#and um a little retail therapy? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thecooler · 7 months ago

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Cheering Up Kiriona

As far as Ianthe was concerned, Kiriona was like a sad, lost puppy that you might find in a rain-sodden box on the side of the road. Or: Exhausted by Kiriona's constant moping, Ianthe elects to take control of the situation by inviting her fellow Prince along for some good old fashioned retail therapy.

Fandom: The Locked Tomb

Pairing: Gideon Nav as Kiriona Gaia / Ianthe Tridentarius

Additional Tags: Retail Therapy, Friendship Bracelets, (Ianthe typical) Dubious Consent

Word Count: 2,389

AO3 Mirror

As far as Ianthe was concerned, Kiriona was like a sad, lost puppy that you might find in a rain-sodden box on the side of the road. The type of thing where, because you’re seven years old and stupid, you bring the little mongrel home and beg your parents to let you keep it. The difference between Kiriona and this allegorical puppy was that Kiriona wasn’t taken out back once Ianthe was tired of the way she nipped and sulked and acted altogether unpleasant, because daddy dearest had gotten attached, and so now Ianthe was forced to share her space with a mutt, and, worse, forced to admit that this mutt was the best company she had.

But let it never be said that Ianthe Naberius couldn’t make the best out of just about any situation. She’d always been resourceful, and she’d had more troublesome projects than her fellow Tower Prince. Arguably, Harrowhark had been more of a project, but dear Harry was a great deal more fun to tease, and whatever asinine thoughts boiled inside the little nunlet tended to remain buried in the recesses of her lobotomized brain, or were spoken in a low grumble that Ianthe could pretend to ignore. Kiriona, meanwhile, seemed to have no problem airing any and all thoughts that crossed her mind, loudly and with unearned importance.

“This is fucking stupid,” Kiriona said, her arms folded across her chest. She stood like that a lot, presumably because she was self-conscious about her horrible gaping chest wound, as she called it. Ianthe considered it one of her more attractive traits, not that Kiriona ever heeded her opinion.

“Oh, come now, Kiri,” Ianthe said, holding up a flannel button-down. “You can’t always be wearing that uniform—“

“I don’t. I wear pajamas sometimes.��

Ianthe rolled her eyes, “Try this on. It’s very you.” She’d never quite gotten the appeal of the cavalier body type, though she supposed Camilla Hect wasn’t awful on the eyes, if she wasn’t completely off her rocker. But all that muscle always seemed a bit pedestrian, uninspired, and then they got a big head about how strong they were, as though even a body builder wouldn’t crumble under the touch of a skilled flesh magician.

“What’s that mean,” Kiriona asked, looking over the garment. She pulled at the sleeve a bit and said, “I don’t know if these’ll fit my arms,” which, in retrospect, Ianthe probably could have predicted would be her meat-headed response.

“Won’t know unless you try,” she drawled, “maybe you can flex them off for some nice cohort bimbos.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Tridentarius.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kiriona looked down at the garment, then at Ianthe, then over her shoulder, where the clerks were keeping their distance. “Um,” she said, “when you say try it on—“

“Sorry!” Ianthe said, throwing up her hands, “silly me— I forgot you grew up under a wretched little rock. There’s rooms specifically for changing in. Now, stay with me, I know this may be a lot for you—“

“I seriously fucking hate you,” Kiriona said with a hint of that lopsided smile that might do something for her sister, but mostly just caused a flare of annoyance in Ianthe, which was only amplified when the other Tower Prince added, “no offence.”

“Get into the change room, you ass,” Ianthe said, giving Kiriona a solid shove on the back, which earned her yet another cuss, because Kiriona was a hog.

After a fair bit of kerfuffleing around in there, Kiriona emerged with the shirt folded neatly— if incorrectly— over her arm, and a frustrated furrow to her brow. “Didn’t fit,” she said, placing it back in Ianthe’s hand. Then, again: “this is stupid.”

Ianthe sighed, “Look, Kiri, my darling, my darling, my life and my sister,” at this, Kiriona mimed vomiting, “Sulking and moping and yearning, those are all good for the first month.” At this wonderfully accurate summation of her recent activities, Kiriona looked so angry that she couldn’t form full sentences, which wasn’t too far from the ordinary for her. “But I’m bored, and trust me, I can think of things to do that you’d hate much more.”

Kiriona looked her over, seeming to consider for a second. She placed her hands on her hips and let out the long-suffering sigh of someone who knew the types of things a bored necromancer might do to entertain themselves. Then without a word, she turned and began examining a rack full of graphic tees. She pulled one out that was clearly too small and looked it over, pressed it against her torso, then put it back.

Ianthe elected not to tell her how to check size tags, because it was almost cute watching her struggle, and if she was lucky, maybe Kiriona would even swallow some of that pesky pride and ask for help. Oh, that would be delightful.

After a couple more failed attempts to understand how shirt sizes worked, Kiriona pulled out a shirt, pressed it against her torso, and grinned an utterly repugnant lopsided grin, “Yeah, this is good,” she said, then turned the shirt to face Ianthe.

Faced with the fashion choice before her, Ianthe briefly considered the allure of impaling oneself on a fence. It was a black short-sleeve with a decal of a large, blue pen thrust between the words, My Pen Is Huge.

“Puke,” said Ianthe, which only seemed to reaffirm Kiriona’s desire to have the shirt, because she went back into the change room without prompting, and came out a few moments later wearing it proudly. Infuriatingly, she didn’t look terrible. The shirt was still an atrocity, but even accounting for taste, Ianthe was not too proud to admit that the other woman’s arms were her best asset. It was obvious now, in the way the shirt’s sleeves hugged her beloved biceps. They were a work of art in their own right, even if, again, not the most inspired, and not that she’d ever say so out loud— John only knew that the brat didn’t need a boost in her ego. She’d clearly spent many boring years on the Ninth doing arm exercises of different varieties. Push-ups, and... others. Whatever, she wasn’t a cav, so she didn’t need to know. The point was—

“Acceptable.” She said, “we can find a couple more like that, then we should get you some formal wear, and, if you’re good, we can look for something more recreational, if you know what I mean.” Kiriona obviously knew what she meant, but because she was a bore, she didn’t entertain Ianthe’s quips. “Now, take it off.”

Kiriona said, “At least buy me dinner first,” but retreated back into the change room, reappearing with her Tower Prince garb not long after.

“Great!” Ianthe said, then clapped her hands twice, “come with me, over here,” and Kiriona padded along obediently behind. The poor employee that John had enlisted to bring and organize the garments aboard the ship scrambled to stay just within earshot of them, so they could help if necessary. Which, since Ianthe inevitably knew more than they could hope to, meant their job was just standing around.

Kiriona was looking through blazers, brow furrowed in concentration. She didn’t talk much, presumably because her questions were moronic, and she knew they were, even if she didn’t know why. Dear Corona always asked her stupid questions, just because she loved to hear herself speak. She’d come out of a dressing room with her tits half spilling out of the top of her shirt, asking if it fit. She did this on purpose, on the rare occasion she managed to coerce Deutros into coming, but other times she simply wanted Ianthe to tell her off. She’d always been a masochist that way.

“That’ll look ghastly with your hair,” Ianthe said as Kiriona half pulled out a stiff Cohort-red blazer. The lout frowned and let out an animalistic grunt, like a pig.

“I was just looking.”

“Well, look away. And don’t touch anything grey, either. It’ll only highlight your,” she gestured vaguely towards Kirona’s face, “deathly pallor.”

Kiri loathed it when someone other than her brought up her relative dead-ness, which was horribly hypocritical. It was all blah, blah, megadead, blah, blah, corpse prince, until someone else said it, at which point, as she was doing right now, she proceeded to mope uselessly about with a plain black blazer pressed to where the hole in her chest was hidden away. “This’ll work,” she said, clearly pouting. Honestly, she was like a petulant child. Ianthe hardly had the patience for it. She flicked her hand dismissively, “Fine. Get a blue one— no, the darker one— there you go. Now come on, we’re done here.”

Kiriona, as she had expected, visibly stalled, glancing over her shoulder towards the assortment of undergarments that adorned the leftmost side of the pop-up shop. “I thought—“

“That was your first mistake. I said, if you were good. You spent the whole time pouting. Now come on, I have another idea for what we can do.”

----

“You know,” Ianthe said as she wove strands of string over each other, “I haven’t had a proper slumber party since I was ten. My father said we were too mature for them, which was code for we don’t want Corona whoring herself out, not that she needed the excuse of a slumber party to do that.” Her sister didn’t entertain more than chaste kisses before she was fifteen, and even then it was usually in vain attempts to make Judith jealous. But if they’d been allowed to continue with sleepovers, she probably would’ve fallen into someone’s bed sooner, admittedly.

“Is she really that bad?” Kiriona said, not glancing up from her own shoddy craftsmanship, then, “I’ve never had a slumber party.”

Yes, obviously, she didn’t say. She also didn’t say, Corona was drooling over you at Canaan house. Because she’d heard her sister refer to the Ninth House Cavalier as yummy far more times than she would like, and the last thing she needed was to hear Kiriona preen about it. She already thought she was the most important person in any room, which included when she was sharing a space with God.

“Harrowhark would be terrible at slumber parties,” she watched carefully at Kiriona tensed, as she always did when her dearest chew toy was brought up. So long as things didn’t get too risque though, she was usually happy enough to play along. “Can you imagine truth or dare?”

This actually got a laugh out of Kiriona, “Yeah, you’d be like, what’s your dirtiest thought, and she’d go,” and here she pinched the bridge of her nose to give her best nasally impression of the Reverend Daughter, “my fingers often become filthy with the dust on my favorite bone books-” then, louder, “no, not like that Griddle, you ingrate!” she flopped back onto the bed with a hearty laugh, even though what she’d just said wasn’t funny at all. Ianthe didn’t point that out, because a Kiriona who was laughing at her own asinine attempts at humor was better than her moping about being told off for the thirtieth time today.

“You’d dare her to take off her shirt and she would, only there’s a bone corset and three more robes underneath,” Ianthe said, and that set Kiri off again.

She was almost cute when her face was lit up with laughter. Her lopsided mouth was almost charming, that bright orange hair very traditionally beautiful, by Third House standards. Maybe Ianthe was just desperate though— it had been nearly two years at this point since she’d been allowed to fool around, despite her many attempts with Harrowhark, and one very ill-advised attempt with Mercymorn.

She set the half-finished bracelet to the side and crawled over Kiriona, who stopped laughing abruptly and stared up at her, golden eyes wide. Had she the capacity to, Ianthe reckoned her warm brown cheeks would be darkening. “Uh-” she said, with about as much intellect as Ianthe assumed she could muster.

Ianthe hummed and brushed her bone fingers along Kiriona’s collarbone, prompting a wholly unnecessary swallow. The top two buttons of her nightshirt had come undone, allowing the top of her chest wound to peek through. She’d considered earlier that Kiriona’s best assets were her arms, but that wasn’t true. No— her best features were typically hidden from the world, beneath tightly buttoned tops and a ridiculous scarf she insisted on having tied up around her neck. The tip of one golden-gilded finger brushed the top of the wound, evoking a full-body shudder from the woman beneath her.

“Stop,” she breathed. Ianthe paused, but didn’t move her hand.

“I thought you liked it when women took an interest in your holes,” Ianthe said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kiriona said, reaching out to grab Ianthe firmly by the wrist, “don’t touch it.”

“What— saving that one for marriage?” Ianthe purred, and reached her free hand to brush the side of Kiriona’s neck- not touching the wound there, but grazing within an inch of it. Kiriona’s grip tightened around her.

“It’s none of your business. I said no, so drop it, Tridentarius,” and then she shoved Ianthe back and buttoned her shirt back up.

Ianthe groaned, “Honestly, I never took you for such a prude. All that posturing about being hot shit, and when a woman is actually horny and into it, you get frigid. It’s embarrassing, honestly.”

“Maybe you’re just not my type,” Kiriona said, arms crossing over her chest.

“Oh, I’m pretty obviously your type. I have tits and a pulse.” Kiriona glared daggers at her, which Ianthe took as a win. Feeling encouraged, she added, “plus, my body type isn’t dissimilar from dear Harry. Sure, there’s the height, but if you closed your eyes and used your imagination—“

“Oh, fuck off,” Kiriona growled, “God, you’re such a bitch. Get out of my room. You ruined everything, as usual.”

Ianthe shrugged and stood, but paused before departing. She turned back to Kiriona and propped herself up on the mattress with her flesh arm. With the other, she tilted Kiriona’s chin upward. “You’ll come around,” she glanced down, then back up, meeting Kiriona’s glare with a coy smile, “when you’re desperate enough. They always do.”

#the locked tomb #gideon nav #kiriona gaia #ianthe tridentarius #kirianthe #writing tag

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moonbeamnights · 1 year ago

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Art and Love

Tropetember Day 4: Retail AU

@tropetember

Summary: Milah goes shopping for a sketchbook and finds true love.

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Milah had been eagerly awaiting the chance to check out the art supply store that had just opened in town. She finally finds the time on the last day of the grand opening sale.

The store’s atmosphere is cozy, more like a cutesy cafe or a quaint bookstore than the chain retailer craft stores she’s used to shopping at. There are chairs and tables set up for artists to hang out and a nautical theme to the decorations on the check out counter.

The dark-haired man behind said counter looks up when she enters, and Milah finds herself looking into the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen.

“Welcome in,” the man says, smiling brightly. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Um...” Milah glances down the nearest aisle, hoping he hadn’t realized she’d been staring. “I’m just looking for a sketchbook.” She can hear the awkward nerves in her own voice, and she wishes she had made a better first impression.

“‘Just’ a sketchbook?” he says playfully. “No need to undersell yourself. Drawing’s an impressive skill.”

Milah blushes. Usually, she hates for people to notice her nervousness and call attention to it. But this man had somehow done so in a way that made her feel more at ease, and slipped in a compliment to top it off.

The man introduces himself as Killian Jones, the owner of the store. As she follows him further into the building, he tells her about the different products he stocks and the inspiration behind his business – art therapy that had helped him after he got out of the navy and lost his left hand. Milah couldn’t imagine being so forward about her own mental health with a friend let alone a stranger, and she’s more than a little impressed that he’s so unashamed by what she would deem oversharing.

“Here we are – sketchbooks,” Killian says at last, and Milah is almost disappointed to have reached their destination. The tour of the store had felt more like a friendly conversation than a sales pitch.

“Thank you,” she says and starts searching the self for the sketchbook she wants, secretively watching Killian as he walks away.

Milah needs a new eraser. Then a different color marker. Then new colored pencils. Then she runs out of red paint and the blue is getting low, too, but she decides not to replace it until she absolutely has to. It’s not a financial issue (not this time, at least, she’s been squirreling away money). She spreads out her trips to the art supply store, only ever buying one thing at a time, because of Killian.

He always finds the time to talk with her (and when he’s busy she waits around to give him the chance). It’s more than the usual customer service chatter, or at least she thinks it is. She supposes Killian could just be an excessively friendly person. But if he pays this much attention to anyone else, she hasn’t noticed it. And she can’t help the jittery anticipation that she feels driving to his store, the smile that lights up her face when he catches sight of her with those dazzling blue eyes. Or, most importantly, the warmth and happiness she feels in his presence.

“I’m going to set up a showcase for local artists’ work,” Killian says one day. “Would you like to bring in some of your drawings?”

Milah loves the idea, even likes the idea of being part of it. But she’s self-conscious. Her art is good on a technical level, she knows that, but she’s not sure if the subject matter is good enough to display. She draws mostly fantasy – mythical creatures and knights rescuing princesses and the like – and her husband always tells her it’s “childish”.

“I’ll bring some in to show you, and you can decide if you still want them.”

Killian makes her feel worthwhile – like she’s someone worth talking to, like her hobby isn’t frivolous. He’s been testing her assumptions about herself practically since they met and now she’ll do some testing of her own. Afterall, if she likes her drawings, why shouldn’t anyone else?

Despite her earlier confidence, Milah almost backs out of the showcase. She’s put together a portfolio of the least whimsical of her drawings that she’s proud enough of to display. Still, the morning that she’s supposed to show the portfolio to Killian, she wakes with her stomach in a knot of nerves, worrying that it’s not presentable enough. She doesn’t know how she could bear it if Killian looked down on her because he didn’t like her art. She likes him too much for that.

She sits with Killian in the front of the store so he can keep an eye on the register. The store is quiet, though, and he flips through her drawings uninterrupted. He points out something he likes in nearly every picture, occasionally asking her little questions about the ideas behind them.

“These are all very good,” he says when he’s done. He picks a few for the showcase – a female knight facing down a dragon, a werewolf howling under the light of the full moon, a castle in a vibrant forest landscape – then says something Milah never would have expected. “You could make good money with a talent like this.”

“Really?” she asks. She’s thought before about selling her art. The extra money would make her life a lot easier. But “unmarketable” was another of her husband’s favorite ways to describe her art.

Killian nods. “I have friends who would buy prints of several of these. And I quite like this one myself.” He holds up a drawing of a woman dressed in red looking out over the railing of a pirate ship, brown hair billowing behind her in an invisible sea breeze.

“You can have it,” Milah quickly offers, still stunned that he likes her art so much. Then she blushes. “That is, if you don’t find it weird that it’s supposed to be me.”

Killian studies the drawing closer. “Ah,” he says, “I should have recognized those beautiful curls.”

Milah gasps and blushes harder. It’s not that the flirtation is unwelcome, but surely a man as attractive as Killian, who owns his own business as well, would have better prospects than her.

Killian mistakes her stunned reaction for discomfort. “I’m sorry, I must have misread. I thought you seemed interested.”

She was interested and she had acted it, he hadn’t misread there. “No, you were right, but it’s… complicated.” She grimaces. Interested was not the same as available, though if only it were that simple.

“I see,” Killian says, trying to smile away the rejection. “And does it make it more or less complicated if I say I think I could love you?”

“Less, I think,” she says slowly, the idea giving her much to think about. But one thing she knows for certain is she needs to be honest with him. “I’m married,” she admits. “But I think, maybe, I am not loved.” Milah had thought she loved her husband because she had thought he loved her. She had thought that what they had, unfulfilling though it was, was the best that there was. But Killian had already shown her better. He’d already shown more kindness, more appreciation, more investment in getting to know her, and if that was not even love but merely the possibility of it… Well. It gave her a new perspective.

And now she suspects she’s ruined it.

But instead of anger, Killian responds to her confession with softness. “You deserve more,” he says. “You deserve love.”

Killian talks her into a booth at the upcoming art fair. Half a booth, really, the two of them working off the same table but keeping their own profits. No matter how anxious she might be at the idea of more of her art on display for more people who have higher tastes and back their judgments with money, an entire day of Killian’s company is too good an offer to refuse.

Killian is, in his own words, “good with colors, not details.” His paintings seem to back that up – beautiful swirls of color that, while nearly formless, perfectly encapsulate the seascapes and sunsets they’re meant to represent. It’s a lot closer to her husband’s idea of “serious art” and as they’re setting up, Milah once again worries her art is childish. Killian, once again, is nothing but encouraging.

Milah’s tense at first, uncertain, but Killian’s so easy to be around and he doesn’t criticize the way she interacts with the people who stop at their booth. Customers ooh and ahh at her paintings as much as Killian’s and soon the rhythm of the day becomes surprisingly relaxing. Killian brings her coffee when he leaves their booth for a break in the morning and lunch at noon, gently brushing off her protests of not being able to pay him back with reassurances that he doesn’t expect her to.

At one point, a customer mistakes them for a couple. Milah laughs away the misunderstanding, wishing it was true so hard it almost hurts. She’s been thinking a lot about her earlier conversation with Killian – about the love she’s always dreamed of but realized she doesn’t have, that Killian apparently thinks she deserves. She doubts Killian still wants her in that way, as it’s been long enough for him to have moved on despite their continued friendship. But the hope for a better relationship has stuck with her. She wants to leave her husband, but she hasn’t yet been able to bring herself to do it.

In the afternoon, Milah takes a break and wanders around the fair, taking in the variety of other artisans present. A woodcarver selling wine racks and his wife who brews wines and meads and ciders to fill them. A young woman knitting with clumsy stitches and promising passersby that her wares are made by her grandmother who’s “much better at the craft.” Another carver who makes the most realistic wooden toys Milah’s ever seen. A bookbinder boasting a selection of stories written by her nephew alongside leather journals and classics with painted covers. A photographer specializing in birds. A woman selling little glass dragons. And several other painters and photographers, potters and jewelers.

Her husband would have been unimpressed by the whole affair, likely would have even called some of the pieces “tacky.” Most of their home decor comes from snobbish galleries, her jewelry from major brands. Her husband always cared more about how wealthy his selections would make him appear than about things like artistic merit or fun. To Milah though, the fair seems almost magical, and she’s already planning a few market scenes to draw inspired by its atmosphere.

Milah sells four pictures in total. It’s somehow both a pathetically small number and more than she’d expected, but then self-hatred had never been the most logical of pastimes.

Killian disappears briefly as they’re packing up and returns with his hand behind his back and a cheerful, almost goofy, smile.

“I got you something,” he says.

“Oh?” she asks, heart fluttering. Killian holds out his hand, still closed, then opens it to reveal a hair clip made of glass pieces arranged in the shape of a red and orange butterfly. “It’s beautiful,” Milah breathes. She traces her finger over the clip’s smooth surface, brushing lightly against Killian’s palm as she does.

“Let me put it on for you,” Killian offers, and she obligingly turns around. His touch is gentle as he sweeps back sections of her hair and pins the butterfly in place.

He doesn’t move away when she turns to face him again. They’re close enough it might as well be an embrace, his hand lingering near her face, fingertips on her jawline. It feels like the most natural reaction in the world when she kisses him.

The kiss is impulsive and ill-advised and wonderful. But when his soft lips begin to move against her own, she realizes what she’s done.

Reluctantly, Milah pulls away. “I shouldn’t -” she starts. Then she thinks about how earnestly Killian had said “I could love you,” about the google search for divorce lawyers still open on her phone, about how days as perfect as this could never exist in the life she’d had before she met him. And she has to know.

“Could you still love me?”

When Killian nods, she kisses him again.

One Year Later

Milah breezes into Killian’s store with a smile on her face and a large envelope tucked under her arm. She feels lighter since she left her ex-husband, lighter still here in this store. As the place where she met the man of her dreams and made so many happy memories with him, it feels like as much of a home as either of their apartments.

“Hello and welcome -” Killian breaks off the generic greeting when he looks up and sees that it’s her. His entire face lights up. “Milah!” Milah will never grow tired of that look, that enthusiasm, the knowledge that as happy as she is to see him, he feels the same.

They share a quick kiss across the counter before Milah circles around to join him behind it. “I brought you something,” she says, holding out the envelope. Killian opens it carefully, pulling out a drawing to match the one she’d given him so long ago. It’s a drawing of her again, in the same red outfit on the deck of a pirate ship, only this time she’s nestled into the side of a dark-haired man in a long black coat, their arms wrapping tenderly around each other.

The woman in the picture is no longer alone. Now, she has someone to love and care for her. And for once the scene of happiness for her drawn-self isn’t a bittersweet depiction of something Milah can only long for. Because now she has someone to love and care for her in real life, too.

#tropetember 2023 #once upon a time #ouat milah #killian jones #millian #my writing

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highwaydiamonds · 3 years ago

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youtube

Bit of a Throwback Thursday here, but Roddrigo y Gabriela came up in conversation for me earlier this week, and this Tiny Desk Home Concert starts with Tamacun - and old fave of mine from them. The rest of the show is fun too (much of it a rehash from their original tiny desk concert in 2009) . But really Tamacun never gets old - so good.

Ok and now to the point - Yay finished out this week's exercise. Today wasn't so bad I guess. Got there a few minutes late but got into the groove of it s soon as I could. By the end of today's session I felt like I did really well; I got more distance under my best than I have before, so yay to that. Also I definitely did get sweaty and felt myself working, but not in a bad/painful way. Just i knew I was pushing myself.

Wednesday was the hard day. Tuesday evening somehow felt like it ought to have been Thursday evening and knowing that I had two more days left of exercise was just SO irksome. Wednesday I really didn't want to go... As in i made myself get out of bed and go nd do the stupid thing anyway. When I got in there I was cranky and physically I was sore (my knees and legs) so I had kind of a slow start. I told myself the fact I was there at all while really not wanting to be there was a win on its own. But somewhere in the mix of it my legs felt okay, and I ended up pushing myself for the last 10-15 minutes before cooldown. When I left on Wednesday I was actually a little, or maybe, more than a little bit proud of myself. I went even when Ii didn't want to, and I did better than I expected I would. Go me!

My therapy session this week was good too - talked about the exercise with my therapist and how I was kind of realizing last week, " oh shit... i have to do this exercise crap for like.... well, until i die... so this goal is never going to end? shiiiiiit. lovely. :P " and ways I am trying to remind myself why I am doing it ( helps regulate my blood sugar, and i can already feel that it helps me endurance wise elsewhere so will make travel easier, and also is my excuse to get my nails done.... etc) Also told my therapist that I got a couple pairs of thigh high socks (from Thunda Thighs) and how when i put the black pair on a) OMG THEY ACTUALLY FIT ME (which you guys this is a big fucking deal ok) AND I DO NOT TOTALLY HTE HOW MY LEGS LOOK IIN THEM. Granted I have only tried on the black ones as yet and not the pink ones I got but stiiiiiiill. I haven't take any pictures yet because the light in my room sucks for it, but I might at some point. The pink ones I might not like as much ( y'know black yadda yadda slimming etc) but I was excited. And my therapist and I discussed snag tights... I looked on their website and they have some cute things and my therapist talked them up.... plus i could definitely be swayed by some of the pairs - and mock garters!!! I have compression stockings I have to wear which make me think no onn the fishnets but omg the fishnets are cute... and maaaaaybe i could wear fishnets over other tights???? thoughts to think about :D )

Oh and one of my valentine's day gifts to mahself arrived today :D I have a pair of huggie earrings that I got from Michelle Wang before christmas - v bougie of me, i know. They are the huggies in gold with pearls and ii adore them. However, i wanted something kind of the same sort of style ( minus pearls- i have a silver and pearl lever back earring already) but not as expensive as the michelle wang - and those were p-r-i-c-e-y for me. I found a silver and CZ set of huggies with lill silver and cz heart padlocks on them, but the padlocks are also removable so I don't have to wear them if i don't want. SO versatile and adorable. I tried to get a good pic of them on my ear but no dice.. so here is a cut down pic i screen capped instead to give a sense of scale (good gravy tumblr gives me a heck of a time trying to post pictures 🙄)

No new nails for this week - i am going to try another place and have an appointment with them for next friday... We shall see. I'm thinking glittery ombre of some sort - probably either pinkish or purple. Might change my mind by next week tho :D

That was your exercise and rando other stuff update - congrats if you read this far and happy galentine's and valentines to youuuuuu 💖

#megan makes herself exercise #megan makes a healthy choice #exercise as self care #maybe a lil bit proud of myself #also a music thursday throwback #and um a little retail therapy?#just a good ol roundup #Youtube

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ubemango · 4 years ago

Note

pups oc trying lingerie for the first time and she’s shy and joon is like ;&:$:?M AL);!:!FU(2?/?/NC):)TIOn bc she looks so hawt :3

>//////<

Also no actual sex in this but like very uh. Horny lol. As is wont to happen

You hate lace. It chafes and doesn’t offer your cooch good ventilation most of the time. But you get an automated email about holiday specials at La Senza, and what’s a little self-care in the form of retail therapy? You’ll sacrifice comfort for the sake of good discount deals, you decide, and before you know it you’ve got an 8-pack of cute pairs of underwear and three colour-complimenting bras shipped to you.

It was Sunny who texted you to sign up for the newsletter. Gets the best deals and the best head, your neighbour/girlfriend since you were toddlers so eloquently explained. It’s actually kind of amazing seeing you go from high school hermit to self-proclaimed cum lover.

(Safe to say you withheld from replying to her for a good seven hours before sending back a very venomous FUUUUUUCCCCCJJJKKKKK YYYOOOOYUUUU!!!!!)

At least she’s nice enough to receive the package discreetly for you because your mom is nosey like that. You spend the day with her in her room, picking which underwear pairs nicely with which bra. And when you ask her which combination would best impress Namjoon, Sunny sits you down on her bed. She stares at you like something very serious has happened, and says:

“You might actually die from dick if you show him this.”

You squirm under her gaze. “What?”

“Oh don’t act so surprised. You tell me so much about how your boyfriend who happens to be massive also likes to make you cry from his pumping and that’s when you’re wearing granny panties,” she explains.

“I do not wear granny panties!”

Sunny pats your shoulder empathetically. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Sunny.” You fall over onto her blankets. “Pick for me, this is too overwhelming.”

“Fine. Seriously if your uterus isn’t absolutely broken after this then I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Sunny!”

This is how you find yourself at Namjoon’s on a Thursday night trying to fight the urge to rip your fancy underwear out your butt crack while making out.

You both reserve Thursday after work-hours for each other because it’s the only viable schedule option you could agree on. There’s also something really hot about knowing you’ve got one night of the week strictly scheduled for Namjoon and only Namjoon, brain unwrinkling from anything that isn’t the touch or smell of your boyfriend. Putting the world on do not disturb as you indulge in whatever activities you have planned.

Tonight’s plan: getting your uterus destroyed as per the wishes of your dear friend.

Namjoon pins you up against the inside of his door, leaves wet kisses in hurried lines across your throat. Before he can get a sneaky hand up your shirt, you breathe, “Um.”

“Mm?” He sucks on the spot behind your ear.

“I—um. I kind of? Have something to show you first. Uh. If that’s okay.”

Namjoon moves back, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh. Oh—please don’t tell me you got that buttplug with a tail, I was just joking—“

“No!” You heat thinking about that very interesting conversation you had last pillow talk. “Just—ew. No. You wanna give me a second?”

So you make him wait patiently, sitting at the edge of his bed while you scamper off to the bathroom to get undressed for some pep talk in the mirror, because you promised yourself you wouldn’t be like Bella from Breaking Dawn when she tries to pose for Edward on their honeymoon night in her nightgown and it was awkward and you didn’t want Namjoon to laugh at you even though he wouldn’t do that because he’s a nice boyfriend and fucks you in your granny panties and—

You take a big breath in. Look at your boobs sitting nicely in a shiny bra, the fabric of your cheeky underwear stretched over your hips. You can practically hear Sunny now. You’re a weirdo if you think you’re not sexy. Look at you! So scrumptious! Like a sexy little cupcake. (She earned a slap on her arm for that.)

You walk back to Namjoon’s door, and steel yourself.

“I’m coming in now,” you say. You open the door and slot yourself inside against it, trying to fight the urge to make yourself as small as possible so that he doesn’t see, but. He sees, alright.

He doesn’t say anything though. Just keeps his eyes staring a little too long at your cleavage. You swear you see his knuckles twitching.

After another ten seconds of silent ogling, Namjoon starts with: “Please—” his voice cracks— “please come sit. On me. Or my face. Or whatever you want. Oh my god. Come here fast.”

“You like it?” Your feet patter against the floor quickly to make a home out of his lap. “I feel weird.”

“Good weird?”

“Like. Do you think I’m hot?” You whisper.

“I know you feel my boner right now,” Namjoon whines. “Of course I do.”

“Because Sunny thinks I’m obsessed with your cum and that made me feel weird.”

He snorts, tracing the patterns of the lace on top your ass. “I mean—is that such a bad thing?”

“Of course you’d say that, it’s your jizz,” you justify.

“Yeah but I jizz for you, it’s different. Anyway you’re distracting me,” Namjoon says, burying his face in your tits. “One second from busting. Let me eat you out first.”

You don’t refuse.

When you text Sunny after fucking for two hours, it’s a picture of an ice pack resting on your crotch.

#d: pups series #bts scenarios #namjoon scenarios #ubemango fic

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roger-that-cap · 4 years ago

Text

jack pendleton

summary: moving into an apartment to get away from your last relationship was fun all fun and games until you met your extremely attractive across-the-hall neighbor, who makes awesome cookies and even better novels.

author!bucky x reader

warnings: no legitimate warnings besides swearing, it kind of moves just a weensie bit fast but i think it’s cute, minimal angst, I WROTE THIS IN ONE DAY and that is a warning tbh so expect mistakes in this hunk a junk-

word count: 6.2k!

Searching for your new apartment was a terribly long and boring process, but even you couldn’t deny that finally moving in was heavenly.

It was the first thing that you did by yourself after having a mutual break up with your boyfriend, and you would be damned if it felt anything but good. He confessed to you that he had fallen in love with a man that he met online. Not only that, but an Italian man that he was teaching English to over a website. He was brave enough to tell you as soon as he realized that he loved the man, so the heartbreak was minimal.

You never told him, but honestly, you sort of respected him for that. So, with your hidden respect and gratitude, you wished him well and knew that you were going to be the one to find a new place.

So there you stood, right in front of your new place with a singular box in your arms, all the others in the smallest U-Haul available to rent that you drove there. You stared at your door for a moment, which read an embroidered C7, and then you fiddled with your keys to unlock it.

You had a lot of work to do.

§§§

By the end of the fourth day, mostly all of your things were put away. You didn’t think you had much to begin with, but unpacking made you realize that you had more than you thought. So with your ambitious mind, you got everything done on your own, even the decorations that you had at your last appointment were on the walls.

By the seventh day, it was starting to feel like home again. And that called for a celebration. You got your purse and your car keys, your mind already in the shopping mall.

As you stepped out of your door, the door directly across from yours opened too. You didn’t pay them much mind besides flashing a smile and turning around to lock your own door, not even looking at whoever it was properly enough to see them. But when you did, you definitely did.

A man with long, brown hair and clear blue eyes was staring at you like a deer in the headlights, and you would have thought that he mistook you for a celebrity if it weren’t for the wrinkle of confusion on his forehead. The first thought that came to your mind was that he was as stiff as a board, and that it was almost comical. The second thought that came to your mind was that this man was very handsome, despite the way that he was looking at you like you had just said the dumbest thing known to man.

“Um, hello,” you said, not even having to be loud because you were just a few feet apart. You were tempted to be a smartass and say something rude about his incessant staring, but instead, you reminded yourself that you were going to have to deal with the consequences of your smart remark later on. Humiliation and awkwardness every time you saw him was not what you wanted. “Have a good day.”

You turned to your left and walked down the stairs, thankful that you lived on the edge of the hall and could just run down some steps to get away from whatever that “encounter” was.

§§§

The mall was utterly packed, but that didn’t matter to you at all. You were there to browse for something that was going to make you even happier after your move, and a few people in line weren’t going to bother you. You went in and out of clothing stores, buying a few things here and there, and then on your way out, you passed by a bookstore.

You liked books, you really did. But you were avoiding that store like the plague. For you to go into a bookstore with so many options available, you knew that the safest route for your budget was to know what you were getting from the second you walked in. You stood in front of it for a second, debating on going in without looking online beforehand or just coming back another day. Your own feet answered the question for you, and then you were entering the huge book store.

The shelves were high and wide and sturdy, dark brown and creating isles. Fantasy, Young Adult, Spiritual, Languages. The genres went as far as you could see. And that meant that if you weren’t wise, you could be buying a book from every aisle.

You counted the number of shelves, seeing that there were almost thirty as far as you knew, and then took out the two dice that you took with you everywhere, for reasons like this. You were indecisive, and two little cubes with black dots on them were as sure as it could get. They were your Decision Dice. They had never steered you wrong before, and today wouldn’t be the day. You were going to roll twice, and if the sum was a number less than ten, then you would multiply it by two, which was your lucky number. You liked to make things difficult.

You saw a woman staring at you with cautious eyes as you bent down and shook your closed hand, and you heard her chuckle when she saw the two little cubes roll out of your palm.

“Four,” you murmured once you saw three dots on one and one on the other. You picked them up and shook your hand again. “Three. That makes seven, and seven times two makes aisle fourteen.” You picked up the dice (that you would never admit came from your grandpa’s set of Yahtzee) and walked past the still laughing woman in the science fiction aisle.

Of course, aisle fourteen was the aisle that you probably had the least business in. Romance. You almost walked away and went for the fifteenth instead, but then what would the point in rolling be? What would stop you from denying the Decision Dice in later situations? You sighed for a second after your own dramatics and looked the shelves up and down, trying to find a title that grabbed you.

You walked up and down the aisle, slowly combing through until you saw a book on the bottom shelf by some Jack Pendleton. You frowned. It wasn’t often that you saw men’s names in the romance section, and when you did, you hardly liked what they wrote. The love interest was always flat or too out there to be believable. The female love interest in men’s books always had to be “not like other girls”, and it was worn out. For some reason, you reached down for it anyway, ready to see what you had already seen a million times before.

What you really ended up seeing shocked you.

It was about a man who served in the army oversees and came back an amputee, and became locked in a love triangle between his physical therapist and his best friend, all the while dealing with his sexuality.

That was a lot of man versus self. You wanted it.

You stood up and without second thought walked to the counter, handing the cashier the book and getting out your credit card.

§§§

You cracked open the book the second you threw your fast food trash away in your trash can. You made yourself comfortable on your little couch and put some light music on in the background, just so that it wouldn’t be completely silent. You didn’t do well with silence at all.

It took all of four pages for Jack Pendleton to surprise you again. His writing style was gorgeous and smooth, and you cold tell that he meant every word that was printed on the pages. His diction was brilliant, his descriptions even better. He didn’t give too much or too little, and you were already falling in love with it.

The main character, Elijah, was likeable but flawed. Within the first thirty pages, you could already sense that he was gaining feelings that he didn’t even know about for his best friend, Will, who wasn’t named until about forty pages at Elijah’ first physical therapy appointment. Will hadn’t even shown up yet.

You had blown through nearly half the book when you realized that it was eleven at night, and that you had work the next morning. You swore to yourself and put a smaller piece of paper in your book this time, looking at it longingly and patting it on the spine before leaving it on the small coffee table.

§§§

Work was horrible. It was boring, and you spent the whole first part of your day with a man who was mad at you specifically because you ran out of a special type of shoe that he needed to wear the next day. The store that you worked at wasn’t even really a shoe store. Then, he asked to see the manager. You were the shift manager. He got so pissed that he threw a hanger at you and stormed out, and all you could do was laugh.

You were so tired of retail, it wasn’t even funny.

You were a little more than a hundred and twenty pages in when there was a knock on your door, and it came right as you were about t flip the page. You resisted the urge to scream, completely and utterly fed up with the public for the day. There was no use in trying to ignore the knocking that already yanked your mind out of the fictional world, and so you left the book on your couch, sticking a piece of paper in it quickly to save your page.

You swung the door open, expecting to find someone who wanted you to fill out a survey or maybe even someone from maintenance making sure that everything was okay with your apartment. You certainly didn’t expect to see your beautiful neighbor with a pie in his gloved hands and a pink flush on his face.

He spoke first. “Hi, I live across the floor,” he pointed towards the door that you knew he lived behind. “I was just coming to bring you a welcoming gift.”

You were stunned. The man who stared you down and didn’t even say a word to you was at your door with what looked like a homemade pie, and wow, was that a turn of events. It was something straight out of that cheesy romance section that you were in at the bookstore. “Wow, thank you. You made that?”

The pink on his cheeks graduated to scarlet. “I-yeah, I did.”

You couldn’t contain the grin that stretched onto your face. “That’s really kind of you, thank you. I’m sure I’ll love it.” You gently took it from his hands and smiled up at him.

“It’s also an apology, for staring at you like that when you were leaving.” You noticed his subtle accent and fought the urge to swoon. He was so adorably shy. “No one’s lived in this one for years, and I didn’t notice you moving in. Kinda scared me.”

“You didn’t see the moving truck?” You asked teasingly.

You saw the small grimace on his face, and your smile faltered. “I don’t really go outside much,” he said vaguely, and you felt that you hit a nerve.

You shrugged with the pie still in your hands, lips turning upwards at him. “It’s okay, I don’t, either.”

You were both smiling now.

“Well, um,” he started to say, and you nodded your head at him, already knowing that he was about to go. “I have to finish something. I’ll see you later?”

“There’s a pretty good chance that you will,” you said, and he gave an awkward wave before turning around and walking away, right into his apartment without another look back. You cursed softly when he shut his door, and you looked down at the pie.

You didn’t even get his name.

§§§

You realized after five days of nothing (and cleaning out the pan of delicious pie by yourself) that you weren’t going to see your neighbor by chance. You hoped that you would, more than you hoped for anything else before. But he was right. He didn’t go outside much. The doors in the building were all so loud that it was nearly impossible not to hear them opening or shutting, and you never heard his once.

You had to do it yourself. Somehow, you needed to figure out how to see him again without it being incredibly weird, but you had a plan. In your eyes, it was pretty foolproof. Your mom’s chicken parmesan could never go wrong, and everyone liked to eat. You went to the grocery store without even having to roll the Decision Dice and got started on it the second you got home.

***

When it was done, there was a thin line of sweat on your forehead. You put a note to yourself in your head that the kitchen got insanely hot when you cooked, and you vowed to remember it next time. You took off your fancy apron and the chef’s hat that you wore for fun when you cooked and set it on the countertop. Now, the hard part came.

How were you supposed to get brave enough to bring a plate over to his place? Were you supposed to hope that he hadn’t eaten yet? Or, were you supposed to let him in to eat? Shit, that sounded too much like a date.

With all those thoughts in mind, you walked up to his door, C6, and knocked on it. You realized last minute that you forgot the plate on the table, so dinner was over at your apartment by default unless you did an awkward dash across the hall. The sound of boots coming towards the door were loud and clear, and then the door opened, barely giving you enough time to swallow your anxieties. You got a panging irrational fear that he wouldn’t remember you, but were relieved when he smiled down at you.

“Hi,” you said, sounding more like a telemarketer than a neighbor. “I made chicken parmesan.” It was silent for a few seconds as you both tried to make sense of what was happening, and you kicked yourself on the inside. “I made a plate for you because um, I wanted to thank you for the pie. It was really good.”

His face lit up, and it was like you were given a new burst of life and hope simultaneously. “Oh, thank you! That’s really sweet, thank you,” he repeated, his words getting slightly jumbled up the more and more he spoke. He was so cute.

You realized that the both of you were just staring at each other, standing with smiles that were increasingly leaning towards more than polite by the second. “I can, uh, bring it to your door if you want.”

“I can come over, if that makes it easier.” Both sentences were spoken at the same time, and it caused you both to apologize once again at the same time. “No, no, I’ll come back with you,” he said when you two finally spoke your own sentences.

You tilted your head. You were sure that he was shy, you could have bet money on him wanting to eat alone. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he gave you a small smile and stepped out of his apartment, and suddenly, you were aware of how he smelled like a bakery. Flower, sugar, apples, cinnamon, the whole nine. Your eyes widened when you smelled more of it when he shut his door. It smelled amazing. You didn’t want to be greedy, but whatever he had in there, you wanted a slice.

Your apartment smelled good, but in the opposite way. It smelled like sauce and spices and chicken, like a good kitchen. You almost laughed when you saw his eyes widen after he caught a whiff. His eyes scanned the table that was already set up for one, and he saw all the food in the middle and only grew more surprised.

“You did all of this yourself?”

You didn’t think it was a big deal. You knew how to plate food and you knew how to cook it fine, but it wasn’t too special, in your opinion. It was second nature because of your mother, but you could always go for a nice compliment. “Yeah, I have fun cooking.”

“It looks amazing,” he said softly, and you smiled at him.

“Let’s hope it tastes as good.”

It felt oddly domestic. You got his plate for him and watched him make his first because he was the guest, and you warned him about touching the hot pan, even though he didn’t seem worried about it with his gloves on. You asked him if he wanted wine, water, or soda, and he got his own glass of water after saying that he felt bad making you do it. By the time you sat down and started twirling your fork in your spaghetti, you were starving.

You heard him take his first bite more than you saw him do it. “Holy-” he put his hand in front of his mouth. “You made this here?”

You laughed. “Mhm.”

“Are you a chef, or something?”

You were flattered. “No, but my mother is,” and man, was she a cook. She could cook anything and make it taste good if you gave her a flame. Always, she had pressured you into knowing how to make a meal, because making a meal meant providing for yourself and everyone else in your family. You watched him cut into a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth, smiling when he gave you the “food look”. “She taught me everything I know.”

“Well, I’m about to call her and thank her,” he joked, and you giggled, twirling your own fork and getting some spaghetti in your mouth. You tilted your head. It was pretty good.

“And what about you? You can bake,” and there he was, all shy again, and you loved it. “Where did you learn?”

“My father’s a baker,” he said, and a slow smile spread across your face.

“Well, would you look at that,” you said, nodding your head in thought. He smiled back.

“Would you look at that.”

For a second, just like the two of you had done many times before, you were stuck in a world where there wasn’t anything else, not even the food. It was just his smile and yours, and the fact that somehow both of you knew that the moment was genuine.

“I’m so sorry, what’s your name?” He blurted, and you frowned.

“My name?” A flame of embarrassment and shame shot through you. You were fawning over a man that you didn’t even know the name of yet. You sister would be disgusted with you. “Oh, have we really not said our names yet?”

“I guess not...” he said, voice trailing off at the end.

“Well, good thing names aren’t that important.”

He gave you an intrigued look. “Names aren’t important?”

“They can be, but sometimes they don’t mean a thing. You can learn so much about someone before learning their name, and when you do, nothing changes what you already know. I cook and I like spending money in book stores, and you bake and stay inside. That doesn’t change after we learn names.”

He looked like he had just reached cloud nine. “You like books?”

“Of course I do,” you said, and your eyes trailed over to the book that was sitting on your couch. “I actually took that little name bit from what I learned from a book, so I won’t take credit for that.”

“What book was so in depth and interested with names?”

“I don’t even think that the main focus was the name, I think it was the opposite. His name didn’t matter because all that mattered were the emotions that came with him.” You took a second to think. “And I also think that saying his name made it real for the main character, so the dude’s name didn’t come up until he was in mid conversation.”

At first, you were worried that you lost him. But you hadn’t. “He was in love with this person?”

“Madly. But he was his best friend.” You were so excited. You were really talking to a man who liked to read? And one who liked to analyze what he read? This must have been heaven. “For a while, all we hear about is how amazing the person is that he fell in love with and about how he struggled with loving him because he was a man. We knew everything about him before his name was even said and before he was even present, and that’s probably what I like most so far about the book.”

Through your rambling, you failed to notice that he was looking more and more panicked. “Um, what’s the book called?”

“Here, I’ll just go get it,” you said, standing up and walking over to your couch, pulling it off and walking over to him. You set the book down, and watched his eyes grow so wide that he looked cartoonish. “Have you read it?”

He blinked at the cover. “Y-yeah, I’ve read it.” He looked at his watch, swore so emptily that you swore it was acting, and then gave you an apologetic look. “Um, I have to go. I’m sorry.”

So, you did scare him off. You hid your frown with a polite smile, and tried to remind yourself that even though it felt like one, it wasn’t a date. It was you paying him back for making you something in his own kitchen. “Oh, alright. I hope you liked it.”

Maybe he heard something in your voice that you didn’t, because he stopped frantically putting his jacket on to look you in the eyes. “It was amazing, I mean that. And it was very sweet, thank you.”

This is crashing and burning. What the hell happened? It was going so well! “Well, I’ll see you later,” you called out, and you watched him wash his own plate with a shocked look on your face. “Thanks,” you whispered, and he nodded at you, a tight smile on his face as he wrapped a gloved hand around the doorknob and left.

***

Maybe you hadn’t scared him away, after all.

You had full intentions of leaving him alone until he came to you, if it was ever even going to happen. You only left for work and debated on finding something simple to bake for him to extend another olive branch, but then you decided that you would let the universe control what happened, if anything was even meant to happen in the first place. There was a knock on your door, and there he was, with a pan of cupcakes that had blue icing perfectly swirled on top.

Alright, so you hadn’t.

He gave you the cutest smile, and you couldn’t help but to give one back. “Hi, I’m Bucky.” You gave him your name, too.

From then on, you two were practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t at work, he was over with you, watching a movie and talking about foreshadowing or how good the book version would have been if it came first. He was also one of the only people you knew who had actually read Tarzan, and you got a kick out of it. You got so close that you even met his little quartet of friends, Steve, Natasha, and Sam, who all liked you after the first meeting. You fit in with them like a glove.

Speaking of... “Why do you wear gloves?” You had asked him one day, and he stiffened up like a board.

“I get cold easily on my hands,” he explained coolly, and you let it go.

There were little things about him that you questioned every time after he went back home. You questioned how he never left his apartment but made enough money to keep it. You asked yourself how he was so busy in there, and what exactly he did. You wondered why he got so funny when you mentioned the book, and how nervous he was to talk about it when you finally finished it. All of those things slightly worried you, but they had nothing on the one, huge thought that loomed over all the others.

You were falling hard and fast for Bucky Barnes. A part of you could admit that you were already on the ground.

If started off slowly. You admired his mind and his smile and the way that his eyes shined when he taught you how to bake a perfect cake without all the fancy, expensive supplies. You loved the way that his cheeks glowed when you complimented him or touched his hair or his nose. You loved that he started calling you “darling” and the way that his Brooklyn accent left out the last letter. You loved the way that things with him already felt so natural, like you cooking dinner and him helping you wash and dry dishes after. You were in for the long haul before you could even reach for the door handle of the speeding car, and you didn’t really want to.

There was a knock on your door out of courtesy, and you called out for him to let himself in. You were way past knocking, but he was polite. You were tapping away at the keys on your laptop, humming to yourself as you looked into Jack Pendleton.

“Watcha doin’, darlin’?” He set down the items you two needed for homemade lasagna and his father’s recipe for some simple pumpkin bread on the counter.

“I’m trying to find more books by Jack Pendleton,” you muttered, sighing when nothing else came up. “I can’t find anything.”

“Why do you like that book so much, anyway?” You were far too into your laptop to hear the tremor in his voice.

“Because it was raw, and real, and it hurt my feelings.”

Oh, and it had. Bucky witnessed the result of you finishing the book first hand. He walked in right as you got the first sob out and looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, but he came to you anyway. How were you supposed to know that the therapist, an equally important person in the main character’s life, was going to pass away not even days after he and Will got their happiness?

You remembered how he held you the whole time, and that for some reason, he whispered a very heartfelt, “I’m sorry.”

“If it hurt you so much, why would you want to read something by him again?”

“It was brilliant, that’s why, cowboy.” You said, looking up and pointing at him with your fancy little stylus. He broke out into a smile at the name, like he always did. You called him that one time because you caught him watching The Longest Ride, and it stuck.

There was a stretched, tense moment as the sound of your typing filled the room. “I don’t think he has anything else out right now, darlin’.”

“And how would you know, rancher?”

He gave you that same deer in headlights stare that he gave you when he first saw you in the hall, only less confused. Then he sighed. “What’s in a name, anyway?”

You rolled your eyes, but you both knew that you were on the edge of laughing. You could never be serious with him. He was just so full of light. “You’re not going to get me quoting Shakespeare right now, I just asked you a dire question.”

He inhaled deeply, his face already boasting a rich scarlet. “How would you feel if I told you that I wrote that book?”

Your world crumbled beneath your feet. You knew he wasn’t lying, because you knew that he had no reason to lie. His aversion to talking about Jack Pendleton and everything surrounding it made you believe what he told you right as you heard it. You gasped, and then saw him grimace. “Bucky, Jack stole your work?”

His face fell. “What?”

“Have you taken legal action yet?”

“No,” he said slowly, and then he took in another deep breath, preparing from something. “I don’t need to, because I am Jack.” He said slowly, a small and guarded smile resting on his face. You noticed that he looked the least comfortable you had ever seen him. “It’s a pen name.”

Different kinds of humiliation were coming in large, mean waves, and you bit your lip to prevent from talking. You had really gushed over a book right in front of the author the whole time? It was so horrible and embarrassing that you couldn’t even stop thinking about it. You felt like an idiot. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop talking?”

There was a quick, hesitant intake of breath between the both of you. “Because I don’t want anyone that I know in real life to know about that.”

You froze. There was no way that he was implying that what was in the book actually happened, right?

He took off both of his gloves, and beneath one of them was a silver appendage, very clearly a prosthetic. He was breathing heavily, like he had just lifted a weight off of his chest that was double his own size. You looked at it with a wild expression of your own, trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Almost everything in that book really happened.” You closed your mouth. “Some things are exaggerated, but nearly everything happened. Elijah is based off of me.”

Oh, fuck. That meant that he was actually bisexual, that he actually fell in love with his best friend, that he actually got his arm amputated after getting a grenade launched at him. His therapist actually died. You had no idea what to say. “I’m so sorry.”

“The main thing that didn’t really happen was the semi-happy ending for Elijah and Will. He and I broke up years ago. This all happened years ago.” Your heart broke again for him. “I put it under a fake name because it’s something very personal to me, but I felt like it should have been shared. Thought that it would maybe help some other kid who was going through it.”

You knew exactly what it was. You had gone through it yourself. If you had read the book when you were much younger, you were sure that you would have been able to find some sort of peace in the turmoil that you caused yourself. Now, you were much better, and you loved the fact that you were part of the LGBT community, but that didn’t mean that the book didn’t mean something to you.

The book was so raw that you should have known that it was real. There wasn’t a word that didn’t mean something, not a sentence that wasn’t thought out. It was such heavy material with realistic ups and down that you caught yourself relating with Elijah, not knowing that the real “Elijah” was right in front of you the whole time.

“But, um, I write science fiction under my real name, though.” You were too busy thinking about how you gushed about someone’s actual life story, and how that someone just so happened to be your super cute neighbor that you fell in love with. You gushed about his terribly sad life story right in front of him. “That’s why I’m always inside. I’m a hermit writer.”

You didn’t even get into the science fiction aspect of the conversation. “I would have never read it in front of you or talked about it in front of you if I knew that, I swear.”

“I know.” He slowly took his jacket off, and then you were seeing his arms in all their glory. It truly was a beautiful prosthetic, and from how much he used his hands, you knew that it was reliable and practical. “I just needed to tell you that.”

You could sense his unease, and it made you feel wrong. It felt like you were taking steps back. “If this is about you being bisexual, I don’t care about that. That would never bother me.”

For the first time since his confession, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. “I know. And I know you are, too.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen the bookshelf in your room. No straight person reads that many books written by and for the community. And you cuff some of your jeans.” You shrugged, a small smirk on your face. He got you there. “I need to tell you something else.”

You didn’t know if you were ready for it, but if he was, then there was no way that you were going to stop him. “Of course, go ahead.”

“First, I should start off with telling you again that all of that,” he pointed towards her computer, “was about eleven years ago. I’m not healing, not recovering, none of that. Yeah, I’m sad about my therapist every once in a while, but I don’t feel anything for the man that Will is based off of anymore. That’s all gone.”

You swore at yourself for feeling butterflies of hope. You squashed them all down and made yourself pay full attention to Bucky, even though your mind was starting to have stupid little fantasies about picnic and stargazing with him. This is what you got for reading romance novels. “Okay, Buck.”

“I’m telling you all of this because I’m pretty sure that I’m in love with you.” Your mouth hung open, and before you could even get a word out, he was all over it again. “I have been for a while now, and I think now is the best time to tell you.” There was a pause for you to cut in, but you couldn’t form a word. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way or if you’re weirded out by my story-”

“I love you too.” You blurted, watching his face become shocked. “I’ve been dying to tell you that, you know?”

He sputtered, trying his hardest to form a coherent sentence. “Now I know.”

You felt a smile slide onto your face as both of your racing hearts stilled to a normal, content rate. In that moment, you swore that if someone came and checked, that your heartbeats were alternating, taking energy from each other to make one long beat. You just, clicked.

“It- none of that bothers you at all?”

“If anything, I feel bad. I feel like I intruded.”

He scoffed. “You didn’t intrude, Y/N, I’m the one who published it.”

“I’m going to hug you now,” you warned, and then you two met each other half way. Your face was in his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. You smiled when you felt him gently brush your forehead with his lips, and all felt right.

You stood there together for what felt like forever but two seconds all the same, swaying a bit subconsciously. “Are you- are you sure about being okay with all of this? I know it’s a lot. And I just kind of sprung it on you.”

There he was. The shy Bucky. You knew that he could be insecure, and you knew that he was insecure about being that way. But luckily, you felt for him so much that you could assure him for the rest of both of your days with no complaints. If it took a thousand times a day for Bucky Barnes to know that you loved him and Jack Pendleton and Elijah Harris, you would do it two thousand times.

“Out of all the books in the store, I unknowingly chose yours.” Your voice was shaky, but you meant every word you said and were about to say. “And out of all the people in the world, I intentionally, without doubt choose you.”

***

If someone had asked you three years ago where you thought you were going to be in life in the same amount of time, you would have told them that you were probably still going to be working in retail. That wasn’t the case at all.

Your mother gave you a loan when Bucky persuaded you to take your talent and passion for cooking and turn it into a business. You had a medium sized restaurant that you let your mother in on, and you cooked side by side often times. It felt just like it did when you were back in the kitchen of your childhood home, but now you were getting paid for it, quite a bit.

Across the street from your restaurant was a bookstore that held a number of books that were written by Bucky yourself, but your favorite by far was the cook book that was technically a baking book, full of all of the recipes that he felt like giving away.

You didn’t expect any of that to happen within three years, at all. But what you hoped to happen most of all did, and it was proven by the simple diamond on your finger that Bucky had given you. You wanted him to think that you were surprised when he popped the question, but you weren’t.

After all, you could see the outline of the box that he carried for three weeks straight.

#bucky barnes #bucky fluff #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #my fics #bucky one shot

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petalsfm · 1 year ago

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florencia perreira had always been one to be healed by a little retail therapy. well, maybe not HEALED, but at least distracted. the effects of growing up with a silver spoon in your mouth, they assume. they can't quite pinpoint what about it is so calming. they're lost in their own little world until another's voice snaps them back to reality. UNFORTUNATELY, she'd recognize that voice anywhere. and that voice is not supposed to be in denver, colorado. she wonders if maybe she'd left her phone on in her bag and another one of her ads had shown up and started talking? somehow, that would make more sense to florencia than FALLYN ADAIR being in the same town as them. however, when they turn their head to spot the source of the voice, she is actually here. in the same boutique. standing just a few feet from her ex - best friend.

florencia stands frozen in fear. the memories of their last interaction had been on replay since the day they happened, and florencia wasn't sure she could handle another one-sided screaming match. whether fallyn had actually been upset enough to yell at flo, they couldn't remember. the details were all fuzzy. their heart hurt for months after, and florencia can't imagine why if not for some yelling. at this point, it had been too long for fallyn to not receive an answer. florencia had two choices. one: walk in the other direction as fast as their feet would take them. drop their clothes in a pile and just leave. two: grow up and talk to fallyn. they'd be lying if they said they didn't miss her. still, for the person florencia was ( and always has been ), the first option was the best option. they're all set to turn and make a mad dash for it, when they bump into the nearest rack and send multiple hangers crashing to the floor. there was no way they were getting away now. "uh, well... i've, um... i've always felt purple looked really nice on you?"

closed starter : florencia perreira @petalsfm

pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she tried to make a decision ( cashmere, off season and the best time to buy it or something she didn't have in her closet at all ), whiskey colored hues glanced up from the two shirts in her hand to flag someone else down for their opinion. " hey ! quick question, which would you choose ? " fallyn had already looked back to the garments in question, holding them up for the other to see, but not who she was speaking to. " really, i think i like the purple, but i feel like you can't go wrong with teal either ... "

#🌻 ／ 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐚 . interactions !#goldcnhcurs #florencia & fallyn.

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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

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Never Satisfied [Chapter 2]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language

Collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“this chick is crazy...and I kinda dig it“

It’s been four days since the incident and he’s all but forgotten about it, removed it from his memory entirely as if girls hide from police in his car on a regular basis.

Today is colder than usual, and his body has been quick to respond to the change, aching around the joints. Some days it’s impossible to move, feeling his clothes and sandpaper and housing spikes as joints. Thankfully, today isn’t that bad, the pain is rather manageable. Which checks out well for him, considering he has to do some cleaning around his apartment. His skin itched at the sight of the mess his living space has become over the last few weeks he hasn’t been bothered to pick up the strewn about items or wash the dishes in the sink.

Standing in his living room, he turns in a circle, taking in the disaster that is surrounding him. His chest tightens, throat closing up due to the overwhelmingness of the work he has ahead of him while all he wants to do is hide in his room, under the blankets of his bed that is for sure not willing to offer him much comfort at the moment, seeing as how it too is a mess.

Forget about that! He isn’t sure if his mind is telling him to forget the task he has at hand or the comfort he has in mind. Either way, he knows what the right thing to do is. It may give him anxiety, but it has to be done.

He clenches his jaw and closes his eyes, taking deep measured breaths and exhaling slowly just like his doctor had instructed him to do, in hopes to ease the tension around his lungs.

Calming down a bit, he finally decides to get on with it, starting with the smallest space he has to clean, hoping accomplishing a small victory would fuel his ambition to move onto the actual rooms with a lesser struggle. So, pulling on his favorite hoodie and a beanie over his black curls, he slips out of the front door and down the stairs of his apartment complex with a trash bag in hand. He may hate cleaning, but he hates messes more, therefore it’s an easy call to make. Easy when putting the two in comparison, a struggle when he actually has to get on with the process of cleaning.

With a deep breath as a final ‘You got this’ before action, he unlocks his car doors and looks around its interior. He starts off with the junk in the front - first tending to the passenger seat where he finds a couple plastic bags and a few water bottles. He keeps the area around the driver’s seat clean as can be, so he skips that side. Unfortunately, now he has to turn to the nightmare that is the backseats.

While it may be tame, compared to most, the three paper bags, five disposable coffee cups that he’d dropped to the floor are more than enough to annoy him. He also makes a frustrating find of a hoodie, a few shirts, a hat, and what appears to be a forgotten CVS bag of medication. Much to his dismay, there’s more: handfuls of old receipts that he is now shoving into the garbage bag he has in hand along with straw wrappers, a few stray cold fries dating back to God-knows-when. He sighs, somewhat relieved to see the backseat is doing a lot better now than it was a couple minutes ago, though it’s not even entirely clean just yet. Something catches his eye though - a choker that was probably covered by one of the clothing items he had found. He picks it up, turning it over in his hand. It’s made of soft leather with a gunmetal ”C” and a pentagram embossed on it. It has a leather braided cord on both ends to tie together and no price tag or brand to indicate its origin. He can’t remember buying this...but then again, retail therapy is a thing and it wouldn’t be the first time he forgot a purchase. He gives it one final once-over before shrugging and pocketing it. After collecting the headphones he’d also dumped in the back and retrieving a pair of boots from the trunk, he locks up his car and heads back into the building, mentally preparing himself for facing the terror of cleaning his apartment.

Returning to his place after tossing the trash in the dumpster along the way, Corpse locks the front door behind him and proceeds to drop the things he’s brought back near the front door.

This defeats the purpose of cleaning up in the first place, Corpse. He scolds himself but that’s what it remains at - just a scold. He slips the hoodie off his torso, but pauses when the leather collar falls to the floor. Tossing the clothing item on a dining room chair behind him, he picks up the choker and, without as much as a second thought, places it around his throat just below his Adam’s apple The metal feels cool against his skin and as he ties the leather cords at the back of his neck the corners of his lips curve upwards just a little.

I probably look stupid. He thinks to himself. Corpse tries not to look much at his own reflection, mostly because it’s a reminder of how little sleep he gets with the dark circles and worn out, exhausted eyes staring back at him whenever he looks. But when he catches a glimpse of himself in his peripheral on his way to piss, he admires his reflection, or more so the way the black leather stands out across his pale skin. He’s gotta admit, it looks pretty cool. Edgy. Very urban. Goth maybe? But he still prefers the chains he’s known to wear over chokers.

After doing his business, he starts heading toward his office with the intention of recording a new story for his channel if he manages to find a decent submission - and also to ignore the cleaning he still had to do eventually - when the sound of someone banging on the door of his neighbor’s apartment makes him jump, thinking the sound was coming from his door instead. Being the nosey bitch he is, he creeps to his door, listening to the muffled and almost completely incomprehensible voices from across the hall. The screaming match taking place is making him rather nervous and anxious and as much as he’d rather hide in his room and pretend he never heard or saw anything, he also doesn’t want the altercation to escalate into anything physical.

“You fucking bailed on me!” An angry female shout dominates over the other voice, a male one, that’s quick to follow the previous example with the tone volume.

“You almost got caught, it's not my fault you screwed up!” It’s the male’s turn to shout, his words intriguing Corpse.

Got caught? Screwed up what?

“Fuck you! You don’t just ditch like that! That’s such a dick move!”

Ditched? If it wasn’t for the ‘getting caught’ part I would’ve thought it was a flopped date?

“I wasn’t about to get arrested for your klepto ass! I’m done with your shit!” The male voice takes the upper hand again, and though the female attempts to speak, she’s promptly cut off by the male, “No! No, I said I’m fucking done! Get the fuck out of my apartment!” A loud bang that sounded remarkably like a chair being flipped over made Corpse jump again with his thoughts once again racing to try and make sense of the situation.

Klepto? So she’s a thief. Great. He rolls his eyes, not that he needed a reminder that he lives in a bad neighborhood, but he sure got it. He inhales slowly, finally deciding to check the aftermath in the hallway. Again, it isn’t his business whatsoever, but he can’t rest easy until he knows there isn’t an injured person outside his door right now. He peeks out the peephole before unlocking the door and sticking his head out to see a long haired individual still standing in front of his neighbor’s door. They have their back turned to him and are getting prepared to start banging on the door once again.

“Little scared-ass bitch! I’ll be back for my shit!” She screams, kicking the door to punctuate her point.

This chick is absolutely nuts. Everything in his gut is telling him to turn around and go back inside but his brain’s less-rational side is convincing him to check on her. He carefully steps into the hallway, swallowing nervously as he reaches out to tap her shoulder. “Are um-...you okay?”

The girl whips around, a furious expression on her face. Corpse makes a pause, his eyes widening at the sight of that familiar face.

Holy shit, I know this girl.

Standing in front of him is the girl who leaped into the backseat of his car only a few days ago.

Shit! What are the odds?

She’s wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a cropped sweatshirt with the quote “Mercury’s in Gatorade or Some Shit” written in bold letters and a solar system around it, with a leather jacket on top.

His mouth dries when he makes a realization...

Oh fuck. She’s way prettier in the natural light instead of that ugly light I saw her in that night.

“Oh hey! Parking lot guy! What are y-...is that my choker?” She interrupts herself, looking closer at the black leather on his pale skin, her brows furrowing. He’d forgotten he was even wearing it to be honest, but she seems to recognize it. “That’s my fucking choker, dude! I’ve been looking everywhere for it!” She reaches up seemingly with the intention of taking it off him, causing his whole body to freeze up.

Finally finding his senses, Corpse takes half a step back, eyes slightly widened, “Woah, hey! Easy there, I’m pretty sure I bought this.” He warns, hands hesitantly held out in front of himself to try and create some distance between them.

She seems not to take the hint at his desire for personal space as she reaches out again, stepping closer. “No, I made it with my own two hands, man! It’s got a C on it for my name - Cora.” She says sharply to the point of anger that honestly frightens him a bit.

He quickly unties the leather straps, removing it from his neck. However, he refuses to give it back so easily as he holds it up out of her reach.

Maybe if it isn’t on me she won’t be all up in his personal space. Yeah, it’s a bit evil, but he didn’t care. Besides, part of him is still mad about the fact she used his car as a hiding spot, shooting his anxiety through the roof in the process.

“I feel like you owe me for those fries you stole last time we saw each other. Make it up to me and I’ll give it back. If it’s even yours, that is...” He says, brows furrowing slightly and eyes narrowing as he takes another step back. “And, you know, for nearly getting me busted by the police for something I wasn’t even a part of.”

Sure, he was talking but her eyes are wandering analyzing him: first the silver chains around his neck that glimmer in the light and his dark hair, strands dangling carelessly as a curtain over his face.

He too finds himself admiring her, memorizing her features better in this light. She has olive skin and sports a little bit of a tan. Stray locks of wavy dark brown hair hang around her ears having come loose from her messy bun. She has earthy brown eyes with flecks of green that he can’t help but stare at, despite their current sharpness. Her right arm is decorated with a few small tattoos: a skull of some sort of animal that appears to be puking flowers; a small cartoon t-rex floating via many colorful balloons and a brain with a spiky spiral in the center of it. She has a single line drawn around her pinky finger on the hand of the other arm and the shadowy silhouette of a forest around her wrist. However, the one thing Corpse could see better than all of that, was she is pissed.

“Gimme my fucking choker back! I paid you for those fries, it’s not my fault you spent them on douchebag lessons!” She snaps, hopping to try and grab his arm.

She is pressed up against him now, a wave of perfume hitting him when she attempts another jump. He holds the choker higher, maybe even subconsciously, just enjoying the warm presence of another body for as long as possible - not that he’d admit that.

Corpse’s brief content comes crashing down as he stumbles backwards when he feels something hard on his hip and her hands grabbing at the front of his shirt.

“Wait-“ He tries to say, but is cut off when a good amount of weight pulls at his jeans. “Oh Fuck!” He rasps out, dropping the choker as he slams onto the floor. In the split second he spared to take a breath, his pants had been yanked down to his knees and his neck was crooked up against his door. He’s now lying on the floor as the girl hovers over him having landed with her hand on top of his head and one leg over his chest while the other is pinning his arm down.

While remaining unmoving under the girl, he takes a moment to let the previous five seconds sink in before replaying them in his mind:

This small woman, Cora she said her name was, had put the boot clad toes of her left foot into the pocket of his baggy jeans to use as a stepping stool. In turn, they were shoved down, effectively pantsing him and tearing the pocket before knocking them both to the floor.

Corpse leans against his door, jeans still around his knees, hair a mess as he watches Cora stand up from where she’d practically tackled him and equip the choker.

“Serves you right.” She sticks her tongue out, tying the piece of jewelry behind her neck. “Now get up before someone calls the cops, we both know what happens then.” She rolls her eyes and bends down, offering her hands to help him up after he situated his trousers.

“Ah-um...I-...” anxiety started reigning in his chest and head as he realized everything that had happened. He takes both her hands and she uses all her weight to pull him up. Her pull was so strong that when he stood up, he had to hold her tight to keep her from falling back. He stabilizes her, maybe a little too hard because her chest collides with his. He apologizes under his breath, releasing her hands quickly. “Don’t people buy dinner first before yanking off their pants?” He snorts, trying to make light of the situation and crossing his arms over his chest. “But then again, you stole my dinner.”

“Are you insinuating I should take off my pants?” She asks with a smirk.

Corpse nearly chokes on his own inhale, eyes wide as he quickly looks away.

Oh my god is she serious? “N-no!” He says, perhaps too quickly. Too loudly. His cheeks turned dark pink as he gapes at her for a moment before furrowing his brows again. He hunches his shoulders a little, doing his best to avoid those sharp hazel eyes.

She’s pretty. Way too pretty for him and now she has him all flustered. This girl has way too much power over the agoraphobic anxiety bundle that is Corpse.

“Oh so you’re insinuating that I should buy you dinner since I took off your pants?” She prompts, eyes narrowing with a delighted little smirk on her face. She has to be enjoying watching him squirm in embarrassment, otherwise, why would she keep asking questions like that? Of course she does. She is like every other girl in his life.

“I’m..-just...Forget it.” He mumbles, shrinking back away from her as he turns to go back inside the safety of his apartment.

She’s probably making fun of me. Great, as if I didn’t have enough self-esteem issues already.

Before he could get inside, a hand grabs his shirt at the small of his back. “Hey, I’m just fucking with you, dude.” She says, giving the shirt’s fabric a tug.

He turns and looks at her with wary eyes, wondering if she was trying to goad him into falling for her taunting again. But the ice in her gaze has melted and she gives him a crooked smile. “Lemme buy you dinner to pay you back. It’s the least I can do after you helped keep my ass out of jail.” She releases his shirt after a brief moment of reluctance and then offers her hand to him for a handshake. “Oh, I should introduce myself, officially this time. I’m Cora.”

Corpse looks at her hand and carefully takes it. She has small hands and his long fingers practically engulfed hers as he shakes it lightly. He gives her his name in return and she smiles that light filled, beaming smile he remembers from the car.

“Nice to, um- meet you, I guess.” He finds himself staring at her, unknowingly still holding her hand in his until she looks up and grins a little wider.

“This seems like a roundabout way to hold my hand, bro. You could have just asked,you know.” She teases, but this time it felt okay, his embarrassment having faded slightly, but he still hurries to look away and release his hold on her.

Corpse murmurs a quick apology, but before he could stick his hand back into the ripped pocket of his jeans, she takes hold of it again, tugging him forward. “Come on, lock your door. I’ll buy you something to eat. You drive though.” She lets go of his hand after a moment and, much to his surprise, he catches himself missing the warmth that it provided him while it was there. Turning, he ducked into his apartment to grab his hoodie and keys, feeling suddenly thankful he’d cleaned his car out.

Taglist: @vixenl @fockingwhore

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marzipanandminutiae · 4 years ago

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Hello! I loved your writings about the french revolution and how its inappropriate to idealize it as a socialist uprising that ended inequality, and how Marie Antoinette has been unjustly vilified. That’s why I really want you to watch this video: https://popular-c-c.tumblr.com/post/182180796160/i-uhhhh-got-a-little-heated-about-sofia-coppolas and tell me your opinion on it. The video is mostly about the depiction of Marie Antoinette in Coppola’s movie, which the reviewer hates. It more or less says that Marie deserves no sympathy for living an opulent lifestyle at the cost of poor peasants. Both the reviewer and many in the notes heap a lot of vitriol towards Marie, saying she was callous, selfish and uncaring. I would want to hear your opinion on it.

----------------------------

Oh boy.

So, first of all, I’m not a Marie Antoinette stan. I try not to be an anybody stan, in terms of history, especially not monarchs. Humans are complicated, and humans who make decisions from the perspective of an absolute hereditary ruler are DEFINITELY going to do things a citizen of a 21st-century republic finds appalling.

But I do think there’s a lot of misunderstanding happening in this video.

Misunderstanding on the part of the reviewer, who thinks the point of the Coppola movie is to make MA out to be a flawless #girlboss- which I never got from it at all. Misunderstanding on the part of some of the media outlets the reviewer cites- I don’t think I’ve cringed so hard in weeks as I did at seeing “Marie Antoinette was super-feminist!!!!” headlines. Just a lot of missing the point all around

I found the movie to be, overall, a pretty balanced take. yes, it’s from her perspective, but the viewer already KNOWS the French people are starving. it’s the understood undercurrent beneath all the balls and shopping sprees, the construction of the Hameau de la Reine and the wacky all-night parties. I found myself equally dazzled by all the glitz and gritting my teeth over it. you know where it’s coming from, and you know where the story is going. I don’t think Coppola intended it to be an uncomplicated Yas Queen portrayal

MA denies ever having said “let them eat cake” as she’s being fussed over by multiple servants. the message I got there was definitely “it’s not as bad as the press made out, but...um....”

I also think it DOES matter whether she said it. or, more specifically, the real historical truth of her words and actions. not because I want her to be held up as a feminist icon or excused for everything. but because she has become a cultural symbol of selfish opulence, and her husband hasn’t

how many times has M*lania Tr*mp been called “Marie Antoinette?” I can’t even count. her husband has been compared to MA, too. but not once have I ever heard “oh, that’s so Louis XVI of them!” not once has a quote attributed to him become pop culture shorthand for spoiled, out-of-touch rich people. he hurt his people just as much as she did, if not more. and yet, he’s not the one we use in our critiques and caricatures

he did every bit as much to bankrupt the country by getting involved in the American Revolution as she did with her “retail therapy.” and I think it says a lot about misogyny in pop history that she’s the one we pin all the blame on

(now, I do want to be clear re: my previous posts- I’m not a FrRev scholar. and obviously, yes, the people had legitimate grievances against the monarchy and things urgently needed to change. what I’ve said in the past- and what I still think -is that idolizing the French Revolution is a mistake, because it really didn’t end well for anybody)

(also they had an emperor again less than a decade after things quieted down)

(it’s just not a great model for a revolution, no matter how you look at it)

#submission #the other thing is that I don't think being furious with MA for her part in the people's suffering #and sympathizing with some aspects of her story #are mutually exclusive #like hell yeah it must suck to be married off to a stranger who lives at an insanely formal court when you're 14!#it must really hurt to be constantly told that your worth lies in producing sons when your husband won't even touch you!#it must have been lonely and painful and isolating and awful #and really scary too- taking the throne of an already unstable country that you're supposed to somehow lead without any real power?#YIKES #but also yeah a lot of her behavior was extremely tone-deaf at best and actively selfish at worst #you're allowed to have complicated feelings about historical figures! because people are complicated!#long post

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jubilexe · 4 years ago

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Retail Therapy - Luke Patterson

Julie and the Phantoms

Request?: Nope.

Word Count: 4.8K+

Summary: Alive!Luke x Alive!Reader/ Alive!JATP x Reader. After a fight with your parents, you go out for a little retail therapy and meet a certain Rockstar. I think I will prolly do a part 2 or more let me know if you want one, btw this is not proofread or edited. Luke sings to you in this chapter and he sings ‘Can’t take my eyes off you’ by Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons, so you can listen to that if you want.

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any.

“Julie please, my parents and I just got into another huge fight about my art and I need moral support.”

“But my dad wants me to watch Carlos and I can’t bail again.”

“Please just get here! I need you, Jules,” Y/N radiated distress and it was clear to all the people in the Claire’s she was currently in.

“Fine, I can call my tía. I’ll be there in an hour, but you owe me an ice cream cone!” Julie said laughing, Julie had been Y/N’s best friend since they met in the seventh grade when they both accidentally wore the same shirt three days in a row and became friends, they often would laugh about it. Y/N told her where to meet and thanked her friend quickly hanging up the phone. She heaved all her shopping bags up and looked around.

“Why am I even in this store?!” She hmphed loudly drawing the attention of the other shoppers once again. She marched out of the store towards the food court where she was meeting Julie. A new store caught her eye and she stopped for a minute debating if she had enough room for more bags. She quickly made her mind up deciding that she could make room, after all, she had her dad’s Platinum Amex and she was not going to waste this opportunity. Y/N walked quickly to the entrance of the quaint book store. She turned into the book store slamming into something, it was just her luck to run into a wall today and I mean why not seeing as the rest of her life was falling to pieces around her. She fell onto her back looking at the ceiling her bags scattered around her.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” A boy came into her sight. He had shaggy brown hair and was wearing a light yellow apron with a name tag. Guess she didn’t run into a wall after all, but again that was just her luck. Her eyes began to water as all the emotion crashed upon her like a tsunami. She gritted her teeth pulling herself together.

“I’m fine,” Y/N looked at his name tag. “Luke.”

“Woah how’d you know my name?” Luke stepped back and Y/N let out a breath of laughter.

“Nametag,” She said as the tears began to pool in her eyes.

“What? Oh my god, why are you crying?” Luke looked at her panicked, he didn’t do the best around crying girls. She held up a thumbs up.

“I said I’m- I’m,” She coughed lightly trying her best to get out the words.

“Here let me help you up,” Luke stuck out his hand to her nervously. She grabbed it and using her other hand tried to wipe the onslaught of tears off her face. Luke kept a hold of her hand pulling her to the back section of the store.

“Um you can stay back here as long as you’d like,” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and accidentally running into the desk behind him knocking a book off the desk he looked at it quickly.

“Here you can read this maybe it’ll make you feel better,” he picked the book up shoving the book into her arms. He ran out of the room quickly.

“Oh? I- Thank you!” Y/N called out into the store. Luke ran back into the room his arms heaving all the girl’s bags.

“How were you carrying this much?” He wheezed dropping the bags by her. She laughed wiping more tears away and smearing her mascara. Luke backed up again.

“I have to get back to work but just leave when you want and if you need anything I’ll be up at the front counter,” he nodded at the girl giving her a thumbs up, and walked out again. She sat at the back of the store composing herself. She picked up the book looking at the title. It was ‘The Outsiders’ and a pretty beaten up copy at that the book was filled up with loose pages, she flipped through it and set it down on the table next to her. She turned to grab her bags. She didn’t notice but the book slipped off the table into one of her bags. She also didn’t notice her journal/ sketchbook drop from her purse as she grabbed everything trying to flee as quickly as she could. She collected the rest going out into the main store and heading to the counter.

“Thanks again for the help,” She leaned on the counter gazing at the boy in front of her.

“No problem, um you can come back anytime, that is if you want to of course no pressure,” Luke stumbled over his words.

“Of course, yeah,” She nodded, but she was not going to come back, not after that humiliating experience. He smiled dopily at her.

“Can’t wait,” he leaned on the counter as well.

“Um yeah,” she felt a twinge of guilt at the totally sweet look he was giving her. Her phone chimed loudly and she pulled it out.

“That would be my cue to leave,” She turned quickly dashing out of the store making her great escape.

“Bye then,” he waved confused. Y/N pulled out her phone checking the text.

‘Where are you? I got here 10 minutes ago.’ - From Julie. Y/N sighed speeding up her strides to get to the food court quicker. She spied Julie sitting at a table in the middle of the court. She made her way through the throng of people and sat down at the table setting her bags down under it.

“What happened?” Julie asked eyeing the girl.

“I had a bit of a break down in a store, but a nice employee helped me out so I’m good,” Y/N laughed quickly.

“Are you okay, your eyes are really puffy. Do you need eye drops?” Julie stuck her hand in her purse and Y/N stopped her laughing again.

“I don’t need anything I’m good I promise, I just want to spend time with my best friend,” Y/N laid her hands down on the table in front of her. Julie rested her hands on top of the girls.

“If it’s any consolation I am supportive of your art,” Julie smiled sweetly. Y/N’s heart melted at the girl’s words, it did mean a lot to her.

“Thanks, Julie, now if you could convince my parents to do the same then that would be a dream come true,” a weak smile crept its way onto Y/N’s face. Julie squeezed her hand.

“How about we go get that ice cream and we can talk a bit and walk around, I think we both need it,” Julie stood up interlocking her hand with Y/N’s and pulling her towards the creamy treat.

It’d been a few weeks since the mall incident and things were not getting any easier for Y/N. Fights seemed to be on the daily now and the yelling was beginning to drive the girl insane. So she spent as little time as possible at her house only going over to sleep and do school work, other than that she was at the park painting or reading through the book that had slipped into her bag. She had planned on returning it to the booking clerk after she had read it, but now it had been three weeks and she had yet to. She would have hung out with Julie, but she was busy with her new band and nonstop rehearsals, they were set to debut at a spirit rally at school next week and they needed to be perfect. She still hadn’t met the band, but she had permission from Julie to crash anytime she wanted and she was planning on taking full advantage of this pass soon.

Her favorite pass time though was reading the book though so she had kept it, she loved to just read and look at the little notes and doodles in the margins, it really gave her a view of what was going on in Luke’s head. Although sometimes it was hard to decipher the hieroglyphics that was Luke’s handwriting.

She had discovered that the writings of S.E. Hinton were not the only thing hidden away in the eggshell-colored pages, there were journal entries and songs. She didn’t feel comfortable reading through the entries but she sure did love reading the works of musical genius, Luke’s, songs. They were so well written and heartfelt it helped her understand this boy that she barely knew, this boy so full of passion, feeling, emotions, and kindness.

And that’s where she was now reading a song of loss and regret under the cloudy sky. One that she related to personally, it reminded her of her parents and that even if she was having a hard time with them she would always love them even if they weren’t in the picture.

“If you could only know I never let you go,” she hummed along to the words, and sure she didn’t know the tune the words were initially meant for but she could sure try and make her own melody. But her phone interrupted her startling her out of her own little world within the words. She hurriedly wiped at her tear-stained cheeks and took the device out. It was 4:30, Julie and the Phantoms were at rehearsals right now and this was the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the jam session, so Y/N hopped on her bike and sped towards the Molina residence.

Y/N stopped on the cobblestone path leading to the studio loft and set her bike against the stone wall. She could already hear the music drifting from the open window of the studio. She crept to the porcelain white door and stood on her tiptoes looking through the long windows. Y/N could see Julie on the piano and three boys surrounding her. There was a tall lanky one wearing a pink shirt and had a fanny pack slung across his chest, he had blond hair and was on the drum, there was a raven-haired one clad in flannel and leather he was on bass guitar and another one that wasn’t facing Y/N, from what she could see he was a brunet and was wearing jeans and a blue sleeveless hoodie, and he was on a guitar she thought. Julie looked up and jumped a little but she just laughed it off stopping the music and gesturing for Y/N to come inside. Just as Y/N was about to move away from the door the brunet turned around her her heart stopped she could hear all the blood rushing and it was deafening.

It was Luke from the bookstore. Y/N felt herself pale and she quickly hid from view she slid down to sit against the door and the pavement, her eyes darted around looking for a place to hide, any place at all. But before she could move the door gave way and she fell onto her back. Julie had opened the door at the whole band formed a circle around the starfishes girl. Luke broke out into a fit of giggles.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” he managed to get out through the laughter. Y/N deadpanned and scoffed.

“Tell me about it,” she sighed. Luke came to a stop and offered her a hand. She did not grab the hand though instead opting to roll onto her stomach and push herself up. Luke lowered his hand awkwardly and Alex snickered.

“You two know each other?” Julie asked looking between the pair.

“Kind of,” Y/N shrugged looking at the dopey grinned boy. “We met at the mall a few weeks ago, you remember Julie we had an ice cream cone that day.

Julie nodded and looked at Luke.

“Oh, so this is the guy you stole a book from!” Julie laughed at the panicked face you made. Luke sent Y/N a confused look.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry I’ve been meaning to return it,” Y/N dug through her backpack and pulled out the book victorious. She handed the book to Luke quickly and added a quick explanation and a sorry.

“Hey it’s okay, you kind of left something too, I had been wondering where it had disappeared to though,” he laughed and snatched Y/N’s journal from his bag handing it to her. Throughout their exchange Julie, Alex, and Reggie just stood awkwardly shuffling their feet.

“Oh! I thought my dad took this... Oh My god wait please tell me you didn’t look,” Y/N paled again. Luke and Y/N stared at each other for a minute silently.

“Um only a little,” Luke looked down to the ground guiltily. Julie coughed and clasped her hands together.

“Why don’t we play something for Y/N while she’s here!” She said sitting down at the piano. The rest of the boys picked up their instruments, Alex sitting at the drums, Reggie standing with his bass next to Alex and the door, and Luke standing next to the piano and the couch. Y/N took a seat on the couch farthest away from Luke, she was feeling a bit awkward.

“So this is Bright,” Julie said to Y/N as well as making the boys aware of what they’d be playing for her. Julie played the first notes on the piano taking a breath and smiling, she was really in her element right now and it showed.

“Sometimes I think I’m falling down. I wanna cry, I’m calling out,” Julie sang out hitting each note with perfection. Y/N got goosebumps on her arms while listening to Julie’s voice, it was really breathtaking.

“For one more try, to feel alive.” The boys still hadn’t played their instruments and Y/N looked at each of them confused. Luke sent her a wink and threw his guitar over his shoulder with finesse. Y/N smiled brightly and gave him thumbs up. She reached into her bag pulling out a paper and a pen. She wrote a 9.5

“What?! I deserve a 10,” Luke frowned strumming a note as Julie sang, “Life is a risk but I will take it, close my eyes, and jump.”

“It’s because you’re a show-off,” Y/N held out the f sound. Luke laughed and threw his head back.

“I’ll you show you what showing off really looks like,” he grinned at her. Just ask he said that Julie sang, “Come on let’s run!”

And that's when the boys hopped into action the music hitting Y/N like a wave. Luke played the guitar his hands moving effortlessly on the frets, he had so much passion in his eyes and Y/N couldn’t tear hers away. Luke looked at her holding her gaze intently.

“Life is a risk but we will take it, close my eyes and jump,” Luke’s voice came out gravely and husky, giving Y/N goosebumps once again. Reggie sang along with him dancing around the middle of the loft. Y/N felt like the breath was knocked out of her, the band was, to put it simply, dazzling. She had so many thoughts for them but she knew she it’d be impossible to tell them how amazing they were in words. Luke walked closer to Y/N kneeling in front of her while still playing his instrument.

“Come on let’s run!” Luke sang to her, the rest of the band along with him. He hit the high note with ease and Y/N breathed in deeply. Luke continued to sing, but he pulled her up quickly and they danced together, it was a mess of rocking together and lots of spinning on Y/N’s part while Luke jumped up and down still having to play. Reggie came in and joined them, and he and Alex shared a look. They all jumped around in a circle and Y/N jumped onto the couch singing along with the chorus.

“Shine together bright forever!” Y/N picked up her water bottle using it as a mic. Luke couldn’t keep his eyes off her, she was electric.

“In times that I doubted myself, I feel like I needed some help,” Luke sang and the only instrument playing was coming from the piano. Luke walked up to the couch below Y/N and they stared at each other.

“Stuck in my head, with nothing left,” Luke sang to her. Julie shot Y/N a look telling her to sing with him.

“And when I feel lost and alone, I know that I can make it home,” Y/N sang nervously fearing she’d mess up the words, but Luke just smiled at her and Y/N instantly felt at ease. Y/N looked away from Luke for a minute nodding at Julie and they sang together.

“Fight through the dark, and find the spark!!” Julie raising her voice and held out the note. Luke still couldn’t pull his gaze away and he lifted Y/N off the couch spinning her and making her squeal, she was set on the ground and she started dancing again.

“We will fight to shine together! Bright forever!” They all sang out and the song ended. Y/N laughed with glee and jumped up and down.

“You guys are amazing!” She smiled at Alex and hit Reggie’s shoulder, feeling at home with the guys already, even if they only met a few minutes ago.

“I’m gonna run inside the house and grab some snacks and we can hang out!” Luke ran to the door and exited. Y/N laughed, he didn’t even ask if she was free, she was but still. She enveloped Julie in a hug and they laughed together. Y/N’s phone rang in her pocket and she pulled it out and looked at the screen, her mom was calling. A deep frown set into her face and she clutched the phone.

“I’m gonna take this,” She said and made her way out sitting against the stone wall and taking a deep breath trying to prepare herself. She hit the answer button and held the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” She whispered.

“Y/N Y/L/N, you need to get home right now, you have been gone long enough. Get over yourself, you will not become an artist and you will do what we say we are your parents,” Y/N’s mom and dad said, not even letting Y/N get a word in. She breathed in deeply and shut her eyes tight willing herself not to cry.

“Mom, Dad, I’m not coming home,” Y/N got out her voice faltering. Her dad scoffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous you will come home immediately,” Her mom sighed. Y/N shook her head even though her parents couldn’t see.

“I’m not coming home not again and not ever, not until you support me,” she almost lost herself there but she shut her eyes again keeping the tears at bay, she wouldn’t cry for something she needed to do.

“I’m gonna be staying somewhere else from now on, I’ve already got all the stuff that I need and you won’t see me again until I prove you wrong.”

“People will like my art and even if they don’t I like my art and it’s what I’m passionate about and I won’t stop, I won’t give up, I can’t,” Y/N hung up the phone not even giving them a chance to respond, she clicked into her settings turning off her location and stuck her phone next to her. She brought her knees to her chest and she breathed deeply, she heard someone taking a seat next to her, she didn’t look assuming it was Julie.

“I know what it’s like,” Luke laid his head against the wall and put his hands at his sides. Y/N’s head shoots towards Luke.

“It’s you! I thought you were Julie,” Y/N said. Luke started to get up.

“I’m so sorry I’ll go,” he stood up all the way. Y/N grabbed his hand and pull him back down they were now sitting shoulder to shoulder and looking at each other. Y/N breathed in deeply again the tears finally going away.

“Stay.”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop drop, by the way,” Luke laid his hand on top of her hesitantly. She laughed shaking her head.

“It’s okay, can you tell me about it?” She asked him referring to what he said earlier. He nodded slowly trying to articulate what he was thinking.

“Okay, but bear with me I’m gonna start at the beginning,” he stated and Y/N intertwined their finger hoping to make him more comfortable.

“My mom and dad bought me my first guitar when I was about 8,” he started squeezing her hand.

“When you said beginning I didn’t think it’d be beginning, beginning,” she laughed. He sent her an annoyed look and she giggled laying her head on his shoulder.

“They didn’t get me into lessons but my neighbor ended up teaching me, I knew immediately that music was what I wanted to do and my parents didn’t quite feel the same but they let me continue playing regardless, but then I started a band called Sunset Curve when I was fifteen, that’s when they tried to take my guitar away,” he deflated slightly and Y/N nestled into him a bit more.

“Of course I hid it where we were practicing and didn’t tell them where, but the fights got so bad that I ran away, on Christmas Eve.”

“Now I’m staying here, but I get how it feels to not be supported by the ones who matter most, so if you need someone who knows what you’re going through you can come to me if you want,” he said facing her as she took her head off his shoulder. They were centimeters apart at this point, they were practically breathing in each other’s air.

“You’re staying at Julie’s?” She asked their noses almost touching.

“Yeah in the loft with Alex, he’s not living at home either, his parents weren’t cool after he came out to them,” he said sadly his eyes fluttering shut. She studied his face, he had freckles that you could only see close up, and there was a small scar just on the bridge of his nose.

“It’s cool that you guys have each other,” Y/N interlocked both their hands.

“You could have us too,” he whispered. “If you want us.”

“I’d really like that I think,” she moved in closer, her lips ghosting over his as he whispered, “I’m glad you want me, us.” They knew each other better than anyone, sure they hadn’t been together long but they’d seen into each other's world through music and writing and art, they saw the most intimate parts of each other. A crash from the garage and Alex fell through the crack in the door and he shot up looking like a deer in headlights. Luke and Y/N jumped away from each other and Y/N hit her bike knocking it over and the contents of her other bag on it spilled out, a mess of clothes and tampons came out and Luke looked horrified. His eyes fell upon a single bra and he stumbled back covering his eyes. Alex ran back into the studio slamming the door behind him. Y/N quickly scooped up her stuff putting it back into her bag making sure to zip it up this time. Luke still was on the ground covering his eyes.

“You can look now,” Y/N let out an airy laugh. Luke shook his head.

“I’m too embarrassed,” he sat up still covering his eyes. Y/N scooted over to him so that she was sitting in front of him on her knees, she brought her hands up to his slowly moving them away. She and Luke looking into one another’s eyes for the millionth time that night. She slowly tore her gaze away and stood up.

“I should probably go find a hotel to stay at,” she whispered picking up her bike. Luke jumped up grabbing her wrist.

“You can stay here! I mean if it’s okay with Julie, we’ll have to ask,” he said holding onto her hands and grinning at her.

“It’s okay with me!” They heard Julie’s voice from inside the studio. Y/N laughed pulling Luke into a tender hug, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her hips. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and whispered, “Thank you for everything Luke.”

“You’re welcome,” he kissed the top of her head lightly pulling her in tighter. Drops of rain began to dribble into them until it was a downpour. Luke tried to pull her inside but Y/N pulled him back and they spun together in the rain. Y/N let out a joyful and bubbly laugh that had Luke laughing along with her.

“Sing to me music man,” Y/N spun Luke around and dipped him. He grinned at her and began to sing.

“You’re just too good to be true,” they spun together again.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you, you’d be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much,” Luke spun Y/N in and they rocked together. Y/N slid her arms up around Luke’s shoulders and they smiled at each other.

“At long last has arrived and I thank God I’m alive,” he smiled to himself at the line. Y/N spun away and jumped in the rain and a puddle of water exploded under her baby blue converse.

“You’re just too good to be true, Can’t take my eyes off of you,” and the lyrics were true for Luke he could pull his gaze from the magnetic girl in front of him. She held out her hand and Luke grasped it as she spun in her back hitting Luke’s chest. Luke sang more to her and he was almost to the chorus now.

“There are no words left to speak. But if you feel what I feel, please let me know that it’s real.”

“You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you,” Luke hummed and Y/N got ready to sing the chorus with him.

“I love you, baby!” They both sang out at the top of their lungs.

“And if it’s quite alright, I need you baby! To warm a lonely night!” Y/N sang out Luke practically had heart eyes. This wasn’t like before in the studio during Bright, Y/N wasn’t hesitant at all she had the aura of a thousand burning stars and the confidence to show it.

“I love you, baby! Trust in me when I sayyy!” Y/N sang again and Luke continued this time.

“Oh, pretty baby! Don’t bring me down I pray,” Luke spun down onto his knees and held his hands out to Y/N.

“Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay! And let me love you, baby!” Luke sang pulling Y/N in they were once again close, chest to chest the rain streaming down their faces and their foreheads pressed together.

“Let me love you,” Luke sang in a whisper. Y/N hooked her arms around his neck and their lips were close, but not close enough to connect.

“You’re just too good to be true...” He closed in, their lips connecting for half a second but once again they were interrupted by a car beeping from in front of the house. Y/N pulled away quickly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“That’s probably Julie’s dad with the pizza,” Luke said sadly knocking on the white door for the rest of the teens to come out.

“That was quite the show you two put on,” Reggie said as they came out. Y/N blushed which is something she didn’t normally didn't do so you knew she was very embarrassed.

“Shut up, dude,” Luke punched Reggie’s shoulder. They all began walking to the house, the rest of the teens holding umbrellas but Luke and Y/N were still exposed to the weather. They lagged behind a bit and Y/N took Luke’s hand into hers. They got to the door and they were the only ones out there. The rain pitter-pattered against the covering of the porch. Y/N and Luke faced each other and Y/N smiled at him.

“Thanks again for everything, Luke.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Luke stepped up to her.

“How did you know that was my favorite song?” She grinned at him.

“I have my ways, star,” he cooed and Y/N smiled at the nickname. She stood on her toes and pecked him on the cheek and she dashed inside. Luke stood there alone and touched his cheek softly and grinned, she’d be the death of him, but he was ready to do anything for her. He was falling, and falling hard for that matter.

Thank you for reading and let me know if you want a part two, and feel free to enter my taglist link in bio!

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heart-strong · 4 years ago

Text

An Ode To Science Beaker PJ’s- Spencer Reid x gn!Reader

gif credit to @0420-1102

Summary: gn!reader takes care of Spencer after coming home from being held captive by Tobias Hankel (season 2 episode 14 and 15). Reader and Spencer have been dating for two years.

A/N: YALL I think my fics are just going to be long because I love writing so much and I haven’t had writing inspiration in so long. Thank you for all the kind words about I Have a Fever, if you haven’t checked out my first Spencer/ Criminal Minds fic yet please do I’m so proud of it but heres this new one!

Also I mention this in my About me section but I’ll mention it here, I think Penelope and I are similar in that we call everyone “darling” just as a term of endearment, so penny calls reader darling that it.

This is also part one of a two-part set. I wanted to add a little more comfort but I loved the natural end to this without it. It is not written yet so I don’t know when it will be posted but I will link it here. when it is posted.

There is going to be smut in part two (An Ode to Golden Ratio PJs) and while there are still gender natural pronouns reader is going to have female anatomy. I’ve never written smut before and female anatomy is what I know from personal experience.

WC: 2.8k

TW: Regular cm stuff and topics covered in season 2 episode 14 and 15, (DID, dilaudid, self harm, abduction), talk and description of self harm but no relapse, any others let me know I’ll add it no question.

Again pt. 2 here

----

Spencer Reid and you had been dating since the two of you were set up on a sorta blind date by your mutual best friend Penelope Garcia. While you couldn’t possibly know everything that Spencer went through you had some idea from being Penny’s friend for years. Two years strong with Spencer and you felt like you were starting to know him better than his team.

It was Super Bowl Sunday and you were out with the team. The game was over and Spencer, Anderson, yourself, and a few other FBI agents you had just met that night were sharing a table. You are draped on Spencer’s shoulder watching him getting quizzed by Anderson when JJ walks by, she ruffles his hair and takes a phone call outside. You fix the curls out of Spencer’s eyes and kiss his cheek when he answers the question just in the nick of time.

And then there’s a case. The team was called to Georgia and everything was going well, or as well as a murder investigation can go when one night Spencer missed his usual phone call with you. He would check-in, at least a minute, letting you know he was okay. So you weren’t surprised when Penelope knocked on your door.

“Hi, darling. Um, I am going to go to Georgia and I wanted to tell you because, well because you and Spence. Somethings wrong. You may want to sit down.”

“What happened to him?” you motion Penelope into your apartment and to your couch.

“Well, uh, boy wonder and JJ were sent to a witness’s house to question him. But the witness well he was the unsub.”

“What?” you look at your best friend. You didn’t want to believe what you were thinking.

“Tobias Hankel, uh the uh unsub took Spencer. I am going because he is highly skilled with computers. I promise you, I will bring him back to you.”

“Okay, so what do we know? Do we know if he’s okay?”

“The team has a video feed on him. They can’t track him, so I’m going to go. That’s my specialty darling, I’ll get him back to you. The image we have of him is okay right now. He’s tied to a chair and clearly wounded but he is okay. The unsub has multiple personalities and one of his personalities is feeding him and giving him water.”

“Okay sounds good. You leaving now then?”

“Right now. I knew you needed to know before I left though. I love you darling stay strong for your boy wonder.” Penelope popped up off the couch as you rose and gave you a tight squeeze before floating out the door.

“Yeah okay. Love you too.” you followed and closed yourself out of the world.

It was another three days. Three days of not hearing from Spencer, but at least you knew why. He was being held captive. Three days of knowing your boyfriend was in pain and danger, a murderer holding him and streaming his whereabouts to his friends. No word from Spencer. No word from Penny. No word from no one.

Until you woke up to Derek Morgan calling you at 2:30 in the morning.

“Hello? Derek is everything okay?”

“(y/n),” it was Spencer. His voice was rough and scratchy and maybe a couple of octaves lower.

“Holy shit Spencer. You’re okay.”

“I’m safe. And I’m going to be with you as soon as possible baby. I just have to go to the hospital first.”

“Spencer Walter Reid come home to me as soon as humanly possible. I just need you.”

“We’re headed to the hospital now. It’s just bruising and a gash on my head.”

You heard the team behind him and just needed him. Safe in your arms, safe out of the field.

“Spence just come to my apartment when you get home and I can take care of you.” you hear Morgan wolf whistle from your words. “I’m glad he can make jokes right now, that helps me know you are fine.”

It was so early you tried to go back to sleep. But you couldn’t, finally getting out of your bed at five and making coffee. After trying to eat something you couldn’t stay still anymore you decided to do some chores. You were folding laundry and found a pajama set Spencer had left at your apartment, it was soft flannel and covered in little beakers. You noted the company on the tag and a hole in the knee showed how loved they were. You went to the store and got his favorite peppermint tea and snacks, making sure to make it feel somewhat homely for him, and finally returned home where you sat on your couch sewing up the knee waiting for him to come home to you.

It’s past 8 pm, you have the pajamas folded beside you and a movie playing on your tv when you hear movement on the other side of your door. The sound of a key and the doorknob moving pulls for your attention when Spencer walks into your apartment.

“Charming Boy, what are you doing?” you grab his bags since he was clearly in pain. “Where’s Derek?”

“He dropped me off?”

You immediately noticed that Spencer had downplayed his injuries. A black eye was forming on his sharp cheekbone and you looked to his hairline where there was medical tape assuming that was the gash he had mentioned on the phone and his wrists were red from the restraints Penelope mentioned. But he hadn’t let go of his side since he entered your apartment and it just elevated your terror when he yelped from you taking his bag. What in the world happened to him. “Spencer why didn’t you tell me?” you lowered the bags to the ground and took his free hand and cheek in your hand, trying to get him to look at you.

“I was taken and beaten up for days but I’m good. I’m with you.” he kissed you but it didn’t feel like the boy that left you a week ago.

You pulled back from the kiss and looked at him. His eyes were distant and avoided yours looking to his messenger bag on the floor. You kiss him on the nose and he plays along crinkling his nose but his eyes don’t move. He is still dazed and out of it when you pick up his bag and drag him to your room.

Spencer didn’t like therapy, after the L.D.S.K about a year ago you asked him if he wanted to talk to someone outside of the FBI. “ I know all the tricks, I can’t learn anything new from them.” and while you knew it was an unhealthy view you were not going to force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

“Hey, Charming can you look at me?”

You had brought him to the side of the bed he would sleep on when he stayed the night and he was staring out the window with his messenger bag on his lap and was holding on to it like it was the only connection to the world. He looks up at you standing in front of him. But his gaze quickly moved to the window and moon and sky again. “I’ll be right back.”

You grab his pajama set from the couch, a couple of glasses of water and a first aid kit then return to him, he hadn’t moved. After setting the items on the bed and the water on your bedside table you sit by him. You brush away stray hairs off his forehead and place a kiss on his hair. He smells like chemicals and raw fish.

The Spencer scent of his shampoo and matching body wash that reminded you of Christmas and the spilled coffee lingering on his sweaters was overpowered. Gone. You could spend days wrapped up the cardigans he left behind but right now he was nowhere near that version, in a shirt that was clearly Derek’s as it fell off his collar bones.

“Hey Spence, do you want to take a shower?

“Do you want me to?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, it’s just, you’ve been held by an unsub for three days,”

“Two days, 13 hours.”

“Okay, so about three days. Charming wouldn’t it make you feel better?”

“I can if you want me to.”

The short answers made you very uncomfortable. The words and avoidance of a shower were very non- Spencer, you wanted his rambling back. You wanted the boy that left you a week ago, but he wasn’t coming back, so you just wanted him to feel a little bit better. Safe.

“Spencer, can you tell me where your head is at right now?”

“My head is in the chair I was strapped to for 61 hours.”

“Can I ask you to elaborate on that Spencer?” you didn’t want to push him but no one had told you what happened to him during those days and you wanted to know everything after he showed up worse for wear to you. “Did they touch the spots that are off-limits Spence?”

Spencer Reid was the most beautiful, handsome, and attractive person you had ever met. After the one time you hung out with the team, it was a no-brainer for Penelope that she needed to set the two of you up. And now years of knowing him and getting to know him differently than his team the two of you were comfortable together. And you quickly learned things before the team. You had planned to go with Spencer to see his mom when he was given vacation time, but you weren’t given time off; you left your retail job a month later to pursue your dreams. And like his mom before the Fisher King case, the team didn’t know about his ‘off-limits spots’ and this spaced-out man sitting before you. You knew they definitely didn’t know about his off-limits spots because you learned about them when you were making out one night and untucked his shirt. His ribs, his stomach, and wrist were the hardest for him when unsubs taunted him. The restraints, the groping, the beatings. They were also the places he put all his frustration out when his anxieties were out of control. But it had been two years.

“Spencer, did you hear me?”

“Um well he, Tobias took his belt around my arm, a make-shift tourniquet, and drugged me. He hit me in the head.” he gestured to his forehead. “And when they found me, the team, one of his personalities had a knife to my wrists.”

“Oh, Charming. Can I see?” he nods and you take his hand and unbutton the cuff of his sleeve, and there it is. A clear bandage was tight to the skin covering a dozen of cuts next to light scars from Spencer’s own hand. You couldn’t help but think two years down the drain even though the marks weren’t from Spencer, they sure looked like it. “Okay, bathroom Charming boy.”

The two of you walked to the bathroom and while Spencer sat on the closed toilet lid you ran the bath. Going back to your room you grabbed the first aid kit and his pajamas.

“Do you need anything, want anything to eat or drink?”

“Do you have peppermint tea?”

“I got some for your visit, I can make you some while you relax. Anything else?”

“My shampoo and conditioner are in my go-bag. Not that I don’t like the scent of your stuff I just want mine.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, honey. Okay let me get those for you and then I can take your bandage off and we can clean it up.”

As you walk back into the bedroom Spencer yells “Actually it is better to cover wounds to help them heal properly.”

“I know Charming but I want to clean it and switch it to a new bandage. Better padding you know you were in a hospital and a plane with that one. Whoa,” Spencer was in the tub already and you were shocked to see him naked. A big bruise was wrapping around his rib cage. You had never seen your boyfriend in less than a button-up with the top three or four buttons undone. “Sorry, um I’ll go make something to eat and boil water.” you go to close the door.

“(y/n), wait.” his eyes were finally starting to come back in focus, “ Weren’t you going to help with this,” he places his arm on the lip of the tub.

“Sweetie, you’re, you are,” you are trying to look at his face and not the wounds or his collar bones or his chest or his below the water.

“Oh,” and just like that, his eyes unfocused.

“No Charming, it’s just, we’ve never been shirtless in front of each other.” you go to sit by the tub on the floor of your bathroom, grabbing his hand still limp on the lip of the tub. “Are you okay with this?”

“Yes, I’m okay, just can you not look at me like I’m different.” he looks at the arm and your hand holding it. “Just because my arm looks like this again.”

“Spencer, I didn’t look at you differently when you told me originally, I’m not going to look at you differently now. One sec,” you scoot on the tile and grab the first aid kit off the floor in the doorway where you dropped it. “Are you okay if I clean it and change the bandage?”

“Um, yeah, yeah you can, thank you.”

You grab his hand and put the kit in your lap. Grabbing an alcohol pad and running on the edge, and slowly but surely you get the bandage off his arm. You stand and get a washcloth off the shelf above the toilet and wet it with cool water.

By the time you finish bandaging his arm again the water Spencer was sitting in had gone cold and he is shivering.

“Can you make tea now and, um,” he looks down at his arm covered in new beige badges. Boring, but no one could see it anymore.

“Yes of course I can, um, I left a pair of pj’s on the bed you left them here.”

“Thank you.” he looked so small and scared in the tub.

You left thinking he was just bashful because he was in the tub and went and started a teapot. As you’re heating up a pot of water for mac and cheese you hear him padding into the kitchen.

“Do you feel a little better?”

“Definitely.” he sat at your kitchen table and you walked over to him. “Thank you for fixing my pajamas (y/n), I’m glad you had them. I thought I lost them, left them in a hotel on a case.”

“Yeah they were here, I can fix other clothes if you want.” you card your hands through his damp hair and twist his front fringe around your fingers.

“I would like that, thank you.” he closes his eyes as you comb through his hair and hold the back of his head. “Um, can we just have peanut butter and jelly, I just want to snuggle with you and I can’t wait for the water to boil.”

“That sounds perfect, do you still want tea?”

“Yes please.”

You kiss the top of his head, his hair finally smelling like Spencer. Your home. And as you let go you don’t feel that sinking feeling you usually do when walking away from Spencer. He joins you at the counter and pulls out two knives. You grab the bread slices and the two of you make sandwiches. When the kettle shouts you grab two cups and tea bags from the box and pour out water. Spencer grabs the plate with the sandwiches and follows you to your bedroom.

Once there you set the cups down and grab your phone and turn on some quiet music. When you turn around Spencer is already under the blankets and honest to god nibbling on his sandwich. You go to your closet to get your own pajama set, granted not as cute as your boyfriends, and join him.

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asks.

“I am so happy that you are here. Can I kiss your silly face?”

“Please do.”

You launch at him. Your flannel-clad legs wrap around Spencer’s hips. His hands go to your hair as his tongue starts to brush your lower lip and you open your mouth to accept his tongue. Pulling away from his mouth, his beautiful, talented, and oh so addictive mouth, you look to him as long lashes flutter open his big brown eyes you’re hit by a train.

“Move in with me?”

———

Update (May 2, 2021)

Part two here it is nsfw

#criminal minds #ssa derek morgan #ssa emily prentiss #ssa hotchner #ssa jennifer jareau #ssa rossi #ssa dr spencer reid #mental health #spencer reid fic #gn!reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds fic #fanfiction #spencer fanfic #my work

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jungshookz · 4 years ago

Note

ok anyway build-a-bear employee!jin who meets y/n bc she comes in to make a new friend after a breakup and he teases her for being an adult by herself in the store and after she starts tEARING UP he’s like okok no!!!! and helps her make the cutest lil guy and records a cute message to put inside

➺ pairing; kim seokjin x reader

➺ genre; employee!jin, i brought you to build-a-bear so obviously this is going to be very floofy (sfw!!)

➺ wordcount: 4k

➺ what to expect; “…turning twenty-two soon and you’re buying yourself a teddy bear?”

➺ note; when i told u guys that jin always gets the cutest drabble requests i wasn’t LYING!!! i have my own bear from build-a-bear named blu (he’s dark blue with white stars!! at the age of eight i was not very good at coming up with creative names) so obviously i had to write something for him and his homies

»»————-　🧸————-««

jin has a love-hate relationship with his job

you would think that working at build-a-bear would be pretty fun - and it can be, sometimes! - but jin can confirm right here right now that it’s not aLL that great

on one hand, he loves the dramatics of build-a-bear because he’s given the chance to act like the whole store is whimsical and that the tiny little heart that he stuffs inside of the bear is full of magic and hope and happiness (he majored in acting in university so his degree is surprisingly very useful here)

but on the other hand… he works at build-a-bear.

this isn’t where he thought he’d be!!! not at all!!!

he’s basically almost thirty and he works at a frickin build-a-bear

this wasn’t part of his plan!!!

his plan was to graduate from university, get famous from acting in a small commercial because of his devilishly handsome face, and then immediately get signed onto some fancy hollywood acting deal and become internationally known

but, no!

he graduated from university, didn’t get any roles in any small commercials, and had to find a way to make money so had no choice but to find work at his local mall

and to make things worse, his boss is literally five years younger than him

he has this bratty little twenty-two year old constantly up his ass and he haTES it

“you forgot the whipped cream on my frappuccino.” jungkook looks up at jin from where he’s sitting behind the counter before raising his drink, “am i blind or are you just bad at listening to instructions? where is the whipped cream, seokjin? WHERE?”

jin clenches his jaw before leaning forward, “they were busy, i guess they just forgot. and i’m not your slave. i only got you that drink so you’d give me a day off tomorrow.”

“well, since there’s no whipped cream on it, you don’t get a day off.” jungkook kisses his teeth before shrugging

“wha-“ jin resists the urge to reach down and wrap his hands around jungkook’s neck, “are you kidding me right now?? i spent forty-five minutes out of my fifty minute lunch break lining up at starbucks to get that for you! forty-five minutes!!!”

“i don’t know what to tell you,” jungkook hums as he kicks his legs up onto the counter and leans back against his chair, “now get back to work. and remember to smile! after all, build-a-bear is where best friends are made-“

“the new slogan is ‘the most fun you’ll ever make’.” jin raises a brow, “you don’t even know our slogan! how did you become the manager?”

jungkook takes a slow sip of his drink while maintaining direct eye contact with jin

sChLuuUuRrRRRr

jesus christ

his life sucks

jin rolls his eyes before turning on his heel and heading back to the main area of the shop

today’s saturday, so the store is a little busier than it usually is - which is great, because jin works off commission and he thinks he’s pretty good at selling teddy bears

on his best day he managed to sell thirty-eight bears in one day

he also convinced most of the kids that their brand new furry friends needed new clothes and a personalised recorded message in place of the usual little red cloth heart

he doesn’t like looking at the parents whenever he’s egging their kids on to buy even more things because they always look at him like they’re going to kill him

anyways

he could’ve ordered like forty frappuccino’s from the money he made on that day

before he left for lunch today he sold eight which really isn’t that impressive

but, to be fair, the mall usually gets busy after lunch, so now is the prime time to make some sales

jin lets out a breath as he scans the store for any newcomers or anyone who’s noT already being bombarded by his co-workers

he can’t help but snicker to himself when he notices yoongi at the stuffing station conducting a heart ceremony

“-and now you can go ahead and give your heart a little kiss-“

he looks up for a split second and jin takes the chance to blows a sweet little kiss at him

he snorts to himself when yoongi’s eye twitches

yoongi hates giving heart ceremonies but he’s actually pretty good at it!

he’s good with children whether he wants to admit it or not

alright, enough making fun of yoongi >:-)

time to hunt down a new customer…

jin sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he walks around the store slowly

ooh, a little boy and his family just walked i- aaand they’ve been swept up by jimin

okay, no problem!

how about those twin gir- nope, too late, taehyung’s approaching them

damn

that would’ve been a good sale, too

it’s fine

he’ll get someone!

oh, wow

build-a-bear has really upped their game since the last time you were here

to be fair, the last time you were here was like more than ten years ago, so you’d hope that they make some changes to the store

…are those star wars themed teddy bears??

that is most definitely a princess leia teddy bear

and she even gets her own little light sabre!

wow

this is a whole new world

“excuse me, sorry…” you manoeuvre your way through the crowd as you continue looking through your options

is it weird that you’re in here by yourself?

the thought of trailing behind a random child in order to blend in with everyone else crosses your mind for a split second

although… a grown woman creeping behind a child they don’t know probably isn’t going to sound good to the judge when you’re standing in court, so maybe you shouldn’t do that

okay

you know what

it’s fine

it’s totally fine that you’re in here by yourself!

stuffed plushies are for people of all ages!!

it’s not just a kiddie thing

you’re FINE

and you have a perfectly legitimate reason to be in here

the only reason why you’re even in here is because…

well, the short and sweet version is that you got dumped two weeks ago.

which means that you’ve been cooped up in your apartment for the last fourteen days

which means your bedroom was starting to smell a little ripe so you thought it’d be good to air out the place and give your poor bed a break

(also, please, for the love of god, remember to wash your sheets when you get back home later today.)

anyways

you thought that a trip to the mall for some retail therapy would make you feel better!

so far you’ve only been the food court but you helped yourself to a cheeseburger, some onion rings, and a vanilla milkshake

food always makes you feel better

you could honestly go for another round of onion rings right now

there’s nothing quite like the pain of having your heart broken nudge you towards the direction of binge-eating the pain away, is there?

you were about to head into a victoria’s secret to splurge on pretty panties (that no one but yourself will be seeing for a long time) but this build-a-bear caught your eye

a cuddle buddy you could ugly-cry into for the simple price of $35?

obviOUSLY you had to come in

the only issue now is that there are way too many options to choose from

who do you want to take home??

pawlette the bunny?

toothless from how to train your dragon?

you could even take pikachu home if you wanted to

“timeless teddy…” you mutter to yourself as you dig out a teddy bear skin (also, it’s very unsettling that they’re called ‘skins’. like, you know that’s what they technically are, but the phrase ‘i’ve picked out my skin!’ just makes your skin crawl.)

you lean forward a little to read the label on the wall

teddy bears are a timeless way to share love with every hug! timeless teddy is a classic teddy bear with shaggy brown fur and an adorable smile. personalize this classic teddy bear with outfits, sounds and accessories for a huggable gift they'll cherish forever!

perfect!

a classic teddy bear sounds perfect

there’s nothing wrong with going back to basics

also, you’re assuming the ‘they’ll’ they’re referring to here is a child

…

you are doing this

you will buy this teddy bear!

your other option was to go and adopt a cat from the shelter but you can barely take care of yourself right now so that wouldn’t be a good idea

“hello!” you jump three feet into the air when you’re suddenly being greeted by one of the bright-eyed workers, “can i help you find anything?”

you turn around quickly while clutching your teddy’s skin (gag) to your chest with wide eyes, “h-hello!”

hello indeed

you feel your heart drop a little when you realise that you probably look disgusting right now

you weren’t expecting to bump into a veRY attractive super handsome boy today!!!

very attractive super handsome boy with sweet brown eyes and soft-looking hair and the poutiest lips you think you’ve ever seen in your entire life-

thank god you decided to wear the sweatshirt that doesn’t have any stains on it, right?

the one thing you remember from your previous build a bear experience (once again, 10+ years ago) is that the workers here are usually overly perky sixteen year old girls

this guy is not an overly perky sixteen year old girl

well

maybe he’s the perky part

but everything else??

wowie

he smiles brightly at you before tilting his head, “hello. i’m jin!” he points at his name tag, “i’d love to help you out today. were you looking for anything in particular?”

“hi! hello, jin. i’m, um, i’m y/n. i was, uh-“ you clear your throat, “i was actually just browsing, so…”

“oh, perfect!” jin claps his hands together, “let me tell you all about our collections. there’s the summer fun collection, the rainbow friends, the promise pets, the heartables, the classic build-a-bear collection-“

yeah okay

he’s definitely nailed the perky part of the job

“-DC comics, dr. suess, marvel, my little pony, how to train your drag-“

“you know, i-“ you smile sheepishly after interrupting jin, “thank you so much, but i’ve actually already made my decision, if that’s alright.” you hold your teddy’s limp, hollow carcass up before pressing your lips together

“of course that’s alright!” jin takes the skin from you before shrugging lightly, “i figured i’d just let you know of all the other options in case your younger sibling wanted something more extravagant than just our timeless teddy. follow me to the sound station!”

you don’t get a chance to say anything before jin spins around swiftly to head to the back of the store

he thinks this bear is for your younger sibling

okay, you can work with that!

you can pretend like you’re in here for your non-existent younger sibling and certainly not for yourself

“you can choose a pre-made sound from here,” jin gestures to the bins of plastic hearts (there’s a sound option for an ‘into the unknown’ snippet from frozen 2 which is insane), “or we can go ahead and record a personalised message. what’s your sibling’s name?”

you look up at him immediately

“wha- um, why… why do you need to know my sibling’s name?”

“oh! i was just asking so i could give you an example.” jin hums as he tosses the skin over his shoulder and places his hands on his hips, “like, you could say, hey there… sibling’s name, it’s me, your big sister! i love you! or something like that.”

“ah, right!” you nod to yourself, “that makes sense! my sibling’s name is totally normal information that i have no problem giving to you.”

jin raises a brow when he notices you continuing to ramble about how your sibling’s name is something that you will be telling him soon because you definitely know the name of your younger sibling whomst’ve this bear is for

you’re cute but you’re a little odd

“-my younger sibling’s name is… paulette!” you catch a glimpse of a pink pawlette bunny being stuffed before looking back over at jin, “yep. that’s her name. sweet, sweet paulette. sweet little angel.”

“hey, our iconic bunny is named pawlette!” jin beams, “wouldn’t you want to get paulette her own pawlette? instead of a bear?”

the smile immediately drops from your face

oh god

you’ve never been very good at lying

one time in middle school when you wanted to get out of PE you told the teacher that you were in pain and that’s why you couldn’t do anything on that day

and when he asked you what hurt, all you said was ‘…bleeding out of my butt?’

you don’t even know why you said that!!

you could’ve told him you had a headache or something but nO

you told your teacher your asshole was BLEEDING and that’s why you couldn’t participate in baseball

so yeah

lying has never been your forte

but you don’t want pawlette!!

you want this bear!!!

although, it would make sense to get paulette her own pawlette because that’d be an adorable coincidence…

what are you-

what are you even sAYING

PAULETTE DOES NOT EXIST

“okay, you got me!” you raise your hands in defence and jin’s eyes widen in surprise, “paulette isn’t a real person. i don’t have a younger sibling. i’m in here for me. the bear is for me. the timeless teddy is mine.”

“oh…!” jin purses his lips before nodding slowly, “alright! totally get it. the bear is for you.”

why has everyone he’s ever been attracted to turned out to be a little cuckoo?

the expected demographic of build-a-bear are children aged 3-10 (a child aged below three isn’t interested in stuffed teddies because they don’t really do anything but sit there and a child aged over ten isn’t interested in stuffed teddies because… they don’t really do anything but sit there.)

and you… well, unless you’ve experienced some kind of insane growth spurt, you certainly don’t look like someone aged 3-10 years old

“phew! it feels good getting that off my chest.” you breathe out as you lean over and place your hands on your knees, “there was a lot of pressure there to keep lying to you but-“

“how, um, how old are you, by the way?”

jin doesn’t mean to sound like a judgy bitch

he’s just genuinely curious as to why a 21-23 year old would willingly go into a physical build-a-bear store to buy themselves a stuffed plushie

you could’ve purchased one off the online website

also, aren’t there better things to spend your money on?

like… literally anything besides a stuffed plushie??

“turning twenty-two soon!” you get back up onto your feet, “why do you ask?”

“…turning twenty-two soon and you’re buying yourself a teddy bear?” jin snorts before raising a brow, “i mean, really? didn’t you graduate this year?”

“ah, well…” you reach up to scratch the back of your neck as you feel the tips of your ears beginning to heat up, “i mean, yeah, but like…”

“i’m not judging! some people go on grad trips to party and get wasted after they graduate, and other people go to the mall to build themselves a $35 teddy bear-“ jin laughs to himself before turning around to plop the skin down on little counter attached to the stuffing machine, “anyways, were you thinking about choosing a sound or recording something?”

he spins back around and his eyes widen when he notices that your eyes have gotten red and are starting to water

uh oh

what’s going on?

what’s happening??

are you…

are you crying??

why are you crying??

he was totally kidding!!!

that wasn’t supposed to be mean!!

that was supposed to be playful banter!!!

“oh- oh, god no- wait-“ jin immediately walks over so that he’s standing in front of you and jungkook won’T be able to see that he just upset a customer, “don’t cry!! i was kidding!! i have, like, ten plushies on my bed! i’m twenty-seven and i work at a build-a-bear, if anything, i should be the one crying-”

“i just-“ you reach up to wipe at your eyes as you begin to blubber, “my boyfriend of one year b-broke up with me two weeks ago and i- i just th-thought that a teddy bear would make good company because god knows i’m not in the right mental state to be taking care of a real animal-!”

jin winces when you let out a particularly loud sob and he quickly drags you over so that the two of you are behind the stuffing machine and out of sighT from everyone

crap

he doesn’t even have any tissues on him!!!!

maybe he can pull some fluff out from the machine and you can dab at your tears with that

actually, the cotton might stick to your cheeks if you try wiping your tears away with a fistful of stuffing, so maybe not

“i-i know it’s stupid and humiliating for a grown-up to be in here buying a stupid teddy bear for herself but there’s so much in my life that’s just out of my control right now a-and making this teddy bear seemed like the only thing i could control and i just-“

“y-yes, of course!” jin pulls you into a tight hug (your sobbing is getting a little loud and people are starting to notice so this is the only way he can think to muffle your crying) and strokes the back of your head comfortingly, “i’m so sorry, i had no idea! that makes total sense, of course you can get this teddy bear for yourself…”

he continues to hold you until your sobs reduce to little hiccups and gives a warning look when yoongi mouths whether or not they should call mall security on your ass

when you pull away your eyes are a little puffy and the tip of your nose is red

if jungkook asks, maybe jin can get away with saying that your allergies acted up in the middle of the store

you don’t look like that because he made you burst into tears

not at all!!

“how about we… record a special message for your new friend?” jin digs through the tub to pull out an electronic heart

“i-“ you hiccup, “i don’t really h-have anything i want to say…”

jin purses his lips in thought

stuffing the bear with a heartbeat heart seems way too basic

this is an important bear!

ah!

“why don’t you let me take care of it, okay?” he reaches over and rubs your shoulder gently, “you wait here and i’ll take care of everything. for his stuffing, would you like a soft cuddle bear or a plump one?”

your bottom lip starts to quiver again and you let out a light laugh, “a soft cuddle bear sounds really sweet.”

“then a soft cuddle bear it is.”

“and this is for you.” jin hands you the box over the counter and you take it from him with a grin, “thank you for your purchase! and… sorry about making you cry-“

“oh, god no-“ you snort, “i’m sorry for bursting into tears and loading all of that on you-“

“it’s totally fine!” jin shakes his head, “you’re definitely not the first person to start crying in a build-a-bear, so there’s absolutely nothing to feel bad about.”

“right! right, of course.” you nod and press your lips together, “anyways, thanks for helping me out today, jin.”

“of course! it was a pleasure.” jin clears his throat

it’s pretty clear that the two of you want to continue talking to each other, but…

jin doesn’t usually practice his flirting skills when he’s at build-a-bear, so pardon him for being a little rusty

“so… see you around!” you chirp, “i’m just gonna-“

“wait, uh-“ jin wipes his hands down on the back of his pants, “i… i don’t know if maybe this is a little too soon for you or… and it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, but… maybe i can treat you to an apology corndog or something sometime? i don’t know. this mall doesn’t really offer fine dining, so a corndog is really all i can-“

“yeah, i would love that!” you nod enthusiastically, “an apology corndog with you sounds great. i mean, a regular corndog would be fine too, but- d-do you… want my number?”

also

this isn’t you rebounding or anything

this is the first time in two weeks where your mind hasn’t been clouded with thoughts of your ex-boyfriend

this is the first time in two weeks that you’re actually happy

jin seems genuinely sweet and you wouldn’t mind getting to know him :-))

also you’re glad that hE was the one who asked

because if you were the one who asked, it’d probably make you look that much more pathetic

and you’ve already made a fool of yourself once today!!

you sigh happily as you slam the car door shut

you’re about to shove the key into the ignition when suddenly you remember that your bear has a personalised message inside of him

“oh, right!” you reach over to open up the cardboard house that he’s been shoVed into

!!!

you wonder what soundbyte jin picked out for you!!!

you pull him out and smile fondly at the sight of his chubby arms dangling over your hands

cute :-))

this was money well spent for sure

okay, now how do you activate the sound…

there’s a bit of squeezing and poking but you manage to find the little heart inside of him

you perk up when you hear a muffled crackle

“hi, y/n! it’s me, your furry friend… uh… jin bear! if you’re listening to this, it probably means you’re super sad… cry into my stomach to muffle the sound of your violent sobs! …oh, god, probably shouldn’t have said that- anyways, um, i hope you feel better soon! and remember to give me plenty of cuddles - i promise it’ll make you feel better!”

that was actually a pretty good message

(you hope jin texts u soon)

“okay, jin bear.” you murmur quietly as you buckle him into the passenger seat, “time to take you home.”

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a request)

requested drabbles masterlist

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thedumpsterqueen · 5 years ago

Text

Standards of Performance, Chapter 2: Fuck-ups and Textbooks

... I know I said I’d update weekly, but here we are. From now on I’ll post every Friday, if not more often. Than you for such a positive response to Chapter 1, it warms my heart! Enjoy :)

Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 2, Fuck-ups and Textbooks

Chapter Summary: You narrow in on the pool of suspects while desperately trying to convince yourself that dream psychology is a pseudoscience.

Words: 2225

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

A man stood above you, backlit, so you couldn’t see his face. You were laid supine, staring up at him - vulnerable, but unafraid. He spoke to you, but his voice and words were indistinct, muffled, as if you were underwater.

He knelt over you, placing one hand to the side of your head. It was silent, still, unmoving except for the dim lights shifting behind him. You felt your breath quicken as the figure shifted almost imperceptibly closer. His tie fell forward, dangling over your chest. It was a beautiful cerulean blue, silky and expensive looking. You reached up to touch it, and the man caught your wrist in a firm grip.

“No,” he said, his words clearer but his voice still indistinct. Low, deep, familiar… but you couldn’t place it.

He released your hand and moved his to your waist, lightly caressing, stroking downward until he caught your hipbone. Your pulse quickened and you gasped and arched upward into his touch, feeling his fingers dig in tighter in response.

“I thought so,” he murmured, swinging one leg over to cage your body with his. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hip wove into your hair and came to rest at the base of your skull, pulling your head up as he leaned down to catch your mouth with his…

Your phone alarm blared, waking you with a start. The dream slipped away, leaving you alone in your hotel bed, a noticeable wetness between your legs.

“God fucking damn it; I can’t have anything,” you muttered, throwing off your blanket and hopping into the shower. You hadn’t dreamed about sex in a while, hadn’t thought about sex in a while, too preoccupied with proving yourself at work. The dream left a longing in its wake, one that would unfortunately have to be addressed at a later time, because you stayed in the shower far too long and needed to meet Hotch and Morgan downstairs.

____________

You bustled into the lobby, clutching your case files and coffee. The others stood by the front entrance, facing away, seemingly discussing something amongst themselves. Hotch turned at the sound of your heels clicking towards them. You smiled, nodding your head in greeting, and-

Oh my god.

You froze in your tracks, face feeling suddenly numb. You registered Hotch frowning in confusion, but you couldn’t say anything to reassure him, not yet.

His tie.

It was the same one, the one that draped over your bare chest in the dream last night, the one attached to the man who you’d been thinking about all morning despite never seeing his face. The same one that hung loosely around Hotch’s neck last night on the balcony, the one that made you feel so voyeuristic that you couldn’t make conversation with him knowing its unknotting exposed his throat, making him appear stripped bare in comparison to the tailored suits he practically lived in.

“You alright, kiddo?” Morgan asked. “I mean, I know I’m a stop-you-in-your-tracks kinda guy, but I woulda thought you’d be used to that by now, huh?”

Morgan’s lighthearted cockiness gave you the boost you needed to shake your head and keep walking forward. “Sorry, thought I forgot my phone. I’m good. Let’s go, what’s the plan?”

Hotch seemingly accepted your answer, but kept his eyes on you as you got into the car. “Local police have rounded up friends and family of the California victim at the station. I’d like you to take the lead on interviews today. Morgan and I will be available should you have any questions, but we’re going to search our victim’s apartment first. Is that alright?”

It wasn’t actually a question, of course, but you gave verbal confirmation just the same. After the incident last week, you wanted a chance to prove yourself in an interview setting with a slightly less hostile subject.

They dropped you off at the station with instructions to compare notes with Prentiss, JJ, Reid, and Rossi after each interview. After setting up the room and conducting a tearful conversation with the victim’s mother, your first interview of the day, a conference call with the others in Arizona and Nevada revealed that the team had missed something big in the initial review of victims: they had all attended the same small, liberal arts college in San Diego.

“So, uh, who wants to tell Hotch?” asked Emily over the phone. Silence on the line, but you could tell what the others were thinking - no one wanted to be the one to deliver the news that you had overlooked such a clear commonality in the victim profiles - one that could have led you to an obvious suspect pool hours ago.

“The most fair way to decide this would be a random selection tool, here, I can pull one up on my phone,” replied Reid, accompanied by tapping sounds as he typed something in.

“No, she can do it, she’s with Hotch already,” said Rossi. “Let’s not waste time on this. Let us know what he says.” The others murmured their sympathies, but ended the call just the same, satisfied with avoiding Hotch’s quiet brand of wrath for the time being.

Sighing, you slumped in your chair in the interview room. Best to just get it over with. You dialed and held your breath, but not for long, as he picked up on the first ring.

“What did you find?” he asked, expectant.

“I just got off the phone with the others, and, it… it looks like they all attended the same college. PLNU, here in San Diego.”

A few beats of complete silence on the other end. You cringed, holding the phone away from your head like it was a bomb about to go off.

After what felt like ages, he responded. His voice was low, stern as always, but it had a clipped quality that you recognized as the closest you’d ever seen Agent Hotchner get to rage. “How did we not find this out during preliminary research?” he asked.

“Well, um, two of them didn’t actually graduate from there, so it wasn’t immediately obvious,” you offered.

More silence.

“I’m sorry, sir, you’re right though, we should have figured this out earlier. I’m sorry, I’ll -”

He interrupted you. “Thank you, I’ll tell Garcia to get a suspect pool together.” Line dead.

You sighed and laid your head in your hands. As far as tough conversations go, that was easy on the surface - hell, you’d had bosses scream at you when you worked retail for something much less consequential. But Hotch was different - he commanded respect without demanding it, and he had a way of making you feel like the only true measure of success was his praise, and by that same vein, his disappointment made you feel like an utter failure. For a man so cold and closed off, he drew the attention and admiration of everyone around him. When you started your internship, JJ had filled you in on what happened to his family - both wife and child murdered by one of their subjects. You weren’t sure how a man who had gone through that was still standing, much less working in the field that exposed them to that danger in the first place. But that was Aaron Hotchner, right? There was a reason that any member of his team would take a bullet for him without a second thought.

You’d only known him for a month, but you thought you probably would too.

____________

The rest of the interviews progressed smoothly, and you found out through conversation with your fellow team members that all three victims had taken a class with the same TA. One of them had mentioned a creepy teaching assistant to her friends at one point or another, shaping this up to hopefully be a pretty clear case of unhinged stalkerdom. Why the grandiosity in transporting and hiding the bodies no one was quite sure, but you, Morgan, and Hotch were on your way to his house along with a SWAT team to figure that out.

When you pulled up outside his address, a little yellow bungalow in La Jolla, you felt your upper lip start to sweat. Morgan and Hotch were pulling on their vests, checking their guns, and you, an intern without weapons privileges (or training, for that matter) were hiding behind the corner of the SUV.

“Remember, we don’t know if this is our guy!” Morgan yelled to the other officers. “We need him alive, don’t go shooting for no reason, got it?”

Hotch turned to you hurriedly before they moved across the street to enter the home. “You okay?” he asked, placing his hand on your upper arm.

You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured you, looking into your face intently. "There’s several officers waiting with you out here, this will take less than two minutes.”

You nodded again, unsure how to tell him that you weren’t afraid for yourself, but for them. For him. He was indestructible, fearless, more than twice your age with more than 20 times the experience in the field. But you still felt an innate urge to be there, to protect him in case something went wrong.

His potential as a cult leader is really being wasted at the BAU. Hell, I’d die for him.

Therapy, you decided. You needed therapy.

Hotch nodded, oblivious to your internal conflict, dropped his hand from your arm, and headed towards the house with the others. You heard Morgan yell, a loud bang as he presumably kicked the door in, and more shouting. Your breath hitched in your throat as you counted the seconds, dreading the sound of gunshots.

Luckily, it didn’t come. They exited the house, striding towards you. Hotch’s hair had been disheveled in the commotion, falling onto his forehead. He raked it back with one hand, sighing.

“Nothing. Doesn’t look like he fled, but Garcia didn’t mention anything about him being at work during this time. Morgan’s gonna call her and see if she can find a location; let’s search the house.”

You nodded and followed him, feeling guilty for your overwhelming sense of relief that the suspect hadn’t been home. Morgan stood in the front yard, charming Garcia on the phone. You smiled. It was only a matter of time before those two stopped being idiots and admitted their love for each other; you couldn’t imagine being one of the more seasoned team members that has dealt with their antics for years.

Trailing Hotch through the front door, you noticed immediately how… bare the home was. The furniture was all standard IKEA gray (you recognized it, having furnished your apartment on a budget), the walls were absent of any decoration, and there wasn’t a single knick-knack or distinguishing piece that made it appear as if someone actually lived there. The obvious plainness stood in stark contrast to the sunny exterior and palm trees and other greenery surrounding the home.

Morgan strode in behind you, apparently having concluded his flirting session. “Cozy, huh?”

You nodded. You didn’t have much experience profiling suspects’ living quarters, but you didn’t need to be an expert to know that something was off here.

“Split up. Take the bedroom,” Hotch directed, nodding in your direction. “Tell me if you find anything.”

The bedroom was just as unremarkable as the rest of the house. You tore through drawers of neatly folded clothing, pulled out mounds of blank notebooks from the desk, dug through a trashcan filled to the brim with just tissues (you truly didn’t want to know), and just when you were sure there was absolutely nothing of import to discover about this guy, you pulled up the corner of the mattress to find what must have been dozens of books on criminal psychology stacked within the bedframe.

The suspect was very notably not a TA for a criminal psychology class.

“Uh, Agent Hotchner? Sir? I think I found something,” you called out.

Hotch appeared in the doorway. “Show me.”

You pulled up the corner of the mattress, gesturing for him to look underneath. Moving closer, he placed his hand on your lower back, and looked over your shoulder.

“Criminal psychology?” he asked, unmoving.

You nodded, glued to your position, breathing shallowly, wanting to move to examine the books but effectively pinned between Hotch and the foot of the bed. Your gaze shifted to the left slightly, and you were met with an eye level view of-

That fucking tie. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

He moved away to pull the stack of books out of its hiding place, and the muscles in your lower back where his hand was resting suddenly relaxed. You berated yourself internally for being so weird around him - it was a tie, for fuck’s sake, something that your mind had picked up on yesterday and inserted purposelessly into your dream.

Dream psychology is bullshit, you reassured yourself for probably the hundredth time today.

Hotch began to leaf through the books, and you saw that certain passages had been intensely highlighted and circled, with notes scribbled in the margins. He paused to read a few of them before snapping the textbook he was holding shut and standing up.

“Let’s get these packed up and go through them back at the hotel. It’s getting late.”

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tuiccim · 5 years ago

Text

Brassy (Part 7)

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Words: 1284

Warnings: Fluff, adult conversations, angst

Summary: Your relationship with Bucky continues until you realize there’s one important thing you forgot.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

———————————-

Steve pulled you aside two days after your date with Bucky and, awkwardly as hell, told you he considered you family. It was still hard to accept, but you managed to tell him you cared about him too. He turned to leave but you stopped him.

"Steve," you can't quite meet his eyes but you have to ask him, "you're his best friend and I need you to tell me the truth."

"Okay."

You roll your lips in for a second not sure if you want the answer to this question. "Am I good enough for him?"

"Yes, (Y/N), you are good enough for him. You're good for each other. He's a lucky guy."

Tears form in your eyes, "Thank you, Steve. That means a lot coming from you."

You had just lifted up to place a kiss on his cheek when Bucky walked in and immediately started messing with Steve, “You trying to steal my girl?”

“Oh, is she your girl?” Steve smirks at Bucky.

“Okay, okay, boys. I have some say over this.” You couldn’t pass up a chance to make Steve blush, so you grabbed each of them by the front of their shirts. Looking between the two you let out a long “Hmmm…” Looking into Bucky’s eyes, you say “Sorry, Cap.” before pulling a grinning Bucky in for a kiss.

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Steve says making a quick exit.

Bucky is chuckling against you as you continue to kiss. After a few minutes, despite your body screaming protest, you manage to pull away. “Keep kissing me like that and I’m going to forget we said we’d take it slow.” You say.

Bucky groans, “Doll.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“You are testing my self-control when you say things like that.” Bucky leans in to kiss you again but you slip away before he reaches you.

“Then I best take temptation away.” You giggle, “I have training to do.”

You head to the training room to get out some of your pent up frustration and then plan on a cold shower.

The next few days passed following the usual routine except now Bucky and you actually talked when you were in the same room. Laughed. Watched movies together. And always seemed to find some way to be touching.

Then Steve, Bucky, and Sam were sent on a three day mission. By the end of the first day you felt the lack of Bucky’s presence. You were still confused by your feelings for him. There was the wanting to jump him part which felt normal, but there was also a joy just being around him and a fear of it all going to shit.

The second day they were gone you eat lunch with Natasha and Wanda.

"Question." You look at the two of them. "If you're taking it slow when dating, how long does that mean before you have sex?"

Natasha snorts and points her fork at Wanda, "Oh, that one is all yours."

Wanda laughs, "It's always just been when it felt right. There's not a timeline somewhere."

"Ugghhh…" you bang your head on the table dramatically as Nat and Wanda giggle.

"Come on, (Y/N), it's been like what, a week?" Nat can't stop laughing.

"Sex? Day after Tony's last party."

"Yeah, that was an all day noise fest." Wanda says under her breath.

You stick your tongue out at Wanda. "Things starting with Bucky? 8 days."

"Speaking of, how did Loki take it?" Wanda asks.

"I haven't seen him. I was on a mission and he hasn't answered texts since then, so he must be in Asgard." You shrug.

"How do you think Loki is going to take it?" Nat asks.

"I don't know." You say truthfully.

"I'm sorry but I have to ask. Was he good?" Wanda blushes a little.

"Uh, yeah. The stamina of a god, generous in bed, never left a lady hanging, understood no without necessarily having to hear it. Every time he left he always asks 'Next time?' like he was making sure our arrangement was still intact. A gentleman without being too much of a gentleman. He's pretty damn fantastic in bed."

Wanda looks thoughtful for a second, "Then why not him?"

"It's just never been like that with us. Plus, I'm 'merely a Midgardian.'" You mock Loki's accent.

"So, it's just physical with you two." Nat says.

"Well, no. There's... there's an actual friendship there too. We talk, laugh, listen to each other. I'm hoping our friendship can survive without the physical stuff. He really is my best friend. As much as I mess with him about it. I'm... scared of losing that." You feel embarrassed for admitting so much and shrug to cover your feelings.

"I think it will." Wanda says giving you a reassuring smile.

"Ya know, I could use some retail therapy this afternoon. Who's in?" You smile at the two of them.

"Oh, yeah." Nat says while Wanda nods.

The day Bucky and the guys are due back you decide to bake cookies for them. Wanda joins you and together you manage to bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies and a batch of snickerdoodles. You leave some in the kitchen for everyone but wrap up little packages of them to drop off in the guys rooms. You were dropping the last package in Bucky's room when he walks in.

"I didn't know you were back! I was dropping off some cookies for you." You smile at him.

He is looking at you so intensely you falter for a second. "Bucky, are you okay? Did the mission go okay?"

He slams the door, drops his go bag, crosses quickly to you, and crashes his lips into yours with such intensity that your knees nearly buckle. You respond immediately by wrapping your arms around his neck and opening to his demanding tongue. He pulls you tightly to him and you arch your body into the embrace. After a few minutes your lips part just enough for Bucky to say, "I thought about you the entire time."

"I missed you, too." You said running your hands through his hair.

He claims your mouth again. Heat pools between your legs and finally you have to break the kiss. "Bucky," you say in a heated whisper "I don't want to go slow anymore."

He stares into your eyes for a minute before backing you to his bed. When the back of your knees hit the mattress you sit down and slide back onto the bed. Bucky kicks off his boots and then follows you down sealing your mouth with his. You lay back and curl your hands into his hair as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. He begins working your shirt up when his hands pause. Breaking the kiss, Bucky presses his forehead to yours.

"Babe," he says in a strained voice, "I, um, I don't have any condoms."

"Why would we need…" You're confused for a moment. Being a super soldier meant advanced healing and no illnesses. And then realization hits you like a ton of bricks. "Fuck!" You push away from Bucky and scoot across the bed from him.

He's looking at you with pained eyes, "I'm sorry. I didn't…"

"I'm so fucking stupid." You put your head in your hands.

Bucky reaches for you, "Why would you say that?"

"No, no!" You scramble out of the bed. "Don't. I...Dammit! I'm so stupid. What the fuck was I thinking?"

"(Y/N), what are you talking about? What did I do?" Bucky is nearly panicking.

"Nothing! Nothing, it's not you. I'm sorry. This was a mistake. I can't." You run to the door.

Part 8

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ellewritesathing · 4 years ago

Text

Ten Things VIII

Summary: If there’s one thing you have to know about Harvey Kinkle, it’s that he rarely thinks things through. So when he meets (and falls for) Sabrina Spellman on his first day of Baxter High and finds out that she can’t date anyone until her tempestuous sister does, it seems like the obvious solution is to get someone to date her so he can go out with Sabrina. A not so obvious choice for the challenge is Caliban, but, hey, it’s not like Harvey thought that far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 8

Word-count: 3.8k+

A/N: ahh i can’t believe this series is completed!! it’s been super fun to write these characters and their relationships and i hope you guys like how i’ve done this (endings are not my strong suit lmao) 💕 thank you for reading!!

A few months ago, your and Sabrina’s relationship had been strained at best. She had been so young and all she wanted to do was experience everything, and you were older and a bit more jaded because you’d already experienced it all. And thanks to your wild days of experiences, Hilda and Zelda set a rule in place when you cooled down: Sabrina could only do something if you did too.

A part of Sabrina had always resented you for it, even though the rule wasn’t your fault. It was just incredibly frustrating to always be asking you for favors and you consistently refusing because you were done ‘pretending to be someone you weren’t.’ She hadn't understood what that meant back then.

And Sabrina had to admit, even though Hilda and Zelda would crucify for her saying it, that your relationship got better after Caliban and Harvey came into your lives. Those two idiots had a way of making Sabrina more forgiving and you less hard-headed and, slowly, your relationship improved.

But then prom happened and everything exploded.

No matter how many times you promised that you were fine, Sabrina couldn’t shake the memory of picking up from the mines with Caliban’s car smashed in and abandoned in the background. Nor could she forget how she cradled you in the backseat while you sobbed and asked her why he didn’t like you.

So, when you rejected Sabrina’s thirtieth offer to join her and Harvey for some retail therapy (or vandalism - Harvey could wait in the car), Sabrina did what any good sister would: She canceled her plans with Harvey and hunted down Caliban.

She thought finding Caliban would be the tricky part, but talking to him turned out to be the hard part. The second Sabrina saw him at Dr. Cerberus’ looking for a book, her entire speech that she’d been preparing since breaking Nick’s nose just disappeared into thin air. It wasn’t fair that he was perfectly okay while you cried into a pint of ice cream, but she couldn't find the words to yell that at him.

Despite being at a loss for words, Sabrina stormed over and tapped Caliban on the shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Looking for a copy of Pride and Prejudice.” Caliban straightened up and bumped Sabrina’s arm lightly to get to the bookshelf. “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind?” Sabrina repeated, crossing her arms and stepping closer to him. Even though he was easily a foot taller than her, she was determined not to be intimidated. “Yes, I mind. I mind that you’re here book shopping while my sister's turned into Boo Radley!”

“Oh, spare me the dramatics, Blondie,” Caliban said with a roll of his eyes. He turned his attention back to the bookshelf. “Firstly, you were just as involved in all this as I was. More so, actually - it was your gentle manipulation that pulled Harvey into all your bullshit. And secondly, your sister is far too strong to get her heart broken. By me or anybody else.”

Sabrina faltered. She had been working very hard to block her part of this whole mess out of her head. “Are you gonna tell her?” she asked, in a very careful voice.

Caliban knelt to get a better view of the shelf. He was in the totally wrong section if he was looking for Pride and Prejudice, but Sabrina didn’t want to point him in the right direction just yet. “Now, why would I do that?” he asked, tilting his head up at her. “So that she can hate us both?”

Tapping her fingers on her arm, Sabrina was forced to admit that Caliban was being a frustratingly good guy about this all. “Well…” Sabrina tried to figure out something to be mad at him for. “What’s your plan?”

“My plan?” Caliban didn’t take his eyes off the copies of The Great Gatsby and Catcher In Rye in front of him.

“Your plan to fix this,” Sabrina said. She put her hand on his head and turned it to in the direction of the British Lit two shelves down. “You’ve got a plan, right?”

Caliban was quiet. He stood up and looked down at her, seemingly figuring out how much Harvey would mind if he pushed Sabrina over. “No,” he said eventually, trying very hard to keep his voice level. “I don’t have a plan.”

He turned to go to the British Lit and Sabrina grabbed his arm to force him to turn around. “How can you not have a plan?” she asked.

“Because-” Caliban shook off her arm and kept walking “-nothing I say will fix this. Your sister hates me.”

“My sister hates everyone!” Sabrina stormed after him, practically knocking him over when she closed the distance. Awkwardly, she added, “But she hates you a little less than everyone else.”

Over the dusty copy of Lord of the Flies, Caliban looked at Sabrina with an almost unreadable expression. Unnerving, yes, but surprisingly unguarded. Sabrina was sure he could set someone on fire with that look alone.

Caliban dropped his gaze and pulled out the last Pride and Prejudice on the shelf. “Well, thanks, Blondie, but I think she hates me most of all right now.”

“That’s just because she doesn’t know!” Sabrina grabbed Caliban’s arm before he could leave. Giving him her best set-you-on-fire look, she said, “If you just talk to her - explain what happened - then I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

“Because ‘forgiving’ is the first word that comes to mind when one thinks of your sister,” Caliban said quietly, staring at Sabrina’s hand on his arm. He looked back at her with a hard expression. “Whatever happens between me and your sister, I want you to know one thing.”

“Anything,” Sabrina said, caught off-guard by his intensity.

“If you ever hurt Harvey, I’ll break into your house and shave your cat,” Caliban said.

Before Sabrina had the chance to even begin formulating a response to that, Caliban gave her a tight smile and walked away.

Sabrina could see now, after one very frustrating interaction with him, why you liked Caliban so much. He was impulsive, vaguely threatening, and very clearly in love with you.

---

“Okay, let’s open up our books to page 73, Sonnet 141. And listen closely,” Wardwell said. She ushered in a scrawny freshman who rapped the first four lines of the sonnet and then excused him with three quick taps to his shoulder. “As Toby has just shown us, there are multiple ways of engaging with Shakespeare. It wasn’t always bad actors in stuffy period clothes, you know.”

She said it knowingly, as if every dumbass teenager in the class had seen a Shakespeare play and thought wow, this stuff would be great if it weren’t for the poorly done accents and garish clothing.

When no one responded to Wardwell’s attempt at humor, she took a breath and walked in a little circle around her desk to reboot. “I’d like for all to write your own versions of this sonnet,” she said. “A poem riddled with contradictions and the struggle between the physical desire and mental …” she paused when you put your hand up. You knew you should have known to wait until she finished her sentence, lest she forget her original point. “Um, yes, Ms. Spellman? Do you have a problem with the assignment?”

“No problem. Do you want this in iambic pentameter?” you asked, pen ready to write down whatever convoluted answer Wardwell gave you.

Wardwell narrowed her eyes and walked around to the front of her desk again to get a better look at you. “To be clear, you don’t have any problems whatsoever with the assignment?”

“Whatsoever,” you echoed. Your voice had a slight edge to it thanks to your thinning patience. You tapped your pen on your notebook.

“Are you sure?” Wardwell crossed her arms over her chest.

You sighed and put down your pen. With your best attempt at one of Sabrina’s polite smiles, you said, “I’m sure that it’s a great assignment, Mrs. Wardwell. Now, iambic pentameter: yes or no?”

“You know, I’m not sure I like this new attitude of yours,” Wardwell said, pushing herself off her desk and turning to look for a notepad. She scribbled something on it as she walked to your desk. “Take this and go see the nurse. I think you may have a fever.”

“A fever? Wardwell, what the hell is this?” you asked.

“A note. To see the nurse.” Wardwell tore the note off her notepad and handed it to you before gesturing toward the door. “Go.”

“But I-”

“Now, Ms. Spellman.”

You let out a listless breath and slammed your notebook shut. Shoving all your things into your bag and ignoring Nick’s snickering, you grabbed the note from Wardwell and stormed out of the class.

When you turned to flip Nick off while Wardwell had her back to the class, you saw Caliban reaching over his desk to flick Nick’s neck and whisper something in his ear that made him a few shades paler. It filled your heart with a funny feeling and you adjusted your bag and fled before you had a chance to start crying in the middle of your English class.

Once you were in the safety of the hallway, you had no idea which way to turn. The nurse’s office wasn’t an option because Pollit was deeply against any student seeing her unless they were bleeding and you didn’t feel like getting detention for supposedly faking an illness. It was too bright outside to throw rocks at the soccer team. You found yourself heading for the library before you even realized that you’d decided not to ditch.

The smell of coffee and freshly microwaved lunches mingled with old books and teenage angst when you stepped through the threshold. It was surprisingly busy for the sixth period, but luckily your spot in the back corner by the window was open. Slipping on your headphones, you drowned out all the others and started working on your stupid sonnet.

If the writer’s block wasn’t annoying enough, someone slid into the seat across from you and jostled the table in the process. Lifting your gaze from your newly marred page, you were intent on giving the offender the harshest glare in your arsenal until you saw it was Harvey.

He was nervous, spouting some apology that you couldn’t hear over your music, and wearing a football helmet. You took your headphones off to hear some of the ten billion words he was saying.

“Why are you wearing a football helmet?” you asked, setting your headphones aside and doing your best not to glare at him.

“Oh, uh-” Harvey tapped the helmet like he’d forgotten he was wearing it. “I wanted to talk but I thought you’d still be pretty pissed at me.”

You tilted your head to the side. “And you thought a helmet would protect you?”

“I mean, I feel a little dumb about it now but yeah,” Harvey said with a shrug.

You laughed at him and leaned over to take the helmet off his head. He looked ready to run for the exit, but he held still as you took the helmet in your hands. Collapsing back into your seat, you sighed and looked at the red Greendale High football helmet. “I’m not angry with you,” you said. “I tried but it’s like being mad at a puppy.”

Harvey shifted uncomfortably and frowned. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment but thank you.”

“No problem, Harvey.” You sighed and set the helmet on the table. Both of you stared at the helmet for an awkwardly long period of time. “What did you want to talk about?”

Either his seat was very uncomfortable or you still managed to unnerve him because Harvey kept shifting in his seat and starting sentences but never quite finishing them. Eventually, he sighed and said, “It’s not Caliban’s fault. It’s mine.”

“No, you only think it’s yours because you’re sixteen and more easily manipulated than most,” you said.

“Yeah, I know all that but-” Harvey shifted and tapped your notebook as he tried to figure out how to word what he was about to say. “I liked Sabrina, right? But everyone told me that she couldn’t date unless you did. So, I started talking to Caliban because he seemed like your type-”

“Caliban is my type?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Harvey said, completely missing your offense at his assumption of your type. Sure, he’d been right but still. “Anyway, so, like I said it, was my idea. He had feelings for you already and then Nick offered him money and … I don’t know. I told him to go for it anyway.”

You picked at the rings of your notebook in silence, mulling over Harvey’s words and trying not to punch him.

“He was going to tell you but I said it would just hurt you,” Harvey continued. He took a deep breath. “So, if you’re going to be mad at anyone, then be mad at me.”

You hoped you’d see something outside that told you what to do, but everything outside stared at you ambivalently. Letting go of your notebook, you turned back to Harvey and shrugged.

“He lied to me, Harvey. I get that you were selfish and messed up, but Caliban lied,” you said. “That’s worse than what you did because it feels like I can’t trust anything he says.”

Harvey looked like you’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real. Gut-punched and disappointed. In a slightly smaller and more strained voice, he said, “But it’s not his fault.”

You reached out and touched Harvey’s hand on the table. “I know you’re just trying to help your friend but it’s not that simple,” you said. “Do you understand?”

“No,” Harvey said lamely. He sank back in his chair and sighed. “But I’ll stop bugging you about it.”

“Thank you.” You squeezed his hand before letting go entirely. You pulled your notebook out from under Harvey’s helmet. “Are you gonna keep staring at me like that or do you have work to do?”

“Oh, I’m supposed to be in chemistry right now,” Harvey said.

Again, a bit of your bad mood dissipated and you laughed. “You should probably go to chemistry.”

“Yeah, probably,” Harvey said. He looked at the door and looked back at you. “But, uh, is it cool if I sit here for a while?”

You wanted to say no and to tell him that he was still an idiot for his part in this whole mess, but he was looking at you with those dumb lost puppy eyes. “Okay,” you said. “But don’t distract me or I’ll kick you under the table.”

Harvey laughed and settled into his seat. “Got it. Next time I’ll bring shin-guards.”

---

All things considered, Caliban had been handling your blind hatred quite well. Though, technically, your hatred wasn’t blind anymore because you knew the truth about him. Your hatred was all-seeing, all-encompassing, and everlasting. Caliban expected no less, considering the remnants of his smashed-up car found on the edge of the mines, but it still felt like he was falling apart every time he saw you.

Before, your almost exactly replicated schedules had been a convenient way to spy on you until Caliban finally worked up the courage to ask you out. Then, it had been the ideal opportunity to pass notes and make fun of Billy. Now, it was the perfect torture session where the two of you pretended not to notice one another.

It had gone on for almost a week before Caliban couldn’t stand it any longer. He had a plan, a very shaky plan, and Ambrose’s assurance that he could treat any of Caliban’s bones that you broke.

Caliban had waited the whole day and all he had to do was get through English, and then he could talk to you. Regardless of whether or not you broke his nose, phase two of the plan would commence with red carnations and one of those cheesy acoustic songs you liked.

“Okay, children,” Wardwell said in her disturbingly chipper voice. Her heels clacked against the floor as she scurried to the front of the class. “You’ve had plenty of time to work on your poems and I’m very excited to hear your takes on this classic sonnet.”

She was met by the silence of two dozen over-tired teens. Awkwardly, Wardwell fiddled with her hands and started walking around again. She paused at the window for a second and turned back to the class with wide eyes.

“Any brave souls willing to read theirs aloud?” Wardwell asked it like it was a dangerous question, like she was asking them if they wanted to rob a bank later.

Again, she was met with uncomfortable silence. Then your hand shot up and the air felt slightly more electric.

“Oh, Ms. Spellman … um, would anyone else like to give it a try?” Wardwell asked, looking out at the crowd with hungry eyes. “No? Well, alright then. Come on up, Ms. Spellman.”

Wardwell waved you over and placed you next to her desk in the front. She gave your shoulders an uncomfortable-looking squeeze and hurried back to her spot near the window. When she stood like that, she looked like a spindly bird watching over her chicks. Or maybe over her prey; it was hard to tell.

Once you were standing in front of the blackboard the way Wardwell liked, you took a deep breath and looked down at your notebook. “Here goes nothing,” you mumbled. Glancing over at the Caliban, his heart stopped as you dropped your gaze and started reading in a tight voice. “I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare.”

At the mention of his staring, Caliban’s heart stuttered annoyingly. He was staring at you now, along with the rest of the class, but this was different. He’d told you once that he stared because it gave him a chance to figure out what to say, but this time he was staring so that he’d never forget this moment.

“I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind … I hate you so much that it makes me sick-” You let out a short laugh and looked out at the window as you shook your head. “It even makes me rhyme.”

The whole class laughed and you took another breath to prepare for the next stanza. There was no laughter in your voice when you spoke again. “I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie.” Your voice cracked and you looked up at the ceiling. “I hate it when you make me laugh.” A stray tear ran down your face and you wiped it away roughly. “Even worse when you make me cry.”

Caliban leaned forward in his chair. Whatever you said next, he didn’t want to miss a word.

“I hate the way you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call,” you said, voice trembling between the tears that Caliban knew were eating you up inside. As if this moment couldn't twist him up any more, you looked up from your notebook and made eye contact with Caliban for your final lines. “But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close … not even a little bit … not even at all.”

With a breath, you shut your notebook and started walking out of the classroom. In a show of remarkable self-control, you didn’t slap Nick on your way out as he asked what on earth that poem could possibly be about.

Wardwell called after you, teetering on her heels as she scurried after you, but she stopped when she was almost run over by Caliban bolting out of his seat. She held onto him until he promised that he would make sure you were okay.

Thanks to the Wardwell delay, you were long gone by the time Caliban made it to the hallway, but he had a pretty good idea of where you’d gone. He raced out of the school and tracked down your car.

You were glaring at your car when Caliban found you, or more specifically glaring at the dozens of red carnations in your backseat. Reluctantly, you picked up the apology note on your windshield.

Technically, it was more of an excerpt than a note. Caliban had ripped out one of the last pages of the Pride and Prejudice he bought the other day, the page where Darcy proposes to Elizabeth (which was your favorite because ‘he promised to leave her the fuck alone if she didn’t feel the same’), circled your quote, and scrawled out an apology.

Caliban didn’t even know you’d seen him standing there until you balled up the note and threw at him. “You know you can’t just keep buying me red carnations every time you mess up, right?” you asked.

Seeing as amusement outweighed the annoyance in your voice, Caliban walked closer to you. “Yeah, but that’s why they have roses…” Closer- “tulips…” Caliban stopped in front of you and let out a shaky breath. “Hell, if I get that desperate, I'll even buy you some peonies.”

You bit the inside of your lip and cast a look at your car. You shrugged. “How do you plan to afford all that, huh? Going to keep dating girls so the cash keeps coming?”

It was a cheap shot but one that Caliban deserved. He dropped his gaze. “No, I, uh, messed up the last time. See, this girl was … something else. And I fell for her.”

You frowned for a second but then gave him a very hesitant smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Caliban repeated. “It’s not every day you find a girl who’ll steal your car and then leave it absolutely wrecked without leaving so much as a note for your insurance company.”

You laughed and covered your face with your hand.

“In her defense, she did leave my tires alone,” Caliban said with a mischievous smile.

For the first time, Caliban’s heart didn’t wrench at the sound of your laugh. You knew the truth and you seemed to care about him anyway. “Shut up,” you told him. You grabbed a fistful of Caliban’s shirt and pulled him closer.

Your first kiss was rushed and clumsy - you wanted to kiss him and Caliban needed to kiss you. After a shared laugh, your second kiss was less frantic and a little smoother - your hand cupped his jaw familiarly and his arms held you without having to think. Then there was your third kiss, your fourth … each one better than the last.

by the way, loves, here’s the quote in case any of you were wondering: Elizabeth was much too embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

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#ten things #Chilling Adventures of Sabrina #caos #Caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader

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