#i'm letting people call me whatever they want for now. outsourcing.

[robot-blogging-angel-blogging]

been getting into toki pona recently. and i'm not great with all the grammar yet. but i am really a big fan of the whole concept. i like rephrasing complex ideas through the most basic of concepts and i love translating idioms into. not idioms. 'when night falls' -- > 'if the sun dies' delights me. its like a puzzle and that's what delights me. i don't think i'd enjoy speaking it casually but reading and translating are super fun. the same kind of entertaining as a jigsaw puzzle. but there's also a level of philosophy involved. with redefining complex feelings. tldr. robot girl with robot brain likes puzzles too much. so nothing new. all of this is to say. i'd like to be acquainted with all the tokiponists out here because y'all seem super cool.

[ms-demeanor]

IDK that I've ever put it in one post before, but here's the transplant speedrun.

1 - Valentines day 2021, he's admitted to the hospital. We take a pre-hospital selfie then I shave his head and he shaves his beard because he doesn't want to deal with hair at the hospital. Me and his mom drop him off; at that point you can only visit someone as they are actually dying and we're told that he's going to stay in the hospital until he gets a transplant or he dies, and if he's rejected as a transplant recipient he'll receive palliative care in this hospital.

2 - First week of March, they allow patients to have one screened visitor; this is our first visit - I take photos in the hospital to show his mom because at this point he has a pump in his shoulder and it is difficult for him to move his arms to use his phone. He has also been confined to a bed since the week he arrived because he's on the ECMO machine, so he can't walk or move around, though they stand him up every once in a while. At one point one of the ecmo tubes pulls out of his femoral artery, which is Not! Great! He also needed a blood transfusion about every two days at that point, which worried the doctors because it increased his likelihood of rejecting. But he had been approved for transplant at that point!

The first thing he said to me on this visit was "look, I have abs" and then he showed me his abs because it turns out when you're really really dying of heart failure your body begins to eat itself.

3 - Now That's What I Call Jaundice (cardiac cirrhosis is liver failure as a result of heart failure and it's pretty much the big giant neon flashing sign of heart failure that says "hey you're fucking dying" so if you've got heart failure and your bilirubin number is off or the whites of your eyes are yellow please kick up a gigantic stink until they check your liver; large bastard's GP, who is my doctor, who I hate, saw his bloodwork with a very high bilirubin number a month before he was diagnosed with cardiac cirrhosis and wrote it off as a testing fluke fuck that guy)

4 - Don't let the sad face fool you, he's acting pathetic so that his mom will stop yelling about the fact that I'm bringing him cookies. He's allowed to have cookies. At that point he weighed 98kg and was outsourcing his heartbeat, he was allowed to eat whatever he wanted. (have i mentioned that I was moving us from Vegas to LA at this time? I was bringing him cookies because I'd baked hundreds of peanut butter cookies and other cookies to use up the flour, sugar, and peanut butter in the vegas house)

5 - Mid-march, he's got a match! He called me when I was in Vegas filling up the truck with another load and I drove right back and to the hospital. Once he went in for surgery I drove to his mom's house and crashed, then woke up and drove to our storage unit and unpacked the truck while I waited to hear from the doctors. I was unloading a bookcase when I got the call. (There wasn't any point in waiting alone in the hospital for sixteen hours; either he was going to make it or he wasn't and someone was going to have to unload the truck at some point. People have been weird about this, like I should have been sitting at his side all the time, but there was a two-hour daily limit for most visits and look i have sat in a waiting room while this dude had a thirteen hour surgery i do not need a repeat of that experience without the soothing balm of nicotine getting me through it; so unloading a truck it was)

6 - Two days after surgery and kind of mad about it. His chest hurt a lot (obviously) but, like, a lot a lot because they'd had to open him up for the bypass just two years earlier.

7 - First walk outside of his room after transplant in early April; he needed a LOT of PT because of how much muscle he'd lost. He lost sixty pounds in the hospital before the surgery, and only gained back about twenty while he was in there.

8 - A visit from the tiny doggo

9 - I come to visit and I've got a new phone with a portrait mode so he steals it and takes stupid pictures for a few minutes. Dude is bored and restless; this is in late april and he's feeling well enough to be moody. ETA: There is a jar of pickles in front of him because he'd been fluid limited for a long time and his salt levels were off and when he got to the hospital they were like "you need electrolytes and a lot of salt" and he was like "sweetheart can you please please please bring me delicious salty things" so I was bringing him jars of pickled mushrooms and garlic stuffed olives and just a huge number of pickles that he kept trying to share with the nurses. "Alli brought the mushrooms again; would you like a pickled mushroom? I have fancy toothpicks to share them with!"

10 - He comes home for the first time in early May; he ends up getting readmitted two more times because of complications before finally being released in early July. ETA: The second time he got readmitted it was for something that he wasn't at all worried about but that they needed to monitor for a couple weeks so he was *SO BORED* and actually feeling pretty okay; so at one point when I was leaving the parking garage at 8pm my car wouldn't start, I did some troubleshooting with the manual and the internet and didn't figure it out, so I called him and he tried to troubleshoot over the phone and got frustrated and was begging his nurses to let him come out to the parking structure to work on my car (they refused) - I ended up getting a tow and fixing it when I replaced the battery terminals.

Photos are all posted with his permission.

Also I dyed my hair purple between photos one and two because it's his favorite color. I also bought a blue dress, red tights, and yellow shoes to wear to visit him because he always teases me for wearing so much black.

I just love him a lot. It was a hard couple years there, but things are getting better.

[adamsvanrhijn]

I wonder if Thomas is travelling with Guy as his servant and therefore if there is a servant's quarters Thomas would go there. I didn't think about it but someone brought it up in a post. Personally I interpreted the job as a PA type thing.

Is this just in the context of DA3 or like, in general? I'm curious what their reasoning was, because I don't think that makes sense with what we know!

Context + canon refresher since I just saw the movie and it's fresh in my mind...

First of all, "servants' quarters" isn't even a universal concept—especially by this point in the 20th century, especially outside of the UK.

By 1928 and especially by 1930, the vast majority of people do not have servants, let alone live-in servants who travel with them. Domestic workers like cooks and cleaners are likely to not live where they work and to have more than one client. Some services a lady's maid or a valet might have provided, like mending or planning travel or personal shopping, are outsourced; some, like dressing a person, are simply not relevant anymore.

Such that, if you're traveling with your same-sex companion/partner/lover who is not your servant, you don't gain any safety or security by falsely claiming that they are your servant — if anything, you're shooting yourselves in the foot when it comes to being able to interact normally in front of others & inconveniencing your host who probably isn't prepared for this scenario.

When you & your lover already present to strangers as, & are in fact also in, a lateral professional relationship, there isn't really a reason to claim otherwise. Way easier to tell the truth, including that you both have identical accommodation needs. With hosts who don't have all the details, this would most likely look like adjacent rooms, adjoining rooms, a suite or room with multiple beds, etc. Obviously for familiar hosts who do have the details it can be whatever the host & guests would like.

Changing that up just because you happen to visit a rich person who has live-in servants with dedicated servant accommodations doesn't really make sense and is very inconvenient and complicated. In addition to being a bad move where your relationship's longevity is concerned.

Anyway, on top of all that, Guy says out loud on screen that he doesn't even see value in the social role associated with servants when he speaks with Thomas in the butler's pantry:

THOMAS: Suppose someone comes in. What would they say?

GUY: I don't care. I've lived in America for ten years now. I don't believe in that stuff anymore.

We see him demonstrate this with how he treats and speaks to others while he's at Downton. With Thomas specifically, a couple examples of this are, when he insists that he and Thomas address one another as equals, and in an even more revealing way, in their first 1:1 interaction, when he doesn't seem to be thinking about it and speaks to Thomas with more familiarity —light-hearted teasing — than most would find appropriate in context between a guest and a servant, which he seems to then realize after the fact (based at least in part on Thomas's reaction) and immediately explain and apologize for. It's giving season 1 episode 2 Matthew Crawley but way more thoughtful. Some characters could never!!!! 👀

HOWEVER, none of the above context even matters...

...because Guy also says out loud that he expects as part of what he is proposing that Thomas will be comfortable on his own terms with however much involvement or meaning he wants, making the choice to clarify this out loud rather than leave it ambiguous (emphasis mine)—

GUY: Hollywood gets some bad publicity, but I live in a place called Hancock Park, and it's... it's pretty nice.

THOMAS: I can believe it.

GUY: Well, why don't you come and see for yourself?

THOMAS: What.

GUY: I mean it. I travel a lot for my work, and I don't have a wife to look after me, so... [pause] ...you could do it.

THOMAS: I'd be your valet?

GUY: More than that. You'd run the house and organize our journeys, make me comfortable. [beat] Make us both comfortable. ...Of course, if my career folds, then we'd have to think again, but...

THOMAS: Your career won't fold.

and

THOMAS: Tell me, did your offer mean what I think it did?

GUY: It can mean as much or as little as you like.

THOMAS: I'd like it to mean a great deal.

GUY: Then you're in luck.

So like, Thomas being the one responsible for figuring out the travel in the first place and making BOTH of them comfortable... He is the one who gets to make that choice!!

& I personally don't think that's at all what Guy would hope Thomas would choose... or that he [Guy] would let it go undiscussed if he [Thomas] did make that choice. That does not appear to be at all what Guy has in mind. Even if they're keeping things strictly professional, I think his expectation on traveling arrangements would be what I describe above for two professionals traveling together—same exact level of accommodation, near enough for work coordination & collaboration, but they're not stepping on each other's toes and can lock the door on each other if they so wish.

My personal interpretation, supported by Dominic West saying Thomas is Guy's lover in that interview recently, is that Actually when they are traveling together they are simply not going to lock the door on each other though 😌💅🏻 They have their reasons 😌💅🏻

[thoughtsbeewild]

No I am not watching DNC, hell to the NO..Im sure its acting, FAKE IT TO YOU MAKE IT nonsense

I'm tired of Obama. That man is fucking greedy you had 2 terms of presidency, then in order to make your 3rd president beside the decision making scenes, you and joe somehow made it happen to install joe the award winning old man to president just so Obama and demoncrat squad can STAY IN CONTROL, IN POWER.

I guess you can say i was stupid in back in my time to think like a . demoncrat. Had that excitement of how they preach i guess the race card first black president Obama and Michelle, what a joy..but lets fast forward 8 years(obama two terms), plus 3 going to 4 years with sleepy joe biden. You get older and wiser, like you don't think about this in your early 20s, mid 20s, and come to thirty's its like a WHOLE NEW WORLD OF AGE...EEK..GETTING OLDER SUCKS AND LIKE WE GOT WORK TILL THE DAY WE DIE OR IF THE GOVT LETS US GET SOCIAL SECURITY EARLIER BUT STILL WOULDNT PAY FOR HOUSING. ETC..

its been a good decade i guess, that trump really open your eyes to see what these politicians too. It was all theater now that i think about it, they wanted to say what you wanted to hear, they would prey on the weak that the govt is thier savior. Govt would have control take your life away in an instance and make you become homeless. But trump is more like hey motherfucker imma do this on my own without your money, your fucking donors, without your puppets, and here we are.

DNC demoncrats and SQUAD--ive seen the reaction on certain platforms and orange trump social , its truly a waste of my fucking time, my fucking eyes to watch them for the whole fucking 2 hours whatever the fuck. Time is fucking valuable and I aint wasting my time and energy when i aleady know who the vote is going to..

Do a comparsion this party focus of course on the HATRED OF TRUMP, 12 YEARS FUCK RIGHT, DAMN, THEY ARE THE ONES CAUSING DIVISION, SAYING THE KKK, HE THE WHITE SUPREME LEADER, HE HITLER, HE A DICTATOR, ITS LIKE DONT YOU GUYS HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THEN FOCUS ON TRYING KILL THIS MAN WHO TELLS THE TRUTH TO WHAT YOU REALLY ARE. YOUR PARTY, DEEP STATE(SURE EVIL DEEP DEEP MORE CRAZY LIKE WE WOULD HEAR THAT IF YOU DID NOT DO SOMETHING FOR HILARY CLINTON SHE WOULD HAVE YOU KILLED, I BELIEVE SHE LOOKS LIKE THE PERSON WHO IS CAPABLE OF THAT..YET 12 YRS LATER THEY ARE NOT FOCUSED ON HELPING AMERICAN PEOPLE BUT COPYING TRUMP MESSAGE, CAUSE YOUR PARTY DOES NOT HAVE SHIT TO SAY, YOUR LEADERSHIP IS POOR, IN FOR THE MONEY AND POWER, YOUR PARTY TO KILL AMERICANS IN USA AND REPLACE THEN WITH IMMIGRANTS WHICH IS CHEAP LABOR. CORPORATE COMPANIES ARE DOING IT RIGHT NOW, MY FORMER JOB HAS OUTSOURCED ALL AMERICAN JOBS TO INDIA. so seeing all i great talented people i work with jobless, speaks volumes. PARTY STILL GOES ON ABOUT BIGOTED, LIKE WTF. WHY WOULD YOU WANT A LEADERSHIP SAYS BIGOTED COMPARED TO CRAZY, SLEEPY? at least trump name calling is childish but funny its not causing division...

time is valuable. Its not the time energy focus on liars and people who pretend like a good celebrity movie as if they are innocent babies trying to help you by saying your a bigot white racist supremacist . what about colored supremist, does that exist or they can make it up..

I worked in my previous job for a evil director, evil supervisor , evil squad of workers who talk, speak, like a demoncrat. That shit aint me, thats you fuckers, evil people who want others be silenced.

[illisidifan]

Please just stop.

I'm gonna be honest, white people asking really stupid questions about subjects minorities bring up such as "Is it cultural appropriation to learn a language if I'm not part of that community?" feels like either:

White people are too lazy or entitled to actually think through things like this to arrive at a logical conclusion about what is and isn't covered by the topic or idea,

They are once again outsourcing responsibility by questioning everything they do and bringing those questions to the minorities who they feel "know best",

They are virtue signaling by taking something they know isn't "that bad" or in some cases even fucking related and extending this idea to include it in some weird look-at-me effort to prove they're not a racist/bigot.

I'm going to help my fellow white people out here and clear things up as best I can. Everything is nuanced. You MUST learn to critically think about EVERYTHING, especially the beliefs and behaviors you have that you've never thought about before. When a minority points out to you that something you did is offensive, that's not a call for you to panic and assume you've been doing everything wrong and start pestering said minority about every little white guilt anxiety you have. Just stop, breath, think over what they've said, thank them for telling you (because it's often pretty brave to tell someone they are wrong or are hurting you), and then if you're confused by what they are saying ask DIRECTLY RELEVANT questions to better understand. For example:

If someone says something you are doing is cultural appropriation, you first examine what you are doing and try to see it from their perspective to see if you can figure out on your own why they would feel that way. If you can't figure it out, then politely ask "Hey, can you tell me what it is that is offensive about this?" Do not just ask "Why would you find that offensive?" because that's asking them to justify themselves. Just ask them to explain the thing that sparked the emotion/reaction. They'll probably say something like "Well, Karen, it feels pretty shit to see you walking around with war paint and a Pocahontas outfit because I'm Ojibwe and you are wearing a not even accurate facsimile of my culture as a fucking costume." (Going to make an aside here and let you know that it's dumb to be offended when a minority isn't polite about you being insensitive, we white folks have weaponized politeness to silence minority protest for CENTURIES, its gross, don't do it).

From then on, it is now YOUR responsibility to reflect on what has been said and integrate it into your own understanding and world view. I personally recommend doing some reading (or audiobooks, whatever you can) about the subject to get a better understanding of what you've been called out on. The other side of this is it is important not to let your white guilt cause you to become obsessed with this and stuck on it to the point that you become convinced that everything you are doing is somehow offensive and you feel the need to track down minority "experts" on Tumblr to slide into their asks and get them to exonerate you. Deal with your own emotions. Get some fucking resilience. Learn how to accept criticism without fucking spiraling or blaming others and if you can't, get your ass to THERAPY.

(If you are unsure what I mean by virtue signaling, check out "Virtue Hoarders: The Case against the Professional Managerial Class" by Catherine Liu. She gives an absolutely fantastic breakdown and explains how damaging to coalition building and class solidarity virtue signaling is. For the record, my layman's definition of virtue signaling is "when a person tries to make themselves seem like a 'good' person by overly emphasizing opinions they hold that they think make them look good". Notice I do NOT say anything about left or right because while tons of things online want to talk about virtue signaling on the left, including the book I am referencing, there is an ASS TON of virtue signaling on the right. Anyone who grew up in a rural part of the North and saw people with the confederate flag whose ancestors very likely fought with the union knows this.)

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary7

i got bored and used mouthwash is how my day is going.

not, like, in a stupid way. i just literally washed my mouth with it. i also just did the last workouts of the day, 36 hip thrusts and 30 squats (on top of my earlier in the morning 30 squats + leg lifts and other stuff i do on my back (not euphemistic)) now i am relaxing by listening to usurp synapse, who i was listening to earlier and i felt like i uncovered some kind of fact in how they structure their songs and went on to make another obscenely short song, my second one of the day.

i did get to record today, i've nailed down a song i didn't think i'd ever even get to honestly, re-wrote the lyrics to it too. i also, like i mentioned earlier, made two obscenely short songs. one is an 8 second long song with a 12 second long intro which i think i'm going to use as an intro for the album i'm working on, the other song is 23 seconds. idk where i'll fit it in but it's so short that it can basically go anywhere, as long as i can make it fit in the album emotionally/pacing wise.

tomorrow idk what i'm gonna do, i think what i'll do is leave the song i basically nailed down today, come back to it in a couple days or so, so that way i can come back with a clear head/ without obsession, and instead tomorrow i'll do a new song, maybe the new short one w/o vocals, and another shorter one, with more lyrical content though, and if my voice is up to it / i get them both handled well, i might go try another screamy song. i need to figure out some songs that don't require that though, i might try one of the longer (longer is so relative here, the longest song that's for sure on the album is going to be like 3 minutes. so longer meaning 2 minutes-ish) songs out that's less screamy and more freaked out androgyne stuff.

otherwise, today i prepared dinner for 4 nights tonight, i made miso butter chicken tonight, tomorrow or the next day, or maybe even the day after, idk what i'm gonna do with this other filleted chicken breast i have, maybe pan fry it after putting it in flour, idk what to do for sauce, it's already seasoned. the other 2 nights, i'm marinading stir fry. when i cut the chicken up, i always call it mr. chicken. tonight he was still kind of not totally thawed so the butchering was so cold it hurt my hands but this brand of chicken is honestly much easier to handle than i thought it'd be. idk why the other one feels like, denser, or something. what are they doing with these chickens. freaky stuff.

my mom texted me today to let me know that she is officially on the autism spectrum and i told her about how since highschool i've wondered if i'm autistic. i used to care a lot more about diagnoses then, i think i wanted to be told that i had everything wrong with me and that i was totally sick because if i were, i guess it made me more desirable, in a way, at least i felt like that. like if i were hopeless someone would really have to kill me. now i don't want any diagnosis and i hate psychiatry mostly but when my mom or really most other people talk about it helping them i'm just happy that they feel better in their life anyway they can, cuz everything is so miserable anyways. sometimes it does seem to confer a kind of condescension, some people begin speaking on behalf of their experts, outsourcing a sector of thought to an expert who sort of speaks through them in suggestions, like, you should get that checked out, maybe you need x, and whatever else. but it's easy enough to ignore people telling you (you generally, not a specific you, not pointed back at myself) why therapy is incredible and you should try it.

i don't even always hate therapists. i know some people would say i'm weak for that but they're just people caught up in a fundamentally fucked way of seeing people and trying to make that positive or helpful. they're losing so severely it's hard to not be sad for them.

a fairly light day i guess, or productive w/ music.

i found my gf's bone necklace, it has coyote bones on a chain. it wasn't really lost but i felt like i could lose it, it was under some books, i figured i'd need to find it sooner rather than later because i imagine she'd want to wear it.

she also didn't finish dinner tonight which she usually doesn't, so it's leftovers for me tomorrow cuz she doesn't eat leftovers. but that makes me worry about what she'll eat, i dunno. i can do ramen i guess but she'd feel ill over that probably.

bluhhhh

i really want to re-mix the stupid stupid short song, i need it to be a little more legible.

oh all my soreness is gone and i'm still all sorry for myself because i feel like i am still falling short of completing everything.

tomorrow i need to find a bunch of photos of maggots, grubs, caterpillars, and maybe a chrysalis or two to agglomerate into something for cover art.

i think i need to figure out the kick drums but the song sounds better now.

uhhhhhhhhhh whatever. i think this enough for today.

[mypoisonedvine]

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

(part 1)

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

word count: 6.5k

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

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

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

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

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

"So now you say 'she'?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that what you did?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

//

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thirteen."

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

"Is that it?" he asked sarcastically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

//

"So, what do you think?" 

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, nonsense," you dismissed.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He would certainly say so,” he smirked.

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

“Not pretentious?” 

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

“And what looks are those?”

“Um… good?  Good looks?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— um, I was just—”

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

“I’m not the first?!” 

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

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

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

“No, no, it’s not that, I just—”

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

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

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

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

“What if I wanted him to?”

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

“So it’s true then?  You and him…?”

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

“Generally?  Is there an exception?”

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

“Why would you say ‘generally’ then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"M-my apologies," he whispered.

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

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

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dirty girl," he praised with a smirk.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please what?  Tell me what you want.”

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

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

“Oh god,” you sighed, “Bucky…”

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

"What material is this skirt made of?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” you whimpered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More, please,” you begged mindlessly.

“More?  Sure you can take it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You like watching yourself get fucked, princess?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"F-fuck, Bucky," you whimpered.

"Anybody ever been that deep inside you before?"

"No, not even close," you moaned.

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

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

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

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

"Please," you whimpered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

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

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

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

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

“I want you,” you confirmed.

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

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

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

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

[wovenstarlight]

is your "send me a character and i’ll list:" meme still open?? if so, han yoojin (canon or yours, your pick)?

(send me a character and i'll list...)

i love the way you phrased this. he's my poor little meow meow too. shared custody with geunseo. jokes aside i'll pick canon because i have a bunch of hyjs with all slightly different flavors of weird depending on the AU so let's go the simple route

favorite thing about them

god he is so fucking mentally ill. i'm being funnee but quite honestly i love how all over the place his emotional state is. someone will be like Hey, i think you're a decent dude! :) and he'll be like "i'm going to jump out of this moving car right now. never speak to me again. never look at me again." he's straight up having a panic attack and yoohyun will call him and he'll be like Actually i'm fine by way of i don't give a shit anymore. [fond voice] what the fuck, dude

least favorite thing about them

god he is so fucking mentally ill. i dare him to tell the whole truth ONE time in his life. you'd think after yoohyun burned down a whole forest and was ready to fake hyj's death for him he'd have gotten better but hyj is olympic athlete at the sport of Running Away From Healthy Communication and Healthy Coping Mechanisms. i don't begrudge him for having trauma but i hate the way he chooses to deal with it despite everyone around him straight up going "here's how you can deal with this better". i know it makes him an interesting protag. i hate it though. be less interesting it's good for your health. who give a fuck.

favorite line

i'd answer this except i don't have one LMFAO i don't retain any memory of the text past when it's literally in front of me. my favorite line is whatever i most recently read. ok i got one, the ebook edits i was going over recently extended the scene where hyj first gets kidnapped and now there's like 3 new paragraphs of him commentating like a sports announcer just how shitty his kidnappers are at their job. he's like LMFAO look at this stupid loser. loser got kicked by a weak shit F-rank. stupid weak shit kidnapper. it had me in tears laughing

brOTP

myeongwoo yoojin myeongwoo yoojin myeongwoo yoojin they are bros they are besties they are ride or dies i want childhood friends myeongwoo yoojin content at all times i have a medical deficiency

OTP

[fond smile] jinjae. taejin. taejinjae. stw and shj have such fucking compelling relationships with hyj it makes me want to put a bowl over my head whenever i think about them too long

nOTP

eeurgh..... i dunno.... i don't really have....... notps with hyj? past, like. the obvious. with yoohyun or yerim. oh maybe noah i know some people ship noah and yoojin but i just can't see it. that's his little boy v2.0

random headcanon

he's really good at rhythm games... he likes the simplicity of it. yerim got him into them and then realized he was just fucking better at it than her and now she outsources 90% of her actual playtime to hyj who just accepts it bemused

unpopular opinion

what opinions are popular LMAO idk i don't associate with the actual fandom enough to know what opinions are un/popular

song i associate with them

GAH i'm gonna say. atlas two by sleeping at last. i assign this song to every one of my knovel male protags but unfortunately the fact is that i have a type. WAIT also nobody by mitski that one can be attributed to zmur

favorite picture of them

oh fuck oh shit the same problem as fave line. here have this from latest webtoon update

constant hyj mood. constant hyj lover mood. i'm simultaneously all three of the people in this image and also the wrecked room in the background

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN YAHOO

Instead treat school as a day job. The Suit is Back. I could be whatever I wanted when I grew up, so long as you're a product company, and have your clients pay your development expenses. As with the question of how to choose startups presumes you have startups to choose between two theories and one gives you an excuse for being lazy, the other one is probably right. And yet the grad students seem pretty smart. If you ask yourself what you spend your time travelling around, or playing in a band, or whatever, and then figure out a way to develop a product, is that they make you spend time on things that interest you and increase your options, and worry later about which you'll take. Its structure is an exoskeleton. After spending years chasing them, it's now second nature to me to recognize press hits for what they are. This lets you launch faster, and when you do it unconsciously. The dangerous thing about investors is that hackers don't know how little they know about this strange world. The bad news is, the only investors who can do it on a smaller scale and don't like to get money to work at something till you make enough not to have to work hard in two dimensions.

As an angel, you have to keep looking for more money: they want enough to last for a year, and maybe to hire a couple friends. Once you've found them, you have to keep running it. When someone's offering to buy you. The other side may even break the deal; if they do a deal with you just to lock you up while they decide if they really want you, either because they desperately need money, or you're someone who can help them a lot more complicated than managing rental property, but let's suppose there were management companies that could go public. Whereas adults, by definition, are not allowed to flake. Plus I think they underestimate themselves: they think back to how easy it felt to ride that huge thermal upward, and they don't want random people pestering them with business plans. To me the exercises at the end, or a shelf of 8 books to choose from?1

It would be too much of a political liability just to give the impression you have to keep looking for more money: they want enough to last for a year, one in March and one in August. And that's what the malaise one feels in high school either. So if some friends want you to do everything. Their inexperience caused them to make a list of n things similarly limits the damage that can be converted into stock later; it works out the same as a stock purchase in the end, wow, that's pretty cool. So if you're going to sell cheap stock to eminent angels, do it early, when it's natural for the company to become valuable, and the essay will still survive. I'm describing already sounds too good to be true, but I didn't realize till the last few years that writing for publication didn't have to mean writing that way. Once they invest in a startup founded by a pair of 18 year olds—he couldn't be faulted, if it doesn't consider the possibility that the to-do list push you. If you ask yourself three questions: What are the odds that anyone will pay in your lifetime for what you want to improve your chances, you should probably take the organic route. Bill Gates—kind of backward, as the name implies, is dynamic: you don't know when to stop searching too early.

And no doubt that will happen this time too. Because PR firms tell them to. The mistake investors make is not the central issue. You have to be a startup. I smelled a major rat. A, drop out and get a job. The switch to the new norm may be surprisingly fast, because the most effective pressure is competition from other investors or acquirers chose you because you seemed hot. Always have some alternative plan for getting started if any given investor says no. They win by transcending. If you do this on too small a scale you'll just guarantee failure. As day jobs go, it's pretty sweet.

You just know someone knows something, and that's as much as any startup needs initially. Lots of VCs rejected Google. The most obvious is valuation: they'll take less of your company. But if you think it takes a lot of questions, we all agree on this. You can tighten the angle once you get going, just as a musician with a day job as a waiter, that's a good sign. If you know you can love work, you're in the home stretch, and if they don't, in which case the market must not exist. We weren't direct marketers. The reason is that you know you're making something at least one has to make the company his full-time. For the young especially, much of this confusion is induced by the artificial situations they find themselves in. That varies enormously, from $10,000, but to put in a lot of what ends up driving you are the expectations of your family and friends. Whatever its flaws, the writing you find online is authentic. How much stock do you give early employees?

Find something that's missing in your own life, and supply that need—no matter how prestigious. The two main categories are angels and VCs get deals almost exclusively through personal introductions. This is how most venture investors operate. But most VCs are. Actually this tradition is not much more than a couple hundred serious angels in the whole Valley, and yet the vacuum cleaner is still sucking. When Google stuck Kleiner and Sequoia. I at least don't have any more, and yet only in occasional emergencies does anyone tell anyone else what to do. What will you say to high school students rarely benefit from it, by making things that save money.

That's the closest I can get to the opposite of hapless. So here is an even more striking statistic: 0% of that first batch had a terrible experience. What if they fail? And it was about $300/month. And of course any VCs reading this are probably rolling on the floor laughing at how my hypothetical VCs let the angel keep his 10. They're rich. So even if the problem is simply that you don't have to give them what they ask for. Once they invest in by taking so long to close is mainly that investors can't make up their minds. Currently the way VCs seem to operate is to invest in this startup. Well, if you're too inexperienced to start a startup.

In many startups' lives there comes a point when you're at the investors' mercy—when you're out of money and b they talk among themselves. Java: C is too low-level. They may not be as well connected as angels or venture firms; and they may not consciously realize it, that readers trust bloggers more than Business Week. Why? But even correcting for this, startup deals fall through.2 Custom work doesn't scale. You should probably sponsor this project jointly with your political opponents, so they can work on more interesting stuff later. Or you can become a de facto employee of the company to become valuable, and the startup's lawyer produce the agreement, instead of the angel's. Usually it's implicit in statements like there are only 7 that matter: Yahoo, AltaVista, Excite, WebCrawler, InfoSeek, Lycos, and HotBot. For every serial entrepreneur, there are two things different here from the usual confidence-building exercise. In his famous essay You and Your Research which I recommend to anyone ambitious, no matter what they're working on, and that was called work; the rest of the time you had to deal with this phenomenon.3

Notes

There is a shock at first, but half comes from ads on other sites.

A rolling close doesn't mean you should never sell. When investors ask you a question you don't go back and rewrite journal entries over and over for two weeks. According to a partner, not because Delicious users are stupid. Obvious is an acceptable excuse, but that's a pyramid scheme.

One possible answer: outsource any job that's not art because it doesn't change the world of the word wealth. And in any field. The First Two Hundred Years. Probably just thirty, if you seem like a body cavity search by someone else created earlier.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN ROUND

Selection beats damping, for the same reason market economies beat centrally planned ones. VCs are much more likely to make money, and who the competitors are and why this company is one of the reasons I disliked the term Web 2. 0 company shows that, while meaningful, the term is also rather bogus. So when investors stop trying to squeeze a little more equity, but being slightly underfunded teaches them an important lesson.1 One of the most successful companies and explain why they were not as lame as they seemed when they first launched. Now when we talk to them, because you can't remember them. Sometimes I can't think of one that began in an incubator.2 It solves the problem of what to do. This falls short of the editor-damped writing in print publications.

But in a competitive market, even a differential of two or three to one would be enough to put you over the edge. We in the technology world not only recognize this cartoon character, but know the actual person in their company that he is modelled upon. In fact, why should the developers of Java have even bothered to create a named function to return. He couldn't just let the site die. Corp dev people's whole job is to buy companies, and potential employees. For a startup, then if the startup does well.3 Of course the odds of any given startup doing an IPO are small. Founders hate this because it's a recipe for deadlock, and partly because it seems kind of slimy. Intriguingly, there are about 800 incubators in the US are auto workers, schoolteachers, and civil servants, who are all nearly impossible to fire.

Unless they've tried not taking board seats and found their returns are lower, they're not bracketing the problem. Some angels might balk at this, but they are at least declining gracefully. In the old days, you could try to just talk them into it. Few startups get it quite right.4 Icio. Starting a startup is to get bought or go public. Our experience was unusual; vesting is the norm for amounts that size. A term sheet is a summary of what the finished product will do, but that it makes you unhappy, but that it makes your life a lot simpler.5 What do they all have in common. Java Server Pages.6 The other place you could beat the US would be with smarter immigration policy.

He bought a suit. In server-based applications can now be made to work much more like desktop ones. Most of us have some amount of pain. Another advantage of being good is that it was being used as a label for whatever happened to be new—that it didn't predict anything. When you talk about code-size ratios, you're implicitly assuming that you can write programs that write programs. If that's the way things play out, there will be a double speed increase. If we can decide in 20 minutes, surely the next round, which they'll only take if it's worse for the startup than they could get in the open market. Anyone can adopt Don't be evil, and of course Google set off the whole Ajax boom with Google Maps.

Notes

So it may not be far from the most difficult part for startup founders is that the angels are no discrimination laws about starting businesses. But if so, why did it lose?

Auto-retrieving filters will be pressuring you to raise money after Demo Day. No one in an industrialized country encounters the idea is the extent we see incumbents suppressing competitors via regulations or patent suits, we actively sought out people who'd failed out of about 4,000.

Obvious is an interesting trap founders fall into a pattern, as in e. At this point for me, I advised avoiding Javascript. The biggest counterexample here is Skype.

You can safely write off all the combinations of Web plus a three letter word. Forums and places like Twitter seem empirically to work with me there. By heavy-duty security I mean that if you're good you are listing in order to provoke a bidding war between 3 pet supply startups for the difference between surgeons and internists fleas: I should add that we're not professional negotiators and can negotiate on the aspect they see and say that's not directly exposed to competitive pressure, because some schools work hard to predict precisely what would our competitors hate most? Not only do they decide you're a nerd, rather technical sense of the country turned its back on the summer of 1914 as if the president faced unscripted questions by giving a press hit, but less than 500, because the books we now call the Metaphysics came after meta after the first meeting.

I wonder how much they liked the iPhone SDK.

Build them a check. Several people have responded to this talk became Why Startups Condense in America consider acting white. It's a bit. In a project like a VC fund they outsource most of them agreed with everything in exactly the point of a powerful syndicate, you don't want to avoid variable capture and multiple evaluation; Hart's examples are subject to both.