#but with those companies you can often choose to have it with 'coated' paper
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Hey, quick fanfic question for people smarter than me.
I know it's a big no-go to sell bound fanfics because of some copyright stuff, and doing things like that endangering the entired fanfic world.
What about those 'print a single book!' Companies, would that be okay for fanfics, or do you really need to bind it yourself?
#I really want a few fics irl#but I have a thing with paper#it gives me goosebumps and cold shivers and all that#but with those companies you can often choose to have it with 'coated' paper#which I can actually touch most days#so that would be really nice#fanfic#ao3#bookbinding#bookpublishing
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Best Home Interior ideas: How to Choose Paint Finishes For Your Home
Essential Guide to Paint
Paint is your passport to color and arguably the easiest, least costly and most immediate way to transform a home. It can be as simple as brilliant white, but that would exclude all the other drop-dead gorgeous colors. Paradoxically, it’s the vast choice that often poses a problem — there are just so many brands, types and shades on the market.
Choose from historical hues for period homes; sleek chalky finishes that stand up to the rigors of modern life; or new formulas designed to suit all surfaces. By understanding the product you can unleash all the design possibilities of paint that make it such a tempting medium.
Types of Paint
Water-based paints are usually referred to as emulsions and were traditionally used only for interior walls and ceilings. But recently tremendous advances in paint technology mean that water-based formulas, especially the high-performing acrylics, are available for all surfaces, from woodwork to metal, and for interior and exterior use. The advantages of these paints over oil-based ones are that they are cleaner, have fewer odors and are more environmentally sound. Brushes can be rinsed clean with water.
Solvent or oil-based paints are used where a tough, durable finish is required for interior and exterior timber, masonry and furniture — although, as mentioned above, the new generation of acrylics and multi-surface paints offers viable alternatives. In general, brushes need to be cleaned with turpentine or white spirit.
Make-up and quality all paints are made of four key ingredients: pigments, binders, liquids and additives. Generally speaking, the more pigment used to make the paint, the better the quality it will be: a ratio of 30 to 45 per cent binder and pigments by volume indicates a paint that will be durable and provide good coverage and lasting color. Consider the following when you are faced with a wall of paint pots and are struggling with what to buy.
Pick a brand you can trust Companies with their own high-street shops, such as Fired Earth and Farrow & Ball, and those that sell through the DIY giants are the most accessible. However, buying paint online is increasingly popular and can bring you a wider choice, especially if you live outside major towns and cities.
Go for good coverage Look at the figures per liter not for the whole can; 12sq m per liter is average. Cover ability varies between brands, making the difference between needing two or three coats. You will generally find more pigment in premium paints, giving a greater depth of color.
Select the right product. There is a dedicated paint for practically every surface, including tiles and appliances, such as fridges. For high-traffic areas consider scuff-resistant multi-surface paints that can be used on both wood and walls. Kitchens and bathrooms benefit from specialist formulas designed to cope with humidity without flaking.
Try before you buy Color cards are fine for making an initial selection but you will want to see a true paint sample in situ before committing. Tester pots vary in price from £1 to £4. Paint onto a sheet of paper that you can move around the room to enable you to see the color in different light conditions. The effect varies greatly. The window wall can seem dark while the wall opposite will be flooded with light. And of course there is a dramatic difference between natural and artificial light. Finally paint a patch directly onto the wall to gauge the color, coverage and the final finish.
Specialist wall, floor and furniture paints
These days, there are paints to decorate every surface in the home, from melamine to ceramic tiles. Many of these formulas require no specialist preparation — Crown’s Cupboard Makeover Paint is available in 12 colors and does not need a primer.
There are also multi-surface paints, such as B&Q Colors Everywhere for walls, ceilings, woodwork and radiators, and Bedec MSP Multi Surface Paint, which can be used on everything from plastic to masonry. Areas such as bathrooms and kitchens benefit from durable, mildew-resistant coverings, which are available in premixed colors.
However, for the more discerning, Deluxe Kitchen & Bathroom paint can be mixed in any one of its 1,200 colors, and Farrow & Ball is launching Modern Emulsion. Designed to complement its original Estate Emulsion, the paint has a slightly higher sheen, is fully washable and available in the full color range.
Specialist paints also include some exciting new finishes, such as suede effects, metallic’s and high-sheen lacquers. Judy Smith, color consultant at Crown, suggests an accent wall in one of these to lift a neutral scheme. Crown’s Feature Wall range, which includes eight metallic finishes, nine bright colors and a highly reflective Pure Brilliant White, comes in convenient 1.25 liter tins.
If you have a timber floor that’s not particularly attractive or is made from a patchwork of old and new wood, paint makes the perfect disguise. There are plenty of choices — all the colors from Farrow & Ball are available as floor paint and Nordic decor Style offers an elegant selection, too.
Alternatively, a timber floor in good condition can be treated to a natural or tinted stain, which allows the grain to show through. Eve Johnson’s Scandinavian wood care oils will take the yellow edge off pine.
If you are grappling with the problem of choosing a woodwork color to go with neutral walls, check out Architectural Colors by David Oliver, the founder of Paint & Paper Library. He arranged his off-whites for ceilings, cornices, walls and woodwork in chromatically groups and the concept has been so well received that chromatically arranged colors, such as soft grays, greens and pinks, have been introduced.
Exterior Masonry and Woodwork Paints
Specialist masonry and exterior woodwork paints are now available in many of the sophisticated colors offered for interiors. For example, the new Weather shield range of satin and gloss exterior paints from deluxe features innovative shades such as Wild Berries and Wild Roses.
When choosing colors for exterior surfaces, consider the style of the brickwork or masonry of your home along with the colors used on nearby buildings, so as to pick colors that are sympathetic to these surroundings. Colors for fences and sheds should be selected with the same criteria in mind.
Technical advancements are constantly being made to improve the life span, durability, wear and performance of exterior paints. Masonry paints come in a wide variety of finishes, from textured to ultra-smooth. Opt for a texture if you need to disguise fine surface cracks. If you favor traditional finishes, then consider lime wash, which is available from specialists such as Francesca’s LimeWash. The beauty of this paint is that it will mellow and weather with time. However, do check with the supplier first to ensure that the surface is suitable for this finish.
Traditional Paints
Available from specialists such as Farrow & Ball and The Real Paint & Varnish Company, lime wash and distemper paints can be useful for restoration projects, although some of the contents are potentially hazardous and can irritate eyes and skin. Use the modern equivalents where possible, as these are usually safer and more effective.
Cutting Down on Paint Chemicals
Everyone knows the nasty smell of paint drying — worse with oil-based paints, but also noticeable with vinyl emulsions. This is caused by paint solvents containing VOCs. They are proven health risks, and can cause allergies, headaches and breathing problems and irritate eyes, nose and throat. They are also an environmental hazard.
Following a European directive, the British paint industry has reduced VOCs in two stages, the second of which came into force in January last year.
Five categories are used to describe VOC content. For guidance, a minimal VOC content is up to 0.29 per cent, whereas a very high VOC content is above 50 per cent. All brands have, where necessary, reformulated their ranges to give minimal VOC content.
There is still no standard labeling scheme for paint. The blue globe label, pioneered by B&Q, led to VOC reduction on the mass market and has been adopted by other brands, while the European Ecolabel, recognised in 15 EU member states, looks like a flower and appears on brands such as Earthborn. Germany also has a Blue Angel label and there is a green Nordic style interior design Swan as well. You will find more detailed information on most of the paint company’s websites, as well as a wealth of practical and design advice.
Ecological Paint
The “organic” paint brands, such as Ecos, which emerged in the late 1980s, heralded a new era of odorless paints, free of solvents and VOCs (volatile organic compounds) and paved the way for other companies’ environmentally safe formulas. Following European legislation, the first stage in lowering the solvent content in paints and varnishes is set to come into force in 2007.
Traditionally, the solvents or VOCs and other chemicals used to make paints easier to apply give off toxic fumes that seep into the atmosphere for years after application. Paints with reduced or no VOCs are healthier for decorators and the people whose homes are painted with them.
The leading brands now flag up paints with lower VOCs and produce paints that are virtually odor-free — the Breatheasy range by Crown is one example. Most leading brands now produce high-quality water-based acrylic paints which outperform the older technologies of vinyl and oils.
Today, it is increasingly easy to source ecologically sound paints, as most specialist ranges, such as Ecos, Earthborn, Georgina Barrow and Auro are available via mail order. There is a wealth of color options in these pre-mixed ranges that include lush shades and muted palettes, reflecting their natural ingredients. Ecos continues to lead the field. It has recently developed Atmosphere Purifying Paint, which absorbs and neutralizes volatile chemicals, solvents and VOCs from the atmosphere in a home.
Get Expert Paint Colour Advice
Thousands of shades may offer unparalleled choice, but of course it can be harder to pinpoint the right one for you. Dulux has responded with the Tailor Made range, which offers an easy-to-use color-scheming chart that works with the 1,200 shades available to mix in-store.
Paint & Paper Library arranges its colors in five shades from light to dark to help select coordinating colors for ceilings, cornices, walls, doors and woodwork. If you are decorating around bold furnishings, such as a sofa or curtains, look at paint colors from the same fabric house as they are most likely to be sympathetic.
Malabar and Designers Guild offer some striking brights while the new Shades of Sanderson comprises 120 colors tailored to Sanderson’s collections. If you are aiming for a more subtle backdrop that will flow through several rooms, it’s wise to stick to neutral shades including Nordic style living room. Kevin McCloud’s Elements of Color for Fired Earth works especially well with our cool, northern light.
Paint Glossary
Distemper — A traditional water-based paint made from animal and natural resins, which dries to a velvety matt finish. Primarily used on ceilings and plaster moldings, and to give furniture an aged effect, but not suitable for areas of high wear. Available to order from specialist companies.
Eggshell — Traditionally refers to an oil-based paint with a silky finish, suitable for interior walls and woodwork. Water-based alternatives are now available.
Flat or Dead-Flat Oil — Provides a completely flat, oil-based finish. Generally used on walls but not suitable for areas of high wear.
Gloss — These paints have a high sheen level and are usually used on woodwork.
Limewash — Made from slaked lime and water, this paint is good for porous surfaces such as brickwork, render and plaster and gives a chalky finish. It is available from specialist companies.
Matt — Describes paints that give a flat, non-reflective finish. It is ideal for walls and ceilings that are not perfectly smooth.
Satin or silk — Water-based vinyl or acrylic paint for walls in high-wear areas, such as hallways and kitchens. A satin finish will be slightly shinier than silk.
Satinwood or semi-gloss — These paints are commonly used on woodwork, such as skirting boards. This sheen level is between eggshell and gloss.
You can find more information on paint and paint finishes and interior design ideas at Home Interior ideas.
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Guess who's experimenting with styles!
This is Pageantry Mother Nature. She is the embodiment of the beauty, rarity, and majesty of nature. She often is found gazing into her own reflection, preening her wings, and painting.
For many species, males have ornate coats and colorings. I thought that it would be fun to kind of embody that! I based her colors off of a peacock, because they're my favorite example of this!
Eco Tip Time!
Opt for paper when you have the chance. Paper is easier to recycle, and can be recycled more times than plastic. So grab that paper bag, use that paper covered notebook! When you're done, it can be recycled many ways! Including making your own paper (we've talked about this before!) or in your curbside bin.
Metal can be recycled (almost) endlessly. Because it has no break down in it's quality like plastic when it's recycled. it can be melted down and reshaped over and over and over. So sip on that can of water! Enjoy your coke in that bright red metal tube! Sip freely! And recycle after! You can also use the thin metal of a soda can to make crafts! But be very careful! Cutting metal can be dangerous.
This may be a little specific, but let's share anyways! If you have something like a Swiffer, you can use rags instead of those single-use pads! Just put your preferred floor cleaner in a spray bottle, secure the rag on there, and swiffer away! If you have the WtfJet swiffer, the one that sprays, you can re-use those little plastic tanks. Take off the cap (I've pulled mine off, it's not as hard as it seems) and refill it! Save your money and the planet!
Did you know vinegar is like, really good for cleaning? I know it's like a huge thing, but it is! Of course, it cant clean everything, but I like it! If you do your own laundry, consider switching from fabric softener to vinegar. It helps keep your clothes soft, it wont smell like vinegar, and in all honesty its supposed to be better for your washer. There are also plastic-free washing detergent now! Tide has their Evo line, there are several other companies who do this too! You can also use powder detergent like oxyclean by itself! Look at your options!
Boycott places! Boycott things! Boycott companies! It is harder and harder these days to make a true impact. Hell, just a bit ago a group of protestors GLUED THEMSELVES to a car-dealership floor and no one seemed to care they were even there. But you know where it really hurts? Profits. Do not give them your money. Tell others about it. Talk about it online. Spread the word. Even just one person can make a difference. Of course, do not harass the workers of the places you don't like. And if it's between your wellbeing and the boycott, choose your wellbeing.
Base
#digital art#drawing#my little pony#base art#base edit#friendship is magic#mother nature#earth month#mlp#procreate
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Cooking with cast iron pan
We often hear about cooking on cast iron, but what does it mean to use it? What are the advantages? Is cooking food really that different?
Let's understand better what material we are talking about and what are the characteristics that make it so useful in the kitchen:
What is Cast Iron?
Cast iron is a metal alloy formed by fusion, which occurs at high temperatures, of iron and carbon.
Cast iron is a classic material, used since ancient times, which is making a comeback in modern times thanks to technological improvements and a return to healthy cooking.
Cast iron grill pans or pans have a great advantage over traditional cooking tools, which is why they can be used on any type of hob, including induction. The latter is increasingly popular in our kitchens.
Why choose cast iron in the kitchen?
There are many excellent reasons for choosing to cook with cast iron pans, first of all, its extraordinary ability to spread heat evenly over the entire surface of the pan and keep it constant for long periods.
Another reason by no means negligible is that of saving energy. Cast iron pans, having by their nature the ability to accumulate heat and then release it slowly, will allow you to use a small burner, turn off the heat before the end of cooking and then complete cooking with the heat off.
A further advantage given by the choice of cast iron is that of allowing the perfect success of the Maillard reaction, giving your dishes unparalleled appearance, flavors, and aromas!
Is cooking on cast iron bad?
Cast iron is a natural material and if not treated with chemical non-stick coatings, it does no harm, has no contraindications, and is not carcinogenic, indeed cooking on bare cast iron, such as that of GHISANATIVA, which therefore does not undergo chemical treatments to make the surfaces non-stick it is healthy and wholesome because foods in direct contact with cast iron absorb iron, an essential element for our body.
On the market, there are cast iron pots with non-stick treatments, so it is good to read the instructions very carefully before making a purchase.
How to use cast iron pots and pans correctly?
Cast iron, being a material composed mostly of iron, has the advantage of being able to be used on any heat source: from an open flame to an oven, to electric hobs, a barbecue, wood up to the most modern and comfortable induction hobs.
Cast iron has the advantage of allowing versatile cooking ranging from fast cooking with intense heat to slow cooking with diffused heat.
You can also indulge yourself with the cooking methods: you can roast, caramelize, bake in the oven, and grill. With the grooved cast iron grill pans, you will get those beautiful lines on the meat, so appreciated by all.
The first use of cast iron: practical advice
Before using it for cooking your food, it is a good idea to carry out a series of very simple steps: wash the plate by hand and dry it well and then heat it on a heat source. When it is hot, you can grease the whole surface with a drizzle of oil and dry it with absorbent kitchen paper.
This procedure prepares the cast iron for subsequent cooking, the more you use it and the greater the layer that will be created like a film which will make it increasingly non-stick. And now you can start cooking!
GHISANATIVA, to offer you a product of excellence, already takes care of the preconditioning treatment of the pan in the company. It is a technique used since the fourth century BC to make iron objects more resistant and preserve them from oxidation. A thin layer of olive oil is applied manually with a brush with vegetable bristles to deeply nourish the ferrous material, after which the oil is polymerized in the oven at a temperature of 400°C. The result is a perfect non-stick surface without having to resort to enamel synthetics and paints.
Treating and cleaning cast iron: dishwasher yes or no?
Cast iron pots are very resistant, proper maintenance allows the dishes to last a lifetime. Cleaning must preferably be done by hand and even in case of food burnt we can follow these steps:
remove food from the pan
sprinkle the surface with baking soda and pour a glass of water
bring everything to a boil then leave to cool
wash and dry well
During rinsing it is recommended to use warm water and a little soap, possibly delicate, ecological, and odorless. The only indication is to not use an excessively abrasive sponge.
Finally, before putting it away, it is recommended to reuse a small amount of oil on the entire surface to better preserve it, especially in anticipation of long periods of inactivity.
Related Articles:
https://thehomerepair.wordpress.com/2023/01/29/how-to-choose-non-stick-frying-pans/
https://thehomerepair.wordpress.com/2021/06/25/in-depth-interpretation-of-the-principle-of-non-stick-pans-and-the-reasons-for-quality-differences/
https://loveyourself-n-blog.tumblr.com/post/707781870439514112/non-stick-frying-pans-the-best-professional
https://loveyourself-n-blog.tumblr.com/post/673891698375557120/when-to-change-a-pan-and-other-kitchen-utensils
http://thekitchenandbath.weebly.com/blog/how-to-clean-and-maintain-cast-iron-pans
http://thekitchenandbath.weebly.com/blog/cooking-utensils-tips
http://thekitchenandbath.weebly.com/blog/how-to-make-the-pan-not-stickprevent-pans-from-sticking
http://thekitchenandbath.weebly.com/blog/how-to-use-a-frying-pan-for-the-first-time
https://kitchenrenoation.yolasite.com/
https://sea-salt-n-fresh-air-blog.tumblr.com/post/707782282797285376/non-stick-pans-our-advice-for-not-ruining-them
https://sea-salt-n-fresh-air-blog.tumblr.com/post/676073385618538496/which-kitchen-utensils-are-more-or-less-healthy
https://sea-salt-n-fresh-air-blog.tumblr.com/post/651536513963868160/8-non-stick-frying-pan-brands-coated-and
https://kitchen-utensils-and-gadget.jimdosite.com/
https://bathandkitchenstore.blogspot.com/2021/05/talking-about-health-risks-of-non-stick.html
https://ollerterry.wixsite.com/kitchenfaucetbrand/single-post/how-to-clean-and-store-non-stick-pans
https://ollerterry.wixsite.com/kitchenfaucetbrand/single-post/we-recommended-13-non-stick-pan-brands-that-appear-frequently-on
https://www.mioola.com/thehomeadvise.com/
http://kitchenstyle.wikidot.com/
https://bestcheapsinkfaucets.quora.com/Iron-pan-instructions-for-use-and-cleaning
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love café
⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader
⚬ word count: 17.6K
⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess!
⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you.
✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not.
✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!
It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.
You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.
But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?
Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.
Even if it meant going to the Love Café.
In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.
You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.
The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.
“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”
Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.
Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.
“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”
“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”
“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”
At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.
You couldn’t believe he was here.
No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?
His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.
Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.
“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”
He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.
“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.
Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”
Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.
“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”
Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.
“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”
“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”
It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.
“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”
“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.
Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.
Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”
Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”
“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”
“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”
Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”
You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.
To a degree, you were correct.
Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.
And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.
Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.
“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.
You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.
Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.
“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”
Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.
“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.
Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.
“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.
Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.
“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.
“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”
“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.
“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.
One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.
Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.
Except, you needed access to a computer.
Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.
He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.
“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“And I didn’t expect to see you.”
He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”
You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”
“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”
At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.
“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”
“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”
“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”
Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.
“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”
“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.
Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.
In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.
While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.
Tired. Aching.
Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.
An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.
Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.
Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”
The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.
Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.
Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.
“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”
He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.
“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”
Swallowing dryly, you nodded.
“Alright.”
The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.
Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.
You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”
Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.
You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.
He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.
“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.
You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”
Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”
“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”
The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”
“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”
Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”
Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.
It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.
“It’s better than nothing, right?”
“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”
“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”
“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”
“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.
At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”
Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.
As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.
“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.
You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”
“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”
“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”
“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”
“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”
“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”
You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”
Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.
“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”
Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.
“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”
“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”
“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”
Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.
“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”
Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”
For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.
“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”
He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”
You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.
“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”
Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”
“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”
“The Shower what?”
He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”
When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.
But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.
“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”
His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.
“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”
He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes, as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.
“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”
Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.
“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”
“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”
Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.
“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”
You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.
“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"
At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.
“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.
He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”
“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”
He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.
“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.
Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.
“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.
“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.
He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”
“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”
“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.
“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.
Twelve am.
Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.
However, tonight was different.
Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.
“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.
You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”
Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”
“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.
And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.
“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”
“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”
At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.
The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.
“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”
“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”
Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.
“I figured that.”
Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.
After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.
“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”
Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.
“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”
You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.
“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.
It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.
Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.
“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”
You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”
Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”
“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”
Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.
“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”
“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”
“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”
“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.
Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.
However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.
“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”
“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”
Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.
“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”
For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.
Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”
“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”
It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.
You raised an eyebrow, “what?”
“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”
“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.
Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”
“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.
“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”
“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”
His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”
The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.
“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”
You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”
“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”
The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.
“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.
“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.
Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”
“The red velvet cake?”
“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”
“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”
“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”
He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”
While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.
“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.
As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.
“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.
You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”
He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”
The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.
“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.
Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.
“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.
You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.
Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.
“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”
Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.
Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.
“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”
“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”
The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”
Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.
“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.
You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.
“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”
Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.
You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).
As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.
After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.
But you didn’t want to stop yourself.
In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.
[ 9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but
[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?
Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.
[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.
Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.
However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.
And he was holding a drink.
You unlocked the door.
“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”
He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”
“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.
“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”
“You’re lucky that’s correct.”
Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.
“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”
“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”
“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.
He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”
“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”
Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”
“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”
Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.
“Later!” He’d called.
Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.
How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?
Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.
Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.
“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”
With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.
Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”
“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.
After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”
“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.
Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”
Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.
His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.
“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”
“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.
And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.
Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.
“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.
The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.
“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”
He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.
The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.
“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.
“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”
You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.
Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.
Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.
That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.
An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.
“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”
Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.
“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”
At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.
And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.
You told him you’d changed your mind.
When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.
Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.
“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.
Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”
“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”
You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”
Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.
“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”
The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.
Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”
“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”
He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.
You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”
Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”
Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.
And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.
Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.
She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.
They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.
Joshua bumped your elbow.
“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”
With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”
“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.
He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.
Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.
“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.
The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”
You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”
“Just shush up and try this.”
He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.
Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”
After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.
“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”
“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.
“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”
Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”
“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.
At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.
His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.
“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.
“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”
You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.
Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.
It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”
“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”
Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”
“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”
At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.
“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”
He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”
“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”
“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”
“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.
“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”
And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.
You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.
It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.
Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.
Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.
On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.
“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”
“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.
Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.
But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.
After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.
“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”
For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”
Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.
“Well,” you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"
“I love you.”
“… What?”
“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”
It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.
Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.
Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”
“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”
“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”
Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”
Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.
“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”
He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.
“I guess we do.”
You grabbed it politely.
Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”
“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.
As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.
“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”
You looked at your alarm clock.
“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”
Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.
“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”
Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.
No, you could not stay here.
Not when your future was with Jeonghan.
✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!
#caratwritersclub#jeonghan scenarios#seventeen scenarios#svt fanfic#jeonghan fanfic#seventeen smut#jeonghan smut#seventeen jeonghan#svt smut#yoon jeonghan#svt x reader#jeonghan x reader
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All Flowers
AN: Jungkook stays, you’re smitten, and he’s fond of more than just the novels on your bookshelf. 1.6k words (feedback is always appreciated!)
You hum softly to yourself, headphones in, taking the weight of your shopping bags in a single hand as you searched for your house key.
Your face flushes when you notice the combat boots inside the entryway. Jungkook’s coat hanging on one of the hooks. You hear the sink in your bathroom turn on as you place all the bags on the kitchen counter. Your movements are slow, focusing on the way your heart beat is increasing, realizing he stayed. He stayed. It felt like validation after a week of your thoughts being consumed by him, and then last night happened. A new truth setting in that you would have a hard time letting him go.
You���re removing your headphones when the bathroom door opens. A smile spreads across his face, skin bare and dewy. “Hey, how was your morning?”
Your mouth gapes, struggling to lace together a single, coherent sentence. The man before you wastes no time as he moves forward, pressing his lips against your forehead. “Can I help you unpack? I know I don’t know where anything goes yet.”
Yet, he said. Yet as in one day he would know the drawers and cabinets in your apartment like the back of his hand. Yet, he said, like kissing your forehead when you get home would become a daily routine. The idea of the single action not stimulating goosebumps left you shocked, yet completely hopeful.
“How about the cold groceries? That should be easy enough, right?”
Jungkook nods enthusiastically. His eagerness to help leaves your heart fluttering.
“I didn’t expect... I mean, you’re still here.”
Your gaze falls on him briefly, biting back a smile in adoration as he chooses items to put away. You stand to your tippy toes, looking into the canvas bags and collecting the jar of peanut butter and cereal box.
Jungkook opens the fridge behind you, placing the yogurt and milk into the places he deemed fit, managing to get each one right.
“I almost left, a few times actually. I even wrote something to leave on your pillow, but I saw this book on your shelf about plants and insects. Then I was reading the poetry book with your handwriting in the margins, and admiring the view from your balcony— is that ok?”
His eyes are wide. The nervousness evident on his features. You close the cabinet, and rest your hip against the edge of the granite. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip before pushing yourself away from the corner of the kitchen. You walk across the tile floor until you’re standing directly in front of Jungkook. His nerves diminish your own, and you place your hand on his waist, feeling his toned abdomen beneath your palm.
“Stay. Always stay. Read every book on my shelf, and write little notes if you feel like it. Hell, play the xbox or play station, whatever that box is beside my tv, for hours if you want to. I like having you here, Jungkook.”
“You like having me here.” It’s not a question, but a verbal reassurance for himself, repeating your words and enjoying the way they sound.
You nod anyways, rubbing your thumb against his covered skin. “Don’t lose this bashfulness too soon, ok? It’ll take me some time to catch up with the confidence that I know is in there.” Your pointer finger meets Jungkook’s chest, and his head falls back in time with his laughter.
You work in tandem, finishing the groceries. Your feet padding against the hard wood as you move with ease to put away toiletries and new bathroom towels. Jungkook trims the stems off the flowers in the bouquet you purchased, while you search for a vase.
“I swear I have one. My mom sent me one last Spring.” You’re bent over at the waist, searching through the cabinet beneath your sink. “Does a jar work?”
You stand up again, and move to your closet, finding the largest mason jar you own.
“I can make anything work.” Fingertips brush your hand at the exchange, “You don’t get flowers often do you?”
You bump your shoulder against Jungkook’s forearm, coming up short beside him and mirroring his smile. You could feel the color and warmth rising to your cheeks, too. There was something about this mundane action being shared together, in daylight. It was a refreshing moment to add to the memories stacking up in your mind, feeling different in comparison to the nights already spent together.
You fill the jar with water, and place it in front of him, jumping to sit on the granite. “I do buy flowers, but sometimes they never make it out of the paper wrapping. Other days I pluck off all the petals and put them in the bath, maybe arrange them on my bed if I’m feeling fancy.”
Jungkook chuckles, completely endeared. Your head falls to the side, noticing the depth in this laugh, compared to the previous squeak, wondering if there were others you had yet to hear.
“I’ll buy you a real vase, and next time we’ll do this together so you’ll know how, just in case you decide to leave the petals on the flowers.”
You lift your hand, messing up his hair. Jungkook’s cupreous eyes lock with yours, flashing starlight before his focus returns to the jar and flowers in front of him.
“What about you?” You wonder aloud.
The edge of Jungkook’s lip lifts up as he finishes the arrangement. “What about me?”
“How do you know how to do this? You look like a natural.”
“I’ve done it with my hyungs, but I also grew up watching my mom arrange bouquets when I got home from school. Almost every Tuesday she’d go to the market. I was intrigued by simple things back then.”
“You’re not anymore?”
Jungkook shakes his head, pushing the jar to the middle of the counter. He crosses his arms and sighs gently. “I wouldn’t say that, but life isn’t always flowers, is it?”
Your head cocks to the side, taking him in. Your expression softening. A curiosity taking over as you accept your wanting to know him.
“You better stick around, Jungkook. I’m no where near done with you.”
He places his hands on your thighs, coming to stand between your legs. His lips meet your forehead again, and you lean into him, feeling his smile on your skin.
“Be careful what you say, bug. I’m already quite fond of your bookshelf.”
He pulls away and you giggle, squeezing his bicep. “Is that all you’re fond of?”
Jungkook tucks his hair behind his ears, earrings sparkling, “should there be something else?” He squeezes your leg gently. “No, I’m fond of you. Much more fond of you.”
“I’ll try not to get too confident then.”
I’m sure I can make your life all flowers if you let me.
Your hand comes to rest against the side of his neck. Your thumb grazing his jawline before you lean in, stopping centimeters away from his pink lips, hoping Jungkook will close the distance.
When he does, you’re reminded why the last week had been taken up by the excitement of seeing him again: if, when, how. And then last night happened, and it felt like magic: the two of you together. You thought you loved Jungkook’s lips in shadows as candlelight cut through the darkness, but you didn’t mind his touch in the early afternoon either.
You loved the gentle notes of his cologne, and the way his jeans hugged his hips and thighs. You admired his oversized shirt, knowing what sculpted beauty laid underneath. Moreover, you loved how he chose to spend his free time here: learning about you, familiarizing himself with your space, trimming flowers, because you weren’t the only one smitten.
Your fingers meet, colliding as they card through dark locks. His right hand leaves your thigh to caress your cheek. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling Jungkook flush against you.
Your kisses slow, savoring each other’s lips before inhaling breaths. You lean forward once more, catching the corner of his mouth as your eyes open. “When can I see you again?” He asks, tracing the shell of your ear, intimately.
“I work all week until 4:30, but I’m all yours any time after that.”
“Are you off Sunday morning? I’m not bad in the kitchen, can make a mean French toast.”
You nod, biting your lip to cover a smile. “Sunday, then. I’m all yours, Jungkook.”
“Ok, Sunday.” And just like that, his eyes flash with childlike glee, and you’re sensing those butterflies in your stomach all over again.
“What am I going to do with you?” Your forehead falls to rest against his shoulder, savoring the final moments before he’s set to leave.
“Why do you say that?” His words meet your ear in a hum; a comforting cadence.
Finally giving into your smile, “I have a feeling about you.” A damn good one, too.
Jungkook’s fingertips run up and down the length of your back, and you breathe easily against his chest. Your temple meeting his clavicle.
A few months had transpired since you met Jungkook for the first time. Your paths crossed in midnight rendezvous and dinners with mutual friends, until today. You had a habit of rewarding your maintained distance, labeling it as self preservation, but all you felt now was comfort, safety, and security. The voice that always accompanied past possibilities of love, with a blaring alarm, was no where to be found.
Emotions grew with every moment spent in Jungkook’s company. You could tell it would not take long before small sparks of love consumed you entirely. It began in candlelit rooms, but grew over French toast and flower petals, as his unknowns and simple quirks became your favorite things.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading!
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Lucien and Victor With A S/o Who Deals With Discrimination
Thank you @dummys-fics for the request!
As someone who is not only a minority, but is currently living in a place where they’re seen as “strange” or an oddity, I completely understand this 2000%. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to go through such things.
I will say I did use my own experiences and the experiences of others for this, so fair warning for those who don’t want to read such a subject. I did try to make it as vague as possible so that many of us can relate.
Warning: Microaggression/Discrimination/Racism
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Victor
Rude remarks and not so subtle stares pertaining to your appearance were things you’ve had to deal with ever since you were a child. You spent your whole life being treated different from those around you and usually, you never let things get to you. Usually....
Victor invited you to a charity event that was being thrown by one of his business associates.
You were left alone for a while with Victor promising to return to your side after leaving to talk with someone.
This left you open for people to talk with you. Not only were a well known producer but you were also dating the worlds most sought after CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, so this was to be expected.
However, you felt like you were in a petting zoo and you were the animal. This wasn’t new, but after years of having to deal with this you couldn’t shake the burning hatred you had for people like them.
“Your hair is just so different. How on earth do you manage to wash it?” These magical things called shampoo and conditioner....and water. Please stop touching my hair... “My apologies! Its so...fascinating!”
“Why did you decide to come to this country? Don’t you miss your home?” I was born here just like you. “Ah! So your parents immigrated here? That explains it! You know...I’ve always been on the fence about immigration. So many foreigners come and take ou-”
“Wow! I never thought someone like you would catch Mr. Li’s eye!” Someone like me? “Yes! Its quite surprising that he would choose someone so different.”
In other words, what Victor saw in you was unfathomable to others. No matter how much you spoke like them, lived like them, and acted like them; you were never going to be seen as one of them.
You had to bite the inside of your cheek for that last remark, the urge to runaway growing stronger. You couldn’t embarrass Victor in front of all his colleagues. You just had to suck it up and smile it off until he returned to your side.
Little did you know, Victor was within ear shot and had witnessed your ordeal despite being caught up in a conversation. He knew leaving you alone would be risky, but never did he think the men and women he spent years developing professional relationships with could be so...disgusting.
You feel his warm hands intertwine with yours as he stepped forward. His hard stare finding its way to the person who made the careless statement.
“I have decided to break our contract and will no longer be doing business with you. If you have any questions please direct them to my assistant as I refuse to associate with someone who is as ill-mannered as you.” The person’s mouth hung open as did the rest of the group at Victor’s sudden declaration. “If the rest of you condone this act of disrespect then I’ll have to reconsider our future as partners as well.” And with that, Victor pulls you away, leaving the shocked group behind.
A part of you feels a little bad that Victor had to go that far over you, but the look on their faces was definitely a moment that needed to be framed and put on your wall as a great reminder of how amazing your boyfriend is.
“I honestly feel bad that you lost one of your business partners, but I do appreciate you coming to my aid like that.”
Just like that the world stops. No music from the orchestra or the laughter from guests could be heard. Waiters with trays and wine bottles in hand frozen in place along with the rest of the people.
Victor turns to you with a deep rooted scowl.
“I only did what needed to be done. They have a mindset that is beyond deplorable. I will not have my name or my company be tied to people like that. I also won’t tolerate anyone who dares disrespect you in such a way.”
Overall
Victor will never let anyone disrespect you in any way, shape or form. Now, put racism and/or discrimination on top of that? Best believe, Victor will shut that shit down quick. The way he’ll sue them for everything they’ve got on top of cut their asses up with his sharp tongue and still keep it classy?! Those people are about to be destitute and traumatized.
Lucien
You’re at a café waiting on Lucien to show up for your lunch date. He’s running a little late due to being held up with work, but you don’t mind. You occupy your time by finding random things to do through your phone.
Out of the corner of your eye you notice a group of people, who looked to be university boys, at another table looking over at you every so often before whispering amongst themselves.
When they look over at you for the second time you hear a few chuckles causing your eyebrow twitch. They were definitely talking about you.
One of them pulled out their phone, aiming it in your direction. Ah...so that’s how it is. You experienced this before, on trains mostly. Rude people trying to take a photo of you for whatever weird reason they may have. Usually it was because you were an “anomaly” to them. And they weren’t subtle about taking the pictures at all. You’d be sitting across from them minding your own business and then snap! The loud shutter sound echoing throughout the quiet train.
Sometimes you called people out on their rudeness, cursing them out and seeing their eyes widen and cheeks flush in embarrassment always brought you joy. They probably didn’t anticipate you calling them out and assumed you didn’t speak the language which made things all the more sweeter.
Other times you had no energy to battle with them. You hated how people sometimes looked at you like you had grown two heads and how surprised they were to see you living your life just like them.
This wasn’t the 5th century anymore. People in this country came in all shapes, colors, and sizes. Clearly, these people didn’t get the memo.
Soooo, you were feeling a little petty today.
You were ready let them know they weren’t slick with their antics by flipping them off. Was it a childish move? Yes. Did you care? Not at all.
You make your move just as they took the picture, giving them the angriest look you can muster with your middle finger at the ready.
You watch as the guys all crowd around their friend with the phone and grin as you see their unhappy expressions as they look at the photo.
You smile at your little victory, but that smile quickly turned to confusion when you saw a familiar body looming over the group.
It was...Lucien? You couldn’t hear what was being said but the pure horror that spreads across each individuals face in a matter of seconds indicates those boys were in trouble.
A few seconds later, Lucien is before you shedding himself of his coat to take a seat, the group of boys scurrying out of the café like bats out of hell.
He smiles softly at you as he sits down, completely ignoring the dumbfounded look on your face.
“Forgive my lateness. Did you order already?”
Like hell you were just going to ignore what transpired.
“Do you know them?”
You couldn’t hide your laughter once Lucien informed you those boys were his first year students from one of his lectures. Now, you know you had a bit of pettiness in you, but Lucien is a whole different monster when it comes to dishing out punishment.
“Let me guess, you told them to write a five paged paper on how discrimination effects us and our view of the world due by the weekend?”
Lucien looks up from the menu at you slightly confused.
“Now why would I do that? I’d like to think 10 pages due by tomorrow morning is more fitting.”
Overall
Lucien won’t sit back and watch people disrespect you in anyway. Rest assured that our professor will have those people fearing for their lives all with a smile on his face.
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At Home With Captain America
Fandom: MCU
Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes
Rating: G
Words: 7.7k
Also on AO3
“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”
Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.
This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.
At Home with Captain America
By: Adrien Davis
Published: February 2, 2026, 3:35 PM
To say I’m intimidated by interviewing Captain America in his own home would be an understatement, and I would never have thought to ask if I could do that if he hadn’t personally invited me. Normally, I’d start one of these articles by describing the location, maybe even throw in an anecdote or two about how I got there, but that’s not going to be possible here.
Sam Wilson lives on [REDACTED] in [REDACTED]. It was a windy day.
Here’s what I can tell you: it’s an apartment. A nice one. Two bedroom, two bath.
“Am I allowed to describe the inside of your house?” is one of the first things I say to him, after getting his permission to turn on my recorder.
“Go right ahead,” he laughs, arms crossed over the worn USAF logo on his gray t-shirt. “Just don’t put the street name in there or anything.”
Wilson gives me a moment to poke around. Whoever decorated this place has good taste; it’s no haphazard bachelor pad. There’s an exposed brick wall in the otherwise slate blue living room, several plants (which I assume are fakes—albeit convincing ones—since Wilson is, by his own admission, not home as often as he’d like to be), a sturdy walnut coffee table, and a magnificently squishy-looking red couch.
It’s unmistakably lived in, though. I don’t get the sense that the place has been scrubbed spotless or particularly arranged for my visit. There are two abandoned mugs on coasters sitting on the coffee table, along with several different remote controls, and a stack of half-finished books with dog-eared corners. A pile of mail has been pushed to the side. Next to the door, a wall-mounted coat rack holds several leather jackets in shades of brown and black, and at least as many sweaters, mostly navy blue, charcoal and maroon. The shoe rack underneath houses multiple pairs of black combat boots, worn running shoes, house slippers. And next to that, on the floor, a large, gleaming silver case with red detail that could only contain Wilson’s Falcon wingpack. The legendary shield is propped up against it, ready to go at a moment’s notice.
I’m trying to imagine how it would be to leave the house for him. Got my keys, wings, phone, shield, wallet?
There are pictures on the walls and the mantle above the fireplace, under the television. People who I can only assume are Wilson’s relatives by their similarly gap-toothed smiles. Veterans. Wilson in full air force gear next to a blond man I don’t recognize. Then Captain Steve Rogers, in the 1940s with the Howling Commandos, and in the twenty-first century by himself. Wilson with Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff. One conspicuously empty nail where a large frame would clearly fit.
Scattered among these are several very old, dour black and white photographs of a dark-haired family. The first shows a mother, father and two small children, a boy and girl. The second is the mother and children only, taken some time after, judging by their apparent ages. The third is several years later still; the same children with light eyes and dark hair, but they’re teeangers now, and without parents. They look haunting and out-of-place among the glossy prints of Wilson’s big, happy family in matching 80s colorblocked tracksuits, or Wilson and his sisters in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by wrapping paper and toys.
There’s also a wood-framed painting that stands out: an idyllic watercolor of a little farmhouse with a green roof and shuttered windows in a field. A small pile of lumber and a white mailbox make up the foreground. The most distinctive feature is the signature at the bottom: S.G.R. I know those initials.
“Captain Rogers painted this?”
“Uh huh,” Wilson nods fondly, hands now in his pockets. “Man of many talents. Maybe every talent. Having a hard time thinking of anything he wasn’t good at.”
I hear the unstated in that. A tough act to follow.
I think, for purposes of journalistic integrity, I should probably insert my bias before we go any further. We had never met before this interview, but I am and have always been enormously supportive of Captain Wilson and the work he’s done, and have written myriad articles and think pieces about him over the past several years. He’s shown himself time and again to be a man of unshakable integrity and endless emotional intelligence, and frankly, I’m more worried about the poor sucker who’s going to have to follow Wilson. Rogers did a lot of great things, but among the best of them was choosing a successor.
I tell him as much and he smiles, looking down at his shoes.
“Yeah, I know that’s how you feel,” he says. “I requested you for this piece, actually, because of that. People are going to accuse me of wanting a softball interview here, and maybe they’re right. For this one, I think that’s what I need.”
I’m not sure what he means by that, but he continues before I can ask.
“We should probably do this in the kitchen.” Wilson indicates behind us with his thumb, after I’ve stood silently in his living room for probably way too long. “That couch is too comfortable. I end up falling asleep every time I sit on it.”
The kitchen is, perhaps, a little cramped. There’s a large, dark marble-topped kitchen island that just fits in the center of the room with four bar stools tucked under it. The cabinets are tall, with glass doors showcasing a massive collection of healthy, but non-perishable food. The shelf nearest us holds several well-used bags of pantry supplies: chickpea flour, arrowroot starch, raw sugar. There’s a pasta shelf above it, but no Kraft Mac in sight; everything is lentil-based, chickpea-based, black bean-based.
“Have a seat,” Wilson says, inclining his head towards one of the barstools. “Can I get you something to drink?” He opens the refrigerator.
“We have…” he pauses. “Water. Sorry, just got back from Ecuador this morning. Sparkling or still?”
I accept a glass of still water from Captain America. He sits down on the stool next to mine.
His house, or what I’ve seen of it, is homey in a way I can’t imagine any of the late Tony Stark’s buildings ever were, and I mention this.
“I lived at the Avengers Tower briefly,” Wilson tells me. “Tony liked everything streamlined, really modern. Kinda sparse for my taste. I needed some real furniture when I got out of there, you know? Like, things that were made by human beings. Stuff with ‘character,’ that’s what Steve would call it.”
“So you decorated this place?”
“I think it’s about fifty-fifty,” Wilson says, indicated with vague hand motion.
This is my in.
This interview, as you may have read on the cover description, is actually intended to be an exposé about the working partnership between Wilson and Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought him up first.
All I knew going in is that they’re a package deal in the field, a unit. We’ve all seen the footage.
Also, Barnes lives here too, but evidently, he’s not home.
“What can you tell me about how you got to know the Winter Soldier?”
Wilson chuckles. “The first time I met Buck—Sergeant Barnes—he ripped the steering wheel out of the car I was driving on the freeway. He got on the roof, punched through the windshield, pulled the steering wheel off. Just like that.” He mimes with his hands as he describes it.
This doesn’t sound like an auspicious beginning to me, but Wilson is laughing.
“I hope he apologized to you for that,” I tell him, because I’m not exactly sure how else to respond.
“Oh yeah, of course he did, even though he knows I don’t blame him for it. He doesn’t remember it at all,” says Wilson. “There are a lot of gaps, to be honest. Most of it is gaps.”
What Wilson is likely referring to here is the decades-long period in which Barnes was under the complete mental and physical influence of the Nazi splinter group known as HYDRA. If you’re unfamiliar with the history of Sergeant Barnes, I’ll list a couple of great articles for you to read at the end of this one. I assure you, it’s worth your time.
Wilson has without a doubt been Barnes’s most ardent supporter. He’s spoken out many times about not judging Barnes based on the actions he couldn’t control, and has masterfully refocused the national conversation towards Barnes’s invaluable contributions in World War II and in the recent war to bring half the universe’s population back into existence. Wilson has been quoted as saying, “The least extraordinary thing about Sergeant Barnes is his vibranium arm.”*
But perhaps Wilson’s most effective act towards building public confidence in Barnes was his decision to designate him as an almost exclusive mission partner. Even if the general populace has been reluctant to trust the Winter Soldier, it is abundantly clear that Captain America does, absolutely. Barnes is a constant in the footage of Wilson’s exploits. The moment he touches down on the ground after a successful arrest or negotiation, Barnes is right there. He’s been sighted treating Wilson’s minor injuries, tightening straps on the Falcon wingsuit before Wilson takes flight, and he stands quietly behind Wilson during almost all of his many public appearances.
Despite his ubiquitous presence in Wilson’s company, Barnes has remained elusive for comment. He has no social media, and the only public statement he’s made to date was in November of 2023, in support of Rogers’s decision to pass on the legacy of Captain America. Barnes expressed his categorical agreement that Wilson is “the best and only choice for this job,” describing him as both “worthy of the honor,” and “equipped for the burden.”**
“Is it fair to say that Sergeant Barnes almost comes with the shield?” I ask.
Wilson makes a face.
“No, it isn’t,” he shakes his head. “The shield is an accessory; my partner is not. I really don’t like it when people lump him in with the shield. It sort of minimizes how Bucky and I have made a series of conscious choices to be the way we are now. Especially because he’s experienced being fully stripped of his personal autonomy—as a veteran, I can say I’ve had a taste of that, but nothing like what he’s been through—and I think it cheapens his choice to do what he does if we imply that he, as a person, is a package deal with my title, you know?”
The therapist in Wilson is showing. In addition to his decorated military history and service as Captain America, he has a background in psychology, and a Masters degree in Social Work with a focus on Veterans’ mental health issues. He’s worked extensively with the VA as a leader in group therapy.
“So Sergeant Barnes is by your side day in and day out because he wants to be?”
This, Wilson has another unequivocal answer for. “Yes. He wants to be there, and I want him there. And here at home.”
“Tell me a little more about that,” I say. “After the...steering-wheel-stealing incident. Once he was more or less himself. Did you two hit it off right away?”
Wilson laughs again. “Not at all,” he says. “I think there was this resentment, kind of, in the beginning. Like I’m Steve’s best friend and no, I’m Steve’s best friend. Real elementary school stuff. He really got on my nerves; just everything about him annoyed me, and the feeling was mutual. Looking back…”
And here Wilson pauses for a moment. He chews on his bottom lip, and I notice all at once how nervous his body language has become. His fingers are drumming on the table, the line of his shoulders is taut, his leg is bouncing. He clears his throat though, and seems determined to continue.
“Looking back, I can see where it was coming from. It wasn’t clear to me at the time, but now I get it. There was this one time, it was during the fight over the Accords. We barely knew each other at this point. Buck and I, we’re fighting Spider-Man—who neither of us had ever even heard of before, like, that afternoon—and he pins us to the floor of this hangar with that goo he shoots out of his wrist. Really gross. I manage to get Redwing [Wilson’s drone] to fling Spider-Man out the window. So we’re just laying there, me and Bucky, stuck. And he goes ‘you couldn’t have done that before?’ And I just turn to him, and I’m like, ‘I hate you.’”
At this, Wilson really starts cracking up. He relaxes visibly, just a little.
“Did you mean it?”
“I sure thought I did,” he says, still chuckling. “Like, I wasn’t about to take it back.”
He continues: “Anyway, so after Steve, you know, passed on the shield to me, that’s when things really changed. Actually, back up a second. After the whole Accords incident, we ended up sending Bucky to Wakanda for like… to hear him describe it, it’s like we sent him for a two-year spa retreat. They unscrambled his brain as best they could—and really, I think it’s a good thing they couldn’t do any more because I wouldn’t wish some of his memories on my worst enemy—and he spent like months meditating in a hut and milking goats and going to therapy every day. When I met up with him again, I barely would’ve recognized him.”
“So that’s kind of when you guys reconciled? The arguing stopped?”
“Oh, it never stopped,” Wilson says with a grin. “We still argue all the time, about all kinds of things. Just ask Rhodey [Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, aka War Machine] or Scott [Lang, Ant-Man] or anybody. But the dynamic shifted a little, I think. Bucky’s got… Like I can’t imagine some of the stuff he’s been through, but he’s just kind of learned to roll with it. He is hands down the most resilient person I have ever met. Easily. It was real hard to keep hating him when he was so dead set on getting me to like him, too.”
“Can you walk me through the process by which you two decided to live together?”
“Yeah,” he says, and the nervousness is back. He smooths his hands on his thighs over his jeans. “So, basically, once I got the shield, we’d just barely come back. Like everyone else who got… I—I still don’t know if this is like an okay question to ask people. Do you mind me asking if you were dusted?”
I don’t mind. “Yeah, I was.”
“So you get it,” Wilson says. “Might be the most vulnerable I’d ever felt. I got nothing. Nowhere to go, just the clothes on my back. Then Steve hands me this shield and this enormous legacy—and I look back and there’s Bucky, standing a couple of yards behind me, nodding like, yeah, it should be you. He was the first person who knew, and he’s been right by my side ever since.”
“So you decided to stick together?”
“The original conversation about it was pretty logistical,” Wilson says, rubbing his beard. “There was so much going on, it’s hard to remember exactly what was said, but I think it was along the lines of him offering to fetch the shield for me while I learned how to throw it, and stuff like that. Just easier to do when we’re together 24/7.”
“So rooming together didn’t actually grow out of field partnerships?”
“It was definitely the other way around,” says Wilson. “Basically, I’d get a call from the powers that be that there was something I had to go check out, and it was easier to just walk across the hall than to pick someone else, try to wake them up, and then have to rendez-vous and strategize.”
“I’ll bet,” I say.
Wilson nods. “Easier and faster. Bucky can go from dead asleep to fully geared up in under three minutes. The first few times were like that, with me just knocking on his bedroom door like ‘hey, I need—’ and he comes barreling out covered in knives thirty seconds later like, ‘where are we going?’ We just… clicked. And I’ll be honest; I was really surprised. He’s got my six, I’ve got his, and I never question it. I started asking for him specifically on all my assignments after that, and Fury [Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.] and everyone caught on quick that that’s how it was gonna be. I don’t have to ask anymore.”
“Do you see this continuing long term?” I ask.
Wilson doesn’t hesitate. “Definitely.”
“How would you describe your relationship with Sergeant Barnes now?” I ask. “Clearly you’re partners in the field, and roommates, but…”
Wilson takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking, but he clasps them together in front of him and looks me straight in the eye.
“As of last month,” he says slowly, “Bucky and I are married.”
In the spirit of my interview with Captain America, who stands for honesty and justice and integrity, I think you deserve to know the truth. I want to say that I didn’t drop my recorder, but I did. It clatters to the floor, luckily undamaged.
That startles Wilson into a laugh. For the second it takes me to retrieve my recorder from under my seat, I wonder if he’s kidding.
“Come on,” he says. “Say something. I’m getting nervous.” He’s smiling, but not joking.
“Congratulations,” I blurt out. “I...really?”
“Yeah.” The tension leaves his body in a rush. “We, uh, it’s official.”
I’m struggling for questions at this point. The talking points I was planning on hitting in this interview are all suddenly moot, and I decide to throw out my mental to-do list entirely. I finally settle on, “How long have you two been together?”
“A little over two years,” Wilson answers. “About three months after I took up the shield.”
“How did it happen?”
Wilson grins. “Uh, well. I had sort of been…having feelings about him, you know, for awhile. Actually, it’s more like I had noticed that I was having more-than-friendly feelings in the few weeks leading up to that. I think the main reason we had so much trouble getting along in the beginning is that it took some time to process those feelings as attraction. So in a way, I was interested on some level right from the get go.”
“Even if that person wasn’t...behind the wheel of their own brain, so to speak—” I start, but Wilson interjects.
“I see what you did there.”
“—I think it would take a lot for me to be attracted to someone who had previously tried to kill me.”
“Less than I would’ve expected, that’s for sure,” Wilson says. “But it’s not like I was checking him out while he was busy tearing my wings off my back; I’m talking about once he was mentally present in his body. That was like...two years after the whole steering wheel incident, and I hadn’t seen him at all in the interim. I didn’t even know where he was during that time.”
“So it had at least been awhile since he had tried to kill you?”
“Oh yeah. And plenty of other people tried to kill me in those two years, and they weren’t even sorry about it. You gotta adjust your standards, you know?” he says with a laugh.
“Anyway, if you ask him, he says he’s been all in since the moment he saw me back in Wakanda after his little vacation. Now we’re talking about four years since the steering wheel thing. Me, Steve, Nat and everybody; we landed in Wakanda and Bucky’s there. He and I look at each other over Steve’s shoulder, and like, bam, that was it for him.
“And then there’s five years where neither of us exist. We get back, we fight the monsters, Steve gives me the shield, and while all this is happening, apparently Bucky has come to the conclusion that he’s in love with me. After that, he was just waiting for me to catch up.”
“And he just knew you’d get there? Did you give him any indication that you were interested, or…?”
“I definitely did, but not intentionally,” says Wilson. “He’s very perceptive—like way more than I was giving him credit for—but I think it’s a combination of that and me not being as subtle as I think I am.
“Because, see there’s this invisible line I’ve drawn here—at least that’s how he was thinking about it—and I keep dancing a little closer to that line every day, the line being the no homo line; the point where you can’t take it back. The flirting, I mean. I, of course, think he has no clue and that I’m being slick about it. Actually, lemme ask—how much detail are you looking for here? Like do you want to know the whole story or just—”
“Lay it on me,” I tell him. “Just however you want to tell it.”
“Alright. Where was I? So I’m just there going back and forth on whether or not it’s a good idea to risk this roommate-partner-buddy thing we’ve got going here by trying to make a move that, frankly, I have no clue if he’s gonna be receptive to. You have to remember we’re talking about a guy from the Great Depression here, like that’s the time period he grew up in. I’m no historian, but I think it’s common knowledge that if you were a man who was attracted to men back then, you mostly kept that to yourself. The chances of him bringing up his sexual orientation unprompted are very low. And like, I’m 90% sure I’ve caught him looking before, but that’s never a guarantee, you know?
“So, instead of sitting down and having a mature conversation about my feelings, I keep doing this thing where, for example, say he’s trying something new with his hair, and I’ll say something nice about it. And then I follow up immediately with, ‘Almost makes up for your ugly mug,’ or whatever, which—I mean, he’s such a good-looking guy, like what ugly mug, obviously I don’t mean that. And he’s not stupid, he knows what he looks like. So he picks up on what I’m doing, doesn’t say anything, and lets this go on for months.
“Eventually, there’s one night… We’re on the couch, watching like, I don’t know, Seinfeld or something. Whatever was on. He’s reading a book on my tablet, looking all relaxed and handsome. I can’t have that, so I start egging him on like I usually do, and I guess I got close enough to the line that he just puts the tablet down, turns to me and says, ‘Sam, you know there’s no line, right?’
“And I’m going, okay, what does that mean? Like, is this a conversation I was previously a part of and forgot or...? Where is this ‘line’ thing coming from? And so I ask him—I think I just said, ‘What?’ At that point he looks me right in the eye, and he goes, ‘You can kiss me if you want to.’” So I did, and he was ready for it, like no hesitation. Like I said: waiting for me to catch up.”
This, as you can imagine, is far beyond the level of detail I could have ever imagined I’d get about Captain America’s love life in my wildest dreams. I decide to ask a new question, because I feel like I’d be pushing my luck to delve further when he’s already been so open about this experience.
“Who proposed and when?”
“Ooh,” says Wilson, “I guess technically I did, but I’m gonna go on record saying that one was a group effort.”
“Well, now you’re gonna have to explain that,” I tell him. “What’s a ‘group effort’ proposal look like?”
“Hmm. I backed myself into that one, didn’t I?” he says. “First, I want the record to show that before I called you guys to set up this interview, I specifically asked Bucky if there were any us-related topics or whatever that were off-limits to discuss and he said ‘No,’ and I said, ‘Are you sure?’ and he said ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ and I said, “You better be sure, because whatever I say is gonna be public knowledge after that,” and he said “I know, I get it, Jesus.” Then I dropped it because he sounded like he was getting kinda irritated. If he didn’t want me to tell you any of this stuff, that would’ve been the time to speak up, so here we go:
“We were at… Well, I can’t tell you exactly where we were, but let’s just say we were working. There was nobody else in the room, but we were getting ready to go out in the field; seemed like it was gonna be a pretty...intense situation out there. I had my whole suit on, he was calibrating his arm, and the conversation ended up at living wills. As you can imagine, that’s an important thing to have when you’re in this line of work. So he proceeded to tell me that the last time he’d updated his was never and that his next-of-kin was nobody. And I was like, ‘So what, your grenade launchers are all gonna go to the state? I don’t even get the red one?’ and I’m just giving him a hard time, you know, and he’s like, ‘Sam.’
“And then, my god, he just goes all the way off about how much he loves me and trusts me and I—we don’t usually go there. I mean, we’d been on the same page for a long time as far as, we’ve established that we’re in love, this relationship is going well, but it’s not something that we’d verbalized in any real depth. That’s just a level of like, exposure, vulnerability, I think, that doesn’t come naturally to most people, myself included.
“So he just keeps talking—and I think it’s fair to say he’s not a very talkative guy most of the time—and I’m standing there with my jaw on the floor because he is not holding back, and this is all clearly unrehearsed. Like, this is just how he really feels about me, apparently. By the time he’s finished, I’m crying, he’s crying, it’s a mess. And so I open my mouth, and I have no idea what I’m gonna say to all that, but what comes out is, “Will you marry me?” I wasn’t planning on it, but suddenly I just knew. Best decision I ever made.”
“And you’ve made some very important decisions in your life.”
“That’s right. I know which ones I’m leaving out by saying this was the best, and I stand by it.”
At that moment, as if on cue, the lock clicks, and Sergeant Barnes walks through the front door carrying two very full bags of groceries on his vibranium arm. He tosses a set of car keys into a little dish and locks the door behind him.
“Hey, babe,” Wilson calls out, catching his eye.
“You did it?” Barnes asks.
“Yeah.” Wilson tilts his head up.
Barnes rounds the corner, pecks Wilson on the lips with all the comfort and familiarity of a couple who have done it a thousand times. I hear him murmur, “Proud of you,” under his breath.
Barnes sets the groceries on the counter in front of me as Wilson introduces us.
“Call me Bucky,” says Barnes, reaching out with his right hand to shake mine. There’s a silver band on the fourth finger, and when I look back over at Wilson, he’s slipping his wedding ring out of the pocket of his jeans and putting it back on his left hand.
“Wasn’t sure if I’d be able to go through with all this,” he says, gesturing to me and my notepad. “I took the wedding pictures down in the living room too, before you got here.”
“I knew he could do it,” Barnes tells me. His voice is low, soft, and so quiet, a hint of an old Brooklyn accent underlying his words even now, despite everything he’s been through and everywhere he’s been. He shrugs out of his nondescript hoodie and tosses it on one of the unused stools, grabbing a kettle and putting it on the stove.
“Hibiscus or chamomile?” he asks me, pulling two boxes of tea bags from one of the grocery bags and letting me choose before turning to Wilson. “Bad news, hon. They were out of your whole wheat pita.”
“Again?” says Wilson, with feeling. “Really?”
“They only had the gluten free. I guess I could check the other store tonight, but it’s supposed to rain later, and I kinda don’t feel like going out again,” Barnes says, head buried in the cupboard as he stacks cans. “I was thinking maybe I could just try making ‘em. How does that sound? How hard can it be, right?”
“‘How does homemade pita sound,’ he says,” Wilson repeats, jabbing a thumb towards Barnes. “Can you believe this guy?”
“I honestly can’t.” It’s the truth. My brain refuses to reconcile this man with the supposed playboy I read about in my 11th grade history textbook, nor the internationally feared assassin.
“Is that a yes or no on the experimental homemade pita?” Barnes asks Wilson, still deep in the cupboard. “No promises on quality.”
“That’s a yes, Buck,” says Wilson, then he turns to me. “Don’t listen to him; he’s a great cook.”
The Winter Soldier is a great cook, I write in my notes. And then I realize this is my moment to shine.
“I actually know a good recipe for homemade pita,” I tell them. “It’s whole wheat.” That gets Barnes’s attention.
“You do?” he says, pulling out his phone. “Can you send it to—hmm.” He frowns. “Sam, it’s not showing the thing.”
“What thing?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s phone from his hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s cause it’s set to Contacts Only, Buck, you have to switch it to Allow Everyone.”
Wilson looks at me, smiling. “Bucky here hates technology—”
“—I don’t hate technology—”
“Oh yes you do, you won’t even let me get you an iPad—”
“Yeah, for what? What do I need it for? I wouldn’t even use—”
“You wouldn’t use one, huh? How about I stop letting you borrow mine for a couple of weeks, then we’ll see how you feel.” Wilson turns to me, passing Barnes’s phone back to him. “He should be showing up on your AirDrop now.”
Sure enough, I’m able to send the recipe link to Bucky’s iPhone. He thanks me and starts scrolling right through it, argument apparently totally forgotten.
As Barnes continues to read, periodically checking on the kettle; Wilson excuses himself to help put away the rest of the groceries, which are mostly produce.
“I hope you have like, immediate plans for these,” Wilson says, inspecting the avocados as he pulls them out of the paper bag. “They are ripe, man. Tomorrow’s gonna be too late for them.”
“Yeah I do, I was gonna make grilled chicken and avocado sandwiches for dinner,” Barnes replies. “I got tomatoes, swiss cheese—”
“What’s all this about pita then if we’re having sandwiches?” Wilson asks.
“No, the pita is the bread here,” Barnes explains. “You stuff everything in the pocket. I’m gonna have to get started pretty soon; probably gonna double the rising time since it’s cold out.” Wilson hums in apparent approval of this course of action.
I lose Wilson to the refrigerator for several minutes. He stands back up after arranging things in the crisper to his liking.
“Any chance I could get a peek at those wedding pictures?” I ask.
“Oh,” says Wilson. “That okay with you?” He turns to Barnes, who nods, carefully steeping bags of tea in three steaming mugs, and then leads me back to the living room.
Wilson has stashed two silver-framed pictures in a drawer of the coffee table, apparently in anticipation of my visit, and he pulls them out to show to me. Both are taken in front of a familiar-looking farmhouse, which I struggle with for a moment before placing it as the exact one in Captain Rogers’s watercolor painting that’s hanging to my left. Wilson’s suit in the photo is a matte but brilliant shade of cobalt; Barnes wears black.
One is of just the two of them, arms around one another and foreheads together. It’s almost too intimate to look at; I feel as though I’m intruding on something intensely private, even though Wilson is standing right here offering me a glimpse of it.
He puts that one back up onto the mantle.
The next is them in the center of a large group that consists of some people I recognize and others I don’t. Familiar faces include Dr. Bruce Banner [The Hulk], Clint Barton [Hawkeye], and Maria Hill [Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.]. Also present: King T’Challa of Wakanda and his sister, Princess Shuri. There’s a young girl in a white dress, carrying a flower basket and missing a front tooth, standing in front of [C.E.O. of Stark Industries] Pepper Potts. Next to them is a teenager with floppy brown hair doing an indescribably awkward double thumbs up.
“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.
Wilson snorts. “Some punk. Family friend.”
That picture gets hung on the empty nail next to Captain Rogers’s painting.
Barnes knocks quietly on the doorway behind us. “Tea’s ready.”
An awkward silence settles in with us once we sit back down in the kitchen, Wilson and Barnes next to one another, and me across from them. I flip through my notes, taking a sip from my mug.. My drink is sweeter than I was expecting, because apparently the Winter Soldier has added agave to the hibiscus tea he made me. It’s delicious.
Barnes eventually breaks. “So whatcha go over so far?”
“How we got together, how we got engaged,” Wilson answers him. “In detail too, so if you don’t want that published, you’re gonna have to grovel at the journalist yourself, because you said—”
“Oh my god,” says Barnes, old-school New York sarcasm dripping from every word. “How dare you tell people about the best thing I ever did, huh? Now they’re gonna think I’m like, a sensitive, good guy, and here I’ve been coasting along on this murder cyborg image. What have you done, you dick?”
Wilson rolls his eyes.
“So...you’re okay with it?” I ask them, absolutely ready to scrub the record if he hesitates.
“You kidding me?” says Barnes. “Every other week comes up some new atrocity I committed against my will in like...the 70s, and you think I’m gonna be upset with people knowing that once in a while I say nice shit to someone I love? Write it. Please. Knock yourself out.”
Okay then. Since Barnes seems willing to talk, I ask them if I can throw them a few questions I have for them as a couple. Barnes looks as though he wasn’t anticipating this.
Wilson turns to him. “You wanna be here for this?”
Barnes nods slowly, hesitantly, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“You’re okay?” Wilson asks. “You decide you’re done at any point and I’ll end it. Or you can go hang out in the other room, your call.”
“I’m good for now,” Barnes decides. “I’ll let you know if that changes.”
“You can ask whatever you want,” Wilson says to me. “I can’t promise we’ll answer everything, but go ahead and shoot.”
“I guess the first question I have is: what’s the hardest thing about navigating your jobs as a couple? What bothers you the most about that?”
Wilson exhales loudly. “I mean, the obvious answer is the danger,” he says. “The nature of what we do is fundamentally unsafe. I think it goes without saying—I’ll still say it—that we’re always aware that one of us might not make it back from a mission, which is...” Wilson trails off for a moment, shaking his head. “You don’t get used to that feeling. The fear.”
“Mm hmm,” Barnes agrees, from behind his mug.
“And,” continues Wilson, “I’m also aware that by doing this interview, I’m putting Bucky in additional danger. I’m not naive enough to think that the people working against us won’t try to use my relationship with him as leverage against me.”
“That makes sense,” I say, because he’s absolutely right, and pretending that public knowledge of his marriage doesn’t put them both in a new kind of danger seems disingenuous. I face Barnes. “Your turn.”
“Racist assholes,” says Barnes immediately.
Wilson smirks and cocks his head in agreement. “Sometimes I think I’ve talked that subject to death, other times it’s like I could never hope to address it enough. Today feels like the first one.”
A diplomatic, but clear answer. Time to move on.
I’m about to ask the next question when he adds: “Another thing that gets under my skin is how it’s like Bucky’s image in the eyes of the general public is totally dependent on me hyping him up all the time. As far as I’m concerned, he’s proven himself a hundred times over, and yet if I’m not on T.V. reminding people of that every day, it’s suddenly like ‘oh, the Winter Soldier, can we ever really trust him?’
“I just… It bothers me. I want us to come to a collective understanding that everything that happened happened to Bucky, not because of him. It kinda circles back into another of the things I’m passionate about, which is mental health care and awareness. I think if we as a society were better about recognizing and addressing mental illness, and particularly Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, I wouldn’t have to keep having this conversation about my husband.”
Barnes’s face is getting pinker and he says nothing, but he’s smiling a little at Wilson, who puts an arm around his shoulders.
“Anyway, we can move on,” says Wilson, his expression going easy again. “Just had to get that out there one more time.”
“Hopefully this one’s a little more pleasant,” I say. “What inspired you to come forward about your relationship? I know you guys—” I gesture between them, ”—have been together for a couple years, so why now?”
“I want to go on a date in public,” says Bucky. “I haven’t been on a date since the 40s.”
“That’s right,” says Wilson. “We’re doing all this so I can take him Denny’s and hold his hand over a $6.99 Super Slam.”
When I finish laughing, Wilson continues. “Part of it’s because we realized it’s gonna get out there whether we like it or not. You already knew when you got here that we lived together, and that’s because that information got leaked to the public last week, so it was always just a matter of time before people found out anyway. I’d rather have some control over that narrative; better you hear it from me and Bucky, how we want to tell it, than in some tabloid.”
He’s right about that: they would undoubtedly have been outed one way or another. Their status as “roommates” was reported by TMZ a week and a half ago, and there was a Buzzfeed piece only yesterday, rife with gifs, entitled 15 Times Captain America and The Winter Soldier Made Us Wish We Were Their Third Roommate, that ended on the note of how Wilson and Barnes are “absolute BFF GOALS.” Wilson continues:
“But I think the biggest reason is that we decided, together, that we actually think it’s good for people to know. I’ve seen firsthand the impact that having a Black Captain America has had on the Black community and on the national topic of race, and we think—we hope—that a Captain America who is a member of the LGBT community will have a similar effect.
“The people who already hate me aren’t going to like me any better or worse for being bisexual, but some bisexual teenager out there is hopefully gonna read this article and feel a little bit better about themselves than they did before. That’s really the impact I want to have here. Got anything to add, Buck?”
“Actually, yeah,” says Barnes, staring at the counter in front of him and fiddling with his wedding ring. “I grew up gay in thirties. The idea of being able to just...tell people, that’s still amazing to me. The fact that I’m sitting here talking about it with a stranger and you’re not screamin’ in my face right now…”
“You do know I’m not straight either, right?” I ask him. I’m not exactly shy about that, it’s the kind of thing most people can tell just by looking at me.
“Even so,” says Barnes, finally looking me in the eye. “You fool around with a fella back in the day—or worse, you make a pass and he turns you down—then he knows about you, and then it’s like, what if he tells someone? Some of the worst shit I ever saw came from people who found out that way. So, other gay guys. Basically you never felt safe.”
“What about Captain Rogers?” I ask. “Did he know?”
“Oh yeah, Steve knew,” says Barnes with a dismissive wave of his hand, like that ought to be obvious. “He wasn’t gonna tell anyone; I got too much dirt on him.“
“Pfft. He’s messing with you,” Wilson interjects, directed at me. “There’s no dirt on Steve anywhere; believe me, I’d know by now if there was.”
“I want you to guess how many times I’ve had to clean up Steve’s puke,” says Barnes in a total deadpan, leaning forward. “Whatever number you think it is, the real answer is higher.
“This again,” says Wilson. “I keep telling you Buck, Steve throwing up on you at Coney Island isn’t the big scandalous story you seem to want it to be.”
“Sam wasn’t there, he didn’t see it,” Barnes insists. “We were with these girls and they just left us standing there by the Cyclone, covered in hot dog chunks. Actually, that part was kind of a relief ‘cause one of ‘em was definitely jonesing for me to kiss her before that, and I really didn’t want to.
“But seriously, after everything we went through together, I knew I could trust Steve with anything. And that made me luckier than most—at least I had one person. Lots of guys had no one.
“Anyway, my reasons for coming out with all this are probably more selfish than Sam’s. You know some of those Nazis—we’re callin’ ‘em something else these days, like ‘alt-right’ or whatever, but I know a Nazi when I see one—they have this crazy idea of what I was like back in the day. They’ve got this fantasy, like a golem of toxic masculinity with my face on it, and I just want to publicly shit on their dreams. Every date I ever went on with a girl was a total sham, and I was scared down to my bones that someone would figure that out. I fight because someone needs to and I’m good at it, but I hate hurting people and I’d much rather be sitting here cuddling on the couch with a man. This man.”
Barnes is grinning big and wide by the time he finishes—a real, genuine smile that brings out the sparkle in his eyes—and suddenly I feel like I’m catching a glimpse of what Wilson must be seeing in him. Wilson himself is laughing.
“I like how you snuck your little buzzword in there, baby,” he says. “Toxic masculinity. That’s one of Bucky’s things he learned about from his Wakandan therapist.
“Obviously super important,” Wilson adds, lest I think he’s making light of something serious.
“I think it’s great that we’re talking about it so openly now, especially with respect to the military.”
Barnes tilts his head in agreement, checking the time on his phone. We’re probably approaching the point at which he wants to get started on that pita bread, and I’m definitely in his way.
“So what’s next for you guys?” I ask.
“Isn’t that always the question?” Wilson asks, taking Barnes’s right hand in his left and resting them, intertwined, on the countertop. “Sometimes it’s aliens. Sometimes not. Who even knows anymore?”
“Hopefully, a whole lot more of this,” says Barnes, looking down at their hands.
Wilson smiles. “Well, that’s a given. That’s always.”
This is when Barnes gets up to pull a stand mixer out of one of the cupboards, and I read that as my cue to take my leave. I end my recording, Wilson thanks me for stopping by, I promise to give him an advance copy of my writing to make sure he’s comfortable with what I said, and I find myself standing back on the sidewalk of [REDACTED] moments later.
I’m not typically in the habit of including as many details about the dinner plans of my article subjects as I have here—and I’m certainly testing the limits of my editor’s patience with the word count—but in the spirit of Wilson’s wishes for what his coming out story will mean to the people of America, I wanted to emphasize how human his marriage is.
Barnes and Wilson have extraordinary jobs that they are undoubtedly uniquely suited for and that most of us will never fully understand, but they are also two people who have been through a lot of hardship and found happiness and peace in one another. And that’s something that most of us do understand: love, the human experience that transcends the divisions we give ourselves.
*From a press conference Wilson gave on May 7, 2025.
**From a statement written by Barnes and issued through a S.H.I.E.L.D. representative on November 1, 2023.
For further reading on Barnes, the author recommends:
1. Greatest Generation X: The Impossible Life of James Buchanan Barnes, by Ariel Guzman, published in 2025.
2. R.Y. Uhlencott’s column “The Wolf of Brooklyn” in the October 2024 issue of Time covers the basic timeline and trajectory of Barnes’s life.
#sambucky#sam wilson#bucky barnes#winterfalcon#mcu#marvel#tfatws#sam(antha) tag#my fanfic tag#fanfic
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Hawks x Reader: Bad Idea
Another self indulgent Hawks fic that I've literally had in my notes for months. He lives in my head rent free along with my other 22 fake boyfriend's because I'm ✨mentally unstable.✨ It is a song fic tho, Bad Idea ft. Shiloh Dynasty https://youtu.be/kH9hJnT7KkE
youtube
Tw: food, depression, Hawks is honestly just feeling it bro- same dude,
Word count: almost 2k? I think
Requests are open! Honestly I'm probably terrible but the only things I can think to write are those imaginary situations I put myself in
(Y/L/N)- your last name
(Y/N)- your name
Thoughts or emphasized talk are in italics
Also idk why but I imagine he removes his feathers to shower since they probably need different cleaning conditions and also they just seem like a hassle in showers.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Here he was, the number two prohero. Everyone assumed his life was perfect, anything he wanted served on a gold platter. He felt the guilt creep up into him.
I should be thankful. The thoughts ate away at his mind in the rare seconds he got alone. You shouldn't be so selfish. So annoying. So insufferable.
Takami pushed these thoughts back. "No one needs to know how you think, Keigo." He whispers out to himself in his office.
He scrawled at paper work, trying to not let the self depreciating thoughts feast away on his mind. Unfortunately for him, different thoughts came up.
His best friend, Rumi had this friend. (Y/L/N). Smart, attractive, sometimes a little rough around the edges, but amazing. He found his mind wandering to them all too often.
They were mostly unknown, despite their insanely strong quirk. They preferred to stay out of the lime-light, through that irritable exterior sat overwhelming anxiety and shyness. But they always denied it.
He stopped himself as he realized he's spent 10 minutes only thinking of them, a friend. Yeah right.
He lazily walked out of the office waving to all his employees as he made his way outside. His eyes slowly dragged to the darkly faded blue sky, dusted in clouds. Cold, tired, aching. Just how he felt.
He took a slow brisk flight to his house, feeling the wind bash his face and the air flow through his feathers. He gently placed a foot on the metal railing of his balcony, taking a deep step to the ground and opening the door.
The emptiness rung through his apartment like a blaring siren. You have everything. How can you still want more?
The voices in his head screamed and clawed their way out. You're nobody. No one ever loved you. You're so alone. You're nothing but a tool to the commission. You're actual character is useless.
He shed his coat, boots, and pants. Looking to himself in the mirror as he removed most of his feathers. He looked exhausted as he stumbled into the shower, numbly.
The next ten minutes seemed to elude him when he wondered how much time has gone by of him staring at the shower wall blankly.
He dried off a bit then looked around his kitchen for something to eat. Have I eaten today? The buzz and light of his phone on the counter startled him.
"Hey, Hawks." A single, simple message from (Y/L/N). Okay don't panic.
"What's up?" He replied swiftly.
"I had this feeling something was wrong and wanted to check up on you."
"Why would you think that?" He tried to play it off like it wasn't true without actually lying.
"I'm not sure. Do you maybe wanna join me?" You asked.
"Where?"
"Well, every once in awhile when I need a break I go and stargaze with a night picnic. It helps me relax, and if you think it might help I'd want to. I can tell something's off." You were always so convincing. It felt like you weren't too nosy or snoopy but you understood.
"Text me where to be and when?" He let out a gentle smile at his phone.
"The dollar store on 4th in 10 minutes? So we can choose some snacks together?"
"I'll be there."
Did Takami think any problems where going to be solved with some food in the dark? No. But would he skip the opportunity to be with you, to find out how he really felt when it was just you two? Absolutely not.
He landed down on the broken pavement outside of the old dollar store, scanning around to see you.
"Boo!" A bump from behind had him flinching to see the sound as you stood behind him giggling. "Got ya."
"Very funny (Y/L/N) the most amazing trick yet." He rolled his eyes with a slight smile.
"C'mon let's go grab a bunch of terrible snacks and call it a picnic, bird brain."
You two walked into the store and walked a large circle around it, choosing chips and candy and drinks at your leisure. Once you got to the counter, he fights you to his wallet.
"It's my picnic."
"And I'm the very special guest who was so generously invited. I'm paying." He grins as you pout at him.
Grabbing the bags you placed them in the back seat as you offered passenger side to him.
"I don't like cars."
"Why not?"
"Cramps my wings."
You look at him with the biggest puppy eyes you can manage. "You already agreed to keep me company and pay for the snacks, let me do something for you?"
"Fine, but only cause you're pouting kid."
He gently sits in your passenger seat as you strap yourself in and turn the car on. The car hums and the music playing softly on the radio are the only things heard. The peace feeling too good to break.
Once you pull your car up into the parking lot of a small park and grab your bags, you begin leading him to your usual place.
"Hold these." You hand him the bags as you jump and climb up on top of a big metal container. You peer over the side with big eyes and a smile as you say to him, "now hand me the bags and do what I did!"
He looks at you with a wide smirk before simply flying up to join you. "Or you can do it the cheater's way." You pouted and bumped his shoulder.
"It's not cheating, it's using my resources." He says with a triumphant smirk.
"Your cheating resources." You pull out your gummy candies and started eating as you leaned back till you were laying down.
"Do you like the stars, Hawks?" You say like your sleep talking, staring into the night sky.
"Keigo." He shifts to lay down about a foot away from you. "You can call me, Keigo. And... I don't think I've ever taken time to look at the stars."
"No sneaking out away from parents to sit on vans and stargaze? Or watching the sunrise with a partner while eating fast food?"
"What kinda date is sitting in a car for hours staring at the sky and eating?" He laughs.
"Ah one that never really happened, he just said he would. But never mind that repressed shit." A sad laugh forces itself out as you stare between the stars.
"Was he cute?" He tried to sound funny but it came out more sympathetic.
"Sometimes," you laugh with him. "But he had really nice hands."
"Hands? That's an odd thing to find attractive." He turned his head over to look at you as your eyes seemed to burn holes in the dark milky blue sky.
He continued laughing with you about this guy but couldn't help an overwhelming feeling of jealousy. Who was he? Did he look anything like him? Was this recent?
"Keigo?" A voice snapped at his train or thought, "Yes, (Y/L/N)?" He replied rushed.
"Do you want your mini cookies?" You ask looking to him with the bag.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He mentions grabbing the bag from your finger tips.
He ate his cookies and thought as you seemed either lost in your head, or lost in the stars.
Loving you would be selfish. As such a high ranking hero, he's made a target for himself and anyone around him. He's broken down, can't feel. You obviously have other people on your mind. Someone like you wouldn't be single long.
"When did he leave?" He blurts out without thinking. Maybe it's a sore subject-
"Long ago." You look lost, your eyes searching and wandering but never grabbing hold of exactly where you should be. "Why?" Well I guess if I'm gonna start prying might as well go all the way.
"He thought that maybe he could love me. But now that's just ridiculous," you laugh coldly. "Who would love me?"
"Falling in love with you seems like a really bad idea. But not on your part." He whispers into the wind, hoping it'll carry his words away from you.
"What do you mean?" You look completely confused, almost scattered.
"You're quiet, and I'm someone who puts a spotlight on practically anyone around me. You'd constantly be put in danger. Plus I'm arrogant and cocky, nothing at all like you." He acted like he could see the stars as you could. He stared into them finding any way he could to avoid your eyes.
"You could get hurt or I could annoy you." He whispers.
"I had no idea you felt that way, Keigo." You whisper back, shock keeping your voice quiet.
His eyes burned holes into the night sky, he felt he shouldn't look at you. The mental image of you already wouldn't go away.
"You wanna know something, Keigo? I can read people like books, I can read stars like stories, and I can read in-between lines like they were in bold font. But, you always catch me off guard. Reading you is like a mystery novel. Sometimes intense, sometimes peaceful, but always keeping me wondering." You smile into the stars, you can tell he desperately doesn't want to see your eyes. "You're always leaving everyone on the edge of their seat, and when you leave you can't stop thinking of the next time you'll come. What you'll bring."
"I....I don't think I understand (Y/L/N)-" Keigo's soon cut off.
"(Y/N)"
"Well, (Y/N)- I don't think I understand." He tries to sit up and look at you.
"You catch me off guard, something about you speaks to me in ways I know you never actually would. I can see it, the way you stumble or hesitate. I can tell somethings scared you into silence." You've never had much chance to talk about the ways you analyze people, you wanted to tell him how you could tell the way he acted wasn't always good.
"I think you might be reading too much into this, kid." He tries to intervene.
"I get if you don't want to tell me." You stared up at the stars, waiting for him to do the same. "You see there?" You pointed to a star. "That's a constellation."
"They just look like stars." He seemed a bit disappointed that he couldn't see stars the way you did, with such knowledge and wonder in your eyes.
"That's cause they are," you giggled to him, "it's not like I can actually see the pictures either."
"You.. you can't?" He looked to you confused but slightly hopeful, how could they look at them but not see too?
"That's the whole point, Keigo. It's being able to see what's not really there. Sometimes I stare into the sky hoping to see any semblance of hope, but that's not how it is. You have to teach yourself to look at what could be there." He stared to you, a small content smile graced your face. You were beautiful.
"(Y/N)?"
"Yes?"
"Maybe, loving you isn't such a bad idea.." he looked remorseful, staring into the stars. Maybe he could see it too one day.
"What do you mean?" You glace to him.
"You see so much, you can read and see the things I want to see. I want to learn, (Y/N). I want to see how you do."
The smile on your face spread.
"I'd love to show you."
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I’ve had a lot of requests from various people at different times who are just learning how to use resin to create with and wanted some tips and tricks. I have wanted to make this post for a while, but I wanted to acquire more experience myself before giving others help. This first post is just going to go over some really basic tips and tricks and subsequent posts (if they’re found helpful) will elaborate. This is for all of you who are like me and get the least amount of benefit from watching Youtube tutorials these days because EVERYONE has one, and half the time they’re drawn out for ad revenue so an hour long video will only contain 20 mins worth of information with the kicker being you can’t even fast forward through what you know or rewind through ads to get back to where you need to be. So, for those of you who hate that like me, this text post is for you.
If you’re just starting, choosing which resin you want to purchase is intimidating. Craft stores like Michael’s and Hobby Lobby rarely offer more than one or two brands, typically over priced due to the fact that they’re labeled “art resins”.
Epoxy resin is by far the easiest to start with for beginners. It is the most forgiving, has the most consistent results, most brands use the same 1:1 ratio and the overall technique is the same. I am not affiliated with these brands/companies in any way other than I have used their products and have written reviews for several on Amazon.
Start with small packages (4oz-8oz kits / 8oz & 16oz hardener + resin). A quick Amazon search for epoxy resin will give you many results. This is one of those cases where you really don’t get what you pay for- boat, tabletop, etc. epoxy will yield the same results at more reasonable prices per fluid ounce than art resins. I recommend going with brands like FanAut, Puduo, Let’s Resin, Craft Daddy, etc. which often offer kits with gloves, craft sticks / stir sticks, measuring cups, and even additives at reasonable prices. All these items are things you’ll need to start off, so any extras are appreciated. I recommend Puduo, as it is relatively inexpensive compared to similar brands, yields consistent , crystal clear results, and has a somewhat faster curing time than other epoxy resins for the price. If none of these brands ring your bell, here are the qualifiers for a “good” epoxy resin:
Self Degassing- This is pretty much the standard expectation of epoxy resin and one of the reasons it is considered forgiving for beginners. When resin and hardener are combined, gases are trapped and form air bubbles which have a tendency to multiply as you stir your mixture and the combination heats up. But it shouldn’t be taken for granted that all epoxy resin does this, so try to look for “self degassing” in the item description / label.
Self Leveling vs. Doming : Doming resin is great for the magnified look on pendants and other flat projects, but self leveling resin is where you should be starting as doming requires the build up of surface tension to achieve. While “doming “ resin may achieve this easier than others without this feature, it is pretty irrelevant if you don’t know to dome resin in the first place.
Art Resin vs Other Epoxy: Art resins make claims of being ideal or a better choice for arts & crafts, but the reality is that you can achieve the same effects from table top or boat resins such as Mas- are just as capable of casting, coating, doming etc. as art resins especially if you’re looking to take on a larger project you will pay less and get more with these brands than smaller quantities of art resins. Make sure they are crystal clear, hard type, self degassing, and self leveling. Keep in mind that cure time relates to the size of your project and the ambient temperature of the environment, so don’t waste money on products that charge more for touting faster curing time.
What about 2 part epoxy in syringes? (Ice Resin, Gorilla Glue) Personally, these pre prepared epoxy resins are more complicated than they look. You can’t save combined resin and hardener, so once you mix the two or pop the seals to both you have to use the lot of it in one shot. Ice Resin in particular is quite expensive and doesn’t offer the clear, glossy results I expected it to when I used it, so I would avoid these if you are just starting out.
Additives & Extras- Don’t waste a lot of money at the start funding your would be creations until you have at least seen one entire project through from start to finish. I made the mistake of investing in silicone molds, glitters, additives like rhinestones, craft papers, transparency films etc before I really found my niche and what I was really using epoxy for the most. There are some great deals for 100+ piece silicone mold kits that include gloves, stir sticks, silicone measuring cups, and the like available cheaply for those looking to make smaller things like jewelry, keychains, figurines etc. the one I have just linked to even includes the epoxy for under $20. These kits are offered by Amazon and even Etsy and are a great place to start as they provide you with everything you would need to create at least one full project. They are also a great activity to do with your kids (ages 10+ would probably be ideal) as you can add pretty much anything that isn’t silicone, wax, unsealed paper, alcohol, or water based into resin, which opens up a world of possibilities!
Tips & Tricks That Will Save You $
If you’re itching for purchasing pigments to add color to your resin projects, try purchasing or reusing some old or cheap mineral eye shadows. Not sure if your eye shadow is mineral based? I’m willing to bet it is, though some colors may not look the same when mixed in resin as they do on the pallets, they will color it nonetheless, just pick a small amount up on a popsicle stick or toothpick and stir it into a small batch of resin to see how it turns out. Dollar Tree eye shadows will work just as well as expensive pigments, so consider this before investing in expensive mica pigment sets!
While silicone molds are probably the easiest and are reusable, you can also use plastic molds, carve your resin block with carpentry tools or by hand-or even make your own molds! There are simple recipes utilizing dish soap and corn starch out there, or you can use silicone or even hot glue! Flexible silicone molds won’t require a mold release, but plastic and other molds will or you may end up cutting your project out. You don’t have to purchase a mold release product for this, either- olive or vegetable oil spray on a paper towel will suffice, just remember to let your mold sit for a few hours to demoisturize.
Can’t find gloves because of COVID19 hype? Finger cots are even better than gloves as they allow for more dexterity even when they get sticky, are cheaper, and readily available in bulk online!
Pretty much anything compatible with homemade “slime” can be mixed into or embedded in resin, so there is that. However, be careful how much glitter, pigment, etc you add as you can throw off the chemical balance that allows your project to cure properly. Refer to the directions included with your specific resin kit as most will tell you what ratios must be maintained for proper curing.
Everyone that works with resin knows the arch nemesis that is the bubbles. There are times where it seems like, no matter what you do, your perfect clear cast of a dandelion goes to shit because of some stray air bubbles. There are a few tricks to avoid this from the start:
Use a separate cup to measure resin and hardener. Pour the combined mixture into a fourth cup after the first 3-4 mins of stirring (half time) scraping the sides and bottom. This helps what was on the bottom get integrated into what was mixed on top. Always make sure to pour resin first when mixing and mix slowly, scraping the sides and bottom, for the time listed on your instructions. You want your mixture to be almost water consistency, clear, fluid, with little viscosity, and no streaks visible. Allow it to sit for a few minutes to natural degas and get rid of the bubbles.
Use a torch or grill lighter to pop surface bubbles. You can also do each one individually (as the grill lighter suggestion may not always be a good idea- be careful using this on large projects and molds that may ignite) with a tooth pick. Using a blow dryer or heat gun will also help bubbles rise to the surface to be popped.
Make sure that you keep contact with the bottom of your mixing cup with your stir stick-try not to lift it too much as this can introduce air into the mixture (“whipping the resin”) this can also occur if you are stirring too quickly. If you notice a lot of bubbles, let your mixture sit for a few minutes and resume stirring at a slower pace.
Make sure you start your project at a temperature of 74 degrees +, if your bottles are cold to touch, place them in a plastic bag and let them sit in hot water to warm up. You can also roll them (slowly) on a counter top.
You know, if all else fails you could always make ocean or nautical themed projects :)
That’s all for now- let me know if this helped you or someone you know working with resin or experimenting. Feel free to comment with any questions you would like answered in my next post! I also recommend the Resin Obssesion blog- they have a lot of useful information and tutorials with photos that were really helpful for me starting out!
Xo Samantha
#resin#resin art#resin jewelry#epoxy resin#resin tricks#how to use epoxy resin#how to make things with epoxy#epoxy resin tutorial#epoxy resin for beginners#craft tips#craft tricks#crafting#handmade#handmade gifts#resin crafts#resin creations#resin craft#how to use epoxy for crafts#resin art tutorial#resin for beginners#how to use epoxy#how to resin#bubbles in resin#text post#informational
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For You? Always.
Chapter Sixteen
Summary: Over the next months, some things happen that bring you and Ben closer
Word count: 4.2k (Sorry, not sorry)
Warnings: Implied intimacy
A/N: I introduce you all to possibly my personal favourite installment of this story...
A month and a half had gone by and it’s been amazing. There were a few nights where Ben had to stay over at Siara’s, whether it be for work or to do something with Brian, but you were already accustomed to that. Other than that, he would meet you at your office, or you at his, to walk home together.
Then, one night, he told you about the many places he often volunteers at. The top being an animal shelter.
He told you many stories of the animals, but two dogs seemed to be his favourite. Cody, a golden retriever, and Boga, a Siberian husky. Ben had told you how Boga had the most amazing blue-green eyes.
"On the topic of learning new things about each other," he suddenly said. "My name wasn't originally Ben."
Shock hit you so hard that all you could manage was yelling, "What!"
He only chuckled at your reaction, "It's true. My birth name is actually Obi-Wan." Before he continued, he met your eyes. "When my mom and I moved here, many got confused. So, I changed it to Ben," he explained.
"Well," you started, the shock easing away, "I think Obi-Wan suits you better, personally."
As you smiled at him, he gave you one back as his cheeks turned slightly red.
"Then, you may call me what you like."
The rest of that night was spent learning things about each other. It was all endearing as he told you more, especially his time in London.
- - -
One day, he took you to meet Cody and Boga who took an immediate liking to you. Ben was a little jealous as they seemed to give you more attention than him, after the initial meeting anyway.
Between the two, Boga gave you the most attention. She had taken a liking to you very quickly, and the feeling was mutual.
Cody greeted you, but quickly went to Ben. He seemed more comfortable when being close to him.
At one moment when Ben had slipped away, you asked one of the other volunteers why Ben hadn’t adopted these dogs, as he had such a close connection to them.
“Well, he wasn’t able to own more than one pet in his building, and he just couldn’t choose. We’ve taken them off of the adoption list because we hope that he can take them home one day,” they explained.
For a bit, you thought to yourself. Watching him with the two dogs, you could see the connection between them. It seemed as if they saw him as their owner even when he wasn't.
When Ben had come back, you had to ask, "Ben, what would you think about adopting Cody and Boga?"
"Are you sure?" he said in surprise.
"You practically raised these dogs, Ben. It would break my heart to see them not be with the person they admire most."
He looked to the two one year old dogs. His jaw had dropped at the knowledge that the two dogs he had raised and trained will finally be with him.
Turning to look at you, he nodded enthusiastically with a large smile across his face.
Suddenly, he pulled you into a tight embrace. "Thank you," he whispered. All you could do was smile.
Ben and you signed any needed papers and got everything sorted. The shelter workers happily handed him their leashes. Almost as if he had a mental connection with them, the two dogs seemed to know exactly what had happened. Boga had been spinning in excitement with Cody jumping to rest his paws on his chest and lick Ben’s face as he kneeled.
Watching this, you couldn’t help but giggle at the shared excitement shown between them all.
Your house was perfect for all of this as well. It had a large fenced-in yard and plenty of space inside. Besides, you had been planning to get a pet of some sort for quite some time.
Attaching the leashes to each of the dogs’ temporary collars, Ben walked them to the pet-store with you to get essentials. Dog bowls, beds, toys, treats, a yellow and white collar for Cody and a swirl of turquoise and blue for Boga, and finally food and name tags.
Ben had drifted through the store swiftly as he picked out each item with great thought. The toys and collars were the most thoughtful as he picked what suited them most and looked for replicas of their favourite toys from the shelter.
When you had bought everything, you took Boga’s leash to let Ben have a better time carrying the large bag of food and beds on his shoulder while you held the bag of toys, treats, and bowls.
While you walked, you noticed how well Boga and Cody were on a leash. Obediently walking close by without pulling when taking a slight lead. No doubt, this was the work of Ben’s training. Plus, you had noticed that Boga had taken a greater liking to you. You had a feeling that you would steal away Boga from Ben quite often.
Arriving home, you let the dogs off of the leashes to let them explore their new home. You opened the back door for them so that they could come in and out as they excitedly explored every inch of the area.
“Before you ask, yes you can put the dog beds in our room,” you quickly told Ben after he placed the dog food on the floor. His smile beamed at your words.
“That would be great, but I was going to ask if we could get two more and then have them in the office and the room,” he said with slight shyness.
The thought of having company of the two new additions in those areas actually made you happier, meaning you nodded in agreement.
Before Ben turned, you added, “Let's give them blankets to lie on in the office, and the beds can be in the room.” He nodded and you went to grab a couple of blankets that you hardly used from a closet. You brought them over to Cody and Boga to let them sniff and choose which one they liked best.
To your slight surprise, they chose blankets that seemed to match their collars. Cody chose the orange-yellow while Boga chose the blue-tinted green. With their choices, you placed the blankets against the wall that was between yours and Ben’s two desks.
You had waited until the two dogs had calmed their exploration before closing the back door. Taking your place on the couch, Ben took his place on the reading chair that he inherited over the last few months. If he wasn’t there, he was right beside you, often resting his head in your lap.
By the time you got comfortable, Boga jumped up next to you and curled up. Ben was about to protest but you stopped him. Having the bright blue and green-eyed husky snuggle up next to you was sweet. Cody had taken a place beside Ben’s chair and curled up close to his feet. You could tell that Cody would be more obedient and Boga was more of the cuddling type. It made you smile at the thought.
Ben, in his mind, could tell that Boga had become your dog more than his from the moment you had met her. By the way you let her immediately take a place on the couch just solidified it. Especially when you had taken your book and absentmindedly started to pet Boga’s head.
Looking down to Cody, he met his brown eyed gaze before he rested his head on his paws close to Ben’s feet. With a small smirk, he grabbed his own book and pretended to read as his love only grew. The two dogs that were like his children were finally his to keep. No more trips to the shelter just to visit them. Sure, he’ll still go there to volunteer, but the two dogs, that had stolen his heart almost a year ago when they were born, would always be at home waiting for not only him, but you as well.
For another couple of months, you and Ben were met by the two dogs every time you came home. If the two of you went to different areas, Boga followed you and Cody followed Ben. There was a single day that it had been the opposite way around.
Some days, when Ben went to Siara’s or had to stay slightly later, the dogs had been just as excited to spend their time with you. Cody stayed on the floor by your feet and Boga took her place beside you on the couch, unless you went to the office where their blankets were. Then, at night they slept in their beds in your room.
Every morning, you got up earlier with Ben to take them on a walk. Then, you would take them on another in the park during the evenings. It gave you and Ben some quality time as well.
Now was one of the nights where he had to stay at the office with Siara for a few more hours. He told you to not wait for him for dinner as he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be. So, you made dinner for yourself and gave Cody and Boga there’s as you ate.
You had decided to wait until it got a little darker before taking them for a walk tonight so that you could see the stars. That’s exactly what you saw along with the light breeze that ruffled the leaves on the trees.
When you got back home, Ben was home and probably in the office. You could tell by the quiet music and the fact that he wasn’t sitting in the living room.
Cody and Boga rushed to the office as soon as you unclipped their leashes. After their rush, you could hear the laughter from Ben which told you that they pretty much attacked him with love. With a light chuckle, you took off your shoes and coat and joined the room of laughter.
“Hello there,” he managed to get out through the multiple licks, mainly from Cody. After a few more moments, Cody and Boga calmed down and went to the blankets. It was your turn to greet him, but with a quick kiss on the lips.
Sitting on the office chair at your desk, you asked, "How was the rest of your day?"
He took a deep breath before letting out a sigh that you could tell had a twinge of annoyance.
“Not great. Apparently, a client has gotten into a slight hitch,” Ben paused as he was trying to find the right words. The look he had in his eyes caused a small feeling of concern to creep into your mind.
“I wanted to ask before agreeing to this. They need someone to go down there for two to three weeks to help get it settled." He paused again. "Siara wanted to see if I could go,” he finished.
To his surprise, you smiled before saying, “Of course it’s okay. I mean, she usually is the one to do the travelling.” He smiled but it was more forced as his expression dropped.
“Don’t worry,” you said as you knew what he was feeling, “the three of us will be fine. I could even visit a few times if it's possible. The neighbours said they’d be more than happy to take care of Boga and Cody if needed.” At your words, you saw some of Ben’s tension ease from his shoulders as a small smile reappeared on his face, but it was short lived as he looked at the ground.
“Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have any time. The first weekend, maybe." He looked up at you, "Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. Like all those months ago, I'll be ready for your call. No matter how brief it may be,” you replied.
Standing up you walked over to him and squatted next to his chair, placing your hand on his cheek. Leaning into your touch, he nodded before you placed a kiss on his cheek where his beauty mark was. He took your free hand into his and kissed the back of it, smiling as he looked into your eyes.
Seeing that he still had work to do, you stood up before asking, “When do you leave?”
“Well, today is Wednesday," he muttered to himself, "Monday.”
“We have time to plan out what will happen then. Until then, I’ll let you continue working,” you said. You gave him a quick kiss then started toward the door. Boga noticed and she followed you out the door as Cody stayed with Ben.
Ben couldn’t help but give a slight chuckle as he officially knew that Boga had very much become your dog. He couldn’t help but think he may even lose Cody to you as well, which would not bother him in the slightest as it was you.
A few days had gone by and you and Ben had a plan for while he was away. The two of you agreed to you coming to see him on the first weekend. You had found out that even your weekends would be busy with a new project that was coming up.
You had talked to your neighbours and they were more than excited to take care of Cody and Boga during that weekend. They even said that they would bring them over to their house so that they wouldn’t be too lonely throughout the day.
Tonight, as it was Saturday, you had decided to have an outing before Ben left. You hadn’t had a night like this in a while so you decided to have a later dinner and go from there. Ben wouldn’t tell you where you were going though.
All he told you was that it was a smart idea to dress up. For him, that was no problem as he always wore suits. This time though, he put on one that you had not seen before that made him even more handsome than he already was.
His jacket and pants were a darker shade of blue with lighter, parallel and perpendicular blue lines ran across it, making many faint squares over the surface. His dress shirt was still a darker blue, but just a bit lighter than the stripes on his jacket and pants. Unlike usual, his buttons were done all the way to the collar. This all made his eyes burn a more vibrant blue as you met his gaze through the mirror in the bathroom.
“Darling, you look stunning,” he said as his eyes examined the light blue of your dress that stopped just above your feet. The flowing material complimenting your form.
A blush formed on your cheeks as you clipped the necklace he gave you around your neck. Ben stepped up behind you and wrapped his arms around your front, resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your cheek while slowly swaying side to side.
“And you look extra handsome in that suit. The colour really compliments your eyes,” you said as you made eye contact with him in the mirror. He straightened up and moved his hands on your shoulders, the touch gentle and calming.
“I’ll make sure to wear it more often, then,” he said before pressing a kiss into your hair and tracing small circles on your skin with his thumbs.
Turning to face him, you smiled as he offered his arm to lead you to the front door where your shoes were. Boga and Cody followed you, and you said your goodbyes after putting your shoes on and grabbing any last minute things.
Locking the door, Ben offered his arm to you again as you asked, “Will you tell me where we’re going now?” He answered that by only showing a smirk.
“You’ll have a guess once we get there.”
“Does that mean that you’re going to blindfold me once we start getting close?”
“How’d you know?” He chuckled as you gave him a sarcastic shake of your head. Well, you at least now knew that he really wanted to make this a serious surprise.
As you walked, he eventually stopped for a few moments to tie a piece of fabric around your head to act as the blindfold. To his luck, you didn’t know this area well enough to guess what restaurant he was taking you to before even arriving.
When you arrived, you heard doors open followed by, “Good evening, Mr. Kenobi.”
“Good evening, Sam. Is our table ready?”
“Of course, sir. Right this way,” Sam said, which told you that it was time to start walking again. You were so scared that there would be a step that you would place incorrectly that you found yourself clutching onto Ben’s arm tighter.
Soon, you stopped walking once again and heard Ben thanking Sam. Then, you felt Ben loosen the blindfold and let it drop away from your eyes.
At first you squinted as the light met your eyes, but it quickly cleared as you gasped from the sight. Now, you had no idea where you were, but it was breathtaking.
The table was surrounded by a red velvet curtain that met a wall that had an electric fireplace. On the table was a vase with a single rose with a couple of candles on top of a white table cloth. The area was its own small room with a black curtain acting as the door.
Noise from the rest of the restaurant was quiet, but fully drowned out by the soft music playing. The room was lit perfectly, allowing the colours of the room to show their best qualities, the table accented by the candle light.
“Have you figured out where we are yet?” Ben’s voice broke your thoughts. At first you didn’t until you saw a small logo on one of the napkins.
“Derek’s restaurant?” You knew it was, but the question came more as one asking as to why he chose this one.
Ben let out a small chuckle as he knew what you were asking.
“He told me that I should try it out one day. Since I had never tried it, I told him about our plan and he offered to set this up for us,” he explained as he met your eyes. Placing a quick kiss to your lips, he led you over to the table where he pulled your seat out and tucked it in before sitting himself.
Unbuttoning his jacket he asked, “So, what do you think?”
“It’s perfect. I knew there were VIP tables, but I didn’t know that this is what Derek meant,” you replied. This seemed to confuse him.
“Derek never showed you this area?”
Shaking your head you replied, “No. When I came here, it was part of a business meeting. The restaurant was closed for the night so we were in the main restaurant. I only knew where we were because of the napkin logo.”
Ben seemed to understand that, but was still a bit confused. You and Derek were good friends, so why he hadn’t he just given a tour of the restaurant puzzled him. He pushed it out of his mind though as he saw your smile find its way back onto your face.
Through your time, you talked, getting to know more details you haven’t learned in the last few months. He mentioned how his mother had been doing well since she fully recovered from her surgery a month ago.
When he said that, it reminded you of how you listened to his cries while you consoled him at the park. You would have never thought that you’d be in this moment then, but here you are.
You were here with the boy who you used to serve at the cafe during high school. The boy who had a silent crush on you and left for law school without a word. The man who made you feel not only safe, but truly loved. There is no one else that you wished to be with at this very moment. You love him, and he loves you.
The time went by and you hardly noticed the food being placed at the table. The two of you were wrapped up in each other's company more than anything else. Sure, you lived together, but it was moments like this that you really used the time.
When you both decided that you were done, Ben pulled out your chair and offered his arm once again. This time without being blindfolded, you walked through the restaurant doors.
On your way home Ben told you that he wanted to bring you to the park for some time. The night sky was clear and the moon was in the perfect area that it would be right in the centre of your view on the grass patch.
Arriving at the park, it was just as you had imagined. The moon, big and bright in a sky speckled with millions of sparkling stars that added to the beauty.
Instead of sitting, the two of you stood holding each other. Your head pressed into his chest as you observed the moon, his cheek resting on your hair with his face directed the same way as yours.
Tonight, there was something new. Something that you have felt before but was too afraid to act on it. Partially because of the past, partially because it was till relatively new to you and you didn't know.
When a breeze blew past you, you shivered even with the warmth of Ben’s embrace. Even though you tried to hide it, he still noticed like always.
Before he could take his coat off, your lips caught his and both of your hands pressed to the sides of his face. He brought his arms back around you, his hands resting on your hips. Pulling you closer to his warmth, he pulled away for a moment, resting his head against yours.
It seemed as if he could tell what you were suddenly feeling. That, this time, you were acting on it.
“Are you okay with this? Because I can stop if-”
You cut him off before he could start rambling, “Ben, I’m okay. Just promise to be gentle and possibly patient.”
Ben nodded, “I always will be for you.” Your lips crashed back against his, this time being more open.
Reluctantly, you had separated once again to make your way back home. Both of your paces were slightly quickened.
Unlocking your door, Ben had you in his arms after you took the key back out of the lock. Your lips locked again, built up feelings now being released. He reached behind you and opened the door, the two of you walking carefully backwards. Ben managed to close the door behind you without breaking contact.
Kicking your shoes off, you kept moving carefully backwards until your back met a wall. Your passion was still being shared until your two roommates jumped up at the two of you, causing a laugh as Ben was partially knocked off balance.
After telling them to go and lie down, he turned his attention back to you. In one swift movement, he lowered himself and picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Taking a step away from the wall he placed his hands on your back to pull you closer to him.
He had to tilt his head back to kiss you as your head was now above his. Keeping his carefulness, Ben walked to your room and closed the door. Turning on the light, he let himself lean against the door.
To catch his breath, he separated from your lips. Both of you were breathing heavily and smiled at the extra glow that seemed to radiate from your eyes.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Ben asked once he caught his breath enough. "We can stop if you are."
This is one of the many reasons why you love him so much. Even with permission, he asks multiple times to determine that it really is okay.
Nodding your approval, he stepped away from the door and brought you to the edge of the bed. Gently, he let you down on the covers. Taking his jacket off, your lips meet once again, you unbuttoning his shirt.
Sitting up, you let his hands find your zipper, “Just be gentle,” you whispered again into his ear. With that, he easily complied.
Everything he did was gentle. All doubts you had up to this moment were washed away. The raging fire of the past was put out by the gentle stream that was the present. Guilt had flooded you thinking that you made him wait this long but, at the same time, it made the moment special. And he would never blame you, and doesn’t blame you for anything that had happened.
For you, he would always wait for you. No matter the reason.
@stardancerluv @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @where-fantasy-meets-reality @hopeladybug @wintersoldiersthings
#obi wan x you#obi wan x reader#obi wan kenobi#obi wan#obi wan fanfiction#obi wan fic#obi wan fluff#obi wan imagine#obi wan kenobi imagine#obi wan kenobi x reader#obi wan kenobi x you#obi wan x y/n#ben kenobi#modern au#fanfic#ewan mcgregor#For You? Always.
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Sick Again
Summary: It's the worst time of month for the reader, and on top of the difficulty of dealing with her period, she's having an awful, no good, very bad day all around. Lucky for her, Bucky just wants to help.
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem! enhanced! Reader
(Reader can see shards of the future and understand every language)
Warnings: mild angst, mentions of blood and menstruation, language, fluff
Author's note: This is the softest shit I've ever written for this site! In real life, I'm lucky enough to have someone who goes out of their way to make my day better when I'm dealing with my period, so I thought the reader deserved that too. As always, I've left the reader unnamed so this can be read as a self-insert, but I've written so much about this character that, in my head, her name is Violet.
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She knows it’s going to be a rough one from the moment she wakes up. She’s slept through her alarm somehow (either that, or she forgot to set it), and she’s not entirely sure if her phone dinging with a good morning text that’s brought her out of unconsciousness, or the dull ache in her lower stomach. Cramps. Great. As she stands, she realizes that it’s already started, the bed has a noticable red splotch and her thighs are wet. Her period has arrived. Hey, at least she’s not pregnant. That would be some relief if she were actually having sex.
While waiting for the shower to heat up (after stripping the bed of course; she’ll have to do something about those sheets to make sure they don’t stain), she reads over her text. “Good morning, sweetheart.” That’s a new one. He must be exploring different pet names. So far, she feels awkward using anything other than his given name. Still, she smiles and types back a “Good morning. How are you always so damn chipper?” before stepping into the shower.
There’s not a lot of options for breakfast, and every single one of them turns her stomach as she imagines consuming them. With a sigh, she shoves some spare change in her pocket and vows to buy herself a cup of coffee on the way to the college. It’ll give her the jitters, but she’s so tired this morning that it’s a risk she’s willing to take.
Unfortunately, by the time she arrives at work, her head is pounding and the cramps have gone from unpleasant to downright painful. Her plan for this morning’s class was to read the children’s classic, “Green Eggs and Ham”, have a discussion about rhyming words, and then have her students work on simple poems of their own, but she’s feeling so bad that she decides to make it a movie day and have them translate a scene of their choosing from a Romanian cartoon into English.
Usually she enjoys her work. The students always ask great questions, and the thing she likes most about teaching adults is they’re here because they want to learn. Today, however? It feels like every minute lasts five times as long as it should, and by lunch time, she’s wilting. When her phone rings, she almost sends it to voicemail, but then he’d worry about her, and besides, the highlight of her whole shitty day so far has been that good morning text.
“Hey, Bucky.” As she says it, a wave of nausea hits her, and she has to take a deep breath before continuing. “What’s new on the other side of the city?”
She really should be paying attention, but she feels bad enough that most of what he says goes in one ear and out the other. She’s so muddled in fact that she doesn’t realize he’s asked her something until the line goes silent for a few seconds too long.
“I’m sorry. Say again?”
“Doll, are you okay? You sound a little…” he hesitates. “...not like yourself.”
She’s prepared to tell him she’s fine, right as rain, but one thing they both absolutely agree on is honesty between them, since they have to tell so many lies to the outside world on a day-to-day basis.
“I’m not feeling that well today, but I’ll be okay.”
“What’s going on? Are you coming down with something, do you think?” Yeah, her period, but if what she’s read about the nineteen forties is anything to judge from, he’s probably not used to hearing about that particular bodily function.
“No. It happens every so often. I’ll be good as new in a few days.” But right now, she sure as shit wishes she’d remembered to grab a few aspirin.
“If you say so. Do you want me to swing by after you get home from work and bring you anything?” That would be really, really great, but considering she still has blood-stained sheets soaking in her bathtub…
“No, that’s alright. Thanks anyway.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.”
It’s a mercy she only has two afternoon classes, neither of which are very intense, so by two o’clock, she’s on the bus home. All she wants to do is curl up into a ball on one of the seats in hopes it’ll alleviate some of the pain in her abdomen, but then an older gentleman with a cane boards the bus and there aren’t any other seats available, so she waves him over and gives him her seat. It’s only another ten minutes, after all. Finally, the bus stops a few blocks from her apartment so, slinging her over-filled backpack onto her shoulder, she sets off on the trudge home.
She’s just set foot into the building when a woman she recognizes as her neighbor from a few doors down comes her way. “The heat is out and the super is off who knows where.” Great. She thought it felt a little chilly in here, and now that she’s paying attention, her breath is forming ice crystals in the air. She thanks her neighbor for the warning and, collecting her mail, heads towards the elevator.
Because her luck is shitty, she has a vision of pressing the buttons and waiting, only for nothing to happen. Looks like the elevator is out too. The stairs then. No big deal. She only lives on the sixth floor. It could be worse. Of course, on her way up, her backpack strap breaks, so she has to shift to carrying it in her arms. Today is just not her day, and she needs to accept it.
That truth becomes even more apparent as she reaches her door (at last!) and realizes that her key is nowhere to be found. She must’ve dropped it in the stairwell when her backpack gave out. She’ll have to go searching for it later, but for now, she digs around in her purse and, producing the right implements, proceeds to pick her own lock and let herself inside.
It shouldn’t be possible, but her apartment is actually colder than the hallway was. Feeling utterly defeated, she drops her backpack onto the couch with a thump and, not bothering to peel off her coat, climbs into bed. Maybe she can get a power nap and it’ll give her enough energy to get through the papers she needs to grade before tomorrow.
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The first sign of trouble appears when he texts her ten minutes after the usual time she arrives home, and there’s no reply. From what he’s read, lots of people take a while to return texts or phone calls, but not her. No, she’s always prompt. Thirty seconds or less. Then, he tries to call, ask her if she’s feeling any better and if she’s sure she doesn’t want him to bring her anything. After eight rings, he gets her voicemail. He’s not great at leaving messages, so he just goes with the basics. Hey, it’s Bucky. Just checking on you. Call me back when you’re up to it. Another hour passes, and nothing.
He can’t just sit around his apartment worrying, so he decides to do what he was planning on earlier when he sent the first text: ignore that she’s told him she doesn’t need anything and go to pick up some supplies, then drop them by her front door. No need to go inside if she’d rather not have company. They don’t even have to see each other. He wonders briefly as he’s going through the grocery store, adding cans of soup to his cart, if this is crossing a boundary. Should he just leave her be, since she said she didn’t need anything? Is this pushing too far? He doesn’t know, but he can’t stop imagining her all alone with no one to take care of her. Sure, she can look after herself, but she doesn’t have to. No, a few cans of soup and some tea won’t go amiss. That’s all he’ll do unless she asks for his help.
The bus ride is a little awkward, considering the two huge paper bags he’s carrying with him, but that’s the least of his worries as he sends her another text that he’s dropping a few things by her door, but not to worry about making conversation if she’s not up to it, he won’t come in. No reply, again. A huge part of him wants to get off at the next stop and just run the rest of the way (it’d probably be faster), but that seems like a good way to attract attention, so he forces himself to stay in his seat, waiting for the right street.
The lobby is freezing when he steps inside. There’s a thermometer hanging by the elevator. It’s in celcius, but he rapidly translate the temperature. Roughly thirty-eight degrees fahrenheit. In other words, cold as fuck. As he’s waiting for the elevator to return to the ground floor, a man passes by him and mutters, “You’re going to be waiting a long time, son. It’s out of order.” Of course it is. This isn’t the worst apartment building in the city, but it’s not too far off. The stairs, then.
He’s halfway up the six flights to her floor when he sees something on the ground, something he immediately recognizes because of the butterfly key chain attached. Her keys. Now he’s not just worried; he’s outright scared. Grabbing up the keys, he hurriedly climbs the last three flights and, no longer concerned about looking suspicious, knocks hard on her door. Nothing. Fuck. What should he do? The obvious answer is to use the damn keys (he has a spare set, but he’s never let himself in without her express permission before) and go inside. So, that’s what he does, hoping against hope that there’s a logical explanation for all this. One besides something being very, very wrong.
It feels like someone left the air conditioning on full blast inside the apartment. At first he thinks a window must be open, but as he walks from kitchen to living room (all four paces of it), he sees nothing out of the ordinary. Well, except her backpack. The strap has given out, and it’s been thrown haphazardly on the couch. So at least she made it home.
He calls her name quietly, then a little louder before making his way towards her bedroom, not wanting to startle her. The bathroom door is ajar, and without meaning to, he glances inside. Immediately, he freezes. There’s a set of bed sheets in the tub, and… is that blood? Shit! How could he be this stupid? He should’ve rushed over the second he realized she’d taken too long to return a text. Now who knows what’s happened?
The bedroom door is closed, so he can’t see inside. A cold sweat has broken out on the back of his neck as, slowly, he turns the doorknob. He’s got one hand on his pocket with the knife concealed inside as he eases the door open, but there’s no need. She’s all alone in there, curled into a ball on her stripped bed, still in her coat and hat. Thanks to his better than average sight, even from a distance, he can tell that she’s breathing, body shifting slightly with each inhale and exhale, and in return, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
He approaches the bed as quietly as he can so as not to disturb her. She’s really out then, if she hasn’t woken up from the mattress dipping as he sits down next to her. He doesn’t touch her, just holds the palm of his good hand a few millimeters away from her forehead. No fever from what he can tell. He feels a little foolish now, because it appears that she’s perfectly fine. More than likely was asleep and didn’t hear the text alert. Still, for his own peace of mind, he needs to hear as much from her.
“Doll, can you wake up for me?” As he says it, he pushes back a few stray hairs that have stuck to her forehead in sleep. Her eyelids flutter once, twice, before opening all the way.
“Bucky? What-” She starts to sit up, then groans.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head, a pained smile in place. “At least, nothing major.” He’s not sure he buys that, but before he can give it anymore consideration- “What are you doing here?”
There’s no good way to put it, so he goes with the truth.
“When you didn’t answer your phone, I got worried. I was gonna come by and drop some things off at the door, but when I found your keys in the stairwell-”
“Oh.” She chuckles softly. “So that’s where they went. I had to pick the lock on my own front door. Must’ve dropped them when the strap broke on my backpack.” That answers that. Not a fight. Not her running to get away and, in her haste, losing her keys. Just an ordinary mishap.
“Sorry.” Without thinking, he scratches at his neck. “Guess I got a little carried away.”
“No, don’t be sorry.” She shakes her head and, offering him a small smile, takes his hand. “It’s sweet of you to worry. Although I didn’t mean for you to.” Worrying about her seems to be a permanent part of his life, and frankly, it’s one he wouldn’t get rid of even if he could. That reminds him…
“Why were there blood-soaked sheets in your tub?” Her cheeks heat up, and he immediately hates himself. “Sorry. The door was open and I saw-”
“It’s okay.” She looks down, studying her lap. “This is embarrassing to talk about, but I started my period last night in my sleep.” Oh. “That’s why I wasn’t feeling so hot today, and before I went to work, I put the sheets in the tub to soak.” That makes sense. If he felt stupid before, now he feels like an absolute moron.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” It wasn’t exactly something that was commonly talked about when he was growing up, but he’s an adult. He knows how this works. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
“We’re together now, right?” Frowning in confusion, he nods. “Pry away. I’ll tell you to fuck off if you push too far. After all, I think you know my biggest secret.” He chuckles and leans forward, planting a kiss on her forehead.
“I think that’s mutual.” Now that he knows she’s okay, it’s time to get to work. “Is it okay if I go ahead and unpack what I brought? Just a few cans of soup and the like?”
“You didn’t have to-”
“Sure I did.” He cuts her off. “That’s my job. Take care of my best girl.” The blush is back, but this time, he doesn’t feel bad for provoking it.
“I can help you put those away-” As she speaks, she sits up and starts to climb out of bed.
“Or you can stay there and rest. Let me handle it.” She still doesn’t look convinced. “Then maybe we can just sit together and relax, watch a movie while you get a head start on those papers? What do you say?”
She sighs. “Are you sure? I’m not going to be much company, and this time of month can get kinda graphic.”
As if that’s even a question. “I’m sure.”
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It hasn’t been an evening for the record books. The most exciting thing that’s happened is that she’s taken a hot shower with him still in her apartment (scandalous! He was a mere two rooms away, so he could’ve seen everything). Still it’s been nice. The canned soup tasted as you would expect canned soup to taste. They made brief small talk about each other’s days before starting up a movie on her laptop (Frozen, because it seems appropriate, given the temperature, plus if she has to deal with ‘Let it Go’ living in her mind rent-free for the rest of her life, then dammit, so does he), and settled in on her bed to watch. The last paper was graded a full hour ago, and currently, she’s resting with her head on his chest, both of them bundled in every blanket she owns.
The cramps are still bad, but his good arm is slung over her lower stomach, and the warm is helping somewhat. That, and with a few painkillers in her system, she’s feeling much better than earlier in the day. Better, and sleepy.
She tries to stay awake (she wants to be completely alert for every second that he’s with her), but between the warmth from their bodies pressed together under the covers, the pleasant background noise from the movie, the contentment of a full stomach, and the heaviness of exhaustion, before she realizes it, she’s asleep.
It’s only when she feels a feather-light touch to her cheek that she opens her eyes and becomes aware that she’s been dosing. His face is mere inches from her, hand caressing her face.
“Doll, you seem pretty tired. I think we should call it a night and let you get some rest.”
She knows better, but she’s just sleepy enough that her inhibitions lower, and she murmurs,
“Stay with me.”
Behind lowered lashes, she sees his face break into a small smile.
“Sure, sweetheart. I’ll stay if you want me to.”
It’s forward. They’ve never spent the night together (or, come to think of it, even been in her bed) before in any sense of the word, but as she drifts off once more, she can’t help but think that this just feels right.
#marvel#fanfiction#bucky barns x y/n#bucky fanfic#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x ofc#captain america#the winter soldier#fluff
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Okay hear me out, Izumi was a babysitter for Masumi when he was young and one day she tells him how lonely she is too due to her dad leaving and her mom working constantly. So lil Masumi then promises to marry her so they can no longer be lonely anymore. Cue Act 1 where he finally meets her again but she doesn’t remember him. Masumi then promises himself to make sure she’s never lonely, even if it means hooking her up with another guy (whoever you want it to be) and losing his first love/crush.
the inevitable
"Then let's get married when we're older." Masumi said, serious. He was sitting across from Izumi on the large sofa in his living room, both of them on either side.
Izumi was quietly explaining to Masumi how she enjoyed his company, despite their eight year age gap; him being eight while she was sixteen.
She spent most of her days taking care of Masumi in his home. It would be school and then babysitting, school, babysitting, school, babysitting—you get the gist.
It's not that Izumi had to do it. She could have easily said no. Even now, she could just stand up and leave if she wanted to, just as long as she called an assistant or a maid or another worker who would watch over Masumi until they found someone new.
But Izumi liked it here. The silence in her own home was far too quiet and she didn't really mind filling in the empty space at a lonelier kid's house.
He was easy to take care of, a quiet child who liked to do things on his own which allowed Izumi to do her school work. She'd play music for the both of them to relax to as they did their own things, Masumi more often than not asking her who the artist was or what the song was called.
Masumi was a cute one, too. Izumi liked to pinch his chubby cheeks whenever it was time for Masumi to eat his lunch or his dinner for the day and he let her, when normally he didn't like it when others approached him this way.
She'd been taking care of this kid for a while, and she saw him like a little brother.
"I– what? Why?" Izumi laughed in surprise and leaned back into her corner of the sofa with a smile. To receive such a sudden proposal from a kid was amusing, but what was funnier to her was that Masumi didn't look like he was joking.
There was an indignant frown on his face as he crawled across the sofa to sit closer to Izumi.
"I don't want you to feel lonely anymore." He murmured shyly, reaching out with his small hands to envelope one of Izumi's own. She smiled at his sincerity and ruffled his hair with her unoccupied hand, offering up the empty space in her arms for the child to crawl into to comfort him.
It looked like he had accidentally brought his own mood down.
"I'm used to it, Masumi-kun." She soothed, gently petting his hair.
"I, for one, don't want you to feel lonely. That's why I always pick you up from school and stay with you in your house until you go to sleep."
"I don't feel lonely. I don't care." Masumi grouched unhappily at Izumi's words and sulked into her side, his rest resting on her shoulder while she cradled him in one arm, a manuscript balancing itself on her thighs.
"That's not something you should say." She scolded him, looking away from the child's grumpy face to skim over the text on her lap.
"Whatever. I'm going to marry you once I'm old enough, and I'm going to always be by your side." He vowed for the both of them and dug his face into the crook of Izumi's neck while she let out another laugh, flipping through the pages to her book.
"Okay, kiddo."
After that day, Izumi continued to take care of him for a few months until the devastating news that Masumi was going to be living abroad for the next few years surfaced. Even worse was that, Izumi's mother was set on moving away too as they had found a new home to live in; a home for just two people.
Masumi was in tears when Izumi decided to say goodbye to him at the airport before he and his small family left, and he clung onto her desperately when he was told that they needed to head to terminal.
"Izumi, I don't want to go." He sobbed into her chest and clutched at her as she was the only thing that tied him down to this world. It broke Izumi's heart.
"I don't want you to either, but it'll be hard for me to convince your parents to stay." She explained to him; trying to avoid words like 'can't'. If she used a word that had negative connotations like that, it would only hurt Masumi more and make him confused.
'Why can't you?' She could hear him ask.
Before the two could say anything else, Masumi was pried away from Izumi by his father, the young child letting out another sob that nearly ripped Izumi's heart out.
And that was the last time they saw each other until another eight years had passed.
God, when Masumi saw her again.. it felt like he had ascended to Heaven.
He moved back to Japan once his parents deemed him old enough to live on his own in their old house, sending him home at the age of fourteen.
It had been two years since he came back and not once did he see her until today.
He was walking around Veludo Station when he saw Izumi and Sakuya performing a street act; and when he saw her all grown up and pretty, it felt like a truck had hit him.
His heart was stuck in his throat when she noticed him staring, and he quickly hopped down to where she stood with Sakuya, effectively startling the two.
"If you're a part of the troupe.. I'll join." He muttered, much to the joy of Izumi, Sakuya, and that old looking dude.
He smiled a little when he saw how her eyes sparkled with relief, but wasn't sure what to make of it when she gave him another glance and didn't seem to recognise the little boy she used to care for.
So it was a bitter feeling as time dredged on at Mankai with Izumi still not realising that he was Masumi Usui, the Masumi Usui that she babysat when they were younger.
That bitter feeling would turn impossibly more acrid when he'd watch her interact with the other men in the company, but it was even worse when he would notice her working alone in the dining area or the lounge room; piles of papers seemingly neverending as she silently worked into the night.
It was an image he never wanted to see.
She worked tirelessly to keep this company afloat and on top of that travelled around the city to help with other theatres, never giving herself a break nor the time to just eat and recharge, let alone spare any time for anyone to have a conversation with.
Watching her from areas she wouldn't figure out he was hiding in, Masumi would feel his heart sink whenever she finished for the night, picking up her materials to leave for her room.
There was no one to sit beside her or come and fetch her. No one to kiss her head and tell her that she did well. No one to hold her hand and tell her that she shouldn't be working so hard when there are others that she can rely on.
Masumi wanted to be the person to do that; wanted to be the person who took hold of that special finger on her left hand to be able to do all of those things.
But how could he when their promise to marry was left in the dust? Her memories of him forgotten and pushed all the way to the back of her mind?
...and then there was Sakyo.
That good for nothing Yakuza piece of crap who dared to even insinuate that he would use Izumi's body to pay off the debt.
Masumi was seething in his bed when he found out that that man would be joining their company.
"I don't like him." Masumi said one morning while eating his breakfast with Sakuya and Itaru, scooping a spoonful of fried rice into his mouth with a glare.
"What, 'cause it's obvious he likes the Director?" Itaru chuckled and took a sip of his coffee, tapping away at something on his screen while Sakuya looked over to see Izumi and Sakyo discussing something important in the lounge area.
"Well– yeah. But he's mean to her too." Masumi muttered glumly, poking at his egg with his spoon. Sakyo would always be caught glaring or staring at Izumi, as if waiting for her to do something wrong so that he could clean it up right away.
Masumi didn't like how Sakyo did that, but Izumi never seemed to mind.
"'Cause he cares?" Itaru scoffed, coffee spoon hanging from his mouth while he let a grumpy Masumi steal some of his breakfast.
"You ever experience tough love, kid?"
"Only Izumi's." Masumi sighed, resting a hand on his chest to calm his running heart. Then Masumi paused. “Wait. Does that mean Izumi loves me?”
“Uh.” Itaru tapped his spoon against his tongue. “Yes and no.”
Sakuya smiled at the gentle answer Itaru gave and looked at Masumi with a gentle look in his eyes, reaching out to pat his junior on the shoulder. “I’m sure Izumi’s in good hands with Sakyo, Masumi. I think...he has all the things that the director needs.”
“What do you mean?” The young boy frowned, to which both Sakuya and Itaru shared a brief glance.
“Well. He’s mature.” Itaru listed off.
“I’m mature for my age.” Masumi argued back.
Itaru ignored it. “He’s responsible.”
“Me too.” Masumi gritted.
“And he’ll always be there for Izumi. Right by her side.” Itaru finished off, talking as if he knew what he was talking about as he took the last sip of his coffee and stood up from the dinner table to put his cup in the sink.
“There’ll come a day when you leave with everyone else, Masumi.” The adult warned gently, patting the kid’s hair while lazily shrugging his business coat on. “But it’s quite obvious that Sakyo has his reasons for being here.”
And it was then, that Masumi felt his heart drop. Because Itaru was right. He could very much well be taken back overseas by his father again if he so choose to; reminded of the time when he had to part with Izumi when they were younger.
Would she forget him again if he had to go? Would he be removed from her memories again? Would he have to experience meeting her for the first time all over again if he came back?
Masumi wasn’t sure if he wanted to go through that again. If Masumi had to leave; he wasn’t sure if he wanted to come back at all.
The pain he felt when she looked at him with no sign of recognition was almost unbearable.
He didn’t have a viable enough reason to stay here. He knew his father would drag him back to his own home anytime, and Masumi wouldn’t have a good enough reason to keep him from doing that.
But Sakyo did. Sakyo was here because he was indebted to someone, and because he held a history in this very theatre.
What did Masumi have?
Nothing.
“Don’t think too hard about it.” Itaru consoled the silent child who sat with Sakuya and left the pair with a solemn bow. He saw how the light slowly left Masumi’s eyes and heard how loud the cogs in his head were turning.
Itaru was sorry.
“Hey.” Sakuya prodded, lightly patting Masumi on the back to make him snap out of it. “You can stay home today. I’ll ask the director if she can call the principal to report your absence.”
“Okay.” Masumi murmured, picking at his egg once more before eating whatever was left on his plate. Izumi always told him never to waste his food.
He hated how Itaru was right, but he didn’t have the power to do anything about it.
But just because he’s leaving Izumi in Sakyo’s hands doesn’t mean that he’s going to leave her be. He’ll still be there for her when he sees that nobody else is. He’ll still stay by her side until he has to be ripped away from her.
He knew he wasn’t going to be here for long, so could you really blame him?
She was just going to forget about him when he left anyways.
But at least he’ll leave knowing that she isn’t alone anymore.
#masumi usui#izumi tachibana#sakyo furuichi#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#this was one of my favourite rqs but it got too long so i had to cut it early.#thank you for this long ago ask anon!
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Release the Hounds {6/?}
Chapter Six: Am I Supposed to Fight?
Pairing: Persephone!Steve Rogers x Hades!Reader
Chapter Summary: Both sides are preparing but the question of whether they will actually have to fight is still standing. And everyone has an opinion.
Word Count: ...2,000ish lol
A/N: Sooooo I’m a slack human being but I’m not giving up on this story! Just have a bit of a busy life at the moment hahah here you go fambam please forgive me. I’m going to try and smash out several chapters in the next week before I go on holiday/school starts back up.
Series Masterlist ~ Masterlist
As Hades stepped into the home of her brother she slipped off her coat and threw it over the back of the couch in the first living room.
“Where art thou my dear brother?” She called through the house and a sweet whistle sounded down the stairs and around her. She dressed and presented herself much more casual than when she met with Thor. She no longer adorned her business attire, dressed in black jeans and a loose t-shirt. Her boots hitting the marble as she climbed the stairs.
Loki’s house is extravagant. The outside something like a greek temple with its decorated ionic columns and statues. The inside much the same in its sense of power. But Loki likes to be comfortable. His home has a, well, homely feel to it. Art adorns every wall, in every corner but the blanket is thrown lazily over the couch, there’s a pile of books on the coffee table and as she walks down the hallway she can smell the sea salt as if they were right next to the ocean. She can hear the horses in his backyard through the open windows. Hades always enjoyed coming to Loki’s home because thats what it was. A home. It wasn’t a place of work, apart from his office, his children come and go as they please, there’s always dishes to be washed and laundry to be folded. She felt welcomed here.
“Since when do you work this late?” She leaned on the doorframe of his office as Loki looked up from his piles of paper, his long black hair disheveled from running his fingers through it.
“I’m a very hard worker excuse you,” he smiled and offered her the seat in front of his desk, reaching into a draw next to him and bringing out two glasses and a bottle of nectar in a beautifully adorned glass bottle. Hades’ eyes lingered on the bottle as she ached for him to just hand the thing to her so she could pour it down her throat. Lord she needed a drink after this week.
“And I’m beloved by all,” her voice was sarcastic and she drooled as he handed her the glass and raised his eyebrows.
“By me especially,” he winked. Loki, forever the cheeky bastard.
“My biggest supporter,” she smiled and they clinked their glasses.
Loki looked back down at his work, his forehead crinkled and his lip pulled between his teeth, she had an inkling to rip out the paper from under him but knew better to disturb him while he thought. It could be important afterall.
So instead her eyes wandered, they moved to the ceiling tall bookcase to his right, spotting some of her favourites amongst his collection. She stood and walked towards the giant fish tank he had to his left and peered in, watching the exotic fish minding their business.
“Why can’t people be more like you,” she muttered under her breath and the red and blue fish with a tail that looked like it belonged to a feather dancer stared blankly back at her.
“They don’t like being stared at,” Loki chimed from his desk, his attention still on his papers. She sighed and fell back into the seat.
“Perhaps if you joined me for dinner and a drink or two I wouldn’t. Why are you working, work is off limits on our nights.” She was getting agitated, her entire week had been filled with work, forgetting about the normal stuff, the addition of the council and that damn god of spring was starting to give her a headache. “I’m sick of work! I just want a night off, please Loki.”
“Well I’m sick of you being treated poorly by assholes who think they’re better.” His voice was stern and she leaned back for a second in shock at it. Loki was not often passionate about things. Unless someone had spoken poorly against him or, in Odysseus’ case injured his son and was just a “lying good for nothing asshole!” Loki fought when it was his reputation on the line, but this, this was different, the last time Hades had seen Loki fight for someone other than himself was when he went by Poseidon and they fought side by side with Thor, then Zeus, against their father. Hades prayed a war would not come of this strife that was forming between the Olympians.
“Thor told me what you’re doing, why didn’t you come to me about this? I would have told y-“
“You would have told me to stop, that it’s for nothing but I’m sorry to say Hades, you’re wrong.”
Steve had his nose buried in his notebook while his mother went on about her campaign to “keep that wicked witch of the Underworld from getting her death grip on the council.” He sketched out the cornucopia from the gates, the flowers that had adorned it. The pages were covered in those sketches, one of her crown, how it was burned into his memory but he didn’t dare draw her face. Currently his pencil shaded a hand, with a vine twisted around it, the thorns piercing its skin and Steve couldn’t help but feel the prickle of the thorns in his own hand.
“Steve!” He jumped at the sound of his mother’s voice. The book slammed shut and he slid into his pocket as she dropped a clipboard into his hands. “Go around the council’s homes, get their signature. Thor needs proof that we will not stand for her to sit with us. We must band together in a time like this. I have no doubt the olympians will agree.” He dropped the clipboard onto the table and shook his head. She paid no attention to him, instead continuing her work as she wrote notes for the debate. “Sing your name too, we can’t forget about ourselves.”
He picked up the clipboard and walked out the door making his way out of the house towards Bucky’s home first.
Bucky’s house always confused Steve, the interior and furniture changed every couple millennia but the outside, the general idea of it was always the same and it was never extravagant. Most homes in Olympus didn’t change much, they just added things to keep up with the times. Bucky’s home was basically a shack. A cabin in the woods. A beach house with the lake view to match. Made of dark wood with a porch that stretched around the entire front of the house. Bucky’s home was one that matched its owner in its entirety. Bucky was a relaxed man, he took things as they came and he was never very serious. It was one of the reasons Steve enjoyed his company so much because when his mother was up his ass or his work was being exceptionally hard Bucky was there with a pat on the back and a drink in his hand inviting him to watch the sunset over the water.
They were best friends, could always count on one another no matter what, Steve knew that Bucky had his back always, and so he knew now that no matter how much Bucky disapproved of the situation he would still back Steve.
“You’re mother is going to kill you.” Bucky sat leaning on his knees on the couch, his beer long forgotten about on the coffee table as he held the clipboard in one hand shaking his head at Steve.
“Pretty sure she always kind of wants to kill me.”
“Never. You’re her special little boy, her one perfect creation,” Bucky cocked a smile at his friend who rolled his eyes back.
“Shut up,” Steve leaned back and sipped at his own beer, watching it spin in his hands. It was a solid plan, if he went to the right people it would work, he could go behind his mother and her campaign and plead Hades’ case. Maybe even talk to Loki, though he wasn’t sure if Loki would believe him. He wasn’t overly sure if anyone would believe him.
“You already know I’m on your side Steve. I know Hades, I remember the last time she sat on the council. She’s smart, she has the knowledge and the authority, she deserves to be there, but the younger gods, the once who have forgotten what she did, the ones that have never worked with her. They don’t know. They eat out of Demeter’s hands with all her bullshit about satan and how we ‘don’t need the dead in the business of the living’,” Bucky mocked Demeter, he was never afraid to do that in front of Steve, at first he felt slightly weird about it, like his mother would know if he ever spoke a bad word about her but he soon realised the Bucky was safe, he could be himself and say what he wanted without consequences, well, with little consequences.
Steve thought about what Bucky had said, he knew that Bucky would be on his side, Bucky had never not shown support for Hades herself, just, ya know, the stupid shit Steve did in Hades…
But something stayed with Steve. ‘the ones that have never worked with her’, had Bucky worked with Hades? When would Bucky have to work with her? Bucky worked with the sun, he worked with prophecies and medicine, none of which concerned the dead.
“Start with Becca, she and I are one of the same, Pallas-Nat, she’ll be on your side too, I know she’s already talked to Loki about it. That’s who you should go to after, to him, if he knows, if he has confirmation from Nat, I know they hate each other because of Athens and Odysseus but he trusts her word, he trusts that she’ll choose the winning side.” Bucky went on and on about who Steve should see, who he knew that would be on his side.
He listened intently, took note and made a plan of what he should say to each. To Becca, goddess of the hunt, the best way was to talk to her about Bucky, they always fought side by side. To Natasha, goddess of wisdom, it was going to be harder. But if Bucky was right then she already agreed with Steve, they just needed to join forces.
Hades,
I don’t know when you’ll get this, I plan on giving it to Peter to pass on, I know I can trust him to get this to you safely. There’s five days before the council debates and I thought you would appreciate an update as to what is happening in Olympus.
I imagine you have your own ways, maybe spies, Loki has probably discussed matters with you also. He said he had told you he would fight whether you liked it or not, how you told him that he was stubborn. You said I was stubborn as well, I guess I am, but I can’t help fighting for what I believe in. I believe in you. I believe that you should have a say and so do many of the others, Loki, Becca, Natasha, and Jane all agree with me. I think we actually have a shot but Loki thinks it will take your appearance to convince Thor and the lesser gods and nymphs that will be present.
I hope to see you there, please.
Yours,
Steve
Hades and Sam sat side by side on the balcony that overlooked the gates. They watched as night engulfed them and there was an eery silence between the two. A fresh argument still sitting between them, two sides of the same fight.
Hades’ mind was fighting with itself, her guard was being torn down brick by brick as Loki and Steve tried to convince her to stand before the twelve Olympians. But Sam wasn’t a fan of the idea.
“What if it’s a trap,” he argued, “we don’t know what Demeter has up her sleeve,” he said, “we don’t need them!” He raised his voice and she let him get it all out.
“Are you finished yet?” She brushed her hand over her dress and looked at him as Sam nodded. “You’re right.”
Sam was shocked at what she said, he expected her to rationalise her reasons, he expected her to tell him to mind his own business, to tell him that she would stand up for the Underworld. But she didn’t.
“I’m what now?”
“You’re right Sam. Everything about this is stupid. The living and the dead shouldn’t be mixed, bad things happen, bad things like husbands wanting to resurrect their wives, like people thinking they can make deals in order to mess with what is natural. They don’t respect us or what we do here, you’re right, it could be a trap. Demeter will make it a living hell for myself and the rest of you here if she can. You’re right, we don’t need them, we run things differently here, our systems aren’t the same.”
“Then what…” Sam looked at Hades in awe, there was fire in her eyes and he knew that look, she was sick of being undermined, she was angry, she was determined and if he knew her as well as he thought he did he knew what that look meant. She had a plan. “Then why are you considering it?”
“Because they need us.”
Chapter Seven: Here Comes Trouble
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my favorite flower ↠ han jisung
(gif by @han-jisung)
genre: fluff, florist!Jisung x barista!reader
word count: 2k
warnings: none
request: Sort of? Enjoy, Sara!
a/n: credit to @junhuisflower for the idea for this fic~
✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio✧
*✧･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ
Jisung was having a dreadful day.
The florist where he worked was overrun with people buying their significant others flowers for Valentine’s Day, even though it was still a week away, and they all insisted on their bouquets being impeccably arranged and be-ribboned. Those who bought the little trinkets the store offered, in addition to the large array of flowers, wanted them wrapped nicely—with a gift receipt included, please, if it’s not too much trouble. It was also rainy and cold, which meant customers kept tracking water and mud into the shop, making the floor ever so slightly slippery. He’d already dealt with one child slipping and the subsequent meltdown, and really didn’t want to go through that again. And, to cap it all off, he had a headache, which had started around 2 pm and would not go away.
Since a holiday was fast approaching, Jisung was working later than usual and had a break before the evening rush. He decided that what he needed was coffee and lots of it, preferably with several shots of espresso to keep him awake and to quell the pounding in his head. So, he threw on his coat and scarf, kicking himself for not remembering a hat nor an umbrella, and headed across the street.
As soon as Jisung entered the small, cozy cafe, he relaxed. The sharp smell of coffee and the sweetness of baked goods mingled tantalizingly before his nose, and a lazy smile spread across his face without him even realizing it. He joined the mercifully short line to the counter, thinking that he could really go for something simple, as long as there was plenty of caffeine in it. Preoccupied with his phone, Jisung didn’t notice he was at the beginning of the line.
“Hi, what can I get for you this evening?” a light voice asked. After a pause it said again, “Hello?”
Jisung’s head shot up, looking a bit sheepish, and he blinked. A beautiful young woman stood in front of him, head cocked to the side and waiting to take his drink order. Suddenly, his day had gotten a lot better.
“I- Sorry. Um, could I have a medium latte with an extra shot of espresso, please?” Jisung said, trying his best to seem casual when, in reality, he was practically shaking.
“Sure, that’ll be ready in a few minutes at the counter to the right,” you said as Jisung paid and went to stand to the side.
He knew it would be rude to stare, but he couldn’t help it. Jisung was instantly drawn to you without prompting nor reason. You were the prettiest person he’d ever seen, and he was friends with Hyunjin, whose delicate features usually drew the attention of every person in a room. Maybe it was your smile and the way your eyes sparkled. Maybe it was the way the loose strands of hair fell around your face. Or maybe it was just the mellifluousness of your voice. He could barely think. Oh no, he really needed to keep it together since he was in public.
Jisung went to the counter to retrieve his coffee once it was ready, and tried not to yelp as his hand brushed yours. He scurried out of the cafe as quickly as possible, not wanting to embarrass himself anymore than he already had.
The next morning, Jisung returned to the little cafe across from the florist. He went back the day after that, and the next, and even the next day after that. Without fail, he was there at 8:30 am to get his latte and sometimes a bun. He never stayed long, since he had the shop to open, but it was nice to have this new routine. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t gone there before. By the fifth morning of him going to the cafe, you knew his order and even had the coffee almost ready.
“Morning!” you said brightly, “Same as usual?”
“Yeah, and a bun, too, please. Any flavor is fine!”
“Sure thing! Also, what’s your name? You come in here all the time and I can’t believe I’m just now asking,” you wondered.
“Oh!” Jisung was surprised you’d even ask. He was just a customer, no one special, right? “My name’s Jisung. Han Jisung. You’re Y/N, right? I noticed your name tag and all.” He stopped before he could say more, not wanting to admit that he’d noted your name the first day he saw you and committed it to memory.
“Yep, I’m Y/N,” you said, “And you have a lovely name. It sounds like the wind blowing through willow leaves. I like it.”
Jisung blushed, not used to compliments, especially from a pretty girl on whom he had such a crush. “Th-thank you. I like your name, too.”
You finished swirling steamed and frothed milk, espresso, and caramel together as Jisung squirmed on the other side of the counter.
“So, you work at the florist, right?” you said. “Has it been as busy over there as in here? I feel like I’ve seen at least twenty couples of high schoolers going on awkward coffee dates just in the past week.”
“Oh my god, it’s been crazy. Everyone wants special flowers and we only have so many because, wow, it’s the middle of winter. People just don’t seem to get that flowers have to grow and that takes time. The rain hasn’t been helping moods, either. Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear the rants of a frustrated florist.” Yet again, Jisung’s mouth had tried to run away of its own accord. “Those high schoolers must be annoying, though—I can’t imagine having to deal with them. At least my customers are mainly adults.”
You laughed, and Jisung thought he’d never heard anything so free and beautiful. “It sounds like a busy week for you, too! Yeah, they’ve been a bit . . . loud? Constantly here?” You handed Jisung his coffee and one of the special currant buns the owner of the cafe had made just that morning. “Here you go, Jisung!”
“Thanks, Y/N. Good luck with the high schoolers.” Jisung took a sip of the coffee. “Oooh, caramel! Thanks!” he said, appreciatively, meeting your eyes and praying that you wouldn’t notice him blushing while he paid.
“Well, at least they have dates for Valentine’s Day,” you said, looking directly at Jisung. “Good luck with the last minute flower orders. See you tomorrow, then!”
Jisung smiled in response and made his way to the door. Had you been trying to hint at something? It was the day before Valentine’s Day, after all.
Throughout the day, Jisung couldn’t stop thinking about you. How, despite only seeing you six times in his entire life, did he manage to have such a big crush on you? How?! As he helped customer after customer who wanted roses, orchids, hydrangeas, and every other fancy flower they could find, Jisung wondered which flowers would suit you best. Certainly something happy and carefree, yet strong and beautiful. You weren’t one for opulence—he could guess that much. Maybe sunflowers or tulips would do.
During his lunch break, Jisung went into the refrigerated room that held the flowers waiting to be brought out into the shop proper. He wanted to make you a bouquet, and it needed to be perfect. Jisung walked up and down the row of flowers in buckets, trying to find complementary blooms for one large sunflower and four deep crimson tulips. Every so often, he’d stop and bring a flower to his nose or hold it next to the sunflower and tulips. He finally choose a few fern fronds, and sprigs of baby’s-breath and feverfew. The white and green would set off the deep yellow and red nicely. The bouquet almost seemed to smile at him, the colors were so warm and bright. Just like you.
Jisung set the flowers down on his station, arranged them to his satisfaction, and carefully wrapped protective paper around the bouquet. He even tied a deep red ribbon around the paper to better highlight the tulips. Pleased with his work, he continued his break and the rest of the afternoon with a light heart. When it came time for him to leave that evening, Jisung gathered his things and the bouquet, and steeled himself. If he didn’t do this now, he guessed he’d never be able to bring himself to do it again.
Jisung stepped into the cafe, hiding the bouquet behind his back. You looked up from the book you were reading, since, somehow, there was a lull in the steady stream of customers you’d had all afternoon. The smile on your face when you noticed it was him gave Jisung the extra courage to walk up to the counter.
“Jisung!” you exclaimed. “You’re back! What’s up?”
“Um, well, I wanted to give you these,” Jisung said, only a little nervously. He handed you the bouquet, hoping you’d like it. “You’re really pretty, Y/N. And, you said you didn’t have a date for Valentine’s Day, so I thought I’d see if you wanted to go on a date with me! I understand if you don’t, since we’ve only seen each other a handful of times, but it’s always nice to have company, right?” Jisung finished, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
“Thank you!” you said earnestly. “H-how did you know these are my favorite flowers?”
“I guessed?” Jisung’s blush became more pronounced and he glanced away before meeting your eyes again. “You’re my favorite flower, and you’re always so cheerful—but also steady and strong—so I thought sunflowers and tulips would be perfect. I hope that wasn’t too forward . . ..”
“Jisung, this is perfect,” you said, beaming at the young man in front of you. “I’d love to go on a date with you! You’re always so sweet and, uh, you’re pretty cute, too.”
The look on Jisung’s face should have been distilled for future use as a remedy against sadness, he was so happy. “Really? You’ll go out with me?” he asked, still not quite believing it.
“Of course—how could I resist being courted with flowers? Oh! We should go ice skating!”
The next evening, Valentine’s Day, Jisung met you at the outdoor ice rink. You’d brought hot tea—you had enough of coffee at work—to fend off the chill. He was glad to have a chance to just stand with you in comfortable silence as you watched the other skaters. You were easy to be with, and didn’t feel the need to talk all the time, which immediately endeared you to Jisung even more. When the two of you did speak, it was all the more meaningful because you shared what you really cared about: books, music production, the cutest small animals you could think of, etc.
Jisung hadn’t been skating in years, so he laid himself at your mercy to help him stay upright on the ice. It also gave him the excuse to hold your hand for long stretches, but you didn’t seem to mind either. It wasn’t long until he got his feet back under him and was skating smoothly.
As the two of you skated around the ice rink, the snow started to fall gently as other couples laughed and spun around you. You looked up at Jisung. He had his head tilted up to the sky, much like a sunflower, and was catching snowflakes on his cheeks and eyelashes. He had a blissful smile on his face and paid no mind to the strands of blond hair falling into his eyes.
“Jisung?” you said.
“Hmmm?”
“If I’m your favorite flower,” you mused, “then you’re my sunshine, right?”
Jisung’s eyes flew open and he skidded his skates so the two of you stopped. “Yes, of course,” he murmured as he wrapped you in a tight hug, and, surprised as you were, you hugged him just as tightly. When Jisung drew back slightly and looked at you, a gentle smile touching his eyes, you leaned up and kissed him. It was just a light touch on the lips, but it felt as warm and sparkling as the first truly warm day in spring when the sun breaks through clouds to dispel any lingering tendrils of frost or cold wind. Everything just seemed so right with Jisung—you couldn’t explain it but the feeling was lovely and you wanted it to stay. After all, a sunflower needed the sun to grow and the sun needed things on which to shine.
#han jisung#stray kids#stray kids han jisung#stray kids fluff#stray kids han#han jisung fluff#han jisung fanfic#skz han jisung#skz han#skz#skz fluff#stray kids imagines#stray kids fanfic#stray kids au#junhuisflower#stray kids jisung#han jisung imagines#han jisung drabbles#han jisung scenarios#skz jisung#skz imagines#skz drabbles#skz fanfic#stray kids scenarios#han jisung angst#stray kids angst#ji✨#.moonlight#moonlit-han
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capitalism
context: why does it make me cringe? why does sales make me cringe?
why did I feel for a while that I don’t want to get caught up in the career ladder?
why do I judge people who chase money or fame?
what should truly motivate us at work
In a perfect world, when it came to choosing an occupation, we would have only two priorities in mind:
– to find a job that we enjoyed
– to find a job that paid us enough to cover reasonable material needs
But in order to think so freely, we would have to be emotionally balanced in a way that few of us are. In reality, when it comes to choosing an occupation, we tend to be haunted by three additional priorities. We need:
– to find a job that will pay not just enough to cover reasonable material expenses but a lot more besides, enough to impress other people – even other people we don’t like very much.
– we crave to find a job that will allow us not to be at the mercy of other people, whom we may deep down fear and distrust.
– and we hope for a job that will make us well known, esteemed, honoured and perhaps famous, so that we will never again have to feel small or neglected.
reforming capitalism
The system we know as Capitalism is both wondrously productive and hugely problematic. On the downside, capitalism promotes excessive inequality; it valorises immediate returns over long-term benefits; it addicts us to unnecessary products and it encourages excessive consumption of the world’s resources with potentially disastrous consequences – and that’s just a start. We are now deeply familiar with what can go wrong with Capitalism. But that is no reason to stop dreaming about some of the ways in which Capitalism could one day operate in a Utopian future.
What we want to see is the rise of other – equally important – figures that report on a regular basis on elements of psychological and sociological life and which could form part of the consciousness of thoughtful and serious people. When we measure things – and give the figures a regular public airing – we start the long process of collectively doing something about them.
The man is indeed employed, but in truth, he belongs to a large subsection of those in work we might term the ‘misemployed’. His labour is generating capital, but it is making no contribution to human welfare and flourishing. He is joined in the misemployment ranks by people who make cigarettes, addictive but sterile television shows, badly designed condos, ill-fitting and shoddy clothes, deceptive advertisements, artery-clogging biscuits and highly-sugared drinks (however delicious).
We intuitively recognise it when we think of work as ‘just a job’; when we sense that far too much of our time, effort and intelligence is spent on meetings that resolve little, on chivying people to sign up for products that – in our heart of hearts we don’t admire.
Fortunately, there are real solutions to bringing down the rate of misemployment. The trick isn’t just to stimulate demand per se, the trick is to stimulate the right demand: to excite people to buy the constituents of true satisfaction, and therefore to give individuals and businesses a chance to direct their labour, and make profits, in meaningful areas of the economy.
This is precisely what needs to be changed – and urgently. Society should do a systematic deal with capitalists: it should give them the honour and love they so badly crave in exchange for treating their workers as human beings, not abusing customers and properly looking after the planet. A standard test should be drawn up to measure the societal good generated by companies (many such schemes already exist in nascent form), on the basis of which capitalists should then be given extraordinarily prestigious titles by their nations in ceremonies with the grandeur and thrill of film premieres or sporting finales.
There’s no shortage: we need help in forming cohesive, interesting communities. We need help in bringing up children. We need help in calming down at key moments (the cost of our high anxiety and rage is appalling in aggregate). We require immense assistance in discovering our real talents in the workplace and understanding where we can best deploy them (a service in this area would matter a great deal more to us than pizza delivery). We have unfulfilled aesthetic desires. Elegant town centres, charming high streets and sweet villages are in desperately short supply and are therefore absurdly expensive – just as, prior to Henry Ford, cars existed but were very rare and only for the very rich.
But we know the direction we need to head to: we need the drive and inventiveness of Capitalism to tackle the higher, deeper problems of life. This will offer an exit from the failings and misery that attend Capitalism today. In a nutshell, the problem is that we waste resources on unimportant things. And we are wasteful, ultimately, because we lack self-knowledge, because we are using consumption merely to divert or quieten anxieties or in a vain search for status and belonging.
If we could just address our deeper needs more directly, our materialism would be refined and restrained, our work would be more meaningful and our profits would be more honourable. That’s the ideal future of Capitalism.
In the Utopia, businesses would of course have to be profitable. But the success of a business would primarily be assessed in terms of its contribution to the collective good.
On changing the world
the only way to bring about real change is to act through competing institutions. Revolutions in consciousness cannot be made lasting and effective until legions of people start to work together in concert for a common aim and, rather than relying on the intermittent pronouncements of mountain-top prophets, begin the unglamorous and deeply boring task of wrestling with issues of law, money, long-term mass communication, advocacy and administration.
Our collective ideal of the free thinker is that of someone living beyond the confines of any system, disdainful of ‘boring things’, cut off from practical affairs and privately perhaps rather proud of being unable even to read a balance sheet. It’s a fatally romantic recipe for keeping the status quo unchanged.
We have to make what we already know very well more effective out there. The urgent question is how to ally the very many good ideas which currently slumber in the recesses of intellectual life with proper organisational tools that actually stand a chance of giving them real impact in the world. From a completely secular starting point, it can be worth studying religions to learn how to alter behaviour.
This is what religions have, for their part, excelled at doing. They’ve realised that if you put down an important idea on paper in somewhat pedestrian prose, it won’t have any lasting or mass impact. They’ve therefore, over their history, engaged the most skilled artists to wrap their ideas in the coating of beauty. They have asked Bach and Mozart to put the ideas to music, they have asked Titian and Botticelli to give the ideas a visual form, they’ve asked the best fashion designers to make nice looking clothes and they’ve asked the best architects to design the most impressive and moving buildings to give the ideas heft and permanence.
We should use the history of religion to inform us about the role of repetition, ritual and beauty in the name of changing how things are.
There is a great deal of large-scale ambition in the world, but all the largest corporate entities are focused on servicing basic needs: the mechanics of communication, inexpensive things to eat, energy so we can move about. While our higher needs – for love, beauty, wisdom – have no comparable provision. The drive to grandeur is missing just where we need it most.
Good business
So, inevitably, businesses will evolve to profit from their wishes. Capitalism has not traditionally been interested in whether these are sensible, admirable or worthy desires. Its aim is neutral: to make money from supplying whatever people happen to be willing to pay for.
Philosophy, by contrast, has long recognised a crucial distinction between desires and needs:
A desire is whatever you feel you want at the moment.
A need is for something that serves your long-term well being.
And it’s our needs that are required for a satisfying, fulfilled life (which Plato, Aristotle and others call a life marked by eudaimonia).
Capitalism goes wrong when it exploits this cognitive flaw: large numbers of businesses sell us stuff that we desire but which (in all honesty) we don’t need. On longer, calmer reflection we’d realise those things don’t actually help us to live well.
Sadly, it’s easier to generate profits from desires than from needs. You can make much more money selling bad ice cream than by marketing Plato’s dialogues.
In a utopia, good businesses should be defined not simply by whether they are profitable or not; but by what they make their profit from. Only businesses that satisfy true needs are moral.
Good capitalism requires that we address two, core educational needs. Getting us to focus on what we really need, what the real challenges in our lives are. And getting us to focus on the value of particular goods in relation to our needs: that is, how do these particular purchases help with eudaimonia?
So, in search of a better economy, we should direct our attention not simply to shopping centres and financial institutions, but to schools and universities and the media. The shape that an economy has ultimately reflects the educated insights of its consumers. When people say they hate consumerism, what they often mean is that they are dismayed at peoples’ preferences. The fault, then, lies not so much with consumption as with the preferences. Education transforms preferences not by making us do what someone else tells us. But by giving us the capacities and skills to understand more clearly what we genuinely do want and what sort of goods and services will best help us.
tbc
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