Ok, let me preface this by telling you that this is the goddamn weirdest fic request I have ever received. The requestee asked that I keep them anonymous (no worries bro, I won't out you). But their request was: "Hi! Do you still do challenge fics? Can you write one where one/both bubbline girls work in a sex shop? I think it'd be so fun!"
Alright, I did say I'd write any request. But if you're hoping for fappage material, I'm afraid you're about to be disappointed. Cue the weirdest request I have ever written.
Content Warning: bad language, implied sex toys.
"Hey Abadeer, you got time to lean then you got time to clean. Quit staring out the window and go fix the Preschool section, those little bastards made a mess back there again."
"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Big Earl." Marceline replied. Except she didn't, not out loud. She swore at him fluently inside her head but pinned a false smile onto her face and nodded eagerly, like she couldn't imagine anything better than going and rearranging twenty slightly battered copies of The Gruffalo.
Lemon Tree Books wasn't the flashiest shop in the world but hey, it was a job. Since her father had decided that she was 'old enough to start earning her own crust' and stopped paying all her bills Marceline had been forced to start actually working over the summer between studying if she wanted to do things like eat and buy necessary groceries. She wouldn't have cared because she was always only one tearful phone call to Uncle Simon away from a fat row of extra zeros landing in her bank account, but it was the principle of the thing. It was about dignity and respect. Her father wanted her to be self-sufficient? Fine. She'd learn to support herself just to spite the old bastard, because he clearly didn't really expect she could do it. So now she worked in Lemon Tree Books and played as many gigs as she could on a night and sometimes picked up a shift or two waiting tables in whatever café needed someone on short notice. It wasn't glamorous but it was probably causing her father to lie awake at night worrying over when she'd crack and beg for his help. That alone was worth the early starts on delivery day and having two massive pains in the ass like the Earl Brothers as bosses. Besides, there were other perks.
Marceline shoved the books away as quickly as possible before hurrying back to the shop window, staring out up the street expectantly. She glanced at the clock; quarter past five. Damn Earl and his stupid insistence that she actually work when she was at work, she'd probably missed her.
"Tomorrow, Dream Girl. It's a date." Marcy muttered to herself, turning from the window with a sigh.
She really was too old to have a school girl crush, especially on a gorgeous stranger. But at quarter to nine every morning and ten past five every night she saw this redhead girl walk down the street in a smartly pressed shirt and pencil skirt, immaculate heels and just, urgh, a face that was unbelievably sweet. She looked like a porcelain doll come to life, or like one of those fair maidens from old fashioned paintings. How did nobody else see it? There was a goddamn pre-Raphaelite wandering around the town and nobody else had noticed her. And Marceline, who was far too old for silly crushes, far too dignified to stare at hot people in the street, couldn't tear her eyes away.
The sound of the bell above the door announcing the entrance of a surprise customer had Marceline grinding her teeth in annoyance. They closed at half past, whoever was having some kinda literary emergency had had all damn day to come in and annoy her with it. She needed to get away as fast as possible for band practice; she didn't have time to serve some little old lady discreetly ogling Fifty Shades of Grey or a pimply fanboy drooling over a limited edition Batman omnibus he wasn't ever going to afford to buy. But when she turned back to the door with her trademark insincere service smile in place it wasn't a horny old lady or a teenage boy looking back at her.
"Welcome to Lemon Tree Books, how can I... help... uh, h-hi."
She closed her jaw with a click and tried to remember how to breathe.
"Are you still open?" Dream Girl asked anxiously.
"Yep." Marcy squeaked, sounding very much like a mouse was lodged in her throat.
"Sorry, I'm sure you're closing soon, I'll try to be quick. Just, I wanted to put in my preorder for the new Harry Potter."
"Oh. Cursed Child." Marcy replied stupidly. Because the amazingly hot girl totally wouldn't have known which book she was asking for otherwise, obviously. Marceline wanted to hide and just never talk to anyone ever again but she still needed to eat for the rest of the month so she pulled out an order form from behind the desk instead.
"I, uh, I need your contact details." she squeaked, handing the form and a pen across with slightly shaky hands. Marcy tried not to accidentally brush the stranger's skin, just in case she was tactile psychic and could hear the impure thoughts running wild in the other girl's head. Knowing her luck that would definitely happen.
She took a second to stare hungrily at Dream Girl while she filled her details in on the form; dammit she was just as gorgeous up close. The girl had a pale, heart shaped face and fantastically high cheekbones scattered with tiny freckles, wavy light red hair spilling down her back like she was some kind of ancient sun goddess come to life.
"So, uh, I'll call you."
"Um, you will?"
"When your book comes in. Like, if you don't pick it up on the day, I'll call you to remind you that it's here."
"Oh. Thanks." Dream Girl replied. She flashed a nervous smile, slid the form back across the desk, turned on her gorgeous heel and disappeared out of the door.
"Bye, then." Marcy sighed to the empty space where the girl had been a second before. She picked up the form after a couple of seconds and spun it around carefully so she was reading it right way up, still trying to get her pulse to settle back into a normal rhythm.
"Bonnie Sugar. Even her name is cute as hell." she murmured to herself.
...
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking fuckbeans fucker fuck fuckface fuck my life and my stupid stupid timing FUCK.
Bonnie wasn't usually given to bad language but when she'd looked in the window of the bookshop on her way home from work Amazingly Fine Bookshop Girl was finally nowhere to be seen. So she'd doubled back and risked running in to place her preorder without the very real and present danger of stuttering like an idiot in front of some really cute girl. All she'd wanted was to order her book in peace, preferably without making her silly stranger-crush think she was some kind of squeeing fangirl nerd. And of course in the time it took to pause, make up her mind, turn around and walk back to the door Fine Bookshop Girl had materialized behind the desk like she'd been waiting for her; all pouty delicious looking lips and come-to-bed eyes. Bonnie had almost marched right back out again. But she wanted her book and if she didn't put the preorder in now she'd forget and miss the release day and then there'd be spoilers all over the internet and someone would have to die. So it was probably safest for all her friends if she just found a little bravery and faced her crush for the five minutes it would take to fill out the form.
Bonnie had been a regular in the bookshop up until she developed a very embarrassing crush on their new sales assistant. Not that she really needed any more books, she still had a stack of birthday presents to read almost as tall as she was; everyone always knew what to get Bonnie. But she just liked the smell and ambience of bookshops and libraries. It was comforting to be surrounded by all those worlds just waiting to be explored, tragedies and comedies and heroic epics, small cosy family scenes, far flung galaxies and the deepest trenches of distant oceans. Between the pages of a good book Bonnie had discovered alien worlds, tasted forbidden love, swam through rivers of lava and defeated the darkest of foes; it certainly beat the reality of studying all the time and having a thoroughly embarrassing part time job. Books didn't judge her, books didn't tell her she needed to go out more and talk to people or maybe find an income that she wasn't ashamed to tell her mother about.
The first time she'd noticed the new sales assistant in the bookshop up the road had been right at the start of summer when she'd come in on her lunch break to loiter around the classics section. And there'd been some kid loudly complaining that they didn't have any Wordsworth for his school project; a voice brittle with repressed sarcasm informed him that he'd probably need to look in Poetry instead of Sci-Fi. Bonnie had snorted in amusement and looked up to see who was serving that day because it wasn't a voice she recognised. And that's when Cupid decided to karate chop her in the face.
She was tall and thin, angular, dark and brooding. She didn't have any curves to speak of and she was glowering down at a book with a scowl like a thundercloud; absolutely not Bonnie's usual type. But there was something about that girl, something that drew the eye and made it hard to look away. She was leaning on the counter reading; a quick glance at the cover revealed it to be Tipping the Velvet, a controversial choice for looking at in public. And she was wearing a plaited cord around her slender wrist, in rainbow colours. In Pride colours. Oh. Oh hell.
It was a truth universally acknowledged by the few gay friends she had that a queer identifying woman in the presence of someone hot would automatically become a billion times more attracted to the hot person on discovering that they maybe played on the same team. And so she did what any introverted, bookish lesbian would do in the same situation. She quietly left the shop, careful not to make eye contact, and avoided the place like the plague afterwards. Looked like she was going to have to buy her books online instead.
It wasn't that Bonnie was antisocial. She had a ton of friends, she went out with them regularly. It was just that she preferred to chill in a café than go to a club, she'd rather drink camomile tea than tequila. So she got stuck being the designated driver or the person who got the last minute call for help the night before the essay was due, because her friends also knew she was too nice to say no. But she was a little reserved with new people and just marching up to someone attractive and striking up a conversation wasn't something she felt equal to. If it had been Finn or Jake or one of their other friends in her place they'd be sitting sharing a cocktail with Fine Bookshop Girl right now, or taking her to a romantic movie or something. But no, Bonnie was hurrying along the street to her bus stop and cursing under her breath. She'd have to send her brother to pick up the book when it came in, she couldn't show her face there again. As she took a seat on the bus home Bonnie pulled her phone out of her bag and texted Jake.
Oh god I just had to talk to Bookshop Girl and I'm freaking out! I thought she wasn't there so I went in to order my book but then she was there and I swear I got so embarrassed I forgot how to speak properly. Helllllp.
She was nearly home by the time Jake replied.
Haha I bet you're still blushing! Go back tomorrow and tell her you gave her the wrong number, ask her if she has any other recommendations for you and then slide into the conversation that you'd love to take her to dinner and maybe bed. Go on, I dare you x
Well, she was blushing now. She frowned and tapped out a quick reply before unlocking the door and fleeing to the sanctuary of her bedroom.
SHE WAS WEARING A PRIDE BRACELET AND READING A LESBIAN BOOK OMFG I'M DYING!
The ironic thing was that Bonnie thought she'd reached peak embarrassment factor. She'd been so distracted as she filled out the order form that she'd neglected to notice which phone number she'd written down. Was it her mobile, or the work number that she gave out fifteen times a day and had memorised?
...
"Secret Desires Superstore, how can I help?"
Marceline slammed the phone back down like it was on fire. Oh hell, she must have misdialled. She could feel her cheeks burning; if one of the Earls checked the itemised phone bill and thought she'd been calling a sex shop she'd be fired for sure. She'd have to call back more carefully. The number on the order form looked like a mobile number, so perhaps she'd just messed up one or two digits? She dialled again, carefully, holding her breath.
"Hello, Secret Desires Superstore, can I help you?"
She hung up the line without speaking again, horrified. No. No. Dream Girl was absolutely not allowed to work in a sex shop, that just couldn't be. Maybe it was a bad joke? Perhaps Dream Girl had noticed her staring and deliberately given her a fake number? Like, 'hey you're a weird pervert, sounds like you should talk to these guys' kinda thing?
The phone rang. Oh god, what if they traced the number? What if it was her? What if-
"ABADEER GET THE DAMNED PHONE ALREADY!"
What if she got fired for not answering the phone? Shit. She gritted her teeth and lifted the handset.
"Hello, Lemon Tree Books, my name is Marceline, how can I direct your call this morning?"
"Hi, I'm calling from Secret Desires Superstore. Did you call us?"
She cringed, amazingly glad that Big Earl was too damn lazy to pick up his own phone.
"Um, yeah, I think I have the wrong number though. Sorry." she mumbled around her blush. Dammit, the woman on the other side of the phone sounded perfectly normal, like, almost too normal. Almost like she didn't work in a pit of filth and degradation. Marcy tried to hope that she wasn't having a phone conversation with someone currently wearing a latex catsuit or a leather gimp mask or something. Urgh, her ear felt dirty.
"Who were you trying to call?"
"Uh, this girl called Bonnie who put in an order with us? It doesn't matter, I'm sure she'll be back."
"Oh! Bonnie Sugar? No, she's one of our assistants. Sorry, she's not in today. Do you want me to ask her to call you tomorrow?" OH SWEET MOTHER OF GOD NO, SHE CAN'T WORK IN A SEX SHOP. "...Hello? Are you still there?"
"Right, yeah, thanks. Just, it's about her book."
"I guessed, you being from a bookshop and all. So the message is, can Bonnie call Marceline at the bookshop about her book, right?"
"Yes. Thanks. Bye."
FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKK.
"Hey Earl, I'm taking my break!" Marcy bawled up the stairs in the direction of the office.
"Just be back on time today!" he yelled back.
"Whatever, you sour old asshole." she muttered quietly, pulling her umbrella and hoodie from under the desk and heading out onto the street.
The rain was absolutely hammering down that morning, plus it was still a decent half hour before the usual lunchtime rush so the street was pretty much deserted. That was lucky; Marceline didn't want anyone to see where she was headed. She hurried down the street and turned up a short alley to a doorway with a dingy neon sign above that read; SECRET DESIRES SUPERSTORE, YOUR FIRST AND LAST STOP FOR INTIMATE ITEMS. She had her hood pulled as far up as possible and shoulders hunched trying to hide as much of her face as she could. Even still, she glanced around nervously before ducking in through the door.
Everyone knew where Secret Desires was, when she'd been a kid her friends had all dared each other to try to go in. Nobody ever had, so far as she knew. And she wasn't overburdened with experience of what to expect from an intimate item shop. As much as it would have amused her to see her father's face if she came home with bags full of kinky sex toys she'd never really had any need or desire to explore the seedier end of the street. But Marcy wasn't a school kid anymore. She figured that if someone as professional and innocent looking as Bonnie worked there then it couldn't be as bad as she thought, right?
Her first shock was that the doorway immediately led to a flight of stairs up to the first floor, she'd been expecting it to be in a basement or something. The hallway was light and airy, decorated with tastefully minimalist art of nudes and well maintained orchids filling the windowsills. Nothing about it was dark or furtive, that was almost a disappointment. The hall lead to a large, well lit room of glass display cabinets filled with items ranging from exotic to downright painful looking. But they were all lit with tiny spotlights, some of the displays revolved to better show off their contents and there was soft classical music playing at a quiet volume over speakers hanging from the ceiling. If they'd replaced the intimidatingly huge silicone objects with cufflinks and ties it would look like the men's accessories section of the fancy department store where she bought her father's birthday presents.
"Can I help you?" a cheerful voice asked.
Marceline turned and found herself face to face with an older woman, smartly dressed and smiling benignly at her. She sucked in a breath, they'd met before.
"You're Miss Trunks! Daddy used to buy my birthday cakes from your bakery!" Marcy blurted out.
"Oh, you're Hunson's daughter, aren't you? All grown up, I remember when your father used to bring you in for a cookie on the way home from school. Well don't you look the absolute image of him now!" the woman exclaimed with a wide grin. "That takes me back, I've not been in the baking business for years."
"Miss Trunks, how did you end up running a sex shop?" Marcy asked, too surprised to remember to be embarrassed.
"They were looking for a new owner and I saw a business opportunity. It's a steadier trade than cakes and apple pies. Was there anything in particular you were looking for today?"
"No, I was just, y'know, looking. Um, did I talk to you on the phone this morning?"
"Maybe. Do you work for the Earls, dear?"
"Yeah. Yeah, for the whole damn summer. Tried to get a job in the music shop but they didn't need anyone and they didn't like the ideas of turning one of their steady customers into an employee. So I ended up in Lemon Tree and it's not so bad, y'know? Pretty quiet, I get a lot of reading done. Your, um, Bonnie. She gave me the number for the shop by accident and I just, I needed to call her." Marcy finished with a mutter, embarrassment coming back in full force.
"Oh, she's a sweet girl. I'm sure she'd much sooner swap summer jobs with you but I'm afraid I simply can't let her go, she's too efficient. Was there a problem with something she ordered?"
"No, not exactly. I just, uh, I wanted to talk to her." Marcy replied. Her cheeks were hot again and she was staring at her shoes, anything to avoid having to face the knowing smile the older woman was giving her.
"I see what you're angling at. Do you need her number?" Miss Trunks asked, perhaps a little slyly.
Marceline looked up hopefully and the older woman laughed at the expression on her face.
"Here, I'll get it out of the book for you. Her favourite flowers are pink roses and she has a wicked sweet tooth, you should take her to the ice cream parlour by the bowling alley. Oh don't look at me like that, girl! If I was going to disapprove of gay relationships then I'd be turning away half my customers! For God's sake, call her and ask her out. She's been avoiding the bookshop for the last month and now I know why."
Marceline left the shop and headed back to work with Bonnie's personal mobile number scribbled down on a piece of crumpled paper and a request that she pass on Miss Trunk's regards to her father. That was gonna be a fun conversation; 'Hey Daddy, remember the lady who used to run that lovely bakery by the pet store? Well she owns the sex shop now and she said hi when I was in there last. I wasn't buying vibrators, I was just trying to hit on one of her employees'. Perhaps she'd just not mention anything to him.
"Hey Earl, I'm back!" she yelled up the stairs as she stashed her umbrella back under the desk and resisted the urge to pull out the number and stare at it.
"Right, I'll be back about half twelve. Call if there's a problem." he replied, stomping down the stairs from the office.
Marceline could never remember which way around Big Earl and Little Earl were. She knew they were called Daniel and Martin but she couldn't remember who was who and everyone just called them Big and Little. Big Earl was a fat bastard with a greedy attitude to match; he glared at her on his way out of the door for good measure just because he could. As soon as his wide back had disappeared down the street she pulled out her mobile and the crumpled paper with her crush's number on it. Marcy dithered for one second but a quick glance at the door made her mind up. Earl might be back any second and she wasn't supposed to have her mobile out on the shop floor. She dialled the number, stomach churning with nerves. It felt more like she swallowed several live snakes than butterflies fluttering around down there.
"Hello?"
"Er, hi."
"Um, who is it?"
Marcy bit her lip for a second; now or never.
"It's Marceline. From the bookshop."
"Oh. Hi. Um, is my book there already? It's not due out till, like, July."
"No, look, I just, it's not about the book. Doyouwannagoforanicecreamwithmesometime?"
There was a tiny surprised breath on the end of the line and a pause before the other girl replied.
"Are you, uh, asking me out?"
"I think so? Like, your boss said you liked ice cream and I thought- look, I see you go down the street all the time but you never come in the shop and you put your work number on your order form-"
"Oh my God, you went to the sex shop looking for me? I'm so sorry, honestly I'm not like that! I just needed a job for the summer! I tried at the bookshop but they already had someone and I guess that was you and Miss Trunks pays better than most anyone else in town and-"
"So after work tomorrow night? We close at half past five, I can meet you outside if you want?" Marceline cut her off, urgently needing to get everything she had to say out before her bravery fled completely.
There was another pause and Marcy could barely breathe; oh hell she was certain she was about to get turned down and make everything weird.
"Ok."
She breathed out in a rush, probably sounding like she was sighing down the phone but unable to stop herself.
"Cool." Marcy replied, so relieved.
"Yeah."
"Awesome."
"So, I'll, uh, see you tomorrow then."
"Yeah."
"I should hang up now."
"Ok."
"Bye."
"Bye."
"Bye."
"You said that."
"Sorry. Bye."
The line went dead and Marceline rested her head on the desk, both defeated and elated. She had a date with Dream Girl tomorrow, who it turned out wasn't a weird kinky pervert after all and just needed a summer job, same as she had.
That summer was one she remembered for all the best reasons when she looked back on it. Ice cream flavoured kisses in the park. Sliding her fingers distractedly through wavy light red hair in the back of the cinema instead of paying attention to the movie. Discovering that just because a person sold certain items to earn their crust really didn't mean that they had any experience using them, which was both the most awkward thing ever and absolutely hilarious. When her father politely asked how they'd met over dinner Marceline smugly informed him that it was through her job, the one she was holding down perfectly well without any parental interference whatsoever. Working for the Earls seemed pretty dull at the time but it was actually pretty amazing. With hindsight Marcy didn't think there was a better way to spend the whole damn summer than meeting her girlfriend after work and taking her for ice cream, proudly gifting her with new books and watching her eyes light up every single time.