#don’t send me my own posts with messages of what you want to do to me
Text
accident prone
part two - I laugh often, so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine
Paring: Steve Harrington x fem!OC - Francesca “Frankie” Amato
Summary: Steve and Frankie really get to know one another, and the friendship blossoms quickly. So fast, Steve can’t keep up with his own feelings, even in the face of an emergency.
WC: 8.6k+
Includes: angst, hurt/comfort (like, a lot), internalized ableism, language, PTSD, revolving around Hawkins/the Upside Down, discussions of chronic pain/illness and disabilities, a teensy bit of fluff and flirting if you squint, medical emergencies, etc.
series playlist ⋮ masterlist
here, here and here - meg & dia
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“I’m a wanderer now, sorrow befalls me / I laugh often so, I suppose, I’m gonna be fine”
A/N: hey there! Wow. I didn’t think this would really gain any attention— this fandom seems to hate OCs (y’all’s loss tbh), but the support I got on the last chapter, though small to some major blogs, means a fuck ton to me. I don’t want to tag everyone, but thank you to whoever sent me a kind message or pep talk after posting the first part— I really am glad this is relating to others with chronic health concerns, one way or another. Even if it relates to one person, it means more than meaningless notes. Also, may 12th is Fibromyalgia Awareness Day! So, consider this my contribution lol. As previously stated, for anyone with fibro, or without, but living with a chronic illness/condition, mental and/or physical, I am sending all my love, and this is for you <3
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The next morning, Steve’s up early; if he can’t push past the pain, he’ll try working with it. He refuses to let the opportunity to get to know Frankie slip away.
And the opportunity for a possible job. That’s important, too. Just… not right at this very moment.
What the hell do I wear?
He glances at the pair of glasses he’s been neglecting lately, just annoyed he needs yet another tool of assistance to help him function; his vision blurs easily these days, especially with migraines. And while it’s not severe, he’s been warned to wear the glasses to prevent further deterioration of his vision.
To Steve, it’s another reminder of how broken he feels. If this was about anyone else, he wouldn’t feel that way, but when it comes to himself, the internal ableism never ends.
Just like the day before, everything hurts terribly. It’s one of those days where even certain fabrics and elastics add to the widespread ache, and it’s not like he has to dress up, but he doesn’t want to just show up in sweats, either.
At least I don’t have to wear that ugly, stiff uniform anymore.
He opts for a well-worn, loose cardigan with a pair of jeans that he ripped at the knee years ago; the tear is conveniently over his bad knee, making it easier to wear the brace he has on his bad joint days. And today, he really needs it.
Steve also needs a boost of confidence and a way to shake his nerves; the thought of seeing Frankie again and possibly getting another job have him on edge.
Too bad there’s no medical device to assist him on that one.
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Noticing the ‘CLOSED’ sign on the door of the record shop, Steve hesitates, realizing he should’ve asked Frankie about the hours; a tiny note taped to the bottom of the sign catches his eye. “Unless your name is Steve,” is scribbled in disheveled handwriting, with a small smiley face drawn at the end.
Entering the record shop, he first sees Frankie, sitting criss-crossed on the checkout counter; her cane is laid over her lap while she’s meticulously applying stickers to the aluminum. The door’s chime goes off, and her head pops up, immediately breaking into the warm smile Steve had thought about since the last time they spoke.
“Steve!” There’s an urge within her to hop off the counter and greet him with a hug, but she holds back, reminding herself that they’re barely even friends. “Hi,” She opts for a wave instead, eyes falling to the coffees, one in each hand.
He shyly nods with a sweet smile, all bundled up in layers most folks would consider unnecessary. For him and his temperature intolerance, the obnoxious amount of warmth is very necessary.
“Hi, Frankie,” He hands her coffee over to her, in all its icy, sugary sprinkled glory. She takes it, eyes crinkling as she smiles wide. Steve can’t help teasing, “Cade’s right, you really are sick for liking iced coffee in the winter.”
Her smile flips into a comical frown before snarking, “He’s never getting that damn tape now.”
“The one about dinosaurs?”
Frankie snorts just as she takes a sip of her coffee, covering her face with her sweater bundled arm.
“Robin told me you’d say something like that.”
“… So it’s not about—“
“Steve, it’s the name of a band,” She giggles, moving her arm away from her face. Steve notices the way her sleeves cascade over her hands completely; the sweater she’s in is way too big, but with that and her flowing skirt, she looks comfortable, and warm.
“Right. I knew that!” He tries playing it off with a shrug, “They’re great.”
“You’ve never listened to them before have you?”
He laughs at the knowing smirk Frankie gives him, shaking his head, “Yeah, no, not at all.” If this was high school, he’d be trying to save face right now, to look cool, pretend he knew what he was talking about. Mid-twenties Steve is able to let it roll off his back, poke fun at himself, move on.
Plus, Steve knows this interaction wouldn’t happen at all in high school. Labels and useless popularity would keep them far, far apart. He’s alright with that; Frankie definitely didn’t need someone like ‘King Steve’ and his bullshit to deal with.
“Okay. What about Jawbreaker?”
“… The candy?”
Frankie giggles, shaking her head, before running down a list of bands off the top of her head; The Cure, Joy Division, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Strawberry Switchblade, Sonic Youth, Nirvana, the list went on. Steve says most he’s heard of, but never listened to. Some, he’s heard some of their singles on the radio.
“You’re into all that… punk stuff, right?” He’s a little lost, but he’s headed in the right direction. Frankie doesn’t tease him for it, though.
“To an embarrassing degree,” She smiles, crinkling her nose, and oh, god, Steve’s not expecting the way that sets off butterflies in his stomach. “And new wave, grunge, honestly some pop, too— oh! Dolly Parton! Just her, though, can’t get into any other country otherwise. I’m a mess when it comes to music interests.” She shrugs.
He shakes his head, shrugging his jacket off before unwinding his scarf; Frankie catches on immediately, pointing to the coat rack behind the counter.
“No… it suits you.”
“Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“O- oh, no, I meant that in a— it’s a— nice way, promise!” Frankie smirks as he stumbles over his words. “So… got any recommendations on what to start with?”
“Oh, don’t you worry, Steve. I’m gonna make you a mixtape later.” No pretentious undertone can be found in her words; Frankie’s just really excited to introduce someone to music they haven’t heard. “What do you listen to, then?”
Steve sits on the stool behind the counter while Frankie still hangs out on the countertop, kicking her legs over the side now. He watches as she continues sticker-bombing her cane; it’s got quite the variety of holographic stars sprinkled about.
“Uh…” He shrugs, tugging at the edges of his sleeves before shoving them in the pockets of his cardigan. “Whatever sounds good, I guess.”
Frankie narrows her eyes at him, “C’mon, you can do better than that.”
Steve nervously laughs as a hint of red creeps across his face.
“Okay, uh… Queen, Springsteen, some of Bowie’s stuff—“
“Some?”
“I just- I can’t get into it all!” He stammers out. Frankie dramatically sighs, throwing her head back with a hand over her forehead, pretending like she’ll faint. When she levels her gaze to him again, she gives a teasing smirk, and he carries on, red in the face. “I like U2’s last album… uh, shit. What’s it called?”
“Achtung Baby?” She’s so quick to answer in a nonchalant tone, like this is common knowledge.
“Yeah! That one.”
“Oh, you’d really get along with my dad, then,” She teases, watching Steve’s expression flatten in a playful annoyance. “That’s not a bad thing! Bring it up in your next appointment— actually, don’t. He’ll talk about it for hours.”
Steve laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger, “Alright, I’ll try to remember that.”
“Might want to write a reminder with the brain fog,” She quips, and it easily earns a chuckle; if anyone else tried to joke about his symptoms, he’d be bothered. To laugh it off with someone else equally as sick as him, though, is weirdly… cathartic. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Go on.”
“Okay, don’t make fun of me, but Blondie’s got some good stuff, too.”
“Yes!” Frankie throws her hands out excitedly. Steve admires how animated she can be.
“I like a lot of other stuff,” He’s becoming more comfortable talking about this, not as afraid of rejection. Frankie didn’t give that kind of attitude off, but he second guesses himself always these days. “But it’s just singles and stuff.”
“Gimme a list one of these days, I’ll give you some recs.” She looks up from her sticker work on her cane, warmly smiling, but it falters seconds later. “Not pushing that on you, but it might— you don’t— don’t be afraid to tell me no—“
“Frankie.” Her name comes out of Steve’s mouth like the night before, a combination of reassurance and teasing. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
Dusting over her cheeks is a tint of rosy pink as her smile returns, ever so slightly. “Okay, cool.” She plucks a star sticker off the page, leaning towards Steve to stick it on his forehead. Her touch makes Steve’s heartbeat quicken, but it’s over as soon as it began. “Congrats, Steve, you’re hired.”
Brows furrowing, he doesn’t bother to remove the sticker. “What? Seriously? That was the interview?”
Frankie nods enthusiastically. “You already seemed nice, and got a good review from your best friend—“
“Seriously, what did she tell you?”
She pretends to zip her lips shut and shrugs, holding back giggles.
“I’ll get you all that boring ass paperwork later, but yeah, I’m serious.” She holds her cane out, rolling it in her hands to make sure the stars are placed the way she wants. Her tongue pokes out while she’s focused, and Steve thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world. Directing her attention back to him, she continues, “I don’t wanna work with someone I just tolerate.”
Though Steve’s flattered to find he’s more than just tolerable to her, he’s still skeptical; not of her, but how this friendship is growing so easily, so suddenly. “Frankie, we barely know each other.”
“I don’t know anyone else my age that’s disabled, and you just… you get it. I wish you didn’t, but you do. If you don’t wanna work here, no hard feelings, but I want to continue getting to know you.” Her words, her tone, even her facial expression, they’re all sincere. “If you’re up for having a new friend, that is.”
Steve nods embarrassingly fast, but he doesn’t care. “My friends get it to an extent, but I don’t have to explain shit to you, and it’s… well, I don’t want to say nice, ‘cause like you said, I wish you didn’t know what this was like, either. But it makes me feel a little less alone, I guess.” His fingers grip the edge of the stool between his legs, arms straight, as he looks away shyly. “And I- I’d like to make you feel a little less alone too— jesus, that makes me sound like a douche. You get what I mean, right?”
“I get you, Steve, don’t worry,” Frankie picks up her coffee, holding it out to Steve. It takes a few seconds, but he catches on, grabbing his own coffee to hold out to her. “To a sick friendship. Get it. Sick? ‘Cause we’re both—“
Steve knocks his cup against hers, smirking, “Yikes, I thought my humor was corny.”
“Fine, no more jokes at all, then.” She deadpans, but her expression immediately cracks, breaking into a laugh, one that scrunches her nose and crinkles the edges of her eyes. It’s contagious, pulling Steve into her fit of laughter, too. “Yeah, I got a good feeling about you, Steve.”
“Huh? Like what?”
“Oh, we’re not that far in the friendship, buddy.” She props her cane onto the floor, sliding off the counter. The proximity between her and Steve when she’s on her feet is a little too close for him to handle, breath hitching in his throat. “Gotta earn the sappy moments, man.”
With that, Frankie rounds the counter, heading towards an aisle of vinyl records. She turns back to him, “Well, you want a tour?”
Steve’s eyes widen as he scrambles off the chair, “Y- yeah, that’d be— I probably need to know where things are.” Frankie resists teasing him further, leading him around the shop.
The pair walk slowly as she points out the main sections, split into three— vinyl records, cassette tapes, and CDs.
“I still can’t get behind ‘em. They’re too flimsy for my clumsy self.” Frankie’s lips curl in a snarl as she eyes up the racks of the shiny discs, tucked away in their jewel cases.
“At least they’re not LaserDiscs,” Steve murmurs, cringing. “I hated those things.”
“Yeah, never was a fan myself,” Her brows crinkle. “They’re like frisbees.”
“But vinyl… isn’t?”
“No. And I’m not elaborating.”
“Francesca, you’re something else.”
She scoffs playfully, “Can’t believe you just called me that. You’re fired.”
“Mhm, sure.” He smirks before glancing around the shop; it’s on the smaller side, but jam-packed with nearly anything and everything music related. Beyond CDs, tapes, and records, are band shirts, Walkmans, headphones, record players, tape players and boomboxes, useless novelty items, and so on. “So, when’d you open the store?”
“Oh, I didn’t. It’s not mine, only running it for now… kinda took over when the owner had to take a sick leave.” Frankie begins leading Steve towards the back, through a worn, beaded curtain. She points to an open door, “Stockroom,” Then, to the door across the hall. “Break room.”
Steve acknowledges her directions with a nod before asking, “Oh, are they okay? Well, wait. Shit. I guess not if they’re on— my bad.”
Frankie gives him a half-smile, more for the sake of reassurance, along with an answer, “Dementia. So, uh, yeah. Probably not coming back.” A pained expression washes over Steve’s features. “The own— Mr. Fisher wanted to close the shop when his health continued declining, so I told him I’d keep it going for him. This was before the diagnosis, he just knew something was wrong and warned me he’d most likely shut down.”
“That’s… fucked.”
“Yeah. He actually lived a few floors up, now he’s in a senior living home.” She wanders into the break room, falling onto the worn couch hanging out in the heavily used space. Steve sits on the opposite side, not wanting to invade her personal space as he listens intently. “Cool dude, hired me years ago, and he was really into jazz when he was younger. Like, used to play the sax for a living. He knew nothing about punk music, but he loved asking me about it. I learned a lot about jazz from him, too.
“He was empathetic with my pain, too. The couch is back here ‘cause he felt bad I had nowhere to rest on break. Then he ended up using it more than I did.” Frankie’s a little dazed as she retells the circumstances. “I knew he’d never get better, and he knew it too, but I told him I’d love to watch over the business until he’s ready to come back. Couldn’t stand watching this place close, so… yeah. S’why I asked you.”
“I’m sorry, Frankie.” It’s all Steve can come up with, but it’s genuine, and she can tell.
“I hope it doesn’t come off like I’m telling you this so you’re guilted into being here, ‘cause if you wanna find another job, don’t feel like you have to st—“
“You do that a lot,” Steve blurts out, but it’s not mean-spirited. He stammers, “N- not that— it’s not bad— sorry—-“
“And you do that a lot,” Frankie observes bluntly. “Guess we’re kinda similar in the whole ‘overly apologetic’ department, huh?”
Steve glances at her, sighing with a hint of a sad smile. “Guess we are.” He rests his head on the back of the couch, blowing air between pursed lips as his eyes fixate on the ceiling. “Anyway, you’re not guilting me. I’m staying.” Then he sits back up, narrowing his stare at her. “Unless I’m still fired.”
She sits up, shoving her hand out towards him. He grabs it as she shakes it obnoxiously, snorting, “Steve Harrington, you’re re-hired.”
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“Fibro’s just like… a bag of jellybeans.”
Steve scoffs out a laugh, lost on Frankie’s words. “I’m sorry, what?”
At the end of the day, Frankie and Steve wound up at a diner, still caught up in the excitement of getting to know a new friend.
“Y’know, it’s always a mystery over what color and flavor you end up with ‘til you get it.” Frankie begins to explain, hands on the diner’s table; Steve’s noticed she talks with her hands, a lot. She’s always so animated, even talking about the most mundane subjects. “And you might have ‘em all, but there might be more of one flavor, or another. Fibromyalgia is just a bag of symptoms, ‘cause you don’t know what’s gonna hurt that day ‘til it does— does that make sense?”
“Oh, like, I get a lot of headaches, sometimes ocular migraines— the first few times, those freaked me out, and joint pain the most, but the other symptoms still exist, too, just not as frequently.” Steve scrunches his eyes shut with a nod, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Right? Or maybe I’m way off—“
“No, that’s exactly it!
“That’s actually… a really good analogy,” He tucks the comparison away in his mind, for future use. “Wait, so you also have fibromyalgia?”
Frankie’s about to answer, until the waitress brings their milkshakes and fries to the table. Her smile over something as simple as a milkshake is contagious, and Steve finds himself grinning along with her.
“Yeah, but we found out lupus was a bigger concern,” She shares casually. “Y’know, I wouldn’t wish fibro on anyone, but I’m pissed you have to deal with it.”
Steve’s face distorts into confusion. “Why d’ya say that?”
“It’s such a fucking mess of a disability. Tests come back normal, x-rays show nothing, MRIs are clear, too— shit is so infuriating. You’re living in constant pain and most people don’t believe you. Then ya’ got these fuckin’ misogynistic doctors who see it as a “woman’s disease”— yeah, it’s more prevalent in women, but men get it too, and it’s like y’all are told to just… suck it up. “Man up”. Deal with it.
“Honestly… not sure which sucks to be told more, that you’re just “hysterical and attention seeking” for being sick as a woman, or being told you’re just a “whiny baby” if you’re sick as a man.”
Steve only stares at her; Frankie feels warm under his gaze, sinking into the booth.
“Sorry, I— you’re so spot on, I have nothing to add.” Steve’s shaking his head, fidgeting with his napkin. “But I can’t get over that someone my age fucking gets it.”
Frankie sighs, relieved to hear she wasn’t overdoing it with her rambling.
“Steve, I hate that we’re both in pain, but it’s… it’s nice not having to struggle alone, for once.” She stretches her legs under the booth, resting her boots on the cushion on Steve’s side. He mirrors her, sneakers kicking up to rest next to her. She smiles, nudging his shoe with her elbow. “Copycat.”
“You really lucked out having a dad who’s a doctor,” Steve softly chuckles, and Frankie smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Immediately, he panics he might’ve said the wrong thing. “I- I don’t mean that in a bad way—“
“No, I know you didn’t. He—” Frankie looks off, eyes fixating on the bustling traffic out the window, despite the two of them being seated in the far end of the diner. She looks back to her milkshake, swirling the straw mindlessly. “He wasn’t always a doctor. He wasn’t in the medical field at all, not ‘til I got sick as a kid.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yup. He got tired of taking me to specialists for them to always say I was being overdramatic, or “Oh, she’s a girl, she might just be faking that for attention.” I guess what I was going through made him realize shit had to change for the sake of us sick folks. I don’t know how anyone would be able to juggle a full time job, full time med school, and raising a kid on their own, but he did it. Even if shit is terrible most of the time, I’m grateful to have a dad as incredible as him.”
Steve let Frankie’s words sink in before curiosity took its hold, “He’s a single parent?”
Frankie sips from her milkshake, looking back at Steve as she sits back. “Wasn’t always, but yeah. Never met my mom, she, uh, she was sick, too. Cancer. Passed before my first birthday.”
“Jesus, Frankie… I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs, trying to let the everlasting sting roll off her back. “I heard she was really sweet, and funny. My dad showed me some home movies a few years back, and it was the first time I heard her voice. She was so pretty, and happy, and—“ She shakes her head, scoffing at herself. “God, I’m sorry for rambling.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. If you ever wanna talk about this… or anything, I might not know what to say, but I’ll always listen.”
“Right back at ya’, Steve,” She murmurs, gaze friendly before sipping her milkshake.
“I don’t think you want to know my story,” He tries shrugging it off, as if a chuckle would follow, but never does.
“I do, and I mean that.” She firmly states, locking eyes with him. “But only when you’re comfortable sharing it.”
Steve nods, “Yeah. Maybe someday. Kinda hard to even talk to my therapist still about it.”
“You’ll get there eventually. On your own terms.” Frankie can tell he’s uncomfortable, searching for a change of subject. She looks back at his legs, still next to her in the booth. “Isn’t your leg cold?” She nods to the hole in his jeans, right above his knee.
“Yeah, but I needed to wear my knee brace today.”
“I can sew loose, stretchy fabric in, and snaps to remove it, if that helps,” She slurps down the last of the milkshake. “You cool with hanging out longer?”
Steve can’t suppress the grin that graces his face.
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Frankie’s apartment is in a repurposed warehouse; a large studio, cluttered with art supplies scattered all about. An easel hangs out in the wide open room near a window, with canvasses, both finished and unfinished everywhere surrounding it. Cups and cups of paintbrushes, tubes of paint, pastels, graphite pencils and drawing pads strewn atop nearly every surface. A sewing machine rested snug in a corner of the open room.
Among it all was the kitchen and living room; down a hallway were the doors to the bathroom, and her bedroom.
After Steve changes into the sweats Frankie found for him, he enters the main room, holding the sweatpants up by the waistband awkwardly, handing his pair of jeans over to her.
“Sorry, I knew they’d be kinda big, but not that much.” She has jersey knit fabric already cut, sewing snaps to the edges. As she works, she elaborates, “I keep a buncha sizes in clothes, ‘cause my weight fluctuates all the time with flare ups.”
“That’s actually… really smart.”
“Yeah, I got tired of buying and donating the same several sizes over and over. Just easier, and cheaper, to keep ‘em all on hand.” Frankie’s zoned into the impromptu project, so Steve wanders around her apartment, stopping at the kitchen table, blanketed with multiple sketches.
“I didn’t know you could draw.” He wonders aloud, glancing over the sketch pad papers. There’s a certain style he can’t quite put his finger on with her work; for plain subjects and ideas, they’re incredible.
Steve turns to the easel with her latest work in progress. It’s a portrait of a woman weeping, holding a mask of her face that’s smiling over her real expression. It’s gorgeous work, but he feels a pang in his chest, wondering if Frankie feels this way more often than not.
“Holy shit, Frankie…” He breathes, recognizing his own struggles through the piece; how often he feels as if he needs to bury his own pain to keep everyone else comfortable. Then again, who hasn’t felt at one point or another they need to cover up how they truly feel?
“I hope that’s a good “holy shit”,” She responds as she continues sewing.
“Your work is amazing,” He’s still staring at the painting, admiring how her art style is slightly unkempt, and leans toward traditional tattoo-style art, but she makes it work somehow; some of the paint bleeds outside the lines, or speckles in random splotches, like watercolors, but it adds character. “Do you just paint as a hobby?”
“I actually had plans to become a tattoo artist, did an apprenticeship and everything,” She murmurs, loud enough for him to hear, but still weighed down with disappointment. She pulls the denim away from the sewing machine, trimming away the loose threads. “Can’t really tattoo when you’ve got unpredictable hand tremors, though. S’why the paintings are such a wreck.”
Oh.
“Shit. That’s…” Again, Steve can’t find proper words of empathy. “I’m sorry.”
Frankie finally glances over her shoulder at him, “Kinda normal for folks like us to leave behind our dreams. Mourn what our lives could’ve been, and what they used to be.”
The familiarity of surrender in her voice hits Steve hard. He might not have had the same dreams to give up to prioritize his health, but it’s still an experience similar to hers. Giving up any dreams or goals he had to accept they probably wouldn’t, couldn’t, come to life. He’s watched his life’s potential slip through his fingers, and has no way of stopping it from vanishing completely.
Mourning what your life was isn’t easy, either. Reminiscing on better health in earlier times of your existence, proof you’ll never be that happy, that healthy again— even if Steve was unhappy deep down in high school, he wishes he had the energy to still fake it.
“Yeah. Fucking sucks.” He mutters. At the same time, Frankie turns to him, holding his jeans out for him to take.
Steve glances over her handiwork, grateful to have soft fabric that’ll finally work with his knee brace, while being removable when it’s too warm out.
“On the bright side, at least you’ve got a friend who gets it now.” She’s speaking softly, with so much, too much, understanding. It helps to finally have a friend who can relate, but with that comes sharing the same emotional hardships, ones that feel endless.
Still, it’s better than navigating that all on your own.
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It’s been a handful of weeks— maybe about a month and change— since Steve’s life began to feel good again. He’s not sure how long exactly, he just knows since finding a doctor that sincerely cared for his patients, and befriending Frankie, someone his age he could finally relate to, he doesn’t care to keep track of time like a dismal countdown.
He’s not counting the days he feels like a prisoner in his own body anymore.
Timing, though, is always perfectly unfortunate when it comes to Steve’s luck, and life.
On a dull Wednesday night, he and Frankie are closing up the shop before their plans to meet up with Robin at the diner. Steve has had a muted ache in his head since the previous night, but it wasn’t enough to keep him in bed, thankfully. He took some Tylenol earlier in the day, and that helped with staving off most of the pain. Any relief he can find, he happily takes.
The sun isn’t setting as early anymore, a sign winter’s almost at its end; he’s been looking forward to spring, because this cold has done no favors to his aching joints. Until then, he’s still bundling up ridiculously to keep from violently shaking in the cold.
“Hey, Frankie?” He’s looking behind the counter, puzzled. His head feels heavy, thoughts settling in a thick fog. Pushing past it, he asks, “Have you seen my scarf?”
Frankie returns from the tiny stockroom, keys swinging lazily on her finger. “Is it the blue one?”
“No, it’s—“ Steve pauses, hands on the counter to hold himself up from a sudden bout of dizziness. He gives a weak laugh, “I can’t even remember if I wore one at all. Maybe I didn’t.”
Frankie’s quick to notice something’s not right when Steve practically white knuckles the edge of the counter; her firsthand experience with chronic illness is setting off alarms in her head.
“Steve, you should sit down—“ She rushes around to him, pushing the stool towards him. Grabbing his shoulders, she pushes him gently into the chair. “What’s going on?”
“S’blurry,” Is all he mutters to her. She lifts a hand to his forehead, and he shivers, speaking up a bit more, “You’re always cold.”
She keeps her panic to herself, and rolls her eyes with a tiny smile, pulling her hand away to reach into her bag on the floor; straightening back up with a heavily sticker-bombed water bottle, she hands it to him.
“When’d you last eat?”
Steve shrugs, weakly sipping out of the bottle. “Uh, a few hours ago, I think.” He’s struggling to stay in conversation as the vision in his one eye blurs. “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye.” He points to the right side of his face, hand nearly limp.
“Does your head hurt?”
“Been hurting all day, actually,” He waves his hand in front of his own face, repeating, “Yeah I- I can’t see a damn thing out of this eye.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Wasn’t a big deal ‘til now— shit—“ Steve clutches his head; everything’s too overwhelming. The lights are too bright, the buzz of electricity is too loud, and he feels nauseous. The dizziness is only growing stronger, too. Curling into himself, he doubles over, head in his hands as he leans towards his legs. “God, I hate this.”
Frankie rushes to the light switch across the room, turning off all the lights inside; the only light available is what wanders in from the city outside through the windows.
There was one crucial detail Steve left out when he confided in Frankie about his ocular migraines: the pain is so intense, it works in tandem with his anxiety, triggering flashbacks of those miserable last few years in Hawkins.
They roll through so quickly in his mind; the first time he fought off a demogorgon with Nancy and Jonathan. When Steve became a personal punching bag for Billy nearly one year later, the same night he had been roped into fighting off demodogs with the kids, nearly dying multiple times before the sun rose again. The fucked up elevator in Starcourt that plummeted to an artificial hell that also nearly killed him and his friends. He could picture the fists flying at him, his honest answers for the countless times he was asked “who do you work for?” never enough for his captors.
“Stop, stop, stop—“
Frankie hears Steve whimpering while his flashbacks drag him deeper into the past.
Because who can just forget nearly dying far too many times with your friends before turning twenty? Why forget it when the past just continues to help you survive even further carnage?
His lungs burn while he recalls swimming down to the bottom of the lake, in search of the gate, only to be pulled back down after resurfacing to his friends. It’s not easy to erase the way he fought for his life once dragged into the Upside Down, especially not when the scars refuse to fade, continuing to keep the nightmare alive. Even if his scars blended into his worn, tired skin now, the proof lies in each and every person in the group. Hell, the proof is in anyone from Hawkins.
“Steve—“ Frankie’s voice breaks through to him, only for a moment, too quick to pull him out of this traumatic loop of memories.
Vecna. Stumbling upon Eddie, nearly dead, in Dustin’s arms. The “earthquake”. Max deep in a coma in the hospital. Watching the Upside Down bleed into reality on this plane of existence. The ultimate downfall of what was once his hometown— once a haven of memories, good and bad, ones that taught him life lessons, ones that he still reminisces on to this day. Leaving behind everything he loved in that shitty little town. Goodbyes with everyone as they all split their separate ways, with hopes and dreams of making the most of a new life somewhere safe.
Hawkins, Indiana was wiped off the map. Wiped from existence to keep the rest of the world safe.
Hawkins was only a memory, now.
Hawkins was gone.
“Hi, y- yeah, we need an ambulance, my friend, h- he—“
Everyone made it out alive, but what was the point when everyone was hurting badly, one way or another?
What’s the point in surviving if you continue to live in your own personal hell? He thinks, barely making out Frankie reciting the address for the record store. He blindly reaches out for her, still folded over in agony.
Instead of finding her, he finds himself slipping off the chair, hitting the cold, hard floor before abruptly losing his grip on reality.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
The first thing Steve sees when his eyes weakly flutter open is Frankie. Everything is blurry, but not like before; his vision slowly comes into focus, while the edges of tunnel vision have faded away. A dim, frail smile appears on his face at her sleeping figure, curled up next to him.
Pressure in his head spreads, like there’s an ache about to begin, but it never does, held at bay. That’s when he notices the IV in his arm, prying his eyes open a little more, baffled and trying to sift through the brain fog.
Frankie stirs, eyes squinting open, but once she sees Steve’s awake, her eyes widen; she sits up too quickly, stumbling out of the chair she folded herself into, catching herself at the last minute.
“Steve—“
“Hi Frankie,” He smiles, dopey and sleepy, like he just woke up from a nap, and not a medical scare. She grabs his hand, and he blushes. Looking down at their hands clasped together, a dazed look covers his features. “Your hand’s not very cold. You okay?”
A laugh slips out of Frankie, “I think all the panic made me overheated.” Her bottom lip wobbles, despite Steve’s lips still curved up lazily, “You’re the one in the hospital bed, I should be asking you that.”
“M’fine, I feel great, actually.”
“That would be the drugs doing their job, buddy.” She’s surprised to hear herself giggle, but it rises a weak yet genuine laugh out of Steve. Her thumb softly swipes back and forth on his hand, still in hers. “You scared the hell outta me, Steve.”
His face drops, beginning to realize the severity of the situation, despite gaps of memory to recall on. “I… don’t remember anything.”
“Do you want me to tell you?”
He wordlessly nods.
“Your head hurt all day, but you didn’t tell me until a migraine started,” Frankie sighs, gently pushing his sweat-matted hair away from his eyes. “I think it was an ocular migraine, ‘cause you told me you couldn’t— well, in your exact words, you said “Frankie, I can’t see shit out of this eye”, and then it— you—”
It all floods back to Steve in a flash— his headache that rolled into a sudden, ocular migraine, making him dizzy and weak. How his right eye went blind, then everything hurt, sent him into a panic, and triggered the flashbacks.
“You fell, too, but thankfully you landed on my bag instead of the floor.” She reaches down to his forehead, just above his brow, gently sweeping a thumb across his skin. “There’s a small bruise, but could’ve been worse.”
That, he ignores. Instead, Steve’s heart drops at the thought of what Frankie might’ve heard or seen. Before he can ask, she gathers the courage to tell him.
“You we’re crying, saying ‘I wanna go home’ a- and ‘stop, stop, stop,’” Her fingers grip his hand, shaking. He squeezes back, sobering up fast from the pain medication. “You kept calling out names, calling for Robin, and I- I don’t know who else, but you sounded so hurt, Steve.”
Steve doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Frankie whispers, “oh” and grabs a handful of tissues from the side table, handing them over to him.
“I— goddammit. I’m so sorry, Frankie.”
“It’s okay—“
He shakes his head, eyes falling shut; he can’t look at her right now, he feels nothing but shame.
“It’s not. It never will be. I wasn’t trying to hide anything or lie, but I- I- I—“ In the midst of his panic, he remembers the plans they had with Robin. His bloodshot eyes lock with Frankie’s teary ones. “Shit, does Robin know—“
“She’s on her way. Thankfully she stopped by instead of meeting us at the diner, right when the ambulance came. I asked if Robin wanted to go with you, but she asked if I could instead; she wanted to grab your meds and a few other things.” Frankie reassures him, but Steve can’t shake the guilt, can’t escape the embarrassment. “Robin’s really a great best friend.”
Steve rubs his eyes, nodding as his voice wavers, “Best friend I ever had. I- I’d be dead without her.”
“Give yourself some credit, man.” A familiar voice floats into the room; Frankie and Steve both look across the hospital room to find Robin, along with Eddie and Dustin trailing in behind her.
“It’s definitely that charming stubbornness to survive y’got going on,” Robin teases lightheartedly.
Frankie looks back at Steve, finding his face about to light up, but he just falls apart again. She releases his hand so Robin can hug him. Steve shakes in her grasp, while Robin murmurs “you’re okay, you’re safe”, soft enough for only Steve to hear; Frankie’s still able to catch it, though.
“Wh— what are you two doing here?”
“You picked the best time to go to the ER,” Dustin grins, trying to point out the bright side. “We were gonna surprise you at the diner, but now we get to surprise you here!” Steve’s smile wavers; he wants to be happy to see his friends again, but the sudden visit and multiple voices, louder than Frankie, makes him wince, too.
Still, he finds himself asking, “Dustin, why are you excited about that?”
“‘Cause, hospitals suck. Unless Eddie and I are in ‘em.” Dustin looks over at Frankie with a questioning, yet friendly look. “Who— oh. Are you Frankie?”
Her cheeks turn rosy while Steve groans, head falling back on the pillow.
Trying to redirect, Eddie teases, “The kid tells no lies, we’re the best free entertainment a hospital can get.” He’s shooting Steve a knowing look that earns a short-lived laugh out of him.
Now Steve knows how Max felt when she woke from her coma, when Eddie was finally stable enough to leave his room next to hers. How him and Dustin did everything they could, said whatever they could say, to crack a smile on her face.
It’s the thought that counts, he thinks, grateful to have friends who care. Steve always felt like everyone would forget him when they all left Hawkins behind. After all, he was usually the one looking out for everyone else. Putting them first. Making sure everyone was safe and sound before himself.
How relieved he was to be wrong, for once.
“How you holding up?” Dustin asks,
“Uh… I…”
All of this is overwhelming; Steve’s still trying to process what happened, was in the middle of Frankie retelling details, and now he’s on an emotional rollercoaster from a surprise visit from two friends he hadn’t seen in god knows how long.
On top of all of that, his head is one loud, startling noise or bright light away from kicking off another migraine.
Robin can tell he’s a step away from falling apart, so she jumps in to give him some breathing room. “I think… we should get snacks from the vending machine. Do either of you want anything?” Frankie shakes her head, and Steve only shrugs without an answer. “We’ll be back, ‘kay?” She backs up, gently pushing the two curly heads out of the room despite their protests; the room falls silent once again.
Steve sighs loudly, eyes shutting as he relaxes into the bed. “I love them, but I— it’s just—“
“Bad timing, I get it. There’s nothing wrong with asking for space.” Frankie assures him, then adds, “I should’ve asked too, do you need me to leave?”
“Don’t,” Steve’s cursing himself inwardly for answering so quickly. “Un- unless you wanna leave—“
“I wanna stay,” She answers at an embarrassing speed, making Steve smile. “I— I can stay overnight, if you want. But don’t feel obligated to say yes.”
“They’ll let you do that?”
“Usually, no, but I know the nurse on shift tonight, and she’s incredibly sweet. Told me already I can stay if I need to.” Frankie smirks. “One, tiny upside of being a hospital regular. Honestly, everyone’s nice here, at least who I’ve met.” She stops herself from rambling, glancing at Steve with concern. “You need anything right now?”
Steve murmurs, “No, just cold,” and releases her hand to pull the covers over himself, shivering. As he does, Frankie catches the scar around his neck while the flimsy hospital gown shifts along with him, exposing a sliver more of him than she’s seen.
He notices her stare, hand flying to his neck in a pathetic attempt to cover it; he’s quick to stammer out an excuse, “Oh that’s, uh, from— it’s actually a long story, but it’s not— it’s—“
Frankie shakes her head, reaching for Steve’s hand to squeeze softly. “You don’t have to tell me anything, not unless you’re ready and want to. Whatever your story is, Steve, it’s for you to tell on your own terms.”
Again, she watches him relax from a tensed state.
“Thank you, ‘Key.”
She smirks, “Y’know, I only let people I’m close to call me that.”
“Oh- oh, shit, I’m—“ He sits up, about to stammer out an apology, but her free hand gently stops him before pushing him back down slowly.
“That includes you.”
“Really?”
“Just one condition.”
“What is it?”
“You tell me if you’re in pain. I know that’s nearly all the time, but if you can’t come in, or can’t hang out, you tell me. Hell, if you need, you can call me if you’re home alone and just need to talk about it.” She softly demands and suggests. Steve nods; it’s only fair, especially after tonight’s scare. “Or even if you still come to work or want to keep plans, don’t be afraid to ask for what you need. I’d rather you take care of yourself than push your body past its limits.”
Steve’s mind races around for the right words to return to her, but all he can respond with is a sincere, “Thank you, Frankie.” Then he adds quickly, “All of what you just said, that applies to you too. Got it?” He tries coming off stern, playfully, of course; instead, his lips crack into a smile, but the sentiment is still true.
“Got it, Stevie,” She tries winking, but it looks more like a twitch, and the two burst into giggles. “You make it look so easy whenever you wink!”
Steve just shoots her a smooth, quick wink. In return, he gets her playful eye roll. He finds comfort and safety in the harmless teasing between one another.
Things might’ve gone to hell tonight, but at least Steve didn’t go through it alone.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
When everyone returned to the hospital room, they made sure to keep their tones quiet, soft, and Steve felt some guilt over that, but he reminded himself too that he’s lucky to have friends who accommodate his needs.
He catches Robin, Dustin, and Eddie up to speed, leaving out the gory, telling details of his flashbacks; Robin must’ve warned Dustin and Eddie to not speak about the Upside Down, for Frankie’s sake. And really, for Steve’s sake, too. After his mind ran through every event, every memory, down to the very last detail, he was exhausted. The last thing he wanted to think or talk about was Hawkins, and all the horrors it once contained.
And once proper introductions were made, Steve admired the way Dustin and Eddie automatically included Frankie into every part of the conversation, making sure she felt welcomed among them, too.
Steve needed this. He needed the distraction, needed the laughter, the inside jokes, with stories explained to Frankie to keep her in the loop. The longer the visit went on, though, the more Steve realized at some point, he’d have to explain everything to Frankie. She told him to take his time, that he wouldn’t ever need to talk about it if he wasn’t ready, but he’d rather get it out in the open sooner rather than later.
This friendship was something Steve never had with anyone else before, and he was quickly growing attached to the dynamic. He never expected to grow attached to Frankie so fast, either. Or at all.
Visiting hours end, with Dustin hugging Steve a little too tight, apologetic as he loosens his arms when Steve grumbles in pain. Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, repeating a sentiment from the time they were stuck in the elevator in Starcourt. “If you die, I die. So don’t die.”
“Oh, we changed that one up a bit? Alright,” Robin snorts, and Dustin flips her off.
Meanwhile, Steve only shrugs. “Okay.”
“Some things never change,” Robin mutters, shaking her head.
The older two out of the trio say their goodbyes, too, with Eddie reminding in a sing-song voice, “Gonna bother you again tomorrow, Big Boy.”
“Please, for the love of—“ Steve sighs, sinking under the covers, embarrassed. “Stop calling me that.” Frankie’s lost, but still giggling over the exchanges; he points at her, “No, don’t— do not encourage his nonsense”
“Respectfully, no, I’ll never stop.” He grins while Robin shoves him out of the room. As he’s nearly out the door, he waves and shouts, “Nice meeting you, Frankie!”
Alone, yet again, Frankie bites her lip to contain her laughter, and Steve narrows a glare at her. “Oh, I can already tell you’re gonna be trouble with them.”
“Listen, it’s not my fault your friends are funny and charming.”
“They’re anything but—“
“Oh, I’m telling ‘em tomorrow you said that.”
“Where’s your proof, Amato?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Harrington.” She sticks her tongue out at him.
Laughing, his brows knit together, “I would!”
He tries to conjure a better comeback to throw her way, but his thoughts fizzle out while watching her set up the chairs into a makeshift bed.
“Frankie.”
She spins around, watching Steve lean up on his elbow. “Huh?”
“You’re not sleeping on those chairs. That’s gonna kill your neck. And your back.” Steve deadpans, pulling his glasses off to set them on the nightstand. “And every other joint in your body.”
Frankie snorts, holding her arms out, “Then where am I sleeping, Steve?”
“Up here,” He’s even surprised by his own boldness, but carries through. “With me.”
If one could hold someone’s gaze in a death grip, Frankie would be doing that right now with Steve’s stare; disbelief and skepticism floods through her thoughts.
“Unless that’s too— if you’re not comfortable—“
“Steve,” Frankie pushes past the way her round cheeks flush red, “We gotta stop second guessing ourselves like this.”
“Yeah, but I just don’t want to assume—“
“When you’re close with someone, assumptions are kind of a given. When someone gets you, it’s not offensive.” She holds the extra pillow a nurse gave her earlier to her chest. “I’m okay with it, if you are. And I’m going to assume you are, because you asked—“
“Demanded—“
Her mouth falls open at his bluntness, “Okay, Big Boy, slow down—“
“Francesca,” He groans, falling back onto the pillows, “please do not call me that.”
She laughs softly, tugging the edges of Steve’s lips into a soft smile; he’s a goner. He knows he is. He’s known for awhile now, but her laugh, her smile, solidifies it.
“Okay, Steven.”
Waving his arm out towards the uncomfortable hospital bed, he sasses, “Will you shut the hell up and get up here?”
“Didn’t know you were so bossy in bed, Steve,” Frankie waggles her brows at Steve, and while he tries rolling his eyes, his face falls back into a deep shade of red she’s been so easily able to pull out of him these days.
“Christ, Amato, do you ever sh—“
“Shut it, man. I’m moving as fast as a cripple can,” She teases, rounding the bed to climb into the empty side. Kicking her boots off, she swings her legs into the bed. There’s just enough room for her, but only if she presses against Steve by just a touch. “If this is too close—“
“It’s not—“
“Okay, well—“
“‘Key?” Steve’s voice wavers, soft and unsure of himself, despite the habitual teasing. “Can you— shit, this is stupid—“
“Whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” She reassures blindly. “Ask me.”
Steve takes a deep breath, nerves seeping through the overly confident demeanor the drugs gave him. “Can you… can—“ He sighs, frustrated with himself, before blurting out, “Can you hold me?”
Frankie doesn’t answer, not verbally; already on her side, she winds her arms around Steve’s torso, hugging him lightly from behind.
“This okay? You’re comfortable?”
He just nods definitively.
“Steve… your gown is open.”
He panics, shooting up and throwing a hand behind himself to try closing the opening, until he feels Frankie shake against him with laughter.
“You’re such a— quit laughing!” Steve laughs as he tries demanding this of Frankie.
“M’sorry, it was just— the opportunity was there, I had to take it.”
He sighs, suppressing his grin, his chuckles, laying back down. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
“Best place to have one though, no?” Frankie settles down, snuggling closer to him; her position is certain, yet leaves room for Steve to distance himself if he wants.
He doesn’t answer with words, just tugs her arms closer around his body, her hands to his chest.
“Hey, Frankie?”
“Mhm?”
“Thank you. I know those migraines aren’t exactly life threatening, but…” He trails off, closing his eyes before admitting the truth, “They make it so… so hard to want to be alive. I’m grateful for your help. I’m sorry you had to witness that, but I— you—“ Oh, fuck it. “I didn’t expect to become so attached to our friendship, to you. But… I’m one lucky, unlucky son of a bitch to have someone in my life like you.”
Frankie feels her tears well her eyes; her and Steve are both so easily emotional— it comes with the territory of being sick on a regular basis. Who wouldn’t be? Realistically, how can you expect someone in the depths of internal and external pain to navigate this life with ease?
Neither of them are cured from the security of this friendship, but it’s reassuring to both that neither are alone in this fight against the bodies they pilot, day in, day out. No definite future for either separately, but at least they can navigate it together.
Frankie’s almost sure Steve’s asleep, so she speaks up to make sure.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
She sighs, pushing her sentiment into words, solidifying the security of their friendship, at the very least.
“Whatever hell you lived through,” Her voice wavers while on the precipice of sleep, barely heard under the heart monitor’s routine beeps. “I’m glad you survived.”
He’s half asleep, heart monitor rolling to a steady crawl “M’glad I survived, too.”
#Steve Harrington x fem!oc#Steve Harrington x oc#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#my fics#accident prone
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how many times do we have to teach you this lesson, old man
#don’t send me weird fucking messages#don’t send me my own posts with messages of what you want to do to me#i !! don’t !! care !!#i post on here so i can have somewhere to post fun pictures#im about to turn off messages from anyone but people i follow because holy shit#and yes i’m going to be shitty back to you#before i block you of course#end of rant
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i may know it’s healthy to interact with people and be social, but that doesn’t mean i find it easy in any way
#like i don’t actually mean to isolate myself i just get lost in doing my own thing#which isn’t bad in itself#but then i find myself feeling sad and idk why#bruh you haven’t spoken to your friends in quite a while#if i was a sim my social bar would be red#but i still don’t wanna talk to people sometimes#like i have to physically force myself just to say ‘hey!#everyone pray for gwen’s social life bc it sucks and isn’t really getting any better even tho i’m trying my hardest#i do wanna push myself more and talk to ppl i’ve always wanted to talk to#but my stupid brain won’t let me#i’m trying to push past it though#it would be nice to make new friends that i then neglect bc i’m bad at friendship#idk maybe that isn’t fair#but i still wouldn’t say i’m great at it#idk i just feel dumb for begging people to talk to me#or even just sending messages to new people#or even my friends who i know won’t judge me but still#idk i’m still sensitive after my episode and i just feel embarrassing and annoying and like i’m bugging people#and i believe them when they say i’m not but it doesn’t stop completely me from feeling that way#literally ‘hey’ feels like i just pissed on the floor in front of them#like god! way to be annoying gwen!!#yes i know it’s my brain talking but literally i use up so much energy trying not to feel it#and so much letting myself feel it#and i only have so much energy as it is#not that it matters#bc most ppl don’t care as long as i check in sometimes#but again i repeat my earlier statement#don’t wanna check in i feel cringe#need friends and communication but cannot maintain them#like the 100th post i’ve made but it’s what my thoughts are currently
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Whoever keeps sending me asks about the anon post I deleted, it’s over.
#don’t care to argue since I don’t argue or get into shit online with people anyway#all I did was reply to a message (I don’t keep up with people on tumblr or URLs) but I looked up that persons name and saw some familier#folks associated with them who were known for being antiblack here and I’d didn’t want a post done someone defending that on my blog that’s#literally it#as I’ve said#idk this person I’ve just seen things in passing and of course tumblr has never respected trans people or poc#there are always things going around trying to make them out to be predators and harmful to the community and that’s awful was hell#trans women are especially targeted the most and tumblr has a history of wiping them off the face of the platform for even breathing and#it sucks because there’s nothing you can do about it but yeah#I’m just done talking don’t send me anymore asks I will just delete them#I’m gonna just block you again if you try to send me anything I don’t argue with people online and I don’t care to get into any discourse#rambling#this is not what this blog is about#maybe there was a misunderstanding a long the way but you started off calling me names and shit and we don’t do that here#alluding to me being a transphobe is something that I won’t stand behind though just because I did my own quick research of their url and#found some things that alarmed me#I don’t know this person but I don’t want to put just anyone on my blog with discourse surrounding them#move around
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Post about art-theft, AI and tracing of my render:
Unfortunately, one of my renders I made a year ago, was traced, copied, edited by AI by "brothers in arms" store and now sold as a merch aimed towards CoD fandom.
They are currently sending this out to various cosplayers asking them to promote it.
As someone who is affected by this, I have to speak up about it.
(post about it on twt & insta)
I found out about it by accident when I saw promoted post on my insta feed. When I started talking about it in my stories, this store sent me a private message saying they had been working on this design for weeks and had never heard of me so they definitely didn't steal anything, and offered me free stuff.
When I disagreed with them and sent them files comparing our works, they stopped replying to me, so I continued talking about it again on my insta. Only when my followers started leaving comments under their post saying this is wrong, they decided to continue discussion on the next day.
2. They mentioned that they could have been inspired by some pictures they found on the internet and showed me their "first sketch" of design… which was made by AI.
3. During the conversation, they mentioned that their artist could have based his work on a picture he found on the Internet, but he defended himself by saying that they might not have known it was mine. But even if they didn't know about me, even if they found some fanart on the Internet - it doesn't mean you can copy something detail by detail and sell it as your own.
What is most important here, their offer to solve the problem was to give me credits in their design. IF they worked hard on it, why would they want to give me credits? My offer was to remove it.
4. Why do I mention that it could have been done by AI? because many lines are unfinished and a lot of details don't make sense.
5. Below is a comparison of my render that I published on March 18, 2023 with their first sketch they showed me, which apparently they drew themselves:
I am saying this so that the CoD community, which is very large, will be aware of this, because there are many people who have already bought it and after my insta story, they felt bad and said they want return it because they don't want to support art theft.
It's not just about me anymore - it could have happened to anyone who creates fanart and share it on the Internet just for fun. One day someone may use it for their own profit without us being aware of it.
It doesn't matter if it's a 3D render or a drawing.
All artists in this (or any other) fandom do not deserve to experience such thing, and we need to speak out about it to prevent it from happening in the future.
Reposting fanart is, as this example shows, dangerous and hurtful, so please respect artists and don’t do this. Especially on pinterest.
Their only proposal and offer to give me credits for the work they traced is something I will never agree to.
#that being said do not repost my renders on pinterest#because you see what it does#it doesn't “help me with popularity” as one reposter explained to me once#but it gives me more work and stress#.....so now whenever I have free time I will report every reposted render I find on pinterest
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OC Intro - ╹◡╹
Secret Admirer Yandere
??? ♡ ??? ♡ Human? ♡ Office Worker
TW: Stalking, obsession, delusional behaviour, threats, mention of a blade, implied kidnapping/murder
♡ - You’re an office worker - it’s not your ideal job, but it pays the bills. You keep your work life strictly separate from the rest of your life, always keeping your head down and focusing on the task at hand rather than talking to any of your colleagues, but not working hard enough to get noticed for a promotion. You don’t plan to stick around in this career after all.
♡ - Any of your coworkers shouldn’t have known much about you at all. To be honest, you didn’t know much about any of them anyway. You were perfectly happy just blending into the background.
♡ - But, one Monday morning, as you near your desk, you notice something unusual. Pasted right on the corner of your computer monitor, sits a post it note. At first you assume someone missed you and wanted to leave a reminder for some kind of memo or meeting, but reading it sends a shiver down your spine.
♡ - “Have a wonderful day at work, honey. ╹◡╹”
♡ - You stare at the message on the yellow post it, written in red biro, trying to fathom who it’s from. You assume someone must have left it on the wrong desk by mistake, and throw the post it away.
♡ - The post its don’t stop though. Everyday you come to your desk and see a new one, all with similar cutesy messages, all signed off with that smiley face.
♡ - “Make sure to drink plenty of water! ╹◡╹”
♡ - “You look amazing today, honey. ╹◡╹”
♡ - “I miss you so much! ╹◡╹”
♡ - On Friday, you get sick of it. You go around, asking all your coworkers if their partners have perhaps got the wrong desk, but no one seems to recognise the handwriting.
♡ - Giving it up as a bad job, you decide to talk to HR about it once Monday rolls around again.
♡ - The weekend comes as a bit of relief, but it doesn’t last long.
♡ - Monday inevitably arrives, and again, there is a post it note on your desk. You do a quick tour of the office, hoping to perhaps catch the culprit, but everyone has yellow post it notes on their desk - there is no way to tell who it is from.
♡ - You go to HR, but there is little they can do for you without any knowledge or proof of who is leaving them. Deflated, you go back to your desk and work, trying to focus but unable to.
♡ - When Friday rolls around again, the note reads differently than usual.
♡ - “You seemed stressed, honey. Let me take you out tonight - my treat. Meet me at 7, at that restaurant we both like. Wear something nice. ╹◡╹”
♡ - You haven’t a clue what restaurant they mean, and even if you did, there is no way in hell you are going with some stranger that seems to have some strange one sided love for you. You crumple the note in frustration and throw it away, as you have with all the other post it notes.
♡ - Monday arrives again, but this time instead of a note, it seems there is a letter.
♡ - it’s written on the standard issue memo paper found anywhere around the office. It seems crumpled and tear stained. Whoever is writing them seems to have switched from a red biro to a red ink pen, but the ink seems oddly dark and brown.
♡ - “Honey. I waited for you all night. You never showed. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? How humiliating it was to be sobbing in the middle of the restaurant? I came back here at the weekend and found all my love notes for you in your bin. Why are you so cruel? Did I do something wrong? Do you not love me anymore? You’re coming home tonight. I let you stay at your own place long enough, I know new couples need time before moving in together but this has gone too far. You haven’t even visited or called or texted once. Come home. We have some serious discussion to do. ╹︵╹”
♡ - You can’t bring yourself to get any work done, you can’t bring yourself to eat, you can’t even bring yourself to try and tell HR again. You stand up and do another lap of the office, carefully examining everyone’s faces, trying to work out who might have sent this damned letter, but you can’t tell. You haven’t even the faintest idea.
♡ - You eye all your coworkers with suspicion, until finally you can’t take it anymore and hide in the toilets. You stay there, frightened to leave, right up until it’s time to clock out, and even then, it takes you a long time to work up the courage to leave.
♡ - When you finally get out, the office is empty. There is no one else there, apart from you. You find the darkened cubicles eerie, yet you breathe a sigh of relief anyway. Surely that must mean the note writer is gone too? You run out into the car park, making a mad dash for it, then stop short just as your car comes into view.
♡ - It’s covered in post it notes of varying colours, each one scrawled in that weird red ink. Some are angry, others plead for your forgiveness or return. Every single one is wet with tear stains.
♡ - You freeze. You have to call the police - you’ve let this go one long enough. You take a step back, ready to run back to the office and hole yourself up until the police arrive, only to stop when you feel a knife against your back and hear a voice you don’t recognise.
♡ - “Oh honey, you aren’t getting away with this that easily…”
Personality
The most mysterious of all, “Smiley” (╹◡╹) hasn’t quite seemed to grasp that it wouldn’t be obvious to their darling who they are. In their eyes, they’re already with their darling, and their tactics are less trying to get close to their daring and moreso engaging in what they think is cute couple behaviour. When their darling ignores or dismisses their bids for attention? Well, hell hath no fury like a lover scorned. It’s probably too late for their darling by the time they finally see the face of their admirer.
Dividers Credit: See Pinned Post
#yancore#yandere#yandere fic#yandere x darling#yandere x reader#oc intro#yandere imagines#gender neutral reader#gender neutral yandere#yandere drabble#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc intro#yandere oc#gender neutral yandere oc#male yandere#female yandere#Smiley#Story#Meet Cute
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The Company
Peeping Tom
Smut and Story Building (Blackmail, Deep Penetration, Defloration, Creampie, Rough Sex, First Time, Choking, Light BDSM, objectification)
Chapter 6
3,585 Words
(You encounter a peeping Tom as you have fun with one of your assistants. She tries to use her newfound information against you, but instead, you end up using her. By the end, you found yourself a new toy to play with.)
You return to your office with IU after a business meeting outside the company. The two of you talk about what just occurred during the last few days and how busy it’s going to get moving forward.
“How does it feel receiving your first private jet, sir?”
“I’m excited; I remember riding on my father’s jet when I was younger and always wanted one of my own. Now I just need to get it customized, and I’ll be able to use it.”
“Before that, we need to hire a flight attendant.”
“That’s true.”
“What about asking your father for one of his?”
“No, I'd rather get someone that has nothing to do with my father. I don’t want them to tell him anything about my business.”
“I’ll try to put a post online to hire an assistant.”
“Sounds good.”
“Any requirements?”
“Someone not too old, eye candy. You know my tastes.”
“Okay, I’ll try my best.”
“Also, any news on Big Hit and JYP?”
“I’ve heard that they are suffering a bit money-wise, so I think they are going to accept your offer.”
“Let’s see what they say. I don’t want to buy them outright, but I do want to hold a good chunk of shares, especially Big Hit. Bang Si-Hyuk seems like a pretty cool guy. He gave me a tour of his small building and even introduced me to his debuting group a while back. I really want to help the guy.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy with anything you give him, sir.”
“Let’s see how it goes.”
IU then hands you some documents and says, “This is some information I found out about JYP Entertainment. If you look at the third page, you can see that JYP was going to debut a new girl group under the name “6MIX,” but it fell through.”
“Oh, it seems like they had a hard time debuting due to one of their members leaving.”
“Yes, they added another member, Sana. It seemed like they were going to debut, but another of their leader also left the company, so they ended up scrapping the whole thing.”
“Poor girls, so much hard work and training to debut only to have it scrapped.”
“Yes, one in particular has been in their company for a long time. I heard she’s a very good singer.”
“Oh really? If JYP accepts the help, maybe I can ask him to release them from their contracts and send them my way.”
“I’ll keep you posted if there is any news, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Would that be all, sir?”
“Yes.”
“I have a meeting with one of the girls, so I’ll head to my office.”
“Actually, I’m going to grab a bite at the cafeteria, so I’ll walk with you.”
The two of you walk towards the hallway, slap IU's ass, and walk the opposite from each other. Little did you know that you were seen by someone, the person IU was going to have a meeting with.
————
You get a message from IU that she has received some inflation about the deal with Big Hit and JYP as you are coming from the gym. It’s been a few days since you got any information, so you’re excited to see what’s going on. Without changing, you walk into her office, sit on the couch, and listen to some good news.
You might not have noticed that Jennie has been curious about the relationship you and IU have since she’s a higher-up than you. She doesn’t know about your real position in the company and only thinks of you as one of the staff members. She was shocked when she saw you slapped IU on her ass and decided to follow you after that.
Today, she had another meeting with IU and planned on having a light snack at the cafeteria before meeting up with her. Since she finished early, she decided to head up to the administration floor and relax on the outdoor patio before the meeting. She exits the elevator and makes it to the top floor. Jennie walks down the hallway and notices how quiet it is. She wandered around and found Irene’s and the CEO's office before hearing a faint noise coming from the hall. She quietly makes her way to the noises and gets to IU’s office from where the noise is coming from.
Jennie tries to listen and places her ear by the door. She hears moaning coming from the other side. She tries to make up what the people instead are saying and can only decipher the male voices yelling that he’s going to cum.
After some silence, she notices that the voices are getting nearer and runs towards the opposite side of the hallway to where the patio is. She peeks her head out and sees you coming out the door and IU fixing her skirt.
“What the fuck, were they fucking in her office?”
“Omg, he’s getting it on with a higher-up in the company. Maybe I can use this.”
————
Later that night, you get a message from Jennie from your staff phone. You read the message, and it is asking you for help moving some items around the house. You’re not in the mood to message her that you can do it tomorrow, but she is persistent.
Somewhat annoyed, you put on a shirt and head down the elevator to the floor where their apartment is. You ring the doorbell, and Jennie opens the door within a few seconds. She wears a loose crop top and small shorts that show off her petite body.
“You said you needed to move some stuff, right?”
“Yeah, it’s in the living room.”
You walk to the living room and see the items she was referring to. You spend about ten minutes moving the things, and Jennie is watching you up close the whole time.
“Is that all you needed?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Alright, I’m going. I’m tired.”
“Okay, but I’ll call you if I need anything.”
“Please, don’t. The stuff wasn’t that heavy. Maybe try moving it between the five of you before calling me.”
You can tell that Jennie got upset by this based on her facial expression. “I don’t know why you’re complaining; it's part of your job.”
“It’s not. I was just doing this as a favor since you all just moved into the apartment, but that was a few months ago. You girls can figure stuff out,” as you grab your phone and head for the door.
Upset, Jennie yells, “If you’re going to be a douchebag about it all like the CEO, you’re messing around with his assistant.”
You turn around and see a grin on her face, blackmailing you. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I know that the two of you were fucking in her office the other day.”
“Lies.”
“I saw smack her ass a while back, and this time, you were leaving her office, and she was skirted and had a smile on her face.”
“If that’s true, how would you know?”
“I heard the two of you doing it.”
“No one is going to believe you.”
“Hmph, I wouldn’t be so sure. I have the CEO’s number.”
“You’re bluffing. You don’t have his number.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, holding her phone out.
“Alright, do it.”
“Okay, I will” and is about to press the call button but then says, “actually, he might be busy with important stuff. I don’t want to bother him.”
You know she doesn’t have your actual work number, so you tease her, “I don’t think he’s busy. Why don’t we go visit him and tell him the situation? I think he would be more than happy to hear about it.”
You can see her expression change, and she says, “No, I think we can just leave it like that.”
You grab her waist, “Let’s clear things up. I don’t want rumors that I’m messing with the CEO’s assistant.” You pull her hand, exit her apartment, walk towards the elevator, and press the button for the top floor.
Jennie looks nervous but tries to hide her expression. “He’s going to be upset that we’re bothering him.”
“I don’t think so, plus you’re blackmailing me.”
When you arrive at the top floor, the elevator rings, and you both exit and walk towards the hallway. You ring the doorbell, but there is no answer.
With a faint smile of relief, Jennie says, “See, he’s not here, so let me waist go.”
“Hmm… let me try something.” You press the numbers on the keypad and hear a ring, unlocking the door.
“How did you do that?”
You pull Jennie and lock the door. “Seems like no one is home. CEO-nim! Jennie and I are looking for you!”
“Stop, he’s going to be made that we’re inside his home. Let’s go.”
“No, I don’t want to; let’s have a bit of fun.” You walk towards the kitchen, open the fridge, and grab a beer. “He has some good taste, nice.”
“Leave it; he’s going to get mad!”
“No, he won’t.”
“Yes, he is. I heard that he’s mean.”
“Really? They said that?”
“Irene said that he makes them work to the bone.”
“No, I don’t. Wait until I see her tomorrow.”
Jennie’s reaction changes, and she says, “What did you say?”
“Nothing, forget about it.”
“You said something.” She stops, looks around, and walks to the living room. She sees pictures of you and freezes.
Frozen for also a minute, she turns around and says, “Are you CEO-nim?”
You want to play it off, but know that the gig is over. Instead, you smile and say, “Dang, you caught me. Surprise!”
Many things go through her mind, like how she ordered you around the apartment, teased you, and even tried to blackmail you.
“So what’s this about having my phone number and blackmailing me about fucking IU.”
Jennie gets on her knees, rubs her hands together, and begs, “I’m sorry. I was just joking around. I didn't mean it.”
“It wasn’t funny. Why did you do it?”
She bites her lip and tries to come up with a reason, saying, “I don’t know. I just wanted to tease you a bit and got jealous.”
“Jealous? What for?”
“You’re my type, and when I saw you and IU, I wanted to blackmail you so you can do whatever I say.”
“You know, that could have really gone bad and gotten someone hurt.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If you’re sorry, how will you take responsibility?”
“Ehh?”
“You said I’m your type, and you’re pretty cute yourself. How about we have some fun?”
Jennie can’t believe what your words. She knows she said that you’re her type, but that was as a staff/trainer. Now that she learned you’re the one in charge of the company, she doesn’t want to do anything that might endanger her chance at debuting but, at the same time, finds it kind of hot.
“What did you have in mind?”
“What do you think?” giving her a smirk.
Jennie knows what you’re thinking; it’s not like she hasn’t thought about it herself. You come close to her and grab her small behind, causing her to yelp.
She’s being this close to her. You know that she’s small and petite, “too, like a doll.”
“What?”
Instead of replying, you pick her up, carry her to the guestroom, and toss her onto the bed.
“Wait… what are you doing?”
“I’m going to fuck you.”
“I’m not ready yet.”
“I didn’t ask you if you were. I’m telling you what I’m going to do to you.”
Jennie is stunned by your words. The image of you has been turned 360 from ordering you around to the other way around. Deep down, she can’t help but feel small and submissive by someone so huge and powerful enough to change her life.
“Okay, I understand.”
“Since you do, then strip. I want to see what I’m going to be working with.”
Jennie gets off the bed and stands in front of you. She slowly begins to undress herself, taking off her crop top and her small shots.
Now in underwear, she shyly takes off her bra, revealing her small, cute breasts. She tries to cover them, “Don’t forget the bottom.”
You smile as she hesitates to pull down her panties and whines, “Do I really have to pull them down?”
“Do you want me to do them for you? Just letting you know that I won’t be gentle.”
“I…I’ll do it then,” as she slowly pulls them down until it drops on the floor and quickly cover her cunt.
“Take your hands off.”
“But…”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Jennie removes her hands, revealing her semi-bare cunt.
“Fuck, you have a pretty-looking pussy and a nice pair of tits. Lay down on the bed and spread that pussy for me.”
Jennie feels embarrassed but does what you told her. She lays on the bed and puts her legs up. She tries to spread her legs, but the idea of spreading them open and showing her pussy to someone for the first time is nerve-wracking.
“Spread them more!”
She widens her legs until you see her whole cunt in view. With both her index and middle fingers, she slowly spreads her pussy lips, giving you a view of her unused cunt. “How’s this?”
“Hot. You’re making me hard.”
“Really? I’m making you hard?”
“Yeah. Want to see?”
Jennie has never seen a cock before in real life, only on the internet when she would masturbate while in the dorms. Seeing one in real life is making her both nervous and excited, “yeah. I want to see it.”
You undo the bottom and drop your buttons, leaving only your boxers and a large bulge in sight.
Jennie can feel her heart beating faster as you pull down your boxers, which makes your cock springs out. “Wow, it’s so big. Can I touch it?”
“Of course,” you say with a grin.
Jennie, with her index finger, touches the tip of your cock and throbs, “Haha, it’s likes me.”
“How about grabbing it with your two hands?”
“Okay, but I don’t think I’ll be able to wrap my hands around it.” With her small hands, she tries to wrap her hand, almost touching her fingertips.
Turned on, you ask, “Can I take a picture?”
Jennie looks up at you and smiles, “Sure, you’re the boss, right? I have no say.”
“Glad to see you know your place.”
You grab your phone and take a shoot of Jennie handling your cock. “Try putting it in your mouth.”
“Like this?” as she uses the tip of her tongue to lick the head of your cock. “Yes, just like that.”
You record her slowly licking your length, your shaft, pulling the head in her mouth, and even her trying to take a bit of your cock in her mouth as she plays with her cunt.
“Fuck… I knew you were a slut” you say as she has your cock in her mouth. “Hmmm… I’ll be your slut, Daddy,” giving you a devilish smile. You grab her chin in between your hands and say, “We’re going to get along very well.”
She stands and lays on the bed once more and willingly spreads her legs for you, spreading her pussy, and says, “Make sure you get a picture of this.”
“You know how to turn on a guy, huh.”
“I just want to please you, Daddy. Plus, I want everyone to know that you’re going to be my first.”
You can’t wait any longer; you need to fuck her now. You set the phone down, walked back, and spread her legs. She grabs your cock and presses it against her belly, and asks, “Is all of that going inside of me?”
“It’s going to go right in here and reach all the way up here,” as you trace your finger and her wet cunt all the way up to her belly button.
“Fuck me already, Daddy. Make me a real woman,” begs Jennie.
You grab your cock and rub your shaft against her wet lower lips, spreading them and covering them in her sticky nectar. “I’m going to put it in; just relax.” She balls up her waist against her chest, “Okay.”
Jennie nervously watches as you align your massive cock against her small entrance, waiting for you to be her first and only cock she’s ever going to taste.
You press the tip on your cock and slowly insert yourself until you reach her thin barrier, which separates her from womanhood. You look directly into her eyes, signaling that you’re going to go all the way into it. She nods back and tries to prepare herself for what’s to come.
You grab her small waist and, without mercy, put your weight onto her petite body and slam yourself into her fresh womb. “Fuck!!! I’m cumming; you’re too big; you’re making me cum!”
Jennie’s body spasms, and she tilts her head back as she feels her orgasm overwhelming her.
“Haha, you just came from me putting it in? Let’s see how many times you cum.”
You don’t let her rest and put her into a mating press. She groans from not being able to ride off her orgasm, “Daddy, wait. You’re going to make me cum again. Let me rest.”
“A girl like you doesn’t deserve to rest; you’re my sex toy. I get to use you however I want,” slamming yourself inside her once again.
Jennie cries as she feels her insides being rearranged by your cock, “Ahh, you’re messing me up inside! I won’t be able to with anyone beside you! Fuck…you’re stretching my small pussy out!”
Watching her becoming a mess is getting you more turned on. Even if it’s her first time, she’s a natural. You place your hand on her neck and firmly tighten your grip. Jennie panics when she feels your hand choking her, puts her hands around your arms, and looks at you in terror. “Shh… baby girl, calm down; I’m not going to hurt you, just something the both of us to enjoy. Trust me.”
Directly looking at you, she lets go of her hands and instead focuses on you, thrusting inside of her. “You feel so tight, Jennie; I feel like cumming already,” as you tighten the grip of your hand around her neck.
You see Jennie trying to speak, so you loosen your grip, “Ahhh… cum… cum inside me, Daddy. I… I want to feel your cum in my tummy.”
You tighten your grip on her neck again as you fuck her roughly, only hearing the sound of both your flesh against each other. Little by little, you feel your peak approaching, a cold sensation in your back.
“Fuck… I’m going to dump all my cum in your tight little pussy!”
You feel all your cum shoot deep inside Jennie’s womb with your thick cum. Her eyes roll back from how tight you’re choking her as you pump a large load. Her body starts to go limp from the lack of air, so you let go of her neck and see the imprint of your hand around it.
Immediately, Jennie gasps for air and comes back to her senses. “You’re such a good girl, Jennie. I think you’re going to be my favorite toy from now on.”
She gives you a weak smile, grabs your hand, and places it back around her neck, “Keep fucking me, Daddy. I’m your dirty like toy.”
The two of you keep fucking all night long, every time you pump your cum in and on her body. At the end, you take a series of photos and videos of your work, Jennie’s body covered in cum and her cunt oozing out a mixture of both your juices.
—————
You wake up the next day and see Jennie under your arms. You try to get up, but she’s holding on to you. Rubbing her eyes, she turned around and said, “Good morning, Daddy.”
“Good morning, Jennie. How are you feeling?”
“Sore. I can still feel some of your cummies in my tummy. I feel my pussy gaped. I don’t think I'll be able to get married anymore, haha.”
“Good. You’re mine, anyways.”
“Jealous?”
“No. I just got like sharing my toys.” You grab her by the neck with a firm grip and say, “Don’t forget that, okay? You’re mine.”
“Yes, Daddy,” as she feels your strong hand choking her.
You let her go and walk to the bathroom to freshen up. Jennie looks at her phone and sees text messages from her group mates asking if she visited her mom since she didn’t sleep at the apartment.
Jennie replies to them and immediately gets an idea that makes her smile excitedly, “Daddy.”
“Yes.”
“Since I’m your sex toy, how about making the rest of us your toys?”
“You mean your groupmates?”
“Yeah, how bout it? Sounds like fun, right?”
“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea; I’ll think about it.”
#kpop smut#male reader#jennie#jennie smut#blackpink smut#kim jennie#TM smut#kpop male reader#kpop reader#kpop idol smut#kpop x reader#idol x male reader#girl idol smut#reader x idol#idol x reader#idol smut#blackpink x reader#defloration idol smut#defloration smut#g idol first time smut#first time idol smut
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do you believe me now? | 5
in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.
part one | two | three | bonus chapter | four
this series is 18+
warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance
a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho
You don’t call Spencer for four days.
Spencer doesn’t call you for four days.
It’s scary.
There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else.
Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space.
His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up.
But you’re not quite there yet.
And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy.
The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting.
“Hi.”
You barely recognize your own voice.
It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting.
“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”
That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either.
“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”
There’s a pause.
“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”
“You want… to take me to a bar?”
“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”
“You could go without me.”
More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally.
But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?
Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick.
When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach.
“I could. Is that what you want?”
No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment.
“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”
A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all.
But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat.
“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”
You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat.
“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”
“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself.
Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position.
All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him.
Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass.
Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that.
So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step.
------
The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy.
Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you.
Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea.
Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence.
All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes.
“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”
You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there.
“I’m waiting for friends.”
“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”
He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather.
“I’m not drinking.”
“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”
You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do.
“I’m not sad.”
“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”
“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue.
“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”
“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”
Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder.
“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”
You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out.
Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person.
You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now.
Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.
“Those are the ones.”
“And why are they dressed for church?”
Church?
“They’re FBI.”
“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”
You almost snort.
“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”
You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you.
“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him.
“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”
“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”
Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle.
“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”
“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up.
“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”
This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer.
And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up.
“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes.
Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.
“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
What a weird man.
There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that.
“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”
You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind.
“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”
Really, he’s stunning.
“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—”
“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.
“Pretty boy?”
Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again.
“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”
“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this.
Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings.
“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you.
“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”
The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff.
“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”
“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”
It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group.
“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”
Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice.
Soon, it’s just the two of you.
“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond.
“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.”
You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high.
“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”
He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder.
“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”
From him, that hurts.
It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.
“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”
Silence.
“Then why did you come?”
His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice.
“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”
You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud.
Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing.
Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset.
“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”
You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.
Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running.
Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears.
You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream.
Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care.
Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right.
How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?
Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you.
You feel like you might throw up.
“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away.
You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking.
You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is.
“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”
Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying.
“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”
“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”
You sob harder.
Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette.
“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”
The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you.
“Hey—you okay out here?”
“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”
Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection.
“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”
“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”
Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you.
Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them.
“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”
You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday.
“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”
“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”
“You really don’t have to—”
“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”
You sniff again.
“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”
“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”
Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.
“Will do.”
When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale.
“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”
You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice.
“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive.
“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”
Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more.
Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby.
“I’m probably just overreacting.”
“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”
You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again.
“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”
“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”
Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink.
“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”
Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.
“Did he tell you that?”
“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”
There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words.
“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”
“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”
Your nose wrinkles.
“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk.
“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”
“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup.
“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”
You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant.
“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”
“He already was,” you admit.
“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”
He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it.
“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”
“It was really out of character for him,” you concede.
“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”
“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”
“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”
“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done.
“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”
You balk.
“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”
Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you.
Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him.
“I have to go wash my hands.”
It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom.
Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta.
Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever.
There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side.
“You in there?”
Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup.
The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?
“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing.
“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”
Yes.
The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating.
“Nope. Just washing my hands.”
This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him.
Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate.
You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed.
Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive.
Spencer attempts to speak again.
“What I said before, it was—”
“Can you just take me home?”
It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face.
You don’t know where it comes from, either.
Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms.
Too scared.
The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too.
You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room.
“Yeah. I can.”
Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final.
It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home.
That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do.
Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing.
A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet.
“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”
“Okay.”
But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move.
If only time would freeze before he could walk away.
But it doesn’t.
He sucks in a decisive breath.
“Okay,” he murmurs.
It’s that fucking phone call all over again.
Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.
Your time is up.
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid smut#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine
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Mrs. Cameron All But In Name
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader
Warnings: N/A
Pronouns: She/Her
Word Count: 0.7K
Summary: When Y/N has to burrow Wheezie's phone to text Rafe, she notices something interesting about her contact name.
A/N: Inspired by this post.
Masterlist
Y/N and Rafe have been dating for three years now and it is clear they are meant to be together. If it weren’t for their young age, Y/N is sure they would be married or at least engaged by now. They practically act like an old married couple anyway, so when they do tie the knot, it would only really be for legal reasons. With dating Rafe, came a close relationship with his sisters. Sarah and Wheezie have practically become her own siblings and she loves to spend time with the girls. In fact, it’s why she has a bi-monthly girls' night with the pair. Yes, every time they have it they have to chase Rafe out of the house, but Y/N thinks it is important to foster the bond between them, so he always begrudgingly leaves to hang out with Kelce and Topper. “How are things with you and John B?” Y/N questions while tracking the nail polish brush along Wheezie’s nail. Sarah shrugs as she files her nails, “We’re fighting right now. He doesn’t want to go to the Nassau house with us and I want him to go.” “Aww, that sucks, Sweetie. I’m sure he’ll come around. Do you want me to have a talk with him?” Y/N offers. Sarah shakes her head, “No, it’s okay. We’ll make up eventually. We just need to cool off a little.” Y/N nods and finishes off the last coat of Wheezie’s nails. She releases the hand, “There you go, Beautiful. What colour do you want, Sarah?”
Sarah places the nail file on the table and examines her options before picking up a salmon pink polish from the collection. Y/N gets to work on doing the older Cameron sister’s nails, “How about you, Wheezie? Anyone on your radar you want to tell us about.” Wheezie lips pucker as she squints her eyes. “Nahh, I am happy being single. I see what you and Sarah go through with John B and Rafe. I do not need that type of problem,” she informs. The other girls giggle. Y/N checks her phone to see it is dead, “Amen to that, Wheeze. I mean look. My phone is dead, but how much do you want to bet that your brother is blowing up my phone right now asking me when he can come back home? Can I please borrow one of your phones to tell him my phone is dead while I charge mine?” “Of course, here,” Wheezie says, unlocking her phone so that Y/N can use it.
She places the nail polish on the table and scrolls through Wheezie’s messages to find the texts with Rafe. A certain contact name second down the list catches her eye. Y/N Cameron. She freezes at the sight. Her eyes flick toward the younger girl, “Why do you have my last name as yours?” Wheezie’s cheeks redden and her gaze falls away from her brother’s girlfriend. “Rafe did it. He said that it’s going to be your name eventually, so what difference does it make,” Wheezie states. Y/N chuckles with a shake of her head, “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” She types out her message and hits send. My phone is dead, so don’t freak out if I don’t respond. I’m charging my phone rn. -Mrs. Cameron.”
———
His phone chimes and a massive grin crosses his face. He checks his text, feeling his heart flutter at the message. So she found out what he’d been saving her name as in everyone’s contact. He chuckles. It took her long enough to find out. He’s been ordering everyone to change her last name in their contact for years. His smile doesn’t wipe off as he responds. Come on, Baby. You know you are my Mrs. Cameron all but in name. You can’t blame me for wanting to make the process easier for everyone else once we do take the next step.
Smh. You really are something else, Mr. Cameron.
But I’m your something else, Mrs. Cameron, but you know you love me.
You are lucky that I do. Now, I’m going to end this conversation here before you start dirty-talking me. I’m not subjecting Wheeze to those texts.
You know me so well, Baby.
Goodbye, Rafey. I love you.
I love you too, Baby. I’ll see you when I get home.
Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron x reader#outer banks#rafe cameron imagine#outer banks fanfiction#rafe cameron x y/n#outer banks imagine#rafe fic#rafe obx#rafe outer banks#rafe imagine#rafe x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron x you#outer banks x reader#outerbanks#obx fic#obx fanfiction#obx imagine#obx#obx fanfic
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MEET ME IN MONTE CARLO. — jake sim. (teaser)
SYNOPSIS. As a Formula 1 driver, being competitive is just in Ferrari driver Jake Sim's blood. Perhaps Jake cares about winning too much though, because during his conquest for the world title, he loses you. It isn't until 2 years later when you show up at the Monaco Grand Prix with his main rival, Red Bull driver Park Sunghoon, when Jake finds himself determined to not only fight for the championship, but also to fight for you.
GENRE. fluff, angst, exes to enemies (one-sided ish) to lovers
PAIRING. formula 1 driver! jake x fem! reader
WARNINGS. none in the teaser. in the fic, cursing, mentions of car crashes and accidents
ESTIMATED RELEASE DATE. late march, early april
WORD COUNT. 20k ish, teaser is 883 words
AUTHOR'S NOTE. well... this will be my second to last fic for the meantime! i'm excited to drop this one. i've been working on it for quite a while now. here's a formula 1 fic starring our very own jake sim :) i hope you enjoy this little teaser, and the taglist is open so just pop in an ask if you'd like to be tagged when i post this <3
TAGLIST IS OPEN, send in an ask if you’d like to be added!
You were the first person that Jake Sim ever loved. You were there at his first Formula 1 race, you were there at his first race win, and you were there for his first world title win. A series of firsts.
But, Jake Sim has first breakup on the list as well.
He always regrets how things ended between you two – it was messy, it was awful, and it left him crying at 3 in the morning in his apartment.
Jake isn’t certain about many things in his life. But what Jake is 100% certain of, is that the breakup was all his fault.
You had screamed at him, and he knew that he deserved it. You were slowly slipping away from his grasp, and Jake allowed that to happen as he chased another world title so desperately. So desperately to the point that he would end up neglecting you.
Forgotten dates, forgotten anniversaries, and forgotten birthdays. Text messages would be left unread for days when he was in some other unfamiliar city, as you walked to your lectures with a heavy heart and the stream of his race playing in the back of your phone as you waited for a response. You wore red every time he had a race, for Ferrari, for him, even as your relationship was crumbling.
“I’m sorry,” he had choked out. “It is difficult.”
You looked at him with bloodshot eyes and shaking fists. “It is. And you’re chasing your dreams, but… I can’t be with you if it’s like this. The past few months have been like we weren’t even dating in the first place.”
Jake gulps. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I want to try,” you had said with an exasperated sigh, and Jake knows that you’re tired. He’s going at maximum speed, and you’re left trailing behind him. He’s so far ahead, and you know you’ve lost all hope of catching up. But you say those words anyway. “Please tell me you’ll try.”
Jake doesn’t say a word. Because he knows that he won’t be able to. He wants to say yes, so badly. He wants to hug you, he wants to kiss you, and he wants to commit. Just as he commits to his races, to the championship, to Ferrari.
But he can’t. Not a single word leaves his lips, and his silence is enough of an answer for you. “Oh,” you say, and Jake doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers, and your lower lip trembles. You’re dressed in red, Ferrari’s colour – his colour. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry.” he told you.
“It’s important to you.” you pressed your lips together in a thin line. “I understand.”
You say that, but Jake knows that you don’t. He knows nobody would ever be able to understand choosing to win over choosing someone you love. But Jake is committed to racing. He is committed to win.
Yet, he’s not committed to you. The one who’s been with him through thick and thin, the one who’d catch red-eye flights to find him in some unfamiliar city to watch him win, the one who’d go through hell and back for him if it meant that he’d be happy.
He can’t do the same for you, and he hates that.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and you simply shook your head. You don’t have anything more to say to him, so you quietly pack your things. “I’m sorry.”
Before you opened the door to leave, you took one last look at Jake. “I hope you figure out whatever’s going on in your life.” You don’t say anything more, and that is the last time Jake Sim ever sees you again.
He doesn’t know what you’re doing either, because you’d deleted your Instagram account, starting a new one where none of his fans could keep up to date with you. The only way he knows how you’re doing is updates from Heeseung's girlfriend Yoona, who goes on trips with you often. He sees his fans constantly wondering if you’re doing well, and Jake finds it funny how he’s got the same exact question.
He drowns himself further in training, in racing, in wanting to become the best after the split. He wins, he wins, and he wins again – and that feeling of euphoria when he stands on the podium never leaves. It fills him with a joy like no other, and it reminds Jake why he does this. He wants to win. He wants to be the best – no, he is the best.
Winning means the world to Jake Sim. Racing is in his blood – he does it to hear the crowds scream his name, he does it to lift that trophy on the top step of the podium, and he does it to feel the overwhelming pride in his chest when he crosses that chequered flag first.
But he’s been so focused on winning, and he’s lost his everything.
His everything is the girl who went to his first race. His everything is the girl who would tire herself by studying during the day, and catching long flights to the cities where he’d race in to support him.
And his everything had left him 2 years ago in his apartment in Monte Carlo, Monaco, with teary eyes and a red dress.
#enhanet#kflixnet#k-labels#enhypen imagines#enhypen oneshots#enhypen scenarios#enhypen au#enhypen fluff#enhypen angst#enhypen x reader#jake oneshots#jake imagines#jake au#jake fluff#jake scenarios#jake angst#jake x reader#jaeyun imagines#jaeyun oneshots#jaeyun scenarios#jaeyun au#jaeyun fluff#jaeyun angst#jaeyun x reader
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next time someone tries to tell me people don’t demonize and act violently toward trans men and transmascs, i’m just going to make them read this reply i got to a positivity post that was specifically about trans manhood and transmasculinity. this is basically just every negative thing people say no one says about us rolled into one message that’s aimed directly at us.
and as if this isn’t enough on its own, their whole blog is full of this disgusting shit. it seems to be dedicated to it, actually. (fair warning, don’t look at the next two screenshots if you don’t want to see even more genuinely awful transphobia.)
you can say what you want about how they’re probably just a troll or baiting or doing this for attention but the fact remains that, regardless of their true intentions, these are real things that a real person is saying about trans men&mascs, publicly and proudly and to our faces because they want it to do damage.
i’ve dealt with people like this before, on a much closer level. when i was a teenager, i had a grown woman come into my dms just to send me very graphic and detailed instructions on how to kill myself. literally entire paragraphs with all of the steps she wanted me to take. before i blocked her, i told her she was lucky she sent it to me and not someone more vulnerable, because otherwise she might have real blood on her hands. she just sent the whole thing again.
we can argue all day about infantilization versus demonization, erasure versus hypervisibility, what counts as violence, what words we use to talk about our oppression, and so on. but the reality is, whether you believe people want us dead or not, they clearly do, and a lot of them really aren’t making any effort to hide it. at this point, if you can’t see it, it’s because you don’t care about our lives enough to look at the reality that’s right in front of your face.
before you do anything else, block this person. don’t engage with them directly, don’t give them the satisfaction of the attention they might be fishing for, just block them. but don’t forget that they exist either, especially if you’re not a trans man or transmasc yourself. don’t just block them and move on and forget that there are real people out there who will say these things about us, who genuinely enjoy the thought that their actions might have deadly consequences.
because these are the people you empower to come out of hiding and start being blatant about their hatred when you insist that no one wants us dead, when you openly mock us and demonize us and try to cast us out from the community that we were supposed to share. when even our own people decide we’re an acceptable target, these bigots throw a fucking party because you’ve just told them they can get away with murder as long as it’s our blood on their hands. this particular blog was started recently, and i guarantee it’s not a coincidence that they started it in the midst of a rise in online anti-transmasculinity.
it really is telling, how much hate a positivity post has incited. y’all can’t stand when we talk about the bad things that happen to us, but you hate our happiness even more.
#i feel like i haven’t made a properly angry post in a while. so here’s this#tw suicide#tw suicide baiting#tw transphobic violence#examples of transandrophobia#transandrophobia#transandromisia#transmisandry#virilphobia#virilmisia#anti transmasculinity#transmascphobia#normally i add more general tags but i don’t feel right putting these screenshots in those tags
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bro code. pt.2
part two of this
part 3.
carlos sainz jr x reader.
fc: bruna marquezine.
note: thanks for the support it means so much to me! and english is still not my first language so this may contain mistakes krkrkr
liked by bellahadid, georginagio, carlossainz55 and 1 889 009 others.
y/n: your girl is single and ready to mingle.
_
fan1: girl what about carlos?
georginagio: stunning!
fan2: who was the man in your ig story?
fan3: omg the girl just got out of a seven years old relationship, LEAVE HER ALONE!!
fan4: y/n is her own person, she don’t need a man
liked by y/n.
carlossainz55: que guapa!
liked by y/n.
"so you asked him to be your fake boyfriend?" bella asked, trying her best not to laugh at your face. you rolled your eyes and threw a pillow at her. "yes, i did. and he was okay with it." you answered but added something else when you saw the look she was giving you. "okay, maybe i had to convince him a little bit and bribe him with a movie date but he said yes!" bella laughed. "he’s so in love with you, of course he said yes." you frowned. "no he’s not. i’ve known carlos forever, we’re just friends." you said, trying to convince your friend but she already stopped listening to you.
you met carlos through neymar, they weren’t close friends, only acquaintances, but you immediately clicked with the spaniard. he was funny, trustworthy, kind and charming. you liked him a lot, but only as a friend, right? you thought that this fake dating stunt would help you a lot because neymar didn’t know how to take no as an answer and kept harassing you. you explained the situation to carlos and he immediately said yes, kinda pissed off at your ex’s behaviour after what he put you through. the plan was simple, soft launch the relationship since the fans were already shipping the both of you, go on a few public dates and do this for a few months, so neymar would finally leave you alone.
simple right? well…
y/n just posted a story!
caption: guess who ☺️
liked by y/n, charles_leclerc, landonorris and 969 000 others.
carlossainz55: this account is going to be a y/n fanpage starting from now.
_
y/n: carlos clearly lied when i asked him if he knew what soft launch was BUT you’re cute so i’m not mad, amor
fan1: NZKDODODJZBDODPDPFPMF
fan2: MAMA Y PAPA
fan3: SMOOOTH OPERAAAATOOOOR
fan4: i know neymar is fuming rn
fan5: omgg congrats
fan6: carlos is such a cutie omg
"what’s wrong, mi cielo?" carlos asked you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. you were lost in your thoughts so you shivered at his touch. you smiled at him, "it’s nothing, just tired."
you were both sitting in carlos’s car, after having dinner together in some fancy restaurant carlos wanted to take you to. neymar was constantly calling you and sending you text messages, which you ignored but it was slowly taking a toll on you. he destroyed everything you both built in seven years, he destroyed your hopes for marriage and love, he basically destroyed you. and he still had the nerves to cling onto you like he was the victim.
"amor, you look pale, you sure you okay?" carlos asked again and you just looked at him while he stroked your cheek softly, you leaned against his touch and closed your eyes. "your hands are soft." you mumbled, slowly falling asleep. you heard him chuckle and remove his hand which made you complain. "kiss me." you immediately opened your eyes and looked at him. but when you noticed some paparazzis in the corner of your eye, you remembered that all of this was fake. he was being affectionate because cameras were filming you. you didn’t know why but you were nervous to kiss carlos. you’ve never been that close and he looked so… confident all the time. you were scared to mess it up. it’s fake, it’s all fake, don’t forget that.
carlos pulled you closer to him, and slowly kissed your lips, your cheeks were burning hot and you didn’t know what to do next. suddenly you were back in high school when you had your first kiss with your crush. after a few seconds, the two of you broke the kiss but stayed close to each other. eye to eye, carlos smiled at you and looked at your lips once again. "kiss me again." he said, in a murmur. "what? but they-" carlos cut you. "shut up and fucking kiss me."
the second kiss was more passionate, you never felt anything like it in your whole life. no one had ever kissed you the way carlos had. your hands were sweaty and you could feel a million of butterflies blooming in your stomach. that’s when you realised; you were doomed.
liked by f1lover, smoothoperator55, ferraribaby and 58 007 others.
f1news: BREAKING! We just received pictures of Carlos Sainz Jr and Y/N L/N kissing in the spaniard’s car. What a cute couple!
_
fan1: ODBDLOWLWPDPD
fan2: what in the booktok is that
fan3: the hand placements…
fan4: idk if i want to be y/n or carlos tbh
fan5: my fav couple
fan6: pls don’t ever breakup
fan7: NEYMAR DEACTIVATED HIS IG???
_
tag list: @ru-kru @slytherheign @iamahallucinationnn @leclerc16s
#f1 au#f1 fandom#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 instagram au#f1 social media au#f1 x oc#f1 x reader#f1 x you#carlos sainz f1#carlos sainz fanfic#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz x female reader#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz imagine#carlos sainz 55#carlos sainz x oc#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz#carlos sainz jr#formula one x y/n#formula one#formula one x reader#formula 1#formula one x you#formula one x oc
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endearing
Pairing: Idol!Mingyu x gn!reader
Word count: 1.1k
Genre: fluff, established relationship!AU, implied friends to lovers
Warnings: mentions of overthinking
A/N: Long time no see… I am finally done with my end semester exams and I can now post this one which has been in my drafts for agessss. But here you go besties, a cute and fluffy Mingyu blurb.
To say that there were a few instances where you were endeared by Mingyu would be an understatement.
Mingyu always had this effect on you. No matter what he’d be doing, you’d always find it cute and oh so lovely!
It started when you were still friends and you were at a party thrown by a mutual friend. Other than them, you only knew Mingyu at the party. And so you stayed next to him…You stayed from when you saw him at the makeshift bar sipping his drink, till the time he walked you to your car. He said it wasn’t safe to enter a parking lot alone, late at night.
That day, you drove home with a lingering feeling of guilt inside yourself. Sure, you liked Mingyu’s company but you didn’t want to hold him back from socialising just ‘cause you weren’t the best at talking to new people.
Months later, you shared this concern of yours to him. His reply was instant and short but it did wonders in calming you down.
‘That’s something I wanted to do for you, lovie. And if I’m doing it for you, it won’t hold me back.’
That’s when you realised that Mingyu always had a way with his words. And the way he would comfort you with just a few sentences was so endearing to you.
———————————————————————————
Another instance was on one of your initial dates. He suggested you both visit the street food market in your city.
While you stopped at various stalls to try the delicacies, you couldn’t resist looking at Mingyu’s face. He looked so content with all the dishes you both tried, the ones that you loved, and even the ones that you didn’t like so much.
‘Hmff! I don’t think I can eat anything more.’, he exclaimed as you relaxed on a bench. The cool breeze left behind a soothing effect on your face.
‘Oh…I thought we’d go have some ice cream at your favourite dessert store.’
‘Ofcourse we will.’, he said eagerly.
‘Didn’t you just say you won’t be eating anything else?’
‘Ice cream is always an exception, baby.’, he said immediately, winking at you.
You couldn’t argue with that.
That was when you realised…again. You found Mingyu’s habit of always being so content while eating so endearing. And maybe this is weird. But who are you kidding, you always think that he’s so adorable.
———————————————————————————
Your boyfriend had recently been to Italy with his group members. They had been ‘kidnapped’ by the staff of their own company along with Na PD. And while they were in Italy, your schedules didn’t match at all due to the different time zones.
And so you found a different way to stay in contact. Mingyu started sending voice notes summarising the occurrences of his entire day, to you. And while narrating these, he spoke oh so fast… He spoke as if he had a time limit to finish these voice messages. You’d always ask him to speak slowly in order for you to understand them.
And his response was, ‘This is how I always speak, isn’t it?…or maybe I got too excited’, he chucked and continued, ‘I’ll try to speak slowly next time, yeah? Don’t want you to miss on any of the details, lovie.’
So when you get a notification of the next voice message, you rush to listen to it. And you have two reasons to do so. One was obviously because you wanted to know about his day. And the second was to see whether he remembered his promise of speaking slowly.
After listening to the first few seconds, you were assured that he didn’t remember at all. And now you didn’t mind him speaking fast, maybe ‘cause you know that he speaks fast only when he’s very excited.
And you loved that. His habit of speaking fast when he was excited was endearing to you.
———————————————————————————
It was Sunday afternoon. You ordered burgers and fried chicken for lunch. The said lunch was done and the plates, washed. So Mingyu and you decided to watch a movie, the one that you had watched several times but never got bored of. It was your favourite ‘cause it had a happy ending(and because the male lead gave off strong Mingyu vibes). But you’d never tell him that.
You were sitting on the couch with your boyfriend’s head on your lap when you noticed that he was falling asleep.
‘Mingyu, you can go take a nap in the bedroom. That’ll be more comfortable, baby.’
‘Hmmm…no, let’s finish this movie.’
‘We know the ending, right. If you’re tired you should sleep for a while.’
‘I’m not tired, lovie. I get sleepy around you ‘cause I’m very comfortable with you.’, he said in a low voice, ‘You know, I read this somewhere that if you always feel sleepy around someone, that’s probably because you feel safe around them. And I realised that I’ve slept several times in your lap and while cuddling with you.’
You were speechless when he said that. Finally after a good minute of taking his words in, you couldn’t help but peck him on the forehead. That kiss was your response to his revelation. He simply took your hand in his and placed it on his cheek while he dozed off again.
His ability to say the most heartwarming things so casually was so endearing to you.
———————————————————————————
You were on a trip to the beach with Mingyu. Both of you loved the beach. It was your favourite place to go to even with a slight rise in the temperature. It was almost an hour later of being in the water and swimming when you caught sight of Mingyu standing at a distance where his feet would easily touch the land and he was facing the other side. You swam closer to him to see what he was up to. As you reached behind him, you could hear him chuckling softly. ‘What’re you laughing at?’, you asked him.
‘Oh baby, I’ll show you something, okay? Just do as I say.’
You nodded and looked up at him in anticipation after his instruction.
‘Okay, put your palms under the water and do a ‘thumbs up’ sign but only your thumbs should be seen outside the water.’
‘Umm, I don’t know what it’s gonna do, baby. I don’t get it.’, you said, confused.
‘Just do it for me, lovie.’
You did as he said, only keeping your thumbs out of the water. Looking at your thumbs that were now wrinkly from being in the water for too long, Mingyu burst into giggles. You watched him as he let out his cute, high-pitched giggles but you were still so confused. How was this funny to him?
Clearly he read the confused look on your face and spoke up, ‘I find silly things like this funny.’, as he continued to giggle while looking at your thumbs.
Maybe you’ll never understand the fun part in your wrinkly thumbs. And you don’t want to, as long as you can make Mingyu giggle. Even if it means doing several such silly tricks. Because Mingyu’s laughter was always so endearing.
#seventeen x reader#mingyu x reader#mingyu fluff#seventeen fluff#idol mingyu x reader#seventeen imagines#mingyu imagines#fanfiction#seventeen fics#mingyu fics#fluff#seventeen#mingyu#kim mingyu
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Mine
Remus Lupin x reader
Summary: Remus swears he's never been more in love.
Genre: Domestic fluff
Cw: None
Word count: 552
This is the first part of my Speak Now (Marauders' version) collection
"Flash forwards and we're takin' on the word together, and there's a drawer of my thing at your place"
"You are the best thing, That's ever been mine"
If there was something that had stuck with Remus after his years at Hogwarts, it was waking up as soon as the sun raised. Opposite to his girlfriend who tried to make the most of her time in bed, meaning that she usually slept in through the morning during the weekend.
Therefore it was a common occurrence for Remus to be the one waking up to make breakfast when you were at his place. However, it wasn’t common for him to feel your arms wrapped around his middle while he was making tea.
“Good morning, darling” he said, a smile creeping into his face when he heard you mumbling a good morning back, your head pressed against his back. “Did you sleep well?” he asked while turning around to wrap his arms around you.
“Would’ve been better if you hadn’t left the bed so early, I missed you.” you replied, earning a soft giggle from Remus.
He raised one of his hands to rest on your head, patting it lovingly. That made you hum against his chest, he made you feel safe and loved with a simple gesture like that, if he kept going you were sure you would fall asleep right there.
“Are you wearing my clothes?” Remus asked when he finally took in your appearance.
You nodded, face still pressed against his chest. “What else would I wear, we are at your place.” you stated as if it were a matter of fact.
Remus couldn’t help but chuckle at that. You’ve been together for years now, and even though you insisted on having your own place to “learn to be independent before living with another person”, as you always said when your friends asked why you two didn’t live together. You spent most of your days at his place, a little cottage in the outskirts of Cornwall.
“I’m pretty sure half of the wardrobe is full of your things” he said, a fond smile adorning his face when you finally looked up at him.
“I don’t know what you are talking about, plus, you clothes are comfier”
He just laughed at your response and looked into your eyes. Seeing you with his clothes,
and the sight of your sleepy face being hit by the morning sun coming through the window made his smile widen more, if it was possible. He felt like he was falling in love all over again.
“What are you staring at?” you asked him, poking your finger in his side to get his attention as he appeared to be lost on his thoughts.
“Can’t I stare at my beautiful girlfriend?” he said, voice filled with affection.
“Hmm I think there’s a price you have to pay for that.”
“Oh yeah? Which one would it be?” he inquired,his frame leaning slightly towards you.
You pretended to contemplate for a second before answering “I think a kiss would do the job.”
“I’ll give you as many kisses as you want.” he said before kissing your lips repeatedly.
You giggled at his affection “I love you, Rem.” you said genuinely when he stopped.
“I love you too, honey.” he sighed, thinking about how lucky he was to have you in his life and pledging to himself to protect this, the best thing that had ever been his, forever.
Note: this is the first Drabble for the collection, is pretty short and fluffly, they'll get longer... If you want to be added to the taglist of the event, send me a message or ask!
Series' taglist: @feral-posts @izuoyarmin @aremuslupinsimp
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unconventional methods - chapter 1
Summary: Bucky Barnes has a big problem: he is too anxious to date and too old school to enjoy porn. But he needs some kind of relief, and he needs it right now.
After getting an accidental boner during a mission, Natasha suggests him an application that seems to be exactly what he needs.
Will your content solve the problem for him? Or will it create new problems?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader (SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes x Adult Content Creator Reader)
Word Count: 5.7K
Warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, sex deprivation, adult content creation, sexy lingerie, sexy photos and videos, male masturbation, self-doubt, overthinking, flirting, sexting, sending explicit content to each other, pet names, mutual masturbation, jealousy, feeling possessive (nothing toxic), hiding the real identity, no mention of y/n.
A/N: This was such a random idea but as I started to think about it, more details came to me. After a point, it became impossible not to write.
In this story, Bunny is the reader but we view most of the story from Bucky’s side so there’s no use of you during the story. We don’t know what the reader is up to, how she feels about stuff. Only as much as Bucky knows or sees. That’s why the reader is mentioned as she mostly.
>> indicates incoming messages and << indicates outgoing messages in this story.
This story is not exactly how it seems but I don’t want to spoil it by revealing things too soon. Just stick around, if you wanna know how things will turn out to be.
Again, a big thank you to @notafunkiller for helping me every step of the way. She helped me the moment I felt stuck or something felt off, beta read the whole story and turned this into a readable piece. Thanking her won’t be enough. I would literally add her as a co-writer if that was possible on Tumblr.
All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.
Every like, comment and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message me or send me a question regarding the stories I write. I would love to talk about it and no, it would never bother me as long as it’s not a hate comment. They are never welcome.
Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.
Bucky wasn’t sure if he should do this. He looked at the paper Natasha handed him and then back at the screen again. The internet browser was open for a while, but he couldn’t decide what to do. It felt weird to be in this position. It didn’t feel right… but why was it wrong again? She was sharing her own content: whatever she was comfortable with. They were all there for people to see if they wanted to, right? He took a deep breath, started to type the link Natasha wrote down for him, and pushed enter quickly before he changed his mind.
The page loaded quickly, but all he could see was her profile picture and the header. There was a huge subscribe button and under it, he could see how many posts she had, different subscription options, etc. He scrolled back up to look at her photos. They were not clickable, but her profile picture was her in blue lingerie and cute bunny ears, which made him smile for a second. Then he looked at the header. She was on all fours, staring directly into the camera. It was a different look. Not that “I’m trying to look sexy” look that usually turned him off when it came to porn. It felt genuine somehow. How genuine it could be under these circumstances…
He looked at her profile picture for a while, thinking what could go wrong? A lot of people were doing this, weren't they? Some people were making money, some were paying for it. It wasn't that different from buying a dirty magazine. No, actually this was better because she had all the creative control over her own content. She was the one putting it out there. If that was not consent, then what was? He quickly created an account for himself, using a new email account like Natasha suggested. He didn’t need anyone to find out about this.
The next part felt like falling into a rabbit hole because dear god… She looked gorgeous! She had some free content that didn’t show much. Different poses in different lingerie. The photos were serving their purpose, making you want to subscribe and see more… of her. So he kept looking for a while.
There was something about her that made her so much more attractive, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He clicked next, looking at her pic in front of the mirror, with her legs wide open, but not actually showing anything. The slight smile on her face was warm and inviting. He knew he had no other option than to subscribe and see all of her content. He needed to see more.
The process didn't take long. After unlocking the special content, he just stared at the screen. How can she be real? He palmed his face, feeling nervous like he was on a first date with this attractive woman. He knew he wasn't. She was way out of his league, but he still felt nervous and intrigued while checking out all the content. There were so many different options and he didn’t know where to start.
At first, he decided to go slow and just check a couple of nude photos. The pics were in order, showing her getting rid of one piece of clothing with each new shot. It started with her fully dressed, looking super sexy: short skirt, modest cleavage, looking all cute. First, the skirt was gone, then her top, and she was left standing in her pastel pink lingerie that covered her chest completely, but it was lacy and see-through. It was fitting her like it was custom-made. He couldn’t stop himself and kept swiping, finding different concepts. His cock was pressed against his pants, aching for attention as he was unable to look away.
After spending god knows how long on her profile, Bucky finally couldn’t take it anymore. This was the point of all this, wasn’t it? Creating the need at the right time to please himself, so he wouldn’t get random erections during the missions… He unzipped himself and finally freed his cock. Still, his hands didn’t go there directly. He kept looking at her profile, discovering other features: like videos she uploaded while getting off!
“Dear god…” He gulped after seeing the thumbnail. She had a dildo in her hand. There was no way he was not going to click on this. No way!
He watched her taking her sweet time, teasing herself and, of course, the viewers, then getting really wet and adding lube on top of it before she pushed the dildo inside. The moan she let out sent a powerful jolt through his whole body. It was so beautiful and felt so fucking authentic, nothing like those fake, unrealistic porn moans. They were always a huge turn-off. This, on the other hand, was too much to handle. His cock was dripping so much precum, begging him for some attention. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this turned on. Either it never happened or it was so long ago, it doesn’t matter anymore.
He finally reached for the lube, poured a generous amount into his flesh hand, and quickly grabbed his cock.
“Fuck.” It felt so sensitive. Like he had been edged for the last hour. Maybe he had been… after all the content he went through.
His fingers were loose, moving up and down slowly while the most beautiful girl he ever laid eyes on was pleasing herself on the screen. He didn’t want this to end too soon. He wanted to take his sweet time and maybe imagine she was the one doing this to him. That was a nice image: her between his legs, looking up at him with those big eyes while she moved her hand up and down slowly, torturing him, not letting him come until she said so.
His breath shuttered at the thought, his fingers moving faster than before, like they have their own mind. His cock was grateful, but no, he didn’t want to come before the video was done. Somehow it felt like disappointing your date during your first sex.
Luckily, she started to shatter, moaning as she came on the dildo she was riding. And the noises she made immediately sent him over the edge.
“F-f-fuck,” he slurred as he started to come. It felt good, really good. He lost himself in pleasure and kept stroking until he emptied himself. Until he felt that overstimulation creeping in. That was when he noticed he closed his eyes. When he opened them back up, the video was done and the black screen with a play again button welcomed him.
Disappointment washed over him. She wasn't there with him. Even if he came before the video was done, she wouldn’t know. There was no one to disappoint. He was alone in his bedroom, jerking off to a computer screen, but in his defense, the girl was hot. Really hot.
He took a deep breath, letting himself enjoy the afterglow. That was the point of all this: enjoying small stuff like satisfaction without going through the tedious process of meeting new people. He reached for the wet wipes and cleaned himself quickly. As he clicked the exit button on the video, he saw another one. It must be old because she looked a bit younger, and her hair was a little lighter. Also, it looked like a short one so he clicked on it.
“Hey. Thank you so much for subscribing.” This was the first time he heard her voice. It was soft and calm. “I know this isn’t conventional, but I enjoy sharing content like this. Don’t judge me if you don’t wanna be judged, okay?” She winked and god, it was adorable. “I'll try to share new content every Wednesday. I hope to see you here. Feel free to message me if you like. Take care.”
If he hadn’t come thirty seconds ago, he would have gotten hard again after hearing her voice. He was glad even the super soldier serum had some limits. Before his body could recover from his intense orgasm, he closed the window and decided to go take a shower.
-------
The next week passed in a blur. There were missions, briefings, and someone’s birthday… He didn’t care whose. It was not someone from the main team, that was all he knew. He was eating his cake in the corner, minding his own business when Natasha sat next to him.
“Hey.” She tried to sound as casual as possible.
“Hey.”
“You look better.”
Bucky looked at her confused.
“Does that supposed to be a compliment, Romanoff?”
“It’s a simple statement, Barnes. It looks like you took my advice and gave yourself a break.” Bucky averted his gaze from her. “No accidental erections during missions, congrats.”
“It was one time, Natasha. One time. When will you let it go?”
“Whenever you tell me about your… experience.”
“My experience?” He looked back at her, with the same confused expression all over again.
“I wanna know if you liked her or not. I don’t need details.”
“Why do you care so much about it? She’s just a random girl.” He lied to her. She wasn’t. At least not to him. He had been checking her account anytime he got a chance. This whole week, he had been masturbating more than he ever did before. Sometimes even the thought of her was turning him on so randomly, he was starting to get worried, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from checking for updates.
She was sharing content very regularly. Sometimes they were new photoshoots, and sometimes just random cute photos in pajamas. He didn’t know which content he was looking forward to the most. All he knew was he loved how genuine it felt she was.
“I’m just noisy. So tell me…”
“Yes, Natasha, I like her. She’s cute and hot, exactly what I was looking for. What do you want, a thank you?”
Bucky really had no idea how Natasha managed to hit the bull's eye when she suggested this girl to him. She was absolutely his type, so he could say thank you for this, but nothing more.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Thank you.” It was Natasha’s turn to feel confused because in all the time they spent together with Barnes, he never once thanked her. This was a first.
“Wow. You really like her.” She sounded proud of herself.
“Hey, Buck!” The moment Bucky heard Sam’s voice, he jumped off the couch. He didn’t want to spend another minute talking about his irrational crush with Natasha. It was pointless.
-------
As the time passed, Bucky felt like he was addicted to her content. He was checking his phone much more often than before, just to see if she shared something. He didn’t notice it until Sam pointed it out and asked if he got a girlfriend or something. He quickly denied that possibility, finding a lame excuse. He wasn’t sure if Sam bought it or not, but he definitely needed to check his phone less often.
When he came back home, he felt so tired. The whole day was full of meetings and he let himself be consumed by the details just not to think about her. It was Wednesday, which meant new content, yet he still tried to stay away from his phone.
He literally consumed every content she ever shared. There was no photo or video on her profile he didn't see. There were some he masturbated to more than once. He just wanted to take a step back and if he could manage this, he would feel less of a creep. The problem was he was home and he had nothing to do.
He tried to distract himself with food at first, and it only worked for 15 minutes. Then he took a shower, which took even less. Watching television didn’t even last more than 5 minutes, so he decided to go to sleep, but his mind kept wandering to her. He wanted to know what she shared and how she looked. Finally, he gave in and opened her profile… to see nothing. Since yesterday she shared literally nothing. That was so unlike her. She shared something every day and she never missed Wednesdays. He didn’t care about the lack of new content. It worried him that he doesn’t know if she was alright. Why wouldn’t she be? Maybe she was busy. He tried to calm himself down but falling asleep was impossible.
Then he made a promise to himself: if she won't share anything by noon the next day, he would message her. That thought calmed him down a little.
-------
The next day, Bucky forgot that he was trying to avoid checking his phone in public. His body was at work, but his mind was stuck on… her. He kept looking at her profile to see something, anything to assure himself you’re alright, but there was literally nothing. Complete silence. When it was finally noon, he had no patience left. Normally, he wouldn’t even consider sending a message, but he was just worried. And it didn’t occur to him that it was not his place to be concerned about this woman.
He opened her profile and clicked on the direct messages feature. His mind was completely blank. He had no idea what to say, looking at the screen for a couple of seconds as he trying to collect his thoughts.
“Hey.” That’s all he could come up with. How to say you are worried about someone who has no idea you even exist? It was ridiculous, but there was no way he could just wait and do nothing. “I’m sorry for bothering you. I hope you are alright. You have been absent lately. It could be something totally personal, I know that, but you never miss Wednesdays. So I wanted to check in to see if you are fine. I really hope you are.”
He took a deep breath after he pressed send. It was a long shot for sure. He didn’t really expect an answer. Maybe a seen. And that would be more than enough.
-------
An unfamiliar chime got Bucky’s attention. It surely came from his phone, but he never heard that sound before. When he took his phone out and saw the notification, his heart skipped a beat, just for a second. It was a message from her. The nervous feeling spread through his body like poison, sweat pooling on his forehead before he even clicked on it.
>> Hey, handsome. Thank you for checking in. I have been a bit busy and sick at the same time. Not the best combo. Sorry for missing the content day. I will make it up next Wednesday.
Bucky looked at the message, a bit confused. He wasn’t interested when the new content was gonna drop. He just wanted to know if she was okay. Being busy and sick at the same time didn’t look so. Content should have been the last thing she should be worried about.
<< I’m not worried about the content, darling. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.
He definitely didn’t expect her to respond this quickly, it didn’t even take a minute.
>> Really? I thought you’d miss me.
She was talking like she knew him personally. Like they have chatted before. It was weird and comforting at the same time.
<< I did miss seeing your cute little face, I’m not gonna lie, but I didn’t message you for that. Content can wait until you feel better.
>> My cute little face is a little bit unpresentable and I appreciate your concern. It’s refreshing to see someone actually cares how I am feeling instead of why I did not share anything lately.
<< I’m sure your cute little face is still the cutest thing on the face of the earth. I wouldn’t worry about being presentable.
>> Get ready for a jumpscare.
He had no idea what that meant, but the text was followed by a selfie: her, in bed, looking rather exhausted, with a messy bun, cute pajamas, and a cup of tea in her hand. Bucky quickly googled what jumpscare means and came back to the messaging screen.
<< You clearly don’t know what jumpscare means. It would be me, in a dark hallway or an alley. That’s real jumpscare. This is a cute lady who needs a bit of time to recover.
>> First darling, now cute lady. Are you sure you aren’t 60 years old?
<< Why, do you have an age limit?
>> For my content? No.
<< And for other stuff?
>> The answer is still no, but are you?
<< 60? No. I’m 107.
>> How do you know how to use the app at 107?
That question made Bucky laugh a little, but he chose to be honest.
<< If I don’t know something I just google it.
>> Shouldn't you be semi-dead at 107?
<< I should be fully dead yet I’m still here.
>> Your profile says 33. Why are you lying handsome?
<< Believe me, my body and soul are older than 33.
>> I kinda believe that because you are talking differently.
<< Is it why you are answering my messages?
>> That and I feel a bit lonely. Your message sounded cute. I usually end the conversation before it gets too far.
<< What’s too far for you?
>> When they start demanding private pictures or try to sext.
Bucky had to google once again what sext means, just to be sure, and it was exactly what he thought it would be.
<< But you sent them to me.
>> Just one picture. A sick selfie and you didn’t ask for it. I thought it would turn you off really badly and you would say take care and end the convo.
<< I still think you look cute.
>> I am starting to believe you might be cute as well.
-------
Bucky had no idea how things got this far with her. After that message, they were literally sending texting each other daily. Just checking in, asking random stuff, or getting to know each other. It was not the same every day. Sometimes it was just a couple of messages and dead silence. Sometimes they communicated all day, non-stop, but Bucky didn’t mind. He didn’t mind not talking to her every day. Knowing that she was okay gave him a bit of peace. Just a good morning or a good night message was enough to ease his anxiety.
>> Good morning, handsome.
That was the text he woke up to, that made him smile almost all day. Every time he remembered her calling him handsome or taking time to send a message to him, it made him happy. It made him feel different than others. He knew that was not the case. Maybe she kept talking to him because he didn’t make her uncomfortable. Maybe she talked to others too. He had no idea, but whenever he thought about her messaging someone else, he felt a faint pain in his stomach. He knew this feeling was irrational, so he avoidedto think about it as much as possible.
<< Good morning, bunny.
<< Is your favorite color pink?
He randomly asked as he had been doing all week. The question came to him because he noticed she wore that color a lot.
>> No, it’s light blue. Why?
<< You wear pink a lot, that’s why I asked.
>> That’s what they like. Most men still think blue is a manly color.
<< You look divine in blue. It’s their loss really.
Her answer was a picture of her in blue lingerie. It surprised him because that photo was not on her profile. He remembered seeing this set, but not this exact photo. He kept looking at the pic for much longer than he should have. Another message woke him up from his trance.
<< I take that as you like it.
>> This photo is not on your profile.
<< No, it’s not.
>> But you feel fine sending it to me.
<< You said I look divine in blue.
>> You do. I’m just surprised you sent me a photo you didn’t share before. I’m glad you feel comfortable.
<< I’m pretty comfortable talking to you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t talk to someone whose name I don’t know.
>> I don’t know your name either, bunny.
<< You are a smart man. Most assume this is my real name.
>> Using your real name would be an unnecessary risk.
<< Is that why you don’t call me Viv?
>> Maybe. I wasn’t doing it on purpose. Why are you calling me handsome?
<< I don’t know, I never really thought about it.
>> Yeah, exactly. You don’t know what I look like but you are calling me handsome.
<< I would love to see what you look like, but I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable.
>> I’m sure what you are imagining is much better than the reality, bunny.
<< Why do you call me bunny?
>> Because of your profile photo. The bunny ears. You look really cute.
-------
Bucky was in the middle of debriefing. After a really long mission, he was finally back in New York. He wondered if Bunny messaged him. That was what he’d been calling her in his mind for a while and suddenly, he realized it might be too weird. Was he getting too creepy? Too comfortable? They didn’t even know each other properly. The last time they talked, she asked him why he didn’t use Viv. Maybe that was a signal for him to go for the fake name instead of his nickname.
“Barnes.” Fury’s voice brought him back to reality.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked if you want to add anything else.” His voice was firm.
“No, no. Romanoff covered it well.”
“Good. Rest for a couple of days. We will be going back to finish what we started.”
When Bucky finally reached out for his phone, Natasha was smiling in the corner.
“Does he have a secret girlfriend?” Sam asked.
“Maybe. I have no idea.” She lied.
-------
>> Good morning, old man.
>> Busy day?
>> I got a funny story to tell you, but you aren’t around.
>> Please tell me I didn’t offend you with the nickname.
>> I am messaging you a lot, aren’t I? I should leave you alone.
>> I’m sorry…
Bucky’s heart was racing as he read the messages. He should’ve warned her about not being online for a while. Instead, she thought she did something wrong. He looked at the message screen, trying tocome up with a good response to assure her that he wasn’t offended. He was an old man after all. What was there to get offended?
<< Hey. I’m sorry. I was away for work. There was no signal. I did not see your messages before.
<< Just know that you never bother me. You can message me as much as you want. Whenever you want and I will answer when I can.
<< And you know I should be the one to worry if I’m bothering you or creeping you out. Not you.
<< If you still wanna tell me that funny story, I’m here to listen, Viv.
Bucky wasn’t sure if she would reply. After all, she didn’t get a message from him for a while. Maybe he’d already lost his chance… But then his phone chimed.
>> Viv? Where did Bunny go?
>> 🐰
<< You want me to call you Bunny?
>> I got used to it.
<< Okay, Bunny. If that’s what you want.
This made him feel better. Maybe he was just overthinking. She didn’t seem to mind half of the things he was thinking about.
<< Should I get used to being called old man?
>> Does it bother you?
<< It doesn’t. I am an old man.
>> You are 33 if you didn’t lie while creating your profile.
<< Biologically, yes.
>> But you feel older, so you don’t mind.
>> I’m glad you are back.
<< I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you about work.
>> It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.
That last message broke his heart. He knew she was right. He didn’t owe her anything, but that wasn’t the reason why he was explaining himself. He was doing it because he wanted to, and a small part of him wanted to owe her an explanation. He also wanted her to owe him an explanation. Yet he knew that wasn’t the case.
<< Is that how you feel?
>> Isn’t that how I should feel? I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know what you look like. I just know I like talking to you. If that’s the only thing you are willing to do, then it’s fine by me. I mean you could be married or engaged and I wouldn’t know. So it’s fine, you don’t have to explain yourself.
Bucky looked at the message for a while, digesting what she was saying. She was right. She had no information about who he was while he had access to her all of her content and now private messages. She was completely exposed, and he didn’t even share his name with her. Why would she trust him? Why would she owe him any explanation at all?
<< It’s James.
>> Nice to meet you, James 🐰
>> You have such a beautiful name.
-------
After he shared his name with her, something changed between them. Something subtle, but it meant a lot to Bucky. It felt like she was more open, and more curious now.
>> What are you wearing?
Bunny’s question caught him off guard. He looked at himself in panic. He was sitting on the floor, only with his boxers on, so there was no way he could tell her the truth.
<< Pajamas, you?
>> What kind of pajamas? I’m guessing old man pajamas but…I never saw an old man in old-school pajamas. Maybe you can show me.
Shit, shit, shit.
Lying to her was a huge mistake. He had no pajamas to put on. He only had a couple of pants, and henleys, and maybe three jackets. Natasha always made fun of him for wearing the same stuff over and over again. She was trying to hit a nerve so he would go buy something new, but it didn’t work, of course. Now, he wished it did.
He started to panic a little, looking around to find a solution. I could cover my body, a voice in his head said. And that’s what he did. He laid down, covered himself with his blanket, and took the picture. His face wasn’t in the frame, just the tip of his chin. Since he shaved this morning, his dimple was showing. He used his vibranium hand to take the selfie, and in this way, it looked like a normal photo.
It was too late when he noticed the fact that he laying on the floor, not in bed was visible. He cursed to himself while waiting for her answer. There was no way she wasn’t going to comment about the absence of the bed. No way.
>> I am not seeing any pajamas or your body, old man. It is that bad?
Bucky took a breath of relief. Maybe she did not even notice. After all, she wanted to see him. Maybe she didn’t even pay attention to his surroundings.
Or maybe she just didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. That thought changed his mind. He literally saw every part of her body. Sending a picture back in his boxers shouldn’t be a big deal, right? He stood up and extended his vibranium arm. The new selfie was quite similar except this time he was showing a lot of skin. Starting from the tip of his chin, he showed his upper body only. He looked at the photo before sending it: upper body and black boxers. No bare legs and no face.
>> I see no pajamas. And this body doesn't belong to an old man at all. Are you lying to me, James?🤨
He might have made a mistake by sending this picture. There was no way he could prove to her this is actually him. Especially after all that old man talk. While he was thinking about what he’s gonna do next, he got another message.
>> Cat got your tongue?
<< A bunny did actually.
>> You look good, James. Really good, but you don’t seem excited.
Her response confused him.
<< Excited?
>> Maybe you need a photo to get excited.
Before he could ask what that means, she sent him a pic of her. Definitely not professionally taken. It’s her in front of the mirror, wearing only shorts and covering her naked breasts with one of her hands while taking the picture with the other.
>> Hope this helps.
>> But if you wanna see more, you gotta share more.
<< You're very beautiful, bunny, but I hope you know this was not my intention. I was waiting for you to tell me that funny story.
Her response was another photo: a close up on her covered breasts. She looked like she was about to drop her hand and reveal it like he did not see them before.
>> I know.
>> So does this mean you're not excited? I was trying something here…
>> I can tell you the story if that’s what you’d rather do.
“Fuck…” Bucky cursed out loud. He was really good at this before. Flirting and finding the best possible response were easy back in the 40s, but it didn’t feel like that anymore. He was constantly worried about doing something wrong or creeping her out. He wanted to hear the story, but he really wanted to see her breasts too.
<< What do I have to do to see more?
>> I’ve just told you. Share more to get more.
Oh, so she wanted more photos of him, and he literally had no idea how to take flattering pictures.
>> Maybe start by showing me if the photos worked or not.
He looked down at himself and saw his rock-hard cock. How is he supposed to show her? Maybe I should mimic her photos. He touched the outline of his dick, making it a little more visible before taking a picture.
<< Is it clear enough?
>> Oh, you got really excited, didn’t you Jamie?
>> Not an old man after all.
He loudly groaned when he saw what she called him. Jamie. God! He felt a jolt of arousal the moment he read the nickname. He was sure he got even a little harder if that’s possible.
Before he could find an answer, Bunny sent him another photo. This time her palm was stretched on her breasts, fingers not hiding much anymore, but still, her tits weren’t completely visible. Yet he could see how erect her nipple was. He already had a lot of dirty thoughts: like taking her nipple into his mouth and torturing her before giving in. He just didn’t know if he should voice them or not.
<< Oh, that nipple…
>> What about it?
<< You wanna hear what I am thinking about?
>> Well, since I’m trying to tempt you here… What do you think?
<< Fuck, Bunny. You have no idea what you are doing to me.
>> I am dying to hear it though.
Instead of telling her, Bucky decided to show her. He tried to position himself in front of the camera and take a good photo of his erection. He tried a couple of different angles, but it was a dick after all. Nothing he tried seemed to make it seem more appealing in his view. When he finally sent the picture, he added a small text.
<< How about I show you instead?
>> Oh my god!
>> You were hiding that from me all this time?
>> Damn, I feel robbed.
<< Does this mean you like it, doll?
>> Oh, that’s new.
>> And I like it.
>> Maybe even better than Bunny.
>> And yes, I am actually drooling right now even with that horrible angle.
<< Horrible angle? How should I do this then? I never...
>> Do you want me to teach you, old man? Because I can.
<< I’m always open to learning new stuff. That’s the only thing you can always rely on.
>> Ohh, I love that. Open-minded, doesn’t mind taking criticism, no fragile masculinity. All very hot.
>> Try taking a picture in front of the mirror maybe. Don’t take the picture from above or too down. Try to use eye level if you aren’t particularly doing something. That works better.
Using a mirror wasn’t a good idea for him. He could imagine the photos looking better like that, but there was no way he could hide his metal arm.
So instead of positionin his camera above, he tried to level it down, showing his full length and thickness. A photo didn’t seem to work so he decided to record a short video of him playing with himself: his flesh hand going up and down slowly on his full length. He couldn’t help but let a low moan when his hand brushed against the head. Fuck, imagining her seeing this… The idea turned him on even more. He got so excited that he forgot to check the video before sending it.
>> Fuck, James.
>> Fuck fuck fuck.
>> Your voice is so fucking hot.
>> And you are so aroused. Is it all for me?
<< It’s all for you, doll.
<< This is what you do to me. All the time.
<< God, I wish you were here.
Bunny or Doll, he had no idea which one suits her better, sent a video as the response: her fingers, two of them, going in and out inside her. She was going pretty fast, indicating she had been doing this for a while, and there was a faint moaning in the background, which Bucky couldn’t get enough of. He watched the video twice before answering.
>> You are gonna be the death of me.
>> Are those fingers enough? Do you want a third one or maybe you would rather have a big dildo inside?
<< I would rather have you inside me.
After this point, everything felt like a blur. Things got out of hand, they kept exchanging photos and videos until they both got pretty powerful orgasms. Yet James found himself wanting more. So much more than she probably wanted to offer.
>>> Next Chapter
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes imagine#marvel x reader#sebastian stan#marvel fanfiction#bucky barnes angst#bucky barnes x yn#bucky x female yn#winter soldier#bucky barnes fluff#bucky x you#my stories#unconventional methods
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Should We Try Again? 1/2 (toxic!Rafe Cameron x toxic!reader)
Summary: Rafe tries to accuse you of cheating, and you did some snooping of your own. And when Rafe found out you went through his phone, you were in for it.
Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, Topper is a really good friend in this fic, reader is black, dark themes (choking, threats, arguing, name calling, overall just toxic behavior)
If any of these making you uncomfortable, pls don’t read. Take care of yourselves.
**
You and Rafe had one of your fights again. The yelling match, screaming in each other’s face kind of fight.
The kind of fight where the police gets called because someone heard glass breaking and shouting.
This particular time, he logged into your Instagram and founded close to 50 DMs from guys commenting on your stories where you posted your OOTDs.
You never opened any of the DMs but there were too many to go unnoticed.
“Do you get off on having other guys want you or something? Huh?” He starts as he abruptly forces his way into the bathroom where you were showering.
“What are you talking about, Rafe?” You snark, ringing out the water from your hair.
“What the hell is this?” He rips the shower curtain open.
“Rafe!” You scold, shutting off the water so none leaks onto the floor. He shoves his phone in your face and repeats, “What the hell is this?”
“They’re DMs, Rafe. Why are you talking to me like I did something wrong?”
“Because you did do something wrong by not blocking these sons of bitches. You like the attention, don’t you? You fucking slut.”
“Don’t you dare call me a slut, asshole. It’s DMs. They don’t mean shit!”
You close the shower curtain so you can resume your shower when he ripped it open again.
“Oh it means something when they’re sending dick pics, Y/N! They want to fuck you!”
“It doesn’t matter if they want me because I’m with you, Rafe. Not them.” You tried to reason.
You were already exhausted from work and you really didn’t need this right now.
“You’ve been sending them nudes, haven’t you?” “Are you fucking serious, Rafe?” “Do I look like I’m joking right now?” He says flatly, his nose flaring angrily.
“No, I haven’t sent anybody nudes. I didn’t even know they sent me dick pics because I don’t open them, Rafe.” He gives you a pointed look and you crossed your arms as a challenge.
It was clear you weren’t going to shower in peace so why not add some fuel to this fire.
“You’re such a hypocrite, you know that? Shame on me for having fifty unopened DMs but everything is okay when you have hundreds of opened DMs?” You antagonize, slowly stepping out of the shower with suds still on your body.
You watch as his face fell for a few seconds before it hardens once again.
“You’ve been going through my phone?” He asks. “Of course I have! Because I know you’ve been in my phone, desperate to find secrets to use against me. So I figure why not dig up some secrets of my own.”
“Y/N,” he warns lowly, taking a step towards you.
“What did you find?” He wrote down a few things about the cross.
Like where he’s already looked and potential places where it might be. But he hid those notes behind a passcode in his journal.
There were also a few texts of Ward asking ‘if it was taken care of’. Garret’s body.
There was no way you could figure out the passcode, right?
“What are you so scared I would find?” You questioned, purposely being vague. There was no point in being specific, if he was going to connect the dots for you.
His anxiety got the best of him and he wraps a hand around your throat, giving it a warning squeeze.
“Stop being cute and tell me what you saw.” He orders.
There wasn’t a constant pressure so you were able to breathe fairly normal. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his mind.
“I only went through your social media and some of your messages. Nothing else.” His hand twitched around your throat when you mentioned messages.
“I just wanted to see if you were texting others girls.” You added, wrapping your hands around his wrist.
“What else?” “Nothing else, I swear.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Y/N.” “I’m not lying to you.” He pulls away from your throat and you instinctively touched your collar bone.
His gaze softens when you stepped away from him. He itched to get close to you and apologize for over reacting, but he still wasn’t sure that you didn’t know about the gold and the bodies.
So his hands remained by his sides, tightening every so often.
“What are you protecting?” You asked cautiously. “Don’t pull that shit again.” He states before storming out of the bathroom and slamming the front door of your house.
That was a few days ago, and you haven’t spoke to each other since. The most interaction you’ve had was him viewing your story. That’s it.
You’ve been going straight home after work, not wanting to interact with anyone unless you had to.
But a small part of you wished you’d come home to Rafe waiting for you on your door step or him come to see you during your break.
But he never did. That was enough for you to come to the conclusion that he stopped caring about you.
He was so worried about protecting something or someone that was willing to choke you out to protect it.
You’ve seen him anxious about a few things but nothing set him off like you did that night.
You were watching one of your comfort movies with your fleece blanket wrapped around you, eating some stir fry you ordered on UberEats when your phone chimed.
Topper: hey you doing okay?
Tossing the phone back on the bed, you used the chopsticks to dip a piece of beef into the speciality sauce before eating it.
Your phone chimed again.
Topper: We were friends before you started dating Rafe, remember? I care about you too.
You: I assume Rafe told you everything?
Topper: Just that you had an argument and you’re on a break
You: Well that’s an oversimplification.
Topper: I’m throwing a party tonight. You should come.
You: I’m not exactly in the mood to get hit on by a bunch of drunk dudes.
Topper: Stick by me and you won’t have that problem.
You: You’re right. Instead, you would have a Rafe sized problem.
Topper: I’m not scared of Rafe.
Topper: Just come by for a few. It makes me feel uneasy that you’re by yourself at home all this time.
Topper: Please.
You: Fine, Topper.
Topper: Great! I’m on my way.
**
You hated yourself for how quick your eyes locked in on Rafe as soon as he walked into the party wearing a navy blue shirt and a white hat that matched his white cargo shorts.
He dapped up a few guys that greeted him by the front door and looked straight up to where you were sitting next to Topper.
He found you almost immediately with an expressionless face.
Your heart skipped a beat that he looked for you but that feeling of elation left you as quickly as it came.
He didn’t reach out to you for three days. No call. No text. No apology. He was done and now it was your turn to feel the same.
“You two are like magnets,” Topper says from behind you. “Toxic ones,” he eventually adds with a chuckle.
“I knew you were going to say that,” you teased, playfully hitting his shoulder.
Sadness kicked your gut when two girls approached Rafe, one of them ran her hands over his chest as she went to whisper something in his ear.
“I’m going to grab another drink.” You said when you notice Rafe coming up the stairs with the girls.
“I’ll come with you,” you gave him a look. “What? I meant it when I said stick by me. Let’s go.”
He lets you lead the way and you go down the second set of stairs but you stopped abruptly, peering down at your jewelry.
Everything you were wearing was gifted to you by Rafe, even down to the earrings. You still wore the R golden plate necklace and matching anklet. You had his signet ring on your thumb because that was the only finger it could fit.
“Everything okay, Y/N?” Topper questions. Rafe was watching the entire interaction from the loveseat you and Topper were just sitting on.
You bent down to take off your anklet and moved to take off your earrings next.
“Can you help me take off the necklace?” You asked, pulling off the ring and placing it with the other jewelry.
“Sure,” he agrees, pushing your passion twists out of the way.
You felt his warm hand brushing against the back of your neck when he unclasped the necklace.
He put the necklace in your outstretched hand. You walked back up the few stairs you crossed and approached Rafe whose eyes were still trained on you.
You let out a shaky breath before taking his warm hand into your own and giving him the jewelry. You were beginning to miss his touch.
Guilt flashed across his face, looking down at his hand. You avoided his gaze and left him without another word, rushing down the stairs and Topper followed after you.
“Well that was dramatic,” one of the girls says, rolling her eyes while her friend eyes the gold carat in Rafe’s hand that easily amounted to 75k.
“Can I have the earrings?” She asked and before Rafe could respond, she reached for them anyway.
Rafe caught her hand in a tight grip and she whimpers at the pressure.
“You’re hurting me,” she groans.
“No one told you to touch what’s hers,” he shoves her to the ground. “Hey! You asshole!” Her friend snaps, standing from the couch and helps her friend to her feet.
He doesn’t spare them another glance as he digs in his pocket for a baggie to do a few lines.
“Y/N,” Topper calls, finally catching up with you in the kitchen. “Are you okay?” He asks you, examining your face for anything he could read.
“You should check on him,” you poured yourself a shot in a small solo cup and knocked it back, barely making a face.
“I’m checking up on you,” “It needed to be done, okay. All of it were just reminders of what I don’t have anymore.” You explain, pouring yourself another shot.
“That was very brave for you to do.” “Then why do I feel like shit?” You huffed after taking another shot and he stops you from pouring another one.
“Because the break up is still fresh, Y/N.” He looks at you like you’re going to fall apart before his very eyes.
His soft eyes examines your face for any micro expression that could give away what you’re thinking.
“Look, Top. I know you’re trying to help and all but if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to cry.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“I want to enjoy your party. Your birthday is tomorrow. You shouldn’t be spending it watching me cry.”
“That’s not happening. I’m not leaving you.” He shakes his head and you took his hands into yours, much like you did with Rafe.
But Rafe’s hand were warmer.
“It doesn’t make you a bad friend. I’ll find Sarah.” He studied your face once again and you gave him a soft smile.
“Go,” “Alright,” he says, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “I’ll come find you in like ten minutes.”
“Take your time,” he leaves the kitchen and you let out a deep sigh. You shouldn’t be here.
But you didn’t have the heart to ditch Topper on his birthday rager.
You pressed your palms into the cool, granite countertop and bowed your head to release the tension in your neck.
You hadn’t realize someone was in the kitchen with you until you heard footsteps and someone’s low voice. To your surprise, it was Pope standing on the other side of the counter.
“Sorry, were you saying something?” You asked softly, the shot were slowly starting to get to you.
“I said you are too pretty and insanely smart to be treated like an option.”
That was the nicest thing anyone said to you. You haven’t felt valued in a long time.
“Thanks, Pope. That really means a lot.”
His mouth fell open at your words. “You know who I am?”
“Yes I know who you are. Your family makes the best seafood boils in town.” You explained with a chuckle.
“She knows my name,” he said to himself, which he quickly realized you can hear.
“I should haven’t said that out loud,” he admits and you let out a laugh.
“You’re cute,” he scratches the back of his neck to hide how flustered he way. “Um, are you hiding from Rafe in here?”
“Yes, I am.” You admitted, crossing your arms. “Well if you want some company, my friends are by the bonfire outside. If you want to join. O-only if you want to. I’m not trying to force anything or-“
You interrupted his rant to say, “Sure. I’ll go with you.” You took a solo cup and swung by the keg on the way out, offering some to Pope.
“By the way, what makes you think I’m insanely smart?” “I’m a TA for Mr. Patterson. He still uses your test as a grading key.” He explains after taking a swig of your beer.
“Of course he does. I loved his class.” You admitted with a chuckle. “What is this?”
JJ stands from the chair and motions between you and Pope with his ringed pinky.
“I told her she can hang out with us.” “Hey, JJ.” You greet with a small wave.
“‘Sup, sweetheart. Want a hit?” He offered a blunt to you and you graciously accepted.
He had a grin on his face as he watched you take a hit. He expected you to cough or at least have your eyes water from the potency but much to his surprise, you exhaled the puff of smoke slowly without a fuss.
The mix of the weed and the tequila was throwing your head in a spin. “Never pegged you to be a pothead,” “I’m full of surprises, Maybank.”
A drunk Rafe stumbles outside in search for you when he finds you laughing with Pope and JJ.
JJ noticed your shivering whenever there was a breeze and peeled off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders.
Rafe wasn’t even aware what was happening until his vision started to blur.
He was crying.
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