#Mayor Buckman x Fem!Reader

[slashingdisneypasta]

Horror Villains x Fem!Reader || Excerpts

Plot: Receiving a message from him specially for you.

Includes: Erik Destler, Inkubus, Jim Bickerman, Mayor Buckman and Stuart Lloyd. Obligatory pattern?? What pattern?

Warnings: Inkubus' is kindof sinister but what for you expect (side note- any guesses to whats inside the box? XD ) and Stuart's, reader is in university (I'm thinking around the 25 mark though). Also I wrote these in the notes app on my phone so I'm sorry if their are typos 😅

Tagging: @marinerainbow , @masqueradeball , @thecourtofgraywaves , and @your-mxnd-is-mxne .

Erik Destler

You felt the note be tucked into the palm of your hand when everyone was panicking because the lights switched off suddenly (of course, you had an inkling who was behind that fiasco immediately. Everyone did) and everyone was plunged into darkness. You breath had hitched, but then the lights turned on and there was no one next you- just your friends asking if you were okay and saying that it was the phantom.

You kept the piece of parchment in your fist hidden until you were able to slip away, say you needed some fresh air, and step out of the theatre to stand under a street light and open Erik's note for you; doing your best to flatten out the paper from its squished state with your hands.

His scrawl is a little smudged, and two of the corners are burnt, but you manage to make out his words. He's got lovely handwriting you think, a giddy smile twinging at your mouth.

_____

My dear,

After the show is over, I wish for you to meet me in my quarters.

There will be candles lit to lead you there, you only need to slip away from your frivolous companions and sneak down into the depths of the Opera house, if you're brave enough. I'm tired of the cat and mouse game you've been playing with me. Every flirtatious wink and pretty smile you send to my loge, every flash of your skin when you know I'm hidden there in your dressing room, every kind word you speak of me when others curse me... If your efforts are coming from a genuine desire to meet, I'll be waiting tonight. If not, I'll desist my watching. My listening. My attention.

That's my promise, and my offer- please consider it.

I hope to see you later, tonight. Enjoy the show.

- The Phantom

_____

A broader grin spreads across your lips as you finish the note and flick through it again, the important bits (the fact that he noticed your attempts to garner his attention at all, his offer, his hope). You've always been intrigued by the Palais de Garnier, and especially by its phantom~ There was truly something irresistibly fascinating about it- almost sexy. You can feel the excitement literally fluttering inside you like the wings of butterflies as you go back into the theatre and eagerly away the end of the show.

Inkubus

When you got home and pressed messages on your answering machine and heard that voice, you remember it clearly because it was so distinctive, and ardent, and sure, and so thick with something equally threatening, and... licentious, you immediately felt your blood run cold. The man at the busy coffee shop. Who sat with you at your table when their were no seats left and smelled like blood and looked at you like prey.

You didn't give him your phone number. You didn't even give him your name.

"Y/N... if you thought you would just brush me off and forget me like a random passerby, a footnote in your little life, you were mistaken. I told you, I have a few tricks up my sleeve~ "

You click to the next message numbly.

"In case you haven't deduced already, I also know where you live. And in case you think that I'm bluffing," the sound of a dark, soft chuckle revibrates from the speaker. "I left a small gift for you in your lovely bedroom. I'll give you a moment to go have a look."

Without a thought, you drop your bag and rush to your room after the click, stopping when you get there and cautiously pushing open the door. There you find a small box left in the mess of pillows and unmade blankets that is your bed that definitely wasn't there when you left in the morning, placed perfectly in the middle atop the covers, which you pick up carefully in one hand and take with you back to your answering machine; assessing it warily while you walk. It's wood but painted a terrible charcoal black, the paint coming off like soot on your fingers, and theirs a lock. You try to lift the lid, but without a key you won't be able to open it.

You press next on your answering machine, once again; eyes on the box.

"You'll get the key to what's inside next time we meet- and I promise, we will.

Y/N you have my full attention, and when I want something I generally get it. This is but a warning- by the months end, you'll want me just as deeply as I want you."

Jim Bickerman

He doesn't own a phone (he used to, but the telemarketers drove him up a wall and the old flip phone ended up in a lake somewhere) so when you get to his place, using the spare key tucked away under a little daffy duck figure on the porch, you see a tape recorder with a note taped to the front on the kitchen bench. "Hm," You hum, leaning your forearms on the bench and carefully unrolling the tape off the little beat-up machine and the note that says 'Read me' in thick permanent marker scrawl. Throwing away the tape, you press play and leave the tape recorder on the bench as you open up the freezer and pull out a pack of frozen potato gems. As you practically live here, even when Jim's not there too, you feel perfectly comfortable making yourself up and after work snack.

"Hey there, pumpkin. I'm off on a spontaneous job, got approached by a fella at the bar wantin' a couple protected deer off his property in Massachusetts. So I'll be off for about a week. Wish me luck I dont get in some trouble with fish and wildlife, eh?... " Sighing, you kneel by the oven and preheat according to the instructions on the bag. A week?? Crazy old man doesn't even have an email to contact him at! "but hey, pay-out promises to be good, the kid's got that new money look in his eye, so if all goes well when I get back I'll take ya out somewhere without a funky smell hm? You can wear something real pretty, and I'll pay. Course, you know the dress I like best." A grin quirks at the corners of your mouth, shaking your head. You do, you got it while shopping with him one day. "House-sit for me while I'm gone, won't ya?" Is that even a question?? He knows you love this place, it's off the beaten track and the lake's a quick walk from here. Not the lake he grew up next to, thank goodness; a really pretty one you love to read by while he fishes. Or just sit next to alone. "I tried to tidy up a bit but as we speak I'm in a rush, here. There's chocolate in the fridge and it's all yours. I'll miss ya, pumpkin, love ya. See you in a week."

After putting the potato gems away in the freezer to wait for the oven to preheat you pick up the tape recorder and take it with you to the livingroom, opening up a window to let in the fresh woodsy air before getting comfy on the couch and rewinding the tape.

Mayor Buckman

The note with your name on it folded neatly and left on your make up table beside a perfect sunflower when you got to your dressingroom after a show wasn't a surprise. There was always a note. Buckman never missed an opportunity to remind you that you're on his mind.

Pulling one side of your shawl over one of your bare shoulders, you take a seat in your dressing room chair with all other beautiful shawls and dresses and skirts of myriad materials and styles and colours strewn and hanging over the back, fold on leg over the other and lift up the flower, first; smiling and holding it delicately to your nose, feeling the soft petals on your cheeks.

You're approached plenty gentlemen in your line of work, being an actress on the stage. They find you beautiful, they love your voice, they think you're sweet. They want to add you to their collection of lovely things they've touched, or had.

But none of them were like Buckman, which is why you chose him.

He didn't look at you like you were a thing to have had. Not something to charm once and then never put anymore effort into; he always looks at you the same way with the same cheer and interest. He genuinely likes you, he likes talking to you, and he continues to prove it.

Next you pick up the note and flick it open for to read it slowly, feeling your heart flutter in your chest like no man's ever did before him- or ever have since.

_____

Steller performance as always sweetheart! Lord, I had the worst, most obnoxious boy next to me talking all the way through the show but I swear- I barely heard a word he said when you were on stage. How on earth could a fella notice anything else?

You were just magical, darling.

Anyway, I got a couple of boring mayor things to do get done quickly now while everyone's still milling about the theatre, I just wanted to tell you privately how amazing you were, in case none of the other idiots around here convinced you. I'll see ya at home later tonight. I'll make you something tasty for dinner. I love you.

- George

_____

Taking a deep breath, pause for a moment. You try to retain your graceful, sober togetherness because you're acclaimed actor and you don't get worked up over a silly man's sweet words... and fail; using the note and cover your goofy grin and closing your eyes shut, shaking your head.

Stuart Lloyd:

Finally at the bus stop, you open your phone for the first time and check notifications after a long, long day of work. God, that cinema is driving you up a wall. You can't wait to get that Masters, get a good job and get the hell out. 2 months to go.

Noticing an audio message amongst all the school emails, personal emails, and tumblr notifications, you think how odd that is- who leaves phone messages? Why wouldn't they just text you? A gentle humorous grin spreads across your mouth when you realise that it's from Stuart.

Of course, you think. Stuart's not terrible with technology, not at all, but it still just seems very him to leave a voice message rather then type out a text to you. He would never use emojis, either, you think. He's more likely to spend an hour composing you a short poem then quickly tap a small 'dimwitted' image to express his feelings.

After pressing play, you hold your phone to your ear and look out for the bus; blowing air out of your cheeks in exhaustion.

"Hello, uh, Y/N. I hope you're well, and um... you don't mind, that I uh- that I found your phone number in the employee files. I was unsure how to reach you, and I wasn't sure that our shifts were going to match up at all before um... before you left." You should mind, you think, but you don't. Stuart is always overstepping boundaries in that odd half nervous half holier then thou way and yet you... never mind. It's hysterical and you like him. "Um- for a better job I mean. I remember you saying you were going to leave, because well- because your course is ending, right? Congratulations, by the way. I don't think I said that. You must be... you must be very proud. Um- anyway- the reason for my calling, yes. I- " abruptly the tone beeps and Stuart's voice clips away, having taken way too long and been cut off. Pouting, you take your phone away from your ear and look for another message- and there is.

"Thank goodness, Stuart." Pressing the phone once again to your ear with an exasperated, fond grin, you shake your head. "Good grief."

"Right, um, I was too slow. My bad. What I was saying is I... I was wondering, if b-before you leave and I... miss my chance, if you wanted... " He clears his throat, and you start to feel anxious, heartbeat getting faster in your chest. You chew on the inside of your cheek. Where is he going with this? Why does he sound so nervous? "If you wished to a- accompany me on a... a date? I- look, I'm sorry if you feel that this is coming out of left field but I have not met a more pleasant person to be around for a long time, and I- " Stuart's voice clicks away from you again and you curse, quickly pressing the next audio message. There is 1 more message after this.

"It happened again. I apologise. What I'm saying is I appreciate you. And I'm not looking forward to working without you again in 2 months. And you're a- a very pretty young woman. If this comes off as... creepy... due- due to my age, or something, I apologise. I only thought that I would- that I should, give it a try. Thank you."

You start the final message.

"Oh!! I'll be working the next couple of days eight am to four pm- In case you wish to call me back whilst I'm available. Or not. Um, yes that's all. Have a lovely evening."

... for a few moments you remain holding the phone to your ear, head just rolling.

You never thought about Stuart romantically until this moment, he made your insides flutter but you never dared to go there. You pushed it down, you put the butterflies away in a box as best you could. But now they're out again and the fluttering is hard to ignore.

Before you can think anymore, you're calling him back.

"Yes? Hello?"

"Where do you wanna take me on our date?"

[slashingdisneypasta]

Mayor Buckman x Fem!Reader || Drabble

Plot: You have a little crush on the mayor, so you let him teach you how to ride horseback 🐴🐴🐴.

Warnings: Ehhh, unedited.

Tagging: @marinerainbow and @masqueradeball . Yes an Englund character that is not Jim or Inkubus!, here we goooo. ^^

When you learnt, while you were 'gathering intel' about him (Just chatting with him), that Mayor Buckman preferred to ride horseback then to sit in the back of a carriage, your first thought was to how much a him thing, that seemed to you. Old fashioned and hands on- and you were sure that he had been a cowboy or a ranger in another life so this was perfect.

Then, secondly you realised- that you could use this.

And oh, he was so easy to convince to spend a day with you (Or maybe more if you're really hopeless. Really lucky, more like), teaching you how to ride. You were hopeless at it, after all- which wasn't all-together a lie (you truly hadn't ridden since you were a child and your father took you out for the day. Honest-to-god, you hadn't even touched a horse since then) but it didn't hurt that you bat your eyelashes at him and pleaded your ineptitude a little bit. The Mayor's ego got inflated as expected and he was more then happy to set up a time and a place to meet with you the next day, excited to flex a skill he enjoyed and telling you to dress comfy- you don't wanna get a rash. The rubbin' can be hell, trust me.

For a moment you weren't sure if you were allowed to laugh at that, after all most men think a woman who laughs at dirty jokes is untoward- and did he really mean for it to sound the way it did??- but he seemed to wait a moment for you to 'catch up', an intrigued grin on his face, so you cracked a grin and that earned you a shoulder squeeze that gave you butterflies before he bid you goodbye. For the rest of your day all you could think was God, you liked him.

~

The next day, Buckman met you in the centre of town looking pleased as punch to see you and offered you his arm. You would walk to the stables together from there, and while you strolled together you got a chance to get a look at what he was wearing. And you were confused.

"I thought we were supposed to dress sensible, Mr Mayor??" You ask, fingers slipping into the nook of his arm.

He was just wearing his usual yellow and green clothes, just with the new addition of a cattleman hat to protect him from the sun (Perpetuating your belief that he's a cowboy in some universe somewhere), which seem heavy and restrictive to you for an activity such as horse riding. Was he?.. not?... going to ride?... Shrugging his broad shoulders, Buckman flashes you a charismatic grin. "Aw, it doesn't bother me none anymore! I could ride in anything, I was only worried about you- those dresses a yer's sure are becoming," Here he pats your hand peering out from the crook of his arm and your heart damn near flies up into your throat. "-but I don't think you'd have a good time on the back of a horse wearin' them. Which reminds me- " He turns his head fully to you, your faces closer then every before due to your linked arms. His one-good-eye flickers so obviously up and down your body, and yet- you don't feel uncomfortable. "You look absolutely lovely today, too. Its not often ya see a girl in pants- but I'm sure you know ya make 'em look better then any man."

... You swear. If this man truly does not know what he is doing to you then he is the densest son of a- "... sure, of course I know. "You shrug, a playful smirk playing at your lips despite the hurricane of butterflies raging around inside you at his words. "But it doesn't hurt to hear it."

"Well- I'm happy to take the responsibility." He winks.

~

"Alright, now- I gotcha some stairs so you can get up on Annabelle here nice and easy, how's that sound?"

"Very thoughtful." That was a concern of yours- how you might look struggling to push yourself up onto the horse today. Of course, you imagined that Buckman may have to put his hands on your waist in order to help you, which wouldn't be such a bad thing- but this is better. With the little stairs by Annabelle the sweet saddle horse, you don't make a fool of yourself at all! Which is definitely preferable.

Besides, he still holds you hand as you step up. He doesn't let go a few moments after he needn't have been touching you anymore, also, and that makes you grin to yourself as you take up the reigns.

"I thought so. Now!" Buckman gives a clap of his hands, as if to say lets get to it. You take in a deep breath, tightening your grip on the reigns. Here we go... "Annabelle here is one of our nicest beasts, real friendly. Mostly wants t' spend her days grazin- not a big racer. So I thought she might be perfect for you today, hm? Don't be afraid to pull on those reigns though darlin; if she decides to stop and have a munch; you ain't gonna hurt her I promise."

"Mhmm... " You hum, leaning carefully over Annabelle's beautiful, thick auburn neck to give her a pet. Oh, she's so lovely! "Still seems rude... how old is she?"

"Hmm," Buckman screws up his nose in thought and lord you cant help but think he is equally as lovely. "I think Bella has gotta have been with us for uh... maybe around 25-30 years?"

"And what's the lifespan for a sweet thing like her?"

"Probably about 35 years, I think. Whydoya ask, darlin'?"

"Well then I think she's earned some grazin' time, dontcha think? Pretty girl's on the homerun, and this grass looks delicious." Eyes shifting from Annabelle's pointed ear and her big eye and her long, long eyelashes to Buckman; you straighten up again and flash a grin. "I guess if she stops to take a munch, we'll just have to stop too and entertain eachother!.. Can ya handle that, sir?"

Theirs a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a grin slips across his ridiculously handsome features and you feel its a good thing you're on a horse- otherwise you might've lost feeling in your knees seeing it. "Oh I sure can, don't you worry."

~

Your interactions with the mayor went on much like that for the rest of the day; you would make a hint towards this being a little more then a riding lesson and he would give you that grin and agree- but nothing was every actually said. No admittance was uttered, by either of you. He was being frustratingly opaque and keeping his thoughts on you to himself.

You were being driven mad. The day was lovely, and you felt butterflies basically the whole time (Especially whenever he would touch you- which he seemed to take every opportunity to do. Reaching over from his horse to balance you on yours or help you lead Annabelle in a certain direction, guiding your hands to hold the reigns properly, and giving you those good job shoulder squeezes. Those even turned into hand squeezes the later in the day that it became and the bolder he became)- but you were being driven mad, all the same.

When finally it was time to get off of the horses, Buckman jumped off of his - Thomas, - first and quickly tied him up while keeping up conversation with you. Then he tied up Annabelle and then rounded the horse to where your legs were hanging.

He looked up at you and held out arms. "Well? Come on, off ya hop. Lets go. I'm gonna buy ya dinner, for doin' so well today."

Ordinarily you would be thrilled that he wants to take you to dinner now, but- is he suggesting you literally jump off?? A 14-15 hand-tall horse?? "You want me to- what about the steps??"

He shrugs, and you can tell he's enjoying this- there's an evil twinkle in his eye now. Almost a matching smirk on his mouth, too. "Dunno where they went. C'mon, I promise you'll be fine."

"I'm gonna break my legs springing from a horse like this." You exclaim incredulously, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness. "You sur, are gonna get my legs broken." All day he's been messing with you like you're a fun toy and and now he's going to get you broken.

This man!! He's so lucky he's cute.

"I'm not tellin' ya to spring off the horse, darlin'. No, no, no... Slide, like a banister."

"A living, banister."

"Exactly. C'mon- I promise, ya wont be hurt."

He is not budging. Oh lord- he's serious.

Chewing on your bottom lip, hands on the saddle on either side of you, you peer down at how far away the ground is and analyse the distance. The chances that you'll misstep and twist your ankle. How you can use this man to break your fall-

Finally after a few moments, and a reassuring look from Buckman, you take a deep breath and release your bottom lip- you don't want to accidentally bite it off when you land. "Alright... but if I trip, I'm taking you down with me. I don't care if you are the Mayor."

"Of course. Wouldn't think any less of ya."

Giving a little, concerned whimper, you carefully pushing yourself off the side of Annabelle. The fall is swift and before you even land, he's caught you; hands on your waist and easing you carefully the rest of the way to the ground so your feet make contact with the dirt softly. Huffing from the short exhilaration of that experience, you drop your hands on his shoulders and, after momentarily gathering yourself, give him a half-amused, half-perturbed look. "... well, thank you."

Under the shade of his cattleman you can see his face clearly despite the glare of the late-day sun, and the 'innocent' look he has pasted there. He gives a shrug and a sigh, and doesn't move his hands off your waist. "Oh, I wouldn't let a lady like yourself get hurt Y/N, come on now. Gimmie some credit, here."

Rolling your eyes, you don't move to step away from him at all either, like you maybe should have. If you were a respectable lady. Standing this close to a man might get you pregnant, after all- depending on the man- "Hm. You're right, I-... " Realising that this is the perfect moment, alone and relaxed, you stop talking. Should you?... should you ask?... "Buckman?" You ask, looking down and chewing on the inside of your cheek.

"Darlin, you can call me George."

"Alright, George... " You take a deep breath, and drag your bottom lip through your teeth before looking up at straight at him; tilting your head to the side. "... look, are you ever going to admit you like me?" Immediately he opens his mouth, but you hold up a finger to stop him. "As more, then a friend."

... for a few moments then he doesn't say anything. And you think for a split second that he's still not going to admit it, and you're wondering why the hell- When a grin spreads across his face.

"Well, I was plannin' to see if you'd like me to court ya at dinner tonight, but- I suppose this moment's as good as any."

"You- what??" Immediately your eyes fall open wide. He was what?? He was going to- He had plans??

"Should I take this as a yes, then, sweetheart?? Hm?... "

"I-... I... " You cant believe it. Yes, he should, but- words. God, words!! They're gone-

Suddenly your close proximity is more comfortable then before, Buckman - George!! - letting go of your waist in order to touch your face, instead. Curling most of his fingers back behind your neck but touching his thumbs to your cheeks; holding you close to him so the brim of that cattleman nearly brushes your forehead. "You are adorable, sweet pea. You take your time takin' this in; I can wait. I'll be right here. But remember," he takes on of his hands off your skin, in order to boop your nose, and winks. "Granny's place closes in a couple a' hours, hm? So if you're hungry... yamight wanna think fast."

Your lips part, still racking your brain for the right words to top him after this- but coming up empty. "... for gods sake." Giving up on words, finally, you take his wrists in your hands and get up on your tip-toes; closing your eyes and kissing him for the first time.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Masterlist: Mayor Buckman

🔞 = Smut || 🔂 = Poly || * = Requested

---<- 🥀🥀🥀 ->---

Blurbs: How Self Conscious are they in Order of Most to Least.

Blurbs: Most Delusional Yandere's to Least.

Blurbs: Most Possessive to Least.

Blurbs: Period Sex 🔞.

Blurbs: Shovel Talk.

Blurbs: S/O thinks they Smile 'Too Much'.

Blurbs: Unsolicited Dick Pick.

Drabble: Horror Villain Apocalypse.

Drabble: Mayor Buckman x Fem!Alive!Reader- Sleepy Meetings.

Drabble: Mayor Buckman x Fem!Bartender!Reader- Here for you.

Drabble: Mayor Buckman x Modern!Reader- Let me leave.

Drabble Set: MultiVillains x Reader- Addicted.

Drabble Set: MultiVillains x Reader- Inspired by the song According To You by Orianthi.

Drabble Set: MultiVillains x Reader- Sick You.

Drabble Set: Platonic!Horror Villains x Reader- Bonding.

Drabble Set: Platonic!Horror Villains x Reader- Bonding Part 2.

Headcanons: Awkward Moments.

Headcanons: Dating Horror Villains things Dump.

Headcanons: Horror Villains x Reader- Six; The Musical AU.

Headcanons: Horror Villains x Reader- Types of Kisses.

Headcanons: Horror Villains x SunshineIncarnate!Reader.

Headcanons: Horror Villains x Reader- You Almost Choosing Another.

Headcanons: Supernatural Villains Soulmate Marks.

Horror Villains and: What they would Put in the (7MinsInHeaven) Hat.

Imagine: Being too Late to Save Them.

Oneshot: Granny Boone and Mayor Buckman x Fem!PleasantValleyResident!Reader- Throuple.

Oneshot: Hewitts / Pleasant Valley x Reader- The Multiverse Theory and the Horror Fandom.

Oneshot: Mayor Buckman x Reader- Hell.

Oneshot: Poly!Mayor Buckman and Granny Boone x Fem!Undercover!Singer!Reader- Haunted.

Oneshot: Yandere!Mayor Buckman x HarpersFiance!Reader- Preachers Daughter.

Slashers / Horror Villains As: Animated (Children's) Movie Villain Songs.

Reactions: Horror Villains x Reader- Love Potion.

Reactions: Horror Villains x Reader- Finding out you're a Virgin 🔞.

Reactions: Older!Horror Villains x Younger!Reader- Them Getting Confused for your Grandparent.

Would They or Wouldn't They?: Abandon You After Their Own Orgasm 🔞.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Masterlist: Granny Boone

🔞 = Smut || 🔂 = Poly || * = Requested

---<- 🥀🥀🥀 ->---

Blurbs: Period Sex 🔞.

Blurbs: Shovel Talk.

Blurbs: Unsolicited Dick Pick.

Drabble: Bisexual!Granny Boone x Lesbien!Reader- You and her Beard.

Drabble: Horror Villain Apocalypse.

Drabble Set: MultiVillains x Reader- Sick You.

Headcanons: Awkward Moments.

Headcanons: Dating Horror Villains Things Dump #2.

Headcanons: Supernatural Villains Soulmate Marks.

Horror Villains and: What they would Put in the (7MinsInHeaven) Hat.

Imagine: Being too Late to Save Them.

Oneshot: Granny Boone and Mayor Buckman x Fem!PleasantValleyResident!Reader- Throuple.

Oneshot: Hewitts / Pleasant Valley x Reader- The Multiverse Theory and the Horror Fandom.

Oneshot: Poly!Mayor Buckman and Granny Boone x Fem!Undercover!Singer!Reader- Haunted.

Reactions: Horror Villains x Reader- Finding out you're a Virgin 🔞.

Reactions: Older!Horror Villains x Younger!Reader- Them Getting Confused for your Grandparent.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Mayor Buckman x Fem!Reader || Drabble

Plot: I honestly dunno what it is. Its not nice. Not the usual. Its just Buckman being horrible and you standing up for yourself- to destructive ends.

LOOK- sometimes we wanna scream at horror villains, and that's good. 🤷 Haha

Warnings: Abusive relationship, sexism, abuse in general (Emotional and physical), non-sexual choking, mentions of racism and homophobia. Also this was very quickly written before bed.

"Jesus christ!" Your head is about to explode. How big can this mans ego possibly be? You didn't think it was possible for him to get any more obnoxious but tonight has properly corrected that meagre scope. Eyes blazing, you stop walking away and whip back around on him; Both your faces twisted in anger. "You really think you're king of something, don't you?! Well you're not. You're the mayor of a tiny little town the world forgot about a century ago that's just holding onto existence by stealing scraps from the bottom of the bin!"

"We're thriving, young lady- "

"Don't call me 'young lady'! And don't use that tone- UGH!" You turn around again, bolt a few steps, scrape the tips of your fingers back over your scalp, then turn around again. "You aren't thriving. You're selling your dignity, what very little of it all you sick, backwards hicks had in the first place, to survive. Because you think its going to take you to where you're supposed to be but guess what? There's no promising that what you're looking for- The afterlife, your daughter- " Buckman's eyes flash with animosity at that part, the maddest you've ever managed to make him, and you gain a generous rush of victory at unlocking it. "Even exists. Maybe everyone that dies just gets stuck here in this miserable place, like you. And its great big cosmic prank, telling you different. So you just get to spend the rest of eternity working towards something that never was."

You know that must have occurred to him, as his hand shakes as he raises a finger at you. "You better hush up, now. For your own good. I took you in- I can kick you out, too."

"Please!" You scream, throwing your arms into your chest; Begging. And you're absolutely sure that everyone else in town can hear the two of you now if they weren't already pressing their ears up to the walls when you rushes out of the pub in a huff minutes ago; The mayor you were mad at following at your heels, equally mad. "God- Please! Release me! I'm done, here!" You are so done, here.

When he had asked you to stay all that time ago, you thought you loved him. That was a falsity. Now if he asked you again, and you got another chance- you would turn around and run.

He was a monster, to his roots. And you were so sick of it!

"You know I cant do that." Buckman's shoulders lower, along with his voice, causing your anger to nearly dissipate, you nearly close your mouth again and cease to say what's the truth- but then you think back to all his faults again and you're furious once more. Like molten lava is burning up your insides and the only way to cool it down is to scream and let the air in. Your glaring eyes worsen, deepening into an ugly scowl as he steps forward and reaches out- and his fingers clench around your forearm like iron; Yanking you forward before you realise what he was doing. A yelp escapes you, falling towards him. His voice almost comes out comforting, you would believe it was to make you feel better, truly... if it weren't for that unmistakably patronising tone. Like he were talking to a disobedient 5 year old at the store. "You're just being hysterical, Y/N. Come on home, I'll make you some tea and give you some attention. Would you like that?"

Your stomach rolls- because yes, a part of you would. You would like for him to just be the person you thought he was; Charismatic, chivalrous, sweet. You could allow yourself to sink into his arms and let his voice lead you; Be a quaint little house wife for him- you really could. You could go for that.

And you had.

But now you'd seen, and heard, too much. You had been here too long. He was racist, homophobic - didn't even realise his son was as straight as a fucking spring, - , sexist, egomaniacal, and manipulative- Unapologetically so. And you couldn't turn a blind eye to the bullshit, not anymore. You were already going to hell, it seemed, for how long you had.

So your stomach rolls, and you wrench you arm viciously and gracelessly out of his familiar grip. "No!"

"Y/N, darlin'- " His tone is threatening when that once, all-too-lovely pet name slips out, and his eye glowers at you. His face says shut up and get in the house, or I'll make you regret it.

"Or what!?" Throwing your arms out to either side of your body, you widen your eyes at him. "'No more Mr Nice guy'?? That's a little much, even for you. Don't you think!? Besides I think that has sailed." You hiss the last part out between grit teeth.

Gritting his own teeth, Buckman comes forward towards you this time; Grabbing you by your upper arms to hold you in place and you don't move to throw him off but your horrible glare does intensify, feeling as if it might be able to throw him off you on its own if only he would take it seriously. "Listen to me- you're makin' a scene."

You could not give a flying fuck. "You're sad!" You suddenly blurt, realising that its futile to argue with him, so all that comes to mind and to mouth is all the nasty things you want to say to him. That you want him to know about himself. The things that hurt you, because you wish he could be different. "You're ridiculously sad, and pathetic, and- just- broken. And I have to get the hell out of here before you make me the same- like you did the rest of these thugs!"

A cruel smirk spreads across his mouth. "Oh sweetheart... if I am, then it has already rubbed off on you. Its far too late for escapin'. Whatever high ground y' think you have is nothin' but the heels on the boots I gave you." Raising his chin, looking down on you in pride, Buckman's fingers clench tighter around your arms tighter and you gasp; Wincing and looking away from him for a moment, holding in a cry.

But only for a moment- before you look back to sneer and glare right in his face; Because you aren't wearing anything he gave you, today. Which is the reason he was frustrated in the first place, earlier. You were wearing what you came to this horrid little town in; Your jeans, your Halloween T-Shirt, and your runners. So you sneer, and watch that smirk on him turn into a frown full of hatred. "Oh sweetheart, I don't think so." You tell him gently, calmly, even though a storm rages on in your eyes and burns at your chest.

"I should've thrown those in the fire."

"Well, hind sights a bitch."

Then a hand wraps around your throat and you take a deep breath, lifting your chin to escape his new confining grip- This wont be the first time he's done this though, hand straining and getting comfortable in its place around your neck. His eyes darken impossibly. "I still could."

"Burn me, throttle me, drown me, break me- nothings going to change the fact that you have no control over me." You narrow your eyes at him. "None."

After half a damn moment, the bastard perkily tilts his head to the side. "And yet!" Is all he says, before smiling - a horrible, spiteful, evil expression, - , and promptly increases the pressure around your throat.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Poly!Mayor Buckman and Granny Boone x Fem!Undercover!Singer!Reader || Oneshot

Title: (Only) Ghosts Haunt Ghosts

Notes:

So this is another Period Post XD But this time I didn’t want smut (I know, shocker)- so I hit up my favourite ace couple! Yes, I headcanon them as (more or less) asexual. I think Boone likes to take care of her damn self, but hates the idea of anyone else touching her that way. And Buckman only appreciates anything ‘sexy’, in a purely aesthetic way.

I honestly don’t know how this was supposed to end, either. It was just a split second idea that came out in a haze before work after listening to some country music. So i hope the ending works *Sweatdrop*

ANYWAY, I love how this turned out so much I nearly didn't post it because I know people probably wont share my love for these two (In certain ways), but this is for the rare Granny Boone-Robert Englund-2001 Maniacs fans ^^

Also- its v long, so I put gifs.

Plot: The 1860's and 2020's collide here as Pleasant Valley's enigmatic couple find out more about their sweet Y/N, who survived the massacre but still came to a grizzly end a bit later - separated from them and all alone, -, that rattles their very bones.

Warnings: LIBERAL use of the time jump, so get ready to travel. Talk of confederacy (Not the ideas, just that the ideas were wrong) and probably historical inaccuracy. Lack of editing towards the end.

1859:

As soon as you stick your head out of the carriage, sweet Georgia breeze tickles your face and when you step out and off, your dress sways in it. You look around with a little grin, always happy to be home, and see all the familiar sights; All the flowers - Bachelor Buttons, Chickory, Petunia's... -, the trees... and town.

When you see two certain people who promised to wait for you to arrive before heading to the home coming party - where everyone else was, in that big hall across the square over there with no windows, - though is when a real smile rips across your face, and before your driver can even think about letting go of your hand after helping you down the carriage stairs, you're off.

You collide with Boone and wrap your arms around her, squeezing tight as she does the same; Hugging to her body and taking a deep breath so the scent of your hair once again fills her and sates her. "It’s been far too long, this time!" You both half-heartedly pull back, but don't let go of each other’s hands; Her grip like iron. "That one was far too long- what were y'doing over there?? George is sure you musta been performin' for every single individual home! Boy, your voice must be hoarse."

"Fine, fine! Next time won’t be so long." You give in almost instantly to her nagging- honestly because you agree. It was too long. As Boone nods, a pert, proud smile on her face, your gaze shifts to the man waiting patiently for his turn and another beam warms your face. He's running for mayor for the 6th consecutive term in a row so he's wearing his good duds- or maybe he's wearing them for you. You'd prefer to believe the former. "And what're you doin’ just standin' there like a lemon for?"

"Now, now, he's runnin' for mayor, Y/N! He can’t be seen engagin' in illicit activities with us like canoodlin’ out in the open like this!" Boone jokes, letting go of one of your hands when you give it a hard squeeze. "Gotta be wholesome, da'nt he?"

"Hmmm," You give George, who's rolling his eyes, a cheeky look. Your George wasn’t a cad, in fact sex had never been able to keep his interest for longer then 5 minutes, but he wasn’t snow white pure, either. "Since when~?"

Finally the man in question can’t hold his tongue anymore, and heaves a sigh at you two; Giving Boone a pointed look in a mockery of annoyance as he cuts you off from her with his body and you giggle uncontrollably. You missed this - them, - so much. Letters don't do them justice. They can’t imitate her hand holding onto yours or his creeping around your waist. "I was just being a gentleman and lettin' you two ladies say your hello's first but if you're gonna be like that, then,"

And then his eyes - blue and beautiful, - turn on your and he quiets your giggles by kissing you, and you let him dip you, and everything is perfect.

And it will be, until you have to go on 'tour', again.

1862

This time when you step out of the carriage it’s because you already saw it. You looked out the window as the carriage came to a crawling stop and your heart dropped so damn hard in your chest that you don't think it'll ever dislodge from wherever it feel, dark and deep. This time, you didn't wait for your driver to come around and open the door for you, or help you off the step. You threw the door open yourself and stumbled to the ground, legs a shaky, wobbly mess.

You've seen a lot in your line or work, but you never expected to see,

This.

Spit gets stuck in your throat and you choke, as you slowly drag yourself back up to your feet, turning around in a full circle to see the... destruction.

Pleasant Valley- gone. Just like that. You've lived here your whole life and you don't recognise this place...

Or the bodies.

Covering your mouth, a pathetic whine escapes; Tears filling your vision. How... how did this...

You'd been leading them everywhere else! Every other little, horrible hick town. Not yours! Not...

Suddenly, all too sudden and all at once, the realisation that two important people in particular are here somewhere. And they're dead. They're gone, and they can’t come back.

Before your driver can reach you and ask you to get back in the carriage, as you know he will, you're off.

Tearing through town, looking around in a blind panic, your heart beating harder then the wheel on a carriage might careen off in a horrible accident where the horses get stuck in the mud and everyone dies- for any sign of them. Golden hair or blue eyes. Golden hair or blue eyes. Golden hair or blue eye-

Your eyes slowly widen as they, quite by accident, slowly fall on them. It takes you a moment to realise what you're looking at, even, as you were just so panicked- but all that dissipates and becomes grief and horror when you do realise.

Everything stops. Or you wish it did. You wish everything in the world would stop in that moment and just let you fix this, somehow. Take it back, make it better. Bring them back to you.

But it doesn't and it make sit worse.

Slowly, like you don't know quite how to walk, you push forward towards their bodies- and immediately a horrid, ugly cry escapes you.

You're just starting to kneel down, when a commotion behind you catches your attention. You straighten up immediately and whip around, eyes wide and focused, heart beating so loudly that you can hear it in your ears. What is it?

There are men. Men, bearing the union flag on their arms. And they've got your driver; They've got Davis.

You just stay very still, stuck somewhere disgusting and traitorous and cowardly between grief and knowing these men don't know about your efforts for the Union army; Your involvement was top secret, it had to be. You cant convince them and you cant fight them off... What do you do. What can you do.

Just stand there like a lemon, hoping they don't notice you and Davis doesn't give you away. Stand there by your dead, mangled lovers and try not to think about the blood on Boones skirt or how theirs a gory hole where one of Georges eyes used to be. And try not to sob, because that would be too loud.

But, of course, one of them turns his head and his eyes land on you, and it’s over. A cruel grin takes his awful, evil face and he says something to his friends.

You don't even try to run, despite Davis screaming at you to, and let them grab you.

Now

One spring breaker, Jake, claps his friend - with benefits~ - on the shoulder as he looks around in wonder at the little show-town and all its lame actors. "This an elaborate fucken tourist attraction, man. Check it out!"

"I know, right! You seen that pic of Y/N L/N from Senior History yet? I think it’s a real 1800's painting." Wes, wearing glasses and itching behind his ear, flashes an uncomfortable smirk back; He didn't want to stop. This is the start of some terrible horror movie and now they've left the cars. If this was a movie - which he knows, realistically, it isn't. But is still nervous by the setting, - they would never get in it again.

They were in the pub now, and true-to-his-word, the painting did look legit. But it wasn't one they'd ever see in a textbook or on Google.

Probably a really good imitation, they think. You can commission people for that kinda thing.

Jake just shrugs though, as the both of them sit down at a table and keep looking around in awe. He never had an eye for art- or history in general- or school. Not compared to his nerdy boy-toy, anyway. But still, this place was really something. Looks old as shit. He's surprised the ceiling's holding up.

At the bar, the ears of two 'lame actor's in particular perked up. If they were alive, their heartbeats would've been beating so damn loud- that everyone in town could hear.

Neither Wes nor Jake even noticed them come up to them before the Mayor's hand is on Wes's shoulder- hard. It startles them and they look up, wide eyed, and see a forced warm, sunshiney smile on his kind face. Something about it unnerves Jake- he was always a great judge of character. He just felt things about people. Whether they were good, bad, or anything in between. And he had a bad feeling, about this guy.

"My apologies, fella's, but did I just overhear ya'll sayin' somethin' about our lil claim to fame there- Y/N?"

The way the mayor said her name so naturally, so informally, made Wes recoil. He always hated when people acted like historical figures were great friends of theirs, it was just weird. People referring to Al Capone as ‘Old Al’, as if the things he did to people were of no consequence, or Lizzie Borden- Liz. You can’t call someone you don't know, so casually, like that! Its cringe.

"Uhh... yeah! We- we just noticed that painting, over there." Wes nods- over to the opposite wall, where the painting sits over a big ornate fireplace. She's smiling in it at someone, sitting in a field somewhere - assumedly in or close to town, - picking flowers. Theirs another, purple skirt, not belonging to her own blue one, adorning the bottom of the painting that suggests that when the painting was made there was another woman with her- the person she was smiling at. Boone smirks at it, standing behind her husband. Sometimes when she looks at that painting its like you’re there with them in spirit.

As ironic as that is.

1850’s

"Shh, I'm making you a flower crown." You insist, holding out a firm finger to your friend without looking at her; A cheeky grin indented into your cheeks. Boone smacks it out of the air.

"You don't need to focus so hard on somethin' like that, come now. I'm tellin' a story. Now listen up. So, as I was saying, George is an imbecile, so- "

George, dragging a pencil across a yellowing page of parchment, doesn't even look up when he's insulted; Too focused on what he's sketching. "Now, now, I resent that statement... "

"-I should expect so!" Boone snaps back, before going on like there was no interjection. George chuckles, shaking his head. "So- hold on a moment. What are you drawing that's enraptured your attention so?"

"Y/N... " Still, he doesn't look up.

Your eyes snap open wide and you look up, voice going high as you're horrified at him. "What?! Stop that!"

"Aw, now, stop making that face. Smile for the picture, Y/N. What's his is mine and I don't wanna picture a' you scowling at me forever." Boone smirks, mischievously, and you just scrunch up your nose at her- but a little grin does grace your lips afterwards. Then she crawls over to sit beside her husband, peering at the picture; Imaging what kind of colour's she'll use when she makes it into a painting. "Not bad."

"Well, damn, a compliment love?" George finally looks up, giving his wife a bit of a love-sick grin. "Didn't think you had it in you."

"Oh, I do love you, George." She reassures. "But as your wife I feel it is my duty to make sure you know when you're being a buffoon- which is disturbingly often."

"Hm." He scrunches up his own face like you did, a dangerous tone in his 'hm', and looks back at his drawing. Boone returns her attention to you, a grin twitching at the left corner of her mouth.

"Smile pretty, flower."

George smirks ruefully at the page in front of him, only glancing up at you as your cheeks go pink. "Oh, doesn't she always."

Now

"And how'd you know about our Y/N, then?" The mayor asks quite bluntly- forgetting, for a moment, to play the polite, jovial mayor bit; To make conversation. That isn’t, or shouldn’t, seem like an interrogation or threatening at all. His eye seems to dig into them, though, coercing answers out of them with just a hard gaze that’s only vaguely disguised as interest- an afterthought.

"Uh... " How did they know about Y/N L/N?? Jake raises a brow. This is a little weird, even for an attraction like this. "History class. Senior year."

"Yeah, she's like, one of the Big Names in Civil War history. I did my end of year essay on her, actually." Wes pipes up. "Don't remember it all, but she was some woman, huh? Complicated, with all that undercover shit, but I contended that she was, in fact, a Union believer. What, uh, what... " Wes looks to Jake, who's pretty eyes are wide and who's mouth is tight, and who's face in general is just screaming at him to shut. up. Wes falters, seeing it, but lacks the grace to change his course. "... did you... think... ?" He tilts his head, awkwardly. Like a puppy.

Jake fights not to facepalm. Because that mayor's grip, on his chair now, is so tight its making sounds, and maybe Wes just couldn't hear it over his stupidity.

"Oh gentlemen. You must be mistaken there! Y/N was a Georgia peach- born and bred in the great south! No ‘if’s-and’s-or’-but’s’ about that!” George seems to be struggling to keep his reaction to the puny boy's words to himself, just the thought of Y/N being known as something heinous, something he fought so hard against, kills something in him. She’s gone- and no one should speak ill of the dead.

Boone steps up beside him, taking over where he chokes.

She sits down at the table delicately, taking her time to spread out her dress around the chair, before clearing her throat and turning her piercing attention onto the two boys. "Many apologies for my poor husband! He already drank a couple sherries earlier; This is a party, after all." Her eyes flicker up George, faking her own little benevolent wife bit and reaches over to pat his arm. "Now, honey, let’s not get worked up over ancient history," Her chest constricts at referring to her Y/N as history, and George sets his jaw angrily at it; But stays silent. "This is the annual Guts and Glory jubilee! Let’s be civilised folk, now, and have some fun instead!"

Jake nods, tapping Wes's foot under the table. A silent, affectionate gesture saying, 'No more Civil War talk p l e a s e. Jesus christ.' "Sounds good, so did you two see the game the other da- "

And he realises that his attempt at a topic switch was pathetic but the fact that Boone just entirely ignores the hell out of it is still a fucking shock. "So- tell me more about your take on our Y/N. I'm afraid I'm not a history buff like you and the mayor, but you make her sound so wonderful- I just have to know!"

Our Y/N. They keep saying that- 'Our Y/N'. It rubs Jake the absolute wrong way.

"Uhhh... well... " Wes looks to Jake, sees him shake his head ever so slightly, before looking up to the mayor, who's still standing stock straight behind Jake, before promptly taking out his phone; Pressing the Google icon. "Well, I have some sources here you can look at that'll prove my contention, actually- " Jake abruptly gets up from his seat, and offers it up to the mayor. Defeated.

"Well fuck, man. Guess we're doing this." He mutters so only Wes hears, rubbing a hand down his face. Then, to the old man, he says. "Why don't you take this seat, sir? I'll grab a chair from another table."

Immediately, like someone just pressed 'Next' on the CD remote controlling this man’s brain, Mayor Buckman goes from freezing alps and dark alley’s to sunshine's and rainbows again. "Why, thank you, son!" He doesneed a seat, after all- desperately.

While those two set themselves up, Wes shows Boone the letters of correspondence between Y/N and some Head's in the Union army. The screen light is harsh on her eyes, and it hurts, but she stays strong and squints. The more she sees of them, the more her heart squeezes terribly in her chest. It’s definitely Y/N's handwriting; She would know it anywhere. They had written plenty of letters back and forth while Y/N was on her singing tour's, supposedly sharing her voice all over the country; Detailing all the places she had been or would be going that Boone herself would never see, how much she missed them, about the people she met- and even some saucy chapters that Boone read over and over, and kept from George. They still had all those letters in a box under their bed, and she knew if she took them out now, and compared them, it would be unequivocal that they were written by the same hand.

How could they not have known about this? Boone looks darkly to George, who's now paying just as much attention as she is and has of course come to the same conclusion, and notice that - despite not living, anymore, - the man has gone pale. And slightly green.

"See, she might have been born in the South, but I think these show pretty well how devoted she was to the North. She even gives towns away for confederacy, knowingly causing the High-Up's that read her letters to send men to those spots and, uh... ya know. Take care of it." Wes looks up nervously at the two, and the Confederate flag eyepatch on one of them. He doesn't notice the way backs in old-style shirts and frocks, drinking pitchers and listening in with dog ears, all around them stiffen up. Jake does, though, becoming cautious.

Now the Mayor looks really green. She was what?

"But you know what's even more interesting about her? That makes me think that maybe you were possibly right- about her allegiances?" Wes goes on, stuck in his own little world now as his thumbs fly across the keyboard on his phone and he pulls up some different letters- all in the same hand. "These."

He shows them these, one in particular, and slowly both Boone's and Buckman's eyes narrow in recognition. At the top is a date, and then just below are the greetings not of a traitorous double agent to her boss, but of an excited woman to her far-away lover... or lovers. There are two names written after that, 'To dear', but can’t quite make them out as they're smudged, but it’s clearly a love letter to them.

It’s not as long as the others before, they find, as it’s just a draft of a letter they did in fact receive, just before their massacre. But it’s clearly something quite enlightening, and scandalous, for nosey researchers to gasp at.

"Y/N was in a polyamorous relationship! And look- at the address." Flicking to another picture, Wes licks his lips as he gets really excited. These words are also quite blurry, but clearly in the same handwriting. "You see that GA, there?? She was sending this to Georgia! A very confederate state- the one she grew up in, in fact. So, either she was having a poly affair with two other undercover agents, sending risky letters to them while on the job, or she was sending this to her two home-town sweethearts- which I think is a lot more realistic. I mean? Poly Secret Agents? Sounds like a bad movie to me."

Alright, this part George and Boone knew. But... is he suggesting... Jake speaks up before they can. "... Are you suggesting that she was only giving info to Union forces to distract from her little town, and her two ‘dirty little secrets’?" He asks, only half interested, and half bored; Using quotation gestures when he says ‘dirty little secrets. Wes had talked a million times to him about Y/N L/N, but this never came up before. He supposes Wes is a little weird about talking sex, or love, with him- the cutie that he is.

Wes nods. "Yeah! I mean- that's the theory that some people have. Right man?" He looks to Buckman, who seems to be jostled out of some kind of trance by it.

"Uh- Uhhh... yeah... " Yes. That has to be it. There ain't no dang way that Y/N gave them up. She loved them. He knows it- Boone knows it- its non-negotiable.

1850’s

The rest of the town thought you were just a close friend to the Mayoral couple - well, maybe they thought you were having an affair with George. But even that was more acceptable then what you really were, -, but your relationship had alwaysbeen more. Even before Boone and Buckman got married. In fact, it was literally a coin toss for whoever actually hitched George, seeing as you and Boone couldn’t wed and it was certainly against the – societal, - rules for more than 2 people to enter into a marital agreement. It didn’t mean that they were closer than you were to them or anything, it just meant that the town was expecting the probable future mayoral candidate to have a wife by his side. For appearances.

And, no, it didn’t always feel that way. Sometimes you did feel like a third wheel, watching them walk through town arm in arm without you- but then Boone waives you over or George flashes you a wink and you know you’re being silly.

You don’t really know, for sure, how it ended up this way? I mean you remember it all, as well as you can; Meeting Boone in school and finding you love the way she talks to you, specifically you, and later realising that how you loved her holding your hand far more then when any boy did it. And then meeting George bonding and with Boone over how charming he was- thinking for a split second that you were normal, and would just want him.

But you both just liked the idea of sharing him too much.

But- how you managed to get together, officially, and keep it safe and happy for as long as you have- is a total mystery. All things considered; Your love is a very risky thing to attempt… in the 1800’s. In Georgia.

But you did it and you’re not questioning it, lest it fall apart.

“What’re you thinkin’ about, Lovely?” Boone nudges your ribs with her elbow, talking only quietly, only under her breath, as you’re both supposed to be listening to ‘Mayor Buckman’s acceptance speech.

But you 2 had been his test dummies the nights prior so you already knew it word for word. You’re good.

You turn a cheeky grin onto her, speaking in a sickly-sweet tone. “Why, you, actually.”

And- also- other things.

Like how you have to keep them safe, whatever you do. Even though what you’re doing, when they aren’t looking, is right and they’re wrong and sometimes it’s hard to keep that totally clear when his knuckles graze your jaw and her lips are on your thighs- but you must keep working; Against them, in a way. But you also must keep them safe, at the same time.

Even if it’s wrong. Even if you shouldn’t.

And maybe that makes you bad, but you can’t bring yourself to care when she knocks her knee against yours and gestures for you to look up- and you find Buckman shooting you both an I know you’re not listening, sort of look, and you can’t help but giggle behind your hand at it, Boone making a face right back at him.

Now

“Well, that’s… quite a story, there.” Boone admits, finding herself to be a little bit out of sorts, as well. How could Y/N have been keeping something so… depraved… Boone practically lived with her in that apartment in the square. It may not have been seemly for George to stay over there, but she certainly could and she took full advantage of that fact, especially when he left them to fight in a damn war- All the time. Y/N never told her she couldn’t look through anything either- and Boone took advantage of that, too. How could she have hidden anything? She couldn’t… she was so open… Swallowing nothing from a dry mouth down a dry throat, Boone sticks her hands in her lap; Scraping her nails over the fabric over her dress. “And, um… How did it- How does it end, for our Y/N?”

Jake screws up his face. There it is again, even in a weirdly overwhelmed, overemotional tone, the woman is referring to this long dead woman as hers. Hers and her husbands, assumedly. What the hell?

George looks uncomfortably to his wife; Unsure. They’ve spent decades and decades long not knowing what happened to her. Does he want to hear this? He doesn’t even know whether it would be worse for her story to have had a happy ending without them or a melancholy one. He suddenly wants to cover his ears.

Wes’s face suddenly sobers, not-so-excited anymore. Not even a little bit- or at all, really. He looks to Jake, who looks uncomfortable himself and shrugs, deeply. “Oh. We don’t know for certain, because they never found the body and no one ever spoke of it. But uh, well, she, uh… She came home from a tour, one day. You know, from singing? You know that was her cover- her ah, ‘day job’?” They nod. “Well, she came home, and the story is that she found her town… liquidated… “Both Buckman’s and Boone’s brows furrow, at that. What a lovely way to say ‘Slaughtered’. “And the soldiers that did it were still there, and they obviously didn’t know that she was one of them, so they dragged her off-site and killed her, too. Probably buried the body somewhere.”

At that, Jake, who never manages to miss a chance to say something crass or unnecessary, pipes up with; “Some say she got eaten.” All eyes land on him; Too pairs dark and one wide. “I mean, cuz ya know… her body wasn’t found… Man this is a weird conversation for a fair.” He slumps in his chair, arms crossed and eyes rolling. “Y’all round here really know how to throw a shindig, huh?”

All-too-suddenly, the mayor pushes up to his feet; Bones creaking with the slow but forceful movement. “Well! I better go check on those morons givin’ your fancy-pants car a wash- make sure they ain’t scrubbin’ it raw or anything like that.” Boone’s surprised how he manages to joke so convincingly suddenly- because right now all she wants to do right, is take down that painting of you off the wall and search it for clues. Answers. She knows that’s crazy and idiotic and impulsive but she’s having trouble staying still.

Luckily, he’s got her, too; As he helps her up to her feet, saying something to the boys about her being tired after a long day a’ hard work, and bids their goodbyes as they manage their way out of the pub. Harper and Miss Peaches who are sitting at a table by the door, see them head off and waive- but all they get in response from their Mayor is a grimace.

They walk silently through the darkness outside.

Boone makes it in silence to their home, before turning around and promptly plopping onto the top porch step- where you used to sit and braid your hair out over your shoulder. She thought were so type of lady longing young men made poetry about. Soft, and yellow and bright, and made entirely out of a lovely kind of magic.

Now she’s thinking that maybe you were the kind of woman old fairy tales are made about. The beautiful, frosty, two-faced queen. Dangerous and complicated and full of a powerful mess.

She just wants to talk to you about it- all about it. Hear everything you didn’t - couldn’t, - say to her.

“… Should we get inside?” George asks, roughly. Coldly. And Boone doesn’t even look at him as she continues to glare at the dirt in front of her; Lost in thought so her voice comes out harsh.

“I’m not going in there.”

George is fine with that, thinking about the spirit of you, waiting in there. In every piece of furniture, and every smell. It would wrap around him and he doesn’t know what he would do. Crossing his arms, he takes a deep breath; His one good eye staring hard out into the stars.

Eventually, though, he sits down. His knees are tired and his weary heart is bleeding, and the hole behind the patch is aching. The floorboards creek but Boone doesn’t respond, at all.

Until she does. And she can’t stop. “… how could they spout all that bullshit about Y/N?”

He rinds his fingers through his hair. “I need a drink.”

“She hasn’t been dead 2 fucking centuries and they dare, to spread in-inconceivable, foolish, repulsive perjuries about that girl. What- why’re you getting up. George get back here- What!? You think they were right?!” Boone shoots up fast after her exhausted looking husband. As soon as they cross the threshold of their house, its like you’re with them and that’s both a comfort and unbelievably frustrating- because you can’t set this right. Tell them the truth. You’ve gone and left them to manage this, on their own.

George sighs, going straight for the liquor stand and pouring a brown liquid until he reaches the brim of the biggest glass he could fine- then handed that to Boone. He keeps the bottle and swigs straight out of it. Then he holds up a firm finger Boone’s way, as if asking for a just a moment- before swallowing and rolling his shoulders back. “To be quite honest, I don’t know.”

Boone’s eyes narrow, and she slams down the glass back onto the cart- getting sticky grog all over her fingers. “You don’t know!?- “

“And, neither do you, love.” That ‘love’, comes out tense and just bordering on insincere- like every time he calls her that. Boone’s teeth grind and she glares back under the duress of Georges most dangerous gaze.

“I know what I think, George.” She refuses to do the disguising-hostility-with-pleasantries thing, with him. Its bullshit and she, of all people, doesn’t deserve to cop it from him- she’s different. How dare he.

For a moment they just stare eachother down, or try to. But they’re an even match, and neither back off- not for good long minutes. Then, and they don’t quite know what happened, but one relaxes before the other - Buckman before Boone or Boone before Buckman? They’d both tell a different story, -. Shoulders fall and Boone chews the inside of her cheek, frustrated, while George sighs and picks up a napkin; Using it to wipe her fingers clean of the mess she made in her little spark of anger, earlier.

It was… almost like you were really there. Whenever they would fight, you would be the one to de-escalate sparring matches between these two. You’d touch a hand gently to his shoulder, or tuck some hair behind herear softly, and with just a couple magic words they would figure it out or swallow the heat down. And that’s nearly what that inexplicable moment, felt like. Almost like you were haunting them- when they were the ghosts, here.

And they said, when they realised that you were really gone, that they would figure out how to calm things down themselves. But they never did.

Neither of them speak it out loud, but the feeling is there.

You’re with them, somehow.

“One day… we’ll get to ask her.” George says quietly, a rough tone in his voice still but calmer; Lacking any hostility, now. Boone grits her teeth, once again. The thought of seeing Y/N again now a source of stress rather then comfort. She bows her head, sighing through her teeth.

“… I still love her, George. I don’t wanna lose her.”

His grip around her hand is tight, now, finished cleaning them both up. “We won’t.”

… She nods, determined. If its true… they’ll fix her. They’ll fix it. They’ll do whatever they have to.

But first- Innocent until proven guilty.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Poly!Younger!Mayor Buckman and Granny Boone x Fem!PleasantValleyResident!Reader || Oneshot

Title: Buckman, You’re Going Back To Jail

Plot: Basically ‘You’re Going Back To Jail’ from Bonnie & Clyde except Blanche is split into two (You and Boone). This is set before the massacre (You’re all also, like, 20 years younger. I imagine this happening long before Buckman ran for Mayor)

(For those who haven’t heard the song before) Basically, Buckman escapes prison and neither you nor Boone are about it and send him back- you love him, but you refuse to live in fear of the law.

Warnings: I think its pretty tame.

~~~

After a quick hug, because of course I missed him, I pull back up and, chewing on my bottom lip nervously, pick up a rag and start wiping down tables distractedly. Just for something else to focus on then what’s, unfortunately, but definitely, about to come out of my mouth.

This is going to be… awkward.

As Boone continues to excitedly assess her husband and dote on him, surprised as I am to even see him right now seeing as he’s supposed to be in prison, I start to speak up- albeit, quietly. And without looking at them; Rather the crusty bit I’m attempting to scrape off a table. First though I take a deep breath, to gather my wits. Okay, so… “… We can’t spend our whole lives hiding, George. Absolutely not.” I sigh silently, and stand up from the table- setting a hand on my hip, and shaking my head. Lord, this is awkward… But- “That ain’t no way to live. Its time to wipe the slate clean- ask the good lord to forgive.”

As Buckman tilts his head slowly to the side, evidently baffled by what’s coming out of my mouth and not quite putting two and two together yet- Boone steps back and sets him with a stern, non-plussed look on her face.

Setting her hands sternly on her hips like she’s scolding him, she bluntly translates for me: “George- you’re going back to jail.”

His expression immediately switches to one of total horror, looking between us- and I’d laugh at it if we were in another… less delicate… situation. He’s totally confuzzled. “What the hell are you talking about!?” He blurts, shrinking away from us a bit like we stung him.

Worrying my bottom lip again, I cross my arms. “I won’t be scared to turn a corner, or to open the front door.” I shrug. “When you’re on the side of justice, you don’t have to be afraid of the law.”

Boone nods, pleased with my words and determinedly crosses her arms over her chest. “Mhm, now you pull yourself together, because you’ve gone pale.”

“You’re going back to jail.” I reiterate, raising my brows at him- stern. No room for argument.

Again he looks between us, panicked. “Sweetheart- love- you don’t know what it’s like in there!” He points a thumb behind him, eyes wide. “It’s awful. Nothin but gruel every day, and- “

“- We know it’s hard to share a cell, when you got nothin’ to look at except prisoners who smell.” Boone scrunches up her nose, as if smelling it right now, but her eyes do soften slightly and she does uncross her arms.

I sigh, and uncross my own arms. “… But when you’re done, and you’ve served your time, we’ll still be young and in our prime.” I assure him, grinning a little and winking- hoping to get a bit of a smile out of him. He double takes, fighting against the urge to do so before shaking his head and moving forward, picking up Boone’s hand in his and gathering me up close to him. I sigh, resisting my own urge to relax immediately. Boone on the other hand purses her lips and looks perturbed, a lot better at itthen me.

“Ain’t been free more than a minute, ain’t had time to change my shirt. I’ve been dreamin’ of a hot meal, with you two as my dessert… ” Boone sighs and rolls her eyes at the low brow, slightly dirty remark while I avert my eyes from him turning my head to look entirely away before Buckman just takes a hand and makes me look back at him- realising of course that I am, as always, the less inclined to slapping him for these kinds of antics. His eyes are soft though, and I do feel guilty for wanting him to go back- but its right goddamnit! He’s going back!- “Bring your face close to mine and just let me inhale.” Okay maybe he can stay for a little bit-

Boone puts a hand gently on my arm - a reminder,- and I sigh, going stony faced again for my survival, and watching his hopes and dreams be crushed. She’s right. I know she’s right. Pullin myself together, I set him with a thin lipped look. “George, you’re going back to jail.”

He turns to plead to Boone, then. “But sweetheart- “

“We’ll call the sheriff and tell him you’re turning yourself in right after church, tomorrow.” She states, in deadpan as I nod. Good plan.

Buckman, again, promptly turns to me with his pleading expression as I’m the weaker link, but I cross my arms against him. I may be softer, and sometimes kinder, than Boone but that does not make me weak. She’s just a reallytough act to follow. “But- Y/N- “

“Its gonna be just as hard on me as on you, daddy!” Boone exclaims, earnestly. Her eyes challenge his, which are stuck in an unamused glower back at his wife, before sighing and looking around the bar for someone. Her eyes light up at someone close by, and before I know it- she’s dragging poor Miss Peaches over. “Ah! Miss Peaches! You know what its like havin’ a husband in jail- tell him how hard it is, not having Carl around.” Oh, good angle! Maybe if Buckman hears that we’re going to be so sad without him around, he’ll go a little quieter.

Immediately when Peaches sets her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes, though, I know this was a mistake. Evidently, so does Boone as she winces, looking away from the girl. I swear I hear her mutter a word no good lady should say, before face palming. “Are you kidding!?” Shut up, shut up, shut up!- I glance at Buckman to see his eyes narrowing, before slowly turning wide in horror as she continues to speak. “It’s a treatto get my nails done, and have time to read a book. Sure beats washing his long johns. It’s a pleasure not to cook- “

Rubbing her temples, Boone makes a disappointed ‘hm’sound. “Okay, that’s enough.” If it were anyone else, like Buckman or I, that tone would’ve had her slapping her jaw shut immediately.

But Peaches isn’t done, and she doesn’t seem at all bothered by the dark, carefully calm tone Boone’s using. I wince. “Thank God those prison walls are far too tall too scale- my darlin’s nice and safe in jail.”

Oh boy. The cherry on top.

I facepalm myself, as Buckman leans into me a bit more. “… I don’t want her comin’ round here no more… “Neither do I.

“Well,” Boone tries again, almost hopelessly. She looks to me and I just shrug, a look that’s just as concerned as she feels on my face. “Well… Trish’s husband’s been in jail for two yearsand she’s miserable, without her man!” Oh we’re doing this again? I can only hope Trish likes her husband more then Peaches seems to like hers.

Trish, at the same table as Peaches was, nods morosely. “Mhm!” Maybe… this’ll… be better? But neither Buckman, Boone or I have super high hopes, as we listen cautiously. I’m already wincing. “At first, I really missed him!” Boone immediately drops her face in her hands and deeply groans, and Buckman hides his face in my shoulder. Ohh, boy. “I thought I would waste away… But then I met his boy from Tucson, and he owned a Chevrolet.”

“Oh no… “It’s like a gosh darn train wreck.

“- He had a lotta things that my Joe lacked.”

“Okay Trish- “Boone tries to intervene again, but Trish just goes right on like Miss Peaches did.

“- Like teeth and hair and cash, to be exact!” I give a wobbly smile, because this is going so badly, to Buckman’s already receding hairline and sigh as he presses his forehead more firmly into my shoulder and grips the sides my dress tight in his fists. Good grief, how much worse can this get?

I raise a hand, in a ‘stop’ gesture, and try gently to deescalate the situation. “I think you’re done?- “

Trish smirks, but otherwise ignores me. “I now got lotsof habits I can’t curtail.” I wouldn’t sound so proud of that, girl, I think- rolling my eyes icily.

“Heavens to Betsy.” Boone and I both whisper, the urge to sock this woman in the throat strong as our poor, rejected prison bird of a husband continues to hide in the cotton of my scarf.

“I’ve got to keep him locked in jail.” Trish finishes, thank god, and all I can think is- jesus goddamn christ. You are a horrible wife- and, just, friend in general- Gosh, poor Joe.

“Keep ‘em inside- eh Trish? If we see ‘em once a month we’ll be more then satisfied.” Peaches pipes up again, giggling and making me wonder how exactly Boone and I are going to enact revenge on these women for making our lives harder, when Trish winks back at her, and nods.

“Aint that the truth! Oh- “For a second she has the brains to look sheepish under our burning gazes, before shrugging and flicking back some of her hair. “Don’t mean to be unkind. But can’t put a price on peace of mind.”

A few moments of silence between the five of us follows, in which I glare darkly at the girls, and pat Buckman comfortingly on the back as he refuses to let go - thoroughly paranoid now that we’re going to be glad to be rid of him, of course, - and Boone just stares at the ground. Thinking, I’m sure, how could this have gone so wrong? Idiots- all of them.And I totally agree. The rest of the bar goes on as it was, loud and bustling on a Saturday night. It’s giving me a headache.

Finally, Boone sighs and disentangled her husband from me, allowing me to stretch and shake out the discomfort from that position. She cups his face gently, tucking some blonde hair back behind his ear and looks about as gentle as she ever can, at him. His shoulder’s remain hunched up and stressed out.

“… We aint like these other women. “She assures, holding out one of her hands to me still standing back behind him and I take it; Letting her guide me to stand beside her and I give Buckman a comforting, sad smile. “We’ll wait till kingdom come… I want the world to see that I aint married to some bum.” Boone snaps the last bit, throwing a dig back at the girls. I smirk, before switching back to warm, soft grin- for Buckman’s benefit.

Patting a shoulder, I tilt my head to the side. “It’ll be hard for us, but we’ll come through!”

He groans, loosely crossing his arms and looking away from us. “I can’t believe what you’re askin’ me to do… “

Asking? What have we said that suggested in any way that we were asking him?-

“One thing’s for certain, our love won’t go stale.” Boone jokes, a dry chuckle escaping her as she lets go of my hand, in favour of looping her arm through the crook mine instead. She’s totally right. Our relationship isn’t clear cut- it’s never been easy. Especially with the town’s judgmental, prying eyes. But that hasn’t stopped us. This sure wont. I nod.

He huffs, but at this point is barren of fight and as his shoulders relax and go limp, I know we’ve got him. “I aint going back.”

Fake-sympathetically, I drop a hand on his shoulder. Then tighten my grip. “Oh, yes you are.” Boone nods in agreement.

“Yes George, you’re going back.”

Behind us, Trish and Peaches snigger at each other. “Tomorrow he’ll be back in jail!”

[slashingdisneypasta]

Mayor Buckman and Granny Boone x Fem!PleasantValleyResident!Reader

Title: Throuple

Notes:

Granny Boone is bisexual and you can’t change my mind. 

This is way too long I’m sorry. My excuse? Its self indulgent that's why and I wrote it over the course of 2 days, both at night time so... 

Pick whichever Buckman you like best. 

Plot: 

Boone and Buckman just care a lot about you! A looooooot, a lot. Like, so much. A colossal amount, really- but you’ve never heard of a ‘throuple’ before.

Warnings: Uhh, polyamory? Sexual harassment, hint towards rape (Not of you or any known characters but still), 2001 Maniacs craziness? Reader might also have a mental illness, I don't know. Its not explicitly stated and I’m just the writer so how would I know? But she is really tired. Laziness in the last written sentence. I haven't edited the last half, so it might be illegible... In the morning I probably will edit. 

~~~

SET: Before the massacre, so everyone is alive except the 2001 Maniacs victims who have yet to be born because this is 1860

“Hey Y/N!” One of the men from table three - was it William or was it Lawrence? I don’t know, whoever-it-is’ voice is too slurred at this point for me to figure. Turning away from the table I was wiping off, I tuck the washcloth into the waistband of my apron and raise an eyebrow vaguely towards the table. “Come over here a moment, wouldja?”

“Why?” Now, usually, I would go over; No question. But its nearly closing time now, and its dark, and men like to get rowdy at this time, and I’ve been burned by that shtick before. Resting my working hands, course and strong, on my hips, I raise my eyebrows.

Put on a cold front and they’ll lose interest. Uh, usually.

“Just wanna get a betta look atcha! Larry here says you got a flat ass, but I got 3 coins on yer plump bottom. Y’ wouldn’t want me losin’ coin, would you?? Come on, now, just stand over here and lemme ‘ave a look-see. Wont even touch!” William, as I can now see, shows off his grotty yellow teeth in a wide grin.

He honestly think’s that crap will fly? He really, truly believes I’ll just submissively walk over to them and bend the fuck over?

What the hell do they take me for? I’m a waitress, not a prostitute.

Instead of snapping at them though I merely sigh, and clap my hands in a finished manner. “Come on boys, time to go home. It’s closing time and my snuggly warm bed’s calling out t’ me. Aren’t yours’? Come on, then!”

Groans and protests are my response, but the long drunk and tired men - they’re here after a long day of work in some mines, - get up and head for the exit to my building despite their complaints. I know neither of them are staying in any of the hotel rooms above, so that’s where they’ll go and that’s where I herd them. Out the saloon doors and down the street. I shoo them all the way, curbing their complaints with ‘Think about lovely dreams’, and ‘You can come back tomorrow for breakfast!’. Once we’ve gotten to the door, I wave them off, dish cloth in hand. “Goodnight boys, see you in the morn- Ah!” A high-pitched shriek comes out of me and is released into the cold night-time air in a puff of visible gas in the lamp light as I whip around. Someone pinched my-

“Theodore.” I gasp, eyebrows furrowed as I use my fists to cover my ass as I look up defensively at the tall, roguish looking man. I thought he left hours ago!

How dare he-

“Definitely plump / flat, boys!” He calls out to the two that are heading down the street, receiving raised hands in goodbye and laughs in response. Probably disgusting comments, too, but the mix of how far away their retreating backs are becoming, and the alcohol in their systems making their words blur together like flour and eggs mean that I thankfully don’t hear them with any sort of clarity. Theodore looks back down at me and smirks. “You said something about a warm snuggly bed, Miss?”

“Yes. Yours is a couple blocks from here. Be free to go forth, right now.” I roll my eyes, slipping around him so he’s closer to the door. He twists around and runs a hand through his greasy hair that’s far too long, and would be fair if he ever let water touch it. Good lord man, go see Al the barber and maybe you’ll learn some manners along the way.

“Aw, are you mad at me now Y/N?”

“Just cross.”

“I know a fun way we could work through those passionate feelin’s together, darlin’- “

Another voice joins the fray, just as I’m worrying if Theodore will ever actually leave, or more seriously- If he will ever actually pull through with the comments like that that he always makes towards me. “Oh, what’s that?”

Theodore and I look out to the street immediately to see who’s interrupted him. Who, with such a high and feminine voice, has had the audacity. Who, has become simultaneously his annoyance, and my saving grace.

My eyes land on Boone, and a grin makes its way over my lips. She looks cross herself, hands on her hips, shoulders anchored towards Theodore in a way a mother might look at her son when she is…

Totally pissed off.

I waive my dish cloth at her from behind Theodore. “Good evening, Boone!”

She doesn’t so much as say anything back, just glances at me and then back at the problem- Theodore. Oh man, if I were him I’d be backing off now. Boone scares everyone, me included. Not that I have to worry, she’s made it clear that she cares about me.  

… A little too much, but still. That’s neither here nor there right now. I’m glad she’s here!

“I think I heard some unsanitary comments comin’ from you, Mr Miller. At least I hope they were just comments. Why don’t you go on and apologise to our deserving waitress Miss L/N, before I let the Mayor know what you’re up to here. I believe he warned your ass last time we caught you cornering her.” Boone’s eyes darken on him and I wonder if I could slip off to the side and clean off the last table; the one William and Lawrence were at previously, so I can retire sooner. She’s got this all under control, if I know her.

But then Theodore just rolls his shoulders back, and the air around him seems to still. “You know, Miss Boone, I never see either you or our esteemed mayor every kickin’ up such a damn fuss over anyone else in this town. I mean, shit. I had some devilish fun with Miss Lyla the other day and you didn’t do nothin’!” A smirk slowly rolls over his mouth as he looks back at me for a moment, caging me in those dark, weaselly eyes for a moment. Oh, crap.

Boone, though, doesn’t even bat an eye.

But before she can say another word, yet another familiar voice calls from the shadows. I look down the path the way Boone was headed down before she heard Theodore and I and stopped by, to see Buckman walking down towards her. What are these two doing taking walks at 11 at night for, anyway? Why aren’t they together?? Seems a bit choreographed, to me. Let me just add that to all the reasons they creep me out.

Now, our Mayor is shorter than Theodore, who is much like a weasel in that he’s skinny, smelly and long, but that doesn’t make him an any less intimidating presence against him. Even with cheer in his eyes and his hands carefully in his pockets, its always been clear from the get-go, that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Its something about the way he holds all of his emotions inside, I’ve always thought. Mixed with the knowledge that he’s fought in a war.

It’s why we voted for him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Mayor.” Theodore swallows down a gulp of spit, stepping forward out of my saloon, finally. “Sir!” I take a deep breath and let it out, relieved, going straight to the doors and wedging myself between them; blocking him from coming back in and ready to shut the doors again as soon as I can. I don’t want Theodore coming back in, but I also don’t want to be left alone with either of these two nutters’, either.

Oh, by ‘nutters’, I mean ‘pillars of the community’… Mostly, I mean that. Uh, half.

Okay fine, they’re nuts.

“Mayor,” I greet, inclining my head for a moment politely.

“Evenin’ Y/N! I hope you’re not having too much trouble with this one.” Buckman immediately flashes me a bright, election winning smile. A real one. Like he always does when he see’s me.

“Well, he was. But I think Boones got it covered.” I grin back, unable to help it. He’s very charismatic!

Boone’s expression softens a bit and she relaxes her stance, giving me a little smile. “Thank you dear.”

“I’m sure she does.” Buckman agrees, and then they share a smile between them, and I look down at Theodore on the bottom step that leads to my saloon. Oh Jesus Christ, if he had suspicions before, then they are just growing now. This is just what I need!

I haven’t done anything, Theodore!! I promise!

Which is not to say I haven’t received countless offers, but I don’t need to be even thinking about that. Seeing as I declined. 

“Now, why don’t you head on home Theodore.” Buckman drops his nose to look up at Theodore with a little bit more menace and severity. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“Good night sir! Boone, Y/N.” Finally, Theodore looks back over his shoulder at me, and then makes a break for it down the road past Boone. She gives him a stink eye for as long as she can before losing interest.  

And then its just me, Boone and Buckman in the stillness of the night.

And I wish I’d run off like Theodore.

“Well! Good night ya’ll! I got an early day tomorrow, so- “ I try to escape by weaving an excuse and locking the doors behind me, but it it’s not 2 minutes later when the only other set of key’s for this building stick into the lock, turn, and they walk on into my saloon. I sigh, now behind the counter washing cups.

Of course. He’s the mayor. Of course, they have keys.

Looking up at the ceiling, I pray for an easy time of it tonight. Please, let them be tired from their daily duties and they’ll go home soon.

I continue to wash glasses and plates and put them away, but I don’t get too far before Boone’s gone right ahead and helped herself to my special ‘only me’ area -behind the counter of my saloon,- and turns me around by the shoulders to look at me. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

I sigh, and tell her. “No. I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry for me.” She really shouldn’t, not in the way she does. She has a husband.

The part where he didn’t touch me is obviously incorrect, but I better not mention that to these two.

“Even so, we do worry darlin’. Come on, sit down for a bit. Give us some peace of mind, at least.” Buckman, immediately on the other side of the counter, asks and I sigh. I’ve learnt, that if I don’t comply, then they’ll never leave. And besides, the things they ask of me are never bad. Just, sit down and talk with them. Play cards. Have a drink. Generally, just lovely things like that.

It’s the intent behind them that concerns me.

“Yes. I’ll go and get you some water.” Boone says with a No-‘If’s’-or-‘Buts’-about-it kind of tone, and I try to open my mouth and protest against that, but she’s already guiding me around the bench. When we reach the end, she deposits me with her mayoral husband, and he leads me the rest of the way to a table. I sit down, sighing simultaneously and he sits down next to me. “I’ll wash the glass; Don’t you worry about that!”

“That’s… “I blow air into one of my cheeks and blow out gradually. “… Not what I’m worried about… “

“Now, he didn’t do anything nasty, did he? He certainly had the intention.”

I shake my head and set my hands in my lap. I want to tell them what he did, I really do. I don’t know why, but I always want to tell them things.

But I retain the believe that I can’t. I shouldn’t be that close with either of them. “No, sir, I’m fine, really! That’s not even as bad as some other men get at this time of night, anyway. I could have handled- “A moment after I’ve admitted the fact that other men have been worse than what Theodore just suggested to me, I pause. And peer guiltily up at Boone instead of Buckman as she hands me the water she promised and then sits down on the other side of me. “… I haven’t helped my case, have I?”

“No.” She laughs.

Maybe I do need this water.

I take a sip and look at neither of them, instead settling my focus on this glass of water and the far wall. I really need to repaint that wall…

While I do this, and they talk to each other about their day, I ponder my situation.

Now, I… I don’t consider myself a judgemental person. I don’t care what any folks do behind closed doors, in their bedrooms. Man and woman, woman and woman, man and man. But I am damn sure that it is only supposed to include 2 people. I’ve never heard of couples that are more then that, unless you count cults and I don’t.

So, it’s not that I don’t care for them both. Not at all. Its that I can’t be with them both, like they’ve asked, like they want. I can’t.

I’d like to be that open minded, I would, but… I just can’t picture it.

___TIME SKIP: Modern Day___

Since they arrived, I’ve been peering a little too long to be polite at a few of the newest group of victims. I’m a little worried that they’ve noticed, but I’m also really curious. I just can’t tell who is a couple and who isn’t. There is a particular group of 3, that’s throwing me off. I definitely saw the blonde one kiss the ginger one, but then I also swear saw the ginger one and the brunette ones holding hands. Could that just be a friendly thing? It had a pretty intimate feel, to me.

Now, I stand on the porch of my saloon, leaning my forearms onto the railing as I watch them. Buckman’s still with them, along with half- no, the rest of the town, remaining town I should say, inviting to the annual ‘guts and glory jubilee’. At this point, I really don’t get why any of these kids stay. Maybe it’s just because I know what going to happen to them.

Or maybe, its because this generation of kids are morons.

‘Guts and Glory Jubilee’? I mean, really? At first it was clever, but it was only a temporary name for the trap. And now its been a hundred years and its still called the same thing, and my saloon’s always full with disrespectful modern teenagers and my friends acting like loons to keep them there, and the kids aren’t getting any brighter. Too blinded by the way us Pleasant Valley women dress, and the inviting way we all -men and women alike, - smile, and laugh. They’re none the wiser to our plot.

Like I said, Morons.

As I’m watching the usual show on Buckman explaining with bright theatrics what a fun time it’ll be and how they should stay, as our honoured guests, I catch the eye of one of those guests. The blonde one from before, that kissed the ginger one. They smile through the awkward, accidental eye contact, and I paste on a smile back- too old and too tired to care about the awkwardness. I keep the contact until the moment they look away, honestly too tired to look away first.

I just want to go.

Where everyone else did. My parents, my fiancé, my… god, even my fucking cat… Where they went. Before we were massacred. Heaven, or hell, or wherever the hell we go after real, no consciousness death. Where we can’t, until 2001 of these dumbass teenagers die.

I just have to hold on a little longer.

A little while later, they agreed to stay and I went off into my saloon, ready to great them and serve them drinks. And clean tables, and fight off bastards trying to get a drunken feel, and snap back at rude ass, degrading miscreants who think I’ll just stand by and let them call me names.

Which is what I’m busy with now, as I dry off a now clean glass, ready to be filled with my sub-par rum again. A loud, brutish call of ‘Hey, any fucking rum left? Waitress!’ interrupts my quieter, calmer thoughts of fantasising about seeing my family again right after the saloon doors absolutely slam open. I whip around and am ready to have Jonathon, the only man in this saloon that I even remotely enjoy the company of and my only employee, kick the bastard out when my voice escapes me. Instead, I roll my eyes in utter frustrated and groan. This is just what I need.

“Theodore, what have I told you about calling me waitress?! You know my name.” I exclaim through grit teeth, throwing my now damp dishcloth onto the bench with vigour, causing a couple boys at the bar to reel back with a few irritating, obnoxious ‘Oooh’s. Theodore slowly smirks in that easy way that he does, and drops down in the bench across from where I’m standing. “Yes, we have the revolting drink you love. You know, we have rum. You basically live here!” I throw him a greasy with my eyes. “Which reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask you; Do you have a home?? Because I’d be happy to send you off with a weeks’ worth of rum if it means I’ll get some peace and quiet from you for that time!”

“Naw, baby, I come here for your company. If you came home with me for a week, that’d be a different story. I’d stay away easy! Just stay… in bed… with you.” He winks.  

Dropping the ferocity in my body language for a moment, I just deadpan at him. “You disgust me.”

“In the best way.” Theodore grins, then leans into the bar, evidently done with teasing me for now, if his serious expression tells me anything. “Anyway,” He starts, sounding exhausted now as his hair droops around his face and the smile officially leaves his eyes. “Drink?”

Because it’s my job, and because standing near a quiet Theodore is a welcome alternative then trying to make conversation with the teenage boys down the left side of the bar who ‘Ooh’ed me earlier, I pat the bar and grumpily head off for the rum and a glass. “Coming right up.”

While I do that, Boone and Buckman; The nutters, the pillars of the community, the mayoral couple and the banes of my existence, come into the saloon and take the table by the door. I ignore them though, pulling my own stool out from under my side of the bench and sitting down across from Theodore, pouring him his drink and sliding it to him. Jonathon can handle the rush for a few tiny minutes, while I sit for a second. “Thank you, darlin’.”

I don’t say anything back, because I don’t like to extend pleasantries to him of all people. Instead, I look around the room and do my usual assessment. The room’s loud, and full of people -Boone and Buckman took the last unoccupied table, and Theodore took the last stool, -, acting loud and having butt loads of fake fun. I don’t really care about that though; all I care about is that in a moment I’m going to have to get up and ask around for any more orders and clean some more cups and plates. For a second, I let my shoulders relax and I rest my hands on the bar in front of me. Strong, work woman’s hands.

“You noticed the ‘throuple’ in the new group?”

Oh, Theodore is still talking to me.

Joy.

“Huh?” I look up from my hands to meet his eyes momentarily, raising my eyebrows at him. What did he say?

“The throuple, that’s what they called it when I asked ‘em.” He smirks for a moment. “It’s a relationship between 3 people.”

“Why do I care? That sounds like their business.” I sniff, then wipe under my nose a moment and then move to fixing my apron over my chest. It had slid to the side while I was working, it seems.

For a glorious moment, he doesn’t respond. He just stays quiet, and I think how lovely his company is when he’s on the other side of the bar and is quiet.

Then I look up at him, still with my eyebrows up my forehead, and see he’s looking straight into my soul. A knowing, mischievous grin on his lips. Its as if he ironed it in that way, all creases and wrinkles on his face from smiling so much in his life.

But I know what he’s insinuating.

It’s a different world out there now, that’s apparently allowed. It happens. Romantic relationships between more then 2 people. Maybe I should reconsider my answer, to Boone and Buckman. Maybe it would work.

That’s what Theodore is saying with this look that is so annoyingly painted on his face.

And to that, I say fuck off.

Or I would, if I wasn’t a good, Christian lady.

Instead I shrug my shoulders at him and head off to check the tables. “It’s a whole new world out there!” I call back, successfully, hopefully, ending the conversation.

Where does he even get off making suggestions like that to me- he shouldn’t even be that sure of what was happening -what they were, or are still, trying to make happen, - to mention it to me in such a forward manner. I definitely didn’t tell anyone except my mirror, and my… bathroom sometimes… but I certainly didn’t say it above a whisper! He couldn’t have heard, even if he was snooping around like the creep he is.

And the other two definitely wouldn’t have said anything. They despise Theodore Miller even more then I do.

He must just be smart.

… huh.

Who knew? Theodore has a brain and not just a penis under that grease, sweat and soot covered flesh.

Like a coward, I hit every other table in the room before I get the one by the door. They obviously can tell that I’m trying to avoid them, because saloon procedure is obvious to get to the table that was most recently filled as soon as possible before any others, but I don’t really care. If Theodore and I noticed the, uh, ‘throuple’, then the mayor and his wife, definitely, did. And I’m dreading the conversation that is about to occur.

When I do, finally, start heading towards Boone and Buckman’s table, I notice Theodore turning around in his seat to drink and watch the scene.

With his knees spread wide like a heathen. Ugh! Not in my establishment. Before I get to the table, I show him my middle finger and he turns around, chuckling to himself.

Okay. I take a deep breath, and stop at the dreaded table.

“Good afternoon, Mr Mayor. Mrs Mayor.” I beam, a pasted smile that’s obviously fake. Luckily, because I don’t think I could handle any more embarrassment and pressure right now, and unluckily because I think anyone else’s attention might actually be preferred then these two’s right at any time, no one else is paying attention to see such a grin. “What’ll it be? Today we have beans and bread as the special- like always. “I take out my notepad and pen.

Not because I need them to remember orders, of course. Just to have something to focus on.  

“Good afternoon Y/N, why don’t you sit here with us for a bit? You look bone tired from takin’ care of this lot! It’s a full house today.” Boone asks, even going as far as using her foot to push out the other chair at the table that isn’t taken, for me to prospectively take.

Absolutely not.

“I am exhausted.” I find myself sitting down, instead of leaving like I should have. Immediately on feeling the tension leave my legs, I feel like collapsing onto this table and falling asleep. “Thank you.”

Leaning into my hands for a moment with my eyes closed will have to do. A feel a comforting hand pat my shoulder and it does feel better. “Why don’t you let Jonathon handle business for a little bit- we actually happened to have a talk the other day about him wanting more opportunities to advance. This would be a perfect opportunity for him! And you look warn, sweetheart.”

He shouldn’t call me that.

But it does sound good. Especially coming from Buckman. And with Boone looking so worried about me, too. It feels too nice a place to be, with them, to be wrong. “Uh, well, maybe… “

Then I look up, past Boone’s head and, by complete chance, on the blonde, brunette and ginger that have been the topic of the day…

And all of a sudden, momentary blind panic tears through me.

I jump up from my seat, the chair toppling down onto its back as I stand back on to my exhausted legs. it barely interrupts the volume of the room, so no one else really notices. But I do catch sight of Boone and Buckman’s faces, even more worried and a little bit hurt, before I stutter through an apology and an excuse about having to work, and I rush off back to the safety of my bar. Of course, Boone has been back here before, but I choose to ignore that little fact.

Theodore watches me with wide eyes, as all the tension in my person just grew to level a thousand intensity, as I call Jonathon over and ask him to take his lunch break now.

I don’t need any excuses to go and take my break. One of them, or both of them, might come and ask me if I’m okay. And I’m starting to forget why that’s such a bad thing, but I know there is a reason, and… Jesus Christ, I’ve never been so conflicted.

Because yes, the world outside of Pleasant Valley has come far. Like I said to Theodore, it’s a ‘whole new world’ compared to what it was when we were alive a century and a half ago.

But we’re in Pleasant Valley. And you only have to look around and see how different we dress and talk and move compared to these new present time people and you know; We aren’t part of that whole new world. Boone, Buckman and I don’t fit here.

Maybe if things were different.

Definitely if things were different, actually. I know, if they were, I would be there. I would be all in.

But I’m not and things aren’t different.

___

An hour later, and I’ve calmed down at this point. I still feel exhausted, now because I work so much and because of emotional baggage, but I don’t feel the racing heartbeat that made me sick before or the adrenaline that caused me to run away. So, it’s better… Stable again, at least.

I’ve convinced myself that if I don’t look their way. I can become numb again to the feelings they make in me. Its an idiotic notion, but its kind of the only thing keeping me still right now.

Merciless God, grant me a break. Amen.

The saloon is starting to quieten down for the night, as the light goes away outside and visitors disappear to their rooms -some with a partner they’ve only just met, some alone, some with friends they came with. It’s a big group this time, - upstairs in the hotel part of my building. I’m sitting back down in my stool behind the bench by the time the ‘throuple’-I’m still not sure about that word, - finally, FINALLY, decides to retire up to their room. I bid Jonathon a good night as he went home too, a little earlier to his wife and son, and waived shortly when Theodore pushed drunkenly off the bar and hobbled out the doors.

I lean heavily onto the bar myself, and watch the three go up the stairs together. The brunette’s holding the ginger’s hand now, and the blonde walks ahead of them and holds the key to their room.

After they disappear onto the second floor, I turn to look at who else I need to wait to leave, so I can go to bed myself. Mmm, I’ll take a long hot bath first, and light some candles to go with it. Most importantly, I’ll let my hair out of his too bloody tight ponytail!

“Ah, that’s sounds good.” I mutter, already imagining it as I push off the bench and go collect some plates and glasses that are left out on the tables and wipe them down for the last time today.

“Miss Y/N?” A familiar voice, Boone, calls the softest that I’ve ever heard it from the door. I look around quickly, ribbing the back of my aching neck to see no one else around. Huh, I hadn’t noticed I was alone.

It was nice.

Still, I flash her a tired, half smile. “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“I know. I’m sorry too. We should know at this point not to go so hard on you. You work all day harder than anyone, even Buckman but don’t tell him I said that.” She pauses, walking fully into my saloon and as if it were choreographed, we both sit down together at a table. “Actually, go ahead and tell him. Its true.” I grin despite myself, rolling my shoulders back and then leaning back in the chair- entirely taken over by exhaustion. I don’t even have energy to put up walls. Boone looks at me again and gives me a soft smile. “We want you to know always, that we care deeply for you, and whenever you’re ready you can join us. But… we also don’t want to stress you so much anymore. So, we’ll pull back- a little. If that pussy Miller tries anything on you again he will be dealt with.”

I nod, sighing. But, then again, why doesn’t that make me feel better? They’re going to leave me a bit more alone! I should feel relieved… but I do not. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I hate to see you so pent up.” A devious smirk touches her lips and her eyes. “I mean, I would like to help you with that in a different way then leaving you alone… But I will. Because I love you.”

I take a quick, deep breath. There it is. I never actually thought those actual three words would leave her lips aimed at me. But it’s the most natural thing in the world, tell her. “I love you too.” A wicked beam is my response from her at that.

“Can I hold yer hand?” Boone asks, offering her daintier hand across the table. Trying hard not to glance around for onlookers but failing, I take her hand.

It feels so nice, relieving, to hold it finally.

I take a deep breath, and whisper the next words. I want them out, I want to confide in someone. I’m sick of keeping everything to myself, I’m sick of being all alone. It’s by my own will, of course, but… it still hurts, all the same. “Boone, I-I’m just so… so weary, of everythi- “

Buckman interrupts me, turning up at the door. “Howdy, what’s going on in here?”

Boone ignore him, gathers up her skirts and gets to her feet. When she rounds the table to me, she drops them to the ground in favour of cupping my face in her hands instead. “I know. Why don’t you let go of one thing? Let us hold some of the load, sugar. Please.”

Finally, I can’t tell myself no. And I absolutely can’t tell her no. I glance from her to Buckman who has apparently read the atmosphere and now stands beside Boone. He smiles, like he always does at me. Like he feels it.

God, I want to feel a smile again.

And I lose the strength to do this all on my own anymore. I shakily get up from my seat and throw my arms around (You choose one or both, because I’m lazy and its bedtime for me).

[slashingdisneypasta]

Mayor Buckman x Fem!Reader || Drabble

Plot: (This is set right after the events of the last drabble, Bisexual!Granny Boone x Lesbian!Reader except this is a completely different reader and we follow Buckman after he left that drabble) You multitask running a bar on a Friday night, fending off Hank (An OC I guess?) who’s self-proclaimed love for you can be a real hassle, and comforting the mayor on a bad night.

Warnings: Reader gets harassed, but its not a threatening kind of harassment. Hank’s just annoying and you can handle it.

~~~

“Hank, go home.”

“But love! - love, stop wiping down the tables. St- Stop it. I- I’m trying to profess my love to you baby!” The man falters, as you continue to finish wiping off a table and move on to the next empty one to take the empty glasses. “Come, come on… “

“No time, Hank.” You roll your eyes, getting back behind the bench, putting the glasses by the sink and, just as the man raises his finger as if asking to talk again you drop down to your knees to grab a new rag. “Very busy!”

“Honey, I love you!”

“So, so, busy!” For god’s sake, Hank! Get the hint!

“But! -“

“Excuse me Hank, thank you. Y/N, rum if you please?”

Hank looks unsure, stepping back and letting Mayor Buckman sit down in the stool he was blocking as you get up and flash the harasser a ‘Oh, what can I do???’ kind of smile and shrug combo. Hank looks at the mayor, looking almost defeated. He’s been up to this business all day, it’s about time he gives up! “Mayor!”

“Coming right up, Mr Mayor.” Quickly turning to get the bottle off the shelf and a clean glass, you ignore whatever Hank’s now doing for a moment. You’re sure he’s looking wounded again and mopey but that’s not really your problem, now is it? Finishing up pouring a nice big pint for the mayor, you turn around and see both men doing the exact same thing- the picture of vanquishment. Two sad sacks sitting side by side with their elbows on the bench. Hank, holding his pounding head and Buckman rubbing his eyes.  

It honestly makes you want to laugh a little bit; But, you’re a professional. And as bartender, you are also the town therapist.

“Your rum.” You set down the drink in front of Buckman and he quickly wraps his hands around it, dragging it towards him. Staying busy, you start washing the dirty glasses from before with no need to plan your next movements table-wise. You’ve been doing this for years, so you have a system. In a moment, you’ll hit tables 2, 4 and 6 to ask if the parties there need refills, then see off tables 7 and 5 who were just having dinner and then have nothing much to do since all the parties are going to need are refills from then on.

So plenty of drunk therapy time.

Drying the glasses, you turn around back to the bar to see Hank drop his face into the wooden bench and Buckman finish his drink and push the glass back, tapping the rim for more. Well, I know whats wrong with Hank… Sighing, you tilt your head at him. “What’s up, Mr Mayor? Paperwork getting you down again?”

“No… “He rubs under his nose. “Just… ah… women troubles, I suppose… “Buckman rolls his eyes

Hanks sits up straight, pouts with a splinter in his nose and hits the bench. “Talk to me about it, brother.”

“Calm down there Hank.” You deadpan, before tapping your nose and looking meaningfully at him and returning to your mayor as Hank finds for the splinter and winces. Your furrow your eyebrows sympathetically to Buckman as you put down the glass you were drying and pour him more rum. “Sorry to hear that sir. Granny Boone and you are having trouble?”

“Nothing that we haven’t always had.”

… Oh.

OH. Oh.

You clear your throat, trying not to give anything away to Hank who’s listening. You know all about Boones lover; you should have known it was about her. The lady comes in here every now and then to drink and she let slip once about what’s going on between the 3 of them, and it was big news for you to hear - still is, actually, -, your jaw nearly hit the floor when she said it, but you moved on. Such is your creed as a barkeep; Besides, that was definitely not the craziest, and most certainly not the most horrible secret, that you’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing about in this post.

“Uhm, you mean, the other woman?” Buckman’s eyes blow open and he opens his mouth to shut you up as Hank raises an eyebrow in surprise and curiosity. You wink and smirk when Hank is looking at Buckman instead of you, leaning on the bench and hoping he gets the hint. “Theodosia? Your perfect purebread? Gorgeous, silky black main?”

Hank makes an ‘Oh’ face and nods; That makes more sense, doesn’t it? A horse. Horses are always getting between wives and their husbands. And its not a surprise at all that, with a horse like Theodosia, Buckman would show favouritism. Right?

Hm. I’m so clever.

Feeling Hank calm down beside him, Buckman relaxes also and looks at your cautiously, cradling his glass again. “Yeah, Boone just doesn’t get a man’s relationship with his horse. There ain’t nothin’ I can say to explain it to her.”

You shrug, getting out a glass and holding it out to Hank, raising your eyebrows. He nods and smiles widely at you, so you pour him some rum as well and slide it over to him. “Well, I myself don’t understand your predicament truly- I mean, I’m not involved. But I am sorry for it.” What do you say in a situation like this? ‘Tough break, bro’? “Sucky, truly, ah…” Nope, that’s worse. “Sucky… “Don’t say it again! “Uhm, I mean… Tough… tough break, bro?”

Oh my god.

You take a deep breath and compose yourself, holding the bar. When you open your eyes to give Buckman a half smile so he knows its okay to laugh at you, you’re surprised to see he doesn’t look ready to make fun of you at all. He’s looking at you rather kindly, actually- maybe not like he feels much better about his situation because of your words, but maybe like the effort you made was cute.

Smiling, he pats your hand. “I appreciate the effort, Y/N.”

You grin brightly back. “No problem!”

Hank looks between the two of you a couple times, mouth setting in a firm frown and a look of displeasure deeply creases his forehead. Leaning forward, he sticks himself right close to Buckman so their arms touch and he’s definitely within the little bubble you the Mayor found yourselves in. Buckman doesn’t move. “Hey Y/N.”

“Yes Frank?”

“Hank!”

Oh right! Rats. Back to life. Wake up, Y/N! That breaks you out of the moment. You turn and smile apologetically at Hank, pouting and just all around looking completely mopey about the situation. “Oh! Sorry Hank, haha. Another drink, is it?”

Damn the mayor and his cuteness- Because that’s all that was. A moment of appreciation.

You blow air out of your cheeks as you turn for the rum again without an answer from Hank, widening your eyes at the same time. Better be, at least…

“Uh, yeah, sure darlin’! And, to remind you sweetheart! -Of our date! Tomorrow! I made us plans I did, at Granny Boone’s bed and breakfast! We’ll have brunch- all fancy like. OH! Sorry, Mr Mayor, should I not talk about her?” You roll your eyes, laughing just enough that air puffs out of your mouth and your shoulders jump once at Hank’s lack of subtlety. Turning around, you even catch the boy looking wide eyed, with high concerned eyebrows at Buckman, grabbing his arm. Buckman’s giving him a pinched smile, peeling his hand off of him and assuring him its absolutely fine.

At least, you think. He’s not on Buckman’s lap anymore.

Or pulled the mayor up onto his lap. You make a sudden sour face, pouring rum yet again, and shudder. Ugh, you’ve been there, unfortunately. Its not the most pleasant place to be. Or maybe that extra lump was just for me… God almighty Y/N, stop thinking about Hank’s lump, it’ll give you nightmares.

“Here you go, Hank.” Crossing your arms on the bench on leaning on them, you wink. “And don’t you worry; There’s no need to get all to get all bent outta shape over George- I’m just, appreciating the view.”

Hank’s mouth drops open and at your use of the mayor’s first name, jumping to conclusions that you knew he would, making you start to laugh. But you grin and have to look away to protect your face - your blush, -, at Buckman’s reaction to your words. Your, what could be, possibly, if you s q u i n t, flirt. His eyebrows have risen in surprise, but there is nothing innocent about how he’s smirking. “’George’?!-“

Immediately you sober up, cutting off the flirty attitude before you lose yourself, or say something you, and Buckman would regret. You take a deep breath, yank your rag off your shoulder with a finesse the practise of something unbelievably mundane over and over gets you and head towards tables 2, 4 and 6. “And we’re not going on any brunch tomorrow Hank, Jesus. Get it together.”