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subwaysurf45 · 1 year

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She’s Not Mad

Summary: Bucky Barnes was a known people pleaser, it was second nature to him. After meeting you and getting close you both try to navigate his eternal stressed state, working together you try your best to tone down his obsessive ways.

Words: 9k (if you’ve been wondering where I’ve been...)

Warnings: Bucky has mommy issues, mentions of oral sex, nudity, angst, fluff, college!bucky, slow burn

A/N: thanks for the patience!

Masterlist

A Couple of Weeks Ago…

“So, you’re not a thing?” Bucky asked as he shoved his laptop and notebook back into his bag, grabbing the handle of his water bottle and choosing to carry it with him for the walk.

The two boys were higher up in the rows of the lecture hall as they peered over the two girls talking to the professor. Steve had his eyes drilled into Natasha, the girl standing off to the side as her friend went over a question she had.

“She told me she is still figuring out her feelings since her last serious relationship,” Steve sighed as he packed up as well, “and I told her I’d wait- apparently this guy’s parents had given their family engagement ring and everything.”

Bucky pulled the corner of his lips out tight as they began to walk down the stairs, “who’s the other girl?”

“The one that was just asking the question is Y/N,” Steve watched as both girls left the room, “good friends, met last year, live together now.”

“She’s cute,” Bucky said purely, no smirk or innuendo.

********

You sat over your laptop in the library with both hands acting as a brim to cover your eyes from the people around you. Tears rolled down your face as you studied the practice question, you felt pathetic and you tried to sniffle as quietly as possible. If anyone saw you silently bawling you’d drop out, it was stupid enough already when the librarian walked over and dropped a tissue box off without saying a word.

“What do you mean?” you whispered to the page for the hundredth time, hoping for some answer.

You had done the homework, you went to the study groups, you even extended your prof's office hours because you wanted to make sure you were doing everything right. Yet here you were, sitting alone on a Friday night because you still can’t do the practice assignment. Quitting felt like the only option, it wasn’t like everything was going to click; it was too late.

This was just going to become the thing that you could never do, simple as that. Sometimes there are subjects that no matter how hard you try, you don’t have the flair. It was a tough pill to swallow but you’d never be able to do any work if you’d continue to hold yourself to a high standard, it was a win to get the little things right, not the entire question.

The idea of failing was new to you. The jump from high school to college was still something you never adapted to, you always expected nineties on everything and not the mindset that C’s get degrees.

Trying to do the question was like beating a dead horse, you needed a break. You ran your hands over your face and leaned back in your chair, hearing pops from your back as you did so, until you were leaning back and looking up at the ceiling. When you looked straight you saw someone already staring at you.

He had longer brown hair that hit his jawline, blue eyes that jumped out at you, and a very concerned look on his face. He was familiar but you didn’t know what it was from.

“Are you Natasha’s friend?” The guy came up to your empty table.

“Yeah?” You wiped away your tears, extremely confused as he pulled out the chair right beside you to sit at the eight sided table.

“I’m good friends with Steve, I think the two of them have something going on- not important, but I kind of know you and I'd rather not leave someone I kinda know alone crying, so…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” you rolled your eyes and faced your computer again, “the absolute last thing I need is something watching me cry, alright?” your bottom lip wobbled as you kept your eyes away from his at all times.

He was still staring at you, “come on,” he sighed and moved his hand to comfort you but thought otherwise, “I’m not going to laugh at you or run and tell everyone I know I saw a girl crying in the library- y’know what they’d say?” You could see him tilt his head, “they’d say what’s the big deal, haven’t we all?”

You scoffed, “no they wouldn’t.”

“You’re calling me a liar?”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Bucky,” he stuck out his hand, “Bucky Barnes.” You shook his hand, “and since I am a Barnes and was raised by my ma I simply can not let this continue, it’s my obligation to either cheer you up or take you home.”

You scoffed again and tried your best to hide your smile, “and I’m Y/N, and in my family we stress about everything and never give up so I can’t leave until I get this question, so…”

Bucky’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he flipped the laptop to face him a little better, “this is the class all four of us have together, alright,” he read over the question and immediately furrowed his brows before looking at you again, trying your best to hold it together. He knew the answer but couldn’t bear to see your reaction, it was painfully obvious you were beating yourself stupid over these questions.

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” he asked like he was talking to a child.

“I barely know you, dude,” you crossed your arms and ripped your laptop back to face you, “and I’ll have you know I don’t need a man to come in here and explain everything to me, alright, I’m going to figure this out on my own and I don’t need you, okay? So just head home, tell Steve I say hi.”

Bucky took a deep breath himself, “that question isn’t marked on the homework, the reason you can’t get the answer is because the way to get it has most likely not been taught yet,” he paused and saw your face crumble, “and I didn’t want to freak you out because you look like you’ve been here a while and you seem to be beating yourself up and I just couldn’t-”

“Stop,” you whispered and covered your face with your hands, “just stop talking.”

And he did.

Trying your best to calm your breaths, it didn’t work. So fucking stupid, unbelievable, there’s no way you just spent close to an hour staring at a problem you didn’t even have to do in the first place.

“Can you walk me home?” you squeeked.

“Of course,” Bucky stood up right away and started helping you pack your bag, “I have some water, do you want it?” He held up his water bottle. You nodded and began drinking as you both made your way outside and towards your off-campus house.

“Did you need to study?” you asked as you screwed on the cap.

Bucky laughed and looked up at the night sky, “I was going for a walk because I heard there was a blood moon tonight, and there is, look,” he point up and saw the red mood looming above both of you, “and I just happened to walk past the library, I looked in the window and recognised your laptop as well as your hair, funny enough,” he laughed as he looked forward again.

“So you just came in to see me?” you needed to make sure you were hearing this right, it’s not like it happens often.

“I was going to introduce myself to you actually,” Bucky shrugged and looked over at you, “I know Steve and Nat are trying to figure things out and I thought friends of two people who might date should know one another. Then I saw you crying so I changed my game plan.”

You just nodded, slightly brushing into Bucky’s arm as you walked. It was hard to stay straight with the exhaustion taking over, every now and then you’d brush your knuckles past Bucky’s. He was a cute guy, and something about him being oh so caution around you made you feel important.

“This is me,” you said later as you walked up the steps, “thanks Bucky, I hope we can be friends.”

Bucky smiled and stood at the bottom of the steps, “if you ever get in your head again like that and need someone to pull you away, let me know- even in the middle of the night, alright?”

“Alright,” you laughed with your hand on the door handle.

“I’m serious, Y/N. I look after the people close to me, I look after friends of friends like siblings,” there was no joking in his tone, it seemed other people doubted him on this promise. “I’ll give you my number,” he hand reached out for your phone.

“I’ll be fine, you seemed to have good luck running into me,” you giggle and open the door to your house. Before it fully closed you felt resistance, looking over your shoulder you saw Bucky holding open your door.

He was smiling, “then give me your number for another reason.”

“Oh?” you turned and placed a hand on your chest, “you’re rather forward.

“Well being cryptic didn’t work, did it?” He laughed and held out his hand again, “come on, I might need a study buddy one day- or even better, a lunch buddy.” you laughed as he tried to duck to meet your eyeline, “you don’t want to be my lunch buddy?”

“I’ll be your lunch buddy,” you giggled and handed him your phone, he wasted no time adding it in. “Goodnight,” you whispered and made it into your house, leaning back and resting against the door. You thought for a moment before breaking into a massive smile, replaying how he tried to keep eye contact with you. Or how he’d been so proud of how his mother raised him- “son of a bitch,” you whispered.

He walked you back home and cheered you up.

Just like he said he would.

A Few Days Later…

Your phone must be hacked or something because your weather app said it would be completely clear today and sunny in the afternoon. As you sat in the cafe you thought it would clear up but it was only getting worse.

All you needed to do was brave the rain and make your way home, but waiting for the perfect time when everything would let up for a moment was pointless.

Walking as fast as you can with your head down, you saw your grey sweatpants become a darker shade instantly. It was a straight downpour with absolutely no sign of letting up, you swore you heard thunder when you waited at the crosswalk. Due to your phone lying to you, you had not brought a hooded article of clothing or umbrella so you just had to deal with everything going wrong.

There definitely was thunder and the lightning was right above you, it seemed like you were the last person on Earth because everyone else was smart enough to stay inside right now; but not you. Down your little street you began to run, trying to get away from the lightning that was chasing you.

If you could guess you’d say most people who had been struck by lightning most likely thought they were too far away, in denial as the sky opened up from above. It was hard to admit you were actually a little scared at that moment, rain getting in your eyes as you sprinted down to your house that was now in view.

With your key at the ready you fell inside, slamming the door behind you.

Natasha rounded the corner, “you idiot, I was trying to call you!” She screamed and saw your state, “Steve and Bucky are over-they drove over they could have picked you up,” Natasha got in your face to peel off the sweater, taking it off right over your head and leaving you in your bralette and those drenched sweatpants.

“You took off my shirt when there’s boys here?” you whispered as you began to shake, covering your chest with crossed arms.

“We guessed you were walking back so we put towels in the dryer,” as if on cue Bucky rounded the same corner with your fluffy towel ready, “thank you Bucky,” Natasha wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Hi, Bucky,” you squeeked, “glad we keep meeting like this.”

Natasha had walked upstairs, most likely getting different pants. Bucky got down on one knee and slipped off your shoes, “like what?” he asked as he looked up, he reminded you of a little puppy somehow. He was as big as a great dane but there was an underlying softness that made you want to hug him or just let him wrap his arm around you.

You huffed as you pulled the towel tighter, “when I’ve just done something embarrassing and you’re there to save the day.”

Bucky stood up with his arms crossed, “only you would think crying or getting caught in the rain is embarrassing,” he shook his head and reached out to rub your shoulder that was covered by the towel, “I like helping and I like making sure people I know are okay, you know this.”

“I do,” you whispered and walked further in your house. Before you could get anywhere near comfortable Natasha whisked you away to change your soggy pants as well as throw on a sweater, they had also been thrown in the drier, everything was very toasty and warm.

Steve was sitting on the couch, staring intensely at the football game going on. Natasha guided you back in and towards the couch. There was enough room for four of you but you knew thighs would be pressed up against one another, you were okay with that if Bucky was sitting beside you. Though you don’t see him often it was nice when you did even though you made it seem like it was embarrassing. Something about having someone who loves taking care of people take care of you so well caused you to crave it a little more.

Bucky came around the couch with a mug, “hot chocolate for you,” he whispered and took the spot beside you, next to the arm rest. You thanked him and let your hand slightly burn on the mug when you held it, liking how the warmth began to spread up your arms. Natasha found her spot on the other side of you while Steve stayed on the edge, leaning forward and never looking away from the game.

“This is really good,” you sipped it and whispered to Bucky, he just smiled and leaned into your side for a moment.

“What were you working on?” he asked after a moment.

“I was at the cafe for a little treat but before I was doing my elective course,” you spoke softly. It seemed like everything happened for a reason because you only got food at the cafe which left room for this hot chocolate now.

“And that is?” Bucky giggled as he leaned forward again.

“Art history,” suddenly, you were coy. Most people thought your elective was a bird course but to you it was actually interesting, it wasn’t often you were met with a positive response.

His eyes got wide, “that’s sick!” Bucky readjusted himself off the couch, “I would have never even thought of that course, wow, that’s really cool. So, like, what do you-”

“Bucky, I love you, brother, I really do but-” Steve sighed, “can you please be quiet, this game is very important.”

“I didn’t think the Big Game was on today?” you asked as you took another sip.

“It’s not that,” Steve places his beer down, “it’s the State Cup Finals, it’s college football.”

Natasha smiled and looked over, “his team’s the underdog and are actually on the road to winning the entire thing!” She giggled and linked an arm with Steve who was happy to cuddle up with her, “it’s actually very exciting once you learn the ins and outs of it.”

You just nodded and faced forward again, seeing Bucky out of the corner of your eyes rubbing his thumb on the neck of his beer bottle, staring off into space. The moment you leaned your head on his shoulder he looked over at you, your heart broke when you saw a sad smile. He was just trying to talk to you, he got excited for you and here he was being scolded.

“Do you want to come look at some of my notes, or are you into this game?” you whispered and saw his eyes light up, both of you quickly stood and headed up stairs with your bag slung over your shoulder.

The moment you walked into your room you felt everything slow down, Bucky slowly walked in and looked around. He was smiling to himself as he l took in your photos on the walls or posters, even your to do list seemingly growing on the white board you have mounted to one wall.

You sat on the corner of your bed as he flipped through your notes, “so you’re, like, breaking down these paintings, it's not just the history of when they were painted?”

“Oh yeah,” you fiddled with the hem of your dry sweater, “most of these artist go insane and we look for that in the work or even just what was happening during the time with stuff that you’d learn in a normal history class but we look at if and when it get put into art,” this was your little thing you could talk about for ages, “very cool stuff.”

Bucky nodded and flipped the pages, “your notes are amazing,” he whispered, “you’re a pretty good student, huh?” he looked over his shoulder and saw you sitting there, just staring at him as he made his way around your room. “What?�� he giggled and made his way over to you, holding his hand out to get you to stand up.

“Nothing,” you tucked your chin to your chest, getting coy at the attention. “You’re just…y’know, sweet.”

Bucky just smiled and rubbed your arm, giggling as you both stared at one another for a moment. “Do you want to go back down?”

“Sure,” you nodded and leaned forward, smiling as you both made your way back downstairs.

The rain still worked its way down your windows as the beers and wine kept flowing. The game had ended a while ago but Steve and Bucky didn’t see a reason to leave, it was a good moment that no one wanted to end. You had finished your hot chocolate and moved onto wine, sipping it slowly as everyone talked. It was nice to be brought into this group even though it stemmed from Nat and Steve, there was good chemistry between the four of you.

Talking to everyone was effortless, you didn’t need to act like someone else to fit in. no one was yelling over someone else to get their point across, there weren't any passive aggressive tones in anyone's jokes, it was carefree. It was relaxing to have people this easy to talk to.

The only thing that wasn’t relaxing was the amount of times you caught Bucky staring at you. Everyone had migrated to the floor with their backs against different furniture so you could break out the board games, Bucky was sitting adjacent to you on your right and Steve adjacent on your left, Nat right in front. Every single move whether it be placing a card down or moving your little object around the board Bucky would find a reason to look at you.

“Good one,” he’d pat your shoulder.

“Let me move your piece for you,” he’d say before you could reach across the table.

“Sorry…” he’d smile before taking your little object and moving it back four spots.

He was very attentive, always watching and scanning. But the more you noticed it the more you figured out he was doing it to everyone, including Steve. Something happened whenever Bucky would either move Steve’s piece for him or go get another beer so he wouldn’t have to stand up, Steve would give this look. It seemed as though he was silently telling Bucky he knew something or he was pointing something out that had been a topic of conversation before. Bucky would try to laugh it off but Steve was very protective of Bucky, you just didn’t know why.

The games had slowly come to a close, everyone not drunk but a little more than tipsy. Giggles flowed freely around the table as the conversation resumed again, your eyes were growing heavy as you traced the rim of your glass.

“I’ll be back,” Bucky muttered as he headed to the washroom.

The moment the door closed Steve sighed, “this kid.”

“What?” you were getting protective, why was Steve about to talk shit about his best friend?

Steve just shook his head, “It’s hard to see how badly Winnie fucked him up.”

Your heart plummeted. Any tiredness had left your body faster than the little gasp escaped your lips. Who was this Winnie girl and why did he mess Bucky up? The thoughts circled your head, was he in an abusive relationship? Natasha looked like she didn’t know either, pouring more wine into her cup.

When Bucky came back he sat closer to you and you couldn’t help but reach out and wrapped your arm around his. He must have been a little surprised but you rested your head on his shoulder and continued on like it was nothing.

You were half asleep when Bucky tried to do something for Steve, maybe get him another beer but whatever it was it left Bucky looking like a sad puppy because Steve said, “Buck, relax, I can get my beers, thank you, but I got it, alright?”

Steve's tone was soft but also commanding, he wasn’t annoyed at all. With your eyes closed you pieced it together that Steve was trying to help Bucky in some way, maybe get him to relax a little more. It was out of love but Bucky was very quiet for the rest of the night.

********

You and Bucky had started hanging out a lot more on your own. There were a lot of late night drives or study sessions, Bucky always came to the library to walk you home if you stayed late or had turned your brain into mush during your studying.

What Steve had said stuck with you more than you thought it would, it didn’t impact how you saw Bucky but it made you more aware of his people pleasing tendencies. You wanted to do the same as Steve, tell him it was okay but you weren’t as close. You saw how hurt he was the last time and you just couldn’t do it to him.

Currently you were both sitting on his bed, the movie was wrapping up. Half of his laptop sat on one thigh and the other half sat on Bucky’s, your arms were linked and there was a steady brushing of your thumb on his forearm. In all honesty, you thought you were lulling him to sleep when you looked up five minutes ago to see him fighting his dropping lids.

When the movie faded to black both of you sat there for a moment, content with the sitcom that was coming up next. You looked up again to see him with his face scrunched up, his other hand was on his back.

“What is it?” you asked and leaned over, he was rubbing a specific spot on his lower back with his thumb.

Bucky held his breath as he leaned forward to move his hand, “I was working out this morning and there weren't any belts left for my deadlifts and I did something to my back.”

“Do you want a massage?” you offered, he’d do the same for you.

“I’m okay, thanks,” he looked down at your head resting on his bicep.

“I didn’t know you worked out,” you smiled, “you don’t have the, like, bodybuilder physique.”

Bucky laughed and wiped at his eyes, giggling to himself before answering. “I don’t want that look, but…” you could see the boast on the top of his tongue, he poked his tongue on the inside of his cheek.

“Tell me!” you sat up, taking the laptop off your lap so you could fully face him now, “are you, like, ripped or something?” you both laughed as he hugged himself so you couldn’t feel or see anything, “you are, shut up!” you placed both hands on his shoulders, his face so red from laughing and embarrassment you just wanted to take a bite out of it.

“Steve calls it a sleeper build,” Bucky managed to wheeze out, he was trying to play-fight you off of him.

“What the fuck is that?!” you gasped as your hands reached out but he copied you and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“It’s when someone has muscle but you can’t really see it in normal clothing,” his face was calming down as well, but that stupid smile was still on his face. “It just kinda happened, just how I am.”

You tried to move his arms around but you couldn’t, his fingers were still tightly woven with yours. You just laughed and fell back into him, cuddling up again. “I had a friend's mom who was an actual masseuse, so…” you shrugged, “I actually know what I’m doing because she’d give me massages and walk me through her process.”

“You just want to take my shirt off, don’t you?” Bucky taunted.

“I want to make sure you’re not uncomfortable the entire time we hang out and for the rest of the week,” you giggled before snuggling into his arm again and watching the show that had come on randomly.

It took three days before Bucky came back for that massage.

You were hanging out again like normal and he was still trying to relieve the ache in his lower back. It was becoming sad to see him so uncomfortable so you kept reminding him of your excellent massage skills. After what you counted as his third groan of pain you just looked at him and soon enough he was asking you to turn around so he could take his shirt off and lie down.

Choosing your angle to stand with your back to him was a science, you wanted to make sure you had the mirror to look at but you also didn’t want to make it obvious. Part of you hated yourself for wanting to catch and peek at his body but it was infamous now, you just had to look.

And my god was it worth it.

It wasn't an obnoxious amount of muscle that made it seem like the strength drained from his brain and into his arms. The sleeper build comment was right, you had no idea. His chest made you feel comfortable and protected, the kind of chest you’d want to fall into when the subway starts up too quick and you’re not holding onto anything. His arms were, and you already knew this, amazing at covering so much surface area for hugs. They were secure and trustworthy, you knew that when you hugged him he had you; it also helped to remember when he’d whisper it in your ear.

“Okay,” his voice was muffled by pillows at the top of your bed.

You turned around and were greeted by his back which was also an amazing sight, the kind of body sculptors would use and their go-to subject if no one else was there. “I have some lotion on my hands,” you warned and pressed your palms onto his back and quickly began spreading the lotion around.

Though this wasn’t a proper table and he was resting on one cheek instead of face down you knew this was the best he’d get for a college kid. You started all over and slowly worked your way to focusing on his lower back. When you felt the knot you knew you found it, the thing was massive. The low groan Bucky let out was close to pornographic as you dug into him.

Something about seeing him grip the sheets, making his veins pop out, did something to you. At first you only really saw Bucky as another friend or a good member of the friend group you stumbled your way into. But the more you spent one-on-one the more you realized he was your perfect guy. Any guy can be perfect physically but his personality enhanced your view for him, it made you appreciate his looks even more.

His laugh always brought out the crinkle in his nose and those pretty teeth, the sound of him giggling was music to your ears and also was the perfect accompaniment to his squinted eyes or broad smile. The same with his little fist pumps he does when beating you at a game either around a group of friends of a video game, that stupid celebration he does every time causes him to flex his bicep but that’s secondary to the little circles he makes with his fist.

You kept working away and looking at his rested face once in a while, seeing his eyes closed and the relieved look on his face. There was something so pure about watching the guy your slowly obsession over fall into simple relaxation all because of you, it was a treat.

“How’s that?” you whisper, “Bucky?” trying to make sure your pressure wasn’t too hard for him you wanted to check in, but he had fallen asleep. With the opportunity in front of you, you reached out and placed your bent knuckles along his cheek, feeling the stubble tickle your fingers.

You found him blanket on his bed and covered him up so he wouldn’t get cold with his shirt off, before leaving you placed a kiss on his forehead before heading downstairs for a snack. You also wanted to give him space, let him sleep peacefully.

Steve was down there when you got there, another roommate of his cooking as you found Bucky’s section of snacks to choose from.

“Where’s Bucky?” Steve asked as he looked over his shoulder, not for long due to the football playing on the TV.

“Sleeping upstairs,” you ate the goldfish as you rounded the couch to watch the game.

He seemed taken aback at your casualness, “what did you guys do…?” he slowly looked over, most likely trying to see if your hair was disheveled or anything was blossoming on your neck.

“I gave him a massage,” you shrugged and fell back onto the couch, “his lower back has been killing from his workout a while ago.”

You could see Steve look over his shoulder to see if his roommate was also hearing this, he looked over at you again and squinted. “So- and correct me if I’m wrong here- you gave Bucky a massage and put him to sleep and now you’re down here getting a snack?”

“You would be correct,” you smiled, “would you like to do a once over of my neck for hickies or maybe rummage through the trash for condoms?” you sassed and plopped a few more goldfish in your mouth, “I was helping him.”

That statement made Steve look over his shoulder again. The roommate just shrugged with a smile before heading down to his room in the basement, noodles steaming from the cup. You just looked at Steve as he tried to piece together everything, it was actually funny to see him try to understand.

“Bucky doesn’t accept help from anyone,” Steve turned to face you, “it’s his thing to never want to be in debt with anyone when it comes to favours of any sort.”

“Well,” you just sighed, “I’ve been picking up on that too but I got to him I guess, he let me do something for him.” That was all you could say because you didn’t have a full background of why Bucky didn’t accept help from anyone you just knew he didn’t; the only clues you had were Winnie and her role in this.

“That’s good,” Steve quickly added, “I’m far from saying it’s bad, trust me, it’s just he’s been in a funk for a while when it comes to that stuff, it ebbs and flows.”

“Do you think he’ll ever tell me?” you asked as you watched the game, too embarrassed of the question to look at Steve. It seemed there was this vital piece of information that made Bucky who he was that was dangling right in front of your face, you were falling for him but that thing that made him him was out of reach. When Steve first made the statement he siad that this Winnie girl fucked him up which implied something bad much have happened and that can also mean something isn’t necessarily right. You were never going to fix Bucky but you did want to understand so you could help be a better friend to him and not unconsciously get in the way of his mindset.

Steve nodded, “he’ll definitely tell you,” he looked over and smiled, “I mean, you’re all he ever talks about, this kid is head over heels for you it’s just…some guys have hard times coming to terms with their past, he’ll get there though.”

“I know,” you nodded, “I’ll obviously never force it out but I do want him to be aware I’m here to listen, y’know?”

“He knows,” Steve laughed and stood up, going to the cupboard and grabbing a little snack for himself as well.

You took a deep breath before standing up and heading back upstairs, you were guessing Bucky was still fast asleep. When you opened the door you found him still laying on his bed in the exact same position, only now there was little snores coming from him.

With a pout you crawled back onto the bed and sat next to him, placing your hand on his back and sliding it down to his arm that was bent up so his hands could rest under the pillow. Your thumb gently rubbed his arm for a moment before pulling out your phone and scrolling through it.

The boredom ate away at you, instead of scrolling through your phone you went to his dresser to find some clothes you could change into so you could crawl under his sheets and sleep over. When you pulled open his top drawer you were met with his underwear and socks as well as a box of condoms tucked to the side, you just giggled to yourself at the painfully college male sight in front of you.

Something about wearing his boxers made your face heat up, that was a level of intimacy you wanted to reach with him one day but you didn’t know if it was time. Looking over your shoulder after a particularly loud snore you smiled to yourself and picked up a black pair, as you held it up you remember seeing the waistband sticking out of his jeans while he reached above his head to grab something for someone - you weren’t focused on his actions at the time.

Quickly slipping your pants off and pulling up the boxers you maneuvered to his closet, finding your favourite hoodie he wore very often. This moment of intimacy, moving around Bucky’s room while he wasn’t aware, caused a surge of confidence to shoot through you. Though you had never talked to Bucky about what the relationship between you was, you knew both of you could agree there was no room for girlfriends or boyfriends for either of you, this was the time to build the foundation for something better later. Having this idea of only being the girl in his room you took off your bralette and tucked it back in his top drawer, across from the condoms.

You didn’t choose this bra specifically but you were wearing a slightly lacey bralette, it was far from lingerie but the lace added something to it. Making sure you put it where it wouldn’t be obvious but also not hiding it, you grew giddy at the image of Bucky finding it.

Before getting in his bed you tugged and tugged the sheets under his body before managing to get the covers fully out from under him. You scooted in and pulled the sheets up to cover both of you, it seemed he really needed the sleep because nothing was waking him up, not even the little hug you gave him before turning off the lights and falling asleep beside him.

********

You were sitting in class aimlessly scrolling through your phone during your five minute break in your lesson, your art history professor was one of the best teachers you've ever had. She was funny but also well informed, she also had a big heart and didn’t need a eulogy as a form of proof if someone asked for an extension due to a funeral service that day.

Bucky: What the hell is in my dresser?

Without knowing the tone or context your heart dropped. You read the text with Bucky’s voice as if he was screaming at you, a hint of embarrassment in his tone. It was in your head, you didn’t know if it was a flirty tone either.

You: Just my bra, when I stayed over a couple of nights ago I changed into your clothes and just absentmindedly put my bra in your top drawer. I probably was just going through the motions and thought I was at my place.

Bucky: Can I pick you up from class, when does your lecture end?

Something about him completely disregarding your explanation - lie or not - gave you the worst feeling in the world. Ice poured down your back as you watched your prof make her way back up to the little stage she teaches on, you couldn’t keep the conversation going and just needed to deal with it later.

You: sure, it ends in an hour.

Bucky: I’ll be there.

Part of you didn’t want to leave when your lecture was over, you stayed in the hallway for a moment and thought of every single end of the world situation that could happen in the car. Bucky didn’t seem like a guy who hit women but your anxiety didn’t let you leave out that thought. He also didn’t seem like the guy who’d reveal he’d been dating another girl the entire time but who knows, he could be in a three year long relationship as you stood there.

With all these terrible situations playing out in your head you decided to face it head on, you’d walk in there and wouldn’t let him talk; just saying your apologies with your eyes closed before he could get a word out.

You walked down the steps and to the right to find Bucky’s car parked in front, coming up in the blindspot. You took a moment to take a deep breath, opening the door and sitting down as quickly as possible.

“Do you-”

“Bucky,” you put your hand out but kept your eyes casted down, “I am so unbelievably sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I don’t know if you already have a girlfriend and she found it and it caused a rift in your relationship, or if you like to sleep with other girls and one of them found the bra and got jealous so you lost your credit. I don’t know what made you angry but please, I am so sorry for what I did, I wasn’t thinking and I just put it in there and I-...” you just held your mouth open as you looked at the center console, you had run out of things to say. “Um,” you slowly looked up to see him frozen in shock, mouth still slightly open from when he began to say something, “sorry, you were about to say something?”

Bucky had to physically rattle his head to get out of the shock he was in, “do you want to get some coffee?”

Your eyes flicked up and it was your turn to stay frozen, “what?”

Bucky pulled his brows together, “I was making a joke about the bra thing,” he seemed concerned at your extremely anxious state, “I don’t care what you leave at my place, I really don’t,” normally someone would laugh in awkward situations but Bucky didn’t, it felt like it made everything worse. “Do you want coffee?”

“What is going on?” you couldn’t believe the situation you had put yourself in, nothing was making sense.

“Don’t get all mad at me,” now it was time for him to scoff, “you’re the one that thought I was sleeping with multiple women while I’m actively pursuing you, you idiot.”

“Don’t call me an idiot,” you huffed and faced the front of the car, crossing your arms after putting on your seatbelt.

Bucky laughed as he reached over and turned your face so you’d look at him, “that’s what you took from that statement?” He giggled, “babe, I just said I was pursuing you, does that just fly over your head?”

“Wait, what?” you grew more interested, “you want to date me?”

Bucky nodded, “have I not made it obvious?” You just shrugged and began to feel small, curling yourself further into the seat of his car, “I would like to take you out and I would like to continue to collect little pieces of you at my place while doing the same to yours, does that make sense?”

“Then what were those condoms for?”

“The same reason our house keeps tampons in our main bathroom,” Bucky put the car in drive and began working towards to coffee shop, “if you ever need a tampon you go and grab one, if Steve ever needs a condom and he’s out of stock in his room he comes to me,” Bucky looked at you at the stop light.

“Oh,” was all you could say.

“But let me get a few things straight,” Bucky placed his hand on your thigh, “I’m not sleeping with other girls, I do not have a secret girlfriend, I am not mad you left your bra in my dresser and I tried to make the text seem flirty, and finally,” he went at the green, “I really like you and I would like you to be my girl whenever we get there.”

“Okay,” you whispered, “I’d like that too.”

“Then it’s settled,” it was a short drive to the cafe, “let’s celebrate over coffee, shall we?”

You looked down at his hand on your thigh, “yeah, we shall.”

********

Your body felt like it was floating, your legs tingled and it was hard to catch your breath. As you laid on your back with your hands on your bare stomach Bucky worked his way back up from between your legs while leaving kisses on your hip bones as well as your stomach when you lifted your hands.

“How was that?” Bucky asked breathlessly, licking his lips before kissing you.

You kept your answer waiting, probably because he knew it already, kissing him slowly as he wanted. He was fully in control right now, setting the pace and tone of this entire afternoon. When he pulled away for a moment you complimented him like always, your hands reached up to his shoulders and tried to push him to lay on his back but he stayed strong.

“Flip over,” you whispered and ran your hands down his chiseled stomach, working your way up to his shoulders as your fingernails raked up his back.

“I’m all good,” he shrugged.

“But you’re painfully hard,” you tried again to get him to move but he just fell beside you on his stomach, not allowing you to touch him where he was in fact, extremely hard. “Come on, you always do this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiled and pulled you down with him.

“I just want to do something nice for you, you never let me do anything for you or give you any favours,” in your head it seemed like a normal observation, it was true that Bucky didn’t let anyone do anything for him while he actively tried to help everyone in anyway he knew how.

That seemingly struck a nerve, “alright then,” he sighed and got up from the bed, heading into the bathroom as he left you naked and alone on his bed, the most lonesome feelings in the world.

“Where are you going?” you sat up, grabbing your shirt from the edge of the bed.

“Going to go jerk off in the shower,” he said as he closed the door.

“You can’t be serious,” you quickly stood and made your way to the bathroom that was connected to his room. You opened the door to see him already adjusting the tap before starting the shower. “Bucky, it’s the truth, it’s who you are but it’s the truth and as your girlfriend I want you to feel good, I want to give you pleasure like you do to me.”

You reached forward and placed your hands on his back, slowly working your way to his shoulders so you could turn him around. There looked like shame had overtaken him as he stood before you, though he was larger in size he shrunk himself down to look small. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, he didn’t know what to say.

“If I can’t give you head then can I come in the shower and wash your hair?” you didn’t even put on the shirt you grabbed, it was dropped to the floor. “Come on, honey, it’ll feel so good.”

Bucky only nodded before stepping into the hot shower with you. You made sure he got most of the stream on him, you stayed in front and made sure his hair was soaked before getting any product. You could see his tenseness at first but the moment your hands made contact with his scalp his eyes rolled back, his shoulders relaxed. In that moment it occurred to you that you had actually never seen his relaxed state before.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” you whispered, making sure you used your nails to really cleanse his scalp. “Doesn’t letting yourself relax and breathe feel so good, Buck?”

“Yeah,” it came out quiet and broken.

Your eyes were focused on his hair the entire time, making sure you lathered up and took your time. You needed to savor this moment for both you and Bucky, you wanted him to be relaxed for a s long as possible as well as taking advantage of doing him a favour; never knowing when your next opportunity would come up.

Gently tapped his forehead, you got him to lean back. The water immediately took off the top layer of suds but you needed to rub out the deeper layers as well. Your fingers scrubbed until the trail of water rolling down his body was pure water and had no shampoo in it.

“I’m going to- oh, my gosh Bucky,” you reached out and saw his red eyes, “when did you start crying?”

“I can’t remember,” he whispered and tilted his head down, the water pushed his hair to cover his eyes.

You pushed his hair back and pulled him out a step further so the water hit his back, your thumbs quickly wiped away a mixture of water and tears off of his face. He couldn’t stop crying as you tried your best to keep his face clear, “honey, what’s wrong?”

“I-” he choked on his own words, “I’ve never let my guard down this much,” he admitted before breaking off into harder sobs, you swooped in and pulled him tightly against your chest.

“I know it’s a new feeling,” you whispered, “but I want you to be able to do this all the time, let your guard down around me,” it was a shot in the dark by saying this but you did it anyways, “I promise I won’t hurt you, I’ll never take advantage of your guard down, love.”

It must have struck something because his knees buckled, his hands gripped tighter as he desperately kept you close to him. You didn’t know if you were making him feel better or worse but the act of letting go was needed for him, you kept holding him until there was nothing left to cry.

When he pulled away he stayed close, close enough that you kissed him under the gentle rain of the shower and played with his hair at the base of his scalp. His hands stayed on your back and held you close to him, making sure you were always touching him in some way. You tried to get a good read on him but he kept his head low and gently ran his hands up and down your sides, just feeling you.

“You’re very safe,” you whispered.

Bucky looked up at you for a moment before keeping his eyes down for a while, his brows pulled together and it seemed like he was trying to say something but didn’t know how. Both of you were open and vulnerable, naked in the hot shower. Tears threatened to spill over at the picture of Bucky crying in front of you.

“It was my mom,” Bucky whispered, “the one who broke me-”

“You’re not broken,” you quickly corrected, cupping his face and stroking his cheek with your thumb, “don’t say that.”

Bucky just shrugged, “I’m the oldest, I have four sisters younger than me - all different dads.” Bucky took a deep breath and pulled you closer, “my mom…Winnie was an interesting woman who never wanted to be pregnant but somehow always ended up pregnant anyways, it also didn’t help none of the guys wanted to stick around.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him the easy opportunity to hug you if he needed to. Nodding along, you encouraged him to keep going.

“When my mom realized I could do the dirty work she would take advantage of that. I basically raised my sisters and somehow she managed to worm into my head,” he let out an angry laugh, “she’d say she loved me if I did things for her and I was a bad boy if I couldn’t or wouldn’t help her, she would say I didn’t love her if I didn’t change my sister’s diapers or bathe them while she sat on the couch.”

“Bucky,” you were the one to instigate the hug, “that’s awful.”

“And I’m aware of how I act now, all I’ve ever known is helping other people to make sure they love me,” he laughed again, “and it sounds stupid but I can never break out of the cycle, I always think I’m doing a good job or not being overbearing but then I start to second guess myself, you know?” he pulled away and looked at you, you quickly nodded. “I start to think about what people are saying behind my back and so I keep doing what I’m doing to stay on the safe side, I know it’s fucking annoying but I can’t help it.”

“It’s not annoying, baby” you leaned past him and turned off the water as it grew cold, “and if you’ll let me I can help with that, I don’t want to fix you or change you, I just want you to be comfortable in this relationship and not think I’m secretly mad at you because you didn’t get me a glass of water.”

Bucky nodded, stepped out of the shower with you and grabbed two towels. The conversation had naturally ended, Bucky didn’t have anything else to say. It was hard not to think he was overthinking again, the idea that you were causing him to stress out stressed you out. You were being truthful when you said you wanted him to be relaxed in this relationship, the last thing you wanted was underlying tension.

Back in bed Bucky rolled over and cuddled into your breasts, holding you closely as you watched his head rise with your breath. You had no idea if he was asleep or not, you knew he wouldn’t mind either way if you played with his hair.

“Thank you,” was all he whispered before falling asleep.

********

You all sat around the couch to watch another big game. Though you had no idea what was going on you were just as into it as Steve. Half time had just started and you all took a collective breath, the two college teams were close.

“Want another beer?” you asked as you stood up, looking at Bucky who was sitting on the couch. Steve and Nat had already filled up, you wanted another cooler and Bucky was almost done.

“Yeah,” he quickly downed his final sip of beer before handing the bottle off to you.

There was this anticipation in the room, you smiled and took the bottle and walked past Steve who was already looking at Bucky. The room seemed still when Bucky didn’t move, just pulling out his phone to look at something while the commercials played. Before making it into the kitchen you looked over your shoulder and saw the back of Bucky’s head, you bit your lip to suppress the smile that was growing.

The moment you got back and sat next to him Bucky took your hand and pulled it into his lap. He fidgeted with your finger before looking over at you, “how’d I do?” he whispered.

You laughed and leaned into his side, “how much did that make your cringe?”

“I was in pain for a moment,” he answered as fast as possible before giggling with you as you clink your glasses together and take a long swing. With a deep breath he looked back at the game and kept your hand in his. Bucky must have not been paying attention but his phone buzzed, illuminating and accidentally showing his lockscreen.

It changed from the photo of the two of you to a black background with white writing on it:

Trust me, she’s not mad at you.

********

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Part I: The Prophecy — June 25, 2011

Part I: On her daily morning run, Y/N wonders if she’ll ever have someone who wants her simply company. Spencer promises her just that, the only catch: she has to wait seven years.

Rating: Eventual smut, fluff and longing

Word Count: 3.5K

Series Masterlist | Tell Me What You Think!

My Mind Turns You Into Folklore: The Prophecy — June 25, 2011

Running, somehow, still made her feel like a child. Perhaps there was something unadulterated and carefree about losing yourself in the pounding of pavement. When Y/N felt the wind rush in her ears and the familiar burn throughout her body, she truly felt alive.

Her entire body ached— no, screamed— as she approached her fifth mile for the day’s session. For Y/N running wasn’t about getting to the destination fastest, but about finishing the race altogether.

She wished she could apply such wisdom to very particular aspects of her life. Namely, her love life. For Y/N, relationships with men were unpleasantly predictable. From terrible blind dates with friends who she honestly can’t tell if they meant well to men with habits so strange Y/N could only plead insanity by a drunken state as to why she entertained even a second glance. Unfortunately, for her the sea of men seemed to solely be comprised of rather the unfortunate sort of men that made her skin crawl.

Her knees burned as her mind ran through the five weddings and babies that were impending. Between cousins, college friends, and even her own sister all either, Y/N never more lonely than when she was surrounded by her people. There was something particularly voyeuristic about watching those you love move along the carousel while you’re left in the dust. She was a casual observer, marooned to the sidelines. And someone where along the way she forgot to even care.

Her chest burned as she wondered where her aunt, a woman born and forged from pure spite and hefty lack of tolerance for anything progressive, would sit her at her cousin’s wedding. Y/N heaved forward imagining what would be worse; the discarded old widow’s table with wives whose husbands’ expiration date had come and passed. Or with her unruly nephews who would have to be wrestled into a tiny tuxedo and bribed with fried food and the majesty of Red40 to maintain the semblance of civility.

Being 27, husbandless, boyfriendless, and childless didn’t usually bother Y/N. She loved her peace. But somehow it put her into this plane of existence where she straddled youth and adulthood. She had one foot jammed deep into the rich, sodden earth of childhood and one toe dipping too all too calm to be safe waters of adulthood. Yet being uncoupled was as if she purchased overnight shipping to the elephant graveyard.

It was antiquated. It was downright sexist, yet there was a small part of her heart and her entire being that craved to be taken care of by a man. She wanted someone to bring her flowers just because, to hug her from behind while she stirred soup for dinner on a chilly day, to brush her hair from her face as he brought her to the brink of pleasure time and time again.

There was only so much her vibrator could do.

But a heart that ached to be loved, that problem didn’t come with a WebMD link. There wasn’t a quick and easy fix to change something that defined her on a molecular level.

She savored the sweet breeze that reminded her of summer and childhood. The houses, various shades of blue, gray, and beige blurred past as she maintained her steady pace.

Y/N rounded the corner and pounded the pavement that led to Betsy’s Cape Cod. She was the Head Librarian and took Y/N under her rather Mother Goose-like wing three years ago when she took the position at the small, sleepy library. A suburb of Quantico, many of the patrons were families in public service.

She even stumbled across someone who quickly became her best friend, Spencer. He was some sort of former child prodigy turned adult wunderkid. After racking up more diplomas than most extended families collect, Spencer worked as a special agent for the FBI. But looking at him, you would never have guessed. He was timid and shy in a boyish way that made him seem much younger than 32. He was tall and lanky, yet despite his slender frame he seemed to completely light up every single room he walked into.

Both Betsy and Spencer buried themselves into the fabric of her life. Betsy sat on the front porch, slowly swaying on the large, wooden swing. A crocheted blanket lay over her lap, keeping her warm under the brisk morning’s chill.

“Y/N!” Betsy called, as she ascended the stairs with a bright smile, “Dearie, it’s far too cold for you to run out here.”

“I could say the same about you, Bets,”

Betsy dismissed Y/N with a coy smile and a wave of her hand. “It’s good for my old bones to get a little chill. Make sure everything is in working order.”

Betsy scooted over on the porch swing, making more than enough room for Y/N to sit.

“That tall kid? Hmm, Spencer? Yes. Spencer. Was in there looking for you yesterday. Poor kid’s entire day was ruined when I told him you were on a date. Now, is there a reason why you didn’t tell me you didn’t tell your best friend?” Betsy asked, not hesitating to ask a question that went straight for the jugular.

Y/N offered Betsy a weak smile. “There wasn’t anything to tell him. He’s not interested in my love life. We talk about books. And work. And… I don’t know…”

Betsy nodded, but her pointed look pressed Y/N to continue. There wasn’t anything romantic between her and Spencer, but that wasn’t to say the connection wasn’t the most important thing in her life. When she met him three years ago he simply waltzed into her life; a tall, gangly man with a large appetite for baked goods and an excellent taste in literature.

“Besides, he has a thing for his coworker. Even though she hardly acknowledges his existence.”

From the time she met Spencer, he constantly was talking about his teammates. Growing up, Spencer didn’t have a stable family life. His mother tried her best, while his father never tried at all. He grown up not knowing what it was like to belong anywhere and now he finally found something resembling a family.

JJ was blonde and skinny and perfect and Spencer was completely enamored with her. Y/N met her only a couple of times, the first after a football game. She shared a plate of cheese fries and gravy with Spencer’s other coworker, Penelope as Spencer attempted to spout an almanac’s worth of facts about football to JJ.

“Hmm,” Betsy murmured, swinging back and forth. “Well, he said he has to talk to you about something. Maybe he’s getting to his senses, finally.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, sipped some of the ice cold lemonade Betsy handed her, and gave her a pointed smile.

“This isn’t a romance novel, Bets. You’ve been sneaking too many of those bodice rippers.”

She stood up and felt some relief as her weary muscles stretched. Betsy waved another annoyed hand.

“Quiet down, Missy. I’ve had my chance at love. And I fully intend on you and Spencer being an item. My Arnold, may that old bastard rest in peace, never gave me children, so you and that boy are my only chance to fill this house with grandkids.”

“Oh my God, Betsy,” Y/N groaned, her head tossed back, “It’s not like that between us. And I promise you, it never will be.”

Y/N took off before Betsy had the chance to respond. But she couldn’t shake the funny feeling tugging at her heartstrings. She thought that maybe if she just focused her mind on feeling the wind blow her hair and her body burn as the third mile turned into a fifth, she could wash away the thoughts of one or two little children sitting on Betsy’s porch, sandwiched in between her and Spencer.

***

Gary, as it turned out, wasn’t a nice guy. First of all, he showed up precisely 23 and a half minutes late and hardly bothered to greet her as he sat down at their two seater table. He barked a drink order to the waitress, who graciously threw Y/N a sympathetic smile.

“So you work at Walter Reed?” Y/N asked, attempting to make conversation with the man seated in front of her. He was a couple years her senior and an Attending Emergency Room Doctor. On paper Gary seemed wonderful. He had a nice family; older sisters were always a green flag in Y/N’s book and seemed to have a basic grasp of personal hygiene practices.

Gary mumbled as the waitress brought him his drink: whisky on rocks. He downed it in about three minutes and signaled for the waitress to return.

“Sorry,” Gary apologized, his voice so close to resembling being embarrassed, but it, somewhere along the line, made a beeline in the opposite direction, “There was some bitch in the ER today complaining about how her boyfriend didn’t believe her when she told him she was pregnant. Took me a god damn hour to shut her up. Jesus, reminds me why I don’t date.”

Y/N felt her face freeze. It was like his harsh words poured ice water over her shoulders. Her skin practically crawled as Gary’s carelessness settled in. Wasn’t this a date? Or was this simply the means for Gary to get into her pants.

“Hold up,” Y/N said, gesturing with her hand held up to stop Gary’s rant, “I was under the impression this was a date. Is it not?”

Gary shrugged. “As long as there’s a happy ending with you, babe I don’t give a fuck.”

He was crass. Y/N was far from a prude. She enjoyed her time in college and didn’t mind the occasional quick one night stand when the opportunity presented itself, but there would be something completely debasing and revolting about sleeping with the man sitting before her.

“I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression.” Y/N said, her words clipped and stern: there wasn’t room for Gary to mix up any bit of her message. “I’m not looking for a fuck-buddy. And even if I was, it certainly wouldn’t be you. We’ve been sitting here for all of twelve minutes and you’ve already drank two whiskys, been rude to the waitress, insulted a patient, and offended me.”

Gary, in a lackadaisical way that could only be described as a fuckboy with the worst case of Peter Pan syndrome, shrugged his shoulders. He downed the rest of his second whisky, “You’re a frigid bitch anyway.”

He left.

And Y/N laughed. Then she ordered two slices of double chocolate cheesecake and asked the waitress where the closest liquor store was.

***

Silently, she cursed Spencer’s charming love of buildings with character. She bounded up the steps to his apartment, the plastic bag with the two slices of cheesecake banged against her leg. Her other hand clutched the neck of a cheap, screw top rose.

Her date, disastrous, was nearly comical, and she couldn’t wait to recount the details to Spencer.

They share a sort of sadistic penchant for relaying moments for their occasional first dates. Typically, Y/N had more than Spencer. On the rare occasion Spencer did have a date, Y/N found herself trying to explain that any girl in her right mind would attempt to flirt with Spencer, but he refused to see her points.

Not bothering to knock, Y/N opted to use the spare key Spencer gave her. She figured he’d either still be working at the office or would be too engrossed in his latest fantasy novel to bother answering the door.

Spencer’s apartment was painted a dusty, sage green. The farthest wall was lined with built-in bookshelves. A prewar relic, Spencer’s style mixed perfectly with the vintage quality embedded within the walls.

Up until recently, Spencer’s kitchen was hardly used. But Y/N had taken it upon herself to teach Spencer the basics in prepping meals. He was a quick study, as with almost everything he tried. And it gave her some peace knowing he would be able to provide himself something more satiating than granola bars and frozen lasagna.

“Spencer! Spence!” Y/N called out, dipping her head into Spencer’s second bedroom. There was a queen bed in there with a cream colored quilt splashed out on the bed.

On late nights spent watching old, black and white movies or binging episodes of The Twilight Zone and The X-Files, she would crash there. It was a fight for her to even concede to allow Spencer to purchase the queen bed. Y/N claimed that she was fine just sleeping on the couch, but Spencer insisted that she sleep in a bed.

And if Y/N had been born into a braver soul, she would’ve suggested they share his bed three years ago.

Spencer shuffled out of his bathroom, eyes red and weary. He wore a tattered Cal-Tech shirt and plaid pajama pants. He wore his glasses. They rested on the bridge of his nose and made him lose at least four or five years on his already young looking face.

“She’s pregnant.”

“I brought wine. And chocolate cheesecake.” Y/N replied, kicking her shoes off. “And you better have done laundry already because I am not sleeping in this dress. I feel ridiculous in it.”

Spencer’s eyes raked over Y/N’s frame, as if he was internally debating his thoughts on her outfit. His brow furrowed. “You’re date?”

“Asshole.” Y/N said, walking into the kitchen. She plucked two wine glasses from Spencer’s cabinet and two plates. “Arrogant and only wanted a quick fuck.”

His voice disappeared as he went into his room for a change of pajamas. They were freshly washed. She continued to listen to Spencer as she shut the bathroom door and changed behind. His voice was no longer muffled when she came out of the bathroom, but she did notice how Spencer’s eyes still were heavy with something unfamiliar when he looked over her baggy, old pajama-clad frame.

“You’re not the girl for that.” Spencer commented, reaching for the corkscrew. His large hands twisted around the device and the bottle of wine made a satisfying pop.

“You don’t know that.” Y/N countered, her defiance made a crop of red appear on Spencer’s cheeks. “Besides, that’s not the point. JJ’s pregnant. With that New Orleans guy’s baby?”

He nodded. It was as if grief washed over Spencer as Y/N changed the conversation. She knew that Spencer was harboring feelings for JJ. Jennifer was nearly perfect in every way. The only imperfect thing about her was that she didn’t realize how perfect Spencer was. He would’ve adored JJ if he got the chance. He nearly did.

“And how do you feel about that?”

Spencer groaned, pouring himself a healthy cup of rosé. “Unsure. It’s not like I’m going to confront her about this. She’s practically engaged to Will. And now there’s a baby in the picture? A baby who’s very well going to grow up seeing me as Uncle Spencer.”

He sounded exhausted. Y/N touched his hand and squeezed. She understood the pained loneliness that plagued Spencer’s voice. “I don’t love JJ anymore. It’s just, my whole life I felt like I was so far beyond my peers. And now? They all finally have caught up, this time the tables have turned. God, I’m excited when a girl smiles at me, let alone goes on a date with me.”

Weakly, Y/N smiled. She sipped her rose, “So it’s more of feeling like you’re far beyond in life? Despite having two PhDs and like three undergrad degrees? You’re one of the most accomplished men I know, Spencer. And we all move along at our own pace. Don’t compare JJ’s story to yours.”

He nodded, spooning a bite of the double chocolate cheesecake. “It’s just…I’m nearly 32. And now I’m watching JJ and Hotch and Morgan talk about babies and husbands and wives and houses. And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be lucky enough to get that one day. Sometimes… I think I’m too me for anyone to fall in love with me.”

Y/N felt her heart shatter into a million little pieces as Spencer’s honest confession striked her entire system. She wanted to reach out and push away the stray curl that hooked itself in front of his eyebrow. She wanted to reach out and wipe away his tears. She wanted to tell her friend that if no one married him, she would.

She stalked off the to couch, needing a stable place to sit. Her chocolate cheesecake stuck to the roof of her mouth and the bitter rosé did nothing to remove it.

“Holy shit, Spencer. Do you not realize that you’d make any girl happy? You’ll find her one day, I know it. And if you don’t, we can just say fuck it and get married. I mean, I know it wouldn’t be romantic love, but we could at least live together. Through a big fancy party and get dressed up nice and getting drunk on mojitos with my best friend. My person? Sounds fun.”

“You mean that?” Spencer asked, half in disbelief and half in wonderment. “You mean that we’ll get married if neither of us have someone…say seven years from now?”

She must’ve drank more than she thought as she waited for Gary to ruin their date. “I meant it. But why seven?”

A smile toyed on Spencer lips. She noticed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“It’s my lucky number.”

Her lips were so loose that it threatened to crack open her heart. She had a nasty habit of wearing that on her sleeve.

She gave Spencer a sheepish look as his eyes met hers. He looked half between incredulous and hopeful. His fingers ran across the rim of his wine glass as the wine sloshed around. It mirrored Y/N’s stomach.

“Is this idea like bad shit crazy?” Y/N asked. “I mean it. I mean, why not. It’s not so different from what we do now. Just all the time. And I’d be thrilled to be spiritually required to spend more time with you.”

“Should we….shake hands or something. I’m not the biggest fan of that, but I think my wife would serve as an exception to the rule. To every rule I’ve got?”

Y/N laughed. She felt the wine creep up a nice, warm flush against her skin. It matched the light and easy way her limbs felt. It might have very well been the wine, but there wasn’t much of anything that could trump laughing with your best friend. Especially when that best friend slipped and called you his wife.

Her feet somehow ended up in Spencer’s lap. His thumb rubbed gently against her ankle, barely touching her bare skin. Yet it sent shockwaves that she didn’t quite understand.

The corners of Spencer’s eyes crinkled as he reciprocated that laugh. They shared it and Y/N had the strangest desire to bottle it up. She wanted to store this moment in her mind and come back to it. One day. Some day.

“We’ll get married,” Spencer started speaking as if it was a prophecy that he could set in stone, “if neither of us has anyone, we’ll enter this rather odd, rather complex, yet completely entirely normal and simple marriage in seven years?” His sweet, yet coy smile was boyish, it only reminded Y/N just how far away 35 was for her.

“Should we draft up a contract?”

“Have your lawyers contact my lawyers. I never sign documents without the proper legal support. In the meantime, could we settle on our first stipulation: never watching a new episode of our current favorite show without the other?”

“I agree to the terms and conditions you’ve set out.” Y/N said. She grabbed the blanket that rested on the back of the couch as Spencer turned off the lamp light.

“Oh and I washed the sheets in your room. I used the detergent you like. And your pajamas. The lavender vanilla one with the scent beads?” He flipped on an episode of The Twilight Zone.

She smiled from the way Spencer naturally called the guest room her bedroom. There was something very domestic and peaceful about him using her favorite detergent to wash the sheets in her room in his apartment. It resembled the exact something that she was craving: being taken care of.

She sipped her rose again, watching as her friend smiled at the gray scale painted on the screen. It was too bad she only had to weight over half a decade to feel it and not feel guilty and like she was lying to herself.

—

Taglist:

@reidsbookclub @boldlyvoid @mrs-dr-reid @reid-ingandweeping @candlesandsoftrain @foxy-eva @queermaxwooo

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

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rustedhearts · 11 months

Text

send her my love (boxer!steve x fem!librarian!reader)

summary: a series of letters written after your recent breakup with steve, recounting your time apart.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the king of the ring ♡ main masterlist

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mushy-gushy-lovey-dovey love letters.

a/n: pretty self explanatory, but libby’s letters are in pink, steve’s are in black ♡

“…how it hurt so bad to see her cry. i didn’t want to say goodbye. send her my love, memories remain. send her my love, roses never fade.”

—send her my love, journey

december 1992—march 1993

♡ ♡

12/05/92

Dear Libby,

Dear god I hope you open this. My hands are shaking so bad around the pen that I’m sure it’ll be all scratchy and shit, but I hope you know that I’m trying. I know how much you love letters, and after you stopped picking up my calls a few weeks ago…I figured this was the best way to reach you.

It’s been almost a month since we last saw each other. I hate thinking about that day. I hate thinking about you crying, and crying because of me. Because of something I did. I want you to know that I take full accountability for what I did, my love. That’s a word they said I should use more often. Accountability. “They” would be Big and Mikey. When they heard about what happened…I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them so mad. I think, for a moment, Big thought about coming out of retirement just to kick my ass into next year.

I patched up the wall myself. It was my mess to clean. The house seems so big and empty without you. I never realized it echoed before.

I don’t blame you for going home, baby. I know you’ve been wanting to go for a while. I know I drove you away. Pushed you away. I was so terrible to you and I see that now. I’m so sorry it took something so awful for me to see it. But you were right. I’m just like my father. And I needed someone to tell me that so I could realize how fucking stupid and awful I’ve been.

I hope you don’t mind that I used some of your stationary to write this to you. You left it on the desk downstairs. The shelves came in for your books and I put them up. Maybe when you come home, we can fill them up. I’ll buy you all the books in the world, my girl.

I’m sorry. Please know that.

Love,

Steve.

♡ ♡

12/10/92

Steve,

I was surprised to receive your letter. When I stopped answering and your calls stopped coming, I assumed we were done for good. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Despite my every want to feel the opposite, I’m still so terribly in love with you that my head hurts every waking moment of the day. I ache with it. Now that we’re apart, it bleeds. It has nowhere to go. I have nowhere to put it. But this was your doing, Steven. I don’t want you to forget that.

We both said terrible things that day, but what you did was unforgivable. You promised from the start to never raise a hand against me in anger. You promised to never become the thing you hated. I took your word as bond, and perhaps that was my mistake. Perhaps that’s my grievance to regret.

I miss you terribly, but this time apart will be good for us. It’s what we need. I’ve been away from home since I was 19. My brother stands taller than me. His voice is so much deeper than when I left. They’re getting computers at the library soon. Everything is so different, yet it all still seems the same. But even these tiny differences make me realize how long I’ve been away.

It’s snowing here in Hawkins and I helped mom put up the Christmas lights. Nick and I had a snowball fight. I felt ten years old again. Mom made hot chocolate and we watched Charlie Brown. I know how much you love Charlie Brown’s Christmas. But in that moment, I felt wonderfully calm. I felt okay. I felt happy.

And it made me wonder…were we happy, Steve? Or have we been pretending for too long?

I’m glad my shelves came. Use them for your trophies.

XO,

Libby

♡ ♡

12/14/92

Libby,

I can’t tell you how happy I was to get your letter in the mail. I’ve been scared to open it for the past two days. But the thought of going a moment more without knowing what you said would kill me. I can hear your voice so clearly when I read your words.

I’ll never forget what I did that day, Libby. It will always be a reminder of how awful I’ve become. And it will always be a reminder of who I don’t want to be ever again.

I know it doesn’t mean much now since I’m a few months too late, but I’m talking to someone. A shrink or whatever. Big recommended him. Apparently he specializes in “anger issues.” You know how I feel about sitting down and whining about my problems, but…I don’t know. Maybe it’ll help. If it turns me back into the man you loved then I’ll sit on that couch and talk for days.

You asked if we were pretending, and for me at least, I never pretended for a moment. There wasn’t a second that went by that I didn’t love you with every ounce of my being. I’m sorry if you felt you had to pretend. I’m sorry that you weren’t happy, and if you give me the chance, I’ll do my best to make you happy this time around.

No amount of trophies or champion belts in the world could make up for the loss of you, my angel. Please know that and believe it.

Yours,

Steve

♡ ♡

12/22/92

Steve,

I hate the way your words make my heart pound. All that love is still so strong, and it’s all still festering in me. But the heartache is just as powerful. The heartache is just as real.

I cannot give you a second chance just yet. I don’t think we’ve quite earned it. I don’t think we’ve yet reached a point where we’re both okay—on our own. I want to be okay even without you. I fear I’ve become so reliant on you to tell me where life will go, because my life has revolved around your own. I’ve never found my own path to wander. I want that opportunity now.

I went to the Hideout tonight. A Christmas party with some friends. I haven’t felt that young in years, Steve. I’m only 22.

Merry Christmas, Steve. And happy New Year.

XO,

Libby

♡ ♡

1/3/93

Libby,

Christmas was lonely without you. Mikey invited me to his "bachelor pad" in L.A for a "booze fest" (all his words). Gargling gravel sounded like a better time. For a minute, I thought maybe it might be good to get out. To be my own person, like you said. But everything just feels so dull now.

I thought about mailing your present, but I figured you'd just get upset. I want to respect your space and our time apart. My shrink says I have to find more time for other people's wants and needs instead of just prioritizing my own. Is that what I've been doing, Libby? Is that what I've always done?

I guess I kinda did. Took you away from the library and your home. I just wanted you with me all the time. I couldn’t imagine getting through that first string of fights without you. I don’t think I’d be the fighter I am today if I didn’t have you there.

I guess I’m talking about “me” a lot again. I’m sorry I do that.

I hope your Christmas was nice. Hope it snowed the way you like.

Love,

Steve

♡ ♡

1/28/93

Libby,

I haven’t heard from you all month. I thought I’d reach out again. For a few days, I had myself convinced my letter got lost in the mail. I waited for a “return to sender” to come. I think I would’ve preferred the honest rejection to your silence. It’s been so quiet here, my girl. I miss the sound of your voice in our home.

The fights mean nothing anymore. I won the Russell fight last week and felt nothing. Ever since you left, victory tastes stale. The referees declare the winner and I just hear static. Jesus, I miss you so much I started reading some of your sappy literature last week. It’s clearly having an affect.

I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re good. I miss you more and more with every passing day. I miss you more than I thought was ever humanly possible for one person to miss another. I never thought this deep of a feeling could exist. This “break” has taught me a lot.

Been talking to the shrink more too. He says I have an issue with authority and always need to feel in control because of how my dad was. Big fucking brain on this guy, huh? Must’ve went to school in Dumb Fuckville.

Sorry. I’m trying to be kinder. Not swear so much. Wish they made patches for anger like they do for nicotine. Something to ease the ache. But it’s hard to quit something you were born into. The Harrington rage doesn’t just disappear over night. But I swear I’m trying. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, baby. I’m doing my best to be better.

I hope I hear from you. I hope you’re alright.

I love you.

— Steve

♡ ♡

2/3/93

Steve,

I meant to write. I’ve been so busy now that I’m at the library full time again. I forgot how taxing it can truly be, but it’s like riding a bike. The smell of the books, the feel of the paper, the conversations you have with readers who don’t know where to look, or the ones who do and are searching for more. I forgot how important I feel between those stacks of books.

My girlfriends and I have been going out. They never got to celebrate my twenty-first with me, so we had a belated celebration a few weeks ago. We went to a bar in Indianapolis, took a bus the whole way there. The bar was loud and hot and sticky, and someone spilled beer all over my purse. I know you would’ve hated it, but part of me wished you were there. Bodies were pressing against each other on the dance floor, touching and smearing sweat—but all I wanted to feel was yours. Your familiar frame, right next to me. Only with you have I ever felt so secure.

Anyway, I got my first hangover, and that wasn’t fun. Especially because I’m still staying with my parents and they still think I’m seventeen. Nick tried to get me to buy him beer for his friends. I wish I could be this ‘cool’ older sister for him, but right now he doesn’t like me very much.

I watched your fight last week. There’s something so different in the way you move now. Your punches seem heavier, harder. You take more hits before you hit back. I wish you wouldn’t do that. You know I always worry, Steve. I worry about what might happen if you take too many hits. All those concussions can’t be good. I’m no doctor, but I figure eventually, they’ll catch up to you. I don’t want to see that happen. I can’t fathom the idea of losing you like that. No matter what happens between us, I always want to know you’re well. Selfishly, I always want to know you're out there if I need to call.

I’m glad to know you’re trying, and that you’re still going to therapy. I think it’s very healthy, Steve, and I appreciate and value your honesty. And….I miss you too.

Yours,

Libby

♡ ♡

2/12/93

Libby,

There hasn't been a moment that's gone by since you left that I haven't wished I was with you. In whatever way that might be, all I've wanted is to feel your body next to mine. I miss your touch, your smell, your smile. I never want to know another kiss but yours. I never want to hold another body in my arms that isn't yours. I don't think I could stomach the thought of never having that again.

The longer the time between us lasts and the further the distance grows, the worse I ache for you. God I sound like a fucking dope. It's all those novels you left me, I swear I'm not this sappy. But I guess with you I am.

Please forgive me. Please come home. All I can do now is beg, and show you how hard I'm trying.

I love you, angel. There's nobody and nothing but you.

Love,

Steve

P.S. You're the best big sister. Nick will see that one day when his brain isn't full of beer and Playboy.

P.P.S. Happy early Valentine's Day, baby. I hope the flowers are okay.

♡ ♡

2/17/93

Dear Steve,

I loved the flowers, and I loved the sap. Reading your last letter brought tears to my eyes, and for the first time in a while, they were blissful. I cannot begin to describe the size of the welt in my chest. It feels bruised by your absence and my longing.

Despite every bone in my body yearning for you, I cannot come home. Not yet. I'm not ready. I don't think you are, either. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and while it pains both of us to endure it, I think they're right. Whoever "they" are.

In the spirit of all this honesty, I have to admit: Tom Marrow asked me out for Valentine's Day. And god damn you, Steve, I said no. I said no because I'm wilting without your sun shining on me, and I'm lost without you by my side. I said no because I'll never be able to look into the face of another man without wishing it was yours.

I said no because I know, one day (maybe soon, maybe not), I'll come home to you. Don't let that get to your head.

Love,

Libby

♡ ♡

2/22/93

Libby,

My heart has never suffered as many palpitations in all my high-risk athletic career as it did reading your letter. I hate the way the paper crumpled in my fist when I read about fucking Tom. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to abandon the jealousy that fills me when I think of you with another man. But I can admit, it reached a point even I don't like to think of. I was letting it control me. I'm trying not to do that anymore.

The paper smelled like you this time. You don't know how badly I've missed that smell. I sort of feel like a hound-dog, tracing for more of it in the ink. That's what you've reduced me to, my love. An animal searching for you in the earth.

Please come home. Please come back to me.

Yours,

Steve

♡ ♡

3/2/93

My darling Steve,

I'm coming home to you. Please unlock the door.

Yours always,

Libby

♡ ♡

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ugh-yoongi · 10 months

Note

I haven't seen anybody write out Hobi being a librarian and I think that'd be soo cute! Sweet Hobi all smitten on a regular reader, and of course, they're a regular for a reason, but both are too nervous and self-conscious to act on any of their desires.

oh, this is so soft, i love this so much. thank you for sending it in! i hope you enjoy. <3

we're celebrating jess's birthday! hobi hours are: OPEN.

low key, no pressure

pairing: hoseok x reader (no pronouns used) genre: mutual pining, librarian au; fluff warnings: swearing, hobi being a cute disaster, this is kind of idiots to lovers but since the lovers development is implied i didn't tag it that way but just know it's there ok, taehyung is a shithead, mostly unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1.6k

Hoseok is a little misguided, is the thing.

What counts is that he has good intentions, even if they don’t hold up under closer examination. But he’s sort of a disaster of a human, so he takes Taehyung’s ribbing on the chin and forges ahead with his plan.

All because he doesn’t know how to talk to you.

He knows your favorite book because you check it out at least once a month. He knows your favorite flower because there’s a bouquet of them tattooed so artfully on your arm they look painted on. He knows your name and your address and your phone number because it’s in the system, and he has enough sense not to do anything with them.

“You could just—and I’m just spitballing here—say hello.”

Hoseok frowns. “I say hello every time…?”

Taehyung is a year younger, so it feels weird to disappoint him. Settles in his stomach all funny, like he’s doing something wrong but can’t figure out what it is. “That’s not—” Taehyung sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you always like this? Like, this is your baseline?”

“I’m not following.”

“Clearly,” Taehyung mutters. He looks good today, Hoseok thinks. Looks like he’d woken up and put actual effort into his appearance. Looks like the summer has favorites. Doesn’t at all look like he’s on the verge of a mental break, which is more than Hoseok can say about himself. “Hyung, I’m going to ask this point-blank—”

“Maybe don’t? I’m fragile.”

“—Do you know how to flirt?”

Hoseok scoffs, all instinct. Of course he knows how to flirt. He’d flirted his way through undergrad and then grad school with great success. He flirts with the grumpy IT guy the city sends over, just because it’s funny to watch his cheeks turn a shade of red he’d previously thought was impossible. Hell, he flirts with stupidity every single day, so who is Kim Taehyung to ask him such a thing?

“Don’t ask silly questions, Taehyungie.”

“So you’re saying you do?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Okay,” Taehyung shrugs, and Hoseok sighs in relief, glad that particular interrogation is over. “Flirt with me, then.”

And then he’s choking on his tea, expensive cashmere sweater now soiled with half a cup of honey vanilla chamomile. “You asshole,” he wheezes, barely able to get the words out before his throat constricts again, warning him of another impending coughing fit. “My sister bought me this sweater.”

“Noona has great taste,” comes Taehyung’s easy reply, paying no mind to Hoseok at all, “which is to be expected, of course. Now, please flirt with me once you’ve recovered.”

“Why?” Hoseok snaps, because the way he’s blotting at his sweater with a soggy napkin is humiliating. He doesn’t even have a change of clothes anymore; had taken his gym bag out of his car a few weeks ago when he’d gotten the flu.

Taehyung sighs again—put-upon, like he’s dealing with an obtuse child. “Because I’m trying to facilitate true love, and I can’t send you into battle unprepared.”

Hoseok just glares. He’s going to have to spend his lunch break running back to his apartment to change.

Right, the plan.

It’s all dependent on you sticking to your routine, which goes like this: every Sunday afternoon, without fail, you swing by the library and make pleasant small talk with Taehyung as you return your books. Taehyung, without fail, asks what you thought of them and recommends new ones accordingly. You always smile and say thank you, and your voice always sounds like church bells.

(“That’s because you want to mar—” “I will fire you if you finish that thought.”)

Hoseok is always conveniently absent during these exchanges, pretending to do paperwork in his office. This is why Taehyung calls him a coward, and that’s probably true, it’s just… Hoseok has talked to you enough times to develop a big fat crush, and that’s not acceptable. He doesn’t even know you; doesn’t want to romanticize you and put you on a pedestal.

Hence the plan.

If he can’t talk to you with words, he’ll do it with books.

It’s genius, regardless of what Taehyung thinks.

But Taehyung is integral to the plan, so Hoseok has to get him on board. “Look, I already put it together, I just need you to… suggest it.”

“You mean be manipulative.”

“It’s not manipulative,” Hoseok argues, sending a glare Taehyung’s way. “It’s no different from you suggesting books any other time.”

“I just don’t understand why you can’t just say hi, I really dig your taste in literature, would you like to grab a coffee sometime? It’s not that hard, hyung, you really don’t need to do all of…” He points at the stack of books Hoseok has assembled. “...This.”

There’s about three seconds before Hoseok explodes, and Taehyung must realize it because he’s throwing his hands up and going fine, fine and helping sort the books.

As annoying as Taehyung can be, he really is a great salesman.

Powerful, too, because Hoseok wouldn’t have lasted a second in your presence. Probably would’ve melted under the warmth of your smile; would’ve withered as soon as you strolled in with your tattoo visible; would’ve fallen to his knees the second you said hello.

Taehyung has done none of those things, which Hoseok knows because he’s standing on a chair, watching from the window in his office. He knows Taehyung can see his face peeking through the blinds, keeps rolling his eyes whenever the two of them make eye contact, but he schools his expression and keeps Hoseok’s secret safe.

“I actually have some special recommendations for you today,” he hears Taehyung say. Watches as he hands over the bundle of paperbacks. “Our lovely head librarian thought you might be interested in these. He picked them out just for you.”

You look taken aback. It sends Hoseok into a panic, wondering if he’d gone too far. Maybe he should’ve listened to Taehyung, after all, but surely a stack of books is less forward and weird than a coffee date? You can just not read the books and return them if they aren’t your thing, but turning someone down face-to-face is much harder.

No, no—Hoseok did the right thing. He has to have faith in the plan.

“Wow,” you reply, a beautiful smile lighting up your face. “These look great. Please tell him I said thank you.”

Taehyung’s smile is not beautiful. It’s greasy and smarmy. “Oh, I most certainly will.”

Taehyungie (11:32am): Can’t make it into work today, hyung Taehyungie (11:32am): I’m super sick Taehyungie (11:32am): Sorry 😉

Hoseok can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Kim Taehyung is a traitor. A treasonist. A miscreant. Another word for a disloyal person who is not only willing to abandon his hyung in his time of need, but is gleeful about it.

What could Hoseok possibly have done in a past life to deserve this?

Doesn’t matter, he decides. This is totally fine. Hoseok’s going to prove Taehyung wrong. He’s going to have a proper conversation with you. He’s going to ask what you thought about the books he’d chosen. He’s going to recommend new ones. He’s going to flirt. He might even ask if you want to grab coffee sometime, and he’s going to relay all of this to Taehyung right before he tells him to go to hell.

Just one small hiccup: he has to survive you first.

You’re surprised to see him, and the way your eyes widen makes Hoseok’s heart skip a beat. God, he’s worse off than he thought. Gets worse when you reach the circulation desk and he can smell your perfume: something soft and earthy that reminds him of a spring breeze. Has his knees shaking, on the verge of buckling beneath him, and it’s only through pure spite that he stays upright.

“Good afternoon,” he says with a small wave.

You smile. “Hi, Hoseok. Haven’t seen you up here in a while.”

“Ah, well, you know. Paperwork.”

You nod, but the jerky motions of your head tell Hoseok you probably don’t do much paperwork at your job. “Yeah, of course. Is Taehyung out today?”

“Yep, took a sick day.” He shouldn’t, but he thinks Taehyung deserves it: “Sent me a text this morning and said it was coming out both ends. Seems bad.” You’re grimacing. Oh god, you’re grimacing. “Anyway! Here for your weekly return?”

Like a switch has been flipped, you scramble into action, reaching into your tote bag to retrieve the books. “I—yeah, sorry, let me just…”

“Sure, take your time. Did you like them?”

“Yes,” you answer, gaze slowly rising to meet his own. There are words clearly biting at the back of your teeth and, like Hoseok has done a million times before, you swallow them. Slowly, you hand over all the books but one. “I especially liked this one.”

The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. Hoseok had agonized over that one for days, wondering if it was too much, if it’d send the wrong message. Some of the other books were more obvious, but this one was… well. It’s not what was said that’s important, it’s what wasn’t, and Hoseok had concocted that stupid plan because he couldn’t say what he wanted to.

But you’re handing it over with a hesitation that has Hoseok smiling despite himself. “Would you like to hang onto it a little longer?”

“Would that be okay?”

“Of course.” And then, because he’s brave and he doesn’t want to end up like one of Ishiguro’s characters, he takes advantage of a fleeting moment of bravery. “Maybe we could—aish. Would you like to discuss it over coffee sometime? The book, I mean. With me.”

You nod, and your smile is shy. “I would love to.”

#hoseok x reader #bts x reader #jhope x reader #hoseok fluff #hoseok imagine #hoseok fanfic #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #fic: jess drabbles #jewel answers #jewel writes

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bellysoupset · 17 days

Note

Hi Soup! For a shorter fic, I'd love to see Leo sick at work or because of something stressful at work! We've seen him sick from something that happens at work (damn cake!), but not actually not feeling well at the office - maybe because he ate too much at lunch and it's just not sitting well. Does he hide it because he's got something that needs to get finished? Does he need to go puke quickly so he can keep working? Do people realize and make him leave? Your choice. Only request is that there isn't actually any publicly embarassing throwing up - no puking in court or in the middle of a meeting. Thank you so much!

Leo was over the moon about being a Real Lawyer, as he childishly called himself. It was no secret to his loved ones just how excited he was to be able to defend cases himself, instead of running after another lawyer with all their research and watching them recite a defense thesis that Leo was pretty sure had been partially written by him.

His boss put a lot of trust in him. Sure, Mrs. Mitchell only gave him small cases so far, but she was slowly handing him more and not only were they more frequent, but the difficulty was increasing.

Thus, Leo had easily blamed the uncomfortable churning in his stomach on nerves when it started. Today he had a big court day and no matter how many times he had gone over his notes - and ranted about the case enough that Jonah was probably a liability - he still felt jittery all over.

He was the defense today, to a woman who was being accused of plagiarism by a relatively well established script writer. Normally the Hollywood cases would stay in California and Mitchell's claws, but this one was small and unimportant enough to make it to Maine. The script writer was from the state and probably thought he could play on the local's sympathies, after all he had gone out and made it.

Leo wasn't feeling very sympathetic.

He was feeling almost queasy as he looked at the smug face of the script writer, who was accusing an ex-girlfriend of almost ten years ago of "stealing" his intellectual property.

Had no one learned a thing for Fitzgerald? Or Tolstoy?

Apparently not.

"You know," Dean leaned his way, "we're in court, you might wanna brighten up a little and stop glaring bloody murder to the opposition."

"Sorry," Leo shook his head, trying to physically shake off his frown, "I wasn't glaring at him, I was just frowning, he happened to be in the way."

"Brilliant save," Dean grinned, "they're gonna call break in five."

Leo was aware of that, he was the main defense lawyer and he was actually listening to the prosecutor's flimsy claims that Gwen was a plagiarist only because she happened to use the same first name in one of her published short stories.

Leo almost wished the opposition had a decent defense of their points, so he didn't have so much time to focus on the burbling going inside his belly. The lunch he had forced down wasn't sitting well at all and little sickly belches kept bubbling up his chest and fizzling out in his throat.

He felt like his whole body smelt like the greasy burger he had eaten and like everyone could tell... His mouth was watering.

Forty minutes recess.

"They're fumbling by the seam of their pants," Dean started to tell their client, in a low, collected voice, "they have nothing, you don't need to worry."

Right, Leo thought bitterly. She was a librarian, who published exactly one book with short stories just for fun, being prosecuted by a Hollywood script writer. Sure, the man was far from being a big shot of anything, but compared to the woman's position...

"Ms. Peters, you have a solid defense, please trust us," Leo promised her calmly, "take the recess, get some coffee, it'll be a long day."

His own words were mockery to him. Normally he existed on coffee and today just the thought of drinking a drop of anything made his stomach flip on itself and he hastily got up, muffling a little burp on his fist and excusing himself. No one had heard, although Sandra did throw him a puzzled look.

"Ms. Peters," Sandy stepped in, "let's take a small walk."

Sandra, like Leo, normally was one of the lawyers with the softest touch. Usually Leo didn't have all his coworkers with him, but he had his boss sitting right behind their desk, judging his every move. It was a huge tell of respect and trust that Mrs. Mitchell had only sent his peers today, instead of coming herself. Almost as if saying go and show them how its done.

He couldn't mess this up.

"The man is a misogynistic bully," Dean continued to speak, following Leo into the public bathroom. His coworker could talk with a tree if left to his own devices, "I'm excited for your part, the evid-"

"Shut it," Leo glared at him, handing Dean his suitcase and removing his suit jacket, "hold this, please."

"No one's listening to us."

"Dean," Leo scoffed, "no. Last thing I want is for you to blow the case by lack of decorum or by giving the prosecution a ti-URP-Fuck," the larger belch that slipped into his last word caused Dean to raise his eyebrows. The other man opened his mouth, about to ask about Leo's wellbeing when the blonde turned around and entered a stall, quickly pushing the lid up and planting a hand on his chest to keep his tie in place as a chunky stream of vomit hit the water.

"WhOA! Wagner, what the fuck-"

Leo hung his head in shame, bracing his free arm against the tiled wall in front of him and panting, trying to get his stomach in check. The queasiness had been on the backburner all day, but the face-prickling, hand sweaty, mouth watery nausea had hit him like a brick and out of nowhere.

"Fuck..." He breathed out through his mouth and swallowed some air, forcing up another burp and then coughing when that brought up some more chunks- He gagged and a much more watery, acidic mouthful of vomit fell in the toilet.

"Wagner, oh my-" Dean was fretting behind him, frozen in place and stunned, "shit, are you sick? We can call for a recess-"

"No," Leo's voice was hoarse and he cleared his throat, spitting a mouthful of thick saliva and flushing, as his sudden nausea went back to the mild queasiness, "No, I'm fine."

"Fine?!" Dean was still holding his suitcase and jacket, seemingly unaware Leo had passed the items to him, "You don't seem fine, you look white as a corpse-"

"I'm fine," Leo stumbled to the sink to wash his face and gargle with water, "lunch just wasn't sitting well-"

"Oh... Are you sure...?" Dean was older than Leo by at least five years and yet he sounded like a scared teenager. Leo nodded, meeting his coworker's eyes on the mirror and patting his own pale cheeks until they were a little rosy instead of spoiled milk white.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, then fixed his tie and reached for his jacket, "I can't go home, I have a case to win."

#mywriting #sickfic #leo wagner #emetophilia #emeto

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santacoppelia · 2 months

Note

for the good omens ask game! 1, 11, 14, 17, 23!

Yay! Thanks for the ask!

1. when did you first watch/discover good omens, and how did you find out about it?

I knew about it because I was relatively familiar with Neil Gaiman's work (not yet obsessed, but an old friend had been convinced (like 15-18 years ago) that I'd love it… He lent me Mr. Punch, gifted me Mirrormask on a birthday… (he was absolutely right, but it was too early for me yet). After that, I watched Coraline and read Stardust, and was absolutely sold. I must have read about the series on Twitter, and decided to read the book before the series premiered… And fell in love with it: the characters, the humor, the shenanigans… I read it thrice before the premiere.

11. what is (if you read) your favorite type of human au for good omens? (ex. coffee shop au, surgeons au, plant store au)

I read A LOT of human AUs. Crowley and Aziraphale, being divine beings, become the perfect "blorbos to put in situations" when you have their personalities but remove their powers. I adore them being teachers, but I've also loved them being musicians, doctors, tumblrinas, a librarian and a writer…

14. what is your favorite good omens-coded song?

I have a bunch of playlists that could answer this, and I still feel that "Francesca" by Hozier is my absolute favorite. For angsty fanfic writing reasons, "You want it darker" by Leonard Cohen feels very "Metatron came with an offer" coded to me.

17. what is your favorite husband-y moment between aziracrow?

In season 1 and the book, the whole thing with Anathema and the bicycle. In season 2, the moment when they are talking with Muriel-as-Inspector-Constable.

23. what's a good omens headcanon that you considered canon?

Two about Crowley: he is as nearsighted as a snake would be, and he lives with chronic pain. One about Aziraphale: he ADORES receiving massages.

#good omens #ask game #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #midnights-dragon

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goodluckclove · 21 days

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Edgar Gallows Blog Takeover - Intro Post!

Uh - hi! Hello!

I don't really know what I'm doing here or why I'm doing it, but Scott told me there's no way he's trying this unless he sees me do it first. And if Scott's not doing it Tenzin won't be comfortable enough to try either - really, Katy's the only one here comfortable chatting to strangers. It's a delicate web otherwise.

But yeah, my name is Edgar. I'm 30 and I live in New Orleans. Scott and I looked up what people put in intro posts like these and a lot of them had genders and pronouns, so let's just say I have both of those and not go any deeper than that.

I've worked in a few tourist-y traps in NOLA, mostly back of house doing prep and assembly work. Right now I'm a bartender and I'm great at it. I'm the best in the world. I've won awards. You can lie on the internet without consequence, right?

I should say that I am ex-Academy. I won't say which one for the sake of anonymity (And - let's face it - my own safety as well). I wasn't expelled or discharged or whatever. Technically I wasn't even released. I don't practice anymore, or really keep up with the news and politics of Academic witchcraft, so don't expect me to get into it unprompted.

Interests

I don't think there's a genre of music that I don't love, but I'm a big fan of funk, disco, new wave and Japanese city pop. Talking Heads is my favorite band of all time.

I'm a self-taught chef. I think I'm pretty good at it. I also bake, which I am less good at. Those skills do not transfer like you might think they do.

Scott's looking over my shoulder and he's telling me to mention that I like birds. I do. I feel weird saying that because I don't really know that many bird facts for anything other than my few favorites (Goldfinches and Buntings). I just like looking at them.

I say that I play video games but the only video game I'm remotely good at is Old School Runescape, which I don't think is that cool to say.

Things to Ask me About?

I would love to talk about cooking or food. This could be to give advice, recipe suggestions, food pairings, knife skills - ask me something as simple as how to scramble an egg and I'd be happy to share my technique.

In regards to the Academy, I will say that I'm Legacy and so I never actually enlisted. If you're thinking of going down that path at your own branch, I worked at the University of mine as a librarian for maybe five years, so I got a good perspective as to what the process looks like. I'm open to offering insight and tentative guidance if you aren't weird.

Scott says I should mention that I'm also a birthright. He's really the one that has more authority to talk about that since he actually grew up in a witch town, but apparently he has a lot of opinions on how I should do this for someone who barely understands how the internet works.

He's watching me type now. Fuck it, you can ask me about Scott too if you want. I assumed I was straight until about a week ago. Now I seem to have bagged myself an ethereal magical boyfriend. He saw me use the voice command on my Pixel and now he makes me say goodnight to my goddamned cell phone before we go to sleep. I love him.

DNI List

I heard admission rates for Academies hit a major spike recently, and I'm just putting it out there that I really would rather not debate anyone super invested in the "mission statement" of their local University. The newer members never seem to realize that the culture of the Academy differs like crazy depending where you are, and because of that there really isn't the kind of centralization they claim exists to Junior Members.

Also - and this might be a divisive take - but I was born into this world. I spent decades of my life in the Academy. I truly do not care about the opinion of someone who trained for two years after joining straight out of high school. I won't block you, but I will send your username and any comments you make to my friend who is far more Anti-Academy than I am (Hi, Katy).

Anyway that's all! I look forward to posting things today and maybe talking to some new people! I hope everyone is nice and not weird and I do not regret this happening!

who is this? why is this happening? check out the pinned post on my blog to learn more!

#songbird blog takeover #writeblr #writing community #writers on tumblr #authors of tumblr #queer writers #actually writing #blind trust #writing #oc rp #edgar posting

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orii-blogs-stuff · 2 months

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Shuu tensed as he watched Rozemyne enter through the door with her husband and Retainers and others in tow, Fried rice and Beef steak were also there. This was it, Oba-san was going to be so disappointed with what Urano turned into-

“-My daughter…” Oba-san said, holding out her arms. “Come here…”

“Rozemyne-” Ferdinand tried to warn her, Shuu wondered if Ferdinand did so because he didn’t trust Oba-san or Shuu himself.

For the first time in forever, Rozemyne actually ignored her husband and lept into Oba-san’s arms, Shuu darkly wondered if Ferdinand would pull his magic wand on Oba-san like he tried to do when Rozemyne did the same thing with Shuu all those years ago. “Mama… You’re here…”

“I am, my Darling… I am…” Oba-san cried out, holding onto Rozemyne tightly. “Mama’s here now… Mama’s here now…”

Surprisingly, Ferdinand didn’t pull out his magic wand. “ Ah… ” Shuu thought to himself, “ So Ferdinand’s sexist… Good to know. ”

“How about we all just sit down and continue our conversation?” Shuu said.

Rozemyne sat next to Oba-san while everyone else was sitting down.

“How are you?” Oba-san asked Rozemyne. “Are you eating enough? Is the other world dangerous? Did you become a librarian in the other world? What about books? Do you have a large personal library? How are you-”

Shuu noticed Ferdinand’s face that seemed to say, “ Now I understand where Rozemyne gets her annoying personality from. ” Which was rude ! What? Was it below for Nobles when a Mother wanted to make sure her only (dead) child was doing well? Oh wait, Nobles probably delegated that task by making their retainers raise their children for them, silly Shuu.

“You must be Urano’s new Mother.” Oba-san told Fried rice. “And you, her new Father.” She told Beef steak. “Thank you for looking after our daughter.” Oba-san said with a bow. “I can now rest easy knowing Urano is being treated well and has people looking after her even though I personally could not.”

Fried rice had her noble smile pasted on her face. “It has been my pleasure, although, my memory seems to elude me, how old was Rozemyne when she climbed the towering heights?”

“I was twenty-two.” Rozemyne said. “Father was one of the first people who came to know about my dre- rebirth.”

“I see…” Fried rice said as she looked at her husband with a questioning look. “How interesting”

Did… Was it just him or was the entire situation spelling out Rozemyne-didn’t-think-it-was-necessary-to-tell-her-new-Mother-she-rebirth-but-told-her-new-father? Because those were the exact vibes Shuu got from this entire situation. Just another thing that would have never happened if Rozemyne was still Urano… She would have been too busy with her books to let anyone know she got a second lease on life.

Shuu watched as Oba-san and Fried rice talked, they seemed to get along well enough, as expected. From what Shuu remembered, Oji-san was a politician so Oba-san being the wife of a politician (however short it was) knew how to deal with politicians (which was exactly what Rozemyne and her family were).

All in all, they seemed to be getting along, something Shuu hadn’t expected, Oba-san was supposed to be horrified with what Urano had become not… Not saying she was proud of Rozemyne!

This was not… This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! “ At least she won’t cry over Urano anymore. ” A part of his mind thought. Oba-san wouldn’t spend every night crying herself to sleep over the loss of her husband and daughter, isn’t that what Shuu wanted? To make Oba-san happy?

So why did he feel this anger bubbling inside of him? Oba-san accepted Rozemyne and Rozemyne accepted Oba-san, bringing a family back together again, isn’t that something one always dreamed of? Having their loved one’s back so they could tell them how much they missed them even for a moment? Why was Shuu not happy with this?

“I’ll find a way to bring you to Jurgenschmidt, I promise, Mama. Ferdinand no I will not listen to a word you say, this is my Mama and I-”

Was he the problem then? Rozemyne and Oba-san seemed to get along just fine, Rozemyne even defended Oba-san against Ferdinand! Ferdinand ! The guy who gave Shuu a hard time simply for breathing !

Shuu took a deep breath. No, he needed to stop being so ridiculous, Rozemyne also defended him in the beginning, once she got used to Oba-san, she won’t defend her much against Ferdinand later on even when he will degradingly call her a ‘commoner’ or whatever.

“Mama…” Rozemyne started, “I want to apologise for being such a bad daughter-”

- DING!

The door to the restaurant slammed open, in came a frantic looking Riya. “Monster! Wheeze! One Eye! Wheeze! Chased meh wheeze !” Holy shit, what was she doing here?!

#my writing #ascendance of a bookworm #a restaurant in another world #join us for a bite au #excerpts

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husbandhoshi · 1 year

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[2:01]

“can’t sleep?”

you would say your roommate just standing there in the dim light of the kitchen counts as a jumpscare, but he looks too good for that.

“no,” you sigh. “we gotta stop meeting like this, you know.”

it’s a relief when doyoung smiles at your admittedly lame joke, but for some reason, there’s a tension in the air you can’t explain. it hangs off him like a wet towel, fills your lungs deep and heavy.

“you want tea? peppermint?”

you nod, ignoring the fact that he already knows your usual.

you moved in just two weeks ago—your previous housing plans fell through, and lo and behold, your brother’s best friend happened to have a spare bedroom.

unfortunately, your brother’s best friend also happens to be the guy you’ve had a crush on for approximately three years and two months, not counting the time you went to college and reminded yourself that other men do, in fact, exist.

now he’s big and tall and is a history grad student, and you actually considered splitting taeyong’s closet-sized studio with him instead of living in your own personal hell.

worse, it’s the fifth time this week that you’ve had these multi hour past-midnight conversations. yesterday it was wheat thins and existentialism, and the day before it was the ethics of the angry birds movie. you hate that he’s smart because it makes him that much hotter.

“you should really fix that sleep schedule of yours,” he says in that very doyoung way of his, pretty lips pursed with concern.

he hands you a mug, one that you very deftly note is one of his, even though you have plenty of your own. this is the kind of thing you read into when you have the most gut-wrenchingly stupid thing for a guy you will never pull.

“as if you have a better one.” you pick up the fat book he’s left on the counter—the history of the decline and fall of the roman empire—and admire the neat walls of post-its lining the pages. “what are you doing up?”

doyoung settles next to you, leaned up against the counter looking like some hot librarian with his specs, and you hand him the book with a weak hand.

your shoulders touch, and you notice he smells like pine.

“studying,” he admits. he takes a sip from his own mug (earl gray because it’s caffeinated). “and then i wondered if i would find you out here again, going through the cabinets like some kind of raccoon.”

he puts the book down, and you have the feeling that it is not a studying kind of night.

“it’s not my fault i don’t understand the weird marie kondo way you organized your pantry. who the hell puts the cereal in the bottom cabinet,” you tease, finding that you love the way his mouth folds up when he gets embarrassed.

“it’s a work in progress.”

he smiles and then you smile and then you look down at your cup and watch the little tea bag bob up and down because you can’t bear to make eye contact for another second.

“i—,” doyoung starts, clearly trying to find words, anything to say.

you turn to face him once more, choosing to not perceive the fact that he’s looking at you, that he’s been looking at you, almost like he can see through the big, linty sweatshirt you have on.

his eyes draw you in; it’s a cruelly magnetic force that pulls you to him until you’re toe to toe and you can swear your heartbeat is so fast and hard that you can feel it in the air.

it’s that same force that washes over you, fills you with a boldness unknown to you. and you do what the you of years ago couldn’t dare to do—you bring your lips to those perfect ones of his, and you kiss him.

his body tenses against yours, and you’re now confident that you’ve supremely fucked up. but then he places his mug on the counter and pulls back, only to kiss you again, slow and romantic, like he means it.

“thank god,” he says, half whisper because you’re still on him, and you’re glad it’s dark because you are most likely the color of a ripe tomato.

“i—i didn’t know,” you manage to squeak out, so close to him you can see your reflection in his glasses. you can’t help but look back down at his lips, so unfairly soft and inviting, and how they’re now glossy with you. “i wasn’t sure.”

“neither did i,” he laughs, and it’s almost like you can see the dignity flood back into his body, because he then follows it with, “i should’ve asked you on a date first, huh? or at least—”

“please shut up and kiss me again.”

he does.

#this is for you doyoung anon #sorry this is like so long and rambly and nothing happens #anyway. 🧍#mine #doyoung #nct #doyoung x reader

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terramythos · 10 months

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TAYLOR READS 2023: GUARDS! GUARDS! BY TERRY PRATCHETT

Title: Guards! Guards! (1989)

Author: Terry Pratchett

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Comedy, Mystery, Third-Person

Rating: 9/10

Date Began: 07/02/2023

Date Finished: 07/23/2023

Corruption is nothing new to the ancient city of Ankh-Morpork. But when a secret society desperate to seize power summons a dragon to terrorize the city, even its resident thieves, murderers, and hustlers seem at a loss to stop it.

The City Watch has long been a running joke with no real power to enforce the law. Nevertheless, Captain Vimes finds himself caught up in the mystery behind the dragon— but must overcome his own shortcomings to help save his city.

Ankh-Morpork! Brawling city of a hundred thousand souls! And, as the Patrician privately observed, ten times that number of actual people. The fresh rain glistened on the panorama of towers and rooftops, all unaware of the teeming, rancorous world it was dropping into. Luckier rain fell on upland sheep, or whispered gently over forests, or patterned somewhat incestuously into the sea. Rain that fell on Ankh-Morpork, though, was rain that was in trouble.

For live reading notes, check the reblogs (contains unmarked spoilers).

Content warnings and review (spoiler-free and spoiler versions) under the cut.

Content Warnings: Mentioned -- Fantasy!racism, homophobia, sexual harassment, genocide, torture, animal death, incest Depicted -- Death, alcoholism, sexual humor/innuendo (like, a lot), addiction, misogyny, drug use

**SPOILER-FREE REVIEW**

This is my first Discworld book. I read Good Omens many years ago, which was co-authored by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. But while I enjoyed that novel, I always wanted to read Pratchett’s solo works. I’ve heard universally positive things about Pratchett as a writer and Discworld in particular, so it’s been on my reading list for years. I finally decided to go for it, picked a random book based on fan recommendations, and dove into Guards! Guards!

… And I enjoyed it even more than I thought I would. I knew going in that Discworld is a comedic fantasy series, so I fully expected jokes and clever quips. One challenge with comedy is telling a funny joke without punching down or being overly mean-spirited, but Pratchett totally nails it. Guards! Guards! is hysterically funny. It’s impossible to list the best gags because there are so many good ones. However one of my favorite bits is toward the beginning, when a mysterious figure is trying to meet his secret society in the pouring rain, finds a shady looking door, answers the doorkeeper’s over-the-top esoteric passphrases, only to discover he’s at the WRONG secret society. The two have an ordinary exchange of pleasantries while the doorkeeper directs him to the right place. It’s great stuff. In general, I like that Guards! Guards! is a self-aware deconstruction of high fantasy, but it’s never over the top in its commentary.

But what pleasantly surprised me about the book was its ability to be genuinely funny yet treat serious topics with the gravity they deserve. Guards! Guards! has many philosophical observations about loneliness, poverty, human nature, and more. Pratchett has a knack for knowing when to be funny and when to step back and discuss things in a mature, honest way. I think the comedy makes the serious subject matter all the more poignant.

Captain Vimes is the protagonist, but there are many perspective characters, and they all feel distinct and interesting. I especially like Lady Ramkin, The Librarian (who’s a sapient orangutan— hell yeah), and what little we see of the Patrician. Death’s handful of appearances are all memorable and fantastic. Guards! Guards! starts as a small scale mystery that gradually expands to a city-wide conflict. Pratchett nails the pacing; the rising stakes are totally believable, and I never felt like the plot was boring or treading water. It is a satisfying and entertaining story from start to finish.

I loved the book and highly recommend it, but I do have some caveats and criticisms to keep in mind.

Guards! Guards! centers around Ankh-Morpork’s City Watch, who are essentially the police. However, I do not consider this work to be copaganda. The City Watch are comically underpowered and ineffectual; their low status is a major plot point and recurring joke throughout the novel. They have no means to do great harm or great good, nor do they have the funding or social status that modern police do. The four City Watch characters are also not portrayed in a universally heroic light. They’re petty, often selfish people who occasionally do the right thing (though Carrot might be an exception). I found myself rooting for protagonist Captain Vimes, but purely because of his personal struggles, not his job. In general the Discworld is so far removed from the socio-political structure and history of our world that the analogue between the Watch and modern police is surface level at best. That being said, I understand others may not be comfortable with this premise.

My primary criticism is, as with many fantasy novels, a lack of female characters. Lady Sybil Ramkin is an INCREDIBLE character; she’s funny, bald, physically imposing. unapologetically fat, and remarkably intelligent. She was a joy to read and definitely one of my favorite characters. I have little patience for obligatory love interest characters, but Ramkin stands on her own and is integral to the plot— Vimes just also has a crush on her, and the sexual tension between them is VERY funny. That being said, she is also the only notable female character in a large, male-dominated cast. One could argue there’s a second one, but that's very subjective and a spoiler (more on it in that section). I don’t think any book is beholden to an arbitrary checklist of representation, but is is a shame to see such an unbalanced cast.

**SPOILER REVIEW**

Guards! Guards! did have some genuinely surprising twists and turns. It took me a long time to figure out Lupine Wonse was the self-titled Supreme Grand Master. I knew it had to be someone we met in the story, but to me Wonse came across as nothing more than a competent yet underappreciated secretary. In retrospect it makes a lot of sense; the desire for power one might feel in that role, his extra characterization/connection to Vimes, his name being a play on “a wolf in sheep’s clothing”, and so on. But he had me fooled until the first “light reveal” before the story directly confirms he’s the culprit.

The dragon being female is a funny twist. It explains Errol the swamp dragon’s odd behavior. The story frames him as a hopeless underdog instinctively wanting to challenge a more powerful dragon for territory, so the reveal he’s really just looking to court her is hysterical. That being the resolution to the dragon problem is thematically sound. After all, Ankh-Morpork is not a city of heroes, so why would there be some heroic dragon slayer as alluded to throughout the story? The dragon is the second “major female character” I mentioned earlier. And she IS a character, especially when she and Wonse discuss the concept of human sacrifice late into the novel. But since we don’t even know her sex until the end of the story, I don’t think she really counts. As a side note, I do wonder if the dragon in Shrek took inspiration from this book…

One spoiler scene I REALLY enjoyed is Death infiltrating the secret society right before they get annihilated by the dragon. After all, Death wears a shadowy cowl, much like the Brethren, so no one suspects him. It’s delicious dramatic irony, because the reader can identify Death right away from his unique dialogue. But of course, none of the Brethren know this… until it’s too late.

Among the serious subjects discussed in the novel, the Patrician’s monologue at the end about human nature and evil hit me hard. He argues that the view of humans as good or evil is inherently flawed. Instead he calls all humans inherently evil in consistent, small ways: "Down there… are people who will follow any dragon, worship any god, ignore any iniquity. All out of a kind of humdrum, everyday badness… They accept evil not because they say yes but because they don’t say no.” Guards! Guards! was published in 1989, but this is a very specific thing I’ve thought about for years, especially applied to modern US politics. I think about registered Republicans who happily vote for fascist monsters because they only care about gun rights, because the genocide of minority groups isn’t a dealbreaker to them. Whether it’s propaganda, apathy, ignorance, or some combination of the three that drives this decision, the result is the same. If one chooses to do nothing to prevent evil, are they themselves evil? I am inclined to say yes.

Vimes ultimately disagrees with him, instead arguing that people are just people with no specific morality inherent to them. This is supported by Vimes as a character; he’s not a shining paragon of humanity, but he ultimately chooses to do the right thing even in the face of certain death. I can understand this view as well. I agree that doing good things is an active choice one must make. My current perspective is a balance between both arguments. Inaction in the face of evil makes one evil by association. But the decision to do good, especially in difficult circumstances, can also make one good. I don’t think Guards! Guards! is going to resolve my own dilemma on the matter; it’s something I will continue to think about for a long time. But it’s not a subject I expected to find or seriously contemplate when I picked up this book.

Wow, that got a little heavy. Anyway, I really enjoyed Guards! Guards! and already have some other Discworld books lined up to read. Looking forward to more!

#taylor reads #book review #9/10

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belicioustummy · 4 months

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DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A KINK STORY. DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18.

A vampire hunter shows up at a party prepared to slay the vampire host, but finds it more difficult than expected.

(full disclosure: this story doesn’t focus on belly kink as much as my other stuff, but it’s still present. hope you enjoy anyway!)

“Bradley Givens is a librarian who works the night shift. He’s been described by people who know him as friendly, scholarly, and handsome. He also happens to be a vampire.”

Lloyd Brewer chewed his lip as he typed up the information his team would need for their little outing that night.

“Every few months, like every vampire, Bradley will get an irresistible craving for human blood. We know this because he’s been posting online for a couple years about events where a real vampire will feed on you.” He grimaced. To think a killer creature of the night had been menacing innocent, misguided people for so long! It was enough to make you sick… though he had to admit, he was a little excited too. As a vampire hunter, he’d had several false starts that were embarrassing to look back on. But tonight, this little vampire party? This would be the one. He’d bring an end to this monster, and nobody would have to worry about getting their blood sucked in this town again!

Lloyd was feeling slightly less confident upon arriving at the door of a nice-looking two-story house. Luckily several other vampire hunters were with him for backup- a couple of old college pals and a guy he’d met on a vampire information forum. True, none of them had any real experience with vampires either, but there was safety in numbers.

He’d been expecting a ravenous, snarling monster descending on clueless and terrified partygoers to kill them, but what he found upon arriving was a charming, well-dressed fellow feeding on guests all too eager to give him a taste. The guests themselves came in a wide variety, he noted as he glanced from goths in full makeup to guys in casual dress chatting about a film festival with a middle-aged businesswoman. There was a table covered in plates of delicious-looking food, which partygoers periodically stopped to enjoy.

Lloyd noticed a few people looking nervous or uncomfortable as they approached the vampire Bradley, and watched them, ready to jump in at the moment he struck. The moment never came, though. Bradley seemed perfectly happy to let them decline, directing them to go mingle or try the snacks. It wasn’t as though there was any short supply of people willing to give him a sip straight from the source. Lloyd wondered if this many people showed up to all Bradley’s parties- were they repeat guests? He definitely seemed familiar with some of them. His suspicions were confirmed when he overheard a duo of women gushing over how Bradley had “filled out” since a few years ago. The fact that he’d gained that weight from snacking on people didn’t seem to bother them, judging from the bandages on their fingers. Lloyd tried to ignore the uninvited thought that Bradley’s large figure was pretty attractive. That was how they got you.

As the night progressed, he and his fellow hunters kept to themselves. He didn’t even sample the food, not trusting it. However, when all the guests willing to be bitten had gotten enough blood drained away, Bradley turned his bright eyes to the many new guests who’d declined a drink.

“Come now, it’s a party!” he said, grinning at them with his sharp teeth on display. “You may not have wanted to have me feed from you, but there’s no reason you can’t eat some of this spread! I want all my guests to enjoy themselves.”

Lloyd took a deep breath. It was now or never. He stepped forward, his hand on the holster that concealed his stake.

“Actually,” he said, willing his voice not to shake, “I’d enjoy myself more if I could slay you.”

Several guests around his target gasped, but Bradley himself only gave him an easy smile. “Really? That’s exciting. Come over, then.”

Lloyd made his way across the floor. Though it was only a few feet to the vampire, the feeling of everyone’s eyes on him made it feel a lot longer. Bradley made no move to defend himself, sitting prone in his chair with the grace of an aristocrat.

“Shall I unbutton my shirt? It will make for easier access,” he said. When Lloyd didn’t answer, he began to do just that. Two buttons were open before Lloyd finally found the guts to say something.

“I’d rather do this somewhere we don’t have so many people watching,” he said.

A woman beside Bradley began to whisper something in his ear, but he murmured something to her that seemed to put her at ease.

“Of course. Come with me.” And with that, Bradley took his hand and led him upstairs, then down a long hallway. Lloyd began to wish he’d taken along one of his slayer friends. They’d come after him if he was gone too long, though… wouldn’t they?

Bradley opened the door to a room with a large, curtained four-poster bed. It was very clean, with unlit candles in jars and moonlight streaming in through a window. He lay on the bed, exposing his pale collarbone in a way that made Lloyd blush. It wasn’t bedroom eyes, he told himself. He was just trying to mess with his head.

Lloyd narrowed his eyes. The only way to win this was to beat the vampire at his own game. “Would you mind taking off your shirt?” he asked. “For practicality’s sake.”

“So polite for someone trying to kill me,” Bradley remarked, undoing the third button. There were soft, dark curls of hair on his broad chest.

“If I was too cocky, you might get sick of playing with me and decide I’m perfect for dessert.”

“You think so?” He undid another button, requiring a bit more attention than the others before it. Lloyd hadn’t noticed before, but the shirt looked rather tight around the middle. It must have been all the fresh blood Bradley had drank- and yet, his clothes were spotless, as though he hadn’t spilled one drop.

“It’s not hard to tell you’re playing mind games.”

“Mind games? I’ve been nothing but courteous to you,” he said calmly, undoing yet another button. “In fact, I’d say I’ve gone beyond being a good host.” The last button free, he shrugged off the shirt and placed it beside him on a pillow.

Lloyd stared. No wonder the shirt had looked a little strained. The vampire was so bloated with blood that his round stomach had a slight pink blush. He was a predator after a hunt, full and sleepy and, most of all, vulnerable. He gazed up at him, almost seeming to expect something.

“I don’t think good hosts usually eat the guests,” Lloyd shot back, pulling his stake from his holster and advancing on him. He wouldn’t let his guard down, not for a minute. He wouldn’t be next.

Bradley shrugged. “It’s not as if that was in fine print on the invitation. These people like when I feed from them. As long as my guests leave happy, what’s the issue?”

“I think we need-“ Lloyd thrust out his non-occupied hand, pinning it to Bradley’s chest “-to get to the heart of the matter.”

There was a brief pause.

“Your hand is warm,” Bradley said.

“I just- can’t find a pulse,” Lloyd said, trying not to show his embarrassment. “Your heart is here, right?”

“No, that’s my breast. It would still hurt if you stabbed me there, though.”

Lloyd scowled and hoped the blush creeping up his neck wasn’t visible. He moved his hand over and readied the stake. He searched the creature’s eyes for a spark of fear, anger, anything to show that he realized what was about to happen-

And he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Is this your first time?”

He blinked.

Those bright eyes were looking at him, not with fear, but with curiosity. Lloyd swallowed, not lowering the stake.

“I… yes. Why should that matter?”

“You seem like you’re the type of person who wants their first slaying to be special.” He didn’t make a move to grab for Lloyd’s weapon. His hand, pressing gently into his shoulder, felt almost comforting. “Is that right?”

He nodded slowly. “I was so sure tonight was going to be the night. Everything seemed perfect, but now that it’s time to actually do it…”

“You have performance anxiety?”

Lloyd sighed and finally put the stake down. “I really blew it, I guess.”

“No,” Bradley said consolingly, patting his hand. “You did a lot just by coming here! If you’re not comfortable with slaying me tonight, that’s your choice.”

“Are you sure that’s not just your instinct to stay alive talking?”

“Well, partially,” he admitted. “But I’d still say that even if you weren’t bent on putting a stake in me.” He pushed his hair back. “I don’t take blood from anyone who isn’t ready, either. But you already know that. I saw you watching me all night.”

Lloyd had thought he’d been subtle. He sat on the corner of the bed, brows furrowed in resignation. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said. “Everyone expected me to slay you tonight, but you’re not hurting anyone. I can’t.”

Bradley considered this. “You could go back and say that you put up a hell of a fight, but I got away. I could even tear your clothes a little to really sell it.”

“I feel like they might come to look for you,” Lloyd said. Bradley seemed like he could handle himself, but he didn’t want his friends to try and finish the job. “Couldn’t you turn into a bat and hide out of sight til we leave?”

“Ordinarily, sure. But at the moment, I’m so full that it’s not feasible.” He rubbed his belly. “It’s going to take me a while to digest all this.”

“Ah. Too bad,” said Lloyd, trying not to imagine how it would feel if he brushed his fingers over that satiated stomach. There were more important things at hand. “Maybe if we-“

The sound of quick footsteps came from down the hall, followed by another pair close behind. The door handle turned. One of Lloyd’s friends threw open the door, stake poised at the ready. Their eyes met Lloyd’s panicked ones, then traveled to Bradley, lying shirtless and slightly bemused on the bed.

“Oh,” they said, and then, dropping their stake, “oh, shit. Sorry.” The woman from earlier caught up to them as they closed the door. Lloyd caught her expression change from concern to relief right before it shut.

They stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Lloyd started to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

“That could’ve gone worse,” he said. “I know it’s kind of bold to ask this as a party crasher, but can I take a minute before I go face the music?”

“Stay as long as you like,” Bradley said. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

Lloyd lay on his side along the width of the bed, perpendicular to his new friend. “Is it cool to ask how you became a vampire?”

“Sure, but you have to tell me what got you into vampire hunting afterwards…”

A little while later, they came downstairs together. Bradley had his shirt back on, though he hadn’t bothered to button it. Lloyd’s friends were gawking at the two of them with various astonished expressions, but he found he didn’t really mind.

After he’d ushered them out of the house, Bradley gave Lloyd a quick peck on the cheek. “Feel free to come to the next one,” he said. “I always appreciate good company.”

Lloyd squeezed his hand. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

#belly kink #stuffing #blood stuffing #weight gain #(gets mentioned)#beliciouswrites #v.ampires #l.loyd #b.radley

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amyjsoba · 2 years

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Why I stopped watching Doctor Who after Ten and why I decided to get caught up

David Tennant coming back as The Doctor has given me so many feelings that it’s taken a over a week to parse them out.

These feelings first begin in the fall of 2018—4 years ago. Despite being a sci-fi nerd, I am late to Doctor Who. I know a bit about what happens from being on the internet and I decide to give it a go.

Eccleston’s Doctor is enjoyable. Series 1 is finding it’s footing. Some episodes are cheesy, some are heartfelt, and some are…not great.

Nine regenerates, and I am not prepared for my emotional reaction to Ten.

I have loved many characters over the years. I love my own characters, of course. They’re in my head and we chat all the time. I think about a character I cooked up when I was 16. He is a middle-aged, divorced, ship captain who is given the task to find a suitable planet for humanity. I loved him when I created him. I love him still.

I love my current characters an absurd amount. The librarian, the scientist, the heir. They are all in my dreams, and they are real. I hope that one day, other people will love them too.

I love other people’s characters. They leave impressions, just like people. I carry them with me wherever I go. They sink in and become part of me in ways that are different from my own characters.

Yes, I have loved many characters over the years. So many I have lost count. But I can count on one hand the number of characters I have fallen in love with.

It’s not the same thing, is it? If you’ve fallen in love with a character, you know. There’s a subtle yet striking difference.

As I watch Dr. Who, I fall in love with Ten.

It takes maybe two episodes—oh who am I kidding. By the end of the Christmas special I am in love. Head over heals, madly in love with Ten.

The big grin. The puppy eyes. The funny quips and chaotic energy. The hair. The specs. All of him. He is adorable and attractive. All my boxes are checked.

In series two he is SO HAPPY. He’s delightful to watch. Every moment DT is on screen as Ten he is brighter than the sun.

Part of that sunshine is because of Rose. Ten is so obviously in love, and Doomesday rips out my heart and then squeezes it between bloodied claws while I am forced to watch. Ten burns up a sun to say goodbye and is on the brink of confessing his love when time runs out.

God it sucks. It hurts. This fuckin’ show.

For most of series three he mopes, and then he picks up Donna in series four. Donna isn’t Rose, but Donna is his BFF and I can get on board with that. I love Donna. I’m not in love with Donna, understand, but I love her. She’s great.

And then Rose comes back and the show tries its best to give SOME kind of happy ending with Tentoo. But for me…it doesn’t satiate. Tentoo isn’t Ten. Ten has to stand there and watch the woman he loves kiss someone who is him…but not him (DT has commented on how much that sucks). Ten is still sad. And then, shortly after, he has to say goodbye to his BFF and erase her memories.

What the fuck, show. This is literally the worst. It’s so goddamn tragic I don’t know what to do with myself. I just want him to be happy for eternity.

No, just kidding, it gets worse. Because the regeneration is coming.

I do not—absolutely DO NOT—want Ten to go. There are so few episodes in each series. I need more. I haven’t spent enough time with him.

And then he looks at the camera with tears and says, “I don’t want to go.”

Are you fucking kidding me. Is this for real.

Suddenly, understanding comes. A lightbulb. This character, the Doctor, will never be happy. It’s impossible. They are tragic. Everything turns to ash around them and almost everyone they love must be cut off from them and sometimes people die.

I push on. I watch the first episode of Matt Smith, but I cannot do this. I absolutely cannot. My heart is too broken. The character I’m in love with is gone. It doesn’t matter if Matt Smith is great (I’m sure he is). Doesn’t matter that there are good episodes to look forward to (Van Gogh)—I can’t. I literally have to grieve Ten. And the more cynical part of me says, “why should I watch a show where the main character will never be happy?”

You might find that dramatic. But this is my emotional state at the end of Ten.

I don’t watch Doctor Who after that.

Three years later, I see on my Twitter feed that DT is filming Dr. Who. I see this picture 👇

Everyone, including me, thinks it’s a Ten special because what else would it be. Maybe I’ll watch it. Catherine Tate is filming, too. Can I bear watching Donna again? Knowing what happens? I love her. Not in love with her, understand, but I love her. And the ending she got broke me.

I’m apprehensive. Whatever—I still have a year or more to decide if I can handle watching the special.

And then this year…something unexpected happens. Thirteen regenerates into…DT? When I hear the news it stuns me. I watch the clip. He’s…back. Properly back. The teeth comment makes me laugh through my tears (yes there are tears). I watch it again. And again. And again.

I learn we are getting THREE specials. DT is the fourteenth Doctor. Something blooms in my chest. Something…hopeful. I’m going to see him again but so is Donna. Catherine filming for something that canonically takes place after Donna lost her memories means there’s hope for that wrong to be corrected. Even if she doesn’t continue venturing with him. I’m definitely watching the specials—and who knows, maybe after that, too.

I start watching clips of Dr. Who again. I’ve missed Ten. I laugh. I think…maybe I should get caught up. Maybe I can watch it now.

I know what happens to the companions of Eleven and Twelve and I know the writing isn’t great in later seasons but—he is coming back. I can do it.

I watch the first two episodes of Matt Smith as Eleven. I laugh (I didn’t laugh at all when I watched it 4 years ago). I probably won’t fall in love with Eleven, but I think I can love him.

This is a good show—even if it’s a bit tragic.

#I fell in love with ten #doctor who #tenth doctor #david tennant #rose tyler #tenrose #donna noble #fourteenth doctor

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sidhewrites · 7 months

Text

Fourteen! (forteen? 14.) I am legally required to include Ruby in every single writing project I make ever, and this is no different. I hope you like my misanthropic bibliophile :0

Project Info

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It's Josie's idea to research the guy possessing my cat. She texted me a little after breakfast to meet up at the library and see if we can find any record of this Magnus guy. I would rather do literally anything else, honestly, but I'm starting to think my best bet is to just do what she says at this point, especially with how suspicious I am of my cat's every move.

I watch Renfield closely, phone in hand, ready to record any odd behavior, but he seems to be back to his normal kitty self -- for now. He waddles around, sniffing at his salmon pate before lapping it up with as many nasty slurping sounds as possible. Then he makes his way over to the litter box before finally trundling up the little ramp to his bed on the windowsill

He paused, looking at the view. For a second, I think Magnus is back. I picture Renfield's head turning around like in the exorcist, and opening his mouth to speak backwards. But nothing happens. He just adjusts his position, lays down, and starts to snore.

I shouldn't be so on edge right now. It's my cat. I've had him for five years now. I know his routine by heart. I can translate his meows to know if he wants a treat or wants pets.

With a sigh, I text Josie back. I don't want to go to the library, or research, or do any of this. I shouldn't have to do any of this. I want my cat back, but I still drag my feet on the way out the door.

Let the record show, however, that I'm not scared of the Sutton University Library.

True, its old and creepy, and I always feel like I’m being watched the second I walk through the door, but that’s because it’s one of the oldest buildings in town. I only avoid it because I'm not the biggest fan of research, and, also, [something punchy and silly]. During Sutton’s mining boom, an old rich widow moved in with her only child and commissioned a place for her hundreds of books. For the longest time, it doubled as a school house for local kids, not that she ever taught anyone. Legend says that she was so scary that she made kids cry just by looking at them. Kids wrote in their journals that she could even turn you to stone.

According to legend, she died when a bookcase in the basement fell over on her, and crushed her. Even if her daughter later sold the building to the municipality, legend says that the Librarian never left, and she still reshelves books in the night to this day.

I don’t think that’s the case, honestly. Or. I didn’t. I’m starting to doubt myself which I kind of hate since being overconfident and stupid has always been my thing.

But I'm not about to start acting different just because of a little thing like my whole world view being shaken. No, I waltz right in through the old doors, pleased as punch, and look to my right. Josie, done up in all black with a spiky leather duster vest, follows in my footsteps with far less gusto. "Do you even know where you're going?"

I wish I had the right to be offended. I really wish I did. But it's not like I'm known for being bookish and worldly. "The microfiche is down in basement level two," I inform her confidently, with only the slightest hint of bitterness, and head on to the stairs. There's an elevator, but it was installed over fifty years ago, and no matter how many annual [ safety exams] it's passed, I wouldn't trust that thing with a coffee mug, much less my own life.

So we take the stairs down into the depths of the old building, past the first landing and its creepy door, and down to the second. The doors seem to close on their own, and seem determined to creak no matter how much WD40 they slather on the hinges, so we enter the basement with a low, ominous groan.

"This place is creepy," Josie says.

"Ayup."

I make myself waltz in, carefree and unbothered, because, even if ghosts are apparently now real and also have been all along, this creepy basement is neither haunted nor supernatural. It's just creepy.

[Transition]

The librarian down here is tall, and gorgeous in that way that feels dangerous. High cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and a gaze that says she'd murder me for thinking too loud.

"You're back," she says,

[stuff]

"Uh, Kaz, who are you talking to?"

"Miss Lark. She's in charge of the historical records?" I feel like if anyone knew [the historical librarians] by name, it should have been Josie, not me.

She gives me a look.

[Rambles about the librarian] and oh my god, she's a ghost, isn't she?"

Josie purses her lips.

I look to the librarian. She's looking at me like my very presence offends her, but, to be fair, that's sort of always how she looks at me. "So..."

"Did you want something?" the librarian asks. Or, I suppose, the Librarian with a capital L.

“Uh,” I say, because I’m very cool in the face of uncertainty. “Did I ever get your name?”

The Librarian gives me a look. I kind of want to die on the spot, but I think i would only end up haunting this place with her for eternity.

“Microfiche?” Josie whispers.

Why couldn’t she have been the one to be able to see and talk to ghosts? I don’t want this responsibility.

Researching is as painful as always. You'd think that trying to find the guy possessing my cat would keep

“Hey look at this one,” Josie says, and steps back to let me see the obituary of Magnus Sunthorpe, one of the earlier residents of Sutton, who funded a lot of the town’s growth. He was extremely rich, with six children. Apparently it was a freak logging accident that got him, while they were felling trees to clear space for the mine entrance. He would be dearly missed, claims the writer, but I had my doubts.

“You think he’s our guy?” I ask. “He might not be the only Magnus who lived here.”

“No, but I think it’s worth a shot. so far he’s the only one who fits the bill. Of course, this would be much easier if we could ask someone who knows more than we do.” She gives me a pointed look.

“What?” I ask.

She raises her brows, then sighs and spells it out for me. “The librarian?”

“Oh. Uh.” feel the blood drain from my face at the idea. “Not another seance though, right? We’re not gonna….?” I make a few obscure gestures that hopefully get across the process of setting up candles and raising the dead.

[Josie talks her into it]

I feel like I’m back in grade school all of a sudden, being stared down at by my evil history teacher in tenth grade. The Librarian clearly hears me approaching, since she very pointedly picks up another book and slowly puts it back on the shelf. I briefly wonder what this must look like to Josie, then wonder if ghosts have the power of murdering people based off vibes alone.

“Um,” I say. “Uh.” My mouth is dry, and suddenly my head is too filled with thoughts that can’t quite form into words. It takes more than a little effort to clear my throat and try again. “Excuse me, ma’am?”

She stops, book in one hand, eyes still on the shelf where it belongs.

“Hi. My name is Kaz. I think you already knew that, but, uh, you know. Thanks for all those times you helped me find the right book for my research papers.” It was part of the urban legend, I realize now. She leads you to the shelf that has the book you need, then disappears when you aren’t looking. Frankly I just thought that’s what librarians are like. She never made much sound walking, but I do my best to silence my footsteps whenever I’m down here as it is. "So, I kind of need your help now, too. We're trying to find a specific guy. See, I think my friend's cat got possessed by a ghost. Um. Spirit. Uh..." I swallow hard, and gesture awkwardly to Josie behind me.

She waves, and shoots me a look that says she's as entirely at a loss as I am.

"Jose," I whisper, as if the Librarian can't hear me. "Is it rude to call them ghosts to their faces?"

She shrugs and gesticulates in a way that really emphasizes that, yes, she is as much at a loss as I am.

Right. Cool. Cool, I'm so cool.

But by the time I turn around, the Librarian is turning into one of the poorly lit aisles, and I stumble to catch up to her. I feel like I'm losing my mind. The Librarian had helped me out a hundred times before. Her outfit was vaguely vintage, or retro, or something, but it was far from unusual in a college town like this. She never exactly walked through walls or floated a few inches off the ground.

Wait.

I glance down. No, she's indeed walking around like a normal human would, with pants and shoes and everything.

Thank god I was looking at her feet, because she makes no sound as she pulls to a stop, and I manage to just barely fall short of walking into her. Through her? Fuck, man, I don't know. She gives me a pointed look, and nods at the shelf in front of her.

"Is that the droid we're looking for?"

Her already sour expression turns angry.

"Star Wars? No?"

[Brief conversation]

"It's not that I can't speak," she says, and a cold wave of dread shoots down my spine. It's her voice that gives her away -- a strange, whispery voice that sounds as much like a woman as it does a stack of papers rustling in the wind. "I just hate people." The flickering light goes out entirely, plunging me into darkness for juts a second. When it returns, I'm alone.

The filing box falls off the shelf with a thud.

I jump back with a shriek, and a ghostly Shhhh! echoes out of the shadows.

"Kaz?" Josie rounds the corner, walking slowly. Like she's been following the whole time. "Are you okay? What happened?"

I vaguely remember that when it comes to the supernatural, time can be wonky. If that's truly the case, I'd like to throw the towel in now. That's it, universe. I'm haunted, I'm seeing ghosts, and now I entered into some weird afterlife dimension where no time passed in the real world. I'm done, and I want to go to bed. But instead of saying all that, I point to the overturned box at my feet, and say, "Ghost box."

Tag List

@adaughterofathena

@ambreeskyewriting

@carnelianflames

@feather-dancer

@halfbloodlycan

@nadunacreates

@serenanymph

@vigilantdesert

#nano #nano 2023 #writeblr #writing #mystuff #my writing #graveyard lesbians #nanowrimo #writers on tumblr #original fiction #wlw fiction #supernatural romance

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neverevan · 8 months

Text

get to know me EVEN better 🫣

I was tagged by @forthewolves thank you lovely mwuah 💛

I'm gonna drop it under the cut cuz its a bit long~

also I just answered some of these in the other post, so pay no mind to the 2 copy+pastes uhhh

three ships: (I'm gonna give three different ones here though, it pays to be a multishipper hehe) chanoey, hilson, spideypool

first ever ship: I wanna say... Hiei x Kurama from YYH?? Or maybe Leon and Yuri from Kaleido Star?? idk I was like 12 it's gotta be one of these 🥲

last song: The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives

last movie: still Barbie... you gotta understand that I watch TV shows all the time, but I can't make myself sit down and watch a movie that I haven't seen before, more than once every 3 years

currently reading: I am shamelessly rereading all things bright and beautiful by @forthewolves because of feels™ and because the last time I read it was just before I actually started watching the show 🤭

currently watching: you know it already and it's probably gonna be the same for the next couple of months because I'm hooked 🥲

consuming: can of diet coke ✌️

currently craving: validation and motivation ugh

nicknames: okay so I have sooo many, mainly because I used to use my first name and then my middle name for 14 years each, before I changed my name lol but also because I've been in fandom since I was like 12 so I accumulated a lot of character names that I was associated with at the time, I listen to anything at this point... that being said the ones I'm actually willing to give here are: newbs (which is 10/10 btw) and newbster haha

zodiac: pisces 🐠

fav music: goood so many but uhh indie/alternative stuff mostly, slavic electro folk, drum and bass, electro swing, newschool rockabilly/rock 'n' roll, anything good tbh, not techno though

followers: 1365

following: 273 (I've been going out of my way to follow more blogs that post stuff that I like, but I had a big cleanup there like 3 months ago)

do you get asks: sometimes, mostly about buddie lately which allows me to ramble on about them even more 😭 though I get the occasional rude asks from stupid people, but I just delete those lmao

amount of sleep: 6 hours I think??? Actually maybe less...

what are you wearing: black baggy pants with a waist string and a sinched bottom, a stripey crop jumper (white base, yellow, pink, blue and purple stripes), Looney Tunes socks

dream job: I mean, it used to be making cartoons, that's why I studied animation, but now I'm training to be an actor so wish me luck guys 🫡

languages: english, hungarian and what miniscule amount of german I still have left rattling around in my brain from school

random fact: I changed my name legally last December and I was struggling to pick a middle name for months, and as some of you may know already newbie is a nickname that Dr Cox calls JD in Scrubs and I have been using it for over a decade, so I thought if I was fine with that for so long, then I might as well give a subtle nod to the character irl too and I won't tell you what it is, but that's exactly what I did 😌

aesthetic: depending on the day; skater boy, dark academia librarian or insta mum 🥲

no pressure tagging: @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @ladydorian05 @excuseme-greentea @yelenasbuddie @icecreampotluck @notnowtobey @hawkinsleather @disasterbuckdiaz and anyone who wants to do it of course! ✨

#get to know me better #tag games #random

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auroraescritora · 11 months

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THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME - PERCY/NICO AU HIGH SCHOOL - CHAPTER III

Hi! We are back. I tried my best, so I hope is acceptable.

Good Reading^^

The bell rang just as Nico yawned, making him bringing a hand to his mouth.

“Do you want to go home?” Percy asked, pausing to write on the physics question sheet momentarily, seeming to think seriously about something to hurriedly get back to writing, without taking his attention away from the task, all while holding it in one of his hands, as if Nico were going to leave any minute now. running in case Percy wasn't there to stop him. It was almost funny, both of them sitting in a circle of six or seven people on the library floor while he watched Percy do all the heavy lifting.

He wanted to tell Percy that he wasn't tired, that it was just jet lag. Even though he arrived two or three days ago, he still hadn't got used to it and he’d barely been able to sleep the previous nights, not to mention the climate which was much milder than in Italy, the cold weather making him sleepy and slow. The problem was, Percy said that it would be ten minutes that turned into thirty and now, an hour and half later, sitting in the middle of his classmates, they were solving the questions that the teacher had given them. He knew he should be helping Percy with the task, just like the others were doing, working in pairs, but as Percy seemed happy to write alone, Nico let Percy enjoy himself, watching the serious and concentrated expression on his friend's face that finally raised his face and looked at him, smiling, as if only at that moment Percy had remembered Nico's presence.

"Sorry. I always end up doing these things by myself. I don't have the patience to wait around.”

Percy was right. The people around were writing, but they were also talking in low voices, discret but obvious.

"I promised. Let's go.”

“You can finish, I don't care.”

"I have finished.”

Percy was right once again, Nico peeked at the sheet in Percy's lap and saw that all the questions were filled with complete answers.

"Do you want to take it home and study?"

“No, thank you.”

So he got to his feet, Percy behind him, and supporting him from behind, Percy put the sheet into his bag. Nobody seemed to see them leave, only the librarian greeted them on the way out and finally they were free; the late afternoon sun was still shining, bringing some of the humidity and warmth that he missed so much. Satisfied, Nico took a few steps out of the halls towards the open courtyard and closed his eyes, letting the sun's rays gently warm his skin. Of course, soon Percy was at his side, holding his hand, as he always had. Percy's presence was always comforting, even if he could feel his friend's gaze on him.

"What?” Nico had to ask, eyes still closed.

"I held you captive, didn't I?"

"Don’t be ridiculous.” Nico nearly rolled his eyes in impatience, wanting to get out of there, but felling content in spending a few more minutes in the sun.

"Don’t get mad at me.”

“I'm not.” He almost didn't care about what Percy said, feeling the teasing tone returning with force. Because, in the end, he knew that what Percy wanted was attention.

“Hmm, no. It can't stay like this.”

Nico opened his eyes and saw that, without realizing it, they were already in the school's parking lot. That had been his biggest mistake, while he was distracted by the clear skies and nice weather, he'd missed the moment when Percy had cornered him against the wall of the parking lot and lifted his own hands and… and shoved them against his belly and abdomen, starting a tickle war. He couldn't remember the last time someone had the nerve to do that to him. In fact, Percy had been the last one, two years ago, before he traveled far away. Back then, when Nico was quiet for too long this was Percy's favorite tactic to get him to talk or react; he had to admit, he didn't miss this humiliating torture, but the touch was welcome. Contradictory, no? It seemed that anything Percy did at that moment would be welcomed.

"Percy Jackson!” He squeaked and uncoiled himself from Percy's grasp, running away from those long restless fingers. Of course he would have no peace! Percy came running after him, laughing like a maniac and with legs twice as long as his. Percy in mere minutes reached him, holding him by the waist.

"Ni-coo…" And okay, now that he analyzed things… they didn't have the most innocent banter, because the way Percy held him tight, back to chest and mouth right next to his ear… that was exactly how things used to happen in the past.

"I forgive you! I forgive you.”

"Realy? You're not saying this to then get back at me in slow and cruel ways?”

"I would never do that!”

“Liar.” Percy said in the same sweet, quiet way against his skin, looking like he wasn't going to let go of him anytime soon.

“Percy! We are not children anymore!”

"That’s very true. I don’t feel like a kid.” Percy murmured again and gave a dry chuckle that made the hairs on the back of Nico’s neck stand up. That is, before Percy turned him around and walked even closer to him, touching his forehead his own. And maybe, this gesture would be something common when they were away from prying eyes, under the covers, in the thousands times he slept at Percy's house, since only the maids and Bianca would be waiting for him at home. When they were little, it seemed kind of affectionate and innocent, but now… well… it still seemed affectionate. "Do you want dinner? The restaurant is still open.”

But how could he think about food when they were so close, breathing each other's air? When Percy's hands were on his waist and in his hair, not allowing him to look away? When Percy hugged him so tight? Their bodies pressed together and even through their clothes he could feel Percy's heat.

"Nico… Niccolas…" Why did Percy have to whisper his name like that? Why did he have to touch him like that? So strong and steady, as if he feared he was going to disappear at any moment. He… he didn't know if he was ready.

So close now... Percy's head came towards his and... and... and he let out a breath, closing his eyes.

"Food. Food is good. Right?” He swallowed hard for a moment, but when Percy did nothing but keep hugging him without moving any closer, Nico opened his eyes, seeing his intense eyes on him, burning like flames.

"You are afraid of me.” It was a statement, the light in Percy's eyes seeming to fade along with his playful smile.

"No… I don't… I'm just… not ready?"

"That's right? Or is it something else? I don't want to be one of those people.”

He understood what Percy meant. Percy would never do something to abuse his trust even if he tried. He trusted Percy, it was himself that Nico didn't trust. If he was already like this in less than twenty four hours around Percy, what would happen if he got carried away? He feared… that the obsession would return even more intense than before.

"Can we take it slow?" Nico finally managed to spit it out, feeling himself shudder.

"Sure. Everything you want.” And Percy seemed to mean it.

Percy watched him for a few more moments, as if deciding something important and took a step back, just enough to grab his waist and guide him to the car that was parked near the exit of the parking lot.

Percy opened the door for him, grabbed both of their backpacks and placed them in the backseat, quickly coming around to sit beside him, looking anxious. It wasn't that anxiety of the kind of person who was angry or irritated, it was more… someone who was full of energy and didn't know what to do with it. All Nico could do was to relax against the car seat and rest his head on the window, maybe by the time they arrived at the restaurant the tension he felt would have run off.

***

"What do you think?”

It was a very warm and welcoming place, the decor was done simply and in comfortable red tones, like something he would have seen in his deceased grandmother's house a few years ago. He felt like sitting in one of the armchairs near the reception, making himself a hot chocolate and sitting by the fireplace with a blanket over his shoulders.

"I liked.”

“I have a reservation.” Percy said all proud. It was six o'clock sharp, which meant that Percy had planned this whole thing, killing time at school to get him there on time.

"What do I do with you, huh?"

“How about saying, 'Thanks, Percy. You are so generous.”

"Is this how you hit on people?"

"It's working?”

Nico sighed and accepted the hand Percy offered, guiding him towards the maitre. The place was too specific. Other people their age probably wouldn't like the place as much as Nico had. The worst part was that he didn't hate it at all, Nico appreciated the effort Percy had put into finding something so… so like him, like he'd found a little piece of Italy just to make him feel better.

“You didn't have to.”

“I wanted you to feel welcome.” He didn't need to look at Percy to understand what those words really meant, because what Percy really meant was "I want you to feel at home so you never have to leave me."

He didn't know since when everything was so obvious. Every word and every gesture. It was like they were dancing, as if they knew each step and were just waiting for the music to end before finally… yeah, okay. He then lifted his head and faced Percy who at that moment seemed like the most perfect man in the whole world, the one Nico had always dreamed of having; kind, understanding, handsome, well dressed, so tall and strong he knew he'd never have to worry about defending himself again. But Percy had always been like that, the perfect prince. In the end, it really was obvious, wasn't it? That was the reason for his problem. No matter who he looked for, Nico would always end up in this same place, looking for Percy in every face. Maybe he should just… stop looking elsewhere.

"We can go home if you want." Percy told him, now stopping in front of him. He must have been making a fool of himself again, looking at Percy without saying anything.

“No, we can eat.” When the smile returned to Percy’s face, he knew he had made the right choice.

They followed the maitre down the row of tables until they climbed a pair of stairs and then entered a room that was larger than the floor below but emptier, filled with small round tables and more private ones at the back of the room next to large windows that let in daylight, but as night began to fall, aromatic candles were already lit out in the middle of the table.

"I hope you gentlemen approve the seats?" They waved and were soon offered the menu.

The truth was, Nico wasn't interested in food, that wasn't why they were there. Or was it? So he had decided, he would let Percy tell him.

"What do you want?” Percy asked, hands gripping the menu, but his eyes were on his, eyes that looked greener than ever under the candlelight, the dim night making the atmosphere even more intimate and personal.

"I don't know, a wine? You choose.”

Percy stared at him for a moment, seeming to consider the answer, and moved a little closer, putting an arm around his shoulder and closing the rest of the distance between them.

“I wanted to talk about us.”

“I know that.”

“I just…need to know.”

"I know that.”

“It's been ten years in this. I need to know.”

And Percy was right. They were so little and innocent back then, and then... then they were still little, but not so innocent until... until he freaked out and then Percy freaked out and he left without telling anyone. So, out of nowhere, and just as he did, out of nowhere, Percy had called him, so different from what Nico knew and so familiar at the same time that it left him confused for a long time. He remembered that for long months he only had the energy to fulfill his obligations and cling to these daily calls until he knew what to do. And here they were, practically in the same place, the difference was that now they understood what the consequences would be, no matter what the decision at the end.

"I like you.” Nico dicided for the simpler answer. He admitted that he wasn't the most assertive person or make the best choices.

“That's not what I asked.”

"I don't know. I miss you. That's enough?”

" No.” Percy said it all so seriously that he kind of... wanted to laugh. Or moan. Maybe it was a little bit of both. Nobody could blame him for that.

“So, it's up to you.”

“Nico! You said you weren't ready!”

"I'm not. I will never be. I don't want to destroy what we have. I really don't want a relationship. But…”

"Why do you have to be so confusing!"

“It's not about sex. That's the easy part.”

“Nico, I know. What can I do for you to--"

"Gods, Percy! I am the problem. I'm very unstable. You don't want to walk around with a time bomb in your pocket, do you?”

“Baby, you can explode whenever you want, as long as you explode with me.”

Nico moaned and put his hands to his face, this was ridiculous! They both knew why he was gone and they knew perfectly well why he had come back. Nico was still getting used to the idea that this time he had nowhere to run when his feelings erupted everywhere, forcing Percy to pick up the pieces.

"Can you be serious for five minutes?"

“I know all that, darling. Every little thing you think you can hide from me.”

"It will be worse than before!"

“You said I could decide.”

"Yes, but-- I want to take it slow."

"Then, let me decide. I just need your permission.”

“Permission to do what?”

Nico watched in slow motion as the hand that had been around his shoulder traveled to the back of his neck, massaging the spot, and gently pulling him closer, tilting his head until it reached just the right position for Percy's lips to finally come down against his in the sweetest, most innocent kiss he'd ever tasted.

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What did you think? I already warn you that the surprises will keep coming and that Percy and Nico are not exactly nice. Like, they're rich and that will become clearer later on. I hope it's been fun. Comments are always welcome. See you next week.

#my writing #percy jackson #percico #pernico #nico di angelo #percy/nico #there's no place like home

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