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#PLEASE can we get some representation in here
cripplecharacters · 13 hours
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The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media
[large text: The Mask Trope, and Disfiguremisia in Media]
If you followed this blog for more than like a week, you're probably familiar with “the mask trope” or at least with me complaining about it over and over in perpetuity. But why is it bad and why can't this dude shut up about it?
Let's start with who this trope applies to: characters with facial differences. There is some overlap with blind characters as well; think of the blindfold that is forced on a blind character for no reason. Here is a great explanation of it in this context by blindbeta. It's an excellent post in general, even if your character isn't blind or low vision you should read at least the last few paragraphs.
Here's a good ol’ tired link to what a facial difference is, but to put it simply:
If you have a character, who is a burn survivor or has scars, who wears a mask, this is exactly this trope.
The concept applies to other facial differences as well, but scars and burns are 99% of the representation and “representation” we get, so I'll be using these somewhat interchangeably here.
The mask can be exactly what you think, but it refers to any facial covering that doesn't have a medical purpose. So for example, a CPAP mask doesn't count for this trope, but a Magic Porcelain Mask absolutely does. Bandages do as well. If it covers the part of the face that is “different”, it can be a mask in the context used here.
Eye patches are on thin ice because while they do serve a medical purpose in real life, in 99.9% of media they are used for the same purpose as a mask. It's purely aesthetic.
With that out of the way, let's get into why this trope sucks and find its roots. Because every trope is just a symptom of something, really.
Roughly in order of the least to most important reasons...
Why It Sucks 
[large text: Why It Sucks]
It's overdone. As in — boring. You made your character visibly different, and now they're no longer that. What is the point? Just don't give them the damn scar if you're going to hide it. 
Zero connection with reality. No one does this. I don't even know how to elaborate on this. This doesn't represent anyone because no one does this.
Disability erasure. For the majority of characters with facial differences, their scars or burns somehow don't disable them physically, so the only thing left is the visible part… aaand the mask takes care of it too. Again, what's the point? If you want to make your disabled character abled, then just have them be abled. What is the point of "curing" them other than to make it completely pointless?
Making your readers with facial differences feel straight up bad. I'm gonna be honest! This hurts to see when it's all you get, over and over. Imagine there's this thing that everyone bullied you about, everyone still stares at, that is with you 24/7. Imagine you wanted to see something where people like you aren't treated like a freakshow. Somewhat unrealistic, but imagine that. That kind of world would only exist in fiction, right? So let's look into fiction- oh, none of the positive (or at least not "child-murderer evil") characters look like me. I mean they do, but they don't. They're forced to hide the one thing that connects us. I don't want to hide myself. I don't want to be told over and over that this is what people like me should do. That this is what other people expect so much that it's basically the default way a person with a facial difference can exist. I don't want this.
Perpetuating disfiguremisia. 
"Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk
[large text: "Quick" Disfiguremisia Talk]
It's quick when compared to my average facial difference discussion post, bear with me please.
Disfiguremisia; portmanteau of disfigure from “disfigurement” and -misia, Greek for hatred. 
Also known as discrimination of those mythical horrifically deformed people.
It shows up in fiction all the time; in-universe and in-narrative. Mask trope is one of the most common* representations of it, and it's also a trope that is gaining traction more and more, both in visual art and writing. This is a trope I particularly hate, because it's a blatant symptom of disfiguremisia. It's not hidden and it doesn't try to be. It's a painful remainder that I do not want nor need.
*most common is easily “evil disfigured villain”, just look at any horror media. But that's for another post, if ever.
When you put your character in a mask, it sends a clear message: in your story, facial differences aren't welcome. The world is hostile. Other characters are hostile. The author is, quite possibly, hostile. Maybe consciously, but almost always not, they just don't think that disfiguremisia means anything because it's the default setting. No one wants to see you because your face makes you gross and unsightly. If you have a burn; good luck, but we think you're too ugly to have a face. Have a scar? Too bad, now you don't. Get hidden.
Everything here is a decision that was made by the author. You are the one who makes the world. You are the person who decides if being disabled is acceptable or not there. The story doesn't have a mind of its own, you chose to make it disfiguremisic. 
It doesn't have to be.
Questions to Ask Yourself
[large text: Questions to Ask Yourself]
Since I started talking about facial differences on this blog, I have noticed a very specific trend in how facial differences are treated when compared to other disabilities. A lot of writers and artists are interested in worldbuilding where accessibility is considered, where disabled people are accepted, where neurodivergence is seen as an important part of the human experience, not something “other”. This is amazing, genuinely.
Yet, absolutely no one seems to be interested in a world that is anything but cruel to facial differences. There's no escapist fantasies for us.
You see this over and over, at some point it feels like the same story with different names attached.
The only way a character with a facial difference can exist is to hide it. Otherwise, they are shamed by society. Seen as something gross. I noticed that it really doesn't matter who the character is, facial difference is this great equalizer. Both ancient deities and talking forest cats get treated as the same brand of disgusting thing as long as they're scarred, as long as they had something explode in their face, as long as they've been cursed. They can be accomplished, they can be a badass, they can be the leader of the world, they can kill a dragon, but they cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to peacefully exist with a facial difference. They have to hide it in the literal sense, or be made to feel that they should. Constantly ashamed, embarrassed that they dare to have a face.
Question one to ask yourself: why is disfiguremisia a part of your story?
I'm part of a few minority groups. I'm an immigrant, I'm disabled, I'm queer. I get enough shit in real life for this so I like to take a break once in a while. I love stories where transphobia isn't a thing. Where xenophobia doesn't come up. But my whole life, I can't seem to find stories that don't spew out disfiguremisia in one way or the other at the first possible opportunity.
Why is disfiguremisia a default part of your worldbuilding? Why can't it be left out? Why in societies with scarred saviors and warriors is there such intense disgust for them? Why can't anyone even just question why this is the state of the world?
Why is disfiguremisia normal in your story?
Question two: do you know enough about disfiguremisia to write about it?
Ask yourself, really. Do you? Writers sometimes ask if or how to portray ableism when they themselves aren't disabled, but no one bothers to wonder if maybe they aren't knowledgeable enough to make half their story about their POV character experiencing disfiguremisia. How much do you know, and from where? Have you read Mikaela Moody or any other advocates’ work around disfiguremisia? Do you understand the way it intersects; with being a trans woman, with being Black? What is your education on this topic?
And for USAmericans... do you know what "Ugly Laws" are, and when they ended?
Question three: what does your story associate with facial difference — and why?
If I had to guess; “shame”, “embarrassment”, “violence”, "disgust", “intimidation”, “trauma”, “guilt”, “evil”, “curse”, “discomfort”, “fear”, or similar would show up. 
Why doesn't it associate it with positive concepts? Why not “hope” or “love” or “pride” or “community”? Why not “soft” or “delicate”? Dare I say, “beauty” or “innocence”? Why not “blessing”? “Acceptance”?
Why not “normal”?
Question four: why did you make the character the way they are? 
Have you considered that there are other things than “horrifically burned for some moral failing” or “most traumatic scenario put to paper”? Why is it always “a tough character with a history of violence” and never “a Disfigured princess”? Why not “a loving parent” or “a fashionable girl”, instead of “the most unkind person you ever met” and “total badass who doesn’t care about anything - other than how scary their facial difference is to these poor ableds”? Don’t endlessly associate us with brutality and suffering. We aren’t violent or manipulative or physically strong or brash or bloodthirsty by default. We can be soft, and frail and gentle and kind - and we can still be proud and unashamed.
Question five: why is your character just… fine with all this?
Can’t they make a community with other people with facial differences and do something about this? Demand the right to exist as disabled and not have to hide their literal face? Why are they cool with being dehumanized and treated with such hatred? Especially if they fall into the "not so soft and kind" category that I just talked about, it seems obvious to me that they would be incredibly and loudly pissed off about being discriminated against over and over... Why can't your character, who is a subject of disfiguremisia, realize that maybe it's disfiguremisia that's the problem, and try to fix it?
Question six: why is your character wearing a mask? 
Usually, there's no reason. Most of the time the author hasn't considered that there even should be one, the character just wears a mask because that's what people with facial differences do in their mind. Most writers aren't interested in this kind of research or even considering it as a thing they should do. The community is unimportant to them, it's not like we are real people who read books. They think they understand, because to them it's not complex, it's not nuanced. It's ugly = bad. Why would you need a reason?
For cases where the reason is stated, I promise, I have heard of every single one. To quote, "to spare others from looking at them". I have read, "content warning: he has burn scars under the mask, he absolutely hates taking it off!", emphasis not mine. Because "he hates the way his skin looks", because "they care for their appearance a lot" (facial differences make you ugly, remember?). My favorite: "only has scars and the mask when he's a villain, not as a hero", just to subtly drive the point home. This isn't the extreme end of the spectrum. Now, imagine being a reader with a facial difference. This is your representation, sitting next to Freddy Krueger and Voldemort.
How do you feel?
F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]
[large text: F.A.Q. [frequently asked questions]]
As in, answers and “answers” to common arguments or concerns. 
“Actually they want to hide their facial difference” - your character doesn’t have free will. You want them to hide it. Again; why.
“They are hiding it to be more inconspicuous!” - I get that there are elves in their world, but there’s no universe where wearing a mask with eye cutouts on the street is less noticeable than having a scar. Facial differences aren’t open wounds sprinkling with blood, in case that's not clear.
“It’s for other people's comfort” - why are other characters disfiguremisic to this extent? Are they forcing all minorities to stay hidden and out of sight too? That’s a horrible society to exist in.
“They are wearing it for Actual Practical Reason” - cool! I hope that this means you have other characters with facial differences that don’t wear it for any reason.
"It's the character's artistic expression" - I sure hope that there are abled characters with the same kind of expression then.
“They’re ashamed of their face” - and they never have any character development that would make that go away? That's just bad writing. Why are they ashamed in the first place? Why is shame the default stance to have about your own face in your story? I get that you think we should be ashamed and do these ridiculous things, but in real life we just live with it. 
"Now that you say that it is kinda messed up but I'm too far into the story please help" - here you go.
“[some variation of My Character is evil so it's fine/a killer so it fits/just too disgusting to show their disability” - this is the one of the only cases where I’m fine with disability erasure, actually. Please don’t make them have a facial difference. This is the type of harm that real life activists spend years and decades undoing. Disfiguremisia from horror movies released in the 70s is still relevant. It still affects people today.
"But [in-universe explanation why disfiguremisia is cool and fine actually]" - this changes nothing.
Closing Remarks
[large text: Closing Remarks]
I hope that this post explains my thoughts on facial difference representation better. It's a complicated topic, I get it. I'm also aware that this post might come off as harsh (?) but disfiguremisia shouldn't be treated lightly, it shouldn't be a prop. It's real world discrimination with a big chunk of its origins coming out of popular media.
With the asks that have been sent regarding facial differences, I realized that I probably haven't explained what the actual problems are well enough. It's not about some technical definition, or about weird in-universe explanations. It's about categorizing us as some apparently fundamentally different entity that can't possibly be kind and happy, about disfiguremisia so ingrained into our culture that it's apparently impossible to make a world without it; discrimination so deep that it can't be excised, only worked around. But you can get rid of it. You can just not have it there in the first place. Disfiguremisia isn't a fundamental part of how the world works; getting rid of it won't cause it to collapse. Don't portray discrimination as an integral, unquestionable part of the world that has to stay no matter what; whether it's ableism, transphobia, or Islamophobia or anything else. A world without discrimination can exist. If you can't imagine a world without disfiguremisia in fiction... that's bad. Sad, mostly. To me, at least.
Remember, that your readers aren't going to look at Character with a Scar #14673 and think "now I'm going to research how real life people with facial differences live." They won't, there's no inclination for them to do so. If you don't give them a reason, they won't magically start thinking critically about facial differences and disfiguremisia. People like their biases and they like to think that they understand.
And, even if you're explaining it over and over ;-) (winky face) there will still be people who are going to be actively resistant to giving a shit. To try and get the ones who are capable of caring about us, you, as the author, need to first understand disfiguremisia, study Face Equality, think of me as a human being with human emotions who doesn't want to see people like me treated like garbage in every piece of media I look at. There's a place and time for that media, and if you don't actually understand disfiguremisia, you will only perpetuate it; not "subvert" it, not "comment" on it.
I hope this helps :-) (smile emoji. for good measure)
Mod Sasza
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fleshadept · 2 years
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Rocky + magic
Boy (2010) dir. Taika Waititi
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mxactivist · 4 months
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Support the BBC for having a trans character in recent episodes of 'Doctor Who'
Apparently the BBC (UK) has had 144 complaints about a recent episode of Doctor Who because it contained an openly trans character.
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I've made a complaint to the BBC that there weren't enough transgender characters in Doctor Who. I would love if 144 other people did the same thing. Here's the link: https://www.bbc.co.uk/contact/complaints/make-a-complaint/#/Complaint
(For your easy reference: "The Star Beast" aired on 25/11/2023 on BBC One, and the trans character is called Rose.)
Please note that the complaint form asks for your UK postcode, so only UK folks can join in with this - but if you suspect you might have any UK-based followers, maybe give us a reblog to boost the signal?
Edit: I'm told that you can fill in the form even if you're outside of the UK, because the BBC provide service to many countries other than the UK, including the USA! Go for it. :D
Reply to confirm that you've done it, so I can keep a count!
Here's my complaint:
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I recommend:
Avoid sarcasm or irony. Assume your post will be taken literally. If you are clearly joking or being mean you will be ignored or misunderstood.
Include some gratitude/appreciation. It's pretty great that they included a trans woman in a positive way, and they should know that they have explicit support for that.
~
Edit again: I'm seeing some concerns in the replies/reblogs that the BBC might not distinguish between "less trans people, please" complaints and "more trans people, please" complaints. Rest assured, this is nothing to worry about - the BBC publish fortnightly complaint reports, and they do pay enough attention to know when a complaint is in favour of or against trans inclusion. In fact, their 20 November – 3 December 2023 report is where the various news articles are getting the 144 complaints figure; that report says there were precisely 144 complaints that they have categorised as "Anti-male / inappropriate inclusion of transgender character".
That means the next complaints fortnight window is 4 December - 17 December. We have 8 more days to beat 144. By my count, over Tumblr, WhatsApp, the Fediverse and Telegram, we have 85 so far, which is well over halfway there.
Also, when you've done it, please reply to confirm you have done it, so that I can count us!
Thank you, everyone!
~
Edit, 2023-12-11, 1am UK time:
We did it! I've just been counting up responses, and it looks like sometime yesterday evening we hit 144 complaints/comments in favour of Rose Noble and more excellent trans characters in Doctor Who! (We're actually up to 157 now, fantastic.)
So, my next plan is to submit a Freedom of Information Act request to the BBC sometime in the next few days, asking for complaints and compliments figures. Then I'd ideally (energy and time permitting) like to put together a press release that I can send out to the publications that promoted the tiny "144 anti-trans complaints" figure, showing them that there has been far more feedback in favour of trans representation than against.
I'll keep you posted.
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navybrat817 · 15 days
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Just Like That
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky suggests staying in a hotel together before an undercover mission, which would be fine if you didn't have a massive crush on the super soldier. Word Count: Almost 5k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, pining, flirting, slight possessive behavior, talk of undercover mission, "only one bed" trope, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: A combination of @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge and my Bucky Barnes Smut Menu, courtesy of @ellemj. "Only One Bed" Trope and the dialogue prompt in bold italics. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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The engagement ring on your finger suited you. Not large or overly flashy, the single diamond radiated a subtle sparkle. It was beautiful and a perfect fit, a representation of the unifying love of marriage. When you looked at it under the light, it was almost as if you could feel the love that Bucky had for you.
If only that were the case.
“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” You asked, taking a seat at the table across from Bucky.
“So we can practice and make sure we’re a convincing couple,” he replied.
You sighed as you glanced around the hotel room for the umpteenth time. A small sitting area, a dining and kitchen combination, a single bathroom, and a bedroom. When you pointed out that there was only one bed, Bucky reminded you of the expectation that the two of you had to sleep together while on assignment since you were going on a couple's retreat. Which wouldn't be an issue if you didn't have a crush on him, right?
Right.
You were completely enamored with Bucky Barnes, the handsome former assassin turned agent for the revamped SHIELD. Instacrush wasn't something you experienced often, so he took you by surprise. It was pathetic to fall for him so hard and quickly. It had to be some sort of karma or divine intervention that you were with him in a hotel room.
Just the two of you.
“You know,” he began, wetting his lips as he leaned back in his chair. You blinked, only because you didn't want him to call you out on staring. “You don't have to look so miserable to be here. Is my company that terrible?”
“What? No. Bucky, you aren't terrible company,” you promised, slumping a bit in your chair. The last thing you wanted to do was upset him. “Just been a bit since I've been in a relationship and I’m kind of rusty.”
“You're talking to a guy who hasn't been on a real date since the 40s,” he deadpanned.
He had a point. Plus, from what you understood, Bucky wasn't exactly interested in dating anyone. Every time Steve or Natasha suggested he go on a date, he found a way to brush it off or change the subject.
Even if he was interested in dating, did he think of you as anything beyond a colleague?
Taking this assignment may have been a mistake.
“I’m just not sure I’m the right one for this job,” you said.
“You’re perfect for this job. Why would you think otherwise?”
You froze like a deer in headlights, even as his compliment warmed your heart. It meant a lot that he thought you would do the job well. But how were you supposed to answer that question? That you adored him and it would be torture to pretend to be with him for a week just to back to being coworkers after?
“We should practice,” you suggested instead of giving him an answer. The backstory wasn't overly elaborate, but you had to get it right.
He leaned forward, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Did someone say something to make you think you wouldn't be good for this assignment?” He asked in a low voice. “Because I'll straighten them out.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from whimpering. The thought of him putting someone in their place to make you feel better was swoon-worthy. “No, Bucky. No one said anything. You're right. I’m good for this,” you said before you added, “We’re good together.”
You couldn't read the look he gave you and it became more difficult not to squirm under his gaze. “Yeah,” he whispered, leaning back and clearing his throat. “So. We’re engaged. Going to a resort for a much needed vacation. We’ll have to mingle with some of the guests in between investigating the owner. One of the first questions will be how we met.”
With an exhale, you recited, “We met at a coffee shop. We both ordered the same drink.”
“An iced caramel macchiato,” he said.
“And we reached for the drink at the same time,” you smiled, making a show out of reaching for the glass on the table. “Our fingers touched first. Our eyes met second.”
“And I immediately asked you out,” he smiled.
Your heart swelled. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world when he smiled like that. “You did,” you said, trying to blink the longing from your eyes. “We went to dinner and talked a bit about ourselves. You told me you're a mechanic and I told you I’m a teacher. And once dinner was over, we went back to that same coffee shop and we shared an iced caramel macchiato.”
“Even proposed to you at the same shop,” he said, gesturing to your left hand. “But I actually got the ring after our first date because I knew I wanted you to be my girl,” he said with such conviction that you found it hard to breathe.
The way his eyes softened as he gazed at you, you found yourself believing him for a moment. You had to stay rooted in realism though. The point of the mission besides the actual mission was to act as if you two were crazy about each other.
Not that you had to do any acting on your part.
You cleared your throat and pulled your hand back from the glass. “If only that were true,” you said, absentmindedly twisting the ring around your finger. You weren't cynical about love, but this whole thing was a reminder that you were single and alone.
His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Heat crept up your neck. You shouldn't have said anything. “I mean, it just would've been nice if we met at a coffee shop,” you replied to avoid saying you wanted to be his girl.
“What’s wrong with how we met?” He asked, crossing his arms.
The metal arm gleamed under the light. You noticed that he had a tendency to wear long sleeves and gloves whenever he was in the building, but seeing him with his sleeve pushed up and missing glove? You would almost say he was comfortable around you.
Again, he had to play the part right.
You pulled yourself from your thoughts when he said your name, which sounded like it melted on his tongue. It made you press your thighs together. You needed to stay professional. “Do you not remember what happened or are you just being nice?” You asked.
Months ago, the day you met Bucky, Steve informed you that he planned to introduce you to him after he came back from a long assignment. Not only were you excited to meet one of his best friends and a great soldier, but you had wanted to make a good impression on him. What you did was make an ass out of yourself when you turned the corner only to smack right into the former Winter Soldier.
And splattered your beverage on both of you in the process.
Instacrush and a horrible impression on your part.
Bucky’s lips curled in a smile as your eyes widened. “You do remember,” you said, wadding up a nearby napkin and tossing it at his face, which he easily caught. “Oh, my God! That’s why you chose ‘coffee shop' for this, didn't you?”
You concentrated so much on getting the backstory right that it didn't occur to you that he was maybe poking fun at you. He wasn't the kind of guy that liked making others feel bad though. Tease you, sure. Outright make fun of you at the risk of hurting your feelings? He would never.
“Hey, I didn't choose how we met, but I also didn't object,” he said, raising his hands in surrender when you went to throw another napkin at him. “And I wouldn't forget meeting you, doll. You make a lasting impression.”
You wished you had done something to make him remember you besides spilling a drink on him. “I guess making an idiot out of myself is a lasting impression,” you teased.
Something dark flashed in his eyes, making your breath hitch. “That’s not what I meant. You didn't make an idiot out of yourself and I don't like you thinking that or talking down about yourself.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, not used to someone getting so defensive at your self-depreciation. There was something sexy and heartwarming about it. “You were very nice about the whole incident.”
“You were nice, too,” he said, gesturing to his torso. “I mean, you offered to buy me a new shirt.”
“Because I spilled my drink on it! I felt bad,” you said.
“And when I said you didn't have to buy me a new shirt, you said, ‘Are you sure I can't pay for the dry cleaning at least, Sergeant Barnes?’” he said in a falsetto voice.
He chuckled when you rolled your eyes. “I don't sound like that, first of all, and I was being considerate,” you said. You couldn't believe he remembered your exact words. “And you just gave me that half confused smile of yours before I grabbed napkins for both of us to clean up.”
“You mean this?” He asked, his lips stretching in that familiar awkward grin.
“Yeah, that,” you giggled, your heart doing that funny flip that happened far too often around him.
In the beginning, whenever you smiled at him, he gave you that very look in return. Somewhere along the way, the uncomfortable glances on his end became genuine fondness. It didn't mean anything though.
Just an agent being kind to another agent.
Bucky stared at you as you continued to giggle at the memory. “I’m sorry. I just-”
“I love your laugh,” he said, almost making you choke on your own breath. Nothing like forgetting how to be a human and breathe. “And your smile.”
Maybe he had switched back into practice mode. “You do?” You asked, playing along as you smiled directly at him.
He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I do,” he replied, his voice thick as he unfolded his arms. “You know, you're one of the people that actually smiles at me. And you look me in the eye when you talk to me.”
“Why wouldn't I?”
“Because some people are still afraid of me,” he whispered.
Your heart sank. He was a good man. A hero wrongly painted as a villain. It wasn't fair what he went through and you had no reason to fear him.
Why couldn't everyone else see the good in him?
“I’m not afraid of you, Bucky,” you promised. And after what he went through, frightening people was the last thing he would do. “Never have been. Never will be.”
“Maybe you should be,” he muttered, some of the light leaving his eyes.
Your eyes narrowed as you tempered the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Seeing this vulnerable side of him also brought out your protective instinct. “Listen to me. You’re amazing and a good man, okay? And if I don't get to call myself an idiot for spilling a drink on you, then you don't get to say I should be scared of you, Sergeant Barnes,” you said with an air of finality.
He gave you an impressed smile. “Just like that? Because those are totally different things you're comparing.”
“Just like that,” you said, putting your hand on the table for him to take if he wished. “Do you trust that I'll have your back on this mission? Because I trust that you'll have mine no matter what.”
He stared at your upturned hand for a moment before he took it. “You're one of the only people I do trust,” he admitted.
His eyes bore into yours as you tried to find the words to respond. He wasn’t feeding you a line to make you feel good about yourself. Bucky Barnes trusted you.
“Then trust me when I say we got this,” you promised. You would look out for him and let him know that he hadn’t misplaced his trust in you.
“Why don't you have a boyfriend?” He asked suddenly.
The switch in topic jarred you, but he didn’t let go of your hand. “That’s. I’m. What? How is that relevant?”
It wasn't smooth, but it was better than blurting out that your hopeless crush on him was one of the major factors.
“I’m curious,” he shrugged.
“Oh. Well. My last boyfriend dumped me for being an agent. Seriously, he didn't like the fact that I could kick his ass if I wanted to,” you told him, squeezing his hand without meaning to. He didn’t object. “Which I wouldn't.”
“You could kick my ass if you wanted to,” he winked. Physically, Bucky was broad and strong. You weren’t sure you could take him in a real fight, but you could take him another way if he ever offered. “And your ex sounds like an asshole if he can’t stand beside and support an amazing woman.”
You smiled humorlessly. “Thanks, Bucky, but I’m not-”
“I swear to fuck if you talk down about yourself again, I will put you over my knee,” he threatened, his eyes darker than they were seconds ago.
You didn’t laugh as he stared at you. Neither did he. Your clothes suddenly felt too heavy, your body too warm. Licking your lips, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “Is that a promise?”
Bucky pushed his chair back and pointed at his thigh, his eyes still on you. “Get over here and find out.”
Oh, fuck.
The sound of Bucky’s phone ringing snapped you both out of whatever spell you two were under. “Shit,” he muttered, taking his hand from yours. “It’s Steve. I better-”
“Yeah, you should answer that,” you said, almost knocking the chair over as you stood. “I think I'm going to call it a night.”
“Wait, what?” He asked, answering the phone. “Hold on, punk,” he said, covering the screen as he looked at you. “You’re going to bed now?”
Guilt settled in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. “Just going to lay down. I may not go to sleep right away. And we can practice more in the morning,” you replied. You just needed to step out of the room and take a breath.
He waited a beat before he nodded, the tension still lingering. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” you nodded, leaving him alone so he could talk to Steve.
You splashed a bit of water on your face when you went to the bathroom to change. The assignment hadn’t started and you couldn’t keep your cool. With squinted eyes, you pointed at your reflection and mentally scolded yourself. Yes, you wanted Bucky Barnes and maybe, just maybe, some part of him wanted you. At least, he wanted you enough to put you over his knee.
You couldn't have him though. Could you? Mixing business with pleasure could lead to complications if you crossed that line, but it wasn’t like you’d break some major bylaw by being his girl.
Now wasn’t the time to think about that.
“Get your shit together,” you hissed, rushing through your nighttime routine and changing into your comfortable yet sexy nightgown.
Your eyes went to the bed when you left the bathroom. Just a regular hotel bed. Inviting, but not overly frilly. Large enough for the both of you, but small enough that you might end up in each other’s arms.
“It’s going to be a long night,” you muttered.
Sighing, you left a light on for Bucky to see and crawled into bed, shutting your eyes as he wrapped up his call with Steve. You tried to block out the sound of his footsteps as he made his way to the bathroom. Maybe his nighttime routine would take a bit longer than you thought and you could drift off and wake up to the sight of his beautiful eyes and-
The bed dipped as Bucky curled up behind you, your eyes opening when he placed his arm around your waist and pulled you back against him. You were conscious of every shift in his body, every breath he took. How you could smell his lingering cologne as he pressed himself closer. How he ran warmer than you and you wanted him to heat you up even though you weren’t cold.
And that he wasn’t wearing a fucking shirt.
“I know you aren’t sleeping,” he whispered, his fingers brushing along the fabric that covered your skin. “Your heart’s beating too fast.”
He was right. It was about ready to burst through your chest. “Can’t sleep.”
“Why not?” He asked, helping you roll over so you were on your back. He didn’t remove his hand though. “Did my ‘threat’ make you uncomfortable?”
“No, it didn't,” you assured him, heat pooling between your legs that you couldn't prevent. “I wouldn't have continued with the banter if I was uncomfortable.”
“Just making sure,” he said. “I was only teasing.”
You huffed out a laugh in an effort to cover up the crushing feeling in your chest, your arousal fading to a dull ache. “Of course, you were,” you uttered. Teasing. Nothing more. “Good night, Bucky,” you said, turning your head away.
He brought a hand to your cheek and brought your face back toward him. How did his eyes look so blue in the faint light? “Don’t go to sleep yet, please.”
“Why not?”
“You rushed to bed and now you're shutting down. I clearly said or did something wrong,” he sighed, which made you feel bad. He hadn't done anything wrong in your eyes since it wasn’t his fault you wanted his teasing to mean something. “I need to fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix because you didn't break anything,” you said, the ring heavy on the finger. “But can I ask for a favor?”
“Of course,” he whispered.
You didn’t dare search out his gaze when you said, “I may need reminders this week that you don't actually have feelings for me.”
A few seconds went by before he asked in a small voice, “What?”
You took a breath to compose yourself. The last thing you needed to do was get upset for no good reason. “We’re going to hold hands and cuddle and share a bed and be a couple, but you may need to give me a reality check now and again that you only see me as an agent. Okay?”
Maybe he’d ask Steve for a new partner in the morning.
“You think I only see you as an agent?” He asked, sighing when you nodded. “I used to be good at this.”
“Good at what?”
“Teasing. Flirting,” he answered, leaning in close. He stopped just before his lips touched yours. “Kissing.”
“Wait. You were flirting with me?” you said, not moving forward or back as you put a hand on his chest. His heart raced as fast as yours. And your brain couldn’t compute that implication that he wanted to kiss you. “You weren’t just practicing for the assignment?”
He huffed out a laugh this time. “You’re killing me, doll,” he whispered, closing the distance.
You imagined Bucky kissing you before, but didn’t think it would ever be so soft. His lips barely brushed against yours, but it felt like the beginning of something more. It tempted you like nothing else ever had. He must’ve felt it, too, since he deepened it. You melted. You surrendered.
You never stood a chance.
“So, you like me?” You asked when he pulled back a little to gaze at you. “I’m sorry. I just need to hear you say it because I really like you and have for months. Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have said that because we have a whole week together for this assignment and now you know and I don't want it to be weird.”
Your mind almost shut down when he gave you a full-blown smile and said, “Yeah, I like you. I thought it was obvious. I tried dropping little hints, talking about your smile and trusting you.” He chuckled almost shyly as his words sank in. “I took this assignment because of you.”
A moment passed before you giggled, happiness blooming in your chest. Bucky Barnes liked you. Wanted you. “Thank fuck,” you breathed, pulling him back down for another kiss.
He groaned, ravaging your mouth as he moved on top of you. His knee pushed your legs apart so he could settle between them, swallowing down your whimpers when he pressed his growing hardness against your pussy. He ground his hips, your panties soaked as his tongue tangled with yours. The man kissed you like he had something to prove.
Like he wanted to own you.
His muscles rippled as he leaned up and grasped the bottom of your nightie. The vision of him above you like this was now engraved in your mind. “If you want me to stop, I will.”
Sleeping with him was moving fast considering you just confessed your feelings for each other, but you didn't care. “Don't stop,” you whispered, quivering as he tugged the fabric over your head.
Your hands moved up to cover your chest before he gripped your wrists. “Are you trying to hide from me?” He questioned, his smirk playful in comparison to the uncertainty in his gaze.
You didn't want him doubting himself or your want for him for a second.
“Maybe? I mean, look at you and look at…”
You wouldn't knock on your looks since you were generally confident in your appearance, but the super soldier was an entirely different level of gorgeous. He towered over even the largest of agents, with the exception of Steve, and his dark lashes framing his steel eyes were enough to pull you under.
And who were you compared to him? Just another agent. Average.
“Don't,” he whispered, releasing a wrist so he could cup your breast. You arched your back and any uncertainty in his eyes before faded when a moan escaped your lips. “You're so fucking beautiful.”
The praise almost made your eyes water as he brought his head down, losing focus when he swept his tongue across your nipple. Your eyes fluttered shut as he did it again, a wave from a sea of ecstasy crashing over you. Your heart thudded faster, addicted to the feel of his sinful mouth.
“You’re the reason I don't have a boyfriend,” you whined, your fingers twisting in his hair. Why did you say that?
He smirked against your skin before he reached down and tore your panties away. “I haven't gone on a date because of you.”
Your body throbbed with need as you met his gaze. “You're just saying that to get in my pants,” you joked.
His eyes raked down your body, stopping between your trembling thighs as he pushed his pants and underwear down. “If I had my way, I would've taken you out first,” he said, drawing a moan from you when he wrapped a hand around his thick cock. “But all I can think about right now is how loud you’ll say my name when I make you come.”
“Bucky,” you moaned, tempted to reach down and touch yourself to the sight of him.
“Louder than that,” he said smugly, rubbing the tip of his cock along your slick folds. “Fuck, I wanna take my time and explore you. Make you feel like a goddess. Treat you the way you deserve.”
It warmed your heart and sent another wave of desire through you knowing he wanted to take care of you. “I know you'll treat me well,” you smiled, opening your legs wider. “But for now, please, fuck me.”
He didn't ask about birth control, which you were on. You didn't ask about condoms. It didn't matter. You wanted to feel all of him.
You glanced down as he lined himself up, watching as he slowly eased into you. It was overwhelming as you took every inch, your mouth falling open with a moan. You floated in a cloud of lust, the sound of his groan reaching your ears.
“Look at me,” he ordered as he bottomed out.
Your eyes flew to his as he gripped your chin. The feel of him inside you, his eyes staring so intently into yours that he practically touched your soul. It was almost too much. And that was when he began to move, the weight of his body on top of yours as he fucked you in slow and deep thrusts. It was the kind of lovemaking that would make you crave more.
Crave him.
“Knew you'd take me well,” he grunted. You whined, the praise going straight to your core as you tightened around his thick cock. Your walls couldn't stop gripping him as he slid in and out. “Knew your pussy would be greedy for me. Won’t let me go.”
Your head fell back against the pillow, dizzy as he trapped your body under his. As he rolled his hips, you wondered if he’d let you ride him at some point. Maybe he’d fuck up into you as he brought your hips down. Or maybe he’d lay back and cup your breasts, let the weight bounce in his hands as you took all of him.
You’d take whatever he gave you.
The growing pleasure within you was like you were burning from the inside out, each movement from him stoking the flames. His low groans mixed with your whines, his thrusts increasing in speed when he brought his thumb to your clit. Your hand worked its way back into his hair as you cried out his name, your control slipping further and further away as he took over.
“Just like that,” he moaned. “Don’t hold back on me. Wanna hear every pretty sound you make.”
“Bucky, I'm gonna…” you trailed off, your orgasm building fast in your core and ready to burst.
“Come,” he finished for you, a filthy smirk on his face as he laced his fingers with yours.
One more thrust and you were gone, his name falling from your lips as you came. Your mouth stayed open as you spasmed, pleasure rushing from head to toe. You panted and didn't care if you'd ever properly breathe again. That was how good it felt.
“I’m close, doll,” he gritted, resembling a growl as he continued to fuck you and chase his release. “Gonna come inside you. Gonna own you.”
“Come inside me, Bucky,” you begged, watching through half-lidded eyes as his face contorted in ecstasy. It was such an erotic sight. “Please.”
He buried himself deep with a long moan as he filled you in hot, thick spurts, nuzzling his face in your neck when he finished. He said your name as he heavily breathed against your neck and it was the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard. You wrapped your arms around him when he stayed inside you, not at all bothered as your mixed release slowly trickled out.
You didn't want him to let you go.
“Well,” you huffed, a dopey smile on your face as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I don't think we’ll have a problem convincing people we care about each other.”
He chuckled, kissing your warm skin. “And we won't have a problem sharing a bed,” he said, keeping you close as you yawned. “Sleep, doll. I’ve got you.”
“I’ve got you, too,” you said, feeling him smile against you as you drifted off.
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The delicious ache between your thighs was the second thing you noticed when you woke up. The first, of course, was Bucky’s arm and leg draped over you: warm, protective, perfect. He was still fast asleep, the blanket pooled around his waist, completely at ease with the world. You could get used to waking up like this.
You hesitated before you touched his cheek, not wanting to wake him as you kissed his forehead. You wished you had time to kiss every scar on his body and worship him the way he said he wanted to worship you. The two of you would have to leave the bed sooner or later. There was work to do.
“Mmm. Morning,” he said, his voice laced with sleep as he cracked an eye open.
“Morning,” you whispered, cuddling closer as he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed over the ring. The motion made you brush against his crotch and you were close enough to hear the hitch in his breath. You did it again, keeping your gaze innocent as he opened his eyes more and groaned.
Yes, there was work to do, but it was still early.
“You’re still horny? Didn’t I fuck you hard enough last night?” He teased.
“Yeah, I’m still horny,” you replied. Waking up next to him would arouse anyone. “Need you to fuck me again.”
“You won’t be able to walk if I fuck you again,” he smirked, rolling on top of you and digging his fingers into your waist.
“Should’ve known you’d be a cocky boyfriend,” you teased back, your heart thundering in your chest as he leaned down and skimmed kisses along your jaw. “Sorry, we didn’t put a label on this and there’s still stuff to figure out and the mission and-”
“Hey. Boyfriend, your man, whatever you want to call me, I’m yours,” he cut you off, his mouth drifting to your neck. “And I still owe you a date, got it? You’re my girl. You’re mine.”
“I'm yours,” you gasped when he nipped your skin hard enough to sting, his tongue soothing it after. You were his and he was yours. “So, we're a couple now? Just like that?” You smiled as he worked his way back to your lips.
Bucky answered you with a kiss. “Just like that.”
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I struggled a bit with this one after having to scrap almost 2k and go in another direction, but I ended up falling in love with it. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
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cartierre · 30 days
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AGORA HILLS | ln4
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SOCIAL MEDIA!AU lando norris x fem!russell!reader
side note: i'm depressed and the f1 season is starting soon again so here we go. side note pt2: this is kinda short and the ending feels rushed but oh well
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♡ liked by landonorris, danielricciardo and 14,293 others
tagged: landonorris
y/n_russell permanent shenanigans
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user1 oh that's not-
user2 oh she didn't- yes she did
user3 y/n getting a lando norris tramp stamp was not on my 2023 bingo card ⤷ user4 i don't think it was ever on anyone's bingo card
landonorris mine ⤷ y/n_russell yours 🤞
user5 i can't decide if it's cringe or a major slay
georgerussell63 i don't know if i should strangle you or norris ⤷ y/n_russell maybe neither of us?
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♡ liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 13,293 others
tagged: yourfriend, yourotherfriend, landonorris
y/n_russell pizza boy always knows how to capture my heart
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user6 lando and y/n being in their hot couple era was not on my 2024 bingo card ⤷ user7 no couple does it like y/n and lando
user8 i'm a bit concerned about their recent behaviour, ngl
landonorris i'm a professional pizza boy off season ⤷ y/n_russell earning some extra money to spoil your girl? ⤷ user9 so you admit you use lando for his money? ⤷ y/n_russell sorry your partner apparently doesn't know how to treat you. i'd be bitter as well if i were you
user10 y/n being totally unhinged is my favourite type of media ⤷ user11 george being the emotionally older sibling and y/n being the unbothered younger sibling makes so much sense
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♡ liked by landonorris, georgerussell63 and 16,938 others
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y/n_russell to clear some things up: obviously george isn't always happy with how lando and i present our relationship (online or not) but that doesn't mean he hates lando?! i'm his little sister, it's natural he doesn't always enjoy what lando and i do. nonetheless, lando and george have been friends for ages! this was literally them on our shared holiday in '23! carmen and i were third-wheeling the whole time lol. george can sometimes be a little cold but that's just how he processes things, it doesn't mean he's not supportive of my relationship with lando. please respect that.
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♡ liked by landonorris, georgerussell63, danielricciardo and 16,292 others
y/n_russell accurate representation of how i felt after watching george and lando's "drama" on drive to survive. now i understand why y'all blew this whole situation up.
view all 364 comments
user12 now she knows how we all felt watching that episode
user13 me when i watch dts in general
user14 me when i hear the dutch national anthem yet again
user15 me when i think of charles not winning wdc because ferrari literally sucks
landonorris me when i realise y/n won't attend every race ⤷ y/n_russell um excuse me i'm a working gyal
user16 me when life
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♡ liked by landonorris, georgerussell63, mclaren and 17,293 others
tagged: mclaren, mercedesamgf1
y/n_russell maybe i should become lando's and george's pr manager when it means getting flowers from their teams
view all 437 comments
user17 no cuz that is so cute that they sent her flowers cuz she solved the whole lando-george drama
user18 that's why they both are my favourite teams
mclaren the contract is ready to be signed! ⤷ mercedesamgf1 not if she choses us first! after all, blood is thicker than water
user19 not mclaren and mercedes fighting over y/n
user20 i wonder which flowers are from who
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saltpepperbeard · 3 months
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Be a Lighthouse - Fight For OFMD Season 3
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Hi everyone. The news of our cancellation is both incredibly devastating, and quite shocking considering the trajectory of the show and its fanbase. Everything looked like it was lining up in a positive fashion...only for the rug to get yanked out from under us.
I cried. I went numb. I stared at the wall for a while.
But then, something sparked. Like Ed who was resolved to his fate in S1Ep4 only to rocket back upwards, I was struck with a realization: we need to be a lighthouse!
Fanbases have campaigned before, and have gotten results. Sense8 was able to get a two hour finale to properly wrap everything up. Lucifer was able to get picked up by Netflix after being cancelled by Fox. Brooklyn 99 was able to get picked up by NBC after being cancelled by Fox. And many more examples.
Be it a proper renewal, a finale wrap that entails Ed and Stede's wedding, or the attention from another network, I say we fight that good fight. So, here are some ways we can be heard; if you think of any additional points, please feel free to add them!
If you don't cancel your Max Subscription, continue watching the show and leaving feedback on Max's online feedback form. I had a kneejerk reaction when cancellation was announced and pulled the plug...only to sit back and reconsider. I want them to still get my metrics. I want them to still see the show means something to me. And whether that's through words or statistics, I feel like that's something.
2. Follow @renewasacrew and keep up with their resources/campaigns. They're very active and passionate, and have already come up with different ways to fight for our show.
3. Sign the petition to give us just that little bit more of a chance to have our voices heard.
4. Stay active on social media, and stay positive. Continue sharing how much this show means to us. Continue creating. Continue loving. Use hashtags like-
#RenewAsACrew
#SaveOFMD
#RenewOFMD
#BeALighthouse
#OFMDSeason3
or anything equivalent on any and all OFMD-related posts. Keep the buzz about it going on social media. Comment on posts, keep spreading the word, and get the light burning.
5. Renewasacrew has given us another outlet; an official HBO email address. Write an email detailing your personal experience with this show, and how significant a third season would be.
6. Tweet/email other platforms to pique their interest. Be it Amazon Prime, Hulu, Netflix, or whoever else, let's see if we can't catch someone else's attention. A romcom with iconic LGBT representation seems pretty enticing if you ask me!
This show means the world to me. Y'all mean the world to me. So let's show them why. Let's show them why, and get the proper ending we, the cast and crew, and the characters all deserve.
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woojoongstreasure · 1 month
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Little Love Notes | Bang Chan 
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Pairing: Bang Chan x Fem!Reader  
Summary: Chan's girlfriend likes to leave him little notes.  
Warnings: It just fluffy. I have written a little drabble similar to this but wanted to switch it around so it's reader leaving him little love notes. This is a repost from my now deactivated blog. More of an explanation in my pinned post.
Word Count: 482 
Stray Kids Masterlist | Tag List Sign-Up
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Chan's heart swelled with warmth as he read the little note once again. The words are written on a bright yellow post-it note which was stuck to his laptop lid. It was a simple sentence, but it meant so much to him.  
"Have a great day, my love. Don’t be too hard on yourself."   
The last couple day’s he’d been a little hard on himself because he couldn’t get a part of the latest song they’ve been working on right. No matter how he mixed it, with and without Changbin and Jisung’s help, he couldn’t seem to get it sounding like he envisioned in his mind.   
Taking a moment before he goes back to the song that’s becoming a headache, he remembers back to when Y/N left him the first note she ever left him. They had just moved in together when he found a post-it note stuck to the screen of his phone, with ‘I love you’ written on it. From that day on, Y/N made it her mission to leave him little love notes around their apartment. Some days they just said I love you and other days they’d be a small paragraph reminding him how loved he is, or how lucky she is to have him. Sometimes they would be sweet little reminders for him to take breaks, or to go easy on the guys and stuff like that. When he went away, whether it be in South Korea or overseas, the little notes would continue. He’d find them on in his bag, in the pocket of a random hoodie or pair of pants, and on his electronics. He even found one wrapped around his toothbrush, one time.   
The guys often tease him about the notes, but he doesn't care. He loves these notes more than anything because they are a physical representation of her love for him. It’s his and Y/N’s little thing they have that doesn’t involve anyone else. He loves it and would be sad if she ever stopped writing them.  
As he opens his laptop, he chuckles to himself when he finds another note in his girlfriend's handwriting. ‘Can we please have McDonald’s for dinner?’  
He puts the notes somewhere safe so he can add them to the growing collection, filling his desk drawer at him. Grabbing his phone, he pulls up his messages with Y/N, and types out his reply to her notes.  
‘You have a good day too. I’ll pick up McDonald’s on my way home tonight. I love you so much x.’  
He puts his phone to the side and boots up his laptop to get started working on the newest 3racha song.  
It doesn’t take long before his phone buzzes, notifying him that he has a new message. When he checks it, he smiles, seeing it’s from Y/N.   
‘I’ll message you my order later. I love you so much too, baby xxxxx.’ 
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Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcomed and appreciated. 
©️ 2024 CRAZYFORMFICS. NO ONE HAS PERMISSION TO COPY, TRANSLATE AND/OR POST MY FICS ON HERE OR ANY OTHER SITE.
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TAGGED: @staytiny2000 - @dancelikebutterflywings - @kpopmenace143 - @treehouse-mouse - @alexxavicry - @jedi-dreea - @rainydayteacups
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astonmartinii · 8 months
Text
signed up for life | lewis hamilton social media au
pairing: lewis hamilton x signlanguageinterpretator!reader
f1 finally introduces a sign language interpretor to their media team
yourusername
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liked by lewishamilton, danielricciardo and 110,951 others
yourusername: ahhhh such a dream come true, my first f1 weekend was an absolute dream and to be able to represent the deaf community on such a big platform was such a pleasure - here's to many more and to normalising sign language on major sports broadcasts !!
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user1: f1 may be going backwards in terms of fia tomfoolery but i'm super happy to see some good progress
user2: why isn't sign language compulsory in schools? seeing y/n has defo inspired me to start learning
lewishamilton: you're such an inspiration and a great addition to the paddock
yourusername: thank you lewis and thank you for the warm welcome <3
user3: f1 finally stepping up the representation game
user4: i was living for the sass in her signing i can't wait to watch her sign the inevitable domestic between toto and christian
charles_leclerc: welcome to the paddock y/n!
yourusername: thank you charles :)
user5: i ship it already
user6: take a day off already lord she's been there one weekend and you're already minimising her to a driver she could date
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f1
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liked by lewishamilton, yourusername and 1,204,871 others
tagged: yourusername
f1: how did you guys enjoy y/n y/ln's sky sports debut this weekend? y/n will be on the broadcast team this season as their sign language interpreter!
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user10: she killed it i love her already
user11: the signing was a slay but can we also talk about how she's slaying the fashion game?
user12: finally lewis has some good competition
lewishamilton liked this comment
alexalbon: welcome y/n !! thank you for the extra help with the hard of hearing fans on friday
user13: huh?
user14: oh a girl on twitter has a thread about this, she's hard of hearing and y/n stopped and acted as translator for her with all of the drivers going into the paddock
user15: omg i love her even more
lewishamilton: can't wait to start my signing lessons
yourusername: you're lucky you've got the best teacher around
user16: uh HELLO?
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yourusername
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liked by lewishamilton, lilymunhe and 149,086 others
yourusername: taking advantage of the mini break
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user17: who told her she could serve this hard?
lilymunhe: gosh i have a crush on you
alexalbon: do i mean nothing to you?
lilymunhe: not compared to her
yourusername: well i am flattered but unfortunately not up for grabs :(
user18: she's not up for grabs ??? we already lost her ???
user19: it's only been like five races who ever it is wasn't messing around
user20: not to be one of those crazy wag conspiracy theorists but the guy in the last slide is defo lewis
lewishamilton: pastries on a boat?
yourusername: idk the guy i was with thought it was a great idea
user21: chatting like it wasn't him they're so shameless
lewishamilton
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liked by yourusername, georgerussell63 and 1,023,677 others
lewishamilton: perks to living in monaco
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user22: oh to be rich...
yourusername: hmmm a baguette on a boat
lewishamilton: idk the girl i was with thought it was a great idea
user23: please stop playing with us
georgerussell63: i see my invite was lost in the post yet again
lewishamilton: i wasn't prepared to hear you complain about thirdwheeling the whole time
georgerussell63: clear solution here... invite carmen and it's a double date?
user24: so they're just gonna be like this and just never confirm whether they're together or not?
charles_leclerc: so this is what my boat was used for ?
lewishamilton: i think i'll keep everything that happened on that boat to myself
charles_leclerc: based on that i don't think i want to know
user25: poor guy, getting fucked by ferrari and lewis fucked y/n on his boat
pierregasly: most action he's seen in a while
user26: charles is just catching so many strays 😭
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f1wagupdates
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liked by user38, user29 and 2,340 others
tagged: yourusername, lewishamilton
f1wagupdates: y/n y/ln and lewis hamilton have all but confirmed their relationship after they spent the entire summer break together and arrived to the first race back at spa together. lewis even showed how much time they've been spending together by signing during a tiktok filmed for mercedes' account. what do you think of the couple?
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user39: they're so so cute that's my PADDOCK POWER COUPLE
user40: they are too sexy it should be illegal for them to be so sexy
user41: can't wait for some bitter old men to say that she can't be on the broadcast team cause of "bias"
user42: i need them to stand on me
user43: i think they might actually be the best f1 couple ever soz
yourusername
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liked by alexalbon, lewishamilton and 309,778 others
tagged: lewishamilton
yourusername: yeah i guess he won yet another race but we all know his biggest win is off the track
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user44: mama knows her worth i love her
lewishamilton: never doubt that you're my biggest prize
yourusername: i love youuuuuuuuuu
lewishamilton: leave your meeting and come home please
user45: move over roscoe i'm their dog now anything to be with them
roscoelovescoco: ????
lilymunhe: give me a chance i swear
alexalbon: i regret ever introducing you two
yourusername: oh please albono you love any excuse to hang out with us
lewishamilton: yea i don't hear you complaining on our double dates
user46: lily, y/n, lewis and alex all double date ???? kill me.
lewishamilton
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liked by georgerussell63, yourusername and 1,340,887 others
tagged: yourusername
lewishamilton: getting to the end of the season and the hard work is paying off. we keep pushing until the end but always remember to take time to be with the ones you love
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user47: only this man could make a race win post so sappy
yourusername: proud of you baby
lewishamilton: i love you
user48: the fact that lewis is so good at signing now he could do most of his post race interview in bsl (though he still needs y/n there for reassurance)
user49: i was there and interlagos had a mainstage activity of y/n teaching basic sign language I LOVED IT
mercedesamgf1: let's go lewis 💪
roscoelovescoco: lets goooooooo dads
user50: guys i worked out that sign we always see lewis and y/n do to each other that's not on any of dictionaries i've looked at - it's their sign names and saying they love each other
user51: they're so fucking cheesy but i love them
mercedesamgf1
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liked by yourusername, f1 and 1,679,045 others
tagged: lewishamilton
mercedesamgf1: LEWIS HAMILTON IS FINALLY AN EIGHT TIME CHAMPION OF THE WORLD 🏆
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user52: OMFG IT FINALLY HAPPENED I NEEDED THIS SO MCUH
yourusername: speechless honestly
lewishamilton: really? cause all i heard was screaming on the broadcast
yourusername: FALSE I WAS PROFESSIONAL
user53: the way i knew he would win but i don't know what to do with myself now it has happened?
roscoelovescoco: congrats dad !!!!
georgerussell63: mega season from lewis 🏆 we go again next season 💪
lewishamilton: thank you george, your time will come
user54: the kiss... parents for real
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yourusername
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liked by georgerussell63, lewishamilton and 901,347 others
tagged: lewishamilton
yourusername: this season has been a rollercoaster but two things have stood out to me. 1. i met the love of my life and the man i will be with for the rest of my life and was able to watch the man i love make history and i couldn't be prouder. 2. i got to represent my community on one of the biggest platforms ever and inspire people to pick up the beautiful language of sign language which is the most rewarding part of my job!! thank you so much for this opportunity, the love and for taking the journey into sign language, we welcome you xx
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user53: no i love you so much and your addition to f1 is invaluable
user54: you guys are so cute and so inspiring, really god's favourites
lewishamilton: i love you so much, thank you for your love and support and for introducing me to this beautiful language
yourusername: you're such an inspiration to me baby, you're a record holder and the holder of my heart
landonorris: lord i might throw up
yourusernme: if you're not here to congratulate STFU
landonorris: my bad, congrats (you guys are so grossly in love)
user55: they're so parents it's now illegal for them to divorce
f1: thank you for educating us, we'll see you next season !
note: hope y'all enjoy, i'm partially deaf in both ears and am currently learning BSL to feel closer to my community and had this idea. i wish this was an actual position in f1 but hopefully in the future xx
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flightlessangelwings · 6 months
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While we’re in Latino Heritage Month, let’s stop assuming your reader doesn’t know/speak Spanish in your reader insert fics. Especially if you’re writing for Pedro’s, Oscar’s or other Latino characters please.
EDIT: After some criticism of how this was originally phrased, let me change it into a question/request instead- Can we as writers please try to be more inclusive with our reader insert fics so poc and others can feel represented and see themselves too? Including taking out a quick throwaway line about reader not understanding Spanish. (Keeping the original phrasing above so anyone who missed the post to begin with can still see how I originally phrased it)
If you have a throwaway line of “he said in Spanish that you didn’t understand” or something similar, just take it out. Have something like “you didn’t hear” instead and let the reader interpret how they want. Or use italics to indicate Spanish. Or have the translation right there without mention of anyone translating for them. Simple. Or if you don’t want to/feel you cannot change it, then please have something in with your warnings so Latinos/poc can skip it if they choose.
And let me tell you why this is so frustrating (even for me as someone who is not a fluent speaker). It’s because Latinos look to these characters and actors for representation. We see ourselves in them. And when you clearly do not have a Latino person in mind when writing, you’re saying we don’t belong here. In a space where we should feel welcomed and celebrated. Representation matters. Inclusivity matters. Please try to be more inclusive with reader fics so we can all enjoy and immerse ourselves in your writing.
ALSO EDITING TO ADD MORE FROM A REBLOG SO EVERYONE CAN SEE MY CLARIFICATION: (under a cut for length)
This is nothing new, poc have been asking for years now to be inclusive in fics and yet it’s still a battle. We’re not asking for a lot, and certainly not asking anyone to change their style or creativity or anything like that. Literally simple edits: take out the word “blush” don’t mention hair, don’t mention not understanding Spanish, not making reader blood related to a white character, etc. Literally tiny things that would not change the story at all but make a world of difference.
Here’s an example too: a few years ago it was not common for writers to label the gender of their reader as it was usually assumed the reader would be a woman. But, people advocated to label readers as f/m/gn/whatever to be more inclusive and asked writers to strive for gender neutral readers when possible so that more readers felt seen and welcome. Now it’s a common thing to do. Why is making the readers race ambiguous any different?
Yes sometimes posts like this come across harsh, but know that they’re not meant to be. Poc aren’t trying to demand anything, we just ask to broaden your langauge when writing reader insert so more can see themselves in your work. It’s incredibly frustrating to ask for inclusivity and be met with hostility and rudeness in return and a refusal to think about poc so yes sometimes the wording gets harsh out of that frustration. But I encourage y’all to focus on the message more and maybe think about why poc in fandom get snippy like this. We do need to have an open conversation, yes. Just look in the comments at the Latinos and poc who are upset by the exclusion and feel hurt by it. How you you white fans feel if roles were reversed and none of the fics included you? Not fun, right?
And to those who say write it yourself: I do. I’ve been a x reader writer for years now and I do strive for inclusivity in my work. But I’m only one person and this is bigger than any one person. This isn’t about what I personally find acceptable or what I personally what. It should be a collective effort among writers as a whole to strive to include as many as possible in their works and not white code your readers. It’s not about demanding writers write it a certain way, it’s about asking writers to consider others who don’t look like them who also want the immersion and the escape that your fic brings.
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bossbtch1 · 5 months
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Against All Odds part 2
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The GIFs are not mine; credit goes to the respective artist/creator.
Summary : After the ‘incident’ on the gym with Bucky, now you had left with some unanswered questions about your relationship with him. You decided to confront him about it.
Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (No mentions of body type or ethnicity other than the reader being female)
General tags : Slight smut and pure angst
TW: Strong language, Masturbation (f), Hurt, Heavy angst, Bucky an asshole
Word Count: 7k
A/N : Hey there! Guess who's back? This is the long-awaited Part 2. My apologies for the delay; I've revised the plot about three times to ensure its genuinely angsty. It's about to get tougher before it gets better! Get ready for the emotional rollercoaster!
Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3
If you like my story, please go check out my other stories here
These are the aesthetic for part 2 (solely for visual representation of what going to happen on the story, this meant no representation for body type or ethnicity)
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You were panicking as someone could see you in such state, strangely, Bucky seemed unfazed, his expression steady despite the unexpected interruption. Then, your heart skipped a beat as the doorknob turned.
The person outside attempted to open the door, but they couldn’t. Relief flooded you, thank God Bucky had locked the door. "Is someone in here? You know you can’t lock the door," the voice outside the room chastised, followed by insistent knocks.
"Fuck." Bucky muttered, frustration etched on his face. "Who's interrupting us now?" He released you from his embrace, standing up abruptly. "We need to leave." His hand found yours, offering support as he helped you to your feet.
Your legs felt wobbly, but Bucky steadied you as he handed over your clothes. "Here," he said, helping you slip into them. "Put these on."
Bucky was about to pulled up his pants, when he saw your panties in his hand. A mischievous smile formed on his lips. "Hold still."
Confused, you questioned, "What are you doing?"
He playfully stuffed your panties into his pocket. "I'm keeping these as a little souvenir."
"You can't just take those!" you protested, your face flushing with embarrassment.
Bucky simply shrugged, his expression unapologetic. "Sure, I can," he said, enjoying the playful banter despite the urgency of the situation.
Before you could retort, the voice from outside grew more impatient. "Hey! I can hear you in there. I'm coming in if you don't answer me," it warned, the threat clear in its tone.
Bucky's expression changed, growing serious as the sound of keys jiggling reached his ears. With a swift nod, you both understood it was time to make your escape.
"We have to go. Now." He said, ushering you towards the other exit, his arm protectively wrapping around you. "Just keep quiet."
You finished putting your clothes back on. Bucky held onto you as he walked across the room, looking for your shoes. You were about to put on your shoes, when you heard the same person call out. You could hear he was picking keys to opened the door.  
Bucky glanced over at the door. "He’s going see us. We should go."
But you halted his hasty retreat, pulling him back toward you. "Bucky, wait," you said, you blushed. "I don't think I can walk." You admitted.
He grinned, a look of pure male satisfaction on his face. "Here hop on," he turned his back to you. "I'll give you a piggyback ride."
"What? No, that's embarrassing." you protested, even though you really did need help walking.  You felt stupid for feeling so excited, but the thought of being carried by him, made your stomach flutter.
Bucky was persistent. "C'mon, I’ll carry you." he motioned for you to climb onto his back.
"Bucky... I don’t know...," You argued, blushing as you looked down at the ground.
"Oh, please." Bucky scoffed. "I can bench press 500 pounds without breaking a sweat. You weigh nothing to me." He reassured you, his arms outstretched as he bent down.
"Fine," you gave in. You wrapped your arms around his neck and hopped onto his back. Bucky hoisted you up, wrapping his hands underneath your thighs.  "This is kind of weird."
"You better hold on tight." He grabbed your shoes with him and went to the back door. "Ready?"
“Yeah.” You tightened your arms around him.
Then you remember, "Wait! I haven't got my phone. It's still on the floor." You protested.
Bucky groaned in exasperation. "You know, that's what's going to get us caught."
"Yes, but then they’ll know it was me in here. Turn around and grab my phone.” You ordered him. He did as you told him even though he wasn’t happy about it, gabbing your phone from the floor.
Bucky started walking towards the door. The sound of keys were being turned, it looked like he found the key. "Hurry, Buck!" You said to him.
"Don't worry, I'll get us out of here."
He pushed the door open and stepped out. You had made it halfway through the alleyway when you saw someone coming. "Shit, run."
Bucky bolted down the alley, with you holding onto him. You both were safe until you reached the elevator, and then you could relax. Once you inside the elevator, Bucky kept you perched on his back. He refused to let you go until the doors closed.
Are we good now?" you asked, your voice still tinged with the adrenaline from the escape.
"Yes," Bucky answered. "We're good now."
"You can put me down now, Bucky." You suggested.
"You sure?" He looked back at you. "You're not as heavy as I thought." 
"Gee, thanks," you muttered sarcastically, rolling your eyes at his attempt to lighten the mood.
He chuckled softly as he carefully lowered you to the ground. You reached up and felt how your hair had become all tangled. Your lips were swollen from his kisses. And you couldn't even begin to imagine what your eyes looked like.
"Thanks for the ride," you said, a weary smile gracing your lips as you recalled the unconventional piggyback escape.
"Anytime, doll," Bucky responded with a hint of amusement, his relief palpable.
You smoothed out your clothes and fixed your hair. You leaned against the wall, catching your breath.
"Hey," Bucky said, his voice softening as he placed a hand on your shoulder, his eyes searching yours. "Are you okay?"
You offered a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm fine." However, curiosity crept into your voice, "But earlier, when we were... interrupted. Who was it?"
Bucky hesitated before admitting, "No one, I was just messing with you."
A wave of relief washed over you upon hearing his words. You  stood next to each other, neither one of you saying a word. The air between you was heavy, but not uncomfortably so. You were glad you had finally slept with him. You had wanted it for a while now, but he was so hard to read.
You wondered what happened now. Would things be awkward between the two of you? Would he pretend like nothing happened?
You were about to break the silence when the elevator door slid open, interrupting your thoughts.
"After you," Bucky said, offering a gallant gesture, indicating for you to exit first.
"Thank you," you replied, stepping out of the elevator. Bucky followed you, and you both began your walk down the corridor in the direction of your room.
In the midst of the silence, Bucky took a deep breath, as if mustering the words he wanted to say. "Listen, Y/N."
You turned to him. "Yes?" you responded, ready for the conversation you knew was coming.
However, as Bucky was about to speak, Steve entered the compound, heading down the same hallway toward both of you. A twinge of frustration shot through you as you silently cursed Steve for his untimely intrusion, just when the conversation appeared ready to take a more serious turn.
You couldn't help but wonder, 'What is he doing here?' as your irritation simmered beneath the surface.
"Y/N, about—" Bucky started again, his words cut off as you held up a hand.
"Hold that thought," you interrupted him, your gaze fixated down the hall where Steve was approaching.
"What's wrong?"
"Steve's coming," you replied, your irritation evident. The interruption was untimely, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance at the universe's sense of timing.
Bucky followed your gaze, and his face fell as soon as he saw his friend. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath.
You both watched as Steve drew nearer, his pace slowing down as he approached you and Bucky. "Hi, Buck," Steve greeted his friend, patting him on the shoulder. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he glanced over at you, then back at Bucky. “I thought you left hours ago."
"I did, but I had some stuff to take care of," Bucky replied swiftly, his expression unreadable. You sensed an immediate shift in Bucky's demeanor, a return to his cold, distant self in the presence of his friend.
You were about to question Steve's unexpected presence, considering he was supposed to be on a mission with the rest of the team. However, Bucky voiced the query before you could. "Has the mission ended? Where’s everyone?"
Steve nodded, his expression serious. "It hasn't, but I had to drop something off, and I'll be heading out again soon," he explained. "Mostly things had been wrapped up, just one last loose end."
"Alright, good to hear," Bucky said, acknowledging the update.
Steve's brows knitted together, his lips curving into a frown. "You look a little disheveled. What were you doing?" he asked, his suspicion evident in his tone.
"We were training," you chimed in, your voice steady, a lie slipping from your lips without hesitation. The lie rolled off your tongue with ease, and technically, it wasn't entirely false – you and Bucky had indeed been ‘sparring’ earlier.
"Oh, I see." Steve nodded, seeming satisfied with your explanation. "I'm glad you're getting some one-on-one time.”
"It was a pretty intense session," Bucky replied, his tone flat, his eyes avoiding Steve's scrutinizing gaze. You couldn't help but conceal a smile; indeed, it had been an incredibly intense workout, but not in the way Steve was imagining.
Steve raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Well, alright. As long as it was a good workout," he said, his tone carrying a hint of suspicion, although he ultimately seemed to dismiss his concerns, not pressing further.
Steve then turned his attention to you, his expression laden with guilt. "Y/N, about the mission..." He hesitated, clearly burdened by a sense of responsibility, though you knew all too well there was nothing he could have done differently.
Your patience wore thin, not this again, you thought, feeling your mood sour. "It's okay, Steve," you said, your tone carrying a hint of annoyance. "I know it wasn't your fault."
Steve managed a smile, though the unease lingered in his eyes. "Thanks, but I still feel responsible."
"Drop it, Steve. It really wasn't your fault," you insisted, your tone firm.
Sensing the conversation wasn't going anywhere productive, you decided to retreat to your room, especially now that Bucky seemed to have reverted to his usual self and showed no intention of continuing the discussion you'd been having.
"Well, I guess I should get going. See ya later," you said, offering a half-hearted wave before making your exit. As you walked away, a sense of disappointment settled in your chest.
You could barely walk, your thighs aching as you began to walked away. Unbeknownst to you, Steve's eyes followed your limping form, "What the hell happened to her?" he wondered aloud, his concern evident. You blushed deeply, hastening your pace in an attempt to avoid further scrutiny.
Overhearing Steve's question, Bucky replied, his tone nonchalant, "Don't know."
Once you made it to your room, you sighed in relief as you closed the door behind you. You flopped down on the bed, burying your face in the pillow.
"I can't believe we just had sex in the gym," you mumbled to yourself, your voice muffled by the soft fabric of the pillow. Replaying the events in your head, you couldn't help but wonder about Bucky's behavior. "Why does he act differently around the team and then like this with me? What's his problem? Does he want me, or does he not want to be seen with me? Is he ashamed of me?"
You're worried that the whole "fuck and don't talk" thing is going to be the new thing. You couldn't help but wish it wouldn't happened in the future. It was great sex, but it would be even greater if there were actual feelings involved.
"What do I do?" You asked the pillow, knowing the inanimate object wouldn't respond. Exhausted from both the training session and your ‘sparring’ with Bucky was tiring you even more, you decided to take a nap, planning to contemplate your next steps once you had some rest.
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The nap was short-lived when a soft knock echoed through the room. You rolled over in bed, and then you heard, "Y/N, are you asleep?" Wanda's gentle voice seeped through the door, causing you to frown as you sat up.
Recognizing it was Wanda, you got up from your bed and opened the door. "Oh, sorry, you were indeed asleep," she remarked, noticing your hair messed up. "I apologize for waking you up."
"I wanted your help," she said, her fingers fidgeting as she sat on the edge of your bed. "Vision's birthday is in two days," she explained, leaving you wondering how this concerned you. "And I want to give him something nice."
You let her finish, nodding in understanding. "I want to buy him this present, but I'm embarrassed," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
You furrowed your brow, trying to grasp her dilemma. "Embarrassed?" you prodded, waiting for her to elaborate.
"I've never been to a sex store, I've never bought... you know... that sort of thing before. I thought if you could help me, it would be a bit less awkward," Wanda confessed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
You were taken aback by her request, feeling both bewildered and unsure how to respond. "A sex store?"
She blushed deeper, her words tumbling out in a rush, "Well, Vision and I have been experimenting, and we've tried a lot of things. There's something new I want to try-"
"Wait, wait, wait," you interrupted, raising your hand to stop her. "I don't want to know any details.” You put a hand on her shoulder. "What you do with Vis is your business, and I'm glad that you're both happy."
You continued, your confusion apparent, "Wanda, why are you asking me to help you? Why don't you ask Natasha?" You hesitated, admitting your own unease about the situation. The idea of going to a sex store was equally embarrassing to you.
"I trust you," Wanda said earnestly. "I love Natasha, but sometimes she's too wild, you know? She'd probably buy me something that would end up on the Pornhub." Her reasoning made sense, and you recalled Natasha's tendency to be overly candid about her sex life.
"Besides," she added, "Natasha's on a mission, and she won't be back in time. By the time she and Vision return, it'll be too late." Her plea was both desperate and hopeful, and you couldn't help but empathize with her situation.
"Why can't you just go alone?” You inquired, trying to grasp her hesitation.
"It’s too embarrassing.” Wanda admitted, her eyes dropping to her lap. "People recognize me, and I'm worried about what they'll say, what they'll think." She hesitated before continuing, "I mean, people don't recognize you."
Ouch that hurt, but you knew what she meant.
Wanda quickly realized her blunder. "Y/N, I'm so, so sorry. I-I didn't mean it like that. You had a mask with your costume, and your name is a secret, so... I'm just nervous. I'm sorry," she apologized, her tone filled with regret.
You chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. "It's fine, I get what you mean," you reassured her, rubbing the back of your neck. "I don't like the idea of people recognizing me either."
There was a brief pause as you considered her request. "Um... I don't know, Wanda. It's not really my area," you said, hesitant about getting involved in such a personal matter.
"Please, Y/N. It would really mean a lot to me. I'm nervous about going by myself. I've never bought these kinds of things," Wanda pleaded.
You were about to decline her request when she dropped a bombshell. "I wasn't going to use this on you, but you leave me no choice," she said, her tone taking a sly turn.
"Uh, okay? What did you see?" you asked, frowning in confusion.
"You and Bucky," she smirked, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "I know all about the secret affair."
Your heart skipped a beat as you heard her words. Trying to maintain your composure, you feigned innocence. "What secret affair?" you responded, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Wanda continued to wear that knowing smirk. "I saw you and Bucky in the gym," she added, not letting you off the hook.
You swallowed hard, feeling your pulse quicken. "Oh, we were just sparring," you said, attempting to provide a reasonable explanation, though your voice sounded weaker than you had hoped.
Wanda gave you a look that said, 'Yeah, right.' "Sure, you were.” She continued to smirk, “If by mean sparring involving his tongue down your throat and his dick in you.”
Your eyes widened, and you stammered, "Wh-what?” Trying to play it off coolly, you added, “You must be mistaken. We didn't..."
Wanda chuckled, her amusement evident. “Don't lie to me. Bucky's eyes met mine." She teased, her playful demeanor breaking the tension in the room. She continued, "and you, my friend, looked so fucking hot."
You blushed harder, but you felt a bit proud, "Well, you can't blame me. Bucky's so hot and so damn sexy, he can make any girl go weak in the knees."
You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts, focusing on the more pressing issue at hand. "But seriously, how did you see us? Why aren't you on the mission? But Bucky said no one else entered the gym today." A flicker of confusion crossed your face as you recalled the locked door. "How did you even get in?"
Wanda chuckled, her amusement undeniably genuine. "Relax, you're like a storm of questions. Let me break it down for you." She leaned in conspiratorially, her eyes glinting with mischief. "First, the mission? Turns out, I'm a bit too unpredictable for Tony's taste. He thinks my powers might mess up the plan. So, here I am, stuck in the compound."
You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Tony Stark's cautious approach. Your sympathy for her situation grew.
"And about the gym door," she continued, her tone casual, "well, that's where my power come in handy. I can open any door with a wave of my hand and step right in, undetected."
"I'm sorry," you said sincerely. "About the mission, I mean. I couldn't go either. Maybe that makes you feel a bit better."
Wanda offered you a warm and forgiving smile. "No need to apologize," she said, dismissing your apology with a wave of her hand. Leaning in closer, her tone took on a mischievous edge. "Now, let me continue," she said with a sly grin. "I was getting ready for my gym session earlier, and then I heard some interesting sounds coming from this room. I peeked in, saw you and Bucky having a heated argument, and I was about to step in."
You squirmed in your seat, mortified by her revelation.
Wanda continued with a sly grin, relishing the opportunity to tease you. "And then... he kissed you," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "and I instantly knew things were about to get intense. It was quite the show by the way,"
Your face turned various shades of red as you tried to process her unexpected presence during such an intimate moment.
She chuckled, her tone playful. "But here's the kicker, after Bucky noticed me, he didn't bother slowing down. He kept on kissing into you, while he was looking at me. That's when I decided it was my cue to make a graceful exit.”  
You were taken aback by that revelation. "Wait so you only saw us kissing? You didn't see what happened next?" you asked.
Wanda raised an eyebrow and nodded. "That's right, just the kissing. But the way you were moaning, I had a pretty good idea of where things were headed."
You hid your face in your hands, unable to shake the embarrassment that had washed over you. "Wanda, you witch!" She was playing you so good. She was just guessing about it. If you played it cool, maybe you could salvage the situation. After all, Wanda didn't know the extent of your involvement with Bucky.
"What? Am I wrong?" she said, grinning slyly.
"Maybe?"
"Liar, I know I'm not." She said. “Now I know you fucked each other.” she concluded, raising an eyebrow mischievously, thoroughly enjoying the newfound power dynamic.
"Okay, we were caught in the act," you sighed, defeated. You blushed a little, "What are you going to do about it? Tell on us?"
"I'm not going to tell anyone about you lovebirds, if that's what you're worried about," Wanda assured, her expression surprisingly understanding, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
Your embarrassment surged again, "Lovebirds? We're not..." you began, attempting to deny any romantic involvement.
She cut you off with a knowing grin. "Oh, please. I've seen enough romantic tension to recognize it when I see it. And you two? Well, let's just say, your 'sparring session' was more intense than any training I've witnessed."
"But it was probably a one-time thing." You tried to sound nonchalant, but even you knew it was a stretch. "That's just physical attraction. Nothing more."
"Really?" Wanda gave you a skeptikal looks. "It looked like there was something more going on between the two of you than just fucking. I saw the way he looked at you when no one was looking. It was different. Like you were his. Like he didn't want anyone to touch you, and you were his and only his."
"Wanda, are you serious?"
She nodded, "Yes! I know there's something more between you and Bucky, and I also know you have feelings for him, too."
You hesitated for a moment before admitting, "I don't know... we haven't talked about it." You sighed, "I don't think he wants more than just sex, anyway."
Wanda gave you a confused look, "Are you serious? Did he tell you that?"
You shook your head slowly. "Well, no, not really. He hasn't mentioned anything, and it's not like we've had the chance to discuss our relationship."
"Well, I'm not supposed to tell you this. Bucky will kill me if he finds out, but I'm going to say it anyway," she confessed. You chuckled inwardly, the most powerful Avenger, being cautious of Bucky.
Intrigued, you leaned in closer, your curiosity piqued. "What's going on?"
Wanda continued, "He told me not to tell you that I saw you two kissing because he didn't want you to worry about it. And when I asked where you were, he said you were probably sleeping, and I should let you be."
"He said that?" You felt your heart swell. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach.
Wanda nodded, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Yes, and that's why I'm sure there's more to it. I can see it in his eyes. I know he has feelings for you."
"He does? How did you know?"
"Y/N, I know people. I can read his mind if you want, but that would be an invasion of his privacy," Wanda explained, her tone reassuring yet firm.
"Yeah, of course. I won't let you do that," you quickly responded, appreciating her respect for boundaries. "But thanks, Wanda. I appreciate you telling me."
"Now, let's go back to my problem.” she said, steering the conversation back to her original request. “Come on, Y/N, please help me go to the sex store.”
You hesitated, considering her request. Then an idea struck you. "How about we just order online?" you suggested. "That way, neither of us has to go near the place. We can discreetly make the purchase online."
"That does sound like a better plan," she nodded eagerly. Then, with a hint of desperation in her voice, she added, "But, please, make sure it's addressed to you and not me. I really don't want anyone to know I made that purchase," she implored.
You raised a valid concern. "What about me? People will still find out if it's shipped to me."
Wanda leaned in, her voice low and reassuring. "But they don’t know your real name, Y/N. No one knows except us and the Avengers."
You sighed, feeling a mixture of annoyance and reluctant agreement. "Fine," you conceded, rolling your eyes. "It will be addressed to me. But please, Wanda, promise me you will keep your mouth shut."
"Of course, Y/N, you can trust me. I won't breathe a word to anyone," Wanda assured you with a genuine sincerity. "Your secret's safe with me, I swear."
Relieved, you allowed a small smile. In response, she beamed, pulling you into a tight hug. "Thank you, Y/N! You're the best person ever!" she exclaimed, squeezing you with enthusiasm.
You chuckled awkwardly. "You're welcome, I guess." Returning the hug, you hoped that your decision wouldn't lead to unexpected complications.
She broke the hug, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I'll send you the link later," she said, her tone tinged with excitement. Rising to her feet, she continued, "I'll leave you to rest now. You must be exhausted after your workout, aren't you?" She smirked knowingly, her gaze flickering towards the door, "And I bet Bucky play a big part on it too, didn't he?"
"Shut up." You grabbed a nearby pillow and playfully tossed it at her. She dodged it with a laugh before heading towards the door.
"Bye, Y/N," she called out, her voice fading as she exited the room.
Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help but smile at her audacious attitude. She was certainly something, and you knew this secret shopping mission of hers was bound to be an adventure.
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You stepped into the shower to get rid of the smell of sweat. The water hit your back and you felt so relaxed, your hand trailed down between your legs, you thought about how good it felt to have his cock inside of you, how he fucked you in the gym.
You stepped on the shower to get ride of the smell of sweat and sex that Bucky left you with. When the cold water touched your skin, it brought you back to the real world.
"Ow! Ow! Shit, shit!" You said under the shower and quickly turned it into warm water. "I forgot how much this place is always cold." You whispered, and began washing your hair and body.
Now you felt relax as the water fell on your head and back. The memory of the moment that happened not even an hour ago played on your mind, like a movie. 'That's right doll, take my cock' and the sound of his low and raspy voice echoed on your head.
Your hand trailed down your body, and when you got to your pussy, you rubbed your clit. "Fuck" you hissed.
You could feel your arousal growing as you started fingering yourself. You leaned your head against the shower wall and moaned his name. You thought about how good it felt to have his mouth all over your neck and body.
The water was hot and steamy, but not enough to cover your moans. Your breathing was ragged and uneven. You imagined it was Bucky who was there with you, touching you. You closed your eyes and tried to recall every detail of the encounter.
Your fingers were now deep inside your pussy, pumping hard and fast. You could still feel his tongue on your clit, licking and sucking. You knew he liked to watch you squirm.
You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure in your stomach was getting stronger and stronger.  
"Cum for me, doll." He whispered in your ear.
"Bucky! Fuck!" You screamed. You arched your back, your eyes rolling back. Your whole body shook with pleasure, waves of pleasure coursed through your veins.
You stood under the shower and breathed deeply. You didn't want to move, the hot water felt nice against your skin. But eventually you got out, wrapped yourself in a towel, and walked to the mirror. "God, look at that" you said, examining your neck.
There was a hickey where Bucky had sucked on it, and another one on your chest. It was too obvious for the others to see, but you didn't mind. You enjoyed it, and the memory made you smile.
As you saw yourself smiling like a fool, you slapped your cheeks lightly, "No, Y/N. Get a hold of yourself. You are not doing this again." But you knew you wanted to do it again.
As you dressed and settled on the bed, your phone chimed, and you saw Wanda sent you a link. Tapping on the link and the site appeared on your phone. You saw a variety of different vibrators and dildos and other stuff.
You tapped on the vibrator and it was in different colors. Black, red, pink, purple, etc.
"Oh wow." you breathed, your eyes widening as you scrolled through the available choices. As you delved deeper into the product descriptions, your intrigue grew.
'Great for solo or partnered play, its shape is flexible so it can be inserted easily, the base is wide enough so it won't slip out and the curved end is made to hit your g-spot, this vibrator is the best and you can't go wrong with it, you will always get pleasure and will leave you satisfied.'
You scrolled through the page, your eyes widening at the sheer array of options. " Jesus Christ, there are so many," you muttered, marveling at the variety.
You didn't know what to pick. So, you decided to take a screenshot and sent it to Wanda.   "Wanda, I'm so confused. Which one should I pick?" You texted her. "What kind do you want? The purple one? Or the black and white one?"
Her response came swiftly. "Get both, also the lingerie. Oh, and make sure to get some lube, I need a lot for the toys," she texted back.
"Damn, Wanda, I didn’t know you were such a naughty girl," you mumbled to yourself, amused by her boldness.
"Ugh, gross, I’m going to need therapy after this," you quickly replied, feeling a mix of amusement and horror.
"And I need to bleach my eyes after seeing you two," she replied, her response laced with playful sarcasm.
You chuckled and continued browsing the website. "So much stuff. How can people use all these? Is this the kind of thing people use?" You whispered. You couldn't help but wonder which ones Bucky might enjoy.
There was this one that caught your attention. You clicked on the image, the vibrator popped open, and a description appeared. It was an eight-inch g-spot vibrator and anal vibrator with a remote control. It was a dual action toy that stimulated both the vagina and the anus.
'This 8 inch dual action toy is an ultra powerful vibrator that delivers powerful stimulation to both the vagina and the anus. The soft and silky material makes it a perfect beginner's toy, and its strong motor and wide bulbous tip makes it great for experienced users too.
With a curved end that will hit your g-spot and an insertable length of 8 inches, it's sure will give you a powerful sensation and will leave you screaming in pleasure. It also has a strong motor and 15 different speed and vibration patterns.
This toy is also waterproof, so you can enjoy it in the bath or the shower.'
Then you saw a video of a woman using it. The sounds were really loud and it sounded like it was being used for the first time. "How can she handle all that noise? It sounds like a jet taking off." You thought, watching the video.
Wanda's text jolted you back to reality. "Have you picked the items yet? I'm waiting," she inquired, her impatience coming through.
"Yeah, I already put them in the cart. I'm about to buy them."
"Okay, thank you! Good night!" she messaged, her excitement palpable.
"Good night," you responded.
Exhaustion began to weigh on you, your eyelids growing heavier by the moment. You were utterly spent, and as you settled into the comfort of your bed, sleep swiftly claimed you.
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The next day, you woke up early, your throat was dry, scratchy, and sore. Part of it was Bucky's fault, he fucked your throat too rough hitting the back of your throat.
He's a beast.
You then recalled, ‘you loved choking on my cock huh?’ As Bucky's dirty words rang in your ear. You had to admit, that was the best blow job you've ever given. You didn't know why, but something about the fact that he was using your mouth for his own pleasure excited you. You found yourself wanting to please him.
"Fuck." You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, the darkness soothing your sore eyes.
You walked into the kitchen to get some water, you took the bottle of water from the fridge and drank it. You wondered if Bucky stayed to keep an eye on you and Wanda since now both of you were considered as a threat.
You still haven't discussed about what happened with Bucky. What's the relationship now? Were you just fuck buddies? Was that one-time thing? Or does he want more? Your heart raced at the thought of having more with him, you've never been in a relationship before, but with him? That sounds amazing.
After finishing your water and tossing the empty bottle into the trash, you decided to pay a visit to Bucky's room. However, when you arrived, you found his bed empty. Disappointment washed over you, and you wondered if he had been called away on a mission.
As you exited Bucky's room, you bumped into Wanda. "Morning, babe," she greeted you cheerfully.
"Hey, Wanda. Have you seen Bucky?" you inquired.
"Yeah, he's in the gym," she replied with a knowing smile.
"Great, thanks," you said, feeling a renewed sense of hope. You exchanged a few quick words with Wanda before she set off for the market to gather supplies for the day's meals, and you headed off to find Bucky. Wanda wished you luck before parting ways.
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You went to the gym to see Bucky. When you reached there, the gym was empty, there was no one there.
“Bucky?” you called.
"Yeah?" His response came as he walked out, wearing only a towel. Despite the serious conversation on your mind, you couldn't help but steal a glance at the way his abs looked after the shower, water still dripping down his torso. "What's up? You good?" Bucky asked.
"Yeah, I'm okay.” You said, clearing your throat in an attempt to regain your composure. "Just wanted to talk."
"About?"
"Us," you said, meeting his eyes. "About what happened last night." He had an unreadable expression, the look on his face didn't make it seem like he was happy about this conversation.
Bucky let out a sigh, his face expressing a clear desire to avoid the topic. "Y/N, can we not? I'm not in the mood." He began putting on his clothes, his movements brisk and uneasy.  He clearly uncomfortable with the conversation at hand.  
But you couldn't let it go. The events of the previous night hung between you, an unspoken question begging for an answer. "No, Bucky, we can't just ignore it. I know things have been weird between us," you began, "What does it mean for us? I mean, is it going to happen again?"
He ran a hand through his damp hair, his jaw clenched. "Y/N, stop." He warned, his tone growing stern for you to drop the conversation.
You sighed, looking at him with sad eyes. "Why are you doing this? Why do you keep pushing me away?" You asked, your voice determined, refusing to let the matter rest.
"I don't want to talk about this." he hissed, his patience fraying as he continued to dress, his movements becoming more agitated. "I have important stuff to do right now, so no."
"I want to know why the fuck you're acting this way!" you snapped, getting frustrated with his behavior. "Stop being a dick and just tell me. Are we going to do this again or what? What does this mean for us, huh? Is it a one-time thing or something more?” you demanded, raising your voice.
"God damnit Y/N! Just fucking stop! What's wrong with you?!" He yelled, his frustration boiling over. "Just fucking leave.”
Your heart sank, but you refused to back down. "No, not until you explain what our relationship is now," you insisted, your voice steady, though your hands trembled with the intensity of your emotions.
His glare could have frozen hell over, his eyes radiating cold anger, "We are not in a relationship. We have nothing. Do you understand? Nothing." he stated bluntly, his gaze piercing through you as he threw his duffle bag to the floor in a fit of frustration, its contents spilling out.
The look in his eyes...there was no emotion there. Just the cold stare of someone who no longer cared, and it felt like a stab to the chest. "You want to talk? Fine. Let's fucking talk. We fucked, that's it. It was a fucking mistake.”
The impact of his words hit you like a bullet to the chest. You felt a lump form in your throat, choking back the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "What…?" holding his glare as you tried to mask the hurt in your expression. This was worse than any outcomes you had ever imagined.
"A mistake, Y/N. I shouldn't have done that. It was a bad idea. It happened because I was stressed and needed to release some steam." His voice growing colder, "it was the only thing that got my mind off of everything.”
The finality of his words sinking in. “It was a fucking mistake. You happened to be there and I happened to be horny. We fucked. End of the story. Nothing else. Now fucking leave."
You had expected this to be just a one-time thing, and you thought you could handle that. But what he said was far worse, leaving you feeling utterly devastated, the weight of his rejection crushing you.
 "I just happened to be there for you to fuck? To release your steam? You think of me that way?" You asked him.
He remained silent, refusing to look at you, his gaze fixed on the floor. Why were you still standing here, allowing him to strip away your dignity? Yet, a part of you desperately clung to the hope for an answer.
Every word carved a deeper wound into your heart, yet you pressed on. "No, I need an answer," you insisted, your voice growing more desperate. "Was it just sex?”
He met your question with a nonchalant shrug, his indifference cutting deeper than any rejection. "That's all it was. Yes."
"So, it meant nothing, I'm just another girl you fucked?" you asked, the pain in your voice evident as you tried to make sense of his words.
He continued to re-packing his bags, "What more do you want me to say, Y/N?" he retorted, his anger rising once again. "That I made a mistake? That I fucked up? That I regret it? There, happy? Or do you want to hear me tell you that I used you?"
Your heart broke into a million pieces as the truth of his words struck you like a hammer to the chest. You had given your heart to him, only for him to break it. You couldn't speak, could barely breath.
"It meant nothing to me, Y/N," he continued, his voice filled with disgust. "It was a moment of weakness, and it should never have happened."
You wanted to scream, to lash out, to strike him, but instead, you stood there in silence, unable to move. Bucky's words were like daggers, piercing your heart, leaving a deep wound that would never heal. You felt numb, the pain and betrayal too much for your body and mind to handle. You knew that you would never be the same, that a part of you would always be broken.
"I thought we had a connection." You asked, your voice small, the tremor betraying your vulnerability.
His response, devoid of any sympathy or remorse, struck like a knife to your heart. "Well, you were fucking wrong. You're a fucking mistake, Y/N. You should have known better than to expect anything from me. Now get the fuck out of my sight."
The finality of his words was a slap to your face, the sting of his rejection leaving a deep, jagged scar across your heart. You would never forget his words, or the way he looked at you, his eyes filled with hatred and disdain.
You couldn't comprehend why he was acting like this. Was this the real him? He was cold, emotionless, completely different from the person you thought you knew in the gym, making you question whether the person who had shared that passionate moment with you was real.
You should've known better. You shouldn’t listen to Wanda on the first place, her suggestion was ridiculous and it led to this mess. Your heart was broken, the pain was unbearable. You were alone.
You had no one.
But the rawness of the rejection stung. It was time to leave, to salvage what remained of your wounded pride and self-respect.
"Fuck you, Barnes.”
"You already did, sweetheart.” You saw a slight smirk, “Unless you want more, I can give you that. You have a body to die for.”
Fed up with his disrespectful attitude, you turned to leave, your hand gripping the doorknob. However, something compelled you to turn back and confront him. As you faced him again, you noticed his gaze lingering on you, catching a flicker of something in his eyes, perhaps regret? But then, his expression hardened once more returned to its cold, distant state.
Summoning your strength, you said, "You really know how to hurt people, Barnes."
Bucky's response was laced with bitterness and self-awareness, acknowledging the pain he had caused, "I know, I'm a master of it." He said without looking at you with expression that you couldn't quite read, as if he wanted to say something more. Yet, he remained silent.
The room grew quiet, a heavy silence settling between the two of you, neither one willing to speak first. After what felt like an eternity, you averted your gaze, your eyes glistening with unshed tears, and whispered your farewell. "Goodbye, Barnes." With that, you turned on your heel and walked out, the door slamming shut behind you, the sound echoing the finality of the moment.
As you left the gym, your steps heavy and your heart heavier, the weight of the emotional wounds settled in. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you made your way back to your room. There, behind a locked door, you allowed your emotions to spill out. You collapsed onto the bed, your sobs echoing in the room. You didn't know how long you cried, but it was enough time for your head to hurt. You wiped your tears, feeling the exhaustion set in.
Bucky was mean, he was really mean. You thought he had changed but apparently not. Not anyone was capable of changing. As you cried, you made a silent promise to yourself: you wouldn't let him hurt you again.
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E/N : I apologize for leaving you hanging with another cliffhanger, but I didn't want to make Part 2 too lengthy and risk boring you. I acknowledge it might not be as good as Part 1, and for that, I apologize. Rest assured, I'll make it worth the wait in Part 3 (I promise)! On a positive note, who's excited for the groveling trope? I certainly am! Get ready for some intense moments! intense moments ahead!
All the sub-plot with Wanda will start to make sense in Part 3 as it intertwines, and you can expect some moments of jealousy and possessiveness from Bucky as well.
Don't forget to show your support by leaving likes and comments; I'd love to hear your thoughts! 😊📚
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Taglist:
@vicmc624 @am-3-thyst @barnesandsteven @naeenae @rainy-day-lady @nouk1998 @cl7ire @oneofthedyingpoets @dnovastark @waywardhunter95
If you want to be added/removed, just let me know!
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loveephia · 11 months
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some of the HQ boys with a girlfriend who has fluffy cheeks. (kuroo, atsumu, kenma, oikawa, akaashi, sakusa.)
content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, reader getting called some petnames, reader is annoyed by atsumu, you get compared to cute animals a bit.
⚠ warning/s: none.
part 1 | part 2
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KUROO TETSURŌ
now kuroo's seen a lotta things
but your cheeks have got to be the most bizarre sight he's ever witnessed.
(in a good way, of course)
HE LOVES PINCHING THEM. HARD.
and whenever you ask him why he does it, he goes on a lengthy explanation about how cuteness aggression works
"kitten, it's because in response to positive experiences, some people express their feelings in a dimorphous manner, meaning they—"
gosh, you love this nerd
but pls shut him up with a little peck. he'll continue to ramble until the subject is about softshelled turtles or something.
ATSUMU MIYA
honestly, he never understood why people would gush over their s/o back then
it was always: "waaah! _____ is so cool!" or "_____ is the most beautiful girl ever.."
then, he got into a relationship with you
"your cheeks're so cute, darlin'." atsumu pokes one while you hiss at his statement. you can't stand people who comment about your cheeks!
oh, but atsumu thinks you're just like an angry little kitten
so with a childish smile, here he is stretching your cheeks like they're daifuku.
"hands off, miya."
"ouch, why are we on a last name basis now?!"
KENMA KOZUME
here is a visual representation of kenma when he finds out how fluffy your cheeks are:
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thank you for coming to my ted talk.
i can imagine kenma's fingers being sore for playing video games hours on end, so a bit of pillow-like material your cheeks can help with the aching!
so here you are, looking at kenma with a dumbfounded smile, as he's still massaging your cheeks round and round in circles
"ken? what's this all about?"
fuee.. fuee..
"..nothing." he mumbles
okay, kenma. whatever makes you happy, i guess.
TŌRU OIKAWA
this man loves pda, so expect a lot of cheek kisses from him
he's all shameless about it too
which irritates you cuz you get shy very easily.
and he knows. HE KNOWS HIS EFFECT ON YOU.
oikawa could be talking to the other third years, and every now and then, he'd kiss your cheek
LIKE STOP STOPS TOP STOp sSFOPSpstop
"t- tōru.. can you not?" you stuttered out, a blush creeping up your neck
"but princess, you're just so cute!" he whines
oikawa has a lot of fans, but the only person he'll ever be a fan of, is you :D
KEIJI AKAASHI
honestly, he doesn't really care that much
but he thinks they're the cutest feature you have.. (♥︎ . .)
when your cheeks are full from eating, akaashi thinks that you look just like a little hamster
y'know how a hamster stores food in their cheeks and they puff up a ton?
yeah, that's how akaashi sees you.
"keiji, s'there sumthin' wrong?" you manage to say from your mouthful of food
"please don't talk while you eat, angel." he reminds you, wiping off a small speck of rice from your chin
akaashi makes a mental note to add a hamster emoji at the end of your contact name later
"my y/n 🐹"
SAKUSA KIYOOMI
he doesn't like pda, nor does he like physical contact in general
though he can't help but be a little bit curious as to how your round cheeks feel against his pointer finger
after all, the boy's only human 😔
so he does the inevitable and pokes one
you stopped breathing for a good sixteen seconds.
"..sakusa?" you turn to him, all mortified
"soft.." he thought
sakusa doesn't like kissing out in the open, but he'll settle for your innocent little cheek-to-cheek kisses
because he gets to feel the plush of your cheek against his
his face is so red pls someone save him 😭😭😭
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© lowercase intended | loveephia
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(Note: This has an edit at the bottom providing context and clarification, please read that as well) Because its an election year and I keep thinking about this, I would like to remind everyone,
THE PRESIDENT DOES NOT MAKE LAWS THAT WILL EFFECT YOUR LIFE SEVERELY
The president does not even MAKE LAWS. The president can VETO a law, but the real people voting for specific laws are voted in STATE ELECTIONS.
If you want change in your life by the government, you have to vote in LOCAL, AND STATE ELECTIONS
I repeat
LOCAL AND STATE ELECTIONS ARE TO PICK WHO MAKES LAWS FOR YOUR STATE AND WHO REPRESENTS IT.
I am sick and tired of seeing people complain about the amount of old people in the government. You have to VOTE. If younger people vote, younger people are more likely to get elected, and then the voting pool is larger. Old people are going to vote for other old people, and they are the only ones voting in state elections therefore, old white men are the only ones represented. You have to vote if you want an accurate representation in your government. The president doesn't do shit regarding laws (other than being able to veto laws). Thats military. Not laws. Get it together, this is an elementary level skill. Its literally taught in the 5th grade, how people don't understand that is beyond me.
VOTE IN STATE ELECTIONS FOR FUCKS SAKE THAT IS HOW YOU GET LAWS PASSED THAT YOU WANT.
The president is only important in regards to MILITARY. The president is commander in chief of MILITARY. Not laws. If you want the US to stop supporting a certain country, vote for someone that agrees or is at least the better option (Damn the two-party system). If you want a law passed to protect your rights, vote for senators and representatives that want to protect your rights. Please for the love of god, so much could be fixed by voting. The system is broken yes, but it is not the only one to blame, go vote for the love of god I swear. EDIT: I would like to clarify some things. This is meant as a GENERAL STATEMENT. The president CAN do things that affect you severely, but GENERALLY the president is not in charge of laws that severely affect people day to day as the laws that the president deals with are for the ENTIRE COUNTRY. And therefore, are usually less specific. This does not mean presidential voting is any less important, that is the opposite of what this post was saying. This post is because the presidential elections seem to be the only one people vote in. And its good that people vote in this, but the issue this is mainly from is the fact that state and local elections are overlooked constantly, and then people complain about how the government doesn't provide representation when no one is going to vote. I am not saying the president doesn't do things, the president is important, but we can't forget about the part actually responsible for making laws in states and in the federal government. I see so many posts about how laws are being made by people who no one (at least over the internet) seems to agree with, and people complaining about how horrible the government is and how many old people are in there. And I agree, there's too many old people past retirement age in the government making laws and other things, but in order to get them out of the government, people must vote for other, younger people. Its not just going to be fixed by screaming about things over the internet. This post is not going to fix anything, it was a rant because I am pissed about this.
This is likely going to be the only update I add to this, I will not be responding to anything stated about this post, or put into reblogs. I am not in the habit of discussing politics with people and I don't plan on getting a start any time soon. I hope you all have a good day and thank you for coming to my rant I felt the need to throw here
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alpaca-clouds · 9 months
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Let me talk Anarchism
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Okay, let me quickly talk about it, because I am so annoyed with this. For once in the way how it relates to Solarpunk, but also in relation to media. And yeah, choosing good old Hobie here, because while it was kinda played for humor with him a lot, he was one of the few characters in media I have seen, that are actually kinda a positive representation of anarchism.
You know, media in general misrepresents anarchism all the time. Sometimes for propaganda purposes, and sometimes because the creator does not know any better and has grown up with said propaganda themselves and just believe it. Most of the time, media hence represents Anarchism as "Society without rules!", which is most certainly not what anarchism is.
The word Anarchism comes from the Greek An Arkhos, which translates into "Without Rulers". That is exactly what Anarchism means. Anarchism is a political philosophy that aims to get rid of all unjustified, involuntary hierarchies.
This is, by the way, why Anarcho Capitalism might use the word, but can never be anarchist, because capitalism aims to build unjustifiable hierarchies. It is exactly the goal of the system. So Anarcho Capitalism is a contradiction in itself.
An anarchist society will still have rules. We know that, because there have actually been societies in history, that today we would call anarchist. It is just that instead of a sort of some group of people ruling over everyone else deciding on those rules, everyone would get to have their say in it. That is, why those historical examples of anarchism for the most part have sprung up in smaller, close-nit societies, because before the age of the internet it would've been rather hard to make everyone's voice heard.
If you are wondering: "But isn't democracy already doing that?" The answer is no. Because democracy is not working, due to the politicians having all the power and the populus not being able to force them to stick to whatever they promised during the election. We cannot recall politicians, who have lied to us. So for the most part, it is the people with big money, who influence the politics. People, who were not even elected, but who the politicians will try to please more than the average joe, who has voted for them. 
It is another reason, why a lot of anarchists are against the police. Not only do they use police violence, but they are in a position, where they are allowed to use it against people, often without much reprecussions. And all of that, without the people having any say in who does and does not get to be a police(wo)man. It is another unjustified hierarchy.
And, yes, it is also why anarchists tend to be against the concept of nation states. Because internationally some states rule over others. Colonialism might've ended on paper, but it has not ended in practice. The reason some nations are poor, while others are rich, is that the poor nations get exploited by rich nations. An unjustified hierarchy. And that is without starting on the fact how many borders have been drawn by people, who had no right to do so.
On the small scale, though, anarchism first and foremost is about helping people. Mutual aid is one of the core principles of the anarchist movement. Helping people, who got left behind by the unjustified state and the people who are in power. It is also about empowering people and allowing them to find their own voice.
See, here is the fact: One of the core believes in anarchy is, that people are actually not terrible. If the state stopped existing tomorrow, people would not run around, murder and pillage. They would still help one another. We have seen this time and time again when through war or natural catastrophies systems of power have failed. People help each other. Because we are actually a pretty social species.
This is also why I absolutely loathe the depiction we see in a lot of media. Most of all in Legend of Korra. Where not only the Red Lotus, as an anarchist group, does not do jack shit in terms of mutual aid and things like that... We also see basically the Earth Kingdom go to ruins and violence within minutes of the Earth Queen having been killed. Like, no, that is not how people would react in that situation. There would not be instant riots or some shit. Jesus. What made them think that?
And yes, sure. Some anarchists might riot on the streets, because they riot AGAINST the unjust system. But always remember: Usually, when there is police violence for example against a protest, it is your friendly neighborhood anarchist, who will be willing to put themselves between you and the police.
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onehelluvacritic · 2 months
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Let's be real, if St. Peter is anything to go by, Viv would probably end up giving Jesus blonde hair and blue eyes.
I've noticed a good amount of her characters are a specific type of white person… we should be concerned.
Context: I am white. There are different variants of white in real life. There's brunettes, red heads and dark brown brunettes. There's tanned to fair white people that exist. Freckles exist. Green eyes, brown eyes and hazel eyes exist. I haven't seen 1 white character in Hazbin that isn't blonde haired blue-eyed yet and it's VERY concerning, to say the least. Not a single redhead, no brunettes, nothing.. Just the same type of white person, blonde-haired and blue-eyed.
And this is before we even talk about the non-white representation she's heavily whitewashed, or erased their ethnic features away or have them be a full demon. She cant even represent a white character that isn't fucking blonde- aka fucking Ayrans. Theres an UNCOMFORTABLE amount of Ayrans/Ayran coded characters in her show. I can list off several on my hand.
The only explanation I can think of that doesn't have me conclude she's a secret white supremacist, is that she's basing her main characters off her own appearance. She's blonde and white in her real-life photos. Other than that- I don't know. I don't care if she's Latino or not, you should be concerned that there's not any other variant of white character other than blonde haired, blue eyed and white. If she can't even represent white people accurately, do you think she's going to represent a black person or a brown person accurately? Probably not. You should be concerned.
Here’s all the white characters that have blonde hair, white skin and blue eyes if they were human.
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Saint Peter is a hate crime, but you can see he's white, blonde and blue eyed.
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Lilith is the second one- again she's blonde and white. She has white eyes.
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Mimzy. Again- there's the blonde hair and white skin.
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White hair is platinum blonde- she's also white. Again there's no variation.
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Lute has the same problem. (Edited) Can we PLEASE GET SOMETHING OTHER THAN WHITE AND BLONDE?!
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Katie Killjoy- 💀
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Lucifer is Ayran coded- but he would no doubt be like Saint Peter 2 in heaven. Turn the eyes blue.
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There's no excuse at this point- why is there so many characters with blonde hair and white skin?
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Adam is another hate crime. He's the first white character I've seen that isn't blonde, but he's been white washed. He's not supposed to be white.
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I'm counting Angel Dust because he has white fur and he would no doubt be a white guy with blonde hair before he died.
So there's no diversity in her race rep. All of her humanoid characters we have seen so far have some variant of blonde haired, blue eyed character as the “white” rep. I'm praying this is because she's lazy as fuck with her character designs and I didn't just accidentally uncover white supremacism here.
313 notes · View notes
fushiglow · 6 months
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Gojō Satoru's rude awakening
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I'm refusing to let myself seriously entertain the possibility that Gojō can come back after chapter 236. However, that's because I'm trying to protect my future self from disappointment, not because I think it's implausible — and I really want to talk about this image!
A couple of days ago, @runabout-river shared an interesting theory about what might happen next for Gojō. The post itself is well worth a read, but it was the choice of the above image that really set my mind alight. This scene is fresh in our minds after the anime adaptation of Hidden Inventory, and timing is clearly never an accident with Gege Akutami. So, why is it relevant now?
We see Gojō giving himself over to his past, lost in his happy dreams of his youth, only for Megumi — Gojō's first student and a symbol of the future that he envisions — to bring him back to the present by telling Gojō, "You're the one who called us here, please don't go dozing off."
In other words, "You're the one who dragged us into all of this, don't go pretending this isn't reality just because it's nicer in the past."
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In my immediate reaction to 236, I said:
Gojō's dying bloody smile shows he's at least happy in his final moments. [...] Although, if Gojō actually is at peace in death, maybe that's the reason Gege will bring him back. He'll *never* let that man be happy, I swear.
It was just a joke, but seeing @runabout-river's post made me realise that Akutami has already set a precedent for 'punishing' Gojō for looking backwards. When he's dreaming about his past, Megumi scolds him and brings him back to the present. When he 'lets his mind wander' to his blue spring in Shibuya, he literally gets locked in a box where time doesn't pass, only to immediately find himself at the bottom of Japan's deepest ocean trench when his students bust him out to fix the problem he created.
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As a side note, in both of these moments, the anime adaptation played a melancholy version of Gojō's Limitless theme — the audio representation of Gojō's youth. I'll eat my hat if it doesn't play again when chapter 236 is eventually adapted (I shared some more insights into some of the easter eggs hidden in the season 2 score in my mini review of the Hidden Inventory soundtrack if you wanna read).
If Gojō dies here, looking backwards to his youth, then he's taking the easy way out and that's what I find hardest to swallow about 236. Gojō leaves what is potentially the most difficult conversation he'll ever have — telling Megumi the truth about his father — to Shōko. He leaves his students to deal with the fallout of his failure to cremate Getō's body. He's saddling the people he loves with the responsibilities he leaves behind, and that's not fair.
However, we won't know if that's what's happened for sure until the whole story is told. Gojō doesn't mention his students in this chapter, and lots of people were bewildered that he seems unconcerned about their safety in a world without him. While that could simply be explained by his faith that they've "got it from here", there's a chance that he genuinely didn't think about it and he's about to get a rude awakening as his punishment — hence, "I pray that this isn't just a delusion".
I would *adore* it if Shōko dragged him back to life kicking and screaming, hauling him away from his pleasant fantasy of youth to tell him, 'No, you and Getō don't get to leave me behind to pick up the pieces again'. Because isn't that Shōko as a character? The one who's left to pick up the pieces in their wake? The one to heal the wounds and lay the bodies to rest while everyone forgets she's even there?
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It would be the most character development she ever receives, and I'd love to see how Gojō and Shōko's dynamic changes when he's not the 'Strongest' anymore. So, in Shōko's own words:
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ennysbookstore · 2 months
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The Art of Climbing the Corporate Ladder Part II (San x Reader)
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Summary: With the newfound information about who San really is, your relationship comes to a screeching halt. Situations at the office grow more and more awkward, and each interaction is laced with uncomfortable bitterness. It breaks San's heart, and he knows he has to win you back. But can he?
Word Count: 14.48k (again somehow??)
Genre/Warnings: smut (mdni!!!) slowest of slowburns, strangers to friends to lovers, touch-starved!reader x attentive!san, but more importantly: heavy dose of angst, some fluff, soft sex, protected sex (we put condoms on in this household), multiple orgasms, aftercare, San is so caring and gentle (one chance choi san please), reader experiences an anxiety attack, mentions of alcohol, mentions of death, reader overwork herself, poor attempts at comedy lol, sprinkles of Wooyoung being a menace, Yunho being cute, and last but not least barista!yeosang
Author's Note: Please ignore my inability to write a comprehensive summary lmao. I had several assignments due today and decided it was the best time to edit this entire part AGAIN in one go. So here she is!!! (I did get my assignments done dw lol) The support I've gotten for part one is so overwhelmingly amazing 😭 Thank you once again to everyone who's supported this fic by liking, commenting, and reblogging <3 Please let me know what you think of part two! I'm really proud of the amount of work I've put into taccl, and would love to hear your thoughts!!!
🎧 playlist 🎧: dean: die 4 you 🐈‍⬛ tabber: being 🐈‍⬛ yerin baek: interlude 🐈‍⬛ bibi: hongdae r&b 🐈‍⬛ OoOo: fuxxin' love 🐈‍⬛ so!yoon!: love (a secret visitor) 🐈‍⬛ sogumm & keumbee: salt rain
This is a work of fiction, and it is not meant to be a realistic representation of any real person mentioned in any way, shape, or form.
Lushpin’s excited expression at the news replays in your mind. So does the chairman’s giddy one, Wooyoung’s shocked one, and Ms. Daisy’s disappointed one. But the one that wouldn’t leave was San’s ashamed one. As if he knew. As if he had known all this time.
Whatever the chairman may have said after in between the confused applause that came from the crowd, you were struggling to recall now days later, because you had done what you do best. Evade.
You evaded when your ex left, your thoughts and feelings reserved inside the thinnest glass bottle kept safe in the most fragile glass cupboard that was your heart. It was stupid of you to think that San would be any different. 
When a faint ringing had begun in your ears, you had blinked away the surprise quickly and escaped the suffocating floor with your head kept low. Outside, the early spring weather was chilly, but as the cold air filled your lungs, you were able to keep your tears at bay until you reached your somehow colder apartment. 
Then, the dam broke. 
In the empty silence of your apartment, tears flowed down your face without a sound. More fell and some more after that. Then, when the torrent of anger surged, you start sobbing, loudly and unforgivingly. Despite the ache in your shoulders, you stooped down to remove the dark red shoes and toss them as far away from you as you could, ridding yourself of the fresh memories they carried.
The remainder of your night is spent collapsed and crumpled in your bed as a ceaseless supply of tears stain your pillows. You cry for the three years you spent with your ex. You cry for the past year you worked yourself to the bone. You cry for the dedication you put into your company. You cry for the fact that San was merely a boy, just an undeniable truth you’d come to ignore over the past few weeks. You cry and cry and cry. The cascading convergence of sorrow and pain lulls you to a cathartic sleep.
The next day, it doesn’t surprise you when you wake up with a high fever, throbbing headache, and sore throat. You swiftly call out of work and spend the day in bed. You do the same for the day after and the day after that. Days blurred into each other as you continued your self-imposed exile, wandering aimlessly through your gutted apartment in search of something, anything, to get rid of. When you’re able to come up with nothing, you slump down onto your cold couch. 
In the middle of the week, you decide to take the rest of the week for yourself. But it wasn’t for yourself, it was for your rampant thoughts. Without the distraction of tasks to complete and deadlines to meet, you realize you weren’t a person you’d come to like. You had become a stranger to yourself, and in the pursuit of working for a company that you were replaceable to, you had dropped everything else. Everything that made you human. New recipes were left unexplored, the thrill of discovering new places was gone, and you weren’t even sure if you could remember the last time you’d indulged in a hobby. 
This epiphany brings tears to your red-rimmed eyes once again on Sunday night. It wasn’t merely about losing the person you’d thought about marrying or working endlessly, it was about losing touch with the essence of who you were. In your sickened state, the clarity hit you forcefully— this couldn’t continue. You couldn’t neglect and abandon yourself like this. 
You remember San’s solemnly whispered words. There are things outside of work.
*****
You’re here too early. Way too early, even for you. Standing in front of your building after a week makes you suddenly feel queasy, just as you did on the night of Lushpin’s retirement party. The swirling winds and slight downpour of the dawn don’t help your worsening mood. Taking a deep breath, you turn around. 
The golden light from the cafe across the street pulls you in. Filtered. You’re surprised it’s open, and even more surprised when there’s a good amount of people inside. 
Your wet shoes roughly scrape against the thick cloth mats at the entrance. The cool air of the downpour greets the warmth of the building as the door opens and closes. The aroma of sugary coffee coats your throat as you inhale deeply and observe the café. 
Behind the register, a several meters long chalkboard is colored with a wide variety of teas, coffees and sandwiches, some accompanied with sketches. The clinking of utensils and constant hissing and release of espresso machines suggests a busy day for the young barista behind the counter. Yellow lantern lights string in diagonal rows across the high ceilings of the café. Green foliage loops around the lights and hangs limply above tables. The rows of brown cushioned chairs and booths occupy the early morning risers of the city.
In awe at the interior, you stand still on the mat, eyeing the menu from your place. With your throat still scratchy from the week before, you swallow painfully before going over the options. The fizzing wheeze of espresso machines and pouring of the steaming milk settle softly into your ears, and you breathe out a peaceful sigh. Why haven’t you come here before?
“Hey!” a familiar voice calls out. Next to you, along the windows, you spot Yunho sitting on a wooden bench with a steaming ceramic mug and an open journal. He scoots over to make some room for you. Finally moving off the mat, you step towards him.
“Hi,” you sit next to him on the bench, leaving several inches between the two of you.
“It’s nice to see you again,” Yunho says, following your reserved movements. 
“You, too,” you say, setting your bag down on the raised countertop. Outside, the cars splash rainwater onto the sidewalks and splatter against the windows of the café. “Isn’t this place a bit of a drive for you?”
“Yeah,” Yunho shrugs, “but I figure I might as well start finding a spot if I’m going to be spending more time in this part of town.” He sips from his mug, “And this place might just take the cake. Literally,” he moves his journal aside to reveal a small dish with a half-eaten slice of crumbling coffee cake. He takes another sip before taking a large bite and adds, “Besides, you can’t beat the convenience,” he nods over to your office building across the street. 
“Yeah,” you sigh. You swallow the discomfort in your throat and turn back to look at the menu. “Any recommendations?”
Yunho turns next to you and quickly eyes the chalked menu. As you clear your throat, a painful cough escapes with it. “You doing okay?”
“Just recovering from a cold, I’m fine,” you let him know. 
Yunho doesn’t push and rubs his chin, jokingly, “So you’ll be sticking with tea then?”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” you chuckle with a smile.
Soon after, you’re sitting with hot peppermint ginseng tea next to Yunho watching the awakening city. The rain lets up a little, but the number of people heading to work only increases. Through the window, you watch suited men and women sip at their to-go drinks and schedule the rest of their day over the phone. 
Your thoughts loom like the clouds overhead, and before you’re able to send yourself down the depressing path you’d somehow escaped from just a few days ago, Yunho speaks up. 
“I was hoping to run into you last week here,” he closes his journal and places the plate with the cake on top of it. 
“Yeah… I took some time off,” you blow on your tea. It wasn’t entirely untrue and Yunho doesn’t question it, so you taste the hot tea. The honeyed liquid slides smoothly down your throat and provides some much needed relief.
“Must’ve been one hell of a cold.”
You scoff lightly, “You have no idea.” You eye his delicious-looking coffee cake, suddenly hungry, but clear your throat again. “How much time will you be spending with us?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure, but you’ll definitely be seeing my face a couple times a week. It’s not tentative for the time being, but I’ll be handling the collaborative aspects of the project while Stevey handles the work back at TechTots.”
“Stevey? What happened to Danny?” 
Yunho is much easier to talk to without the overshadowing presence of Danny, and you find yourself admitting that to him along with your anxiousness with his old co-manager.
“Danny? Danny the dick? Yeah, no wonder you were stressed,” Yunho laughs, gulping down the rest of his drink. “I think you’ll be happy to know that Danny's been fired. It’d been a long time coming, anyways. For someone who didn’t like kids, it sure was a strange place to work.”
You breathe out a light laugh. “Is that a requirement for working at TechTots? You have to like kids?”
Yunho reciprocates your laughter and says, “Well, I guess not totally if Danny got a job there, but I’d say it should at least be on the list of reasons you want to apply there.”
A speeding car splashes water loudly against the window of the café, and the boom of the barista’s voice calling out an order rings throughout the space.
“I actually did,” you confess after some moments. Out of your periphery, you catch Yunho's lips curling into a surprised smile. You had given this piece of information out to more people than you had ever expected to, but you take his surprise lightly and continue. “It was a while ago, but I had gotten in and everything.”
Yunho shifts to face you, finishing off the last bits of his coffee cake. “So how’d you end up here? I mean, I get why you did, we didn’t have half the man-power we do now a couple of years ago, but still,” he questions. 
“Just the circumstances,” you don’t bother clarifying, sipping on the minty tea.
“Are they different now?”
You look at him confused.
“The circumstances, are they different now?”
“Of course,” you laugh out. “I mean, I had just graduated university then and didn’t know what I was doing, so yes, the circumstances are definitely different now,” you tell him with a smile.
“So, what’s stopping you from applying again?” he nonchalantly asks. 
Your smile falters, and another car splashes the rainwater against the window. The remnants of the headache from the week before make themselves known. 
“I’m just saying, I hung on to some of the alternative designs you dropped off, and I think you’d fit in with us well,” Yunho shrugs. 
You just hum in response and sip your tea, ignoring the throbbing in your head. There are things outside of work.
*****
Upon your entrance on the 22nd floor, you weren’t sure what to expect, shrouded in a veil of uncertainty. Yunho had ridden the elevator up with you, but gotten off earlier on the 18th floor. Alone, you tried to push down the nagging queasiness that had returned. 
You were still early, but there were a scattered number of employees already at their desks, the floor humming with activity. Taking a deep breath and trying to summon the courage buried deep within, you pushed open the door. A couple of greetings and welcome backs were shot your way, and you responded with your usual polite nods. Your spotless desk looked as if you’d never left. It was clear of everything except for the disrupting cat bank toy that sat tucked under your computer. 
You sit down heavily. Just last week, you had been preparing to say good-bye to this desk. Your eyes flicker over to what used to be Lushpin’s office. Now, through the lowered blinds, you could make out a neatly aligned row of figurines. 
You look back at your desk. The cat bank toy seemed to mock you, and in a bitterly spontaneous decision, you decide to shove it in your top drawer before anyone else can look at it ever again, mentally reminding yourself to return it sooner rather than later.
With a swallow, you power on your computer and start making your way through updates and emails, and the work comes easily, almost as if you’d never left. Time passes as it does, and you fall back into the comfort of your repetitive tasks.
The minute the clock above the water dispenser displayed 9:00 am, the door to the floor swung open and in came San.
It was as if he’d gone through a metamorphosis in the week’s span of your absence. He looked bigger, stronger, sharper. The glasses on his face accentuated his cutting features. He had suddenly grown into the role and was no longer boyish. The dark gray suit he was wearing was well-made and tailored, no part too long, no part too short, and no lone threads, and it draped on his body like a second-skin. He had achieved the seasoned look he had been trying to imitate some weeks back and was effortlessly embracing his new role.
On the way to his new office, he caught your eyes and widened his own in surprise. Before a smile could even grace his lips, you turn back to the computer and click through your open tabs in an attempt to look busy.
You can hear the murmured gossip behind you as San closes the door to his office, and when you look up, you see your co-workers’ pitied and sorrowful smiles. You train your eyes to the computer screen and try your hardest to focus on responding to late emails.
You feel a pair of hands slap down on your desk.“Oh my god, are you a sight for sore eyes,” Wooyoung dramatically whines, the data analyst snickering behind him. 
You send them both a soft smile, and after sending each other a knowing look, they drag your chair over to their desks. 
“Let’s get you caught up,” Wooyoung says, plopping down into his chair across from you. The data analyst opens a journal full of notes, scratches and bulleted points. “We’ve got a lot of material to cover.”
And it was a lot of material, indeed. From the messy journal page, you learn of the uncomfortable tensions that had settled into the office after the promotion announcement. Ms. Daisy’s loud and resonating voice could be heard throughout all the floors of the building when she had begun to rip into the unaffected board of directors days after the party. The lack of balance between the employees. The sensitive environment.
“‘It’s just business’ that’s all they said. Can you believe them?” the data analyst scoffs with a roll of her eyes. 
“Yeah, and turns out it was Lushpin’s idea. That motherfucker. If I had known he’d been planning this, I would’ve up and left before this project ever started,” Wooyoung whispers to you angrily. 
The throbbing in your head was more prominent, and you were trying to absorb the information that Wooyoung was throwing at you the best you could. 
“… So?” 
“So what, Wooyoung?” you sigh, leaning back in your chair.
“Will you leave?” he searches for the answer on your overwhelmed and exhausted face. “Because if you leave, we’re both coming with you, no matter where you go.”
With another sigh, you look at the two of their eager faces. “I… I don’t know. Not yet, anyways.”
Wooyoung’s words leave you fatigued and the growing pain in your head and throat feels unbearable, and soon enough, when lunch hour rolls around, your condition only worsens. You stay at your desk, gripping the corners of your table as the rest of the employees file out. 
Your feverish state was only emphasizing the sorry looks and comments thrown your way by the exiting co-workers . Your head continues to throb, and the ache in your throat sharpens. You thought you surely must have run out of tears after the crying you did last week, but your body shocks you as your eyes wet once again. 
You had to get out of here. 
With an abrupt push of your chair, you stand. Your choppy movements were paid no mind to the few employees still on the floor as you tucked in your chair and walked out the floor with heavy breaths and head hung low. 
You rushed out the room and made your way briskly to the spare room. As you’re squeezing yourself into your spot, you try to regulate your quick breathing. It felt as if you were breathing through a swirly plastic straw.
Unbeknownst to you, San had watched through the partially open blinds of his office. And followed. 
He stumbles into the spare room behind you, squeezing through the piles of cardboard and steel. When you slump down onto the box chair, San stops a few steps back. He watches you take in big gulps of air.
He softens his steps as he moves closer. “Are you okay?”
Your head whips in his direction. San stands only a foot or two away from you and fiddles with his fingers. You didn’t want to see him now, and you most definitely did not want to talk to him. Despite your better judgment, you quickly shoot up and start to leave.
With San still standing in the way, you struggle to move past him in the tight, narrow space. 
Laughter at the opening door of the room makes you stop. A man stands in the doorway, deep in conversation with someone else outside your line-of-view.
In the cramped space, San’s chest bumps into your head. You panic and gasp at the contact. “I’m sorry,” San whispers and attempts to move back, but stops when he realizes there’s no space to move back into. He tries to shuffle his feet to the side to give you more room. He was still being so watchful, but at his constant movement, your breathing quickens, and you place a hand on your heart to calm yourself. 
“Please stop moving,” you quietly plead.
At your suffocated and troubled voice, San stops and looks down at you. Your hand clutches down over your heart, making your elbow jut out between your body and San’s. Your elbow becomes the only part of you that’s touching him, but you can still feel his soft breath against your cheek. The warm and chocolatey smell from his cologne is dizzying.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
“I, I think I’m having—” you take quick, short breaths and clasps your blouse tighter. You try to regulate your breathing the best you can but your chest is hammering and your shaking hands are doing nothing to stop it.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be in this space with San. I don’t want to work here anymore. Why is this happening? I want this to stop. I am not enough. I haven’t been enough. Did I truly think I would ever be enough? I’m a joke. I deserve this. 
San couldn’t see the racing thoughts inside of your head, but your panicked expression, tight grip on your blouse, and your uneven breaths worried him. He quickly looked over to the door, but whoever was standing there wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon. Being caught here with you while you’re like this wasn’t going to help either of you. He takes one quick look at your hyperventilating form, and with much hesitation, he tells you, “I’m going to hug you, okay?”
His words don’t register, and you start to feel tears filling in your eyes. You are not enough, you haven’t been enough for me for a while. Your lip trembles as a tear makes its way down your heated cheek. Crying at work? You’re pathetic.
At your tears, San quickly wraps one arm around your shoulders and with the other, he strokes your hair, trying to ground you. “Here, breathe with me, breathe in” he says, his calm voice weaving through your hair. With his other hand wrapped around your shoulder, he taps his pinkie on your upper arm five times breathing in and says, “Now out,” with a deep exhale. 
When San’s arms envelop you in a tight hug, the compression helps you take your first big breath, and your lungs fill with the cool air of the office. His consistent tapping fingers and low guiding words slow you down and reorient yourself. You stay in his arms for a long time, and he lets you, tapping his finger continuously. San doesn’t let his tight hold go, but you can feel his form relaxing when you start breathing out into his neck. 
You regain control of your senses slowly. As the tears subside, you’re able to see the expanse of San’s back in his dark suit. You see the steel shelves and the towers of cardboard boxes behind him. You smell the chocolate of San’s cologne again and breathe it in deeper. You taste the remnants of the minty tea from earlier, and you realize how dry your throat is. You hear the hearty laughs of whoever was standing in the doorway. 
But you feel everything. Your drying eyes, your cold fingertips, your hot ears, San’s wettened collar, San’s warm arms, San’s tapping fingers, San’s stroking hand in your hair, San’s breath on your neck, San’s strong thighs, San’s heartbeat against yours, San. 
Just for a few minutes longer, your body begs.
You realize the position you’re in. When he notices your much calmer stature, he lets out a relieved sigh. He doesn’t let go and instead, nuzzles his head further into your neck. His gentle strokes at your head and taps on your arm don’t stop either. 
“Ms. Daisy told me you caught a pretty rough cold,” he exhales. You’re momentarily left confused. His tone is calming, but what he’s saying to you isn’t how you envisioned your first conversation after coming back. 
“I wish you would’ve told me you were sick. I could’ve brought you some soup or something,” he adds. You know, my mother’s soup recipe—”
You clear your throat for what seems like the thousandth time today, but you didn’t want your voice breaking, not now. “I’d prefer if we’d keep our conversations within the limits of our work.” The room’s entrance shuts, whoever was there, now finally gone, and a definitive silence takes over the tense space. 
“Oh…,” he stops himself. His tapping and stroking come to a harsh pause. No no no, please, your body cries out. You back away from his body and train your eyes towards the ground. “Yeah… yeah, no, I can… I understand,” he stutters out, letting go of you.
You keep your eyes trained on the ground as he steps as far as he can away from you in the cramped space. You send him a nod and start your way out of the spare room, leaving San alone.
*****
No one could deny that you had done an excellent job training San. He was running the team as you would’ve, and the fusion of his work ethic and your guiding principles, he’d been sculpted into one hell of a project manager. 
But even then, he surely must have known that you weren’t going to take a mere week off and return seamlessly as if nothing had happened.
If anything, you had become more quiet and more reserved than you were before and left the modest yet vibrant demeanor you’d once embodied in the depressing week before. The only people you had frequent conversations with were Yunho, on the days he was here, and Ms. Daisy, who was more than happy to give you the pleasure of her company.
The rest of the floor looked at you with pained sympathy, as if you’d suffered a profound loss. The narrative of pity was something you realized you thoroughly despised. Everyone gave you space as if you needed the time to grieve the loss of your promotion as if they were doing you a respectable favor. Everyone except Wooyoung. 
He was angry on your behalf, and he manifested it  through crossed arms, rolling eyes, a barrage of snarky and sarcastic comments directed towards San. Despite the hostility, his work was being done, so San took the looks and snide remarks with a grain of salt.
And this was now commonplace for the team. While it may not have been as collaborative, the team’s functionality persisted as everyone’s work was being done. If you were to compare the workload you were handling under Lushpin versus what you were handling under San, you should’ve been elated at the amount of free time you had on your hands. But of course, you were finding other tasks, tasks that weren’t as critical or weren’t to be done until weeks later, to busy yourself with. 
After the run-in with San in the spare room on your first day back, you decided you couldn’t consider the space yours anymore. You had told your boss, of all people, where you come to hide from your work and take breathers. So, with your secret spot compromised, you find yourself coming to the cafe more often, trying drinks you’d normally never even consider and eating desserts that would otherwise have you turning away in shock at the sugar content. 
You also find yourself confiding in your new-found friend in Yunho. 
With him, you felt comfortable doing something you never used to do: complain about your job. And so, during lunch breaks, he became the sounding board for your grievances about work. 
“Being at a job you actually like is a benefit,” Yunho offers a new perspective all while stuffing his face full of carrot cake one lunch break weeks later. “And besides, not many people have the luxury of saying they actually like what they do at work. If you’re lucky enough to find a place that aligns with your passions, it’s a game-changer,” he points out.
“Okay, so I don’t like working here,” you whisper to him, almost as if you’d be fired for admitting it. “I haven’t liked it for a while. But I don’t think I ever liked it, I just took the job because of… the convenience,” you respond. “As for my passions…” you let the thought trail off and shake your head in frustration. You watch life continuing outside the café in the moving cars and colorfully dressed people walking in the warming spring afternoon of the city.
It’s silent for some time, but the bustling of the people inside the café doesn’t let up. The crowd for the lunch rush is slowly dwindling down, but you’re hyper-aware of their presence. 
Yunho gulps down a large sip drink and sighs, “I think you need a change. And that’s okay, but you’ve got to invest your time in things you like to do. Do you have things you like to do outside of work?” You shrug in response, you hadn’t done much besides work in the past year and half, and even before that, you were content with your uneventful life. 
“I guess, yeah…” you grab a spoonful of the warm carrot cake. “What do you do?”
“I try out new coffee places, give them a score, and decide if I want to take my girlfriend there for dates, and…” he nervously sips, “I game, so there’s that, too.” His honesty brings a teasing smile to your face. “But I tag along with my girlfriend for her hobbies, too. We literally went to a leatherworking shop last week.” He pulls out his phone from which an attached leather keychain embossed with his girlfriend’s initials dangles. “All I’m saying is that there are an endless amount of things to do out there.”
At your diffident hum, he adds, “But even if you don’t, there’s always things you can start with.”
“Like what?”
He ponders for a moment. “Well, baking, art, and gardening are the big ones,” he lists off the options on his long fingers. He turns his hand to check the time on his wristwatch, “Oh shit, we should probably start heading back.” He gulps down his drink and waits for you to do the same before returning the trays back to the counter. 
Baking, art, gardening? Seemed like an easy enough place to begin. 
You and Yunho cross the street to go back to the office, the phrase repeats in your head. Baking, art, gardening.
On the elevator ride back up to your floor, Yunho says, “You know, I’m not really supposed to be telling you this, what with work confidentiality or whatever, but…” he amusingly looks around the empty elevator and beckons you closer, “there’s a spot open at TechTots for a project manager in the media division.” You back up in surprise, and this time you look around the elevator, double-checking the fact that it is actually empty. 
“I can put in a good word, but I’m sure if you want it, it’s yours.” You freeze at the proposition. “Everyone’s gushing over your work there already anyways.” Yunho jokes, which prompts you to roll your eyes despite the shock. “But seriously, there’s a place for you there.” The doors open to the 18th floor, and Yunho steps out. Before they close again, he turns to look at you and shrugs, “Just something to think about.”
*****
Left alone during a late night, you toiled away on a research report, the echoes of a particularly lengthy day lingering bitterly on the empty floor. Boring back-to-back meetings, an empty toner cartridge without inventoried replacements, and a malfunctioning elevator had contributed to the heavy weariness that hung over your shoulders tonight. 
You wrap up one of the sections and scroll through the nearly completed report, realizing only the conclusion and formatting remained. You lean back into your chair for a moment and stretch your arms in an attempt to alleviate the soreness in your muscles. 
As you’re rolling your neck in slow circles, you spot flickering movement from the corner of your eyes. You whip your head to the side and see San entering the floor with several paper bags in hand. 
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he takes cautious steps towards you when you send a small nod. He nervously stands next to you, watching carefully as you start to type a conclusion onto the seemingly unending report. You didn’t think you could feign being engrossed in the insufferable report any longer, so you finally avert your gaze to him. “Are you… planning on staying long?” he asks.
You’re suddenly pulled weeks back in time when he asked the same question on his second day here. He had the same look on his face now, consideration and worry for you in plain sight. 
“Yes,” you lie.
“I had a feeling,” shy dimples graces his cheeks. He places a paper bag on an empty space on your desk. “I got some dinner for you from the sandwich place down the street.” Saliva fills your mouth, and your stomach accompanies the sentiment, whining desperately for the sandwich.
You can feel the uncertainty coming from him before he waves the other bag and asks, “Do you mind if I eat with you?” 
“You’re free to do what you want,” you tell him. You inwardly cringe at your own tone, dismissive and bitter. You catch yourself hoping it doesn’t offend San. After all, he is your boss.
Instead the smile on his face widens, and he sits down on the desk across from you, where he’d been just a few weeks ago. He eagerly unfolds his bag and starts eating ravenously at his sandwich. He opens another bag filled with jalapeno kettle-cooked potato chips, and as the smell fills the air of the floor, you think you’re going to start drooling. 
No! You swallow the spicy smell and tell yourself to finish this god-forsaken conclusion. Words fly onto the screen as you send glances to the sandwich on your desk while typing away a storm. As you complete the last sentence with a period, you shut the laptop quickly and grab the bag, deciding you’ll format the report first thing tomorrow morning. 
The wrapped sandwich is still warm from being toasted. Under San’s watchful gaze, you flip open the top of the sandwich before taking the much awaited first bite to double-check the ingredients for potential unwanted surprises. Everything on the sandwich was in order. Correct ingredients, correct sauces, and only lightly toasted. Just the way you liked it.
At the heavenly first bite, you wished you had a bigger mouth to inhale the sandwich in one go, but as you see San’s proud smile from across your desk, you take a smaller, much more dignified, second bite. 
Having started earlier, he’s already finished most of his sandwich and tosses the last bite into his mouth. He leans back into the chair, hand on his full stomach with a satisfied sigh. You eye his movements but instead become distracted by San’s bag of unfinished chips and lick your lips instead. 
He follows your line of sight and holds a giggle back, dimples poking into his cheeks anyways. He exaggeratedly breathes out again and says, “You can have the rest of these, I’m stuffed,” he slides the bag of jalapeno kettle-cooked chips to your table. 
You look up at him and then the bag of chips, unsurely. San catches your look and lets his laughter out this time, “Really, I’m super full.” For added measure, he rubs his hands in circles around his tummy. 
When hunger calls again, you seize the bag of chips without hesitance and dive in. San watches you slowly eat away at the sandwich, and the ticking clock and occasionally bubbling water dispenser create a unique soundtrack for this impromptu dinner.
“You know, Wooyoung told me to go eat a bag of dicks today as he handed his reports in today.”
At the unexpected admission, you gasp out a laugh, and it makes San laugh when you try to disguise it in a cough.
At your genuine laughter, he feels confident enough to share more, “Last week, he told me that I was validating his ‘inherent mistrust of strangers’, and it was making him want to ram his head into the copier.”
You allow yourself to laugh this time. First, soft, but then, when San shares yet another one of Wooyoung’s insults, louder. 
“I think I’ve heard him talk about my having a secret family in the break room once, but my favorite one is him telling Yunho that my uncle put me here because I was the item at the ‘end of the season sale’ that the rest of my family couldn’t get rid of.”
The absurdity of the insults sends you into a fit of even louder laughter. “Yeah, he used to say that about Lushpin, too,” you giggle. Maintaining the mood, you decide to add what you had heard through a breathless laughter. “I heard him say you would be way out of your depth even in that pothole down in the parking lot.” 
San laughs deeply and freely at the confession, clutching his stomach, dimples gracing your yearning eyes. Both of your laughters decorate the empty 22nd floor on this late cloudless night for minutes on end.
“He really cares about you, you know?” San remarked, catching his breath. 
“Yeah,” you affirm, catching your own breath.
“In passing, I heard him say that this family wasn't this dysfunctional until I arrived,” San adds with a sad smile. He looks out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the bright moon shining into the 22nd floor. 
No amount of sharply tailored suits would challenge the fragility and vulnerability of the soft pout on his face, you realize as his features pull you in. In that fleeting moment of serenity, a flood of memories rushes over you, reminiscent of his eager smile, hands scribbling down messy notes, and his tight clutch on his beloved purple folder. 
A sense of longing lingers in the air, and you’re not quite sure how to place it. The unspoken language of inept politeness and cumbersome courteousness between you, hidden under the facade of professional sophistication, had become unbearable, and you’re left craving for the connection you’d created when San was just your trainee. 
You catch his fidgeting fingers and the night of Lushpin’s retirement comes in waves, and you remember how warm and secure his hand felt wrapped around your foot as he fastened your heels. 
“Why…” you don’t know how to complete the thought. Why did you lie? Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why did you stand by and watch me drive myself into the ground? The incomplete sentence hangs heavy in the air.
San sighs, and his pout disappears, leaving a mixture of shame and regret over his face. “I think they just wanted to see if I was capable. If I have a successful project under my belt, it gives me a legitimate in at any of the other branches,” he looks down into his lap, embarrassed on his uncle’s behalf. 
As the implications of his statement settle in, you incredulously sigh, “At the expense of someone else’s career?”
“I told them no,” San softly pleaded. ‘I told them I didn’t want to do this, but my words don’t have much power against them.”
The strange music of the ticking clock and bubbling water dispenser fill the silence that’s settled between you and San once again. Searching for clarity, you ask, “What’s your plan here? I mean, what’re you going to do when we wrap up the collaboration?”
Looking up from his lap, San’s gaze meets yours. You’re taken aback at the return of his boyishness. You swallow and look away as vulnerability flickers in his eyes, he answers, “I don’t know, but I’m not staying here. That isn’t fair to anyone.”
In the stillness, the weight of the situation becomes palpable. You come to the realization that while navigating the bumpy terrain of your own emotions, you’d forgotten San’s ashamed expression the night of the promotion. The way he’d distanced himself. The way he couldn’t meet your eyes. The way his face twisted in sheer disgust during the announcement. 
It couldn’t have been easy for him. To spend time with the team, aware that in a few months, their thoughts of him would quickly turn sour. Knowing they’d be wary of trusting him once his secret would become known. 
“I want to start again, if that’s alright with you,” San says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You and I both know I wouldn’t have been able to handle this had you not helped me. Help me get the team on one page again.” The feeble honesty in his voice tugs at your heart. “Please just help me get to the end of this quarter, and then the position is yours. I promise you.” 
In the quiet of the pause, you gather your thoughts. 
“Okay,” you run your hands over your thighs. “But, slowly,” you ask of him.
“Slowly,” he confirms for you.
*****
Things take a turn for the better after that night. Residual awkwardness and tensions still linger in the air, but work persists and progresses nonetheless, as it always does. 
You had spent the weeks after San’s untimely promotion actively trying to avoid being near him for as long as you could. So when the two of you become weirdly cordial overnight, the team experiences a strange whiplash the day after when you’re preparing for the morning meeting together. 
From the corner of your eyes, you see the data analyst and Wooyoung eye each before looking the two of you up and down. They settle into conference room B’s seats slowly, observing the strangely comfortable air in the room.
With the approaching app launch presentation, the intensified pace of work was too busy and hectic that it would be silly and impractical to not utilize the rest of the team to soften the increasingly burdensome days. Your return at an attempt to normalcy seemed to push the rest of the team to leave the sticky situation of the promotion in the past, and San was appreciative of the fact.
Unfortunately, Wooyoung’s attitude is slow to falter, but with a swift knock it off from you, delivered with a stern yet disappointed look, Wooyoung’s snarky comments towards San died down eventually, too.
One afternoon, several days into the strangely harmonious workweek, Yunho pays San a visit armed with the design presentation templates in his office.
“Looks like things are going well,” Yunho turns, looking out of the window to see the floor busy with interactions. 
“Yeah,�� San says, finding you comparing two sheets of paper next to Wooyoung. You pick one over the other and tack it onto the bulletin board before turning back to your desk and catching San’s eyes. You send him a small smile and turn back around to answer a question being thrown at you. “She’s doing a lot of my work for me… I wouldn’t even trust myself if I were those guys, so I don’t blame them.” He sighs as he looks down at the design templates, “She feels like more of a manager than I am.”
“Treat her like one, then,” Yunho suggests. 
“What?” San asks.
“If she’s been doing the work of a manager, then treat her like one,” Yunho shrugs. “That’s how I got my position. I wouldn’t leave Danny alone, and boom! All of a sudden, I’m a co-manager.” He crosses one of his long legs over the other. “He definitely minded it a lot at first, but something tells me you wouldn’t care so much,” Yunho adds.
“I wouldn’t care at all, but that’s like asking for there to be a weird power imbalance. Things have just gotten back to being somewhat comfortable, and I’m wanting to keep it this way until the end of this quarter,” San retorts.
Yunho shrugs again, “Just something to think about.”
And San does. He spends the rest of the day thinking about it. 
On the other hand, as hectic as work is, Yunho’s offer keeps bouncing around in your head. You knew the position wouldn’t be open for long, and there was definitely an undoubtedly long list of applicants already. The thought visits you multiple times in a day, and you shake it away harder and harder each time.  
The day after, you find a poorly written pun on the corner of your desk. You rip the sticky note off the table and hold it up to your face. On the light purple color of the note, there is darker purple penmanship. “Hedgehogs— why can’t they just share the hedge?” 
You snicker at the note and then even more when you make out the scribbles on the bottom of the note to be two angry hedgehogs fighting over a hedge. From the corner of your eyes, you catch the blinds to San’s office shake shut. With a soft smile, you open your drawer and add the note to your pile.
Inside the office, San let out a sigh of relief. He felt devastated when he spotted a familiar tiny plastic box of oranges on his desk a couple of weeks ago, but he had made up his mind to restore your relationship and if it meant leaving multiple puns on your desk everyday, then so be it. 
Day after day, your collection of seemingly unending puns and jokes grows in your desk drawer. With each note, you come to be grateful for the fact that San’s putting in the work, both in befriending you and into the project. You’d heard nightmarish stories about the children or nephews and nieces coming into a workspace and throwing everything out of balance and doubling, or tripling in some cases, the workload. 
But San does the best he can to avoid becoming that burden. He’s focused when he needs to be and relaxed when the times call for it. Gauging the energy of the team seemed like an impossible task, but he was handling that well, too. In the past couple of days, he started arriving at the office earlier and would review materials with you before he went over them with the rest of the team. 
Had it been under any other circumstances, San would’ve made an incredible boss.
“He’s really pushing you for that promotion,” Ms. Daisy tells you one day over lunch. “He’s rejected a lot of potentials his family has been insisting on.”
“Hmm,” you hum, halfheartedly picking away at your lunch as Yunho’s offer crawls its way into your thoughts for the umpteenth time today.
*****
Over the past few weeks, you had been tackling the list Yunho had given you: baking, art, gardening. After some failed attempts at baking a couple weeks back, you figured it simply wasn’t meant to be and moved down the list to take on art and gardening instead. 
Tonight, you were taking another crack at a simple loaf of bread after taking some oddly emotional advice from the handsome and shy barista that worked behind the counter at Filtered in the early mornings. He’d told you this time it would be a success for sure, and soon enough, you’d be making his carrot cake, whose recipe he so graciously shared.
You weren’t sure what to expect when the kitchen timer would ring in about two minutes, but it most definitely wasn’t San, in a familiar gray hoodie, to be at your door with Neko in her purple carrier on this Friday evening.
Your taken-aback expression meets San’s equally taken-aback expression, and only when Neko meows is San prompted to explain.
“Last time, you… uh, you agreed to— Actually, you know what, I’m sorry, I should’ve confirmed before just showing up here with Neko,” San turns on his heels.
“No!” Your voice shocks you both, and clearing your throat, you say “I can take care of her this weekend, it’s fine.”
“Oh, thank god,” San sighs out. “I would’ve had to drive all the way across town to drop her off to my friend’s if you’d said no. Thank you,” San walks through your door.
As he removes his shoes, his breath catches in his throat looking around your apartment. There were stringing lights hanging around your windows, and your walls were decorated with pretty art. Two healthy potted plants sat on your windowsill, and on your couch was a spread of different childrens’ books and next to them, a sketchbook.
The timer in your kitchen eventually dings, and you leave San standing in the entrance of what seems like a brand-new apartment. 
Slapping the timer off, you open the oven and the smell of warm bread fills the air. He follows you to your kitchen counter, still eyeing the differences. “Your place looks… different,” he says.
“Yeah…” you look around your apartment and place the pan of bread on a cooling rack. “I got some inspiration from the café across the street.” Neko meows from inside her carrier, and you nod at it, “You can let her out.”
Distractedly, San opens the door to Neko’s carrier, and after giving his fingers a small lick, she saunters over to your familiar pile of to-be-recycled boxes and makes herself at home. 
San watches you observing the golden loaf of bread and turns once you’re reaching to grab plates. Your once barren fridge was littered with pamphlets of everything. Hung up by an array of colorful magnets, San could make out menus to new and old restaurants, free workshops offered by the city library, a list of books to be read, care instructions for jade plants and peace lillies, and a sheet titled “Yeosang’s Carrot Cake Recipe” in your handwriting. 
In awe, San just stands, absorbing.
In the silence, you find yourself back to when San dropped Neko off for the first time. Without having work to fall back on, your conversations were awkward to say the least. But this time, there are thousands of thoughts on the tip of your tongue you want to share with San. Things he’ll certainly find interesting and cool, but you aren’t sure if you’d made it back around to that point in your relationship. 
You settle with, “Want some bread?”
San’s pulled out of his daze as he responds, “Yeah, of course. It smells amazing.”
“I hope it tastes just as amazing. If this doesn’t work out, I’m going to have to accept my losses and move on from baking,” you say with a light laugh. San softly smiles back as you start slicing into the loaf. You plate the two slices and give the larger one to San. 
He bites into the warm pillowy bread. For being only a simple loaf of bread, the complex flavors surprise San. There’s a light sweetness and saltiness, but it’s not overpowering. When he goes in for another bigger bite, San thinks he can taste hints of spices as well.
“Well, it’s not perfect, but I guess it’s something,” you say, setting your plate down. In a notebook, you jot down memos about adjusting certain ingredients and are startled at San’s expression.
“You’re kidding, right? This is amazing. If I could, I’d live off of this” he stuffs the rest of the slice into his mouth. The scene is endearingly funny, so you turn back to the loaf and cut him another slice. “I hope this means you’re not going to be moving on from baking?” he asks, taking the even thicker slice.
“No, I guess I won’t be,” his compliment brings a rush of warmth to your face, and you turn to face away from him as you cut the rest of the loaf into slices. Taking nearly all of the slices, saving a few for yourself, you parcel them up into a sheet of parchment paper and place it into a brown bag. You slide the bag over to him, and he looks up, surprised. “Thanks for the sweet words, I really appreciate it.”
He looks into your genuine eyes, and suddenly, there’s so much he wants to tell you. He wants to thank you for being so kind to him at work, for trying to so hard to go back to normal, for fixing his figurine, for laughing at his piss-poor puns, for actually keeping them tucked away carefully in your desk drawer, for giving him the bigger slice, for letting him take so much of the loaf with him. 
He wants to tell you that he’s really happy for you, too. Happy that you’re feeling better, happy that you’ll take his place at work soon, happy that you’ve found a friend in Yunho, happy that you’re going out of your comfort zone, happy that you’re pursuing hobbies, happy that you’re not sad about not getting them right the first time, happy that you’re happy.
But “Yeah, of course,” is all he can say back, and he thinks it’s pathetic, until you smile back at him with your sweet smile.
San goes over the unchanged instructions for Neko’s care, and you listen to them carefully, just as you did the first time. He leaves you her brown bag filled with her medicine, food, and this time, some toys, and he takes your brown bag filled with bread with him. 
After San leaves, you clean your kitchen of the mess of flour, sugar, and butter. You call out to Neko, who comes happily, and with her treats in hand, you try to match her playful mood and sit down next to the boxes she had grown so fond of. Only a couple of minutes later, there are rapid knocks at your door. Stroking at Neko’s head, you stand to look through the peephole.
You slightly crack the door open to San, who’s panting with bated breath. The chilly weather has settled into his reddened cheeks and neck, and your brown bag was tightly clutched in his hand. You open your door wider and ask, “Hey, did you forget some—”
“Can I kiss you?”
Before you can completely get the word yes out, San’s lips are on yours. It feels just as electric as the first time, but this time, his cool hands find purchase on your neck. It’s an eager kiss, one that’s got a lot to say, but it lacks the words to get it across to you. But you didn’t care. The shocking touch feels so welcome on your skin, you grab hold of San’s hoodie strings and tug him back inside your apartment.
You fist the plush material of San’s hoodie at his chest and reciprocate the kiss just as eagerly, before a thought makes you stop, and his pout makes an appearance as you back up.“What about your family?”
His dark eyes roam yours and flick down to your slightly swollen lips. He looks back up to take in your features, still kind, still genuine, and still adorable. “Fuck them,” is all he says before you’re pulling him back by his hoodie slotting his lips between yours again. 
San can’t believe he’s here in your warm apartment that smells like bread, that’s decorated so much like you, with you. At the realization, he kisses you deeper, and his hands leave your neck to pull you closer by your waist. 
Your hands don’t leave the probably stretched material of his hoodie. Your brain is in too much of a scramble to make sense of this moment that when his hands do find your waist, you can’t do anything but tighten your grip on it. That is until the shrill ringing from his phone disorients you.
You start to pull away again, but San pulls you right back in before you can get very far, this time with desperate fervor. His hands crumple the cat-patterned apron you’d purchased some days ago which you still hadn’t removed. When his thumb grazes the exposed skin of your hip, you gasp, and San wastes no time in slipping his tongue past your lips.  
But the persistent ringing doesn’t stop, and you grow unreasonably frustrated at it. And so does San. He pulls back annoyed and picks up the call, one hand still wrapped around your waist. When you blink rapidly to adjust yourself, you realize the two of you had stumbled quite far into your apartment and were only a foot or two away from your couch.
“What? What could you possibly want?” he says into the phone. With a heavy sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah… I know. Yeah, yeah, yeah… okay. I’m on my way,” he hangs up and slides the phone into his back pocket. “I’m so sorry,” he looks back at you. 
“It’s okay,” you say and loosen your hold on his hoodie. You cringe at the wrinkles you’d left with your grasp, but San doesn’t care in the slightest. 
“I really am sorry…” he says again, but this time, you know it’s not only for leaving right now. He lets go of your waist and looks down. “I should’ve just, I, I hope you know I didn’t mean to—”
“San, it’s okay,” you don’t let the distance grow.
“I’ve got to go, but I, I promise I’ll—”
You place a shy, chaste kiss on his lips and smile. His thoughts slow. “I’ll see you at work on Monday,” you say and think you see him melting.
“Okay,” he says with a pout. You look away from his temptingly cute expression and try to straighten out the messy wrinkles you’ve created on his hoodie and send him on his way, a brown bag full of bread and the touch of your skin in his hands. 
*****
Things become much more gentle between you and San. His enthusiasm to be near you at all times becomes quiet observance, a sweet kind of noticing that says more than his words ever could. In the everyday buzz of the office, he admires the grace you bring in doing even the most simplest routines.
As the work picks up, your interactions are confined within the area of the 22nd floor. The two of you decide to keep things professional and to not pursue anything until this quarter passes, but that didn’t deter San from decreasing the distance between the two of you.
He cherishes the time spent together during shared tasks. When you walk into the office and find a familiar row of figurines tumbling onto your desk, it prompts a pause before you rush over to delicately restore their order. San had decided the night before to bring his work outside of Lushpin’s old secluded office and set it up on the desk in front of you again, and at the rest of the team’s questioning faces the next morning, he told them it’d encourage “collaborative engagement”. 
When you’re at the round conference table, San discreetly saves the spot next to him for you under the guise of your better hand at technology, and in the rare moments when someone else takes the floor, he subtly searches for your pinky under the table. The next day, he intertwines them in a silent dance under the desk, and the day after, he confidently holds your hand between his palms. In some days time, your laced hands find solace on his lap as he traces the lines embedded in your palms. 
In the quiet moments of the nights you stay late, San doesn’t forget to bring you dinner, and during the hazy slump of the post-lunch afternoon, you speechlessly leave him a packaged slice of cake from the café across the street on his desk.
With your bettering moods, when the app launch presentation eventually rolls around, the team’s tempers are in significantly better places, too. Wooyoung and San are back on speaking terms, though Wooyoung doesn’t shy away from insulting him every now and then.
Yet again, you’ve found yourself in the backstage area in the auditorium. The filling auditorium elicits your increasing heartbeat to beat even faster. You shut the curtain and focus to get your breathing back in check.
“Hey,” San stands next to you. He’s dressed in a navy blue suit and looks even more put together than usual.
“Hi,” you respond and go flatten the material of your own clothes.
“Are you doing okay?” He peeks behind the curtain to see the filling auditorium. When you nod with lackluster confidence, San only stares. “You’ll do amazing. Everyone will. I know it,” he reassures you, looking down at your hands. 
Over the last couple of weeks, he’s wanted nothing more than to kiss you, but he’s kept himself in check, he thinks. Sure, his puns have gotten more romantic and he’s moved to work across from you, but hand-holding is tame and surely okay, considering you’ve started searching for his touch, too. He’s itching to grab your hand. It’s just there, inches from his. He debates the thought, until you speak up.
“I think I’m going to quit.”
You expect shock, widened eyes, and pleading to stay with the company, especially when you’ve sprung this news on him minutes before the app launch presentation, but you’re surprised when it never comes. Instead, San smiles as he looks back at the growing crowd in the auditorium. “Good, you deserve to be in a place that’ll appreciate the hard work that you do and compensate you for it. Properly,” he adds.
Under the backstage lights, the beauty of his features catch you off guard. You want to pull him in close to you and feel his heartbeat against yours. You want to feel his lips on yours again. You want to feel him. Right now. 
“Hey, will we be doing roll calls, or are we winging it this time around?” Wooyoung asks from the other end of the backstage area, plucking your attention away from San. You send Wooyoung a short answer and turn back to San. 
This time, San bravely intertwines his fingers into yours. You look down to your fingers nestling between his and think the sight is strange when not happening under the confines of the conference table, but you embrace it nonetheless. 
When San’s hands would find yours under the conference table, blood would rush to warm your face and you would always look around the table, praying nobody would become suspicious, especially Wooyoung. But this time, ignoring Wooyoung, who only stood some feet away from you, you feel your heartbeat slowing down and a surge of comfort flooding your body. 
You look back up to his soft features when he says, “You’ll be okay,” with a gentle squeeze. You squeeze back, knowing the both of you would be.
*****
And you were okay. So was San. And the rest of the team.
With the app launch having gone more successfully than you could’ve imagined, you’ve found yourself in the conference room once again on a weekend as the beginnings of a party are starting on the floor. 
You’re removing the tacks and tape holding up your team’s ideas for this project. Now that the app launch presentation had gone well, the project would be moving forward to the user experience design team on the 18th floor. It wouldn’t come back around to you for another quarter or so, until the app was completed and the time would come to market it to the public. It was a bittersweet thought, but you continued taking down the post-its and index cards from the wall.
“Oh my god, what are you doing here? The party’s on the floor, come on,” the data analyst pushes the door to the conference room open. She takes your arm and rushes you out onto the floor as she explains the decreasing state of the good alcohol. 
Once on the glittering floor, she leaves you by the stand-up bar and tells you she’ll be back soon, which given the amount of alcohol she’d already had, you seriously doubted it. But in your happy mood, all you do is laugh and nod. 
You request a cup of water from the bartender and look out onto the floor. With the successful presence of the disco ball at Lushpin’s retirement, it had made a return, this time bigger and brighter than the last time. Someone dims the lights, the music becomes louder, and you slink towards the end of the bar, closer to the door.
You continue backing up in small steps, until you bump into someone’s chest. From behind you, San says, “Hi.”
You turn around at his voice. He’s dressed in a silken black button up with the top two or three buttons left undone and plain black slacks. In the reflection of his glasses, you catch the shimmering disco ball. “Hi,” you finally say back.
San moves closer to you, arm brushing up against yours. With his back against the bar, he eyes the water in your hands. “Not drinking tonight?”
“Probably not a good idea,” you nod to Wooyoung on the dance floor. He had lifted the SEO specialist over his shoulders and was trying to show off his dance moves to the equally drunk data analyst. The SEO specialist’s head bumped into the disco ball once and then once more when Wooyoung tried to jump.
“Jeez,” San laughs out. He turns to order a glass of water from the bartender, and when he turns back around, you smell the warm chocolate from his cologne and calm.
As you continue watching Wooyoung’s antics, San takes in your relaxed form. He follows the outline of your body adorned in a simple form-fitting dress but stops when he reaches your feet which are sporting the familiarly beautiful dark red heels. He looks back up to your face. Your features are stretched in amused laughter at whatever Wooyoung was doing, and San thinks you look so beautiful.
“Oh my god, he’s going to hurt himself,” you say. Wooyoung had set down the SEO specialist who was rubbing his head, but now, he was trying to fight the disco ball, throwing uncoordinated punches at it. San flicks his eyes to the scene momentarily, but quickly turns back to a giggling you.
Unable to help himself, he leans in to place a soft kiss on your cheek. You freeze and turn to him, clearly surprised, but the smile doesn’t leave your face. San sets the water down and grabs your hands instead.
“Wanna get out of here?”
Once you’re able to blink away the surprise, you hold his hand back, nodding.
In the cool air of the spring night, your intertwined fingers lead San through the awakening city towards your apartment. The advertisements light up the skin and bright artificial hues color your skin gorgeously, and San wants to pull you close to him and kiss you right there, but he’d waited this long, he could wait a few more blocks.
But his resolve runs out when you get into your apartment building’s empty elevator. He checks the corners of the elevator for cameras and when he finds none, he pulls you in by the waist and finally kisses you again. Little did know that your thinning resolve had been crumbling away, too.
When the elevator dings much earlier than it’s supposed to, you push San away and look away from him. A family climbs aboard, too absorbed in themselves to pay the two of you any attention. When you turn back to San, you recognize the remnants of your lipstick smudged against the corner of his lips. The family’s backs are turned to you, so with a shy smile, your thumb meets his lips to wipe the red away from his face. 
When he meets your loving gaze, you see his dilated pupils. The elevator dings again when it’s arrived at your floor, so you take San’s hand, squeeze past the family, and run to open your door. 
Once you’ve closed the front door behind you, you stand in the dark of your apartment, breathless. The stringing lights circling your windows emit a soft glow, and San steps closer to you. As you’re backed into your front door, you think you can hear your heartbeat, or maybe it’s his heartbeat, you aren’t sure. 
San takes one more look at you, before he’s taking off his glasses to slam his lips into yours. He kisses you fervently, and you kiss him back, just as fervently. Your hands are at his neck, while his own press against the door on either side of your head. When you’re struggling to catch your breath, he pulls back to leave tiny kisses against your cheeks, forehead, and temples. 
Sending one more kiss to your temple, he kneels down. You can definitely hear your heartbeat against your rib cage when he takes one of your legs by the calf and puts it on his thighs. As he places small pecks along your shin, he unfastens the buckle to your shoe and very quickly, he moves to the other, repeating the same movements. 
When he’s done, he looks up from his place, and you look back. Your heart and breath are racing to catch up to what’s going on, but your brain remains as clear as ever. Just as you did some weeks ago, but this time with less care, you tightly fist at San's collar and pull him up into a rushed kiss.
You stumble backwards and bring San with you. He kisses your lips deeply, before annoyingly pulling away again. You chase after him but stop when you eye him switching his phone off. Your heart beats even faster, and an unknowing anxiety builds in your stomach. That guarantees no interruptions, but isn’t that what you wanted? 
He throws the phone onto your couch and doesn’t wait to watch it get swallowed by your cushions as he’s going back in towards your swollen lips. Sensing your sudden stiffness, his touch leaves your body once again. “You okay?”
You decide to take the initiative and lean in to leave fluttering kisses against his jaw. “Yeah, just got into my head for a second,” you move up to place small kisses behind his ear and hear him sigh softly.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he proposes.
“I want to,” you reassure him, fingernails scratching at the back of his scalp. He sighs again and relaxes in your touch. He twists his head briskly in search of your lips again. Eyes closed, you lead San through your living room on the way to your bedroom.
Without turning the lights on, you start undoing the buttons and knots holding the material of your dress together with San’s help. It slips off easily, and San throws the dress out the door, letting it land somewhere in your living room. 
Turning you around, he falls onto your bed and pats his thighs, looking up at you with eager eyes. From the moonlight that slices into your bedroom, you find the fragility in his sharp features again. Stilling, your palms cup his cheeks while your thumbs stroke the delicate skin under his eyes. 
San’s breath hitches at your gentle touch, and he leans into it, wrapping his arms around the back of your thighs pulling you closer. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of him, and with the thought, you indulge yourself in another kiss. 
Your knees dig into the mattress on either side of San’s legs as you climb onto his inviting lap. Immediately, he places a tight grip on your plush thighs, making you gasp. Taking this as his cue, San’s tongue slips into your mouth just like before. His arms slither up the curve of your ass and stop at your mid-back. He tugs you closer and closer, until all of your chest is pressed up against him. 
San suddenly stands up, and at the unexpected action, you wrap your arms around his neck and hold on tightly. Hands under your hips, he drops the two of you onto your bed. The action leaves you stupidly breathless, and you try your hardest to catch your breath as San’s teeth begin to nip at your neck.
Your breathing is too fast, and San notices it all too well. “Hey,” San loosens his grip on your hips, “we can stop.” 
“I don’t want to stop. I want to keep going, but I’m just… a little out of practice,” you exhale in frustration, sitting up slightly and unable to look him in his eyes.
“That’s okay,” San says, tucking a strand of your hair and busying his hand with the shell of your warm ear. “If you want to keep going, we can as slowly as you need to.”
Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and let San’s cologne surround you. “Okay,” you look into his eyes. 
San looks at you for some moments longer, taking in your eyes through your lashes. The hand that’s playing with the shell of your ear moves to hold the back of your head as San pulls you in for another kiss. This one lacked the rush of ones before it, and time slows down momentarily. The word love rests so easily in his mouth, he’s a little terrified of it, but welcomes it anyways. 
His fingertips graze the skin besides the kinesiology tape that runs along your back, and with much care, he gently lays you down onto your pillows again and goes back to leaving small kisses on your neck. 
Your hands pull at San’s satiny black dress shirt. As dashing as it makes him look, you find yourself wanting it off of him, laying in some obscure corner in your bedroom just like your abandoned dress that lay strewn somewhere in your living room. You meekly tug at his buttons, but when he can’t seem to pull away from your neck, you take the task on yourself.
The buttons fly off quickly, and once you’re able to catch San’s attention, he removes the shirt without hesitation. With the moon illuminating his body, your eyes follow the tan expanse of his heaving chest, his defined shoulders, and chiseled abdomen. At your gawking, San starts tugging at your maroon bra.
It comes off with one quick go, and San doesn’t hesitate to dive into the valley of your breasts. Head falling sinking into the pillow below, your eyes flutter shut at his touch. His cool hands tenderly knead at your overheated body while his lips trail lower and lower.
When he reaches the band of your underwear, he stops and looks up to meet your eyes for the third time that night. “Please,” you whisper, and he complies, kissing your hips as he follows the matching lacy maroon material down your legs. He grabs the underside of your thighs and leaves wet kisses there.
He licks a stripe against your already sensitive and wet pussy and sucks gently at your clit before looking up to see your eyes fluttering shut and head falling back. With a smirk, he dives back in, applying more and more pressure. His tongue circles patterns into you, and soon enough, your thighs are shaking. 
Then, he adds a finger. And curls it up. You feel your back arching off the bed at the pleasure, and you’re quickly spiraling towards your orgasm. Just when you think it couldn’t feel any better, he adds another. Between the curling and sucking and flicking and his hot breath around your thighs, you’re embarrassingly close to coming undone. 
Trying to ground yourself, your hands tangle themselves in the sheets below you. San leaves hot, open-mouthed kisses against you, and it feels too good. You can feel your orgasm creeping up on you, and normally, you’d be mortified for cumming so fast but now, you couldn’t care less. 
“I’m gonna—can I—please, please, please—” your own moan cuts you off. When you mumble out what sounded to San like asking permission, he thinks he could cum on the spot. With a new-found vigor, he licks and sucks harder, he curls deeper, pulling whiny whimper after whiny whimper out of you. A shake rattles through your legs again, and when you finally do orgasm, San’s rides you through it.
He thinks he can stay here, between your shaking legs, forever, and he would certainly never mind. Before letting you fall into overstimulation, he forces himself to back away, but he ends up asking what’s on his mind, anyways. “Can I give you one more? You deserve more,” San pleads, redness flooding across his neck up to his ears. 
You think you’re falling in love with him. His eyes are totally blown, his cheeks are reddened, and your arousal shines against his chin. He looks, for a lack of a better word, so beautiful, all you can do is nod dumbfoundedly.
He flashes a dimpled smile as his grip on your thighs tightens, lowering himself again. You try to keep your eyes on him, trying to catch more of his beauty, more of anything he has to offer. But when he moans into your folds, your head falls back in ecstacy. The vibrations and continuously flicking tongue has you stumbling towards your second orgasm even faster than the first. 
You try to reach for the sheets again, but San’s eyes follow your movement. He grabs your searching hands and locks them tightly with his own. Now that his hands weren’t holding your legs, your thighs try to shut, squeezing around San’s head. As they shake against his ears, he knows he could happily die here. 
With your second, much stronger orgasm, you feel like you’re floating. San helps you ride it out and pulls away with a pout. With your hands still intertwined, he lets you catch your breath and busies himself with placing kisses up your stomach, your breasts, your neck, and finally stopping when he reaches your blissed out face. 
He brings your laced hands above your head before leaning down to kiss you again. When you can taste yourself on his lips, you roll your hips up weakly in a silent plea for more, despite the tiredness that comes in waves.
“Are you okay?” he asks into your neck. When all you can do is nod, he moves up to look you in the eyes. “I let it slide before, but I need you to tell me. Can you tell me if you’re okay?”
You don’t think you’ve ever wanted someone more than you want San right now, but you’re unable to tell him with your heavy tongue. “I’m okay,” is all you say, surprised that your voice doesn’t break. Nonetheless, it’s airy and hints of whininess are seeping through it.
San smiles at your words, and he starts to remove his slacks while placing gentle kisses against your hips. The tent in his boxers is inviting, and you pull yourself up by your elbows. San gets you sitting up straight, and in your post-orgasm haze, you follow his movements, although thoroughly confused, as he rests against your headboard after taking his boxers off. He pulls you over his legs to straddle his thighs. “For your back,” is all he says before taking your lips between his yet again.
I’m definitely going to fall in love with him, you think. You roll your hips against his, and this time, San gasps and you slip your tongue into his mouth. You leave much too quickly for him and start to bite down his neck, his collarbones, and his chest. His hands grip your waist as your wetness leaves its mark against his cock. 
“Fuck, fuck, wait,” San hands stop your hips. “Condom?” 
Your lips don’t stop leaving marks along his neck as you answer, “Top drawer.”
Grabbing a condom, San rips open the packet and rolls the plastic over his painfully hard cock. The moment it’s on, you roll against him again. San leans back on the headboard and sighs. He looks at you, and you look back. There’s a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your chests. “Do you want to keep going?”
Something tells you that San would stop, even as hard as he is, if you had said no. He’d do it with a smile on his face, with a stupidly silly pun on the tip of his tongue to distract you. And that fact makes you gush. “Yes, please.” You roll against him one more time, harder. 
San nods at your response, and you see a relieved expression appear on his face for a split-second before it disappears. He lets you take the control and watches your folds drip over his pretty cock. As you’re sliding down, your nails dent the tan skin of San’s shoulders. Whimpers are whispered into his neck as you stretch to accommodate him. 
“Fuck…” San moans. “You feel so good,” he licks the area under your earlobe before biting into it. You gasp against him, and you realize you’ve taken him all the way with the distraction. You give yourself some moments to adjust, but it isn’t before long that you’re grinding down onto him. 
He feels so delicious inside, the curve of his dick hitting your gummy spot over and over and over again. San's soft grunts and groans and your own broken moans echo in your bedroom. San’s warm hands splay across your hips as he helps you move against his hips, and you want more of everything. More of his hands on you, more of his cock inside you, more of his kisses against your neck, more of him. 
Your body screams for a break, but you ignore its pleas and work your thighs faster. San’s fingertips graze upwards into the dip of your back, and he gently traces the lines along your shoulder blades. He was still being so watchful, and the thought alone makes you tighten around him.
But your body is catching up with your tired state, and you eventually start slowing down. You clench down onto San again, and this time, his touch at your back falters. With a quick change, his hands wrap around your hips again and stop your movements. 
With a whine, you come to a stop, and as you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, he thrusts up into you. Your words die in your throat, and a broken moan takes its place. You can’t imagine what your neighbors must be thinking. For years, they never hear a peep from your apartment. You were truly a model next-door neighbor, and now all of a sudden this? You file away the thought to bring them some baked goods as an apology when San lowly groans into your ear. 
Turning your head, you lick the shell of his ear and hear him groan again. The sound shoots electricity through your body, and you can feel your third orgasm of the night building. 
You feel a sharp sting in your back that you ignore. Until it comes again, this time sharper. 
With a pained gasp, you put your hands on San’s chest and push against him. He lets go of your hips and brings his hands down to rub your thighs, stopping his movements completely. He lets you catch your breath, and experimentally, you rock forward into him only for the pain to return.
You slump against him in defeat. The rubbing at your thighs stops. 
“Hey, you okay?” San takes your face between his hands. 
“My back…” you start, apologetic. Your orgasm was slowly disappearing, and you could feel San twitch inside you. 
“It’s okay, do you want to stop?”
“No, please, I don’t wanna stop— Can you just—” you try to roll against him again, but San stops you, lifting your hips up again. 
“Woah, whoa, you’re going to hurt yourself, wait,” he slides out of you gently, making you wince. He gets you off his thighs before adjusting the cushions on your bed. “Come here.” You shift closer to him, and with a hand along your back, he lays you down against the cushions. You back relaxes in relief, and you thankfully sigh.
“Feels better?” he asks, leaning over you. 
“Much better,” you respond, settling against the soft pillows.
San traces the outline of your lips with his thumb, and with his other hand, he runs his cock up and down your folds. The nips you’ve left around his neck and ears are beginning to darken, and you only hope to leave more soon. The ends of raven hair is dripping with droplets of sweat. All you can do is take him in, and when you see him doing the same, your heart beats faster. 
You hope his marks are just as clearly present on your neck as yours are on his. His thumb traces over your cupid’s bow, and you kiss the pad of his thumb. 
“Please,” you whine against his thumb. As he leans in to kiss you, he pushes himself back into you. You sigh against his lips. He grinds his hips into your slowly, restraining himself. 
You feel yourself molding to the ridges of his cock, and your eyes flutter close. Your third orgasm reappears as quickly as it disappeared. You buck your hips up to match his thrusts, and it results in louder, more desperate moans of his name from your mouth. 
You’re stumbling on the edge of your orgasm when San speaks into your ears. “I’m sorry,” he says, hips grinding against yours. “I’m so, so, so sorry,” he grinds deeper, stops, pulls back, and repeats. The pace of his has you hurdling into your third orgasm, and when you do cum with a tight clench, more words bubble up from his chest.
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll make you feel so, so good. I don’t care how long it takes,” he whines with a cry into your neck. His thrusts are faltering, becoming more and more uneven, but it still feels amazing. Your fingernails graze his scalp, and you give his short, dark strands a soft tug. You’re teetering into overstimulation just as he cries out, cumming. 
His elbows rest against either side of your head, and the tiny droplets from his wettened hair fall onto your neck. You turn to kiss the forearm on either side of you and let San catch his breath and slide out of you only to fall next to you. He turns to you again, and as you're coming down from your highs, he busies himself with leaving another mark on the cusp of your collarbone. 
Some minutes later, he speaks up. “I really meant that, you know?” At your confusion, he clarifies, “I’ll make it up to you, no matter how long it takes.” When you don’t say anything back, he gives your temples a soft kiss before getting up to grab some wet washcloths from your bathroom. 
Sometime later, when one cool rag lays across your chest and as San uses the other to clean up the remnants of your orgasms, you finally find the words you want to tell him. 
“You deserve more, too.” His movements pause, and he looks down at you. You take the rag off your chest and sit up. “I’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” you tell him, wiping the sweat along his hairline. “You don’t need to make anything up to me, but…” you take his hands in yours, “If you’re giving me more and making me feel good, you deserve all of that and more back.”
Your thoughts sounded a lot more cohesive in your head, but San accepts them nonetheless. You knew a better foundation needed to be laid down when the two of you would seriously start pursuing each, but this was a good start, you think. 
He gives you another kiss, one that knocks the air out of your lungs, before laying you back down to finish cleaning you up. 
Once you’re both showered and tangled in your bed, San quietly traces patterns into the skin of your stomach. You nuzzle closer into him, and his breathing eventually slows down. You watch his chest expand and contract as his breath tickles your neck. You weren’t sure what the future was going to hold for you. You didn’t know where you would go. You didn’t know what San would do. How he would retaliate against his family. Where would he go? You weren’t even sure if Yunho’s offer was still on the table, but right now, you didn’t care very much at all. 
You pull the blanket over San’s bare shoulders and let your eyes close as his heart beats against yours.
Author's Note II: Sorry I've just got so much to say guys lol. But here she is in all her glory, taccl pt. 2. I've spent a lot of time on her and would love to hear what you guys think 🫶🫶 I've also got some ideas for my next fic, but I would love love LOVE to hear some of your suggestions! Much love to you all <3
taglist: @rockstarsanie , @itza-meee , @scarfac3 , @chngbnwf, @brown88 , @ddaeing , @imcoenffl , @santineez
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