid any potential teething. You do this to prove yourself worthy of giving head, but also in spite, because you absolutely do not need Jaemin to brand you a virgin again.

You read his quiet groans and his long fingers running lazily through your hair as a positive sign and advance further.

Carefully, you rest your tongue beneath the underside of his cock and bob your head, licking him until he’s sopping with your saliva. His grip in your hair grows in strength as his length reaches the end of your throat, his groans becoming more and more drawn-out.

A needy whimper leaves him as you suddenly withdraw. Dribbles of your spit follow, and you wipe it off with the back of your hand.

“How am I doing?” you glow in a pant, lazily stroking the doused shaft.

He simply nods with half-lidded eyes, barely able to look at you. “Yeah.”

You snicker at him in his breathless position, a prickle of pride running through your spine over the fact that you blew his mind as much as you blew his dick.

“Use your words, Jaemin.”

Teasingly, your fingers curl around his blunt head, soothing the sensitive tip and sending jolts throughout him.

“Fuck—” he pulls his bottom lip upward. “Awesome. You’re doing awesome.”

“Anything to critique?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head restlessly. You revel a bit more in having the upper hand on him a little while longer. You grip him tighter and hasten your speed, leaving him gasping for air.

“Am I still rusty?”

“Nope, nope,” he croaks, voice rising to a whine. “Definitely not rusty.”

“You sure?” His cockiness has transferred over to you.

“Yes, yes—fuck, slow down, please,” Jaemin begs.

Granting his wish, you abate your rhythm and free his inches from your touch.

You wipe your hands on the sides of the bed while Jaemin rummages through the drawer of his nightstand and hastily rolls over the rubber over himself before he prepares to enter the body beneath his.

Recalling your advice, Jaemin mindfully starts off slow. You sigh blissfully in sync to his thrusts. He adjust himself, attempting another angle, and you draw in air between your teeth.

“There, there—“

Jaemin’s quick-witted and keeps at it, plunging a bit more vigorously. Out of habit, your hands grasp onto the bedsheets, but you wittingly attach them to his frame. Hands grazing his neck, his firm pecs, and his taut muscles.

“Touch-touch my stomach,” he orders in a hush.

You hands follow through and feel up the flexed valley of his abs. Feeling up evolves into desperate gripping and even the slight dragging of your nails.

“Your abs are so fucking hot,” you state thoughtlessly, eyes eating up the view alongside his cock disappearing in and out of you. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he rasps with that devilish smirk of his. God, you want to smack it off him, but not right now—not when you’re reaching euphoria. “You’re not just saying that?”

Oh, you’ve definitely stroked his ego now, but there’s no turning back. Truth spills from you on a whim.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” you gasp acutely.

You’re starting to wither away, yet, as if they have a life of their own, your hands drift away from him and find a new home atop your breasts.

“You make me feel so good, Jaemin...”

Jaemin’s eyes go wide. His mouth hangs at the lewdness of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, holy shit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave your ecstatic face or humming body for a second as you knead your breasts and tweak your nipples between your fingers. Your back arches further when Jaemin deepens his sweet, fulfilling thrusts. He’s holding himself back, not wanting to end this beautiful deed just yet.

The stimulation bursts over your body, both from your own doing and Jaemin’s.

You plead, “Faster, please, faster.”

And he complies, but he also rubs your bundle of nerves, causing a tight knot in you to build up and your shallow moans transform into heavy screams. You clasp onto his back and claw at the protruding shoulder blades.

“I’m-I’m—”

You clench, both with your core and your nails digging into him, but Jaemin’s unrelenting, capturing your second peak for the evening.

Instead of coming after you, he shockingly veers lower and closer to you and curbs his pace.

“Was that real?”

You respond with an exhausted nod. Oddly, the smile he shows this time isn’t arrogant, but warm and teetering the line of tenderness. His lips fuse with yours before they stray towards your neck. The passion stews as he sucks your tits, all the while lunging laxly into you.

With an obscene pop!, Jaemin removes himself from your nubs.

“Ready for the last round?”

His fast thrusts, hitting you precisely in the best spot, cloud your already weakened logic, deterring you from making any response.

Perspiration is blatant on both individuals. For him, his forehead glistens gorgeously with his damp hair. For you, the back of your bent knees are gluing together. Your bodies are about to pass out, but you both persevere until the end.

As you convulse and perish together in beautiful agony, coincidentally enough, the bulbs in the room and in the streets leap to radiance.

Together, you collapse onto the bed side by side, panting heavily and laughing.

“Told you we weren’t going to die.”

You turn your head to see Jaemin looking at you with a cheeky grin. In retaliation, you stick your tongue out.

By nighttime, it’s finally stopped snowing outside. However, the streets won’t be cleared until morning, at the very least.

But... you’re surprisingly okay with that.

In a turn of events, the sex inexplicably makes the two of you warm up to each other. There still is targeted banter and tension between you, lingering from before, but it’s less hostile and more playful.

During a fancy Christmas Eve dinner of microwavable pizzas, you poke fun at each other’s majors and discuss your respective hobbies in depth, especially his love for photography. Jaemin even asks if he can take a picture of you, claiming that the kitchen lighting actually looks nice on someone for once.

“Is that how you collect the memory of your one-night stands? Instead of hanging their skins in your closet, you sweet-talk your way and keep all the photos of them?” you joke, referring to the video call from yesterday night. It feels like an eternity ago, but snowstorms tend to do that.

He chuckles behind the camera as he snaps a photo of you scrunching your face cutely.

“Yeah, but you’re the first one who has clothes on,” he says, glancing down at the photo on the camera roll.

“Ugh, gross,” you cringe and take a sip of tea.

Jaemin doesn’t add anything further. He leaves out the fact that he never keeps any traces of his one-night stands, that you’re the first girl he’s taken a picture of in a while.

After a few hours of more talking and even some gaming with one another, sleep is much needed. Jaemin offers an extra toothbrush and a sweater and pair of sweats to sleep in. You’re facing each other on his bed, noses almost touching.

“It’s been a while since I haven’t had sex with a girl before I slept next to them,” he whispers, adjusting himself comfortably. The side of his face rests on his piled hands. “It’s kinda nice.”

You cover your mouth as you yawn, then lay your hand back under your head, reflecting the same position as Jaemin.

“You know, it might be my sleepiness talking, but maybe you’re not the worst person in the world to be stuck with during a snowstorm.”

A lovely chuckle echoes in your ear. “I’m glad you’ve had a change of heart.”

After a few moments, your eyes are fluttering to a close until he softly calls out your name.

“Hm?” you stir awake, but not by much.

“Do you...?”

Jaemin doesn’t know what’s gotten to him, doesn’t quite understand why the defences he built for so long are crumbling down in only a day of knowing you.

And yet, something urges him to give it a chance.

Blowing out a shaky sigh, he anxiously intertwines his fingers with yours. You hum softly at the action and a small smile blooms on your face.

“Do you want to go on a date with me sometime?”

“Hm?” His question doesn’t take you aback as much as you would be if you were fully awake. But even in your drowsy state, you have quips in hand. “Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, wants to go on a date?”

“Yeah,” he replies gently, brushing your loose hair out of your face.

Another yawn. “I thought you said you don’t want feelings and relationships and all that shit.”

His fingers trace your pretty jawline and shrugs. “One date doesn’t mean we’re going to be in a relationship, I’m sure you know that.”

You pause for a good two seconds, but the two seconds feel like forever for Jaemin.

“Mmm, fine. One date, just one.” You barely hold up your pointer finger. “And only because it’s Christmas tomorrow. ‘Tis the season to be giving...”

Relief washes over Jaemin in the form of a smile. Embracing the blatant feeling in his chest this time, he plants a light kiss on your nose and wishes you sweet dreams, even though you’ve already fallen soundly asleep.

Sunlight pours over your eyes on Christmas morning.

Déjà vu peculiarly creeps up on you, but the only thing that’s the same as yesterday is waking up in Jaemin’s bed.

He’s next to you this time, deep in his peaceful slumber, instead of waiting for you to leave by his doorframe. The snow has finally stopped, and you think you hear the faint noises of snow plows outside. You inhale deeply and also notice the faded aroma from all the scented candles from last night.

The scenes of yesterday flicker across your mind. The incredible sex. The talking. The dinner. The interlocking of his fingers with yours.

The date he asked you out on.

You stare at him, watching him sleep with a sense of content.

Turning your body, you routinely check your phone, which is charging beside his. You have a slew of Merry Christmas texts from several chats and a few private messages from your friends.

Your attention falls on Jaemin’s phone when it lights up with a notification, likely texts from his friends and family too.

But that’s not what you’re focusing on.

Your heart sinks at the sight of his lockscreen.

It’s a picture of him and a girl kissing.

A twinge emerges in your chest and twists harder and harder.

Jaemin being a fuckboy, you can respect. People can do whatever they want with their lives.

But to cheat?

That’s unforgivable, and a true sin if there ever was one.

You scramble to dash out of there, careful not to make any noises in fear of waking Jaemin up. However, Jaemin’s sensitive to the sounds of the front door, so he rouses awake. His eyes flit open, noticing how you’re gone. He then sees his phone blowing up and adds two and two together.

With his phone in hand, Jaemin rushes to get on a coat and stuffs his feet into his boots, not giving a shit that he’s wearing his thin pajamas in the coldness. He’s bounding down the flight of stairs and onto the bright, white wonderland of the streets.

He swivels his head and catches sight of you almost past down the block, slowly trekking through the thick snow. Jaemin sprints, as much as he can, and hops towards you.

He yells your name, making others on the street turn, but you don’t. You continue forward without looking back.

“Wait! I can explain!”

You’re trying to gain speed, but cardio isn’t your friend. Thankfully for Jaemin, it’s a close friend for him.

“I don’t wanna fucking hear it, Jaemin,” you grunt, hearing the rapid crunching of his shoes coming closer. “Get lost.”

“No, listen to me for a second.”

The boyish man grasps you by the arm and turns you around. You throw his arm away from you and he holds his hands in the air, letting you know that he respects your space. He drops his hands and sees that you’re seething, even worse than you were when he kicked you out yesterday.

“How are you going to explain your lockscreen with you kissing your fucking girlfriend?! Hm?”

“Ex,” he pants in clarification. “Ex-girlfriend.”

Your eyebrows mesh together in utter confusion.

“Okay? That doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that you’re still hung up on your ex.”

Jaemin shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair. You note the large clouds he exhales and how he’s barely wearing any clothes. A tinge of sympathy passes through you, wanting to give him some of your clothes for extra layers, but you smother that quickly in your state of rage.

“I’m not hung up on her. Remember you asked me yesterday why I don’t want girls to stay the next morning?”

You cock your head impatiently, as if saying, “Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t want to attach myself to girls. I can’t. I...”

He lowers his head to one side. Shutting his eyes, a long puff emits from his mouth.

“She cheated on me.”

The snow plows in the distance can’t compare to the pumping of your heart in your ears. All the feelings you felt in the last day, but especially in the last fifteen minutes, jumble together in your head, making you feel uneasy and unsure of what to exactly feel or comprehend of the situation.

But you do know one thing, despite the fact that you two barely know each other, the pained look on his face is real—that this is the untold story behind his ways.

Jaemin lifts his head and holds out his phone for emphasis. “The lockscreen serves as a constant reminder that dating and feelings will and can fuck me up.”

Carefully, he steps a little closer to you and slowly cups your face in his shaking hands. You don’t pull away nor is there the same anger from moments before, so he daintily runs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Until you showed me yesterday that maybe I’m willing to give it all another shot. Risk it all for fuck knows what, but you make it look like it’s worth it.”

He continues his ramble after adjusting some of your hair from the ongoing breeze.

“Sure, it’s Christmas today, but I don’t want you to say yes to going on a date with me just because it is. I want you to say yes because maybe you like spending time with me just as much as I like to spend it with you.”

You’re completely disoriented—your eyes are shifting everywhere but his eyes and your lips are quivering with no words coming out. He sighs understandingly.

“Look, I know you’re probably having second thoughts and you don’t have to give me an answer right now. Think on it for as much time as you need, but I want you to know that I genuinely like you and I want to go on an actual date with you.”

He peels his hand away from your face and raises it into the air as if taking an oath.

“I, Na Jaemin, the notorious fuckboy and serial one-night stander, will devote to monogamy once again if it means I can date you.”

His hands grab yours, kisses the back of them, and then he presses one kiss onto your icy cheek prior to walking away.

“Merry Christmas,” he says with a sad smile. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Later that evening at your large family’s Christmas party, you take another dreadful gulp of your wine.

It’s the happy holiday season, but why does everyone feel the need to stick their nose in your dating life? Well, really, a lack there of.

“Why are you still single?” Layers of their voices resound the same question in your head. You take another swig.

Potential unsaid answers that you kept to yourself fly around as you swish the drink in your glass.

Because you choose to be.

Okay, not really, but it’s the easiest answer.

Because you haven’t found the right guy to get you back in the game.

What does that even mean? What makes the right guy even right?

The right guy? It’s someone who makes you laugh, someone who gives as good as they can take it, someone who wants you just as much as you do.

The cogs move in your head as you take one more sip before you finally come to the conclusion—

Because you didn’t find the right guy until last night.

Despite the mess of today and yesterday morning, you realize that Jaemin is... actually sort of sweet. Annoying, yes, but he keeps you on your toes. It’s a plus that he’s easy on the eyes, but it’s a bigger plus that he’s even easier to talk to.

And if he can find it in his scorched heart to trust you, you can find it in your heart to trust him too.

You quickly say your good-byes to your family and let them know you have other plans with friends tonight.

As the Uber rolls up to his apartment building, you realize you probably should’ve messaged him on Tinder, but it’s worth a shot to see if he’s home. Anyways, impulsiveness is a controlling entity, as evident from your Christmas Eve Eve’s adventure.

And in retrospect, perhaps Jaemin was the perfect pick of the crop after all.

Someone’s entering the building and lets you in behind them. You take the stairs two at a time and hear booming music coming from his floor. At first, you assume it’s from other apartments, but it’s all coming from one—his.

Without a thought, your knuckle taps the door.

A handsome figure that’s definitely not Jaemin opens the door. Behind him, you see a group of young men scattered around the living room, and some have a few girls tucked under their arms.

The man eyes you up and down with a spark in his eye. He’s not Jaemin, but he surely reminds you of him.

“And who might you be?” he asks.

“Who’s at the door, Jeno?” An unknown male voice hollers in a high pitch from the couch. He’s one of the guys with a girl attached to him.

You blink. “Uhm, I’m—”

“She’s with me!” Jaemin shoves the flirty stranger aside and tugs you by your wrist, making headway to his bedroom. He flips the light switch on and the door clicks shut.

“What are you doing h—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

An innocent one, at first, with hints of alcohol on each other’s lips. Your arms wrap around the other and the passion increases with the mingling of your tongues, each party tasting and confirming the specific drinks you both consumed tonight.

Jaemin forces himself to pull away and presses his forehead against yours. “Did you just come all the way here to kiss me, or...?”

“Maybe I came over to ask... if I can stay with you for another night?” you playfully ask, fingers intertwining behind the nape of his neck.

He chuckles heartily. His fingers sink into the sides of your waist. “Is my dick that great? The sex with me that amazing?”

“Mmm, that’s definitely a benefit,” you agree, fluttering your nose against his. “But I want more than that—“ You poke a finger to his chest. “—I want the man behind the dick.”

Your gazes converge, bringing you together as one.

“I want to go on that date with you. I want you, Jaemin.”

He flashes a megawatt smile that could compete with a million Christmas lights, but it fades suddenly and you’re unsure why he seems like he’s about to bawl his eyes out.

“That’s so beautiful, I might cry.” He brings a finger to his eye, pretending to shed a tear.

Oh, yeah—you’re definitely going to need to hire someone to constantly shove your eyeballs back into your sockets if you’re going to date Jaemin.

“Oh, shut up,” you whisper, yanking him in for another kiss.

Three dates later, including a memorable New Year’s Eve, you finally decide to rid of the Tinder app for good.

With his arm around you on his living room couch, Jaemin glances over your shoulder.

“Really? You’re finally deleting your Tinder?”

You snort in disbelief. “That’s gold, coming from the King of Tinder himself. When did you delete?”

He turns to face the television and shrugs coolly.

“Maybe I didn’t.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you,” you nod, eyes still on your phone.

“Nah, I’m kidding, I did.”

You sharply turn your head.

“No way. When?” you press with narrow eyes.

A shy smile emerges on Jaemin’s face as he picks his pants over his thighs.

“On the night of Christmas Eve, after you agreed to go on a date with me.”

7K notes · View notes

blzzrdstryr · 3 years

Text

Midnight chatter

Yandere Diluc x gn!knight!reader

Wordcount: 2385

CW: Yandere, drugging, kidnapping

This was a third week after his return and fifth day of the tireless fight with winery work, when Diluc received an unexpected guest. During his travels across the world, the winery business fell into disrepair and almost collapsed, so once he learnt the state of the wine industry he decided to settle in his office and try to battle the endless reports about necessary expenses and small profits all on his own.

He started to work with the first rays of sunlight well into the night, squeezing every bit of energy his body had, not only because financial issues could affect him personally, but also because of the night vigilante of Mondstadt title he took upon himself.Due to the increased workload he couldn’t find time to patrol the dark streets and alleys of the city, while experience and conscience didn’t allow him to thrust the safety of ordinary citizens into the hands of bumbling, cowardly and lazy knights.

The day soon turned into the late evening, and dawn winery workers started to go home, when someone knocked on his door. It was Adelinde.

Her steps were faster than usual, her stoic face shadowed by the note of concern. Diluc wanted to say that no, he won’t go and have a rest, but she spoke first.

“Master Diluc”, she stopped before his desk: “we have a guest, a knight”.

He lifted his head shifting the eyes from the report to the head maid and pondered - despite his long absence, a lot of people in the city had a general idea how much he dislikes the Favonius Order and so a rare knight would actually dare to bother him, unless… Unless, they were acting out an order from someone high-ranking, like Jean or Varka for example.

Apprehension that his former colleague somehow learned of his nightly escapades sent an unexpected wave of shivers and vague feeling of unease, but he didn’t let it get to him.

“Ask why this knight is here and if it’s something unofficial tell them to leave”, he ordered, at which Adelinde blinked, slowly and tiredly, as if she was looking for the strength to tell something incredibly upsetting or scary.

“The thing is, master Diluc, that I already let them in”.

“Without my permission?”, his eyes widened at that, and the heart started to pick up the pace. What if this knight was really sent here by Varka or Jean? If it was true, Adelinde, unknowingly set him up to fail.

She was looking after him from his earliest childhood, so she was allowed to do and say more than any other of his staff, yet this perceived audacity was unheard of before.

“They were badly injured and said that they needed to stop for the night and once it’s over they will travel to the city with the first sun rays. We helped them to patch up their injuries and offered a room for guests, yet they declined and remained to sit on sofa”, the maid explained absolutely unfazed, after noticing Diluc’s dissatisfaction and then added : “If you are that displeased, master Diluc, I can tell this tired and battered knight to get out from here into the dark night”.

Her voice remained even and emotionless as usual, but even like that young Ragnvindr could hear a light mocking in her words. And to think about it - he got so freaked out over some silly coincidence - the knight stopped here because of the injuries, not some insidious scheme.

“Alright”, Diluc admitted defeat: “they can stay… and offer them some food and tea”, he added just as Adelinde’s hand touched the doorknob.

“Will be done”, she replied before exiting the office. The corners of her mouth slightly moved and crept upwards.

***

Despite his earlier goal of finishing as much work as he can, Diluc couldn’t do anything. Small digits and letters started to float and dance before his eyes while the long lines fused together, when he tried to analyze the state of wine business in naught. But the worst thing was the fact that his thoughts strayed to the topic of mystery knight again and again and Diluc lost count how many times he caught himself thinking who this person is.

He sat like that for a while, until the cinnabar of dying sky got replaced by the darkness and pleasant chill of the night.

Diluc scolded himself for his uncharacteristic indecisiveness, standing up from the desk and locking the office, when this thought, loud and persisting, knocked into his head again. Wouldn’t it be nice, he wondered, to learn who this night is, and finally decided. After all the thoughts about them pestered him for a long time.

Quietly and carefully walking through the unlit corridor of the winery, he confirmed that all servants and workers had already left for sleep, some into the rooms of the main building designated for them, some into the cabins around it. All in all, he was confident that there’s no one except him, the knight, Adelinde and a couple of other maids.

His steps were quiet and slow and not even a single board in the wooden floor creaked under his weight as he knew the winery like the back of his hand. With a bated breath he made his way downstairs, making out vague shapes of the familiar objects. Moonlight pouring out through the windows illuminated only the silhouettes, but even with that he quickly noticed the unknown frame.

The person was half-sitting half-lying on the sofa, and their sword and armor were placed nearby the furniture, reflecting the pale light of the moon. They weren’t moving, seemingly asleep. Diluc couldn’t make out their face even after making a coming closer, so he decided to take the risk and summoned a small wisp of flame.

The dancing light illuminated everything in a small radius and what he saw made him jolt and take a step back. You were the mystery knight.

Why are you still a knight? Where were you? Who injured you?

Still shocked by the previous revelation, Diluc accidentally knocked over the breastplate with his foot and it fell on it’s side with a loud thump.

You woke up.

“What… Who?”, you stirred and half sat on the elbow: “Ah, it’s you” and saw him :”What are you doing here?”.

Caught red handed, Diluc didn’t find any words - it was so sudden and unusual to be caught unaware, and because of that doubly unpleasant.

“This is my winery and I am free to do whatever I want”, he decided to hide the awkwardness behind the faux annoyance.

“Easy, easy” you half smiled, half yawned: “I just managed to fall asleep”. You yawned again and blinked at him with sleepy tired eyes.

“I have sleep medicine if you want some”

You got surprised and touched by his sudden responsiveness: “Thank you, but I think painkillers would be better. My body is aching and that’s the main problem”.

Maybe because of the trembling, dancing light or maybe because of the recent sleep you imagined worry and pity twisting his facial features.

“I have it too. Wait here”, he quickly replied and vanished into the dim darkness of the winery, not giving you any time to answer, as you were left to sit and wait for him. Diluc, to your own surprise, happened to be extremely stealthy, able to move without producing a single sound.

“Here”, you first heard and then saw him,as Diluc used pyro vision to light the nearby candlestick and then opened the medicine vial he brought and handed it to you: “Drink it all”.

“Thank you”, you whispered to him, taking the painkiller before making a big gulp. The taste was horrible, so horrible in fact that you almost immediately started to violently cough. Well, if it’s as effective as foul, then I will be good as new in no time, you thought to yourself, suppressing the urge to throw up.

Diluc stood nearby and observed your reaction, his hand extended on his own when the coughing started as he awkwardly tried to pat your back in the gesture of comfort. “I will be here with you until you fall asleep”, he stated once the fit stopped and then, seeing your highly raised brows explained further: “Painkiller takes time to work. Tell me if you won’t feel better”.

You nodded in response, and closed eyes, listening to the sensations of your body. Your injuries still burned and screamed and throbbed, yet a strange numb sensation started to slowly surround you. Just like Diluc said, medicine would need time to fully settle in.

“If you're here can you talk with me?”, you decided to shorten the time in conversation: “Ijust wanted to talk with you. For a really long time”.

“About what?”, he allowed himself a shadow of the smile, Diluc that you used to know peeking through the gloomy facade, like a long awaited sun or it’s reflection on the tranquil mirror of the water surface. Next words stuck in your throat, bitter and acidic and totally unfit, and you had to force them out through your own hesitance to destroy this calm.

“What happened that day? The day before you left. I asked Jean and Kaeya and other knights who were present with you, yet no one said anything”, the water surface bubbled and the visage of that old, sunny Ragnvindr shattered into thousand pieces. The person before you adopted the same cold facade of annoyance and indifference.

“Why do you need to know it?”, he answered the question with another question and you sensed barely buried hurt and grief.

“You leaving hurt. A lot”

“That’s why you are still a knight?”, you quickly nodded at that.

A minute passed by and he still stood, without saying a single word, thinking what to do. On one hand, he didn;t want to open up, the story of his eighteenth birthday was incredibly painful and personal experience to be shared so freely, on the other hand he yearned for your understanding.

"Alright", he broke the silence:"Let's make a deal, you answer my questions and I'll tell you the whole story after. Deal?"

"Deal".

Diluc looked at you again, looked at the bruises and cuts, still peeking through the bandages and for a second his mind lit up with one thought alone: what disgusting bastard did that to you. He suppressed the rapidly rising rage, deciding to start from the most important.

"Is my leave the only reason why you decided to stay?" his heart picks up the pace again, he needs to know the answer.

"Basically yes, you knownI didn’t do it for my parents… I just.. That tragedy, I know it's not my place, but… I always wanted what happened to you. I asked this question to myself everyday and night, and I missed you terribly".

His breath hitched and he lowered his gaze. For some reason you always managed to fluster him with the words alone, even if it wasn't your intention.

"Your parents must be happy", h e changed the topic, stifling the heat in his heart.

"Yeah, they're ecstatic that I stopped being difficult and made their aspirations real. Hm, do you have any other questions?"

"What happened to you? ",he pointed at the bandages covering most of your body.

"Ah, catching treasure hoarders does that to you, usual stuff", you dismissed his concerns and Diluc started seeing red from the way your voice remained so calm and unbothered. Usual stuff? Usual stuff?!

"Grandmaster could send anyone else", he snapped:"Favonius Order has more than plenty of vision holders, they should've sent one, instead of you! You could die!".

Diluc’s sudden explosion left you speechless, but soon your own weaved words of irritation:"Ordo Favonius doesn't consist of Jean and Kaeya only. We can't let them handle all the hard and dangerous business all the time. Ordinary people like me can still help, even if the gods didn’t favour us. Don't think of me as some helpless idiot just because I have no shiny vision to show off"

Your heated response seemed to work and Diluc turned red from embarrassment, realizing how annoyed you got, despite the worry for your health and still present anger at the other knights for letting you get hurt. He also didn’t like how you looked at him, reprimanding and disappointed.

"Alright, sorry", he cleared his throat:"where were you before? I haven't seen you anywhere"

"City gates aren't the only thing that needs guarding. I was sent to the Liyue border, to make sure that no treasure gang crosses it. I think I will get sent there again, once I fully recover".

Diluc got angry at that too, yet this time he suppressed unpleasant feelings, already knowing how you will rebuke and reprimand him again. There's no convincing to be done, as you won't change your opinion. You left him no choice for what he was going to do.

"Alright, you answered all my questions", he said before changing topic again:"Did painkillers start working? I have another".

Being so engrossed in the conversation you forgot about the ache, yet once he mentioned it your body started to hurt with a renewed strength.

"Yes, I would like one", you decided and Diluc vanished in the unlit hall yet again.

"Here", he handed the small bottle to you already opened. The new substance was different, sweet and viscous. You managed to take two sips before your eyelids started to feel up with lead, and soon even lifting a hand seemed like a highly arduous task. Whatever the thing that Diluc gave you wasn't a painkiller.

"What…", you uttered, before your body relaxed and you fell asleep once again. Diluc bent over, looming over your unconscious form, as his hands carefully took the bottle away. He didn’t want it to somehow fall and injure you

This is a necessary measure, Diluc assured himself, before making a plan of actions. He would need to fake your disappearance and forge enough leads to direct investigation into the completely opposite direction, but now he needed to wake Adelinde up and ask her to prepare the room in the basement. He didn't want you to be uncomfortable in your new home.

#yandere genshin impact #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Yandere diluc x reader #Yandere imagine #Yandere #male yandere #yandere x reader #my writing

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boombox-fuckboy · 2 years

Note

Hiii!!

I just saw ur recent ask and it got me thinkin..... R there any workplace comedy pods??? all that comes to my mind r wolf 359, brimstone valley mall(ig?) and kakos industries??

Burst is the first one that comes to mind, about the staff of a space-station bubble tea shop.

MarsCorp is about the manager of the major Mars colony in the future who was left in cryo for over a hundred years longer than she was supposed to and is now trying to get them back on track.

Midnight Burger, which I mentioned on the last post, about the staff of a time-travelling, dimension-hopping diner.

Life with Althaar, to some degree. Repairman on a station at the edge of human space, and his diplomat alien room-mate. I guess it's really just a bunch of humans and aliens at their various jobs.

InkWyrm might count as a workplace romcom. It's about an AI tech who's moved to the space station containing the hub for the galaxy's largest fashion magazine and ends up working a second job as personal assistant to the woman in charge.

Time:Bombs is a workplace comedy by the W359 crew about a bomb disposal team.

No clue if it counts if they travel for work, but if so throw We Fix Space Junk in there, about repairpeople travelling space on strange odd jobs to try pay back their ever-growing debt.

#podcast recommendations #█████ posts

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babyjamiebarnes · 3 years

Text

Build-A-Bear

Part Eleven

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Steve, Sam, Peter, OC background characters

Warnings: language, sexual implications and references, blackmail

Summary: Bucky decides it’s time to come clean to Tony, consequences be damned. Steve has his own bombshell, of sorts.

Author’s Note: Hi. I’m a lazy piece of crud. I wanted to post this earlier but I suck. It’s kinda short too, at least compared to previous parts. There will probably only be a couple parts left, maybe 2-3? I’m posting these chapters as I write so tbd in length lol. And as always, feel free to buy me a coffee!

Tags: @amourmarvel @fangirlvoice @kennedywxlsh @devilswaldorf @what-the-hap-is-fuckning @alyispunk @fredweasleysbitchh @wearegroot @sunflowerbebe107 @prestigious-tea @brckenmemories @angelbabymed @charmedbysarge @cruelsummer-s

Series Masterlist

“Are you fucking insane?”

Everyone moved back to your apartment to avoid freaking poor Matt out any more. And now there was a standoff in your living room.

“It’s the only course of action that makes sense,” Bucky said in his defense.

“Buck, her dad will skin you alive if he sees those pictures,” Sam said. “Even if he’s somehow fine with it, she’ll lose her job!”

“If we don’t do this, that kid downstairs loses his family!” Bucky shouted back.

Sam groaned in exasperation and ran his hands over his face. “There’s gotta be a way to get the money.”

“There’s not,” you said defeatedly. All eyes turn to you. They initially looked to you for guidance, but your reliance on Bucky gave him the wheel on your own personal highway to hell. “Even if we do give this person the money, there’s only one person we can get that kind of cash from. Bucky’s right. We have to tell my dad.”

“[Y/N], maybe we should brainstorm some other options,” Peter nearly whispered, keeping his voice soft in the midst of the chaos. “I don’t want you to lose your job.”

“I’ll quit,” Bucky said suddenly. “I’ll quit being an Avenger and just do, fuck, private security? Or something.”

You could see the stress and fear and frustration written on his face. In a couple steps, you were standing in front of him and were able to cup his scruffy cheeks as you spoke.

“We’ll figure all that out later.” You perked up on your toes and gave him a short kiss. “But right now, we’re on a bit of a time crunch. I’d like to end this sooner rather than later so… let’s tell Tony.”

With Peter willingly sitting in the open trunk area of the Jeep, everyone was able to fit in one car back to the Tower. The tension inside the vehicle could’ve been cut, sliced, and diced with a knife. No one wanted to say anything, but no one really knew what to say anyway.

Steve was still silent. He didn’t say a word when you discussed telling Tony, but you could practically see the gears turning in his head. He had something to say, he just wasn’t saying it.

By the time you got to the Tower, you felt like you were gonna throw up. You held the envelope with the letter and media tight in your grasp, only letting go to open your door. The second your feet touched the garage floor, Bucky was right beside you.

He kept a firm grip on your hand, squeezing a little extra so you knew he was there with you and wasn’t going to let anything bad (worse) happen. Knowing he was willing to risk his entire livelihood for you made you love him even more. But you knew if it came down to it, you’d give up your position with the Avengers. Even with only two years spent at Stark Industries — just under a year spent with the Avengers (and nearly a year with Bucky) — you’d have no problem getting a new job with any other company. Bucky’s skills were put to the best use saving the world.

As the elevator approached the floor with your dad’s office, Sam finally broke the silence.

“Do you want us to be in there with you? I’m thinking it might be better if it’s just you two.”

You turned to see Peter wringing his hands, subconsciously agreeing with Sam — he clearly didn’t want to be in the room when all this went down but was putting on a brave face to be a good support system. Steve still stood silent with his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever was going on in that head was still festering.

“I think you’re right,” you agreed with Sam. “We’ll come find you once he gets the news.”

Your eyes met Bucky’s and even though he was trying to remain confident for you, there was fear behind those baby blues.

“We’ll be okay,” you said just loudly enough for him to hear.

When you reached the floor you’d been dreading, Sam, Steve, and Peter all turned to go to their designated rooms, partially because it had been a while since all of them had been back, partially to stay far away from the impending outburst.

You took a deep breath and started toward Tony’s office, just to be pulled back into Bucky’s arms. He held you tight, nuzzling his face in your hair and just holding you. You gripped the back of his shirt in response and just took a moment to appreciate the hard muscles of his chest and the weight of his arms around you.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you whispered.

Bucky let out a breath and kissed the crown of your head.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

This made you pull back and look up at him.

“Lose me? Bucky, I’m not going to let this affect us. No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere. I love you too much, Bucky Bear.”

The affectionate nickname made him smile, even if it was just a little quirk of the lips.

“I love you too, Build-A-Bear.”

You let him hold you for a couple more minutes before leading him to your dad’s closed office door. When you slowly pushed the door open, you saw Tony sitting behind his desk with half a dozen holographic screens open in front of him.

“Hey pumpkin, what are you doing here?” he asked, barely taking his eyes off his work for a second.

“Um, I kind of really need to talk to you.” Despite being on close speaking terms with your dad — the kind where you felt comfortable swearing in front of him and joking with him, even sharing some of your secrets — you felt like this was crossing a line.

Of course it was. You were in bed with (his perception of) the enemy.

Tony could tell something was wrong by how timid you sounded. You were always loud and bubbly with him — a quality you definitely got from him. He swiped all of the screens closed and walked around the large desk to stand in front of you. He briefly met Bucky’s eyes as the super soldier stood close behind you.

“What’s going on?”

“You-you should probably sit down for this,” you said shakily. Tony took the seat nearest you instead of walking back behind his desk. “So… you know how I’ve been dating James for, like, 10, 11ish months now?”

“And I still haven’t met him?” Tony said with a quirked brow.

“Yeah.” You forced a chuckle. “Well, when we were going through mail this morning, I… I got this.”

You held up the envelope before sliding out the letter and handing it to your dad. His expression went from curious to furious in seconds as his eyes scanned the entire page.

“They sent pictures. Pictures taken through my apartment windows of me and James. Being… intimate.”

“James who?” your dad asked, still staring at the letter. When you didn’t reply, he looked you in the eye, his expression hard as he demanded, “[Y/N], what is James’s last name?”

You took a short breath, the most your anxiety-gripped lungs could handle, and avoided his gaze as you replied.

“Barnes.”

Tony shot up from his seat, his eyes moving from you to the man behind you. The familiar feeling of a metal hand on your lower back helped ease the anxiety coursing through you at your dad’s reaction. When Tony took a step toward Bucky, you countered with a panicked step between them, looking up at your dad and pleading.

“He didn’t know who I was.”

“Bullshit,” Tony spat. He and Bucky were glaring at each other over your head.

“He didn’t, I swear. He found out the same day everyone else did.”

The grinding of his teeth let you know he was seething. But trying to hold it together for now.

“Let me see the rest,” Tony said calmly, holding his hand out. You reluctantly dropped the photos and DVD into his open palm. Bucky didn’t want to get too affectionate, so he just rested his hand on your hip while Tony flipped through the photos.

Everything was back in order, so he went through the same sequence you did: pap photos, to apartment photos, to sex photos. You could tell when the pictures turned raunchy by the way Tony’s face contorted, tossing the photos down shortly after.

“Friday, play the disc,” he commanded. The video played against the only blank wall in the room, the audio of you and Bucky playing through the speakers.

“Dad, you really don’t need to —” you started, quickly stopped by a sharp glare from your father.

“What are you gonna do to me?”

“I’m gonna put a baby in you. I’m gonna cum inside this tight pussy until you can’t take it anymore.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tony nearly growled. “Friday, shut it off.”

“I tried to tell you,” you murmured under breath, though not loud enough for him to hear. Bucky did hear it though, evident by the way he squeezed your hip.

Tony leaned forward against his desk, hanging his head in clear frustration. You knew better than to speak up while he contained his emotions, so you stood in silence with Bucky as your dad sighed heavily and spoke to himself under his breath.

“You just have something against me, don’t you?” Tony said accusingly to Bucky.

“Don’t do that,” you scoffed. “You don’t get to do that. If you’re going to get mad at anyone, it needs to be me.” You never got snappy with your dad, but everything weighing on your shoulders frayed your nerves and his attitude didn’t do anything to fix it. “I’m the one who knew full well what we were doing. I’m the one who had all the details. I’m the one who chose to risk everything for this from the start. So if you’re really that mad, take it out on me. Otherwise, help us. We’ll get to the semantics and firing and all that bullshit later. Right now, there are literal lives on the line.”

Tony was still fuming until he heard the last line.

“What do you means ‘lives on the line’?”

Bringing Steve, Sam, and Peter in helped all of you explain what happened, from the note you received to the first viewing of the photos and video to the confrontation with Matt, but not without Tony grilling all of them about when and how they found out about you and Bucky. Peter looked nervous about keeping a secret from his boss, but you knew your dad wouldn’t do anything too bad to the kid. Maybe kick him off a couple missions, but nothing noteworthy. Steve and Sam looked like they really couldn’t care less, especially since Sam was the last to know.

Despite still wanting to rip Bucky’s arm off and beat him with it, Tony remained civil for your sake, at least until all of this was sorted.

The first step was getting Peter, Happy, and Pepper to try to track down where the letters came from, which likely meant scanning for fingerprints (despite how many hands held it that day alone). The second step was for you, Bucky, Tony, Sam, and Steve to scope out your building and any neighboring buildings someone may have been scoping your apartment from. There was no one someone could’ve been dangling outside your windows without you noticing. The third step was meeting with your doorman again to try to piece together some answers.

You all agreed to keep local law enforcement out of it so the culprit didn’t catch on as quickly. Having a few Avengers and Tony Stark show up at Tony’s daughter’s apartment wasn’t out of the ordinary so you could still stay under wraps. There was no reason to draw attention to your place and possibly trigger the mystery person into accelerating their plans.

With your dad’s confidence in the plan, you gradually grew more and more optimistic about the plan. If all else failed, Tony would get the two million and continue tracking the fucker down. It wouldn’t be hard to sneak a tracker into the cash and watch where it goes once it’s out of your hands. That’s when you could bring in local law enforcement.

It felt like things were finally going your way.

As you and your crew headed downstairs to drive back to your place, Steve grabbed your arm and tugged you to the side.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked quietly.

You nodded and followed him down the hall; Bucky was busy talking to Sam and Tony was on the phone briefing Rhodey so he could stand guard outside your doorman’s place for a while, giving you the perfect opportunity to step away for a minute. When Steve pulled you into a side room, you finally spoke up.

“What’s up? Is everything okay?”

Steve crossed his arms and huffed. That signature frown of his softened when he met your concerned gaze.

“I know we’re not necessarily close, but I consider you a friend. You know that, right?”

“I consider you a friend too,” you said with a nod.

“What I’m about to say... I need you to keep it between us. Don’t tell Bucky or Sam or Peter or your dad. Just between us, at least for now. Okay?”

“O-okay...? You’re making me nervous, Steve,” you admitted. “What’s going on?”

“I think I know who’s blackmailing you.”

#SORRY IT’S SUCKY AND SHORT #I’M THE WORST #bucky x reader #bucky x stark!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x stark!reader #bucky barnes series

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earliebirb · 3 years

Note

Hey, I hope you are having a nice day. If you're taking any asks, may I request for a cuddly needy Steve insisting on being close to Tony all the time. Like not letting him out of bed in the morning or making Tony sit on his lap during movie nights. That kinda stuff. Please, please consider writing this one. Thank you!

Hello, Anon. Thank you for the prompt. Cuddly and needy Steve is my favorite.

Have some tooth-rotting fluff in honor of my birthday! 🎂🥳🎉

keep me warm

steve/tony, fluff, established relationship, 4015 words

Steve will take any and every opportunity to touch and be as physically close as possible to his husband, thank you very much.

(Or, five times Steve demonstrates that physical touch is very much his love language and one time Tony seeks him out for it.)

(1)

Tony wakes to the sunlight shining in his face. He groans, instinctively hiding his face back in his pillow. The light feels too warm and bright for early morning sun and a quick glance at the digital clock sitting on his nightstand confirms his suspicions: It’s ten minutes to eleven.

Upon seeing the date and time on the clock, the first thought that crosses his mind is of the numerous tasks he has to finish that day. He sighs a long, drawn-out, and heavy sigh. He hasn’t been feeling his best for the past few days and he has the horrifying suspicion that even his ultra-workaholic self is teetering on the edge of a full-fledged burnout. Between SHIELD, Stark Industries, and the Avengers, he has no shortage of work to do. This is definitely not the time for burnout. His only saving grace for the day is the fact that Pepper has allowed him to come in the afternoon.

Closing his eyes, he relishes the brief yet sweet escape from reality, pretending just for a few moments that his day is blissfully empty. The work seems never-ending. The only reason he is in bed at all is because Steve had coaxed Tony to come to bed, complaining about how cold he was and steadfastly refusing to sleep without Tony in his arms.

After a few minutes, he resigns himself to the harsh reality of a busy day and moves to roll out of bed. Except the minute he tries to do so, his body moves further back toward the center of the bed instead of the opposite. Tony blinks at the arm tucked firmly around his middle. A warm weight is plastered against his back, a puff of breath tickling his ear.

“Steve?”

He gets a short hum in reply, rising at the end in intonation.

“It’s eleven.”

Tony gets another sleepy hum and Steve burrows closer, the cold tip of his nose tucked behind Tony’s ear.

“Why are you still in bed? Did you come back to bed after your run?”

A quiet sigh, and then Steve’s gravelly voice is in Tony’s ear: “Never went.”

“What? Why?”

“Missed you.”

Tony’s lips quirk up into a small smile without his permission. “I never went anywhere, baby.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Sorry, honey. Work gets crazy this time of the year.”

Steve hums again, lips resting against the back of Tony’s neck.

“And I’m really sorry, baby, but I have to go. More work awaits.”

“No,” Steve mutters decisively, throwing a leg over Tony’s body and pulling him in.

Tony snorts, amused. “No?”

“No work. You’re mine for the day,” Steve grumbles, arm curling tighter around Tony’s stomach.

Tony strokes the arm Steve has around him soothingly. “Pepper’s going to have my head if I don’t check off at least half the things on my to-do-list today. You want your husband to stay alive, don’t you?”

“I’ve told Pepper to give you the day off.”

“You told Pepper to give me the day off? And she agreed, just like that?”

There is a period of silence, and then:

“There may have been… some flowers involved. And some cupcakes and… bagels sent to her office, along with a—” Steve breaks off to yawn. “A very sweet and carefully worded handwritten note.”

Tony pauses. Then he gasps.

Turning around in Steve’s arms to take a proper look at him, the ends of Tony’s lips are tugged upwards in a disbelieving grin.

“Did you— Did Captain America commit an act of bribery?”

Steve frowns, squinting at Tony, sleep still heavy in his eyes. “It wasn’t bribery. It was… a gesture of appreciation.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. Steve stares back at him.

Eventually, Steve sighs in defeat. Tony’s grin widens.

“Fine,” Steve grumbles, shuffling closer to bury his face in Tony’s chest, “it was bribery.”

Tony chuckles, running his fingers through Steve’s soft blond locks.

“Captain. What would the people say?”

When Steve speaks, his muffled voice comes out rough and near incoherent, speech slurred groggily. “Captain America condemns bribery.” He lets out a content sigh, body melting further into Tony’s. “Steven Stark-Rogers, on the other hand, is not above bribery to get his husband a much-needed day off.”

Tony grins helplessly at his husband’s unfairly adorable antics, leaning down to nuzzle the top of Steve’s head fondly.

“What a menace you are, Mr. Stark-Rogers.”

His husband lets out another noncommittal hum that Tony feels against the bare skin of his chest.

“Go back to sleep, Mr. Stark-Rogers,” Steve mumbles. Tony closes his eyes obediently, slipping back into slumber with ease, a smile on his lips and a newfound lightness in his bones.

(2)

The sun is shining brightly up in the clear blue sky. The farmers market is bustling with life, with people visiting various tents stationed along the long stretch of road, each offering a variety of fresh produce as well as various finger foods and cold beverages.

The road is also lined by trees on either side, their towering height allowing their leaves and branches to form a natural canopy high up above, effectively shielding people from the sun’s scorching heat. There is even a gentle summer breeze that blows every now and then.

All in all, it’s a wonderful summer day, perfect for an outdoor date.

Now, if only Tony’s husband would stop ruining the day by being a stubborn bastard.

“Steve, this is getting ridiculous.”

“What?”

“Give me a bag!”

“You have a bag.” Steve nods at the bag of red apples Tony is carrying.

Of course, that is nothing compared to the four bags of produce Steve is carrying. He even refuses to distribute the weight evenly between his two hands, insisting on carrying all four bags with one hand and using his other hand to hold Tony’s instead. He tries to reach around Steve in an attempt to grab one of the bags, grunting in frustration when Steve moves the bags beyond his reach. “Steve, your arm’s going to fall off. Just— Give some to me.”

“Tony, your shoulder just barely healed.”

“It’s completely healed. It’s fine, Steve. Just—”

Tony reaches for the bags again only for Steve to catch his arm and bring it back down. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. I’m a supersoldier.”

“You do not get to pull the supersoldier card right now.”

“Why not?”

“Steven, let me hold some of the bags.”

“You want something to hold? Fine, I’ll give you something to hold.”

Steve reaches for Tony’s arm and secures it around his own waist. Tony glares up at his husband and removes his arm from said waist with a sigh.

“Come on—”

Letting out an abrupt grunt and doubling over dramatically, Steve clutches his own waist and fakes a pained expression. “Oh, why is my waist suddenly so heavy?”

“Steve, that doesn’t even make any sense—”

“Oh, God. So, so heavy. If only my husband were around to help me hold it—”

Tony rolls his eyes, slipping his arm back around Steve’s waist.

Pulling Tony closer so that he is pressed flush against his side, Steve beams at him, smile bright as the sun. “I feel a lot better now. Thank you.”

He leans down to kiss the tip of Tony’s nose. Tony wrinkles his nose, but he is determined to not let his glare falter.

“Ugh, I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

(3)

“Tony.”

Steve’s face falls the second he sees Tony walking into the study. Somehow, Steve has managed to infuse an impressive amount of frustration into the two syllables making up Tony’s name.

Tony freezes after having taken a few steps into the room, wide eyes blinking in bewilderment and a mug of hot tea in his hand. He racks his brain to figure out whatever sin he has committed to make Steve’s face crumple up like that—sandy brows furrowed and the edges of his lip tugged down into a displeased frown.

Coming up with nothing, he pads over quietly to the desk and sets the mug of Steve’s afternoon tea down on an empty space between a wooden penholder and a Stark Industries memo pad. Looking up at Tony from his seat in the plush leather office chair, Steve’s frown deepens.

Tony takes a few steps backward, hands raised in surrender.

“Whatever it is I did wrong, I’m sorry, and it’s one hundred percent my fault. Look, I even brought you a peace offering. A cup of tea to make you feel all warm and cozy?” Tony flashes him a wide, placating grin, gesturing to the mug sitting on the desk. Never mind that Tony has been bringing Steve his tea everyday for years now.

Not even sparing a glance at the mug of steaming English Breakfast, Steve stands up wordlessly.

Slowly, Steve begins walking toward him, eyes on Tony and frown still in place.

“What? I said I’m sorry.”

Steve continues to walk toward him and Tony continues to walk backward until he feels his back hitting the wall.

“Honey, please—”

Slumping forward, Steve buries his face in the crook of Tony’s neck with a grunt, hands coming to rest on Tony’s waist.

“...Honey?”

“How am I supposed to get any work done if you walk around the house dressed like this?” Steve whines.

“What—” Tony blinks, looking down at his own attire—or rather, the lack thereof. Having just woken up from a nap, he is dressed only in his boxer briefs. A laugh bubbles up his throat, his entire body shaking with it. “Steven.”

“Don’t you ‘Steven’ me,” Steve grumbles.

“I don’t walk like this around the house all the time. I just woke up, honey.” Tony chuckles, hand coming up to bury his fingers in Steve’s hair, massaging his scalp lightly. “Go and finish your paperwork.”

“You can’t expect me to get any work done after seeing you like this,” Steve says, almost mournfully, nuzzling the delicate spot under Tony’s ear and sending a shiver down Tony’s spine.

“Shut up, you sweet talker. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Also, you have to finish your paperwork. We have dinner plans, remember?”

“Can we cancel dinner?” Steve asks hopefully. He runs his index finger along the boxer briefs’ elastic waistband and Tony squirms, ever ticklish.

“We can’t, darling,” Tony says, soft and apologetic even as he grins. “We’ve cancelled on Carol and honeybear twice already. They’ll kill us if we cancel on them again, especially if the only reason we’re doing it is because you can’t keep your hands off of me.”

“Your fault for walking around naked.”

“I’m not naked.”

“I can get you naked.” Steve slips his thumbs under the waistband and Tony grabs his wrists, stopping him before things can truly escalate.

“Nope,” Tony says with a breathless giggle, squeezing his eyes shut and resolutely ignoring the delicious curl of heat in the pit of his stomach. “Dinner plans.”

Steve lets out a defeated sigh, stepping back with a pout. “I hate it when you’re being responsible.”

The sight brings a fond smile to Tony’s face and he hooks his fingers under Steve’s chin to drag him into a soft, languid kiss.

“Please,” Tony says before planting another kiss on his husband’s jawline, “you love me.”

“I do, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, blue eyes gazing down at him softly. “I really, really do.”

(4)

When Tony walks into the art studio and sees the floor littered with paintings of different shapes and sizes, he whistles.

“Look at you go, Picasso.”

Steve turns to him, brush in hand, face lighting up like a Christmas tree. There’s a streak of blue paint across his cheek that Tony is tempted not to tell him about.

“Picasso?” The sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the studio illuminates the entire room. From the doorway, Steve’s blond hair gleams golden.

Tony winces as he steps into the room. “Sorry, did I miss the mark completely? Art’s always been more of Pepper’s thing.” Steve grins, easy and bright. “I know.”

Over the years, Pepper and Steve have cultivated a monthly routine of sorts. They have a standing date—sans Tony—whenever Pepper comes over to visit. Bonding over Tony’s antics and the intricacies of fine art, they get along pretty well, much to Tony’s surprise and delight.

Tony tiptoes cautiously around the studio, taking extra care not to step on any of the paintings Steve has laid out to dry. When seen from up above, the wooden floor of the studio would probably look like some rendition of abstract art, the vibrant colors on the different paintings lying on it coming together to form another picture altogether.

He finally manages to make his way to where Steve is sitting, stationed in front of an easel carrying a piece of stretched canvas which has been painted with streaks of red and gold. He looks around and frowns at Steve. “There’s no place to sit. There’s barely any place to stand.”

Steve looks around to confirm Tony’s observation and laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, guess I got carried away.”

The art studio is always in some state of disarray and it drives Tony up the wall sometimes, if he were being honest.

“But there’s always a place for you to sit, sweetheart,” Steve croons, voice all soft and honey sweet. He curls an arm around Tony’s waist and draws him closer, fingers stained with dried paint of different colors resting on the small of his back. Steve nuzzles his stomach and plants a feather-light kiss on the spot just below his sternum. He looks up at Tony with a child-like grin. “Come sit on my lap?”

“Sap,” Tony remarks, but proceeds to sit down sideways on Steve’s lap, his legs perpendicular to Steve’s. Spotting the smears of colorful paint staining the floor and the painting supplies scattered all around the studio, Tony clucks his tongue in disapproval. “You know this is going to take forever to clean up, right?”

Steve’s grin widens and he starts trailing kisses along the column of Tony’s neck. “Maybe this was all part of an elaborate plan to get you to sit on my lap.”

Tony snorts.

“I highly doubt that.”

(5)

“Sweetheart?”

“Hm?” Tony’s eyes are glued to his armor as he circles it to inspect the damage from all angles, the suit looking slightly worse for wear. Nothing that a little tinkering and a new paint job won’t fix, but the real problem lies within. He had experienced a brief glitch with his right repulsor mid-battle and he is hoping that he will be able to pinpoint the source of the problem immediately after JARVIS finishes running diagnostics.

“Come here for a second?”

Tony walks to where Steve is lying down on the workshop couch, long legs stretched out comfortably along its length. He beckons Tony closer.

“Come here, I need to tell you something,” he whispers, like someone who is about to divulge a monumental secret.

Tony bends down obediently. Steve reaches up to cup Tony’s cheeks in his hands, leaning close until their noses are brushing against each other.

“You look really good in a tank top.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth jerks upward in an amused smile. “You just called me over to say that?”

“Well, no. I also wanted to do this.” Steve promptly hooks his arms and legs around Tony and pulls him down.

Letting out a surprised yelp, Tony lands on top of Steve’s body. Steve grins smugly before tilting his head to growl playfully in his ear. “Caught you. You’re trapped now. Good luck escaping.”

Tony tests Steve’s hold. Steve’s limbs tighten their hold in response. Hiding a smile in Steve’s chest even as he sighs, Tony says:

“Steven, darling, love of my life. As much as I’m enjoying this, I’m afraid that my broken armor isn’t going to fix itself.”

“Shhh,” Steve whispers into his hair, “you look tired. You deserve a break.”

“Baby—”

“Okay, okay. And maybe, I just wanted to hold my husband for a moment. Can we stay like this for a while? Give me one minute.” Steve plants a kiss on the top of his head. “Please?”

“...Okay. One minute. Start the countdown.”

“Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…” Steve begins.

Tony allows himself the luxury of melting into Steve’s arms, relishing the way the solid warmth of Steve’s hold squeezes the tension out of his own muscles.

“Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight…” Steve’s warm breath tickles Tony’s forehead as he continues to count down.

“Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight…” Eyes closed, Tony focuses on Steve’s voice and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

They stay like that for a while, both of them calm and content, Steve’s hushed voice counting down the seconds the only sound in the room. Time passes by slowly and too quickly at the same time, and the next thing Tony knows, Steve has reached the final ten seconds.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five…”

Then Steve turns quiet. Tony waits, but when Steve doesn’t continue the countdown, he looks up. His husband is already gazing at him, face looking deceitfully innocent.

“Honey?”

“Hm?” Steve says distractedly as he caresses Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb.

“You stopped counting.”

“Oh. Did I?” Steve asks, still maintaining his ridiculous charade. “Sorry, sweetheart. You know how forgetful I am.” His thumb migrates down to Tony’s bottom lip, as does the gaze of his blue eyes. “I am a centenarian, after all. My memory is just not what it used to be.”

Tony sighs fondly. “Continue the count, please.”

“Will do, sweetheart.” Steve smiles. “Thirty…”

“Five.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You stopped at five.”

“I did?” Steve’s smile widens, leaning forward to capture Tony’s lips in a kiss.

“I know what you’re doing,” Tony says against Steve’s lips.

When Steve leans back, his face is all confusion. His blue eyes, however, are teeming with mischief. “And what is it that I’m doing? I told you, sweetheart, I’m just a very forgetful person.”

Tony rolls his eyes before resting his head back on Steve’s chest.

“Let’s go, soldier.” He pats the side of Steve’s thigh. “Start with five.”

“Sir, yes, Sir. Five, four, three and a half, three…”

“What the—”

“Two and a half, two…”

Tony pokes him in the side.

“One and three-quarters…”

Giving up, Tony breaks into laughter. “Honey.”

“One and a half, one and a quarter, and…”

“Uno. Okay, good job, Captain. Let me go now.” Tony tries to wriggle his way out of Steve’s hold, but Steve’s limbs remain unyielding.

“Shhh. Zero,” Steve whispers. And then:

“Minus one…”

“Steve, no!”

Laughing gleefully, Steve finally releases Tony. “Okay, okay. I’m letting go.”

Tony extricates himself from Steve’s hold. Steve glides his fingers along Tony’s arm as he does—determined to get his fill of physical contact until the very last second—and it ends with him catching Tony’s wrist just before Tony is about to stand.

His warm blue eyes hold Tony’s gaze as he brings said wrist to his mouth, pressing a lingering kiss to the pulse point. Something warm unfurls in Tony’s chest at the way Steve’s every movement screams of his reluctance to let Tony go.

“Meet me for dinner later?” Steve whispers against his skin.

“Of course, baby. Wouldn’t miss date night for anything,” Tony promises.

With that, Steve lets Tony’s wrist go with a sigh before throwing an arm over his own eyes.

“Now go. Before I change my mind.”

Tony leaves, snickering all the while at his husband’s dramatics.

(+1)

“I need a hug. And a kiss. And I need you to tell me that you love me.”

It has taken years for Tony to be entirely comfortable with asking for affection in such a blatant way, but over time he has learned that doing so—actually communicating his needs and wants—has actually done wonders for their relationship. He desperately needs some loving at the moment—the end-result of a long day of all work, no play, and the worst of all: no Steve.

Plus, there is also the fact that Steve always turns all soft and happy without fail whenever Tony does ask for some affection.

Steve blinks and turns his head around from where he is crouched in front of the oven, waiting not-so-patiently for his mac and cheese to finish baking. At the sight of Tony sitting atop the kitchen counter, legs swinging lightly and eyes staring back at him expectantly, a slow smile blooms on his face. He stands up and makes his way to Tony.

Enveloping Tony in his arms, Steve presses his lips to Tony’s temple. Tony scoots forward and wraps his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders, locking his ankles around his husband’s waist like a koala on a tree.

Pulling back slightly to plant a kiss on the corner of Tony’s mouth, Steve cradles his jaw, thumb rubbing his cheek affectionately. “I love you, sweetheart. So much.”

Then he pulls Tony close again, gently placing Tony’s face back in the crook of his neck. Steve rests his head against Tony’s and sways their joined bodies together slightly from side to side, humming a slow love song that Tony knows he has been listening to repeatedly for the past week.

Tony inhales and lets Steve’s comforting scent fill his lungs, a mix of his coconut-scented body wash and the laundry detergent they share together. It smells a lot like home.

For the first time since he woke up in the morning, Tony’s day is finally looking up.

“This is nice,” Tony mumbles tiredly into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve hums sympathetically, gradually stopping their swaying. His hand comes up to massage the back of Tony’s neck. “Rough day?”

“Something like that.”

“You did a great job today.” Steve’s fingers are still pressing into his neck in slow, circular motions. “You worked very hard at the office. I love you.”

Lips brushing Steve’s neck as he speaks, he says, “You don’t know that. You weren’t there.”

“There are some things that I just know. For example, my husband worked hard today. My husband did an excellent job today.”

Tony snorts.

“Here’s another example. I didn’t see you at all today, but I knew, I just knew that my husband looked beautiful today.” Steve pulls back, cupping Tony’s cheeks and looking down at him. “And would you look at that,” Steve says, voice hushed with something akin to awe, “I was right after all.”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “You are so corny,” he says, in the hopes that his remark would distract Steve from his burning cheeks. Years of being married to Steve and the man can still make Tony blush like no other. He just doesn’t understand how Steve can make all these sappy declarations sound so sincere, so genuine. Like he’s just stating an indisputable truth.

“I am also so very right. You are beautiful.”

“Corny.” Tony keeps his eyes shut.

“Beautiful,” Steve whispers in his ear, warm breath tickling his skin. A fleeting kiss is planted on Tony’s cheek.

For a few seconds, nothing happens. Hesitantly, Tony opens his eyes. He is greeted by the sight of Steve bending down slightly to meet his eye level, hands planted on the counter on either side of Tony, eyes looking straight into his.

Steve’s smile turns lopsided when Tony meets his eyes.

“Hey there, beautiful.”

Tony punches Steve’s shoulder lightly in protest and buries his face in his hands.

“Jesus Christ, stop. I will hurt you.”

“Hm, feisty. I like it.”

“Please just go check on your food or something,” Tony mumbles miserably, voice muffled by his own hands. “It’s probably burning.”

Chuckling lightly, Steve finally lets him off the hook with a kiss to the top of his head. “Love you, sweetheart. Go shower, dinner will be ready in a minute.”

Tony hops off the counter and makes a hasty escape, lest Steve continue torturing him with more saccharine words that make him want to melt into the floor in embarrassment.

His husband can be so ridiculous sometimes.

(He wouldn’t change it for the world.)

#stevetony #stevetony fic #stony #stony fic #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve x tony #mine #earl wrote something #my birthday fic #anonymous

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exosmuttytalk · 3 years

Text

Exols Secret Santa 2020

This is my Exols Secret Santa present for @jissoyaa

I hope you had a wonderful and warm Christmas and that you enjoy my belated present!

PROFESSIONAL

Characters: Byun Baekhyun, unnamed OC.

Rating: Mature (but not a lot)

Word count: ~3000

Summary: Adapting to a new job is never easy, especially with an attractive boss criticising your every move.

As soon as the last chords of the song stopped playing, Baekhyun stormed off the stage, clutching the earpiece he’d ripped off mid live performance. You bumped into each other at the turn of a corner and that only seemed to increase his anger despite the fact that the person he was looking for was, in fact, you. His fingers wrapped around your wrist to raise your hand and he forcefully put the earpiece in your palm.

“I don’t think you have noticed, but this has been shocking me since the music started,” he explained harshly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe the wire isn’t connected properly…?” You trailed off as you started to examine the faulty piece.

“I don’t know if it’s connected or not, that’s your job and not mine. This is a beginner’s mistake. Please, do your job.”

Despite not having raised his tone, the severity on his words made you recoil enough for him to swiftly walk away in direction to the dressing room. You were in the verge of tears when you saw two of the other members walking down the hallway in search of their own rooms. Kyungsoo gave you a sympathetic look.

“It’s okay, those things are awful. We’ve all been shocked once or twice, at least.”

You faked a smile in response.

“I’m sorry in his behalf. He’s not usually like this, but it’s been an exceptionally hard time for him.”Junmyeon’s excuse for his friend didn’t really make up for the fact that the short time you had been working as a manager for Baekhyun had been, simply put, awful. Although you had already been working in the industry for quite some time and had acted as a manager temporarily for other idols, you had only been able to half-ass his demands and had been the cause of delay at least a couple of times. The pace at which they worked was way faster than what you were used to, and Baekhyun hadn’t been merciful. The stress was starting to get to you.

“Thank you both,” you straightened up and gulped your tears. “But he’s right. I haven’t been on top of my game, as you deserve. I’ll do better and everything will be better.”

“I’ll try to talk to him,” Junmyeon nodded understandingly.

......................

Water, bottled, check.

Sweetened green tea, bottled, check.

Red tea, in bags, check.

Instant ramen, check.

Fruit (strawberries), check.

Towels, hands and body, check.

Outfit cases 1, 2, 3, check.

Lapel microphone, 2, check.

Hand held microphone, 2, check.

Earpiece and batteries, 2, check.

It was the third time you went through the papers that listed everything necessary in the dressing room and the second time you stopped at that exact point to check on the item which had caused the most trouble last time. You had not yet seen Baekhyun again and had only contacted him through text messages to tell him the time he’d need to be at the venue and ask for any other requests, which he had only answered with a formal “no need, thank you”.

You were still fumbling with the earpiece when the sudden opening of the door startled you and made you drop what you in your hands between your feet and the just arrived Baekhyun. His eyes dropped down to the shattered earpiece on the floor and then slowly back up to meet yours.

“I had to wear that today.”

His fixed stare was already starting to wear off the confidence you had worked so hard to build over the last two days. You stumbled over your words until an idea popped into your mind. It was okay. You were prepared for such a scenario.

“I have a backup earpiece. In case anything happened to the first one.”

“Hmm,” Baekhyun nodded seriously, his eyes were scanning the rest of the room and came to a halt when he found the basket of assorted fruit, which displayed a hefty amount of the strawberries you had found through another member of the staff he liked. “Everything seems in order. Please, go find the stylist.”

.........................................................

You got to watch the interview the group gave from the outer part of the stage and couldn’t help but notice how different Baekhyun’s demeanor was in comparison to when he talked only to you. As it had been normal through the years the group had been on the spotlight, Baekhyun stole the spotlight with his bright smile, bubbly personality and witty comments. Polar opposite of the cold, distant and sometimes downright mean person he had been to you. It would’ve come as a lie if you told yourself you weren’t the slightest bit disappointed by this turn of events.

By the time Exo debuted you had already been working in the industry for some time and knew pretty much everything there was to know about the idol life. Still, you couldn’t help but be smitten by the presence of one particular member. That initial infatuation, luckily for you, subsided through the years and let way to a deep appreciation and admiration for the man that now was technically your boss. The same man who had motivated you to do better in your own career and who was, ultimately, the reason why you had chosen to take the plunge and apply for SM. The same man who had turned out to be…standoffish, for lack of a better term to describe him.

It definitely was a disappointing turn of events, but you were determined to be the better person and the better professional.

As the performance unfolded, you watched Baekhyun intently; prepared in case a situation like the other day’s should arise again. But it didn’t. Everything went swimmingly and the group was all bows and smiles as they exited the stage.

You tried to disguise the smug expression in your face when you walked up to Baekhyun and handed him a hand towel and a bottle of water before he even asked for it, but your smile grew wider when he seemed surprised to see you there and well prepared for the occasion.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” you asked solicitously.

“That’s all I need now, thank you.”

“Would you maybe like to have lunch in the dressing room? The catering service seems pretty good here, better than the dry noodles, I feel.”

“Uhh…yes, I think that would be nice.”

“I’ll take care of that,” you responded before turning around to leave, crossing eyes with Junmyeon, who was showing off his best reassuring smile towards you.

........................................

Precariously balancing the tray holding the plates of food against your hip, you knocked loudly on the door of the dressing room for the second time. Still no answer, so you pushed the door open and came into the seemingly empty room. The room offered the same neat appearance as when you left earlier in the morning. You had already started arranging the plates on the countertop when rustling came from the door at your back that lead to the bathroom.

After considering the possibilities, you tiptoed as silently as possible towards the door, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible. But it was too late. The door slid open and out came Baekhyun, one of the towels you had carefully arranged that morning wrapped against his waist and wet hair sticking out in all directions.

His eyes met yours and no one said a thing, but you were trying to calculate how likely this was to be the last straw that would finally get you fired.

“That’s a lot of food,” he said, diverting his gaze towards the food arrangement.

“I knocked,” you answered without processing his words.

“Yeah, I know.”

“But I knocked twice.”

“Yeah. I know.”

His nonchalance about the whole thing caught you off guard, your hand in the door knob as you watched him move across the room to the table, still in the towel and seemingly not caring about his partial nakedness. The spicy side dishes caught his attention first and he started eating right away. He picked one of the empty plates and handed it over to you, not much thought into the action. His eyes went back to search for you when you didn’t pick the plate. He was still chewing when he said:

“Eat up. We can’t be throwing that much food away.”

He filled up a plate of his own and sat down in one of the rotating chairs, looking at you standing there, awkwardly.

“Are you gonna turn me down?”

“No! No, no!”

You rushed to the table and filled up part of your plate. As unusual as the situation might have been, it was already two hours past your lunch time and the food looked delicious. You sat down and started eating in silence, trying hard not to brazenly look at the half naked man in front of you.

“Look, I wanted to talk to you,” he blurted before taking a gulp of water.

“Okay…”

“Junmyeon has…brought to my attention how unwelcoming I have been since we started working together.”

“I wanted to talk about it to you too,” you interjected. He seemed surprised but you didn’t back down. “I don’t want to beat around the bush anymore. I know you don’t like me. I have made mistakes, I’ll admit that. Still, if you feel I am not a good fit for the position, I’ll ask the company to reassign me with someone else.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not my fault?”

He just shrugged as a response.

“Then why are you being such an ass?”

Your hand darted up to cover your mouth as soon as the words came out.Baekhyun just looked at you fixedly. Then, he left out a small chuckle that grew little by little until it became full blown laughter. The ridiculousness of the situation puzzled you, so you just stayed silent until his laughing fit subsided.

“He, he…he… You have some temper huh?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” you eyes dropped down to your lap where you still held you plate, heat creeping up to your cheeks.

“No, no! It’s okay, really. I found it really funny. Are you going to cry!?” he slid across the floor towards you to grab your free hand.

The sweet gesture caught you off guard, but you didn’t get to pull you hand away before he let go off it first. He stood up and walked around the room, his hands clutching the hair at the back of his head; but his expression was neutral again when he sat back down on his chair.

“My previous manager had been with me since the beginning. He didn’t leave; he was fired after he had some issues with a superior. We all interceded for him, but there was no use. He was like family to me and it’s been hard adjusting.” His eyes traveled aimlessly through the room and he let out a sigh. “But it’s not your fault and you have been improving. I’m sorry for being unfair.”

He seemed genuine and you wore your heart in your sleeve. You reached towards him and grabbed his hand the same way he had tried to comfort you earlier. Mind you, your intertwined hands were resting on top of his toweled thigh, dangerously close to…

“I should get going!”

You stood up as if you had been shocked, sending the plate that sat on your thighs to the floor. Immediately after, you kneeled down, trying to pick up the mess and leave as soon as possible. Baekhyun also wanted to help, and leaned in at the precise same moment as you did. Your heads bumped into each other and the impact made you fall down on your butt.

“Oh, God, are you okay?”

As he rubbed the sore spot on his forehead, he held his hand out but miscalculated the strength he’d need to help you stand up, which made you bump into his chest and hold onto him for balance.The sequence of blunders had left you at a loss for words, but he still sported a mocking half smile as he looked at you intently. Being so close to him, you were able to smell his shower gel.

“So… do you forgive me?”

“Yes! Yes, of course,” you answered taking a step back. “I am looking forward to working with you, Baekhyun.”

“Me too,” he answered while shooting the first genuine smile you’d seen on his face.

That smile made your heart skip a beat and time seemed to stretch as you looked at each other in silence. The possibility of leaning in to kiss him crossed your mind.

“Do you think we could maybe, sometime, go out for a drink? As in, together?”

The proposal came so much out of the blue that you responded in the only way you could think of. You leaned in and kissed him.

It was short and quick. A simple peck on the lips that was enough for a spark of fun to appear in Baekhyun’s eyes, and after waiting for the approval in yours, he went back in for a second kiss. Hours or seconds could have gone by and it wouldn’t have been any different to you. As soon as his hot breath grazed your skin, all your precautions were out the window. His hands that caressed your neck and your back made you forget you were making out with someone who could finish your career off and you didn’t care. The murmured curse he let out when you pressed your body against him in a fit of boldness gave you butterflies in the stomach you hadn’t felt since you first saw him on a screen.

The door knob poking on your back made you realize he had been pulling you around the room as he kissed you. He looked at you with a serious expression despite the flush on his face and his disheveled half dry hair.

“Do you want this?” he asked with a husky voice you hadn’t heard from him before.

You only nodded in response.

“Then do me a favor and lock the door.”

Your hand slid between the door and your back, searching for the lock while never leaving Baekhyun’s eyes. He responded by slamming you against the wall to proceed attacking your neck. His lips were soft and warm against your skin, but he would nibble slightly when you least expected it; the contrast making you crazy. The blouse you were wearing had been pulled out of the waistband of your pencil skirt and his hands already explored freely the skin of your back and your belly. As he began unbuttoning the blouse, you grabbed onto the hair on the nape of his neck. He let out a malicious chuckle and introduced one of his legs between your thighs pinning you even more against the wall and creating that delicious friction you craved.

“You’re such a tease, who would’ve told,” he said with a smug expression as his hands slid under your bra to fondle your breasts.

“You don’t fall short of that either-”

The last word came out as a moan when Baekhyun leaned in to capture your right nipple between his lips. It took no time of him sucking, licking and biting for you to be a wriggly mess. His other hand, which had been occupied in your other breast glided down across your stomach to toy with the zipper that held your skirt together. Instead of taking it off, he slid his hand past the fabric of the skirt and your underwear and carefully stroked around until he found the wetness that had been pooling for quite some time by then.

“Look at you! I’ve barely kissed you but you’re already so wet.” He pulled his hand out to raise his fingers towards your open lips. “I’ll take care of that.”

The hint of mockery in his voice drove you wild and you licked your fingers with delight as he looked you on like an eagle watches its prey. Soon enough, his fingers were back where they had left and they wasted no time. Baekhyun set a relentless pace that had you panting for air in just a few minutes. You were holding onto his shoulders for leverage and left some scratches on his soft skin. His forehead was pressed against yours, eyes closed, breathing off each other. A single drop of sweat rolled down his cheek. His fingers inside you were working magic and you could feel the buildup starting to form in the lower part of your belly. Your only warning came in the form of another tug from his hair and, as soon as he heard what you were going through, he covered your mouth with his free hand and helped you ride your high.

You opened your eyes to find him still holding you against the wall, looking at you with an illegible expression on his face.

“You have beautiful eyes,” he said with a sheepish smile before letting go off you.

Despite having the door locked, you suddenly felt the urge to get everything back into place and get the hell out of there. You readjusted all your clothes and took a quick glance in the mirror to decide your hair needed to be put in a bun in order to look presentable again. When you were done, you turned around to face Baekhyun, who was sitting down again and observing your rustle.

“So will I be able to see you again soon?”

“Yeah, hmm…You’ll see me tomorrow morning. Radio show with CBX, remember? I’ll text you the reference this evening.”

A satisfied expression spread over his face as he approached the door to open it for you.

“Thank you. That’s very professional.”

___________________________

@exolssecretsanta

#exolssecretsanta20 #exo #exo fanfiction #exo smut #baekhyun #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fluff

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thefallenbibliophilequote · 4 years

Text

The Last Word- part 3

Bucky x Reader

Summary: you and Bucky never get along, it’s not that you hate him- it’s just that he always finds ways to get on your nerves. You’ve had enough of it. But, funny thing about feelings, they often tend to intertwine with others in ways that you can’t really expect.

Word count: 3,956

Warnings: language, probably bad writing too, implied sex- one line tho.

A/N: I refuse to apologize for the amount of avatar and Taylor references. This is the last chapter, the end of the first series I’ve written. I’m excited both in the good way and in the nervous way because I don’t know if this is any good, I had no beta for this one.

A/N 2: Thank you all for reading this series! I really hope you liked it, let me know what you think! I hope I did this series justice because I really enjoyed writing this storyline. Next up is a WoC and Time Travel challenges. I am actually happy with the foreshadowing I managed to do in this series.

Preview part 1 part 2

Part 3- The End

Bucky is a supersoldier, an assassin. He was trained to notice everything. The shift was sharp, he couldn’t really pinpoint it, but he couldn’t miss it. He noticed the change.

It was in your attitude, in your movements. It was in the way you entered the room, in the way you retorted to his remarks. It was in your response in the comms, it was in the tea you made. It was in the way you dressed and in the place you sat during lunch or movie nights. He just didn’t know what it was.

Him mind wandered to the last mission. There was no way that you knew, he was careful.

You lay on your bed, arms crossed over your stomach as you pondered over the events of the day.

Tony approached you with his tablet alongside with Wanda.

“So, where did you go this time, sunshine?” Tony asked. You almost choked on the question, your mind still a bit fuzzy.

“I- I went to my room; it’s safe.” You reasoned. Not sure with who. You looked at Wanda as you replied, and slightly shook your head at her confused eyes.

They let you go after that, and you teleported to your room.

You haven’t left it since.

Did your own mind betray you? You were smart enough than to deny the clear implication of the recent event. Were they all right? Did you just decide to ignore these secret feelings that you apparently had? Another possibility crossed your mind as you recalled your last mission. Merely two days ago.

“How did we miss the hostages?” you whispered into your comm as you took in the new information Natasha gave you and Bucky.

“There is no time to call for backup,” Natasha replied to you and Bucky.“Y/N, teleport yourself and Bucky into the building and neutralize the hydra agents, give me as much time to take out the hostages safely as you can.”

“Copy that,” Bucky answered and you held onto his arm and teleported yourself inside the building; Taking in the tables with the lab equipment, and the agents with the loaded weapons.

It was the silent communication between you that made you act so well on the field. You teleported onto the other side of the room- capturing the attention of the agents- giving Bucky the advantage over them. He took out agent after agent, dodging bullets and throwing knives.

You teleported behind the agent to your side, leaving the other agent vulnerable as they took out each other while you smiled wickedly. Another agent came to attack you; you were close enough to take out the magazine out of the firearm. He in turn knocked the end of the barrel to your head and you stumbled backwards onto a table. You hissed as you touched the blood. Looking at the chemicals, you prayed to the Norse gods that this will work. Two chemicals soon collided on the face of your attacker and you saw the bubbles of the acidic reaction.

Yay.

Wrapped up in your little victory, you failed to notice the agent behind you raising his gun, Bucky came to your side, his right arm securing you as he spun you around and hid you away from danger with his own body. His metal arm raised and you heard two gunshots, followed by silence.

Bucky turned to look at you then, noticing the blood on your forehead.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just a little blood.” Your breath was heavy when Bucky took a step backwards from you, taking the heat from his chest and arm with him. It was then you saw the agent on the floor. One bullet went straight through his heart.

“I’m sending the hostages your way, is everything clear?” Natasha’s voice sliced through the silence.

“Clear.” Bucky sighed.

That must be it. Is it not? He saved you, so you felt safe. That must be the reason. It was hard to convince yourself, that was a convenient excuse of a lie and you knew it. You curled up under the blanket and fell to a light nap.

It was only a week since your discovery, but it felt like an eternity. From time to time you felt Bucky’s gaze on you. You knew you were acting different, but what else were you supposed to do?

The teasing hurt more now, so you settled. You sat on the very end of the table, making sure to be as out of sight as possible on movie nights. You used other mugs when yours was too high to reach and he was around, when he wasn’t you just grunted and asked another person to help you get it. He was making it difficult. He was making you so damn frustrated but doing what you used to do will only make you feel worse. Because, it was not just a game of hate to you anymore. It wasn’t just insults you can throw around and shrug off. Because now that the bubble burst, you began noticing all the other signs- the way you’d never take the last slice of pizza when you know he is just coming back from a mission. The way your eyes would linger on his body a little more than they should when you were at the gym. The way you smirked and hid a smile whenever you saw a frustrated Sam walking by, and heard Bucky laughing from the next room. The way those blue eyes made you angry but, in reality it’s not real anger. The way your smiles of victory were always genuine and wide. It was all right there in front of you, the guy with the exact same smirk and mischievous eyes you noticed ever since the very first day you met him.

Now you still returned his remarks though, it felt good for a bit, then it would hit you when he smirked at you. So you did it less often now.

One day a solution crossed your mind, find a way to move on.

With every day Bucky started to notice more changes. You no longer wore shorts, or dresses. The purple dress was never seen as well, even when you went out with Natasha to a club. You used to stay behind from things like that, but now he saw you going out more and more. He heard you fighting in the gym late at night, rather in the day like the rest of them, when he was walking the tower after a nightmare.

“Well what do we have here?” he decided to approach you one night after a particularly bad nightmare, smiling as he discovered you in the gym again. You seemed to ignore him completely.

You kept throwing the different knives at the target, getting more aggressive as it moved backwards.

“You know,” he smirked as you hit another target, right in the heart. You turned to choose a different dagger. “I can provide a different way to release that anger.”

You knew the heat in your cheeks was from the workout. It didn’t provide any comfort with the words he was saying. You knew it was just him being a cocky bastard. You threw the dagger, hitting the target straight through the heart. Oh the cruel irony.

“Fuck off, Barnes.”

“Oh come on, you’re clearly off your game. What happened? Did you finally realize you are no match for me?” his arms folding.

“I just realized that you are not worth my time, it’s quite simple really.” You turned to him with his stupid blue eyes. “Now if you can please leave me to train alone, that would be grand.”

“Suit yourself sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re missing out on.” With that Bucky walked away, you sighed. His smirked fell a bit, he shrugged it off.

“So, you see, I was just a class below Mr. Stark at MIT.” The blonde held a smug look as he told you how he got his job.

“Oh so you know Tony?” you asked him, leaning on the high receptionist desk at the ground floor of the tower.

“Yeah, of course, he remembered me from back when we were in college! Of course I know him personally!”

Lie. You let it pass. He was good enough looking, and he is smart if he managed to work in Stark Industries, so you decided settling a bit wouldn’t be that bad.

“Wow, that’s so great!” you smiled a bit. The guy was genuinely cute so hopefully this could lead somewhere. “I heard your division managed to sell the latest product to that one company- Beifong?”

“Yes! It was a huge deal in the office, we brought cake and everything!” he smiled excitedly about it. “It was actually from this Argos Bakery, they have the best pies there!”

“I heard about it! I always wanted to go there actually.”

“Well-” the blond got cut off.

“Hey, Y/N!” you mentally cursed as you heard the approaching voice. “Well what are you doing here?”

Bucky gave you a side hug and you groaned lowly. You could already see the guy in front of you stand up straighter now.

“I’m here talking to Brian.” You replied sending a tight lipped smile towards the soldier, hoping the guy wouldn’t get scared off. You were so close.

“Brian, huh?” you could see the dangerous flicker in Bucky’s eyes when he gave you a look before catching Brian as his victim. He took his left arm off of you before extending it towards the poor guy. “It is very nice to meet you!”

“It is nice to meet you too Sir-” he gulped nervously as he took the Winter Soldier’s arm, you could see it tightening by the second. “I mean- I mean Sergeant, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky let his hand go, an amused smile covering his face, and you saw Brian’s hand was much redder than before.

“I see you’re an engineer?” Bucky’s arm found your shoulder again. That motherfucker.

“Yes Sir- Sergeant.”

“My friend here is more into chemistry, isn’t that right doll?”

“I like all sorts of subjects actually, Bucky.” You shot him a glare before smiling towards Brian. Your smile fell when the blue eyed devil next to you asked the next question though.

“So, where did you go to school?” Bucky mused, icy eyes glaring at the guy.

“MIT, I got a Masters in engineering.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Is that so?” you saw the mischief in his eyes. He was too smart for your liking, you concluded to yourself. “Do you know Tony then, I assume?”

A hunter put his pray in a corner.

“Yes, of course I do.” He smiled at you, probably trying to keep his act up. He thinks he can impress the soldier.

You were going to kill Bucky, you decided. Preferably with a dagger, but you weren’t picky.

“Well that is so great! We work with him, wait-” the asshole smiled at you, oh and what a dangerous smile he had, his tongue sticking out for a second to lick his bottom lips. “Why won’t you come with us, we can all seat and talk with him, I’m sure he will be happy to talk to you.”

Abort mission. Abort mission.

“Umm-” you both saw as Brian tensed up and swallowed, gulping as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. “I should probably get back to work, I really need to finish some work. Right now.”

And the prey is gone as the hunter went for the kill. He quickly turned around from you and Bucky who was waving at him. He all but ran towards the other side of the floor, and entered the first elevator that got there.

“Bye, Brian!” next to you Bucky was chuckling.

You took a step forward as he went ahead, but it was a rather fruitless attempt. You heard Bucky laugh behind you as he put his left hand yet again on your shoulder.

“If you won’t take your hand off of me, I will make it so Shuri will have to make you a whole new arm. You turned your head slightly to glare at him from behind your shoulder.

"Ooo feisty!” Bucky commented and he took his hand back as you turned to him.

“Now why would you go and do that?” you were fuming. Well, there goes your chance, and there he is smiling at you his eyes wrinkled at that.

“You-” he let out another chuckle, followed by a more serious smirk. “You didn’t actually think I would forget the promise I made you, now did you? I am a gentleman after all, a true man of my word.”

“And what promise is that?” you crossed your arms defensively.

“That I will always get the last word of course,” he stepped forward a bit. “That guy seemed great, oh what a shame you won’t get any from him.” He shrugged.

A groan, wait or was it a growl? Whatever came out of your mouth was somewhere in between, fuelled by frustration.

“Fuck you, Barnes.” You went around him towards the elevators to get to your floor.

Wanda spotted you, and held open the doors. When they closed behind the two of you, she spoke up.

“It’s been a little over a week darling, do you want to talk about that?” She was always so gentle.

“No.”

The Beifong Company was a family business, extremely rich. Tony decided to throw a little event for the family. To his dismay, Pepper told him it should be classy, charming rather than gauche. So of course, she took over the planning, dress code, and invites. To his delight though, the Beifong’s 16 year old blind girl- Toph, was much more to his liking. Tony and her got along very well once he realized how different the young girl acted when her parents were out of earshot, with the sarcasm and her snarky remarks matching Tony’s perfectly.

You never thought you’d see the day, an elegant party at the Stark Tower. Everyone was dressed to the nines, some were dancing along to the classy band Pepper hired, while others were eating and talking.

It looked surreal, like it was made from starlight. You found yourself drifting from the conversation. Your mind going to places, to people, you tried to run away from.

“Y/N? Are you with me?”

“Oh, yeah sorry Sam” you smiled at him.

“So as I was saying, how is your training going?” he picked up his glass of champagne, well it was filled with beer, but it was a glass you drink champagne in. He wanted to look classy, or so he said.

“Oh, it’s going better; I am figuring it out more. I guess you’d understand it but I am just working on controlling my emotions and figuring them out so I can control this power.” You explained, with his former job it was easier for him to understand how you figured out how your powers work.

“That’s great to hear! I’m proud of you, but I have to ask, is there something else going on with you?” the concern in his voice caught you off guard. You thought maybe everyone would just accept it. It has been two weeks since your little discovery, you focused on your own work and when you didn’t you focused on anything but Bucky- which isn’t how your mind decided to work. The more you tried to get to know other guys, going to clubs, you never got it. The more you ran away from him in your head, you just crushed into him, it’s a cruel circle.

Luckily you have some progress tonight. Yesterday a cute guy named Sokka came to the tower to talk about security detail for the Beifong family. He was really cute, funny, and really observant to the point that it impressed you a lot. So you talked to him and you two ended up planning on meeting here. You haven’t seen him yet though, maybe he went to make sure the family was safe, you couldn’t see the Mr. and Mrs. Beifong here either.

“No, I am completely fine,” a light bulb lit up. “I learned about myself so much these past couple of weeks, I am bound to change a bit. It’s a good change that happens after a self discovery.” You assured Sam.

It wasn’t a lie, and you patted your shoulder for the good excuse. There certainly was a discovery but it wasn’t directly related to your powers…

“If you say so, I am happy as long as you are.” He nodded to you, you smiled weakly in return. “it looks like someone is coming for you though, so I’ll get out of your hair.”

He winked at you and got out of the stool.

“May I sit with you?” you turned to look at him.

“Sokka, yes of course” you smiled at him, your cheeks reddened as you blushed a bit.

Bucky was on the other end of the room, leaning on the wall, drinking useless alcohol as he looked at you at the bar. Natasha walked and stood next to him. A few moments passed before she spoke up.

“So, how’s the wound?” Bucky’s jaw clenched a bit before he sighed.

“You know I heal fast. Why am I not surprised that you noticed though?” another gulp of the drink.

“Even a supersoldier can’t hide a bullet wound from me,” she huffed. “Why hide it?”

“She didn’t need to know.”

“I noticed it though, as I was with the two of you on that mission when it happened two weeks ago.”

“She didn’t.”

“Yeah well, she is blind to it…” Natasha now looked at him. “Are you?”

The soldier looked at Natasha for a moment, before returning to gaze at you.

“I wish I was.”

Bucky left shortly after that.

“Wait so you saved that judge? I saw her on TV the other day. How did you even notice the shooter from that far away?” you looked at him in awe, ignoring intruding thoughts.

“I spotted him when we drove her there, he was entering that building, I assumed he was going to the roof especially with that rifle case, so I send the car for another spin as I followed him.” He rubbed his neck as he smiled you.

“It’s really impressive you know, not a lot would’ve noticed that.” You looked at your hands, you may not be over him yet, but you had to eventually “Would you maybe like to go out sometime? Maybe we could go somewhere with less superheroes and bosses?”

“That sounds really nice but-” He looked you in the eye, contemplating his words. “I don’t want to get in the middle of whatever it is you have with your boyfriend, his name is James Barnes right? He seems nice, a little scary if I’m being honest. I’d love to get to know you and be your friend, but I’m not going to do what you’re suggesting, you two look like a cute couple though.”

You barely heard that last part from the blood rushing in your ears.

“Did he say something to you? I’m going to kill him!” you rose from the chair, he couldn’t even say a thing before you teleported, the only thing in your mind is Bucky.

You found yourself not in the party, actually you found yourself very far away from the party, in the hall leading to the roof door. You didn’t ponder on that, rather you practically shattered the door as you opened it and closed it behind you.

Bucky stood in front of you, confusion laced with intrigue, the collar of his white shirt slightly open, the tie and jacket tossed on a nearby chair.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he saw your red face.

“You have some nerve to ask me that you fucking asshole, how dare you?” you fumed at his question, playing it innocent ha, as if.

“What the fuck are you talking about doll?” his voice now raised.

“You went ahead and talked to him, didn’t you? Why are you ruining it for me when all I’m trying to do is- that’s not important” you caught yourself in time, you didn’t need to handle that on top of everything, you just wanted to move on and he wouldn’t let you do that.

“Talked to who? Are you blaming me for everything right now?” he moved from his place by the ledge now.

“He said he is scared of you! He said it’s because I’m your gal or some shit! Did you tell him to say that? You’re a fucking jackass James Barnes.” You accused and walked towards him. It’s like he is putting salt in your wound, telling Sokka he was your boyfriend? Out of all the things, he had to say that.

“I didn’t talk to anyone, especially not to that guy you were with!” He yelled back at you, hand flying around with his frustration, god the things you bring out in him.

“You’re one hundred and fucking two, and you are a lying asshole.” You shook your head as he stood in front of you.

“I’m no liar!”

“Are so!”

“Am not!”

“Are so!”

“I am not a bloody liar, plus I’m 103, learn to count.”

“Oh you always have to get the last word right? You’re unbelievable!” you tried pushing his chest back, it didn’t really work and you huffed, crossing your hands.

“Doll, I told you I always win and get the last word, that’s nothing new.” His frustration didn’t fade, and neither did yours even when he cracked a small smirk. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, his blood was boiling. You took another step forward.

“Never,” you shook your head, eyes determined on his. His blue eyes won’t break you. You weren’t going to run this time. “I won’t let you win, I’ll always be here to stop that! You’ll never get rid of me!”

“I’m counting on it.” He growled as he grabbed your face and his lips crushed into yours, he kissed you hard. Shocked, you stood frozen in his embrace, but when his tongue brushed your bottom lip you melted against him, body melding perfectly with his as you put your hands on his chest. His heart racing just as fast as yours.

You were left speechless at his sudden admission.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.” He breathed against your lips, before pulling another breathtaking kiss from you, shivering but not from the cold wind. Kissing you for what felt like forever, you could only wish it was.

Your eyes were still closed when he leaned back and said-

“Told you I always get the last word” you opened your eyes to a smug Bucky who had the audacity of walking away towards the door.

“That does not count! You can’t just do that and just walk away like that!” you yelled after him, huffing, you could feel the butterflies in your stomach and his lips on yours.

You teleported right in front of him, stopping him in his place as you smiled, still a bit breathless.

“I told you you’ll never get rid of me” you leaned in, arms wrapping around his neck as he smiled.

“That you did, Doll” his hands finding their place at your waist, he closed the short distance.

He kissed you again, and again, and again. No words were needed as all the pent up emotions were poured into the kiss and made up for all the words you never said.

tags: @callmeluna @sstanbarnes @buckys-other-punk @drabblewithfrannybarnes @easygoingtheatre @that-one-person @justab-eautifulmess @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @wipplogg @supraveng

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #my writing #fluff #the last word #marvel #bucky fluff #series #enemies to lovers

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 3 years

Text

Worthy, pt 3

The air rushing in my ears was the first thing I heard when I came to. Angela was kneeling beside me, her hand smacking my face lightly. Her mouth moved as she said something, but I couldn’t hear her over the white noise in my head. I put my hand to my head and sat up. The world was spinning. Angela looked over my shoulder and spoke again. A moment later strong arms lifted me under the legs and back. I looked up into Thor’s concerned blue eyes. Gone was the big smile and jovial demeanor. He didn’t look angry though. Just concerned. He carried me over to the deck chair and sat me down. Dr. Banner was headed toward us with a bag of ice, and Pepper and Tony were rushing along behind him. Some noise finally started to break through the ringing in my ears.

“Ella Carmichael, how do you fare?” Thor’s voice was a low rumble. I looked at him as he squatted beside me.

“What just happened?” I asked.

“That is the question, indeed. It would seem you lifted Mjolnir,” he picked up the hammer and held it so the light from inside illuminated the writing on the face of it. Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor. I could feel my brow furrowing. I possessed the power of Thor? It certainly didn’t feel that way when the bolt of lightning shot through my body.

“Oh god, did I steal your power from you?” I gasped. He shook his head.

“My father enchanted Mjolnir, so that only those worthy to wield her could lift her. You have not taken my power, but should you continue to be able to heft Mjolnir, you may be able to access the powers that she has given me. I did not think it possible, from a Midgardian,” he explained.

“What do you mean, not possible?” I eyed the hammer where it sat on the deck beside me.

“What he means is that he has yet to meet anyone capable of lifting it. I can’t. No one on the Avengers Initiative can. We’ve all tried.” As if to prove his point, Tony wrapped his hand around the handle of the hammer and tugged. It didn’t budge.

“Even Dr. Banner can’t?” I was surprised. Dr. Banner came to stand beside Tony.

“Even the Other Guy can’t,” he corrected, his voice full of gentle reproach. I blinked and looked away, embarrassed I’d made him uncomfortable.

“Then why was I able to?” I looked back at Thor. He shook his head.

“I cannot fathom why. It bears more investigation. But perhaps not tonight,” he suggested. I nodded blankly. Tony stepped closer and held out his hand to me.

“Are you feeling like you could stand? We’re gathering a bit of an audience. It would probably be good to show everyone that you’re okay,” he suggested. I took the offered hand and pulled myself to my feet. “I will understand completely if you would like to make it an early night, Ella.”

“I think I will. Thanks Tony. I had a chance to meet with Markus and that was the most important goal for the night.” I leaned over to pick up my shoes, and lost my balance. Thor caught me, his large hand stabilizing me, and steadying me on my feet.

“Perhaps I should escort you to your suite, Ella Carmichael,” he offered. I smirked at the weird way he said my name and shook my head.

“That’s not necessary, but thanks.” I opted to leave my heels off and padded across the deck in my bare feet, Angela close beside me. She stayed nearby, but quiet until we got to my suite. When I tried to swipe my passcard for access to my room, it didn’t work. She pressed a few buttons on the keypad beside the passcard reader and nodded.

“When I saw the sparks coming off you, I figured your passcard would be fried. I’ll bring up a new card before I go home, but in the meantime, the keycode is your birthday,” she followed me into my suite. I pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned against the counter, holding it to my forehead.

“Do you suppose I’m in a lot of trouble?” I groaned.

“From the look on Thor’s face, I think probably. You certainly aren’t a boring science geek, that’s for sure,” she laughed. I hung my head in defeat. “Question? Where are your glasses?” My hand flew up to my face, and sure enough, my glasses were gone. I looked at Angela, and back to my hand, and was surprised to see that my vision was almost in focus. It wasn’t perfect, but it certainly was better than it usually was.

“They must have flown off,” I guessed. There was a knock at my door. I walked over and opened it, letting Dr. Banner in. He held out my glasses to me. “Wow, that was perfect timing.”

“You lost these,” he offered. I took them and put them back on and blinked against the strength. I pulled them back off.

“Yeah, Angela had just noticed. Thank you, Dr. Banner,” I murmured, holding my hand back up in front of my face.

“Bruce,” he corrected. I smiled.

“Thank you, Bruce.” I suddenly felt shy, concerned about what this remarkable, brilliant man, must be thinking about me. He probably thought I was a mess and was grateful he wouldn’t be working with me.

“How do you feel?” His eyes focused on me, almost like he was assessing me. But he wasn’t a medical doctor.

“Weird. Tingly. My ears are still ringing. My heart is kind of tight. Jumpy maybe?” I wasn’t sure. He took my wrist and placed his fingers across the pulse point, looking over my shoulder at the clock on the wall. He flipped my hand over and pressed down on the nail bed of my thumb.

“Your pulse is pretty erratic. There’s probably some sleepytime tea in your cupboard, it’s part of the first grocery order when you move into the tower. Brew a pot and have a mug. The chamomile will help settle you,” he suggested. I nodded, but made no move to go into the kitchen and find my kettle. Angela started opening cupboards to find the tea.

“Thanks again, Bruce.” I felt a bit like a star-struck school girl, tongue-tied and so incredibly awkward.

“I have some experience with the out of the ordinary.” His smile was sad. “I should get back to the reception. I’m sure I’ll see you around the labs.” He excused himself and crossed back to the door, pulling it shut behind him. Angela handed me a slice of cheese and some crackers.

“Eat while the tea steeps,” she ordered. “I didn’t realize you had a thing for Bruce Banner.” Her tone was light and teasing.

“Shut up!” I came back to myself, flushing. “I respect his intellect and –“

“And his artfully messy hair and deep, brooding eyes have nothing to do with it, right?” She laughed. I resisted the urge to throw my cheese at her.

“It certainly complicates things,” I admitted. “When I was doing my undergrad, I used to have this fantasy where I would meet him because of my research and we would happily science together for the rest of our lives. I wasn’t thinking about him being cute, I just really loved his approach to research and you know how sometimes when you have an awesome teacher you just kind of crush on them? His research was incredible.”

“You seriously have a crush on Bruce Banner?” Angela handed me a steaming mug.

“I don’t think, I don’t know. Maybe? He’s really nice. I wasn’t expecting him to be really nice. Sometimes the really brilliant guys are a little,” I trailed off.

“Too much like Tony?” Angela filled in.

“Yeah. Brilliant and amazing, but they know it.” I hadn’t dated much in university because the guys who appealed to me the most had generally been like Tony. Brilliant, but arrogant. Not that I thought Tony Stark was a bad person. Not that I knew him well enough to make a generalization either way, actually. But Tony Stark had earned the right to be arrogant in a way that most of the guys I was in university with had not. And Tony Stark was unabashedly enthusiastic about the research and work of others. And that had also been missing from the men I’d known in university. As a result, I’d avoided dating, and instead developed a rockstar crush on Bruce Banner. “Anyhow. I had a crush on Bruce Banner. During my undergrad. He seems very nice. But I’m not a freshman anymore.”

“Okay. Are you okay if I leave you, or do you need some help getting settled for the night?” Angela asked, her brow furrowed.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about bringing me another passcard tonight; we can do it in the morning. I’m going to draw a bath and have a soak. I’ll see you for breakfast?” I wasn’t sure I would find much on my own. The day had been such a whirlwind.

“Yes. I will pick you up and we’ll hit the commissary. It’s build your own waffle morning.” She grabbed her purse from the counter and waved good night. I turned to the bathroom and started the water running in the ridiculously large bathtub and added an equally ridiculous amount of bubble bath. I stripped down out of my dress, and tied my hair back in a loose bun. I padded across the apartment and hung up my dress and realized things were getting blurrier. I stopped in the kitchen to grab my glasses and I was pleased to notice my crappy vision was considerably improved by putting my glasses back on. Our world was so different since the Battle of New York that I still had lingering concerns that I’d somehow stolen Thor’s powers and become some sort of Super Science Nerd. While I was in the kitchen, I decided a glass of wine was in order. Whatever had shocked me when I picked up Thor’s hammer had also sobered me right up. The tea had finished the job.

When I got back to the bathroom, the tub was ready. I finished stripping and slid under the bubbles, tension melting out of my shoulders as they hit the water.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The day wasn’t a failure just because I’d picked up some magic hammer. I’d had a successful orientation with Angela and felt like there was the beginning of a real friendship there. Tony and Pepper seemed genuinely excited to have me at Stark Industries. Markus Reid was obscenely excited to have me on his team. I’d met Bruce Banner, which, although awkward, fulfilled a high school dream of mine. I’d been able to look into the eyes of the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. The grainy photos and lousy media coverage since the Battle of New York did not do Thor justice. I took a sip of wine. And added that to the list of awesome from the day. Stark Industries stocked their employee quarters with good wine.

There was a knock at the door. I sighed and pulled myself out of the tub. It was probably Angela dropping off a new passcard before she left for the night or headed back to the party. I wrapped myself in a towel and found the one thing Stark Industries wasn’t doing really well for employees. The towel was just a touch too small. It just barely met at my hip and if I wanted my boobs covered, my butt cheeks hung out of the bottom. I checked the towel rack for a bigger one, but they were all the same.

The knock sounded at the door again. I sighed and hurried across the apartment. Angela would understand the huge amounts of skin I was showing. And would either know where I could find bigger towels or how to order some. I swung open the door without checking the peephole.

“I told you this could wait till the mor –“ It wasn’t Angela. I squeaked and jumped behind the door. To his credit, Thor didn’t respond at all. He didn’t leer, but he also didn’t blush and turn away. Almost like he didn’t even notice how little I had on. “I was not expecting you.”

“I have lingering concerns about your well-being, Ella Carmichael. You should not have been able to wield Mjolnir. I would be assured that you are not ill affected.” He stepped inside, and stopped, facing me. I pulled the door open a little wider, trying to cover myself.

“Uh, I appreciate your concern,” I started, trying to tug the towel to cover more of me. “But really, I’m fine.”

“You are quite pale.” He stepped closer to me. I backed up and eyed the distance between me, him and the bathroom. He was completely obstructing my path. I clenched my teeth, and bit my lip.

“You seem quite determined to check on me. And I appreciate it. But I am wearing a really skimpy towel right now. Could you maybe turn your back for a minute so I can go put some clothes on?” I felt ridiculous, trying to hide behind my door. But there was just way too much of me showing. His gaze dropped to my shoulders and his eyes widened just a bit.

“I apologize. I forget how overmodest Midgardians can be about nudity.” Again, he didn’t look away. I could feel the flush spreading across my skin. I wasn’t going to be pale for long if he kept staring at me. I cleared my throat and pointed to the couch when his eyes met mine. He smiled, and I think he rolled his eyes, but he acquiesced and walked over to the couch and dropped down on it. I flung the door shut and scampered across the room. I slipped in a puddle of water on my way into the bathroom, shrieked and landed on my ass, the towel trapped up me in a pile. To my eternal mortification, Thor was beside me in an instant. I tried to swat his hands away, but he scooped me from the floor and stood me back up, then bent down to hand me my towel. I was trying to cover my nudity as best as I could with my hands, and couldn’t figure out how to grab the towel without somehow sprouting another arm.

“Uh, just –“ I stammered. Thor’s eyes met mine and he raised an eyebrow. Without breaking eye contact, he tucked the towel under the fingers covering my breasts and walked back out of the bathroom.

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