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winterromanov · 5 years

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AU idea- college athlete Bucky and he’s really popular and all that but very sweet and he meets this girl who’s sweet and a little quiet in one of his classes and he just keeps trying to be around her, study with her, buy her coffee and she likes him but she’s just like.... why is this cute popular boy paying attention to me lol

pairing: bucky x reader (also SUPER tempted to do a part two of this, let me know if you’re interested)

You recognise the guy staring at you from across the table in your Russian lit tutorial. You recognise him because everyone knows Bucky Barnes, the football star, certified big name on campus and best friend of fellow football star Steve Rogers. He’s the guy that every girl on your corridor gossips about, the one all the professors love, the one who gets hundreds of likes on his Instagram pictures.

(You don’t follow him but you have to admit, you’ve scrolled through his feed a few times. Just to see what the fuss is all about, you know. And you know. Boy, you know.)

You’ve never actually interacted with him before because your circles aren’t the kind that usually interlink, but now you’re sat in a seminar on Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, and Bucky Barnes is definitely staring at you.

When your eyes eventually flicker up from your laptop--just to double check you’re not making it all up, that he’s not looking at the much prettier girl next to you--he grins, pen between his teeth. Your cheeks involuntarily catch fire and you deliberately snap away. Because this is Bucky Barnes you’re talking about, who dated Natasha Romanoff in his freshman year before it all very publically...fell apart. Who could have literally any girl he wanted worshiping at his high-tops. Who would never look at a girl like you because, well.

You’re you.

You’re trying to buy coffee in the campus shop next to the library when he actually speaks to you directly for the first time. Emphasis on the word trying, because you left your damn purse at home and Apple Pay is not being your friend and you can feel yourself getting more and more embarrassed the longer the cashier has to wait. You eventually resort to rummaging round your backpack for loose change in order to pay the poor guy, but an arm with a contactless debit card reaches out and beeps the payment through for you.

“I’ll get a latte to go, please, Mario.”

“Of course. Anything for you, Mr Barnes.”

It’s Bucky Barnes. Of course it’s Bucky Barnes--only someone like him would take the time to know the server by name. He’s wearing his faded red Columbia jersery and a baseball cap. His grin is kinda crooked and yes, yes you know it’s one of the many reasons all the girls go wild for him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say, stepping aside so he can go to the front of the queue. He merely shrugs. “Here--let me pay you back, I know I’ve got a couple of dollars in here somewhere...”

He shakes his head as he taps his card once again, the server handing him his latte in a reusable mug with a wink. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, your idea about interior monologue in Anna Karenina in Ivan’s class the other day actually inspired my paper, so I do owe you one.”

You blink, kinda dumbstruck at the thought of Bucky Barnes remembering any input you’d given in class. Or anyone remembering any input you’d given in class. “You liked my point?”

“Oh, yeah.” Bucky sips his coffee, grimacing slightly as the liquid burns his lips. “Tolstoy finding humour in death. It’s so dark and beautiful. All your points, actually--you see a lot in literature than I’ve never picked up on in a first reading.”

“I...Uh. Well. Thank you.” You’ve always been quite reserved in class, scared to say anything in case it’s stupid or outlandish and the other students laugh at you. In reality you know it’s you being paranoid, but old habits die hard.

Bucky looks at his watch before hissing a profanity under his breath. “Gotta run. Cold War study group across campus in three minutes. Catch you later?”

He phrases it like a question rather than a generic add on, a necessity of politeness. His blue eyes look at you expectantly, actively waiting for you to reply.

(They’re so blue, his eyes. Blue like the sky in the summer back home, bright and cloudless and stared at from a meadow.)

“Yeah, of course! See you in class.” You raise your coffee cup sheepishly in his eyeline. “And thanks for the coffee.”

And like that he vanishes, bustling out the door and stepping purposefully in the opposite direction as the sun blazes on his back.

You see his backpack before you see him, slammed down on the bench next to you in the lecture hall. He sits down with a long exhale of breath, like he’s ran here--this time he’s dressed in sportswear so you assume he’s been to the gym. Veins ripple and flex up his ridiculously toned arms. Being a football hero probably does that to you.

“Crime and Punishment,” he says, instead of a greeting. “What did you think?”

You smile, spreading your hand across the heavily annotated and dog-eared copy you have in front of you. “Long, dark, often psychologically challenging, but ultimately an interesting perspective on nihilism. And you?”

“Oh.” He nods in faux seriousness. “I thought much the same. Reckon I’d like to go for a beer with Dostoevsky.”

“That would be an interesting encounter.”

Bucky rests his laptop and his copy of the book on the bench and looks as though he might say something else until the professor enters the room, hushing the hall to silence. When the lights dim so you can see the projector, you wonder if Bucky can hear how furiously your heart beats in your chest.

After than, some sort of unspoken agreement develops wherein every Russian literature class, his place is a spot next to you. You always seem to arrive first--he’s always rushing from somewhere--but he clocks you and instinctively walks over, sliding into a chair adjacent to your own. The conversation is usually the same. Always about the books.

You’re not sure what any of it means but you’ve somehow found a friend in the famous Bucky Barnes, and people start to notice.

“Since when have you and Bucky been so close?” Wanda Maximoff asks as you queue for the canteen lasagna, the flourescent bar lights doing nothing for the food presentation. “My brother is in your lit class and he says you two sit together a lot.”

You shrug, spooning lasagna onto your plate. “We just sit together.”

“You don’t just sit together with Bucky Barnes, (Y/N). That’s not a thing that happens.”

“Honestly, Wanda, we just talk about books.”

Wanda narrows her eyes, swiping her meal card at the end of the belt. “Sure, okay. I believe you. For now.”

She has to believe you, because you know what she’s insinuating. And when you look across the canteen and see Bucky laughing with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson and his ex girlfriend Natasha Romanoff, you know this cute, handsome boy and his often insightful observations of Russian texts are so far out of your league that it’s kind of embarrassing.

so, (y/n). what did you think of the master and margarita?

i think pilate suffering for his sins for two thousand years is pretty rough tbh

but he deserves it?

i mean. probably. his suffering is necessary for the redemption arc

just what i was going to say. obviously.

see you tomorrow :)

“Do you want to come to a party?”

Bucky asks you this as you come out of your seminar on Chekov’s Uncle Vanya and, admittedly, it kind of knocks you off guard. When you lamely blink back at him blankly, he decides to elaborate.

“It’s my friend Sam’s birthday. It’s just at our dorm--should be fun. Although we’re very competitive when it comes to beer pong, so beware.” His smile is wistful but he quickly comes back to earth, falling in step with you as you walk along the hall. “So what do you say? You interested?”

“You’re inviting me to a party?” you reply, as this is a very big step in your friendship. This is assuming he’d happily see you outside of class amongst his equally popular and attractive friends.

“Yeah, I think so,” he laughs bemusedly, pausing at the door that leads to the quad. He has his Cold War class across campus. “(Y/N), I’d really like you to come.”

You look at him and expect him to reveal this--him--as a joke, but he’s earnest and certain and honest, with an almost shy smile on his face. His eyes are hidden by his usual cap but you know the colour of blue so well by now. And not just because you’d zoomed in on his Facebook photo in a moment of ridiculous late-night longing.

(You follow him on Instagram now, too, but only because he followed you first. You were still too uncertain to initiate it, worried that he’d ignore you.)

“Okay,” you say, swallowing nervously. Wondering if this might be a mistake. That you’d turn up and no-one there would like you. “Who else will be there?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll introduce you.” He pauses, chewing his lip for a second, before gesturing at the door. “I’ve got class, so I’ll...I’ll see you later.”

Your hands tighten round the straps of your backpack. “See you later, Bucky.”

Bucky shares a floor with Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers at a block about a ten minute walk from your own, and you use the walk in the chill New York air to calm your jangling nerves. You’re wearing your favourite navy blue dress and have braided your hair and made an effort with your makeup--and you’re not totally sure what for, what you’re expecting. You’re just the quiet girl in Bucky Barnes’ literature class. You don’t know how it got to this.

You’re too awkward to press the buzzer so you message Bucky to let him know you’re outside. Scrolling through your Facebook inbox, your messages have become...quite frequent. Especially at night. You lie on your bed and frantically type until the early hours, only realising it’s 3am before it’s too late.

That’s what friends do, right? Friends.

(God, you’re so fucking in love with him, aren’t you?)

Bucky’s on the edge of a laugh when he answers the door, but his expression falters into muted surprise as soon as he lays eyes on you on his doorstep. A silly gold party hat is positioned at an angle over his head.

“(Y/N),” he says, and you flush, because the way he says your damn name. He steps aside so you can step in under his arm. “I’m glad you came. Finished The Idiot yet?”

“Onto the last fifty pages.” His house is decked out with balloons and paper chains and the loud pumping of a bass stereo carries from the lounge, alongside the chatter of laughing of guests. You recognise Columbia’s only archer and Olympic hopeful Clint Barton rush up the stairs, holding the hand of a brown haired girl. Bucky rolls his eyes at him and yells already? “I think it might be one of my favourites on the module.”

He leads you through to the kitchen which is empty other than various bottles of alcohol on the table and Natasha Romanoff sitting on the counter. Her red hair hangs effortlessly across her shoulders, lips painted scarlet, wearing a classy black jumpsuit. Natasha Romanoff makes you feel nervous because a) she’s the kind of girl you could never be and b) she’s the kind of girl Bucky Barnes dates. She’s sipping rose out of a wine glass, her eyes discretely looking you up and down.

“Is this the famous (Y/N)?” Natasha asks, her tone intrigued, her lips curved. Bucky laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his head. “Honestly, this guy doesn’t stop talking about you.”

“Sorry?” you gape, looking between her and him. Bucky sends Natasha a glare that signals for her to shut up which only makes her more amused by the situation, leaning back casually. “Uh, I don’t know--”

“Ignore her. She’s insatiable.” Bucky quickly swerves, pressing a glass into your hand. “Would you like a drink? We have pretty much everything imaginable. Natasha has plenty of wine she’d love to share.”

Natasha is totally unaffected, already looking at her mobile phone. She flicks a hand at a line of bottles next to the microwave. “Feel free, honey.”

You’re not a big drinker as you don’t often frequent cool college parties and you’ve been drunk a grand total of one time after one too many glasses of champagne on new year’s eve. Bucky seems to see this in your face.

“You don’t have to drink, obviously,” he says kindly, “But if you mix a bit of soda with rose it actually tastes kinda nice. Much better than beer, anyway.”

“Okay,” you nod, letting him mix the drink for you. He’s remarkably careful, pouring the tiniest amount from one of Natasha’s bottles and topping it up with sprite. He grabs a beer for himself, cracking off the lid with his teeth.

“You know you’re not impressive when you do that,” Natasha says drolly, even though she hasn’t looked up from her phone.

“(Y/N) was impressed,” Bucky says with a wink. You try and keep straight-faced but yeah, come on. You were.

“Of course she was impressed,” Natasha interjects, “You’re both stupidly in love with each other but too polite to make a move.”

Bucky flips her off before pressing a gentle hand in the small of your back, ushering you away from her. “She’s drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!”

You sip your drink, wondering if your palms will ever stop sweating. Natasha can’t be right. She isn’t right. Or is she? No, she can’t be, because this is Bucky Barnes and you’re you.

Bucky’s friends are actually kinda nice. Really nice, in fact. You’ve always been intimidated by Steve Rogers’ reputation on campus but he might be one of the sweetest guys you’ve ever met, instantly welcoming and eager to get you involved with the games he’s beginning to set up. Sam Wilson is bold and blunt, but he grins mischievously and gives Bucky a pointed look when he introduces you and snaps a party hat to your head. In various corners of the apartment you see people you vaguely recognise from school, names burning at the edges of your memory but ultimately escaping you.

Steve sets up the table for beer pong and Bucky clutches your wrist, beckoning you over to play (and cutting short your conversation with a very interesting business major called Pepper). Steve and Sam are on one side while you and Bucky are apparently on the other--Steve’s positioned himself so he’s directly in view of a British exchange student with big eyes on the other side of the room.

(Aside from your own, you’re actually pretty observant when it comes to potential romantic encounters.)

“Just so you know,” Sam stares hard at the two of you, pointing with two fingers, “It’s my birthday, so I have to win. It’s the rules.”

“I don’t think you have to worry,” you reply, looking up at Bucky. His expression is warm, his arms desperately close to yours. “I’m probably going to be pretty rubbish at this.”

“Buck’s a good teacher,” Steve says, grabbing a ping-pong ball and handing it over to Sam. He rolls it between his fingers, his face scrunched in mock seriousness. “But we’ve all had plenty of practice.”

“Too much practice, arguably,” Bucky drawls. “And Wilson, don’t you think for one second that (Y/N) and I are going to let you win under any circumstances.”

“I don’t need you to let me win,” Sam says, before perfectly throwing the ball into one of the cups near the front. He stands back smugly, crossing his arms over his chest, as the rest of the room whoops. “I think you’ll find I possess the skills for victory, fair and square.”

You laugh as Bucky rolls his eyes, picking up the plastic cup filled halfway with lukewarm beer. He keeps eye contact as he knocks the whole thing back, wiping his lip emphatically once he’s done. “That’s it. The game is on.”

Admittedly, it get’s to a point where it’s pretty close. You almost visibly bristle as Bucky tries to show you the ropes, positioning your hips with his hands and following your aim as you try (and often fail) to pit the ball in one of the opposite team’s plastic cups. Whenever you score he yelps dramatically, high-fiving you, and his grin is borderline magical.

(Natasha watches bemusedly from the sidelines, making dry comments here and there. It’s like she’s checking you out for herself. Assessing you.)

It get’s to the point where there is only one cup left on either side and the tension is palpable. Limbs are floppier from downing liquor, the aim repeatedly more off--your stomach is warm and your feet feel light--and Bucky’s palms ghost your waist as you concentrate on what could be the winning put. Sam and Steve try and distract you by dancing ridiculously to an ABBA track playing out the speakers, but Bucky’s words of encouragement are what filter through. You take a deep breath and throw, only exhaling when your ball lands with a triumphant plop in the central solo cup.

Bucky throws his fist in the air before grabbing you and spinning you round, his laugh ecstatic in your ear. You cling onto his neck, your fingers barely millimeters from entangling in his hair, before he plants you down on the ground again. Well. You think you’re on the ground. You might as well be in the clouds.

“A round of applause for the winning shot,” Bucky says, holding your hand and lifting your arm so you can take your bow (which you do with pleasure). Steve and Sam pretend to be reluctant, but they clap anyway.

“I’ll allow it, this once, (Y/N),” Sam answers bemusedly, coming round to the other side of the table. “But if you try and upstage me on my birthday again there will be consequences.”

You feel more confident now, more like these people are your friends. So you grin, feeling the magnetic pull of Bucky to his side from next to you. “I’ll try not to. Promise.”

Sam hums, before clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “Come on, Barnes. You can go mix me a drink.”

Bucky shrugs, asking if you want anything from the kitchen while he’s on his way there, but you shake your head. You’re happy right now with what you have.

Natasha approaches you while you’re waiting outside the bathroom. Someone--you think he’s called Rhodey--emerges and offers you a salute and you’re about to go in, but Natasha grabs your hand and pulls you in with her and locks the door behind you.

You’re so astonished you’re not sure what to say. She brushes the hair away from her neck, back facing you.

“I need someone to unzip me,” she declares like it’s obvious, indicating towards the zipper halfway down her back. “Do you mind?”

“No,” you blink, hand nimbly reaching forward to drag the zipper down her back. Even her back is flawless, like porcelain, a tattoo of what looks like a spider curling up from her waist. “Of course not, no.”

She sits on the toilet unabashedly and doesn’t ask you to look away but of course, you do, because this whole situation feels very strange indeed. The wall is plain and blue and spotted with mildew, probably damp from the shower. Like all student accommodation. It feels weird looking at damp while Natasha Romanoff, beautiful as she is, literally pees behind you.

“I care about Bucky a lot,” she says suddenly, “I’ve known him a long time. Way before college, way before we--dated. I love him, but not in the way you think. And I know what he’s like, what the signs are.”

You shift your feet uncomfortably. “The signs of what?”

She audibly sighs out of frustration. “Honestly, it sounds like you’re both as bad as each other. I know--I know when he’s falling for somebody. You’d think, I know you think, that somebody like him...he’d have no problem with it. And maybe if he cared a little less and felt less intensely he wouldn’t.”

“I’m not sure...”

The toilet flushes. Natasha rises and turns back to you and you dutifully zip her back up while she washes her hands, looking at your reflection in the mirror. When you’re stood side by side like this it really does emphasise the differences between you, but also the similarities. She’s a girl. So are you. Girls, despite what every atom of her being exudes.

“You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N).” She smiles crookedly, wiping her hands on a towel. “Just--treasure him, yeah? He deserves it. I get a feeling you both do.”

She doesn’t look back at you as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

Bucky gives you one of his old football jerseys to walk home in because it’s past midnight and you didn’t bring your own. He also insists on walking you home. And you feel nervous, not just because you’re alone with him for the first time this evening, but also because Natasha’s words circle the back of your mind like a tape cassette stuck on loop. You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N).

“Can I ask you something?” you question, arms crossed as your steps echo on the sidewalk. The street is surprisingly deserted--it’s usually crowded with students, all sorts. Tonight, it is quiet.

Bucky looks over at you quizzically, but intrigued. “Yeah. Shoot.”

“Why me?” When he looks perplexed, you laugh awkwardly and continue on. “Connie Taylor is in our Russian lit class, too, and she’s way prettier than me and like...she’s been trying to get you to notice her all semester and yet.” You scrunch your nose as you look up at him, examining his features. His jawline. The hair that falls into his eyes. His naturally flushed cheeks. The party hat he’s yet to take off. Him. Him him him. “You always come to me.”

He bites the inside of his cheek. “Connie Taylor seems perfectly nice. But Connie isn’t you. I like you.” You arrive at the door of your block and he pauses, shoes scuffing into the ground. “She’s not prettier than you, or smarter than you, or any of the reasons you’ve inevitably thought in your head as to why you think she’s more deserving of anything than you. And I find it vaguely insulting that because...I don’t know, play football, that I could only be interested in one kind of person.”

You look away. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No, I know.” He steps closer so that the toes of your shoes are almost touching. His hand searches in the darkness for your own. Squeezing your small fingers between his, scarred and scraped from football practice. “(Y/N), I like you because you’re funny and kind and intelligent. I like it when you message me about books, I like it when you save me a seat in lectures, I like it when you explain every single point you make so everyone in the class can understand it. I like so many things about you, and you need to get it out your head that because you’re not Connie Taylor that this can’t be true.”

“No-one ever notices me, Bucky,” you murmur quietly, “And I don’t say that for sympathy, or whatever. I say that because that’s how it’s always been.”

You both stare into each other and for one agonising, aching moment you think he might let go of your hand, snuff every spark out like a candle. But instead--instead he ducks in, covering your lips in a soft post-midnight kiss, his mouth warm and tasting faintly like beer. He snatches the breath from your lungs.

“Do you believe me now?” he whispers, hands curving round your jaw. You want to close your eyes, remember this feeling forever. Trap it all in a polaroid. “You are so fucking special. Everyone but you can see it, and it’s so frustrating.”

You kiss his palm, letting your lips linger on his skin for a moment longer. “Thank you for inviting me tonight. I had a really great time.”

His smile is faint but there, nonetheless. “I knew you would. I hope this means you’ll be willing to come out with me again sometime.”

“I think I would like that.”

He unravels from you, not before ducking in for one last sweet, beautiful kiss. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“‘Night, Bucky.”

Your hands remain clasped together until he’s far enough away from you, dropping your hand and grinning as he’s eventually lost in darkness. You have to hover for a second with your keycard in your hand, trying to gather your thoughts, process the events of the evening. Bucky Barnes like you. He likes you, not in spite of you, but because you’re you.

When you collapse on your bed you map the constellations of cracks on your ceiling, your heart thumping and your mind almost one hundred percent him.

“you and i, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to Earth together, to see if we know what we were taught.”

y/n. it’s 2am and doctor zhivago is making me cry.

also sam has made me drink sambuca

i wish i was crying over russian books with you

even though ur probably asleep

that’s cool

hope ur having sweet dreams

miss you

my masterlist

send me a request

#oh my god im so sorry for this #it got a bit out of control #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

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redrebecca · 5 years

Text

Effortlessly Endearing

You met at the Met Gala, where you saved his ass and he saved yours.

Warning(s): Just swearing

A/N: Hiya, so this is a little Met Gala fic that doesn’t have Hailey in, at all. I just thought it was a kinda cute idea so yeh. Feedback is always appreciated, have a nice day.

Words: 2.2k

“And breathe in.” The woman from behind you commanded. The fabric restricted around your torso as she expertly stitched the material of the dress so it clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the curve of your chest and hips.

You had initially said no to this. A list events such as the Met Gala were never considered fun by your standards, more of a pain in the ass – you would much preferred to stay in your bed, eating junk food until your heart was content. But no. Instead you were stuck in a small, stuffy room being gawked at by more people than you were comfortable with, your internal organs groaning in discomfort at the all-too-tight dress and you wouldn’t dare to think the amount of unimaginable pain your feet would be in after at least 4 hours of walking in those ridiculously high heels that were placed in the corner of the room. You swore your feet ached from just the sight of them.

“Done!” The seamstress exclaimed, the first bit of emotion she’d shown since arriving. You gladly stepped off the pedestal and into your slippers, humming as your toes were finally enveloped in warmth. Unfortunately, your little moment of bliss was interrupted as you were swiftly ushered towards the hair and makeup chair. Your manager scolded you as you accidentally let an annoyed groan slip out of your mouth.

Luckily, or unluckily – you were undecided – the hair and makeup team were extremely efficient. They applied countless amounts of product on your face and put so many bobby pins into your hair you could actually feel the weight of them, in record time. However during this, someone had parted you from your beloved slippers and replaced them with the dreaded heels.

“But they’re custom Louboutins!” Your manager had expressed her disbelief when you had complained about them when they arrived. Like you cared what they were, if you made it through the event without breaking something you would be happy.

Unfortunately for you she didn’t take your request of wearing trainers instead too kindly – in fact she stormed out of the room.

You arrived at the event, the familiar buzz heightened your senses as you took in the other celebrities in ostentatious outfits surrounding you.

“Okay so you know the plan?” Your assistant said.

You inhaled and exhaled calming your nerves. You’d done enough met galas that you should be able to do it in your sleep, but nerves still ate away at your composure.

“I’d much rather be at home.” You muttered, wondering how many of these other celebrities felt the same way and which ones craved the attention this served them on a silver platter.

“I know you would,” She pulled you into a hug, granted it wasn’t the smoothest as she had to be extremely careful around the intricate design of your gown, but it was comforting nonetheless.

“You’re an actress right?” She said with a small smile. You nodded. “Then if you need to act, act.” You shoved her lightly, a smile gracing your features at her teasing. “You got this.” She assured you before you turned to walk the red carpet into the huge building.

As soon as you entered through the doors, interviewers began doing whatever they could to attract your attention and the sound of camera clicks increased as paparazzi swivelled and turned their focus from the people they were photographing, to you in your eye catching dress.

Sure the process wasn’t great but the outcome was simply stunning. Everything from the daring neckline to the elegant train that graciously moved behind you, like a shadow following your every move, even the colour – a charcoal grey with flecks of silver that caught the light perfectly – made this one of your favourite dresses.

The raucous caused upon your arrival resulted in many heads turning your way. You straightened your posture and put on your award winning smile before walking over to the closest interviewer.

You felt as though you had been here, jumping from tedious interview to tedious interview, for a long time, but, according to your watch, you had been here for under an hour.

Great.

You sped through your interview, deciding it was probably time to walk the carpet – and the dreaded stairs. The sooner you got your hands on that drink at the after party, the better. You politely declined interviewers’ offers that were being shouted at you from every angle and made your way to the buzzing centre of the event.

Several of your past co-stars approached you to have a much needed catch up, granted, it was quick and rushed, but it was always nice to see them.

You walked with Zendaya as you turned towards the long stretch of cameras paparazzi and a sea of very expensive suits and dresses, one man in particular caught your eye. Shawn Mendes. You couldn’t recall seeing him last year, or the year before that. A newbie.

He was talking to Troye Sivan, who perfectly timed scanning the room – just as you looked at him – and pointed towards you, drawing the taller man beside him’s attention to you. You waved, causing the two to smile and wave back. You turned back to your conversation with the actress before she was called over to the side by her assistant, urging you to go on without her.

Your eyes quickly found the maroon suit again, but this time the bright red of Troye’s suit was no longer there. He looked almost lost, certainly unsure. However, you didn’t blame him, you had been to countless events before your first ever met gala but you’d still found it daunting. Your eyes involuntarily trailed down his broad figure before something caught your eye. Your eyes widened when they landed on his crotch area – and not for that reason. You inhaled sharply when you noticed the white that significantly contrasted with the darker tone of his suit. The idiot hadn’t zipped up his trousers.

You panicked, not sure what to do. Should you tell him? You cringed at the thought of approaching a rather attractive human being, who your only interaction with was a brief wave, and telling them that you were staring at their crotch? No thank you. You willed yourself to turn around, after all, it wasn’t your problem. But just as you were about to distract yourself with god knows what – you saw him begin to walk towards the paparazzi. Fuck it, you thought, rushing faster than you thought was physically possible in your heels towards the man who was about to make a huge mistake – whilst wondering how catastrophic yours would be.

You reached him just as he turned towards the first cluster of cameras. Purposefully not giving yourself enough time to overthink your actions you stepped inches away from him, shielding him, and his modesty, from the mob of shouting photographers behind you. His expression morphed into shock very quickly at your unexpected appearance.

“Hi.” You said, the awkwardness of the interaction already had you wanting to hide in your apartment for at least a week, and you hadn’t even addressed the crotch situation yet.

“Hi?” He replied with so much uncertainty it was phrased more like a question than a greeting. You winced. God why did I do this? You swatted those thoughts away. As embarrassing as this was, it was the right thing to do.

“Y/N it’s nice to finally meet you but I-” He started.

“Your fly is undone.” You blurted. You hoped that your foundation was thick enough to hide the deep blush that was unquestionably heating your cheeks.

His eyes widened like a deer in headlights before they quickly left yours so he could check for himself. You looked away to try and reduce the embarrassment, for him and you, only turning back when you heard the hum of the zipper.

His perfectly flushed cheeks had darkened to a shade that almost matched the colour of his tailored suit.

“Thank you so much I- oh my god can you imagine the headlines.” His breaths were becoming more and more shallow with every word he spoke.

“Hey don’t worry about it. Wardrobe malfunctions happen to the best of us.” You nudged his shoulder gently and a beautiful smile grew on his face. To your surprise, he wrapped you in a hug, at first you were worried about creasing your dress, but that thought was erased almost as fast as it had come when you realized just how strangely comforting his hold was.

However you were abruptly brought back to reality by the deafening sound of camera clicks. You pulled away despite everything in you wanting to stay wrapped in his ridiculously strong arms. It was difficult to miss the way his eyes raked down your figure – just like you had done to him – as he too took a polite step back.

“See you at the after party?” He opened and closed his mouth a few times before just settling with a nod. You smiled, your confidence levels thankfully replenishing after that… experience. You turned as attractively as you could to walk away, hoping to ‘flaunt it’ as your assistant would tell you. However when you went to move your foot, it stayed still and you went flying forwards. You closed your eyes and braced yourself for the impact. But instead, before you could physically harm yourself, two muscular arms looped around your front, hoisting you up and towards him, so your back was pressed securely against his chest.

“You okay?” He asked. You tried, and failed, to refrain from shivering as you felt his warm breath on the shell of your ear.

“Yep.” You squeaked, still recovering from your almost-fall. If you couldn’t even walk without falling on a flat surface, your chances with the stairs were not looking promising.

“Just stand still for me.” He said, slowly removing you from his arms, ensuring that you were able to stay upright. He leaned down and you inhaled when you felt his large hand gently wrap around your ankle. “You might wanna hold on for a second.” He said and you just managed to hear it over the chaos that meant a popular celebrity was arriving. Your eyebrows furrowed before you caught onto what he was suggesting. You reached down to hold onto his shoulder. When he felt the pressure of your hand, he lifted your foot up, his long fingers untangling the train of your dress from the heel of your Louboutins. Just as carefully as he had picked it up, he placed your foot back on the ground with so much attentiveness, you felt as though you could melt into a puddle right there and then. He didn’t remove his hand straight away, meaning that when he stood back up, his hand trailed dangerously far up your leg causing you to suck in a breath of air.

Shawn’s eyes had a sheepish glint to them as they connected with yours, as if he was unsure of whether he had crossed a boundary. You smiled gratefully “Thank you.” You murmured.

“We’re even now.” He said with a toothy smile, which subsequently made you grin back.

Around the two of you cameras continued to flash and the obnoxious people behind them shouted different orders at the stars who were posing for photos, trying to show off their best angles

“Hey, um do you have a date?” He asked, bringing your attention back to him. He scratched briefly at his neck, surprised at himself for being so audacious. His signs of nervousness made your heart beat a little faster – he somehow managed to go from having his hand on your thigh to being an absolute gentleman, and easily got away with it.

“No I don’.t” You responded. Not wanting to get your hopes up about the intention of his question. You were never that lucky.

“How about we make a deal? We do this together – you tell me if my zipper comes undone,” He quickly motioned to his crotch “And I will catch you when you trip on those stairs.” He finished, nodding towards the steps which you had been dreading since you had received the phone call about the event.

“What do you mean ‘when you trip’?” You said incredulously.

“Come on sweetheart, we both know you won’t make it up there in those,” he referred to your heels, playfully scrunching his nose up as he pointed dismissively at the designer stilettos. “Without at least one fall.” He finished, a wry smile on his lips.

You gasped dramatically, hoping to draw the attention away from your flushed cheeks which were a result of the nickname that slipped from his lips.

“So is that a yes?” He asked, a hint of insecurity seeping into his tone.

You nodded. “I would love to be your date, as long as you promise not to let me fall.” He grinned from ear to ear, your face no doubt mirroring his delighted expression.

“I promise.” He said honestly, extending his arm for you – which you gladly accepted.

You didn’t fall over once.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes oneshots #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn x reader #shawn x you #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you

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orengjijyuusu · 5 years

Text

Articles of Clothing (A Jinguji Ren fanfic)

Okay so I wrote this prior to the release of Ren's new solo album, "Rose Rose Romance." It's basically about how Ren got his inspiration for the cover art of his *cough* strip tease *cough* album. The boys will all be in it so enjoy!

"We need to think of the concept art for your upcoming album, Jinguji." The visiting photographer ponders while pacing the room.

The strawberry blonde idol looks attentively at the possible designs and themes of his latest single, "Rose Rose Romance." He retorts at the photographers various pitches, going back and forth with how the wardrobe would be drawn up.

Across the table, Nanami is busy composing her next arrangement for Syo's upcoming album. She scribbles notes on sheet music feverishly, not really paying attention to the two discussing their business. Despite being insistent on NOT needing to be present at a meeting involving photoshoots and album artwork, Ren had successfully convinced her to accompany him for, "moral support" reasons.

The composer automatically knew the role of being, "moral support" was poppycock, but how could she say no when he worked so hard on this project. Plus Ren could possibly draw some inspiration from the score now that she thought about it; so maybe she could be of non "moral support" use yet.

"My lady." His velvety voice breaks her concentration, causing her head to snap up in response. Ren's cheek is cupped into his palm while he smiles knowingly at her; it seems he had been calling her name for a bit.

Nanami blinks, "Sorry, I was in the zone. What's up?" She quickly straightens her stack of paperwork in her lap.

"May I see our arrangement?" He asks politely, with heavy emphasis on "our." "It would help a lot with the wardrobe theme I'm going for."

She nods and sifts through her folder, eventually finding the sheet music and handing it across the table to the idol. He gives her a wink before mouthing, "thank you." Nanami smiles bashfully and watches as Ren scans the piece.

The photographer waits expectantly as Ren begins humming the tune to himself, the gears of his mind turning as he thinks of the overall message of his album.

After a minute, he places the papers on the table and turns to the photographer. "This song is obviously very sensual, in composition and in lyrics. We definitely need roses in this. And we need something that epitomizes that message in terms of dress. We something daring, something passionate, something..." he purposefully glances over at Nanami with a teasing sultry gaze, "Something sexy."

Her face goes red at the comment and buries her growing blush in the paperwork.

Ren laughs at his composer exhibiting such an adorable reaction to his shameless flirts. He's still happy he can get a reaction like that from her despite using it numerous times during their development with Starish.

Meanwhile, the photographer ignores the underlying comment the idol made and took it as inspiration instead. "That's our Jinguji Ren for you! Always knowing what style to go for! This is plenty of ideas, thank you so much!!" They throw their hands in the air, "Oh I have so much to do now! I have to plan. I have to set up the wardrobe department. I have-I have to order all the fabrics!"

Ren chuckles and holds his hands up, "I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with. Thank you for your hard work." He and Nanami bow at the photographer.

"Yes! Thank you for your hard work!" The photographer scrambles to pick up their files, "I must be going now! I have IDEAS brewing! Come by the studio on Friday. I'll be in touch!!" They rush out of the room with enthusiasm, leaving the two clients alone.

Both Nanami and Ren breathe a sigh of relief once they leave. Who knew photographers had so much energy. Ren turns to Nanami with expectant eyes, "May I treat you to dinner, my lady?" Nanami shoulders her bag and places her folders inside, "Maybe next time, I just got a melody I could use for Syo's new song and I don't want to lose the thought."

Nanami could have swore she saw Ren's shoulders slump at her rejection to the invitation, however he smiles and gives her head a pat.

"That's our composer. Hard at work." He chuckles lightheartedly.

Nanami looks up at him and notices his naturally drooping eyelids. It's not that he was sad, that's just how Ren's eyes normally look. But goddangit it wasnt helping the feeling of guilt growing in her chest. She purses her lips and thinks for a hot moment. Then she looks back up with a smile, "But, I wouldn't be opposed to stopping somewhere and getting ice cream."

The idol's eyes upturn the second she offers. He gives her a teasing smirk, "Making time for me, hmm? You truly have a heart of gold, my lady."

"You offered in the first place." Nanami erupts in a fit of giggles as they leave to go back to the agency.

*Later...*

"I assume your meeting went alright?" Masato asks, not looking up from his calligraphy as Ren walks into the room. His roommate throws his bag onto his desk and stretches his arms out, "We have an idea. Our lady came quite in handy with the composition."

Masato's eyebrow twitches, "I swear, stop dragging Nanami everywhere. You're putting her through a lot of trouble what with all the important work she needs to do. Distractions won't help her in the slightest."

Ren plops himself on his bed and yawns, "You're no fun as usual. Lucky for me, we went out for ice cream to end our PRODUCTIVE day. Which was LOTS of fun by the way."

The bluenette slaps his brush onto the rice paper in irritation, "Everytime you go somewhere with her, it always turns into date night for you." He growls.

"Jealous?" Ren scoffs, leaning on his elbow to look smugly at Masato.

His roommate rips away the ruined calligraphy and starts on a fresh piece, "Like I would ever want to stoop down to your level. Unlike you, I have impulse control."

Ren rolls his eyes so far back he swore he could see his brain, "Whatever. I'm not going to be irked by your party pooping attitude. Gotta put my best foot forward for the ladies when I do my photo shoot."

He sits up briefly and strips himself down to his briefs. After carelessly tossing his clothes to the floor, he turns on his side and shuts off his lamp, "Goodnight, bowlhead."

Masato makes a "Tch!" sound with his teeth before concentrating again. "At least shower in the morning, idiot." He mumbles.

*The Next Day*

"No no! It's all wrong!!" The photographer groans, walking up to Ren as he poses with some roses.

The idol sighs and places the flowers on the floor, "I agree, something feels off about the setting."

The photographer places his chin in his hand, "No it's not that...its the outfit. I...I dont know why but it doesn't look right. It looked fine before..."

The two wrack their brains trying to figure out another solution for the cover photo, however each idea seemed to stay farther from what they originally wanted for the theme.

"Let's mix it up a bit. Wardrobe, we need to discuss." The photographer snaps their fingers and two staff members come over with a rack of clothes and sketch pads.

Ren exhales exhaustingly and goes to sit in the makeup department to do touch ups. As he lets the staff do their work, he notices Nanami through the mirror followed closely by his superior, Ranmaru.

Without turning around, he raises a hand and stares straight at the two in the reflection, "Hey, what brings you two here?"

Nanami walks to the side of his chair and hands him a bento, "Courtesy of Kotobuki bento. Hijirikawa noticed you didn't really eat anything for breakfast so we brought it over."

Ren takes it with a loving smile, "I appreciate it, lady."

"Tch..." Ranmaru scoffs quietly, "I'm the one who actually got it from that idiot." He saunters off towards the snack table.

"Of course, thank you as well, Ran-chan." Ren chuckles before turning serious.

"I don't mean to have you both see me like this but...turns out my photo shoot isn't going as planned. I'm sorry I couldn't gather enough from your song, lady." He gives her a sad smile.

The composer clutches her folders to her chest, "That's not true, Jinguji-san. You always have an amazing sense of style. That's a fact."

"My lady..." Ren's eyes widen slightly in surprise.

"When I saw you look at the score the other day, you looked so focused." Nanami puts her folders on the makeup table and squeezes his arm resting on the chair, "I could see the ideas churning in your head. So I know you can do it!"

The idol smirks, then brings his lips to the hand on his arm for a quick kiss.

Nanami briefly feels her soul leave her body before recovering.

"Always so encouraging. Where would we be without you, lady?" He hums.

Nanami clears her throat at her sudden outburst and looks away, "A-Anyways, what are you having trouble with, Jinguji-san? Maybe Kurosaki-senpai and I could help." She looks over to Ranmaru stuffing his face with bananas over by the snack table. Or just me, she thinks with a helpless smile.

Ren leans back in his chair, "Well that's what we are trying to find out. It's the clothing that was picked out for me." He turns his head to the photographer looking through his pictures, "Excuse me, is it alright if I take a look at what we have so far?"

The photographer sighs and brings over the camera while still looking at the screen, "Go ahead. Good luck trying to find something." They hand Ren the camera and walk off elsewhere.

He tilts the screen so Nanami can see as he clicks through each photo.

She hums to herself while analyzing Ren's outfit, "I'm no fashion expert but…" she gently tugs the camera away from his grip, "Aren't there too many clothing articles?"

Ren raises an eyebrow, "Oh, how so?"

The composer peers closer, "I mean--you have two jackets here. One around your waist and one you are actually wearing. And there's a loose scarf…"

"Looks more like winter wear than the passionate look you're going for." Ranmaru says over Nanami's shoulder, causing her to jump a little.

He ignores her reaction and bites into a banana, "If you want passion, you could stand to show some skin, ya know." He grunts before walking off again.

Nanami taps her chin with her finger, "That could work…"

Skin… Ren snaps his head up, "That's it!! I got it!" He jumps up out of his chair and walks over to the photographer. He whispers something to them before their face lights up with inspiration.

"BRILLIANT!! Alright we have a lead! Jinguji, head to the dressing room. I need the makeup department on him, stat! This photo shoot can be saved yet!"

Nanami's face lights up at the good news, "What's the idea, Jinguji-san?"

He shrugs off his jackets and turns to her with a wink, "That you'll have to find out for yourself, lady. I'm going to embrace what Ran-chan said earlier about 'showing some skin.' Wish me luck!"

He gives her head a pat and walks to the dressing room. At that point, Ranmaru makes his way back over to Nanami.

"He get an idea?" He asks, taking a sip from his water bottle.

"Yes, apparently Jinguji is heeding your advice, Kurosaki-san." Nanami chirps happily.

Ranmaru nearly chokes on his drink, "*cough* *cough* Say what now?!" He sputters.

The composer gives the idol a confused look, "Is something wrong?"

"I dont know why, but I got a feeling he's going to do something extremely stupid." He shudders while wiping his mouth.

Nanami chuckles nervously, "I-Is that so…?"

*A week later*

Ren let's out a yawn as he makes his way over to the lounging area. The photo shoot continued without a hitch, and by now the CDs should already be out on the shelves. He honestly couldn't wait to see the others reactions to his album.

The first thing he notices is the usual gaggle of guys gathered tightly around the coffee table, talking feverishly amongst themselves. As Ren approaches, the shortest member of Starish hears him first and jumps up in a fury.

"Ren!! What the hell is THIS!?" Syo shouts in disbelief, poking a finger aggressively at the album.

Bingo, Ren says with a devilish smile, Just the reaction I was hoping for. He smiles innocently, "Whatever could you mean, Shorty?"

"Cut the crap!! You know what I'm talking about! This!!" Syo shoves the CD album in his face, his face as red as a tomato.

There he was, printed for all the lovely ladies to see, completely shirtless...and pantless.

"Well, as you can plainly see, THAT is a CD cover." Ren retorts with a playful smirk.

"Why you-!" Before Syo can blow a fuse, Otoya steps in.

"Now now, let's not get too overworked." He laughs nervously before doing a complete 180 on Ren. "Ren, you are clearly NAKED! What--Just wha--I can't…" He clutches the album in disbelief, unable to form proper sentences.

"Hey now, they made sure to cut out the more 'daring' parts. Even I have standards." Ren winks lightheartedly at the group.

"The whole CONCEPT is daring!" Tokiya blurts before covering the blush on his face.

"That's our Ren! Always going the extra mile. So cool!!" Natsuki exclaims with a beaming face.

Cecil looks down in disappointment, "Aww, we could have done stuff like that? No fair!"

"No! One Ren is enough for this group!!" Syo shouts in response.

The strawberry blonde can't stop grinning from ear to ear. He was SO enjoying this. Suddenly, a copy of the album hits him in the face. He topples backward and onto the floor, wincing at the stinging sensation erupting on his forehead. Ren looks up to see Masato on his feet, looking the most pissed of them all.

"THANK YOU, Hijirikawa!" Syo raises his hands up.

"M-Masa, that was a bit unnecessary…" Otoya says nervously.

Masato's face is still stoic, however he failed to hide the red tint on his ears. "You...I can't believe you!" He has the most trouble forming words.

"I know, it's SO shocking. Honestly Hijirikawa, I thought you knew me better." His roommate says sarcastically.

"Yeah but I didn't think you'd actually be crazy enough to DO it. You think I'M shocked, look at poor Nanami!" He gestures to the sofa behind the idols. Nanami lay curled up with her face buried in a pillow. One could almost imagine steam rising off the top of her head. "She's been like that for 15 minutes!"

Ren bashfully scratches the back of his head, "She DID say I had too many articles of clothing on my body."

Otoya and Syo sit down beside her and copy her position with their own pillows, "It's okay Nanami, we are just as shocked!!" Otoya whimpers while holding Syo in his arms.

"Guys, I think we are overreacting. Don't worry, Ren! I support you!" Natsuki places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Tokiya does the same, "I do too. I'm sorry. I was overcome with shock earlier."

Their fellow colleague sighs, "I'm glad to hear it. But I have a feeling you all won't be able to let this go so easily."

"Definitely not." Tokiya chides.

"It's blackmail material now." Syo mutters, looking up from the pillow.

"We won't ever let you live this down." Cecil smiles at Ren.

"We'll tease you about this until the day you die." Ittoki laughs evilly.

"Because we love you, though." Natsuki adds on.

Masato discreetly shakes his head and makes a face.

Ren laughs and walks over to Nanami, "You saved me again, lady. Don't ever forget it." He ruffles her hair.

Nanami curls up tighter, "I don't think I can, Jinguji-san." She mutters in the pillow.

*elsewhere*

"Whoo! That's our sexy kouhai! Show off that skin!" Reiji whoops as he watches a coverage of Ren's album on TV.

"The bastard went and did it!" Ranmaru cringes and buries his face in his hands,"I should have kept my damn mouth shut!"

Camus' stares distastefully at the screen while a pile of sugar forms in his tea cup and onto the table. He throws a glare Ranmaru's way, "Figures you would be the one to give him such immature ideas. Have you no shame?"

"Okay first off, fuck you! No one was talking to you, damn butler!" Ranmaru growls, not even turning to directly return fire at his colleague.

"I imagine the other members of Starish are quite shocked as well." Ai adds quietly, "Though I can imagine the ratings will rise 112% because of him."

"Ne ne! We should do a nude photo shoot with all four of us! It'll be super fun and sexy!" Reiji winks at them with excitement.

"No. Do it yourself." All three respond immediately.

"You're so mean!!!"

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

I’ve Just Seen a Face

Happy Birthday, @xemmaloveskillianx ! It was a pleasure to get to know you a little bit during the big bang, and your story Beastly was one of my faves. I hope you have a lovely day. Here’s a fluffy meet-cute as a gift. Kind of like a fanfic cupcake, or more aptly in this case, a fanfic birthday bear claw.

Based on the song by the Beatles as well as a prompt on AuthorZoo.com’s post “How to Craft a Killer Meet Cute.”

Rating: G

Trigger: none unless you count the high sugar content, literal and of the fluffy variety

Words: almost 3,000

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @kday426 @teamhook@bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @distant-rose @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @shireness-says@optomisticgirl

I’ve just seen a face. I can’t forget the time or place where we just met. She’s just the girl for me, and I want all the world to see we’ve met.

It was Killian’s job every Friday to get the donuts. It wasn’t because he was so low on the business ladder; the name of the company was Jones Brothers Shipping, after all. It wasn’t because he was the little brother of said Jones brothers, either. It’s just that he liked donuts, he liked the way Tink and Ariel smiled when he brought them in, he liked the way his brother stopped stressing for once to have coffee and a chat, and so. . . yeah, he bought the donuts.

He also, unlike his brother, pays attention to details. It’s why they make such a great team (in addition to being siblings which means they can fight viciously and still be okay at the end of the day): Liam is the big picture guy and Killian is the details guy. Therefore, he knows that Ariel likes jelly donuts, Tink likes strawberry frosted (with sprinkles), and his brother likes bear claws. Will, Robin, and Eric like cake donuts for some bizarre reason, and Killian just likes classic glazed, thank you very much.

On this particular Friday, it’s raining and there’s a bad accident on I-93, and it took Killian at least ten minutes of crawling around in the back seat to find his umbrella, so he’s wet and cross and running late when he dashes into the bakery. Tink says he’s part owner and therefore, can’t be late, but he and Liam are former navy and well, schedules and all of that.

Normally, he would chat with Bridget who’s always working the register (Ariel would say flirt), and give a polite hello to those around him, but his day is already going poorly, so he’s laser focused on his order and nothing else.

“You got here just in time,” Bridget comments as she rings him up, “there was only one bear claw left.”

Later, he’ll say its fate, but in that moment he barely notices the comment. He simply snatches up the box of donuts and bravely makes his way back out into the heavy downpour, struggling to keep a hold of the box of donuts while simultaneously opening his umbrella. Not an easy task for anyone, but even more so for him, missing his left hand. Another result of those former navy days.

So he isn’t exactly in the best mood initially when he meets her, rude and sharp “Hey! Hey, you!” coming angrily from her lips. He groans at her words and is ready with a sharp retort before he even turns around.

But see, he turned around. He turned around, and he saw her, and that pretty much stopped his ability to speak. She either has no umbrella or has had an even worse morning than he has because she's standing there getting soaked in the pouring rain. Most women would have rivulets of mascara running down their faces, but she doesn’t, and he wonders if her clear lack of eye makeup is indicative of how her morning has gone or her personality. He also wonders if her skin is always so fair, her lips that pink, or if she’s chilled from the rain.

But mostly he thinks how incredibly, unfairly beautiful she is. No one has the right to be that gorgeous standing in the pouring rain, but she is. Her golden hair is flattened to her head, yet it does nothing to detract from its brightness. The rain drops glisten on her eyelashes, making her jade eyes sparkle like gems. He could stare at that face all day, but his eyes can’t help tracing the rivulets of water running over her collarbone and noting the figure she cuts in the white blouse now plastered to her skin from the rain. Over it she’s wearing a red leather jacket, not the most practical thing to wear in the rain, but it makes her look like some sort of heroine from a comic book, especially the way her hands are perched on her hips. The intense, feisty look on her face completes the picture, and he can’t help the half grin that tilts his lips.

“Aye, love?”

She rolls her eyes, something that he’s never considered arousing until now.

“I’m not hitting on you, idiot. I want your bear claw.”

Feisty indeed. He takes a few steps closer, admiring the way she doesn’t back down.

“Well, see, I bought it fair and square, so I believe we are at an impasse.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and scowls at him. “What are you, auditioning for the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie?”

He laughs. She shoots the proverbial daggers from her eyes.

“And get out of my personal space,” she snaps.

“I was attempting to share my umbrella.”

“I’m already wet.”

“I can see that.” He arches a brow. It may earn him a punch to the gut, but he can’t stop himself.

She rolls her eyes again. It’s better than a blow from her fist. “The bear claw?”

“It’s my brother’s favorite.”

“I’ll pay you for it.”

“I still won’t have a bear claw for Liam.”

“Not my problem.”

“Then why is your lack of a bear claw mine?”

She sighs in irritation as she pushes wet strands of hair from her face. “Look, I’ve had a shitty morning, and the only thing that could make it better is a damn bear claw. Okay?”

Something in her eyes shifts, and he frowns. It’s as if a tiny window has opened and then quickly shut again. She doesn’t open up often or easily; he can see that clearly.

“Okay, you can have the bear claw, but the payment I ask isn’t money,” he tells her, all flirtation and cockiness gone from his voice.

She blinks, and her mouth opens in clear offense. “I don’t pillage and plunder with guys I just met, if that’s what you’re asking, pirate.”

He chuckles again as he hands her the umbrella to hold while he opens the box of donuts. He balances the box on his prosthetic while extending the bear claw with his good hand.

“Your name,” he tells her, “that’s all I want.”

She cocks her head at him suspiciously. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

She eyes him, then the bear claw peace offering, then him again. Whatever test she puts him through, he passes.

“Emma Swan,” she says, taking the bear claw.

“Killian Jones.” He winks at her as he takes a step back.

“Your umbrella!” She exclaims as he gets farther away, his own hair now plastered to his forehead.

“You need it more than I do, love.”

And if his address and phone number are on the handle, well, she can do with it what she wills.

Had it been another day, I might have looked the other way, and I’d have never been aware, but as it is I’ll dream of her tonight.

“Killian? Killian!”

“Hmm?”

Liam frowns. “First you give me a plain donut instead of my usual bear claw, and now you’re ignoring me. What’s with you?”

“He met someone,” Ariel says as she comes in to put a folder in the filing cabinet. They really need a bigger office.

Liam arches a brow at him over the rim of his coffee mug, and Ariel leans smugly against the filing cabinet. Killian scowls at her, but she just winks at him.

“It was nothing,” he mutters.

“He gave her your bear claw and his umbrella.”

Liam chuckles. “The umbrella that just happens to have your number on it.”

“How do you know what my umbrella looks like?’

“Because Elsa bought it for you last Christmas.”

Ariel laughs merrily. “Oh Kil, that’s adorable.” She pats him on the shoulder in a way that he frankly feels is condescending as she leaves the room.

“So I take it she was pretty.”

Pretty? The word is insufficient, brother, she was bloody gorgeous. But he says nothing aloud, just scratches behind his ear.

“Blonde hair, green eyes, and in Killian’s own words feisty.”

“Can you shut up now?” he snaps as he turns to where Ariel is still standing in the doorway. She isn’t affected in the least by his irritation, giggling as she heads back to her desk.

“Wow, little brother, she must have been some blonde.”

“Can we get back to the budget,” Killian grumbles, staring intently at the paper work in his hands.

Falling, yes I am falling, and she keeps calling me back again.

He hasn’t been able to get her out of his mind. He tried to tell himself that she has his number; that if he were a true gentleman, he would let her take the next step. But when Friday rolls around, he can’t help himself. He purposefully arrives late to the bakery at the same time she was there last week. He doesn’t even know if it’s part of her routine, but he has to try.

When he walks into the bakery and sees her sitting at one of the small tables, he thinks he wasn’t crazy after all. When he approaches and sees two bear claws and the nervous smile on her face, he’s sure of it.

“I, um, owed you a bear claw, so . . . “ she says, biting on her lower lip as she slides one of the plates closer to him, “and the umbrella . . . “ she trails off as she gestures to where it’s leaning against her chair.

Many flirtatious barbs and innuendos fly through his head, but her obvious discomfort as she tugs on the ends of her hair cause him to discard each one. Instead, he keeps it simple.

“I appreciate that. May I join you, Swan?”

Her shoulders relax under the warmth of his smile. “That’s the idea. And you remembered my name.”

He winks as he sits. “I did pay for it.”

Her cheeks warm. “True, Killian.”

Now it’s his turn to blush. “And you remembered mine. Let me guess, it’s because it was on the umbrella.”

“No.”

She accompanies the word with a tiny smile and a sparkle in her eyes, and Killian Jones learns in that moment that Emma Swan says a lot with few words.

They linger over their bear claws and through two cups of coffee. In that time, Killian also learns that Emma reveals herself slowly and hesitantly. She does tell him why she was so desperate for a bear claw last Friday. She’s a bail bondsperson, and she had been up all night staking out a perp who never showed. It had left her irritated, tired, and pissed that she hadn’t been home with her son. The last piece of information is delivered with a sidelong glance, as if she’s waiting for him to find an excuse to make a quick exit. Her eyebrows lift to her hairline with surprise and pleasure when he asks about the lad instead. She’s still guarded in sharing about him, something he completely understands and respects.

It’s a text from Liam that brings their time together to an end. (Where the hell are you, little brother? Everyone’s waiting for their donuts!) He really doesn’t care about his pissed off brother or the fact that everyone’s going to have to settle for plain glazed this week. Emma was there, she was happy to see him, and she actually had a conversation with him. He’ll gladly be late and face the wrath of the entire office very damn Friday for that.

He knows that’s all he can hope for – running into her again next week. He sees how high her walls are, knows it will take patience and a gentle touch to scale them, so he tells her breakfast was lovely and walks out with his box of donuts. He’s surprised when he hears her breathless voice behind him, calling for him to wait.

“Your umbrella,” she tells him.

He hadn’t left without it on purpose, but he’s glad he did when he sees her flushed cheeks and bright eyes as she holds it out to him.

“Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

Their fingers brush as she hands it to him, and the spark between their skin emboldens him. He sets the box of donuts and the umbrella on the hood of his car and turns to her with a flirtatious arch of his brow.

“Don’t you think gratitude is in order?” he asks flirtatiously as he taps his lips.

The slow grin that spreads across her face says more than any words could. “Yeah, that’s what the thank you was for.”

“That’s all I get? For keeping you dry all day?” He ducks his head and gives her a heated look from beneath his lashes. He’s laying it on thick, but the light in her eyes eggs him on.

“Please,” she says with that arousing roll of her eyes, “you couldn’t handle it.”

He leans into her personal space. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” He pops the “t” as he gazes at her lips.

He really thought that all he would get from her was more heated banter. He hadn’t expected Emma Swan to grab him by the collar of his leather jacket and kiss the living hell out of him, but that’s exactly what she does. She kisses him roughly, her tongue assaulting his in the most glorious way. He kisses her back with equal fervor, and she pulls back for a heartbeat only to dive back in for more. When they finally part, breathless and unsteady on their feet, he’s thoroughly wrecked.

“That was . . . “ he has no words actually for what that was. The best kiss of his life, perhaps, but it sounds a little too intense to say that out loud.

“I don’t do relationships,” she tells him, her lips still a breath away, her hands still clutching his jacket.

He blinks, feeling a sort of emotional whiplash.

“Because of my son,” she continues. “It’s why I didn’t call even though I had your number. It’s why I almost left three times before you showed up today. It’s why I can’t -”

He silences her with a gentle hand to her cheek. “I understand, Emma.” He smiles gently as he thumbs her still wet lips. “Whatever we become, it’s up to you just as much as it is me.”

She relaxes immediately, taking his hand from her cheek and clasping it against her chest. “I don’t just want a kiss in a parking lot, though.”

He laughs softly. There she goes, saying a lot with few words again.

“Then how about this,” he says, lifting her hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, “I’ll be here at the same time next Friday, and if you wish, you can join me for a bear claw again.”

She blinks, her smile soft. “I think I can do that.”

Friday bear claws turn into Friday dinners, which turn into Saturday morning pancakes in his kitchen, which turn into Sunday afternoons sailing with her and her boy Henry, which turn into exchanging rings and a white picket fence. Until the day comes that he’s meeting another new face, this one with the most beautiful blue eyes he’s ever seen.

“Nice to meet you, Hope Jones,” he whispers.

I’ve just seen a face. I can’t forget the time or place where we just met. She’s just the girl for me, and I want all the world to see we’ve met.

#cs ff #captain swan modern au #meet cute #fluff #fandom birthday playlist #for xemmaloveskillianx #on her birthday #i've just seen a face

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justsomebucky · 7 years

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The Friendly Wager (Part 4)

Summary: AU. Reader and Bucky Barnes are neighbors and best friends. After yet another bad date, reader comes home to find Bucky with his typical weekend target. They decide to make a wager about dating, but is there more on the line than reader cares to admit?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,578

Warnings: language, fluff, sarcasm, unrealized romantic tension, drinking

A/N: This is my submission for the lovely Kait’s ( @bionic-buckyb) 5k AU Challenge. Congrats on the followers, friend! My prompt was “Can you please come over so I don’t feel so alone?”

I’m really behind on posting my parts for this challenge, I’ve got a long weekend, I wanna move this along because I’m dumb and entered another challenge, and I don’t wanna be a PIA for Kait, so I’m posting more frequently. Tags are closed.

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

“So, are you nervous?” Wanda asked, adjusting her sunglasses.

The two of you had decided to wander across the street to a food truck, and were now eating lunch on the bench outside of Stark Tower. The sun was bright again today, but you forced yourself to work and catch up on everything you missed yesterday while you were out having fun with Bucky.

“Me? Nervous about something really trivial? Never,” you deadpanned, scanning the busy street for nothing in particular. You didn’t have your sunglasses with you, so you couldn’t hide your expression from your coworker.

“You know, squinting causes wrinkles.”

“And worrying causes inflammation, but here we are.”

Wanda laughed, shaking her head once. “I can’t believe the two of you did this, anyways. Let me see this Peter guy again?”

You dug into your bag and found the picture that Bucky had texted you on your phone, then handed it over. “He’s very handsome.”

“He is,” she agreed, eyeing the stranger’s face. “But what’s he like?”

“I imagine that’s why I’m going on the date, Wanda, to find out what Peter is really like.” You stared straight ahead as something red caught your eye.

Oh, of course, the world’s most perfect woman would choose to make an appearance today.

“Is that Natasha?”

Wanda lowered her sunglasses just enough to have a look. “Yep. And she’s spotted us now. Aaaannd she’s coming this way.”

“Great,” you muttered, sinking a little lower on the bench, but keeping your eyes averted.

You had been giving yourself little pep talks all day about your own date, so hyper-focused on Peter and trying to win, that you’d sort of forgotten that Natasha was the prize for Bucky.

“Hey guys, I see you’ve found a way to avoid the cafeteria for lunch now?” Natasha smiled brightly at you both.

See this was another thing…you couldn’t hate Natasha if you tried. She was so nice, so smart, so helpful, so funny…so utterly, annoyingly perfect for Bucky…ugh.

“We’re trying out some of the new food trucks,” you explained, gesturing to your delicious Thai food.

“Any good?” Her eyes flickered to your tray, and a new feeling crept into your brain.

Why was she always encroaching on what was yours? First Bucky, now your lunch?

Could she let you live?

You blinked up at her, knowing full well that your attitude needed to be fixed, that she wasn’t purposefully trying to be an obnoxious thief.

Anyways, Bucky wasn’t yours, and the food trucks were for everyone.

“Very.”

“How about that?” Nat nodded to Wanda’s food.

“This was pretty good,” Wanda told her, holding up the plate of what was left of her falafel. “I think you’d like it.”

What was she going to talk about next, the nice weather you’ve been having? Small talk made your skin crawl. Everything was so forced, so awkward, and hardly ever sincere. It was one of the reasons why you hated first dates. Being polite and kind to others was one thing, but this?

Natasha nodded, then looked back at you curiously. “Is your mother okay?”

Wanda didn’t know this part, so she looked at you in utter confusion.

You knew she’d see right through this, because you were a terrible liar. “Uh…she’s fine. Just had a little scare.”

“Glad to hear that she’s doing well. I know that about half the floor was very concerned, since you almost never leave early. When I heard about what happened, I felt so bad.”

“Well,” you shrugged sheepishly. “When it’s your family, ya gotta…ya know…” Your voice trailed off as you realized you had no clue what to say.

Natasha didn’t seem to mind. Of course she didn’t.

“Right. Well, I actually came over here to ask about another rumor? My friend Peter says he’s taking you out tonight?”

You cringed, immediately feeling that same dread you had yesterday. What the hell? Does she know everybody? “That’s right. Just a first date. Just seeing how things go.”

“I thought you and Bucky were together for the longest time, you know, but Peter said that Bucky’s the one that fixed you two up. And then I heard from Rosie that she’s going out with Bucky tonight, and that you set it up?”

“Yep.” You didn’t know what else to say about that. Talking about Bucky with his perfect connection made you uncomfortable. “We’re best friends, just looking out for each other.”

“Well in that case, Bucky’s best friend, make sure you add me to the list, okay?” Natasha winked at you. “I’m single again, and I’ve had my eye on him for a while.”

“Will do,” you said, standing up with your tray of half-eaten Thai food. “I have to get back to work, I’ll see you girls later.”

You made your way to the nearest garbage can to throw the tray away, then with one last smile at the two women, you headed back inside.

“Text me about tonight,” Wanda called out as you made your quick getaway.

Once you were back in your neighborhood after work, you decided to stop at a shop that you pass on your way from the subway station every day.

It wasn’t one of those fancy stores with dresses that are more expensive than your rent, and frankly, you wouldn’t have bothered to look in one of those anyways. Not until some of your student loan debt was paid down, at least.

No, this was sort of like a vintage shop, and the lady that owned it would travel someplace new once a month to restock by personally selecting items she’s found at other shops or yard sales or the like. You wandered in there a lot, sometimes buying something small for yourself, and had gotten to know her pretty well.

Everything was cheaper there than it would be in Manhattan, but it was still expensive, because let’s face it, it’s Brooklyn. Hipsters made everything expensive.

This little venture was to try to find something that was new to you to wear tonight, as long as it was in your budget.

“Can I help you, Y/N?”

You whirled around and came face-to-face with Christine, the shop’s owner. “Hi, Chris. Actually I think you might be able to help me. I have a first date tonight with a guy I’ve never met, and I don’t know his personality, so I’m not sure if he’s conservative or not.”

Christine nodded, her eyes flitting around the room. “First date dresses are usually better if you go with a normal black dress, in my opinion. I think I have a couple options that would work for you, let me go dig them out. You wait right here, okay?” She smiled at you before heading toward the back of the room.

With a small sigh, you turned to the jewelry display. A silver necklace with a tiny red star caught your eye, and you moved over to get a closer look, letting your fingers brush the chain gently.

“Ah, that’s new as of yesterday,” Christine told you, coming back into the room. “I found it at an estate sale in Montauk. Isn’t it pretty?”

“It is,” you agreed, flinching at the price tag. “But not for eighty-five dollars.”

“Tell you what? I’ll sell it to you for five bucks if you end up buying a dress here today, just because I know you and like you.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “Really? Well, hell, now I’m definitely getting one. Let’s see what you got there.”

Christine motioned for you to follow her, and the two of you went to the dressing room in the back. She laid out three black dresses on the sofa, then gestured to the mirrors. “Now, try each one on, and whichever makes you feel the best is the one you should go with. Don’t even worry about what your date will think. If you’re feeling good, the date will be much better, okay? I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks, Chris,” you called to her retreating back.

The first dress had long sleeves, and a puffy skirt that went mid-thigh. It would have looked perfect on someone built like Florence Welch, but not you.

Dress number two was a little prettier, with a halter top and a belt, but it was a little too old-fashioned looking for tonight.

The third option was by far your favorite. This had an A-line skirt and three-quarter length sleeves, with a V-neck that wasn’t too scandalous, but let everyone know you meant business. Plus, it wouldn’t look overdone with a certain star necklace.

You couldn’t help but smile at your reflection.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all, with the right outfit and the right attitude.

Forget what you thought earlier.

This was bad, this was so so bad.

You were freaking out. Your face and palms were sweaty, and your hair was trying to do its own thing, and your makeup was just not the way you wanted it to be (because of all the sweat). Nothing was going right so far.

A loud knock sounded on your door. You knew it was way too early for Peter to be at your place, so you rushed out into the hall. “Who is it?”

“It’s Bucky!” The muffled voice was unmistakably his, but you didn’t have time to wonder why he would want to come over when the two of you were in wager mode.

“Door’s open!” You scurried back into your bathroom to try to make sense of your hair.

The only thing that was working out for you was your outfit.

You found yourself staring at your reflection for the second time that day, but this time you weren’t smiling. Why the hell were you putting so much effort into a date with a probable douchebag, one you didn’t even pick for yourself?

Why should you worry so much?

Who cares?

Slowly, you fixed your hair and makeup, and then wandered into the kitchen to put your head in the freezer for a second. Surely, that would cool you down.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sweaty and nervous, so I’m trying to cool down.” Your tone let him know that it should be fairly obvious to him, since your freakin’ head was in the freezer.

“No, I meant, why are you sweaty and nervous?”

You moved away from the freezer and closed the door before turning to Bucky. The second you laid eyes on him, you froze.

Bucky must have had the same idea as you, to try a little harder with this date for the wager, because he looked so damn handsome. He was also wearing black on black, right down to his dress shirt and tie, and his hair was slicked back but somehow still fluffy.

Your stomach fluttered a little at the sight.

He, too, looked a little stunned at your appearance. You tended to wear comfy clothes around him. “I’ve never seen you dress up so much for a date before, Y/N.”

“Well, I’ve never seen you dress up ever for a date before, Bucky. You look great! If I knew you were so competitive, I might have made the terms a little crazier!”

Bucky moved to stand in front of you, a small smile playing on his lips. “You look really pretty. Actually, that word seems a little inadequate to describe you in this moment.” He reached for the star necklace that was around your neck, inspecting it carefully. “Is this new? I like it.”

“Yeah, Christine down at the shop on Bayard sold it to me for five bucks. She’s unreal.”

He nodded, and his fingers carefully set the necklace back down, brushing your skin so gently in the process that it sent shivers down your spine.

You figured you were finally, thankfully, at room temperature instead of a sweaty mess.

Bucky always did have a calming presence, after all.

“So,” he said with a small grin. “Any last tips for trying to woo your pal Rosie?”

“I got nothin’,” you replied, turning away to your fridge. “She’s a coworker, not really a pal. Wanna have a drink with me for good luck?” You reached in for your bottle of cheap moscato, sighing in relief that you’d remembered to stock up.

“No, I’m good. I’m more on my game when I’m sober.”

“Funny, I’ve got much more of a personality when drinking,” you quipped, using the corkscrew to open the bottle. You poured some of the light liquid into a wine glass.

Bucky frowned as he watched you down half a glass in seconds. “Don’t drink too much tonight.”

“Yes, Dad.” You rolled your eyes at him. “I’m just trying to stay loose. I don’t want to have that anxious feeling where I leave the table in five minutes because of something douchey. Not when your cooking is on the line.”

“Not too loose, though,” he muttered, pushing the wine bottle out of your reach.

You let that one slide. “So are we supposed to text updates to each other during the date?”

Bucky shrugged. “It might make it more entertaining.”

“Right, well I’ll be sure to-“

Another knock at your front door made you stop mid-sentence and stare at Bucky with wide eyes. “That’ll be Peter, then.”

“I’ll get it,” he offered, backing away from you slowly. “I have to get going, anyways.”

“Okay.” You stared at him as he opened the door and greeted the man outside, before you hesitantly walked over.

When your eyes met Peter’s, you were pleasantly surprised to find he didn’t seem douchey at all.

Bucky introduced you both, and you gave him a look that clearly said what the hell?

He merely shrugged at you, clearly catching your drift, his blue eyes unreadable. “Go have a nice time, you guys. I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“Have fun on your date, Bucky.” You offered him one last smile, before closing your door, accepting Peter’s arm, and heading down the staircase.

“So, Y/N, I thought we could go to this little place downtown tonight. I know the owner, and…”

Peter’s voice trailed off as your thoughts strayed back to your best friend.

The deal had been for him to set you up with a douchebag to see if you could make it an entire date without freaking out and leaving. But now, you couldn’t help but wonder: did Bucky just throw the competition again?

What did this mean?

Maybe he just really wanted to you meet and date a nice guy. He was always looking out for you like that, after all, and he even said he hated that you kept going after the same kind of guy over and over. You always brushed off his concerns, telling him that you’d listen to his romance advice when he stopped sleeping around so much.

Your heart sank a little; there was no way you could keep Nat’s number from him now. He deserved to be happy, too, and what kind of friend withholds that information, knowing that Nat was perfect for him?

Peter stopped and looked at you expectantly, and you realized that you hadn’t heard anything else he said. “That all sounds great, Peter. I’m looking forward to it,” you said quickly, trying to make your tone of voice sound convincing.

It worked, because he smiled happily. “Great. We’re definitely gonna have fun tonight, Y/N!”

As you were getting into a taxi with Peter, you turned and spotted Bucky heading out to hail his own cab.

He waved at you, his expression blank. As the taxi pulled away, you lifted your hand to wave back, with a small smile on your face and a nervous feeling in your stomach.

Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky x you #jsd friendly wager #kaits5kauchallenge

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ruzbaral-blog · 7 years

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Gender and inequality

My first source for gender inequality is about the Emma Watson speech for her special for the #HeForShe campaign. September 2014, UN Women Goodwill Ambassador Emma Watson at a special event for the #HeForShe campaign gave a very powerful, smart, and moving speech about the gender inequality problem and how to deal with it. In her speech, she seeks for men and youth to join her #HeForShe campaign or Feminist fight for gender equality. I found the entire speech was so motivating because for the gender equality in society to be accomplish permanently, the generations of harmful and destructive stereotypes of masculinity and behavioral expectations for boys and men have got to change. #opinion

My second source for gender and equality is about the article that talks about inequality between man and female and why it still does have a space. I found the entire article interesting because it includes some of basic facts that everyone can relate. For instance, we often associate power and authority with masculinity and characterizations such as strong, tough, active, independent, taking up space, being strategic and having voice. Traits associated with femininity have historically been passivity, quietness, silence, weakness, being emotional and intuitive, being caring and nurturing.

My third source for gender and inequality is a video that reflects the discrimination against women. The video starts with some ridiculous numbers of data that women are discriminated in different sector from all over the world. the video also explores the behind the scene of how hard it is for women to grew up within the society. I like the video because the video has one aim that is women deserve a equality.

Sexual violence

My first source for sexual violence is the video that I recently watched on TED Talk by Jackson Katz called “Violence Against Women- It’s a Men’s Issue”. He addresses a domestic violence and sexual abuse are often called ‘women issues’. He discusses how the idea of sexual assault or women violence is analyzed as a ‘women’s issue’, in fact it is men’s issue just as much. I found his entire presentation very inspiring because I do believe the importance of changing the way we think to realize that violence against women is very much a men's issue. Thus, men play a key role in the solution to violence against women.

My second source for sexual violence is about sexual assault. I choose this source because it reflects the same ideology like the documentary ‘the hunting ground’ did. Numbers of women are the victim of sexual assault but only fewer numbers of crimes are filed and even action results taken for opposition are mesmerizing. Instead acting to the suspect, people and organization blame victim for no reason but just to protect their status and reputation.

My third source for sexual violence is about the violence against women. I found this source very useful because it is fact that for years’ violence against women continues to be widely tolerated. I think Despite all efforts of eradicating this issue, it will not be achieved until governments, the media, and the public acknowledge the seriousness of the problem and find out the exact solutions about it.

Language and communication.

My first source for language and communication is a video which explores the interesting fact about the everyday sexism. The EveryDaySexism is an ever-increasing collection of over 50,000 women's experiences of gender imbalance. The stories come from women of all ages, races and sexual orientations, disabled and non-disabled, employed and unemployed, religious and non-religious. The project has expanded into 18 countries worldwide and become internationally renowned, featuring in media from the New York Times to French Glamour, CNN to Grazia South Africa, to the Times of India. I think it is a very good idea because people who experienced sexism on a day to day basis, whether it is serious, minor, offensive that don’t feel able to protest can share their story with the help of it and show the world that sexism does exist faced by women every day which must end.

My second source for language and communication is about the use of sexism language. The article reflects the use of sexist language using against women or girl while walking on the streets or other different places. in general, I agree with the post because it discusses about personal beliefs, experiences and practices of students and the way in which sexist language perpetuates gendered stereotypes which are facts.

My third source for language and communication is about the Let’s Talk about the feminist communication. The post is unique and explores the correlation between feminist communication, consent, interpersonal dynamics and motivation from sexual harassment or abuse. Believe that their main motto is to communicate with each other makes it worth reading, even for those already familiar with concepts of consent.

Embodiment, Beauty, and the Viewer

My first source for Embodiment, Beauty, and the Viewer is about "The Handmaid’s Tale" which is both a beauty to behold and a slap in the face. The Handmaid’s Tale is not a “woman’s television show.” But it, too, feels purposefully, radically feminine: obsessed, like its source material, with allowing women to inhabit their own stories, instead of ceding that authority — to tell, to be told — to men.

My second source for Embodiment, Beauty, and the Viewer is about the article called ‘women’s worth’ posted by Marianne Williamson. I would absolutely agree with his post because feminine beauty is not the clothes, makeup or hair although a huge number of money is invested every year by women who have been convinced by the advertising industry that is (Williamson). I think beauty is who are from the inside. Society programs us, through the subliminal messages of popular culture, to believe that we’re not truly desirable as women unless we adhere to the current standards of physical beauty.

My third source for the Embodiment, Beauty, and the Viewer is about the Ann Hathaway, an Oscar winner actress who had a movie controversy where she failed to place her full professional trust in a female director. My reaction towards her action like how could a woman doubt other women profession because she was a woman. she mentioned one of her interview that it was because of the lack of female directory in Hollywood. I believe she is right and wrong at the same time because it is fact that there are less number of female director in Hollywood but instead of misbehaving with her she might have encouraged her for it would be a better choice.

Work, Inequality, and Neoliberalism

My first source for Work, Inequality and Neoliberalism is about the Time magazine cover: Don’t Hate Her Because She Is Successful– Sheryl Sandberg. I think her life story is perfectly suits in it because Sheryl Sandberg is one the most successful women when it comes to business. Her outstanding journey from Harvard to Facebook is a perfect example that women can do anything if they get an equal access on everything. She is one of the perfect example of feminist who is creating new opportunities, removing obstacles and making a real difference in others’ lives.

My second source for Work, Inequality and Neoliberalism is about general strike that was organizers of the Women’s March on Washington for not being accessible to the women most affected by precarious work and intersecting oppressions. According to the article, Neoliberalism convinces us that collectivity is unattainable and that the only way to demand rights and freedoms is through a system put in place to disenfranchise us and maintain power for the few. A movement advocating for the 99 per cent has no other option but to take into consideration the intersections of women’s oppressions. After all, the current state of the world calls for us to be ambitious as well as radical, disruptive, and self-critical (Favory ).

My third source for Work, Inequality, and Neoliberalism is about the sex work. I found this article very perfectly suitable for it because the article talks about misconception about the sex worker. After reading the entire article I think feminism is not only about what you wear but also about where your money goes. I believe everyone should appreciated equally on whatever they do.

Human Right and Global Activism

The first source I used for Human Right and Global Activism is about the quote by Kate Nash. It is fact that lot of people have a misconception about what feminism is. Kate define Feminism as, it is the human right that’s should be distributed equally between man and women. I do not believe that being a feminist doesn’t mean you hate men but you support the equally access on everything.

My second source for Human Right and Global Activism was about the Hilary Clinton speech on women rights. Since we all know she is a global activism and fighting against for women discrimination on education, leadership, opportunities and workplace. During her speech, she addressed why women issue is not the ordinary issue but the global issue and it has to end. My reaction towards her speech was so thrilled because it was such and powerful speech I ever listened before. I think she is a perfect example of a feminist because she had so many contributions on politics and women rights that should be appreciated.

My third source for Human Right and Global Activism was about the article called ‘Women as Humans: Human Rights, Feminisms, and Rethinking the Human’. In general, the article argues how re- analyzing of women’s human rights can help to create an international legal theory and with the help of it women would have more access on human rights. The article is worth reading. It includes some interesting facts as well.

History of Women’s Activism in the United States: Struggles and Solidarities

My first source I used for History of Women’s Activism in the United States: Struggles and Solidarities is about the pre-choice movement which is also called as the United States abortion rights movement. In general, the movement was supporting women should have the legal right to an abortion. The movement was also a part of the global abortions-rights movements. The movement was conducted by the different women activists and big organizations.

My second source for the History of Women’s Activism in the United States: Struggles and Solidarities is about the Women’s Right Movement in the united states. The articles cover the years from the 1848 to 1920. The includes the outstanding journey of Women’s Right Movement from women’s rights convention in Seneca Falls, New York to the formation of the National American Woman Suffrage Association, and the passage of the nineteenth amendment to the Constitution, giving women the right to vote.

My third source for the History of Women’s Activism in the United States: Struggles and Solidarities is about the Equal Right Amendment or Activism (ERA). The activist stand to guarantee the equal rights for women. talking about the history, it was introduced in 1923 and was passed both houses of congress in 1972. Due to some less number of ratification before the deadline ERA was not adopted. We live in modernized, civilized and globalized world, but still there is still not equal right. since it is not just the women issue man are also helping women in protesting to guarantee equal rights for them.

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