#Thanks for buying the rights to the books so apparently nobody else could take over making the show

[inthegardensofourminds]

It's 2023 and I'm still sad we never got a second season of Trickster.

[bluejayblueskies]

deathless

Words: 4.6k Fandom: Malevolent (Podcast) Relationship: John & Arthur Tags: Ghost AU, Fantasy AU, Modern AU, Emotional Intimacy, Queerplatonic Relationships

Written for @malevolentfantasyweek for the prompt haunted! CW for death mentions, threats, and possession (initially against one’s will)

|| AO3 ||

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In hindsight, buying the ridiculously low-priced house with build papers from the late 1700s and an appeal for condemnation on record was probably an ill-advised move. But Arthur still maintains that ghosts are not a typical nor rational thing to worry about when browsing real estate, and—well. His financial circumstances had been less than ideal after the whole falsely-accused-of-murdering-his-partner thing. Between the lawyers and losing his job and flat and the relatively high publicity surrounding the whole ordeal … he could barely scrape together the funds to move out here, slim as they were. His bank accounts are dry, his pockets empty. He’s managed to pick up a job in town at a bookshop, but the pay is nowhere near that of his previous job, only enough for the necessary food expenses, property taxes, and the like. Arthur, quite literally, has nowhere else to go.

So when he startles awake in the middle of his second night there to a voice hissing in his ear, “Leave this place,” he swallows, reaches for his earplugs, and lies on his side with his eyes firmly shut until his heartbeat calms down enough to allow him to fall asleep once again.

“That place up on the hill?” the bookshop owner says the next day, raising a thin eyebrow. “Didn’t think they were still letting people live there.”

“Yes, well—I do, and I just … wanted to know if you knew any history about it.”

The bookshop owner—Mr. Abernathy, Arthur recalls—shrugs. “Sure. Been here since the town was built back in … 1795? Something like that. Beautiful place once upon a time. Nobody’s quite sure what happened to it—death, maybe, but nothing that’s on record. Either way, it’s almost certainly cursed.”

“Cursed?”

 “Not a single person who’s moved into that house over the past century or so has stayed more than a few months. They hear voices, apparently. Keeps them up at night, wears away at their sanity. Pastor Emanual thinks it could be some sort of demon, but no blessing or exorcism has ever done much good.” Mr. Abernathy eyes Arthur. “If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s in your best interest to move. That place—nobody should live there. Should have been torn down decades ago.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m afraid moving is … not quite an option for me at the moment. I simply wanted some context so that if things do happen, I am prepared to handle them to the best of my ability.”

Mr. Abernathy stares at Arthur a moment more before shrugging and turning away. “All right. Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Can you shelve the new arrivals for me?”

“Certainly.”

As Arthur turns to head further into the bookstore, box in his arms, Mr. Abernathy says, “And Mr. Lester?”

Arthur pauses. “Yes?”

“You’d be wise to wear iron. Keeps the demons at bay.”

Arthur swallows. “I will … take it under advisement, Mr. Abernathy.”

Mr. Abernathy grunts and lets him be. He blessedly says nothing when Arthur slides him a few coins in exchange for a book on spirits and the supernatural. Just in case.

.

.

.

“That isn’t going to help you.”

Arthur is not ashamed to admit that he startles quite badly when the disembodied voice speaks into his ear yet again. He takes a shaky breath, then returns to his task of painting the symbol he’d found in the book on the doorframe in front of him. “Maybe not,” he says, feeling a bit silly as he talks to what is, by all appearances, empty air. “But it can’t hurt either. Besides, this is my house. I can decorate it how I please.”

There’s a long pause. Then, the voice chuckles, low and deep in a way that sends an unwanted shiver down Arthur’s spine. “Is it now?”

“Given that it is my name on the lease, yes, it is.” Arthur dips the paintbrush back into the bucket a touch aggressively, and the pale yellow paint within splatters across his trousers. “Damn.”

The temperature of the air around him drops without warning, and his breath fogs in front of him. “This is my house, not yours. It belongs to me. Leave, now.”

Arthur’s breaths are coming quicker than he’d like, and before he can think about the consequences of such a statement, he snaps, “Make me.”

The air is thick with tension, and Arthur can hardly breathe for it. For a moment, he is sure—absolutely certain—that he is looking at the last few moments of his life. Then, voice tight with ice-cold fury, the thing that haunts his home snarls, “You will regret this, Arthur Lester.”

The tension snaps like a thin rubber band, and Arthur gasps as the pressure on his chest lifts. He stands atop the kitchen chair he’d dragged over in order to paint the sigil, breathing heavily and trying to calm the rapid-fire beating of his heart. His knees feel wobbly, made of jelly. He sinks down to sit on the chair, putting his head in his hands and focusing on slowing his breathing lest he begin to panic in earnest.

That had … perhaps not been wise.

.

.

.

After a full week without incident, Arthur is feeling considerably less panicked and considerably more tired of the situation he’s found himself in.

“I don’t regret it yet,” he says, trying to sound casual as he stirs the soup he’s making. “Not that I’m trying to encourage you to enact your unholy revenge upon me—I like living, actually, and I also like all my body parts and such intact and where they should be—but I just thought I should say it. In case we aren’t on the same page about this.”

It takes almost ten minutes for the spirit to respond. “You are a remarkably irritating man.”

“I’ve been told so once or twice, yes.”

The spirit growls, low enough that it rumbles the floors slightly. “I’m working on it, okay? You think this is easy? I don’t have a fucking body!”

“And you are a remarkably tetchy … whatever it is you are.”

“Well what do you think I am?”

“If I had to guess,” Arthur says, setting his spoon down and retrieving some spices from the cupboard, “I’d say a ghost. Which sounds preposterous, but, well—here we are.”

“Congratulations. Your investigative skills are unparalleled.”

“No need to be rude.”

“There is a need, because I want you to leave.”

“Yes, you said. And I said that I’m still waiting for you to force me out. It appears that we’re at a stalemate.”

“We are not—”

The ghost cuts off with a frustrated noise. “… Fine. So tell me what I have to say to convince you to leave me the fuck alone?”

“I thought you were going to do something. Make me ‘regret it.’ Is that not on the table anymore?”

The ghost’s growl rumbles through the house, and Arthur barely catches the salt shaker before it tips off the counter and onto the floor. “Oh, it is very much still on the table. I just … thought I might be diplomatic first. Give you a chance to leave with your wits and your body intact.”

Arthur sets the salt shaker down on the counter and sighs. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t, so you may as well just give up now.”

There’s a pause, long enough that Arthur assumes the ghost has disappeared to wherever it goes when it’s not yelling at him. Then, just as he’s turning off the stove, the ghost says, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why couldn’t you leave?”

“That’s—honestly none of your business.”

“It is my business if you’re going to be staying here.” A pause. “If I’m going to allow you to stay here,” the ghost amends.

“You’re not ‘allowing’ me to do anything. This is my house—I bought it. It’s my name on the lease.”

“And it’s my bones buried underneath the floorboards, which makes it my house.”

That’s a … disquieting image. Arthur tries to put it out of his mind as he begins ladling soup into his bowl. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to share then. It’ll be our house.”

The spirit doesn’t say anything—just growls lowly, like it’s not pleased by the prospect but can’t think of a good argument against it.

“Oh, don’t be like that. It’ll be an adjustment for both of us. You’ll have to get used to having me around, and I’ll have to get used to talking to an invisible, intangible voice that I’m still not entirely convinced isn’t only in my head.”

“I assure you, I am very much real.”

“That is what a voice that’s only in my head would say, so I’m afraid I can’t put much stock in it.”

“You are infuriating. Get out of my fucking house.”

“I told you, I can’t.” Arthur collects his soup and sits down at the kitchen table—a round wooden thing that looks to be centuries old. “This is just how it’s going to be. I don’t suppose you can eat soup, can you? I’ve certainly made enough to share.”

The spirit’s irritated grumbling is answer enough.

.

.

.

Despite what Arthur likes to tell himself, he is not fearless, and despite what others tell him, he does understand how to be cautious and careful. Unfortunately, that does not equate to being any less stubborn or curious or impulsive or any of the other things that usually land him in situations such as this.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” Arthur snaps, trying to hide the fact that he’s fucking terrified underneath a thick mask of anger and frustration.

The voice comes from everywhere all at once. “Oh, Arthur. I did say you would regret it. You just assumed I’d forgotten.”

“No, I assumed we’d come to an agreement! You know, the one where you let me live in peace and I don’t find a way to exorcise you!”

“I recall agreeing to no such thing.”

“Fucking—bastard.” Arthur takes a few steps forward and promptly bangs his shin against something hard and unforgiving. “Fuck! Okay, that’s enough; give me back my sight you asshole.”

The answering chuckle makes Arthur grit his teeth. “No. I still don’t have a body of my own, so I’ve gotten … creative. This will have to do for now.”

“Do for what?”

A pause. “I want to leave this place.”

Arthur is breathing hard, on a knife’s edge between panic and fury. “What?”

“I want,” the spirit repeats, sounding irritated, “to leave this place. Surely that isn’t too difficult a concept for you to understand.”

“After all this about you wanting me to leave, now you do?”

“This is different. I’m not leaving for good; I’m just … stretching my legs, so to speak. If you’re not going to let me exist in peace, the least you can do it help me get out of this fucking house for the first time in centuries. Consider it … rent.”

“Rent?” Arthur says in disbelief. “Fuck you. You don’t own this house, and you do not own my eyes. Give them back.”

“No.” Then, when Arthur’s breathing starts to come quicker and more ragged: “Relax, Arthur. This isn’t permanent. I can choose to leave your body whenever I want, and everything else besides your eyes still belongs to you.”

“Oh, yes, because that’s reassuring. How do I know you’re ever going to leave at all?”

“You don’t. You’ll just have to trust me when I say that I will.”

“Bullshit.”

“Arthur, listen to me. I am fucking tired of this place. Imagine you’re stuck here, year after year, with no body. No way to leave. Nothing to do but linger at the boundary between life and death and try to let yourself fade enough that the days don’t pass by at an agonizing pace. Forgive me if I’m desperate for a change of scenery.”

“Then why try to force me to leave? Surely having somebody around is better than having nobody?”

“I get a bit … territorial.”

Despite everything, Arthur can’t help but laugh at that. “Territorial?”

“My body is attached to this place, Arthur. I’m tied to it. If it burns, I burn. So yes, I’m a little bit fucking territorial.”

The thought crosses Arthur’s mind, just for a moment, that it wouldn’t be difficult at all to find enough petrol to set the entire place alight within minutes. But it’s not a realistic notion. Aside from the fact that he would be well and truly fucked then, with no savings and nowhere to live, he’s not entirely sure what would happen to him with the ghost still attached to his body. Would it be pulled away cleanly, or would it bring his eyes with it? Best not to risk it.

Besides, it’s … it wouldn’t be the same as killing the ghost, not really, given that it’s already dead. But it certainly feels like killing. And despite all their disagreements and the whole … eye situation, that thought doesn’t sit well with Arthur at all.

“Fine. I suppose that makes sense.” Arthur feels his way along the wall to his couch, sitting heavily and running a hand through his hair. “So … what, then? You’re going to use my eyes to see things?”

“Unless you know some other function that they possess.”

Arthur laughs wryly. “Right. Of course, right. This is … fuck. Okay. I have to go to work in a few minutes and I can’t fucking see, but this is … this is fine.”

“Relax. I’ll guide you.”

How do I know you’re not going to run me into doors for the fun of it? Arthur does not say. He doesn’t want to give the ghost ideas.

They’re halfway to town before a thought occurs to him. “If we’re going to be sharing a body, at least for the time being, I’d like to know your name. You know mine; I feel it’s only fair.”

The ghost is quiet for a long moment, long enough that Arthur begins to worry that it’s gone and he has truly, actually lost his sight. Then, quietly: “I don’t remember.”

“You … don’t remember?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” the ghost snaps. Then, after a moment: “When you’ve spent as much time between worlds as I have, things begin to … slip away. Identity, personhood. I remember … very few things about myself. I was a man, I believe; I think I lived alone, though that’s just an extrapolation based on the fact that as far as I know, I’m the only spirit inhabiting the house. Beyond that…”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says, and he means it.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Still. To not remember anything about oneself? I imagine it’s quite a lonely existence.”

“It … is.”

“Mm. I suppose you’re a John Doe then.”

“A what?”

“Oh, it’s—it’s a moniker given to unidentified individuals, often … deceased ones. John Doe. Sort of a … catch-all name for those who have none.”

The ghost hums. They walk in silence for a few more moments before it—he, Arthur supposes—says, “John.”

“Hmm?”

“My name. You can call me John.”

“Well,” Arthur says, smiling despite the truly unusual situation he’s somehow landed himself in. “It’s nice to meet you, John.”

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Things become … not routine after that, but something close to it. For the first week or so afterward, Arthur wakes in a panic, momentarily forgetting his current situation in a haze of I can’t see why can’t I see oh Jesus Christ oh fucking god. John soothes him every time, which is—a bit strange at first, but Arthur gets used to it. He supposes one can get used to anything with enough time and exposure.

He’s able to move around much more deftly than he thought he’d be able to, largely due to John in his ear guiding him around corners and through doors. (Though the third time Arthur stubs his toe on something, accompanied by John’s deep, rumbling laughter, he begins to suspect that this is John’s way of being humorous.) Perhaps it’s because John has only seen the inside of the same house for hundreds of years, or perhaps the man is a poet at heart, but the descriptions Arthur receives of a town he’d perceived as average at best are nothing short of eloquent.

It’s a … surprisingly endearing quality. Equally as surprising is the fact that Arthur feels endeared in the first place by the ghost possessing his eyes. But it’s…

Well.

He likes John. It’s a feeling that grows over the weeks, despite their frequent arguments and the reality of the situation looming over them and the fact that John can really be a right prick when he wants to be. (Though John would tell him that he can be the same. Has told him, in fact. Many times. They should not be memories that Arthur is fond of, but he is.) Arthur gets the impression that, underneath all the snarls and prickliness, John is … longing for something, something he’s scared he may not ever get. Identity, maybe. Or freedom. It comes out when he talks about his history with the house, when they speculate about who he was, when Arthur takes a trip to the local courthouse and spends an afternoon digging through the records in an attempt to find something that sparks recognition within John. (Nothing does, and John leaves the encounter sullen and snappish. Arthur picks up a book that night and has John read it to him, and that becomes folded into their routine as well, another thread in the tapestry of their relationship.)

In their third week together, fifth since Arthur moved into the house, Arthur tells John about why he came here, to Harper’s Hill. He tells him about Parker and the accident and the trials and the near bankruptcy. He’s not sure how he expected John to respond—with a joke? With a half-hearted platitude? With a dismissive comment? He didn’t expect John to say, “I’m … sorry I tried to force you to leave,” more earnest than Arthur’s ever heard him before.

Something in Arthur’s chest tightened at the words, refusing to loosen even as the weeks rolled on. 

It all comes together a few months after Arthur moved to Harper’s Hill, when Mr. Abernathy makes a comment about Arthur ‘spending so much time talking to himself.’ Arthur, who had genuinely forgotten that that was something other people might take note of, makes up an excuse about it helping him focus and ignores John’s hissed, Don’t tell him about me! because, Of course I’m not going to tell him about you, John, come off it.

Mr. Abernathy doesn’t look entirely convinced, but all he says before returning to the back storage room is, “You ought to find some friends, Mr. Lester. It can get awfully lonely talking to yourself all the time.”

And when Arthur has to bite back an, I’ve already got a friend, it clicks.

John is his friend. His best friend. They’re closer than perhaps even he and Parker had been, which is … a thought Arthur decides not to linger on, given that Parker’s death is still a bit of a raw subject for him. It’s something Arthur doesn’t put much stock in at first, because as well as they got on once the initial hostility faded, John is still technically possessing his body against his will.

… Is it against his will anymore?

(That’s another thought Arthur tries not to examine too closely.)

Still, he can’t seem to forget about it once it’s occurred to him. So one night after they’ve shut their book—Gulliver’s Travels, which John had picked out from the bookshop after significant needling from Arthur to just pick a fucking book, John, for Christ’s sake—Arthur decides fuck it and broaches the subject. “John, can we … can we have a discussion?”

“Of course,” John says. If he has any indication of what Arthur means, he doesn’t show it in his voice.

“Right. I wanted to talk about … my eyes. Our eyes.”

John’s voice is guarded when he says, “What about them?”

“I’m not—asking you to leave if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried. Why would I be worried? The leaving will be on my terms, not yours.” A pause. “If you’re worried, I assure you, I still have no intentions of making this a permanent situation.”

“Right. No, yes, you’re right—this isn’t permanent.” Arthur laughs, a bit wryly. “Honestly, though, I—I can’t really remember clearly what it was like to be able to see things, it’s been so long. I’ve … grown used to it.”

“Have you.” John doesn’t sound judgmental or skeptical—just a touch curious.

“Yes. I suppose one can get used to anything given the right motivations. But, regardless, that … that wasn’t what I meant either.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I—I suppose I meant that…” Arthur hesitates, considering. This isn’t something he can un-say, and he wants to be sure of it. “I suppose I meant that I am … glad to have met you. We’ve come a long way since our first meeting, I believe, and I … I don’t know. I think we get on well, don’t you?”

“I suppose we do. Arthur, if you are trying to tell me something, would you please just quit dancing around it and just say it?”

“Right, yes, of course. Well, you know that it was … difficult to adjust at first, to not having my sight. There are times when we still don’t quite see eye to eye—er, no pun intended. There are things I miss—not being able to see the sunrise, for example, or needing the illustrations in books described to me—but there are also things I … I have come to appreciate, like the way a book feels when read aloud and the nuances of the sounds around me. And I do mean it when I say that I would rather this not be a permanent situation, I do, but I also…”

“Arthur, for fuck’s sake, just say it.”

“You can have my eyes,” Arthur says, all at once, like an exhalation.

There is a long pause, during which all Arthur can hear is the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears. Then: “What?”

“You can have my eyes,” Arthur repeats, steadier, surer of himself. “If you’d like. Perhaps when we’re here, in the house, I could … we could separate, as you’re able to exist on your own, but for the rest of it … I’m willing to be this for you. Your way to be a part of the world outside of this place.”

“You’re … you’re sure?” John sounds hesitant. “Arthur, this isn’t a decision that you should make lightly. Taking possession of your eyes the first time, it … it took most of my strength. I likely would not be able to do it again by force should you find some way to cast me out. But if you are willing, it…”

John trails off. “If you give me permission,” he says slowly, “I will be able to repossess you any time you are in this house. You cannot take it back. You may … you may come to regret it.”

“Maybe,” Arthur concedes. “Maybe not. But honestly, John, it’s been some time since I felt genuinely disquieted by your presence. Perhaps if you had some control over the rest of my body, I might feel differently, but even if I did come to regret it … my will and actions would still be my own.”

“But not your sight.”

“No, not my sight. In any case, it doesn’t matter, because I don’t believe I’ll regret it.”

“You cannot possibly know that.”

“No, but I know you.”

“Do you? We don’t even know my real name, Arthur. We know nothing about me.”

“I know that you like to read,” Arthur counters. “All kinds of books, but with a particular soft spot for adventure and happy endings. I know that your favorite spot in town is the bluffs overlooking the lake because you like the blue of the water and the way the wind stings your eyes when it’s strong enough. I know that your favorite flavor of ice cream is strawberry because, even though you can’t taste it, you like the color of it, the vibrant pink. I know that you snap when you’re upset or scared and that you regret hurtful things immediately after you say them but double down regardless because sometimes your conviction in yourself is all you have to defend yourself with. I know that you care about other people—the lady who lives next door whose flowers you admire, the elderly woman struggling with her groceries just the other day who you insisted we help, the young boy who nearly fell off the cliffs while chasing after his dog last week and would have done so had we not stopped him in time.

“And,” Arthur says, feeling all at once terribly vulnerable, “I know that you’re my friend. I trust you. You … you mean a lot to me, John. I can only hope that you may feel the same.”

There are a few beats of silence, during which Arthur worries his thumbs along the edges of the book pages. Then, softly: “You are my friend as well, Arthur. If you’re sure about this—"

“I am.”

“—then … all right.”

Arthur isn’t quite sure how to describe what happens then—a tingling feeling deep in his skull, a sensation not unlike that of falling off a very tall cliff. Then, between one blink and the next, his world—for so long nothing but nothingness—explodes into color so bright he’s blinded by it.

“Ah!” Arthur presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, but he can still see the light-shadow of the lamplight burned into his corneas. “Fucking hell, John.”

John chuckles, low and rumbling. “My apologies.”

“You might at least try to sound more convincing,” Arthur grouses. “Fuck. Where’s the switch? For the lamp.”

“To your left—no, your other left, Arthur. A bit higher—yes, you’ve got it.”

The lightbleed from behind his eyelids vanishes as he flicks the lamp off. Arthur tentatively opens his eyes again to darkness—not pure black like has been his reality for the past few months, but close enough that it’s familiar.

“Well?” John says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from everywhere at once yet also like he’s speaking directly into Arthur’s ear. It’s exactly the same as it’s always been, like nothing has changed at all, and Arthur smiles.

“Come on,” he says, standing up and heading toward the door that leads to the porch, where he knows John will be able to follow. “Let’s go look at the stars. Perhaps you can describe them to me.”

“But you’ll be able to see them yourself.”

“True.”

“Then why—”

“Humor me.” Arthur opens the door and steps out onto the porch. He sits on a wooden swinging bench set up near the edge, padded with worn pillows. They’d bought them second-hand a few weeks after John became Arthur’s eyes, so he’s never seen the faded, cherry-red hue in person. It’s somehow duller than he’d expected, and he doesn’t think it’s a consequence of the faintness of the moon and starlight. “Well?”

John sighs, in that exasperated way that Arthur knows by now hides fondness. “Fine. Above us lies the night sky, black at its center and tinged blue around the horizon where the light of the sun still bleeds into it. The stars are many, forming glittering white constellations that overlap one another and create an impression not unlike that of a river, or perhaps an ocean. To our left, a purple nebulous cloud can be seen, glowing a pale yellow near its center, like there is a great storm brewing somewhere deep in the cosmos. To our right lies…”

As John continues to speak, describing the world around him like it’s something wondrous, Arthur closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and smiles.

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x reader (part 7)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 2.5k

warnings: um just implied smut and fluff and a reference to bdsm I guess?? but it's pretty chill overall

Liked by starkcosmetics and others

y/n.y/l/n okay first of all, it takes an act of god to get a picture of this guy smiling, but it’s always worth it.  he really changed everything for me and I can’t thank him enough for that.  so happy ❤️ 

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caroldanvers 😍😍😍

flowercrowny/n oh my god this is so sweet i’m gonna cry

1 HOUR AGO

He smiled as he stared down at the post you’d made, remembering how much effort you’d put into finding the perfect picture (in your opinion; he thought he looked kinda dopey in it) as well as writing and re-writing your caption.

The speed at which your post gained likes and comments was inconceivable to him; even more impressive was the speed at which gossip rags were picking up the story.  Sure enough, his phone’s alerts to new headlines about you were not only going off like crazy, but had started to include news about himself as well.  

Y/N Y/L/N Shocks With Romantic Instagram Post, Confirms Dating Rumors

You’ll Never Guess Which Hollywood Starlet Is Dating Her Driver

Who is James Barnes?  Everything We Know About Y/N Y/L/N’s New Beau

Skimming one of the articles, he was impressed at how much information they’d managed to get without actually getting anything from you or him.  Born in Brooklyn, disabled Army veteran, worked a list of odd jobs before becoming your driver and bodyguard.  ‘No social media presence, prefers to keep a low profile’ one of them said; you can say that again, Bucky chuckled to himself when he read it.

He found another from People and didn’t particularly appreciate that it spent half the time going through all your past exes and rumored partners (turned out ‘rumored’ is a fancy word for ‘a bunch of fans deluded themselves so hard that it somehow turned into news without any proof necessary’).  But he still smiled when he got to the part that was actually about you and him.

‘The relationship is pretty new but they’re so happy together,’  a source close to the couple reported.  

Close indeed; that statement came from your publicist, who he’d never even meet.  

‘He’s a very private guy and she’s got this huge following, so they’re sort of an odd couple in that way, but she knows her fans are respectful and will let them have their own life outside of the spotlight.’ 

Bucky wasn’t sure that the respectfulness of fans was such a given here, but he hoped you were right.  To be fair, they’d been very sweet on your original post insofar. 

However, when he scrolled to the bottom of the celebrity magazine articles and realized they had their own comments section, he discovered that they were a little less forgiving than the ones on your Instagram.  

Is this the best she thinks she can do?  So sad tbh :(

a military guy…. yikes, she could get any guy she wants and she goes for a murderer. 

He looks like a hobo that found a coupon for a free haircut lol

I don’t buy it, I know she’ll always love Pietro!

Pietro being your former co-star that so many of your fans were convinced was actually your soulmate.  From what he’d heard from you, those speculations had made things so uncomfortable between the two of you that it killed your friendship.  Those were nothing, though, compared to the comments about someone you actually had dated.

she’s obviously not over sam… they were so good together

He’d better watch out for her ex, he still likes tweets about her and they have so much chemistry

Wait, she’s not still with Sam Wilson??  I could’ve sworn they’d been dating for, like, five years.

You were scrolling through your phone with a smile as you walked past where he was sitting on the couch, and he just couldn’t help himself from asking even though he knew it wasn’t the best idea.  “Do I need to worry about this Sam thing?” he blurted out, trying to play it cool and not sound too anxious.  “People are really obsessed with you two…”

“Sam and I…” you sighed, staring off into space for a second.  He made himself anxious imagining what you were thinking about in that moment.  “I haven’t talked to him in… years?  I think it’s just because our relationship was so public that people are still talking about it.  And it had a lot of gossip material— we did a movie together, people thought it was sweet that we got together during production, it was great promotion for the picture… and from the outside, we made a lot of sense for each other.  But he has his own problems.  I loved him, but… he wasn’t ever going to be a one-girl kinda guy.”

“But you’re not just any one girl.  You’re… you know, you,” he emphasized.

“You’ve been reading too many headlines,” you shook your head as you sat down beside him.  “Please don’t turn into one of those guys who thinks of me as a celebrity first.  Before that—” you pointed to your own name where it was bolded on his screen in the trending topics page of Twitter— “was popping up on movie posters and in gossip magazines, it was just my name.  And I’m not perfect.  Not even close.”

Bucky sighed and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him and holding you tightly.  “And before I knew you were famous, or rich, or incredibly talented, I was totally obsessed with you just for who you are.”

“You’re too fucking amazing,” you sighed as you held his face and gave him a gentle kiss— the kind of kiss that instantly melted his heart and banished his worries.  When you pulled back and looked up at him with a smile, it was like everything else just… faded away.  “Don’t read the comments, okay?  None of them matter.”

He smiled and brushed his thumb over your cheek, overwhelmed by not only the softness of your skin but of your spirit as well.  In all his life he’d never been handled so… gently, with so much care.  “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbled, not even really realizing he’d said it aloud until you gave him a beaming smile.

“I can’t believe you’re my boyfriend,” you giggled pridefully.

“Seriously?  I can… very easily believe it,” he scoffed.

“I just mean… you’re so…” you searched for the words.  “You’re actually good to me, that’s the thing.  I’m not used to that.”

“You deserve the world,” he assured.  “I’m just gonna keep trying to give you as much of it as I can find.”

He watched his hand trail over your face, down your neck and to your chest where he played with the hem of your t-shirt.

"It's odd to know there are millions of people who are jealous of me,” he admitted quietly, remembering some aggressive comments from some very angry dudes who had apparently also watched your nude scene a few too many times.

"Do you like it?  Do you like how it feels to know you're making them angry every time you touch me?"

"Couldn't care less," he refuted.  "Nobody else matters when I'm touchin' you."

“Do you maybe wanna… touch me a little more about it?” you smirked, opening your legs slightly in invitation.

“Always.”

//

Bucky had, thankfully, not let the newfound fame get to his head.  In fact, he had demanded that the two of you hunker down in the house, since he feared that going out would lead to being recognized.  What he apparently hadn’t anticipated was that that might not be enough.

“Will you get that?” you requested when the gate buzzed, too wrapped up in the book you were reading to answer the intercom.

He hopped up and held down the button to communicate with the gate speaker.  “Who is it?” he asked.

“I’ve got a delivery from Anjappar Chettinad on 23rd?”

Bucky didn’t even reply before hitting the green button and granting access to the driveway.  BEEP BEEP BEEP! you heard the gate signal its opening, and the car pulling around up to the door.  Bucky didn’t open it until there was a knock, greeting the delivery guy with a smile and the necessary cash.

“I’ve got a lamb korma, hyderabadi mutton dum biryani and an order of— woah,” the man suddenly stopped, staring at Bucky’s face.  “Are you—?’

“Hungry?  Yes,” he frowned.

“You’re the guy dating— holy shit, congrats man,” he beamed, smacking Bucky on the shoulder pridefully before leaning in with a mischievous smirk.  “Say, is she a freak or what?”

“She is,” you piped up from the couch, making both men turn their heads; but one was chuckling while the other looked mortified.  “You better not have forgotten my paneer pakora or I’m gonna chain you up and whip you.”

“Uh, I— no, I got it right here,” he promised weakly, handing the bag over to Bucky and starting to dash away before Bucky grabbed his arm, making the smaller man whimper fearfully.

“You forgot the money,” Bucky reminded him gruffly, stuffing the bills into the driver’s front pocket.

Finally, he let go, and the delivery man instantly pulled away, rubbing his arm and looking a bit like a kicked puppy as he went back to his car and drove away.

“You didn’t need to scare him that bad,” Bucky chuckled.

“I could say the same to you!  Grabbing somebody with the metal arm like that will put the fear of God into them pretty fast.”

“I didn’t mean to grab him that hard,” he admitted, examining the prosthetic hand as he came back to the couch with the bag of food, handing it to you while he focused on watching his motorized fingers curl and uncurl.  “I think I need to get this thing recalibrated… it’s been bugging out lately.”

“I dunno, it was working just fine last night,” you smiled, remembering how delightfully cool those fingers felt inside you.

Bucky seemed to miss it entirely, though, as he stared off into space.  “I can’t believe I got… recognized.”

“You’re a star,” you winked.  “And not just with random delivery drivers.  I’ve had a lot of press requests, everybody wants to be the first one to get nice pictures of us together— we’ve had a dozen event invites as a couple.”

“Seriously?!” he scoffed, snapping back to reality slightly enough 

“Yeah, and look what came in same-day mail this morning!”  You leaned over to shuffle through the mail on the side table before finding and handing him a letter in a gold-embossed envelope, watching him read what you knew was inside.

The Hollywood Foreign Press Association extends an invitation to Y/N Y/L/N and James Barnes to the annual Grant Banquet in support of the Young Artists Fund.

“It seems like a good first event for us,” you explained.  “Relatively small and low stakes, it’s for a good cause…”

“Are you sure I’m ready to be, you know… seen?  By people?” 

You scoffed, hardly believing how insecure he could be sometimes.  “You look great, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Will I have to talk to anybody other than you?” he asked, grimacing as if that were a form of brutal torture.

“Probably,” you admitted.

His frown deepened.  “What if I say the wrong thing?”

“I’m not that worried about you,” you smirked.  “You’re a lot better at this stuff than you think you are.”

“I don’t have anything to wear…”

You smirked, a little too proud of yourself, when you remembered the email your publicist had forwarded to you just this morning.  “Hugo Boss will pay you $1500 to wear one of their suits on the carpet.”

“They’ll pay me to wear free clothes?” he repeated with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that’s one of the cooler things about fame,” you laughed.  “I make a grand every time I wear this watch outside!”

“I guess I should send them my measurements then…” he trailed off.  “Any chance I can get in on that watch deal?”

“No, but you can make $50 by getting papped at Jamba Juice.”

He paused for a moment, scratching the back of his neck as he thought.  “Is the smoothie comped?”

“I don’t know.  Do you want me to ask?”

“...kinda…” he admitted with a shy smile.  

“Well, I will, and I’ll RSVP to this invite saying we’ll be there next week,” you decided as you started to open up the food, but Bucky stopped you by reaching for your hands.

“Are we really doing this?” he asked.

“If you want to,” you mitigated.

“Of course I do.  I guess I have to accept that you’re actually willing to be seen with me,” he chuckled.  “It’s just sort of hard to believe.”

You leaned in and kissed him; it was meant to be a casual, reassuring peck but he held you closer and you melted into him, moaning softly at his touch as you started to climb into his lap.

“The food’s gonna get cold,” he reminded you with a mumble against your lips.

Unfortunately, your literal hunger was a bit too strong to ignore, even with the growing intensity of a metaphorical hunger for Bucky.  “Alright,” you relented, getting off of him and returning your attention to the meal on the table.  “Just know that I really, really want to be seen together, in public, just in case anybody missed the news about us already.  I’m not embarrassed by you or afraid you’re going to do something dumb.  I…”

One of those words that can’t be unsaid started to bubble up in your throat and you coughed, banishing the thought.

“I really like you.  I think we have something special.”

He smiled gently, giving you one more kiss on the cheek.  “I think so, too.”

//

Since this was slightly less of a big deal than a premiere or press tour, you had managed to convince your styling team to let you dress yourself, which was why he was laying on the bed and talking to you through the bathroom door while you put on your gown.

“Do you want me to hire a new driver?” you prompted him, voice muffled slightly as he imagined your head covered in the fabric, trying to navigate through the dress.  “I don’t want you to feel… I don’t know, like a servant?”

“A servant?  You’re still paying me,” he reminded you.  “You are still paying me, right?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but still, I would hate it if you felt like staff.  You’re my boyfriend!”

(His heart still fluttered every time you said it.)

“No new driver,” he decided.  “I can drive just fine, and considering how things went between us… let’s not open the door for anybody else,” he smirked, making you laugh in that way you did when he made a stupid joke but you still liked it somehow.

“Okay, sure, but what about being my bodyguard?  Is that too weird?” you continued.

“God no,” he scoffed, “if anything I’m gonna be better at my job than ever.  As your boyfriend, keeping you safe is my job, but since keeping you safe was already my job… it’s, like, doubled-up now.”

He lost his train of thought when you opened the door.

“How do I look?” you asked as you stepped in and gave him a spin in your new dress.  Your whole body was draped in red silk, with the exception of your back which was almost entirely exposed, as if it were begging him to run his fingers down your spine.

“Like everything I ever wanted,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

And it was so odd that you questioned his desire to drive you, because those moments where he could steer with one hand and rest the other on your thigh, when he could catch a glimpse of you looking out the window at the city rolling by, when he got to listen to you ramble about something to kill the time during a drive; those were his favorite moments, and he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

After a relatively brief trip, you arrived at the venue, and all of a sudden he was doing what he’d fantasized about more than he’d like to admit: escorting you down a red carpet.  It was almost overwhelming— yelling, chattering, reporters speaking into camera, flashes going off in every direction—

“Hey,” you whispered, bringing your hand up to his cheek and instantly taking all his attention.

“Hey,” he returned.

“Just follow my lead,” you instructed.

“That was the plan.”

[imerdwarf]

You're Worth Saving

Requested by anonymous: Hello you wonderful person! I dare to send in another Buck request, because COME ON HE'S SO LOVELY! ok ok, so maybe where you're also an avenger but you are really silent and distant to everyone (not shy, but alone with your mind), so it happens that buck wants to pull you out of this hole cause he knows how you feel and in the end he succeeds and the teams sees you smile for like the first time since you joined them and they're happy? Gosh i hope this is not weird.

Pairing: Bucky X Avenger!Reader

Warnings: soft!Bucky, introvertism, happy ending 💜

Author's Notes: Hello YOU wonderful sweet anon! How are you doing today? I hope you're doing great. Thank you so much for sending me this wonderful request, I really hope you like it and please feel free to send in more requests at anytime! 💜 Please let me know if you like or hate this, I'll be happy to rewrite it 💜🥺

Divider was made by me 🥰

Your mind was such a beautiful distraction. It's a place where unimaginable scenarios would be stored just for you to be able to stare at a blank wall and dwell heavily on them. Living 99% of the time in your head became a little dangerous but it was a much happier place than reality.

The team would often find you in this daze like state where you'd just stare at the wall ahead without blinking sometimes. They would try to coax you out of it by asking a question, a question you would ignore because you didn't hear them. Their voices were silenced, a contrast to how loud they were in your head.

Nobody really knew why you were like this. It's been this way since you arrived at the compound months ago. You kept to yourself, ate by yourself, worked out when everyone else was either watching movies or asleep, and you would just keep silent. Even on missions, you never spoke a word.

The team were actually very worried about your well-being, as clearly this was not natural. For the first time since the civil war broke out, Steve and Tony were actually in agreement about bringing a psychiatrist in to help you until Bucky intervened and wanted to help you himself first.

Bucky would have considered himself a professional by now. He knows what it's like not to fit in anywhere, how easy it was to feel so out of place. He understood more than any psychiatrist what a better and safer world it was inside your mind.

"Buck you can't help them. Y/N is too far gone." Steve spoke regrettably, sadness evident in his tone. He believed they failed you from the beginning and it was easy for Steve to take the blame so nobody else would have to feel guilty.

Bucky shook his head before he ran a hand through his hair, scratching at the root before letting it drop down by his side again. "I have to try Steve. I've been there before, I know what they are going through. Trust me."

Steve sighed, knowing he wouldn't have won the fight. Bucky was determined and it was impossible to change his mind about anything.

"I do Buck. Just bring them back to us, please."

With Steve's permission granted, Bucky wasted no time in getting to work. He started off being as subtle as possible by sitting as close as he could to you on the couch. The goosebumps that pebbled your skin when his knee brushed your leg gave him a lot of hope, that you were in there somewhere.

Bucky was hopeful he was getting somewhere with you. Because each time he took a seat next to you, you'd angle your body to face him and wait for him to start talking about his favourite movies, his favourite songs, his new profound hobbies he's been getting into lately. Your eyes would glisten with hope that you were actually listening to him. And you were, you paid great attention and everything he told you, about the Hobbit struck a chord in your heart. You had felt so lost for so long that even you were worried you might not be here anymore.

Then a few days later, he started to talk to you like a normal person. He would talk about his favourite books and why he liked them so much. He loved The Hobbit series because of the adventure Bilbo goes on and how easy it was for the words to suck you into the story. How easy it was to forget how to cope with real life.

"Bilbo goes on an adventure of a lifetime and sometimes as the road gets tough, he regrets it but he knows there is something worth waiting for at the end of it, he knows there is something worth saving. He meets new friends and they stick with him the whole time." The emotion in Bucky's voice rang home for you. "There's always something to live for. Bilbo never gave up and neither should you because I'm with you till the end of the line."

You knew he was saying 'if Bilbo Baggins could do this, so could you.'

Days turned into weeks and instead of just talking, Bucky escalated his plans by doing stuff with you. He started off gently by taking you for a walk around the rose garden Tony had at the back of the compound. Bucky noted how your eyes changed, you looked at the gorgeous fruit trees and rose bushes in such awe. The flowery scent tingled your nose.

Then he would go further by taking you a few blocks away to buy you a coffee. And when New York was hit with a heatwave, he took you to the beach where he heard you giggle for the very time because of the flamingo floaties he had around his arms.

The team saw a huge improvement. They saw how you clinged to Bucky and watched him intently as he made a couple of sandwiches and some tea for the two of you to watch with a Disney movie.

And it was just under a month when he heard you speak for the very first time.

"Thank you." Even though it came out in a hushed whisper, he would take it over the deafening silence anyday.

"For what doll?" Of course he already knew, but he wanted to hear more from you. He wanted to hear your voice.

"For helping me."

Bucky nodded slowly, a smile gradually grew on his lips and he pushed just a little bit further.

That evening, you almost talked his ear off. You opened up about your feelings, what kind of envisions lived in your head and how much happier they were than real life. Bucky shared some of his too, comparing the two it was apparent he knew exactly how you were feeling and he understood just how scary it really is. For you, it felt like this huge boulder had been lifted off your chest. A chance to finally let everything out and breathe again.

"How did I help?"

"You made me realise that there is something worth sticking around for, something worth coming back to." You told him with tears in your eyes.

His hands rubbed your back soothingly, "You know doll, sometimes in life, we hit a crossroads. We don't know where we are going or what's on the other side of the road. And if you pick a path, you're going on new adventures everyday and I am right here with you." Tears shamelessly rolled down your cheeks from his words. You've never felt so safe in the whole time you've been here.

The morning after, the team were seated around the dining table eating breakfast and talking about an upcoming mission when you strolled through the doors with a grin on your face and Bucky right behind you, just like he had been throughout this ordeal.

"Holy shit. He did it!" Tony slapped a hand over his mouth, overjoyed with so much emotion. Steve nodded to his friend, proud of him that he stuck with it when it couldn't have been easy.

"Oh my god, you actually have teeth!" Sam joked which earned laughs from both you and the team.

"I do!" You giggled, your eyes squeezed shut as you laughed. It felt good to laugh. "I um, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the distance and the silence and-"

"Listen, don't you worry!" Tony told you as he walked towards you to throw an arm over your shoulder. "We are just glad to have you here and it's a new day, we can start afresh!" Tony walked you towards an empty chair at the table and made Sam move seats so Bucky could sit down next to you. He squeezed your thigh in reassurance that he was here for you and he wouldn't be going anywhere.

[missymurphy1985]

Nobody's Perfect (part2)

The aftermath of your apparent one night stand with Cillian Murphy.

Warnings - smut / angst / language

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x

The hangover was pretty mild compared to the absolute shame you felt walking onset that afternoon. Not only did Cillian simply discard you after he had his way with you, now you had to face him in an intimate scene. Well, as intimate as Clara Rose being fucked over a desk by Tommy Shelby can be...

Paul greeted you with a warm smile, which you didn't expect, surely the whole set would be laughing at you?

"Y/n! Where did you disappear off to last night?" He hugged you and you walked over to the canteen area together, one eye over the whole set checking whether he was here yet.

"Oh, I think I just had one too many.. once my head hit the pillow I was out like a light!" You lied, convincingly. Well, you were an actress...

"Cillian said it wasn't difficult to get you into bed!"

"What?!" You nearly got whiplash from the sudden neck movement.

"You were so drunk, you were practically asleep before you got there!" Your face softened in relief. Paul was one of his closest friends onset. If he hadn't told him, maybe no one else knew..

"Yeah, didn't put up much of a fight, did you love?" That voice appeared out of nowhere behind you both and you couldn't help your hands shaking a little.

You smiled, gritting your teeth.

"Bet you weren't feeling too hot this morning?" Oh when was he going to shut up... "Bit sore?"

"I felt fine thank you." You forced a smile and turned your back on him before walking over to Sophie and Natasha to get a coffee and some adult, non-innuendo conversation, leaving Cillian and Paul to head to makeup to get ready for their scenes.

You forced it down enough that Tash and Sophie didn't notice anything untoward. Before long, the director was calling you to get ready and your heart sank - THAT scene. Brilliant.

The set was closed to everyone except you, Cillian and the directors due to the 'sexual nature' of it, and you were casually sat leaning against the desk waiting for Tommy Shelby to make his way over. The sooner this was over, the better. A few moments passed before he made his way over. You didn't speak as he sat on the chair next in front of you, both of you in full costume.

"Can we at least be professional?" You asked, breaking the silence.

"It was just sex y/n," he chuckled making your blood boil. The directors came onto the set and took you both to the side explaining what they needed. These scenes were never fully choreographed - it was down to the actors to know their characters well enough to just run with it.

You both got into position, ready for the call of Action. You, dress hitched over your waist bent over the desk, Cillian behind you ready to go. One of his hands on your waist, the other on your lower back. You could feel him rubbing the skin there gently, as if he was trying to make you feel more comfortable.. but as quick as it started, it stopped. The director called Action and the pounding began.

Once the 'climaxes' had been reached, he 'removed' himself from you and you straightened yourself out, turning to face him. The cameras still rolling, the scene wasn't done. But the script couldn't have been more perfect.

"Better, Mr Shelby?" You asked, as Clara.

"Much. Thank you Clara, you can see yourself out, eh?"

"Does this life satisfy you, Tommy? A different girl every week? Just mere objects for you to get your end away... Never spare a thought for them do you? They're just there to what, serve a purpose I guess? How many was it this month, huh, do you even know?" A pause, his gaze never left yours. You weren't talking to Tommy now, and he knew it. Finally he took a deep breath and pointed behind you.

"The door's over there."

Your eyes watered. Unscripted, but the director didn't call cut... You bit your lip and headed out the door.

"CUT! Jesus y/n, you nearly had ME welling up.. that last shot was incredible..." You smiled at the director and looked back at Cillian, who was still watching you, a stony expression on his face. Without missing a beat, you walked off set and back to your trailer.

You sat at the table in your trailer with a coffee, closing your eyes and pushing away everything from the last 24 hours. A knock on your door stunned you. You opened it to find Natasha, who saw your red eyes and immediately let herself in, closing the door behind you and pulling you into her arms. Without thinking you allowed your tears to fall. Sobbing almost uncontrollably.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" She asked, easing you onto the sofa and kneeling down in front of you.

"Y/n... Talk to me, you're worrying me.." you took a deep breath and shook your head.

"I'm fine... Just a tough week and... I guess I'm just overwhelmed with it all a bit... you know?"

"Your acting skills are impeccable, y/n, but I'm not buying that for a second," she smiled. "He's an idiot, Y/n... And I should have warned you..."

"Oh god... Everyone knows don't they?"

"Only me. He doesn't know I know. He's a sucker for a nice pair of legs and dark brown hair. When he came back down after taking you to your room, it was written all over his face. That, and he had his t-shirt on inside out." You couldn't help but laugh. Idiot!

"Everyone was wasted - no one else noticed. But when you're on antibiotics and can't drink? You notice it all." Your smile was gone, as you held your head in your hands.

"I can't believe I let it happen.. he must think I'm such a slut.."

"You never had a one night stand before?"

"No, and I wasn't planning on having one with Cillian fucking Murphy either. My GOD he's an arsehole.. how the fuck am I gonna get through the next few months?"

"You hold your head high and walk proud. Kill him with kindness. Nothing more satisfying than letting him think you're not bothered! Come on, you're an actress aren't you? Channel your inner Clara!" She squeezed your hands and smiled.

"Thank you Tash..."

"And your secret is safe with me. Cillian's not the type to go shouting his mouth either don't worry. He's too in love with his reputation." She smirked.

You knew she was right - time to channel your inner Clara.

*******************************************

The next few days went well. Your conversation with Tash played over in your mind every time you felt down about what had happened, making sure you remembered exactly who was in control here - and it certainly wasn't him. You couldn't help but notice him watching you from the other side of a room though, and Tash had certainly noticed him glancing at you when you weren't looking.

You were sat reading in your trailer when the door opened.

"Paul asked me to drop this off, said you left it onset." Cillian's voice filled your trailer as he placed your handbag on the table in front of you.

"Thanks." You looked up and smiled, before returning to your book. He went to speak, but seemed to second guess himself and stayed quiet.

"Door's over there, Cillian." You stood up, moving past him to get to the door to open it for him, brushing your body against him as you did. You felt him tense and smiled internally.

"What are you reading?" You were stood by the now open door, he hadn't moved.

"A book."

"You gonna be like this for the next two months y/n?"

"I don't know what you mean Cillian."

He moved closer to you as if to leave, his body now in front of yours. He held his hand over yours on the door and your breath caught in your throat. Without thinking, you closed the door and his lips were on yours. The kiss soft at first, increasing in intensity as he pushed you against the wall. You lifted one leg up to his waist as he pushed his arousal into your core, making both of you groan at the contact.

"What are you doing to me y/n..." You wanted him, that much was clear.. but your brain suddenly kicked back in and you put your hands on his chest to push him away.

"I'm making you leave.. now.." your breath was heavy, you were turned on beyond belief but you couldn't let him do this to you again. He rested his head against yours and nodded. Without a word, he straightened out the clear erection in his trousers and wrapped his jumper round his waist to hide it, before stroking the side of your face and heading out the door.

[wandsandwheezes]

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH3

one // two

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff.

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // Just a quick one to say a massive thank you for the 800 of you have chosen to follow me and my work! I’m absolutely over the moon and once again I am filled with so many emotions that I don’t know how to process, so once again thank you, frim the bottom of my heart 💕

You were gasping for air, begging to have a moment to let out your sultry moans as the power of your orgasm washed over you. After a gentle shower together earlier, George pulled his old Gryffindor sweater on you, and it lit a fire inside him that was fuelling high, after high, after high, fucking his girl possessively into his sweater, until you were an absolute mess for him.  Only when the garment had served its purpose did it come off again. These were the things George wished he could brag about to his mates, he wished he could quip back when they were talking about how good their sex life was, he wanted to be able to boast about his ability to make you cum over and over again for him. But a part of him was glad he could keep that a secret because he didn't want anyone else picturing your sweet little moans other than him.

The rise and fall of both of your chests as you lay in George's arms, naked skin pressed against each other. Your eyes were still glazed over, still blissed out as you traced small circles on his chest. His large hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly, as he mumbled soft words of praise as his lips pressed into your hair. "You did so good for me princess, Such a good girl for me, what can I get for you? Tea, water, a snack?" 

You pulled him closer, leg still wrapped around his as you did. He was the one who was good to you, this was the intimate side of George that nobody else saw, It made you feel special, unlike you'd ever felt before. "Can we have tea, baby?" he hummed simply, moving to go make it, you whined wanting to pull him closer. "Take me with you." you pouted, making grabby hands at him, he rolled his eyes, still smiling at how needy you could be, as he went to pick you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as you sat attached to his hip.

"Cherry says I have to kiss Fred at the launch." you mumbled, as you heard him flick the kettle on. He sat you up on the counter as he looked at you with all seriousness. "You don't have to do anything you aren't ready to do." he stated it so quickly, turning around to grab some mugs from the cupboard and place them by the kettle. When he faced you again his hands were on your thighs, he caught your lips in a sweet kiss, hoping to brighten your spirits.

"She's your publicist, not a dictator. You're your own person, baby, You set the boundaries." He was so understanding, because he knew there was nothing he could do about the fake relationship between his brother and yourself. It was the one thing out of his control and he'd learned to let it go. He was resting his forehead against yours, just staring into your eyes lovingly, no words needed between the two of you as he waited for the water to boil. He made the tea for you both, carrying the cups upstairs, following behind you as he marvelled at how classic abs beautiful it was to see you walk up the stairs while naked.

Like usual, George woke up early for his shift at the store, today however he climbed back into bed, fully suited and booted for the day, to give you a kiss and a cuddle goodbye. You grumbled as he tried to pull away, "Please stay, Daddy, I need more kisses." he groaned, flipping you over so he could pin your shoulders to the bed, his hair hung in front of his eyes, blocking you from staring into his darkening eyes. "Baby girl, if I wasn't late I'd be ravishing you right now." your fingers pushed through his long hair, pushing it out of his face with a cheeky smile, keeping his head in your hands so you could pepper kisses over his face. "Just your fingers quickly, daddy, please" your hips were bucking up, hoping to catch some release. He contemplated it, one of his hands leaving your shoulder so that his fingertips could trail softly over your hip, ghosting millimetres over your clit, before plunging his first two fingers inside you slowly, using a scissoring motion to stretch you out as he felt the inside of your already dripping cunt, your hips were now bucking against his fingers, trying to chase a release, just as soon as he'd started he was pulling away completely from you, getting up off the bed, suckling his fingers into his mouth. "You taste amazing, I want that cunt dripping for me when I'm home, understand?" you nodded eagerly as pressed a kiss to your swollen lips before apparating to the shop with a fast pop, leaving his tired and needy girl splayed out on his bed. 

After sneaking in a small nap, you awoke to get ready for your day, searching through your bag to find the day's outfit. As you squat down, you realise just how sore your thighs are, you were unsure if that was due to a piss poor stretch after last night's training or the last few evenings with George, you laughed to yourself as you pulled your fresh clothes on. You text George, after making the bed, smiling at the love he always showed you. 

<< My thighs hurt today :(( x

>> I'll pick up some gel from the quidditch shop if you want x

>> on the condition that you let me massage it in later ;) x

<< you're a tease, Georgie, I'll be fine x

>> you're a stubborn git, I'll buy you some anyway x

You took the short walk from George's house to Diagon Alley, the slightly bitter wind ripped past your eyes, but the heat of the gleaming sun made it that little warmer. You text Fred to let him know you were on your way. 

<< I'm not too far away, still up for Coffee? Meet me there x

As soon as you'd walked through the entrance at the leaky cauldron, reporters were on your toes, "What are your plans today, Miss L/N?" you smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Can we expect any more kisses from you and Fred?" You Ignored them all as you took the short walk straight towards the coffee shop. 

Inside Fred's office, the man was just pulling on his coat when George stood in the doorway. "I have a preposition, Freddie." the older twin nodded, waving his hand to allow his brother in, George shutting the door behind him. "I've been thinking about what you said the other day about swapping and I think it would be cool, you know If you wanted to." George was awkwardly scratching behind his neck, eyes trailing to the floor. "I don't know George, I don't think you'd be able to handle the cameras and the couple thing," George huffed a little, "At least just let me give it a try, what about the product launch this weekend." 

Fred squinted his eyes, thinking for a few moments, "I see what you're doing." he stated, George cocked his head to the side in confusion, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "You do?" Fred's chuckle filled the room, "I can read you like a book George, you want a taste of that relationship life, I get it, it sure is lonely with just your hand." The younger of the two was really biting his tongue to stop himself from spilling six years of secrets. His hands clenching a little in his pockets little, but Fred continued, "I'm off on my date, either way, I think If I butter her up correctly, It won't just be my hand I have to use tonight." Fred was still laughing as he left the office, leaving the door ajar as he swiftly made his way out of the shop. 

George was seething, He didn't often have problems with his anger but today was an exception, He muttered to one of the workers that he would be found in his office for emergency only, slamming the door so loud behind him that the clap reverberated through the whole shop, sending the chatter into complete silence for the moment before the laughter erupted again. 

Fred saw you outside the coffee shop, his hand pressed to your lower back as he pulled you into a hug. Cherry insisted that at least once a week there would be a public date that would allow for some publicity, you decided on the coffee shop more often than not because it was a simple way of of showing the press that you did indeed meet outside of press events and helped to give some form of validity to your fake relationship, he pressed a kiss to your temple as you both waited in line, something that was sure to be captured replayed over and over in at least one magazine or paper tomorrow.  

While you and Fred were laughing over coffee and a shared piece of cake, George was replaying the conversation with Fred over and over in his head. He’d ripped up the order forms, the pieces of paper scattered all over the floor, but quite frankly he couldn’t give a fuck, even if the world right now was ending he’d still be focused on the words that spilt so easily from Fred’s lips. It made him sick to his stomach that his twin simply found you to be so easy that you’d give in with a little persuasion, sure if it was George doing the persuading it wouldn’t take more than a kiss and a look, but with anyone else surely you weren't ready to just sink to your knees and give it all up. George was tapping away furiously on his phone, letting you know exactly how he felt. 

“So, how’s training going?” Fred asked, bringing the coffee mug up to his lips, He’d already scraped all of the cream off of the top and was ready to sip on the sweet caramel latte, Fred’s drink choices were a far cry from what George drank, the one time he’d tried a bit of your festive latte some years ago, he promised to never drink one again, sticking to his simple americanos and teas. Fred however, liked to sweeten up his drinks, especially as it drew into winter, you remember a little blush on his cheeks at the irony of the ginger boy asking for a gingerbread latte. You responded to his question with a small shake of your head and a exhaling laugh, “It’s tough, coach works us hard as always, It’s like Oliver and Hooch combined into one - no rest.” he laughs, shaking the image from his thought “I don’t want to think of anything that puts Wood and Hooch in the same person.” you began to laugh with him, your fingers circling over the rim of the coffee cup. Your phone began to buzz, the first one you ignored, but when they kept coming, you picked it up, looking at the messages.

>> I’m fucking fuming right now, Y/N

>> I wish you were here bouncing on my cock with the door wide open for all of the shop to hear

>> You better call your coach and tell her you won’t be going to practice because you’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow. 

>> you’re nothing but a good, pretty little slut for me, aren’t you?

You had to choke down the lump in your throat as you read the messages that were pouring in, getting more and more vulgar as they came. You had absolutely no idea quite what had gotten into George, but nevertheless it made you ache for him. Your stomach felt like it was doing somersaults as you read the latest one. 

>> I’m gonna send you to heaven and back, princess.

>> Remember what I said this morning, I want you to keep that cunt soaked for me. 

You put your phone face down onto the table, taking a deep breath. “Hello… Earth to Y/N?” your eyes snapped up to the man in front of you, seeing Fred waving his hand in front of your face with a laugh. “You okay, love?” You were blinking so slowly, internalising the messages George had sent you, a thousand images of his hands running all over your body, the sounds of harmonising breaths and the feel of open-mouthed kisses against intimate areas of skin. You were squeezing your thighs together out of habit and out of a need for some friction, your mouth had gone completely dry as you tried to croak out a response to Fred. “Oh, yeah, I’m okay Freddie.”

“What was sending your phone off like that?” he questioned, you weren't sure how to tell the curious boy in front of you that his twin brother was telling his girlfriend in detail how he wanted to absolutely rail her, instead opting for a more simple to explain response, “Oh, It’s just Cherry sending outfit ideas for the launch this weekend, you know how she gets…” he nodded in agreement, his hand reaching across the table to hold yours, It was a sweet gesture but something that felt too foreign to be comfortable. “Shall we head back? You offered, spooning the last piece of the cake into your mouth, Fred nodded. 

When you entered the shop, it was too quiet for comfort, you smiled at one of the workers politely as you looked around for any sign of George. When you realised he was nowhere to be seen your eyes settled on Fred who was now shrugging off his jacket, he sighed, as he looked back at you, seeing you lost in your own thoughts once again. His long strides brought him to you quickly, his hands were placed on your shoulders as he stood in front of you. His grip wasn't like your lover's, it was icy and vice-like and for the second time today discomfort fell to the pit of your stomach, It was only when he tilted your chin up and was leaning in that you felt like the coffee and cake that you had eaten was coming back up. Your limbs were forcing you away from the situation as if your fight or flight had just kicked in and suddenly, any ease you once felt around Fred had diminished. 

“Jesus, Y/N, what’s so repulsive about me that you can’t even kiss me!” He was speaking quietly, not wanting to cause a scene, his eyes were glazed over with a sadness you had only seen during the war, he took a deep breath before choking out. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend.” His words hit you like a tonne of bricks, the whole situation felt like a car out of control and suddenly you were in the driver’s seat, there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it, you were waiting for the inevitable crash and burn. 

“But I’m not, am I Freddie?” the nickname you gave him suddenly felt like a dagger straight to the chest, or like a chokehold. He’d been winded, because he realised as he watched you storm out of the shop, that the relationship he had with her was simply a show and he was dumb enough to fall for the ruse. Fred was in love with you. 

///TO BE CONTINUED///  chapter four >>>>

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[marauders-venting]

Our Last Summer (Part 1)

pairing: wolfstar (sirius x remus)

genre: fluff & angst

warnings: none

words: 2267

note: based on the song ‘Our Last Summer’ by ABBA

a/n: this isn’t the whole thing but I haven’t finished it yet and it’s getting really long anyway so I decided to just post it in parts (i know it says fluff & angst and there’s no angst here but be patient it will come)

I can still recall our last summer, I still see it all. Walks along the Seine laughing in the rain, our last summer, memories that remain… I can still recall our last summer, I still see it all. In the tourist jam round the Notre Dame our last summer walking hand in hand

Sirius woke up smiling. Remus’ arm was still draped over him. He turned around and kissed him on the nose.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” Remus groans.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” Remus says, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I like waking up next to you.” Sirius’ smile widened.

“I like waking up next to you too,” he said. He kisses Remus softly before turning to grab his wand off his bedside table and Summoning two cups of tea. He hands one to Remus and then opens the drawer of his bedside table and pulls out a large packet of dark chocolate.

“Happy anniversary,” Sirius says, giving Remus the chocolate.

“Best present ever,” Remus says, taking a bite; Sirius can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“The day is just beginning,” he says, sipping his tea.

“Really? So what do you have planned?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Sirius says mysteriously.

---------

“No way,” Remus said, shaking his head. “There is no fucking way I’m getting on that death trap.”

“Yes you are,” Sirius said, taking his hand and pulling him closer to the motorcycle. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“No,” Remus said. “Why can’t we just Apparate? Or take a taxi?”

“What’s a taxi?” Sirius asked.

“I swear to god, I’ve already told you at least five times,” Remus says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Well, it doesn’t matter because we’re riding my motorcycle,” Sirius said.

“Nope,” Remus said. “Not fucking happening.”

“Please,” Sirius pouted. “It’s not illegal, I have a license. And I promise I won’t fly. I’ll stay on the ground the whole time.” Remus still looked hesitant. “I even customised your helmet myself.” He pulled out a black helmet with ‘Moony’ written on the side in flaming block letters. It brought a little smile to Remus’ face.

“Ugh fine,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “But this is a one-time thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, if you say so,” Sirius said. “Now come.” They climbed on the motorcycle and Remus wrapped his hands around Sirius’ waist. “Normally I would say hold on tight,” Sirius said, “but if you hold any tighter you might just squeeze me to death.”

“And if I don’t hold this tight I might just fall to my death,” Remus replied. “Now shut up and drive; I want to get this over with.”

And suddenly, they’re on the road and holy fuck Remus is terrified. He’s resting his head on Sirius’ shoulder watching the cars around them. He squints his eyes, trying to make everything appear blurry (hoping it’ll make this a little less terrifying) and yes, he’s afraid but he has to admit that the blur of lights from all the cars is actually quite beautiful. That is, until they climb on the highway and Sirius picks up the speed. Now it’s just terrifying. Remus closes his eyes and buries his head in the crook of Sirius’ neck. The smell of Sirius and the feel of his beating pulse calms Remus down a little. He knows Sirius wouldn’t suggest this if it was that dangerous; Sirius would never let anything bad happen to him.

Remus doesn’t open his eyes until he feels them slowing to a stop. When he does finally look around, he finds himself in the parking lot of what looks like a small park.

“Hey,” Sirius says, reaching a hand back and stroking Remus’ thigh. “Are you ok?”

“I’m alive, if that’s what you mean,” Remus says, letting go of Sirius so he can climb off the motorcycle. Sirius helps Remus down and takes his helmet.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Yes, it was that fucking bad,” Remus says. “I’m never riding that thing again.”

“Hey, ‘that thing’ has a name, you know,” Sirius said, arms crossed.

“Right, sorry,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “I’m never riding Elvendork again.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you actually remembered their name,” Sirius said, laughing.

“I can���t believe you actually named your motorcycle,” Remus said. “Now tell me what we’re doing here.”

“Come with me,” Sirius said, pulling him by the hand into the park.

“Where are we?” Remus asks, looking around.

“You’ll see,” Sirius said. He led Remus to the far end of the park where several bushes and trees made a hedge that seemed to show the end of the park. Sirius got on his hands and knees and pushed the plants out of his way as he crawled into the hedge.

“Are you serious right now?” Remus asked. As soon as the word was out of his mouth he regretted it.

“I’m always Sirius,” came the reply. “Now come on.” Remus sighed and crawled through the hedge. When he came out on the other side he saw Sirius sitting on the grass.

“What is this place?” Remus asked, looking around. If he was being honest, it looked like a little heaven. Everything was so green. The grass, the trees, the hedge they came through. It looked like something out of a painting. The colourful flowers from the trees littered the floor; Remus picked one up, walked over to Sirius and put it in his hair.

“I used to come here when I was a kid,” Sirius said, effectively surprising Remus. “I know hardly any of my stories start like that but when I was… 9, I think, my cousin Andromeda was 15. And one summer she came over to our house and she asked my parents if she could take me somewhere. I don’t know what lie she told them but whatever it was they bought it. She brought me here. She told me that a friend of hers at school had shown her this place. His dad was a park ranger and he used to come here all the time as a kid. It was just close enough to my house that we could walk here and we’d spend all day playing here. She even learnt how to use muggle money so she could buy us food.”

“The last time we did it was the year before I started Hogwarts. She was seventeen then. She showed me magic. It was incredible. She did all kinds of spells to make plants grow and stuff. It was awesome. I’d never seen magic so… raw before. It was beautiful. But then she ran away with Ted Tonks and got burnt off the tapestry so there was no way my parents would let me see her. But she wrote to me a few times to tell me to meet her here. That was how I met Ted for the first time. Turns out he was actually the one who showed Andie this place. And I met Nymphadora here as well. I used to come here alone sometimes too. I tried to bring Regulus with me once but he was scared we’d get caught. The only good memories from my childhood… they’re all from this place. I just wanted to show it to you. I mean, you took me to your childhood home but… I mean you’ve seen the Potters’ house a million times. But I guess I wasn’t really a child by the time I moved there. So I guess… I don’t know, I just wanted to share this with you.”

“Thank you,” Remus said, taking Sirius’ hand and pressing his lips to the back of his hand, “for bringing me here, I mean. This place is beautiful. Are you the only one who knows about it?”

“Oh, I doubt it,” Sirius said. “I mean, it’s not very visible but there’s no way that nobody else has ever found this place. But it was always empty whenever I came here. Which wasn’t that often I suppose.” Sirius flopped back onto the grass, dragging Remus with him. They lay on their backs looking at the sky, hands still clasped together.

“It looks like it’s going to rain,” Remus said. Sirius shrugged. It was true; the clouds had been dark all day and the smell of approaching downpour lingered in the air. But Sirius had been keeping his fingers crossed that the rain would wait until later tonight so that he could carry out his plans without any disruption.

“You hungry? We could go get some food if you want. There are muggle shops nearby. But you’ll have to handle the money cause I still have no clue how to do that.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, if Andromeda could learn I’m sure you can too,” Remus said, as they left their little garden of Eden. “Come on, I’ll teach you.” They walked down the street looking for a coffee shop or a food vendor nearby. They found a bakery selling sandwiches so they bought two, Remus bought tea, Sirius bought coffee, and they returned to the hidden corner of the park.

“Do you get how to use the money now?” Remus asked as they walked back.

“You’ve taught me a million times, Moony, it never sticks,” Sirius said. “You just have to resign yourself to the fact that your boyfriend is a dumb bitch, no matter how hot he is.”

“Oh don’t worry, I accepted your lack of intelligence and general common sense a long time ago, Pads,” Remus said, putting an arm around Sirius as they sat back down on the grass, pulling the sandwiches out of the paper bag and laying everything out on the floor in front of them.

“No, no, you’ve got it wrong,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “I am intelligent but I’m still a dumb bitch too.”

“You’re saying you’re an oxymoron?”

“Wait, I never say I was a moron—”

“No, not a moron, an oxymoron.”

“What does that mean?” Sirius asked.

“It’s like something that juxtaposes itself,” Remus said.

“Juxta-what now?” Sirius said. Remus rolled his eyes.

“You need to read more. It’s something that contradicts itself. Phrases like awfully nice or saying that someone was found missing.”

“Oh,” Sirius said. “So yeah, that’s what I’m saying. You’re so smart, Moony. You know so many big words.”

“Literally just pick up a book,” Remus said, laughing and kissing him softly. “I promise, it’ll do you wonders.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

“Oh we’ve circled back to that now, have we?”

---------

That was how they spent most of the day. Talking, laughing, joking, kissing, lying on the grass. It seemed like the day really was going to be perfect. Until it started raining. At first, the drops were light and they weren’t bothered by it, but soon the rain became heavy and loud and they were both getting soaked. Remus didn’t mind getting wet; he had bigger worries on his mind.

“We’re not riding a motorcycle in the rain, are we?” Remus asked, his concern leaking through his voice.

“We can wait for the rain to stop if you like,” Sirius said. “Hey, you know, it’s actually good that we came here on Elvendork because we can cut through the traffic on our way home.”

“What? No, no, no, no, no,” Remus said, shaking his head. “There’s no way that’s safe.”

“It’s perfectly safe, Moony, I’ve done it a million times,” Sirius insisted. “Just keep your eyes closed like you did before. It was cuter like that anyway.” Remus felt himself blush.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said out of the blue. “I didn’t know it would rain.” He looked genuinely upset; Remus wasn’t sure why.

“Of course you didn’t know, Pads,” Remus laughed. “You can’t control the weather. Everything will be fine. We’ll just wait out the rain before riding home.”

“That’s not what I—” Sirius started, “never mind.”

“What is it?” Remus asked, covering Sirius’ hand with his own.

“I just… I wanted everything to be perfect today. I’m sorry I ruined our anniversary.”

“Ruin it? Sirius, what are you talking about? You didn’t ruin anything.”

“But… it’s raining,” Sirius said confused.

“Yes and? Rain is, like, the most romantic thing ever.”

“It is?”

“Once again,” Remus sighed, “I would like to reiterate how desperately you need to read a book.”

“Well, I’m sorry we can’t all be addicted to romance novels.”

“Oh shut up and kiss me.” Sirius laughs and lets his lips meet Remus’. They’re both drenched to the bone but neither one of them could care any less. Sirius’ hand brushes Remus’ cheek as he wraps his arms around Remus’ neck pulling him closer. Remus’ hands are on Sirius’ waist, and they slide down to his hips. Sirius’ shirt had ridden up a bit from lifting his hands to reach Remus’ neck and Remus’ fingertips brush Sirius’ bare skin — which is wet and slippery from the rain — making Sirius shiver and sigh. When they break apart, Sirius brings his lips to Remus’ ear.

“Besides,” he whispers, as Remus runs a hand through Sirius’ wet hair, “who needs romance novels when I’ve got the best romance story in the world.” Remus felt a flutter of pure happiness and smiled. He kissed Sirius’ jaw, right beneath his ear.

“Happy anniversary,” he whispered. Sirius sighed in response. They stand there in the rain, wrapped in each other’s arms, dancing slowly to the sound of the rain splashing and pattering on the leaves of the trees around them.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Thursday 19 July 1932

7 25

11

fine morning F61° at 7 ¾ - breakfast at 9 in ½ hour – then looking over the parcel from Rodgers Sheffield received on Tuesday the razors bistouries etc. all well executed – then looking stone and coal plans etc. and mending my stockings till after eleven - Mr Jeremiah Rawson came at 11 ½ for 25 minutes - asked what I would take for the coal - asked what he would give - no! I must set a price - said I had made up my mind not to take less than my uncle sold it for £230 - for what came out of Trough of Bolland pit and £205 for what was pulled at Willyhill pit - it was well sold - the price frightened him, Mr R- said I was indifferent about selling or not but Hinchcliffe wanted it. It seems Mr R- (Christopher) claims the coal in the waste that Hinchcliffe and co. bought because on offering to buy it could not get a title for the deed had not been registered! I could only say Hinchcliffe had been about my coal only last week, and indeed only yesterday - Mr R- said he merely wanted to have it for fear of competition for his brother (Christopher) had plenty of coal of his own to get - they should be glad to agree with me for the whole for 50 years to pay so much a year £150 or £200 or whatever it was, whether they got the coal or not - they should want to make no roads or pits, unless perhaps an air pit - or might want an engine at Mitholm (oh! oh! Thought I - but took no apparent notice I see what they are about) I merely said I was not inclined to sell in this way - should do more as my uncle had done and be paid for what was got - perhaps I might get the coal myself - I could do it cheap - could have an engine and let off as much power as would pay for it - Mr R- thought I talked too fast - I said it was not my intention to do so and that if they gave me what I asked for the coal they would gain as much more - this he denied - saying they sold at 7d. a corve and the expense was 5d. a corve - I answered that they sold at 8d. a corve and the expense would not be or ought not to be more than 3 ½ a corve - he owned they did

SH:7/ML/E/15/0095

 sell some at 8d. but still maintained that the expense were 5d. a corve - then said I I think I could bear you - there must be something wrong in their work and you had better look narrowly into it - I promised however that I would not sell my coal without 1st letting them know and said that nobody else should have it unless on paying me something more than Messrs. Rawson would pay. He thanked me, and nothing more passed on the subject. Told my father in part and aunt altogether the heads of what had been said – about 12 ½ off with my father to Wellroyde to see George Robinson there and speak about the water – nothing said or not much about what we went for for G.R- full of    Moore the [under] surveyor of the Godley road being sent by Joseph Wilkinson surveyor of the Lower brea branch road? to stop my men making the road for James Smith saying there had been a towns’ meeting in Northowram and it was resolved to send a notice to the commissioners to reopen all the old bridle roads – and that Joseph Wilkinson had sent to let me know – stopt the 2 workmen from doing more than make a good fence wall again the wood as I have  a right to do – Desired George R- to try and get to know if James Smith was at the meeting as I strongly suspected him of being at the bottom of it all – from my having heard that he had neither my father nor I could stop the old bridle road I was going to stop and he would take care that we did not stop it – George R- said yes James S- had said so to Mrs. Robinson – John Mawson was waiting to have his bill paid – sent him up to the hall, and gave him a check on the bank – off down the o.b. to Mr. Parkers’ office – got Pickersgills’ lease, and finding the farm styled Lower Conery got Mr. Parker to make a memorandum on the back stating that it was now called Park farm and so called in the tax books – Mr. P- paid me the £55 – 4/. returned received from Hinchcliffe and co. yesterday – Explained about the Wellroyde and bridle road affair – he advised not applying to the magistrates if there would be opposition, and thought I had better see Joseph Wilkinson – went to the bank and got back on demand for £6.1.9 for Messrs. Joseph Rodgers and sons, but forgot to ask again for my account – then called on Mrs. Veitch and wrote the following ‘Sir – I received the parcel on Tuesday, and am very well satisfied with the manner in which you have executed the order – I remit you, as above, for check on Messrs. Carr Glynn, Halifax and co. the sum of £6.1.9, as the bill of

9 June on penknives.  2.8.0

Ditto ditto 12 July as per order 3.13.9

6.1.9

I am sir, etc. etc.  A Lister Shibden hall – Thursday 19 July 1832’.

put this letter into the P.O. to ‘Messrs. Joseph Rodgers and sons cutlers Sheffield’ – up the o.b. – at Park farm till 6 – Pickels had done the common necessary all wrong – ordered it to be pulled down and done right – dinner at 6 ¼ - wrote all the above of today till 9 ¼ - read over the courier – came to my room at 10 ¼ - fine day – F64 ½° at 10 ¼ p.m.

[a-simple-imagine]

Run Away With Me

Synopsis: Every moment shared with Charlie Weasley is an adventure all it’s own. How you wish to spend every moment together and all it takes is to run away. 

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!reader

Words: 6.3k+

A/N - Every year I post a story on my birthday and today’s the day I turn a year older. Usually these stories are pretty sad but this year I wrote something a little softer so here is my birthday present for you guys, I hope you enjoy it. 

1. A Stolen Kiss

A bright-eyed and clueless young student, excited to be attending a school of magic. Nobody else in your family had magic so it was a big surprise when you received a letter alongside a weird lady who looked like she just stepped out of the early 1920s. Sat between your parents, the older woman explained the entire situation much to your excitement and your parents' confusion.

 Diagon alley had been your first experience of all things magical; it had been like stepping into another world instead of just any old street in London. There were book shops lined with all kinds of books, some were bigger than your head while others were tiny. A shop that sold weird and kinda gross jars full of who knows what. There was a place that only sold brooms but according to the list you had read like a hundred times, first years weren't allowed their own brooms. You spent what felt like a lifetime at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions getting fitted for robes. Your parents were utterly fascinated by all the different styles and kept asking questions that made the experience so much longer than it really needed to be. You'd never had a pet before, but after a lot of begging they let you pick out a cat; he was a small Persian cat. Not quite a kitten but not quite fully grown. Checking off each item as you went along, you were exhausted by the end of it. There was even enough time for a trip to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour where you had enjoyed a cone of strawberries and cream with sprinkles on top. All that was left on your list was a wand. Peeling gold letters rested over the door of a shop that read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. Stepping inside it was a tiny little store with no costumers. Thousands of narrow boxes lined the walls all the way up to the ceiling. It didn't take long for the weird old man to give you a wand that felt warm in your hand. Unlike the other disasters that came at the result of you waving various wands, a stream of red and gold sparks shoot out the end of this one like a mini firework. The wand chooses the wizard whatever the hell that meant. All ready and packed for Hogwarts, you were really giddy to go. Your mother cried as she waved you off to boarding school but you couldn't sit still. The train ride took hours and it was a little lonely considering you didn't know anyone but as soon as you entered the castle you knew it was exactly where you were meant to be. The building was massive and practically oozed magic and mystery through each brick. The pictures, much to your surprise, were moving on their own. Hogwarts had four houses and each student had to sit on a tall stool, put on a funny talking hat which would decide ultimately where they belong.

The very first friend you made was Nymphadora Tonks but only because she was in all of your classes and by some twist of fate you always ended up seated together. She was a sweet girl with pink hair and a talent for mischief. There was never a dull moment with you two. Then there was Charlie Weasley. Ever since that brisk day in October when he had ridden in clumsily on his white horse to save the day, the two of you had been the best of friends. You were still getting used to all your different classes. Potions class, however, was proving the most difficult. Too many ingredients and types to get used to. Not to mention Snape was just... mean. The task had been to prepare a simple Wiggenweld Potion; a powerful healing potion that can be used to heal injuries, or reverse the effects of a Sleeping Draught. The book was open on the desk as you carefully followed the instructions until.... poof. All the confidence you'd gained since arriving disappeared as Snape scolded you in front of everyone for messing up. Charlie had swooped in to take the blame landing himself in late-night detention. On the other hand, you got to leave with your tail between your legs and a few house points shaved off the total. And yet even his small act of kindness wasn't enough to capture your affection at least not at first. For the little version of yourself was infatuated with another Weasley. An older Weasley.

The nerves of a handful of students could be felt by anyone sat in the great hall for breakfast. Tonks is sat beside you running butter over a piece of toast. Stifling a yawn, Charlie takes a seat across from the two of you sporting a jumper of Gryffindor red and gold.

"Good morning," You flash your cheeriest, half-asleep smile bringing your spoon of Cheeri Owls to your lips. "Nervous?"

"A little," He was looking especially pale today suggesting he was more than just a little.

"You should be," Tonks perks up. "It's only the last game of the season and all hope rides on the seeker,"

"No pressure then," Charlie huffs out a dull laugh. The boy excelled in his position as the Gryffindor seeker but there was no way to determine how he'd play today when he was carrying the hopes and dreams of his teammates and entire house.

"You should eat something," You suggest, pushing a bowl of assorted fruit forward. There was little you could to make him feel better except take his spot but that wasn't allowed. You also probably wouldn't be that good. "Might make you feel better?"

"I'm too nervous to eat," He insisted but he still took an apple; rolling the red fruit between his palms.

"Win or lose you're still number one in our heart, right Tonks?" Elbowing her gently, you shovel another spoonful of 'O' shapes into your mouth.

"Sure," she shrugs. "If you want we can jinx the other team's seeker? I've been practising."

"Or... how much time do we have? I can get one of the older students to brew some Felix Felicis." You play along. "Nothing like a little liquid luck to win a game."

"You both know that's not allowed," Charlie took a large bite of his apple.

"When has Tonks ever cared about rules," Sometimes you wish she did care, you probably wouldn't have ended up in detention so many times alongside her.

"Thanks but no," he took another bite. "We have to win fair and square."

The conversation drifted from nerves to lost spells and planned practical jokes. Charlie seemed to relax a little the more he spoke. Maybe all he needed was a distraction to cheer him up.

"We need to take a trip to Hogsmeade" Tonk announces. "I'm out of dungbombs."

"Urgh- you and that silly joke shop." You can't help but roll your eyes but it was all good-natured. Despite hardly ever buying anything yourself, you spent an awful lot of time at Zonko's infamous little joke shop. "I could do with a trip outside the castle though. You should come too Charlie and maybe... you could ask Bill if he wants to come?"

"You're still gushing over Bill," Now it was Tonks turn to elbow you playfully, her lips curling up into a tantalising smirk.

"I do not gush over him," you state firmly, brows knitting together in a frown. You didn't appreciate being made fun. Bill was older, wiser and always made time to show you kindness. He made your little heart flutter whenever you saw him and Tonks took every opportunity to tease you about it. "I just thought It'd be nice is all. Wouldn't you agree, Charlie?"

"If you want him to come, ask him yourself." He responds, taking a large gulp of his juice.

"She won't because she has a crush."

"I don't have a crush Nymphadora- stop it," It was infinitely more embarrassing talking about this with Charlie sat at the table. "Don't ask him then, I don't care."

"Yes you do," Placing her arm around your shoulder, she pulls you into her side. "Because you're in love-"

"I am not!" You snap, pushing out of her grip.

"I'll see you guys later." The two of you share a look as Charlie disappears without another word. It was probably just pregame nerves.

"You know what? I think I'll get some frogspawn soap too and put it in the prefects' bathroom." Typical Tonks.

You'd come to learn through your time at Hogwarts that Quidditch was the most popular sport among wizards. And each house had their own team who compete for a trophy and bragging rights. Today was the final game thankfully. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Apparently, it came down to these two a lot. As the Gryffindor team filter out of the changing rooms, you slip inside to find Charlie sitting on a little bench.

"Guess who?" You sing-song, slapping your hands over his eyes but only briefly. He turns to look at you with an almost sour expression.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to support you," you reply soft, offering a smile he couldn't even see as he turned away.

"You're not supposed to be in here," Had you done something to upset him? Surely not. This was the first time you were seeing him since breakfast so there hadn't been a moment for you to mess things up and yet, his voice held an icy chill.

"Guess Tonks is rubbing off on me?" You jest, looking around the room. It was empty apart from you two. Bags and clothes scattered across benches or half shoved into lockers. A chalkboard stood in the corner with drawings you couldn't understand. "I just wanted to see how you were doing before the big game, is all. We were worried about you."

"You were worried about me," He repeats slowly, looking up at you. "I thought you hated quidditch."

"I still do," Your shoulders rise in a little shrug. "It's silly. Doesn't matter how hard the team works or how many goals it's pretty much all decided by how good the seeker is so why even have goals?"

"Score enough goals before the snitch is caught and anyone could win," He perks up. "You just don't understand how good and exciting it is."

Your lips curl up in appreciation for Charlie Weasley and his love for quidditch. It didn't possess the sparkle that came along when he talks about dragons but it was still nice to see him liven up. "Then go out there and show me how exciting it is,"

You stand under the spotlight of his gaze as he seemingly takes in your choice of attire; wearing the Gryffindor colours with pride to show your support. You even let Tonks paint your face after she promised not to draw genitalia. "Do you really think we're gonna win? What if I mess up and everyone hates me?"

"Then you mess up and everyone hates you," You shrug a little. "But that's not gonna happen and you know why?" His head shakes slowly. "It's because you're the best seeker at this school Charles Weasley." You place your hands on either side of his shoulders. "And I believe in you."

"How does that help me?" With your index finger under his chin, you force him to meet your eyes.

"Because I'm never wrong."

"That doesn't sound right." He tries to look away but you stop him.

"But it is," You offer a reassuring smile; one full of determination. "You've got this Charlie. So come on before you miss the game entirely."

The cheers outside were seemingly growing louder by the second. With a deep breath, Charlie stands up, grabbing his broom. "You're staying to watch, right?"

"Of course. Tonks is up in the stands too." Taking his hand, you lead the way out of the tent. "Consider us your good luck charms." Charlie brings the both of you to an abrupt stop before you even reach the opening of the tent, pulling you back to him. "What's up?"

The peppering of freckles that covered Charlie's face was even more vibrant against the rose pink blush. You squeeze his hand a little hoping it makes him feel better. And then it happens. The crowd grows silent in your ear but only for a moment as Charlie's surprisingly soft lips crash clumsily against yours. "For good luck," his whispers; his hand slipping from yours as he leaves you dumbfounded.

"He okay?" Tonks asks as you return from your trip.

"Yeah... still nervous," You reply, sitting down beside her. "It's his first big game after all."

"Are you okay?" The crowd erupts into cheers as the Gryffindor team flys in first. You're almost too embarrassed to look for Charlie; worried about what you might find so you keep your head down. "You look like you've just seen a troll or something?"

"Mhmm," you hum, forcing yourself to watch the Slytherin team as they enter. Why had Charlie kissed you? Did it mean he liked you or was he just messing around? Your head swirled with possibilities.

"You want a sweet?" Your friend offers as the game finally starts. It takes you a second to register but you smile, reaching into the little bag she was holding only to come to a stop.

"They're not gonna burn my tongue off or something are they?"

"No," Her chuckle sounded a little too innocent but you trust her for some reason. Taking a piece of confectionery out of the paper bag.

"Charlie... kissed me." You announce, throwing the sweet into you mouth; face scrunching up when they turn out to be sour. Ten points to Slytherin as they take the lead.

"He what?"

"He... kissed me."

2. Together

Who was Bill Weasley but a distant playground crush after that day. And your time of classrooms and magic lessons came swiftly to an end; how bittersweet it felt to leave a place you loved dearly. A once naive little girl stepping into the unknown now called the Wizarding World Home. Now you would go on to be a healer which was simply a magical doctor although your parents strongly disagreed with the comparison. However proud they were of you there would always be some part of them that wished you had chosen to become a lawyer or 'real' doctor.

Bathed in the warm embrace of the setting sun, you ponder the tranquility in a bed of green grass. The youngest Weasley lay beside you, struggling to keep still as often children do. She was similar to her brother in that way who now paced back and forth a mere few steps away. The invitation had been for dinner but you arrived a little early. The burrow was always such a welcoming place like stepping into a home you used to live in many moons ago; it was cosy and warm and there was no doubt that many lived there. You found your house to be almost the opposite, it always looked like nobody lived there. Immaculate. Polished. Cold.

"Will you stop pacing, you're making me nervous." You call out to your boyfriend, opening your eyes only to squint at the bright light. "What's wrong with you?"

Charlie comes to a stop as you sit up; Ginny mimics you in sitting up but the boy's eyes stay on you. The longer he stared, the more the pit in your stomach grew; what exactly hid behind his blank expression. He normally possessed such a playful warmth but it seemed to have vanished as of late. Plucking a stray purple flower, you enclose it in the palm of your hands. "You know I love dragons right?"

"Of course," Since meeting him, he had probably managed to slip dragons into every conversation you had ever had. It was at a point where you knew far more about dragons than you ever really cared to know. Many found his obsession annoying because that's what he so obviously was, obsessed but you found it enticing. Charming, even. Opening up your hand, a small butterfly with deep plum-purple wings flutters into the air and onto a giggly Ginny's nose. The innocent glee of a child; how those days were gone for you. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Promise you won't be mad?" It would be foolish to make such a promise when there was no way to guarantee your reaction. Whatever it was must be bad, if he was this worried. Your shoulders rise a little then fall.

"I make no such promises- just tell me."

Charlie took a breath that travelled on the wind to your ears before he blurted out.  "I'm moving to Romania."

"Okay," Is your first reaction while your brain tries to make sense of something it didn't want to hear. "Wait- what?"

"Charlie is moving away to work with big scary dragons," Ginny announces playfully, baring her little hands like claws.

The once small pit grew into a mighty black hole of uncertainty and sadness that threatened to swallow you whole. There had been conversations shared between friends of Charlie wanting to move away to a foreign land, just to finally see a dragon but you had never taken it at face value. Always so convinced it was but a dream rather like those of when you were little and you wished to be a vampire. Technically back then you didn't know they actually existed but still, even now it was never going to come true. Eyes cast upon the second eldest Weasley, he kicks up the grass with his hands buried in the pockets of his pants. "It's the nearest Dragon reserve."

That was something you already knew but it didn't make the decision, at least in your eyes, any less confusing. Instead, it prompted water to well up in your eyes for this was something that affected not only him and his family but your life too. "I... I don't know what to say,"

"Hey Ginny, can you go check if dinner's ready yet?"

"No- why can't you do it?" The bark behind her words was very in character for the fiesty young Weasley. Blinking away the tears, you plaster on the best smile you can muster.

"If you go check on dinner I promise we can play a game later, okay? Exploding snap maybe?"

"Really?" She eyes you suspicious probably because it was a promise you had broken before. Not always for the right reasons but this time it was genuine. Charlie clearly wanted this to be a private conversation or perhaps he was just saving you for the inevitable moment where she asks why you're crying. Ginny scrambles to feet when you nod and skips off towards the gravity-defying house. It still amazed you that the building hadn't fallen yet. Rising to your feet you brush yourself off.

"You know I want nothing more than to work with Dragons and this is the only way I can do that," There was no mistaking the serious tone that came along with his words. It didn't matter what you said there was no changing his mind but you wouldn't do that anyway. It seemed cruel to even try to get him to give up on something so precious and you would never want to do that to him. "I have an opportunity to do something I love and I won't waste it to get some boring job at the ministry."

"I don't expect you too..." You wanted nothing more than to tell him to stay; beg him even. You were fighting against the selfish little devil that was stabbing you in the heart. It was a dull, deep pain in your chest. You wanted Charlie to follow his dreams, you just never expected them to not include you. "It's just a lot to take in."

"I know," The red-headed boy walks ever so slowly over to you, taking both hands in his. His hands had always felt a little rough ever since Hogwarts. You used to complain back then and insist he needed to moisturise but over time you had grown fond of the familiarity. How you wished this tender moment could last forever because it very well might be your last. You're caught off guard when he yanks you forward. You stumble into his chest where he wraps his arms around you like the big teddy bear he was. You breathe in every inch of him like it was the last time. The intoxicating aroma of an early walk in the woods; that fresh earthy smell that really makes you appreciate where you are. You could almost picture the pine trees.

"I feel like I'm losing you," Your words but a whisper, lost on the breeze.

"You're not," His grip around you tightens and suddenly your in the air, spinning around. "You could never get rid of me that easily.

"Charlie," You fight back a smile as you return to the ground; burying your face in the nook of his neck. "What's gonna happen to us?"

"About that-"

"Because I don't know if I can do the whole long-distance thing? So do we break up?" The tears threaten to fall once again as you pull back to get a good look at him. You never wanted to forget the emerald of his eyes or each and every freckle that called his body home. The unusual scare that adorned his eyebrow that was always amusing to look at. If that was his true purpose to break up with you then there would be no stopping the tears when they finally burst through the damn.

"No, I-"

"Because that's a little mean Charlie, you could have at least waited until after dinner. Should have done it first actua-"

You words become mumbled by the palm of his hand which he's placed over your mouth like a seal of protection. "Shush for a minute."

It's hard to resist so you simply don't; sticking your tongue you deliberately lick the palm of his hand but it seems to not phase him whatsoever.

"I'm not breaking up with you, silly," You meet his gaze. "I was kind of thinking you could come with me?"

Reaching up, you yank his hand away. "To Romania?  You've got to be joking."

"Why not?"

Did you even know how to answer that? There were so many reasons why one should not just up and leave to go live in a completely different country with the boy they dated through high school. "I can't just up and leave my family- my mum will be devastated."

"I'll talk to her about it," Charlie hums softly, placing a delicate kiss upon your forehead. "Your mum loves me and she wants you to be happy."

"Dinner's Ready," For such a small girl, Ginny had one big mouth. There was no mistaking her call. However, this whole situation now felt a little... off. Could you even sit through dinner without it all becoming weird?

"We're coming," Charlie yells back; offering up his hand which you reluctantly take and he leads the way back to the house. "You want to be a healer right? You could do that in Romania."

"I guess," You weren't exactly worried about not finding a job.

"You don't have to decide right now," He tells you before you have a chance to speak up again. "Just think about it. I mean the invitation is there and for what it's worth, I'd really like you to come."  

3. Creeping doubts

It took a lot of convincing but despite everything you decided to follow Charlie into the Unknown. Your parents weren't thrilled with the decision but they respected it; they were just worried about what would happen if something went wrong. And as their only child, they would obviously miss you. A lot of time was spent at the burrow that summer before moving to Romania; you were beginning to feel like an honorary Weasley only with the experience of having been a muggle for the first eleven years of your life. It was but a three-hour flight to Romania and your mother had sobbed at the airport. It made you think back to your first time stepping onto the Hogwarts express, leaving your parents behind to go to a magical boarding school in Scotland. It was a peculiar thought but a nice one. One you wished to cherish. Now in a foreign land with no support system behind you other than a boy you had been dating for years, you were ready for a new adventure. And there was officially no doubt in your mind that you would do just about anything for Charlie Weasley.

"It's not much," Charlie sets his suitcase down on the table. "Best I could do, for now, I'm afraid."

"It's fine," It was an old apartment in a building full of what you assumed were muggles. There was a small living room area with an ugly pea-coloured couch nestled against one wall. Beside it was a small coffee table and on the other side of the room was a TV, you weren't convinced actually worked. Then there was the kitchen which was attached to the living room. It had a fridge, a cooker and some cupboards. The only other room was a bedroom that literally only housed a bed in at the moment, then there was a door that leads on to the bathroom. It definitely wasn't much but a crappy apartment was just part of the experience, right? At least that's what you were telling yourself. "it'll feel like home soon enough," You had everything you needed to make this place feel like home right in your suitcase; oh the joys of magic. Patting yourself down, you search for the key to easy unpacking. "Uh... have you seen my wand?"

His head shakes and wears an amused grin. "You remembered to bring it right?"

"Yes," you huff. "I was gonna unpack," Falling back against the wall, you slide down onto the floor which you imagine hasn't been cleaned in a while considering the dust. "It's gonna take so long without my wand- which may actually be in the suitcase now that I think about it."

"Did you forget I'm a wizard too?"

"You do it then," You drop your head back against the wall. "I'm starving."

"actually have you seen my wand?"

You giggle to yourself "You're an idiot,"

"Hey- you lost your wand too." His shadow lingers over you as he comes to join you against the wall. Taking up a seat beside you, your head falls to rest against his shoulder.  

"Can we get pizza? I saw some of those leaflets when we came in so we could order some?"

"Whatever you want, my love."

As time ticks on the pizza box is left discarded in the kitchen as the two of you retire for the night. Who knew not actually unpacking but simply thinking about it while eating pizza on the dirty ground could be so much work. You struggle to hold back a yawn as you snuggle up to him trying to absorb as much of his body heat as you can. All that lay across the two of you were a blanket and this building was next exactly the warmest. "Do you think we'll be okay? "You ponder aloud; it was a question that had been on your mind since agreeing to follow him to Romania. For not many people stay together with their high school loves. What if things fall apart now that you're in the 'real' world? What if this was all just a huge mistake?

"What do you mean?" Always such a simple boy; you wonder how he deals with his anxieties. Did he actually not know what you meant or was he merely putting on a brave face? A once proud Gryffindor suggested that he always looked to be brave above anything else.

"Do you think we'll be okay?" You repeat as if that somehow answers his question but it must have done something because even in the darkness you can just tell he's smiling.

"You worry way too much." Charlie laughs.

"You don't worry enough,"

He lays a kiss upon the top of your head, his hand moving up and down your arm. "It used to be the other way around."

"I was young and reckless back then. "How you missed the days where you ran around the halls of Hogwarts with reckless abandon. Well, not entirely reckless that was more Tonks but things had definitely felt simpler back then.

"You're still young and reckless now, I just have to hear you stress about it afterwards." Charlie taunts, pinching your arm. You recoil at the sharp pain.

"Shush."

"Being in Romania doesn't change anything," He expresses; his voice sounding louder in the quiet darkness. "I loved you back home and I still love you now. I'm really glad you decided to come with me."

Hoping to distract yourself from every worrying thought that clouded your brain you decide it's time to change the subject. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Getting to work with Dragons all day every day? that's like dream come true."

"A dangerous one," Dragons were perhaps the most vicious creatures around other than humans. As captivating as they were and as much as charlie adored them, you couldn't help but worry about his safety. It seemed no matter the topic this evening you'd find a way to stress yourself out.

"I'll be fine, I'll have you there to patch me up," That he will for you had taken on the role as a healer willing to help out with all the injuries that inevitably come from dealing with dragons. You wouldn't admit it but you weren't quite convinced you were up to the task; you had never actually dealt with dragon-related injuries so this was like diving headfirst into the ocean when you only just learned how to swim in a training pool. "and if not- well, we had a good run."

"Don't joke about that," Nuzzling against his chest, you finally let your eyes close. Today was the start of forever with the one and only Charles Weasley and here he was joking about his ultimate demise.

4. The perfect day

It's peculiar how life can just fall into place. Your odd little world of dragons and leaky apartment buildings just became the norm. You had come to love your work at the reserve, Dragons were actually incredibly cool up close. Not to mention getting to see Charlie work with them after years of never shutting up about them was truly a sight to behold. Every day, it was like taking an excited little boy to his first day of school. His eyes simply lit up whenever he was at work although it was hard explaining his injuries to the neighbours when they were being nosey. You also had to be careful when using magic since you were basically living with muggles and it would be a headache if they ever found out.

With your site blocked by a thin piece of fabric, Charlie guides you carefully forward with his hands skillfully placed upon your arms to steer. This was the first day off the two of you have shared in a long time. Little information was given about your destination other than it being a surprise. With Charlie that could mean just about anything which wasn't always a good thing but you trusted him enough to believe he wasn't leading you into a dragon's den or something. A gentle breeze nipped at the skin of your neck and the ground felt soft under your feet. The gentle singing of a symphony of birds filled the air and the sun beamed down with remarkable easy. All this suggested you were somewhere withdrawn in nature. Charlie had always been one for the great outdoors. There were countless times you had found him sneaking in or out of the forbidden forest back at school.

"Am I going to like this surprise?" You inquire; your anxiety building with each step. You would much prefer to simply know what was going on rather than experience some dramatic reveal especially today of all days. Every year the boy seems to forget that he agreed not to make a big deal.

"I sure hope so," You practically slam into him as she comes to an unexpected standstill. "Because I don't think I can return it."

"Return what? Oh god- can I take my blindfold off?"

As the flimsy fabric skims the length of your face to settle loosely around your neck, your eyes take a minute to adapt. You don't know quite what you were expecting but this was not it. Before you stands a small cottage surrounded by nothing but a wide-open field full of a rainbow of wildflowers. It was a beautiful little house with as much charm and beauty you'd expect from a place out in what seems like the middle of nowhere. It could be described as the perfect place to settle down.

"Surprise!" He was redder than a cherry tomato when he stepped into view. Both arms in the air as a sign of celebration but you were just rather... confused? Whose house was this and why had he brought you all the way out here?

"I don't get it?"

"We've been here for a while now so I thought we should get our own place or like, a better place. One where we don't have to worry about anyone else." His confidence appeared to develop with each word but his face was still powdered in a deep shade of pink. S this was your house? He'd decided to up and move without even consulting you? "So I got us a little cottage in the middle of nowhere. It kinda reminds me of the burrow only, y'know, smaller."

"It's ours?" His excitement is clear on his face and he quickly takes your hand. Pulling you along with him. "And that's not all."

"There's more?" Surely a whole house was enough. You were quite proud of Charlie for picking such a beautiful little place. Come summertime, you could already see yourself sitting among the flowers painting little pictures. You also wouldn't have to worry about muggles. Coming up on the front door, your boyfriend delivers you a little golden key. And with just a tiny degree of fear about what could be on the other side you unlock it. Much to your astonishment and disappointment, nothing is behind the door except the hallway leading inside. Charlie enters first and even as you follow, you half expect someone to jump out.

"I know I agreed not to make a big deal but how could I not?" He opens a door at the end of the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It's not a massive space but it's assuredly not small either, the whole place was already furnished but you recognise the surprise was truly what sat on the table. It was a two-tier cake covered in blue frosting including the words Happy Birthday scrawled across the top followed by your name.

"You... baked?"

"Mum sent it actually," Charlie chortled lightly as he wanders up behind you. Tossing a package of red with multicoloured polka-dots onto the table. "Sent this along too. Reckon it's a jumper or something."

"That was nice of her," You weren't sure of how to react to it all. Birthdays had never really been your thing but you appreciated that Mrs. Weasley had gone out of her way to make you something special.

"And from me..." He trails off and the sound of tiny tracks echo off the walls attended by an adorable yelp. Up to your feet slides an ash grey puppy who was more legs than anything else. It had bright blue eyes and floppy ears.

"You got me a dog?"

"I got us a dog- thought we needed a pet around here. I debated getting a crup but that'd be a disaster if your parents ever decide to visit." Crups were notorious for their dislike of muggles. You never understood why but he was right in his decision. The gesture was sweet but rather odd all things considered but still you smile. It was hard to be mad at something so cute and you weren't just talking about the dog. The puppy sits at your feet, wagging its little tail a mile a minute. There was no denying how adorable it was and at least it wasn't a dragon. Or a murtlap for that matter, those things were ugly. "You don't seem happy... do you not like him? I can take him back?" Kneeling, your hand drifts over the soft fur of the puppy's head. In response, the dog jumps up in an attempt to lick at your face. Your smile grows as you try to get away. "I think he likes you."

"What's his name?"

"Whatever you want? He's a Great Dane by the way." The puppy had calmed down a little and you stare as you ponder the perfect name for an ash grey Great Dane. "How about... Arlo?"

"Arlo?"

"Mhmm," You hum standing up straight. "And I'm plenty happy if not a little overwhelmed. You know how I feel when it comes to my birthday."

"I do," He nods casually. His palms snake around your waist drawing you flush against him "But I never want you to forget that someone cares about you- that I care about you so bloody much."

"I know you do," You give him a quick peck on the lips. "And I'm thankful for that and for all of this."

"Arlo is the perfect name, Happy Birthday" Your lips connect in a beautifully slow embrace that fills your body with warmth and as he pulls away, his forehead comes to rest against yours.  The dog barking as it explores the kitchen. "I'm just so grateful that you decided to run away with me."

[rainywritingsx]

Scenario: Satan & Lucifer cheating on MC

Request: Your beezlebub and asmo cheating angst was so good oml if it's okay with you can I request the same but with satan and lucifer??

Satan and Lucifer…. My heart is about to be crushed and I hope yours too :). I thought I went overboard with Staan when I wrote his part, but Lucifer too,,,,, damn,,,, hope you enjoy? I didn’t really proofread sorry, it’s like 2Am right now and imma sleeeepppp. Hope you like it, remember to leave a like, reblog or comment if you do ^^ I’d love to read feedback!

xxx Rainbow

Warnings: Mild swearing and slight nsfw suggestion at Lucifer’s part??

3032 words

If you enjoy what I write, feel free to tip me by buying me a coffee here! ^^

Satan 

On one hand, Y/n should’ve seen it coming. It was not an everyday thing that Satan just randomly made friends, nor was he the type to just go out to clubs and see people. But one of his teachers had asked him to help some demon with the homework they’ve had for the past few weeks. Apparently she had been struggling with literature a lot and since Satan was basically a bookworm, it was only natural that he would be chosen to help out.

At first Y/n wasn’t worried at all. They trusted Satan almost blindly and knew him well. He wouldn’t just mess around with someone. He still kept seeing them regularly and they hung out as often as always.

It was when they started seeing Satan less often that Y/n began to grow slightly concerned. They didn’t have as many dates as before anymore, and sometimes when they would go to his room he wouldn’t even be there. The brothers would tell them that he was tutoring that demon again. Here they felt an uneasy feeling in their stomach. Satan would usually tell them if he went somewhere because he knew Y/n often visited him in his room. But still, Y/n didn’t want to discuss it with him because they didn’t want to cause an unnecessary argument. Satan wouldn’t cheat on them.

Right?

However, when even during lunch at RAD Satan didn’t visit Y/n, their discomfort grew. This was really unusual. Was he having lunch with that demon? Were they talking so much that he completely forgot about them? Was he not interested in Y/n anymore? No, that couldn’t be true. If that were the case Satan would tell them, he would never cheat. Maybe he wasn’t even with that demon, maybe he was with one of the brothers! Or maybe Simeon and Luke, or Solomon… Maybe he had to ask Diavolo something?

Y/n bit their lip as they thought about what to do. Maybe they should look for them, just so that this uneasy feeling could finally go away and they could see with their own eyes absolutely nothing was wrong. Now…. The first place where Y/n should look was the library, right? It was open at lunch time too, so he could be there, maybe reading a new book that he found.

So, Y/n finally got up, put their lunch back in their bag to eat later and made their way to the library. Each step closer made their heart pound louder and louder. It was only when Y/n finally got there and wanted to open the door that they realised their hands were shaking and sweaty. So, before entering they took a deep breath to calm themselves down.

“Come on, Y/n. It’s no big deal. Everything is completely fine.” They softly said to themselves, hoping that this tiny pep talk would calm down the raging adrenaline going through their body. When they felt like they were ready, Y/n finally opened the door slowly. The only people that she saw in clear sight were a few demons studying and Solomon, who seemed to be reading through a book about spells. So Satan wasn’t here? That was odd…

Y/n was about to leave when they heard a female laugh along with a male chuckle that was way too familiar to them. They stopped breathing for a second and looked around the room, finally seeing their boyfriend, laughing with someone else who was way too close for their liking, resting her hand on his arm. There were a few open books, but Y/n could tell the two were not concentrated at all, and before they could even call out Satan’s name, they witnessed the girl pulling him closer and pressing their lips against his.

“S-Satan?!” Y/n said in surprise. It seemed that there was no person of authority present right now, as nobody commented on their voice. Still, other people heard them. Satan turned his head and as soon as he saw his actual partner, the one he was supposed to be affectionate with, his breath hitched in his throat. Without even waiting for him to say anything, Y/n left the library. Satan immediately stood up and left too, ignoring the girl completely.

He had no idea where they went, but he could only assume it was probably outside, where it was quiet. So he did the first thing that came to mind which was running to the garden of the school to find them.

Satan’s mind was foggy. It was only when he saw the heart wrenching look on his partner’s face that he realised what he had been doing. And Y/n never said a word about it because they trusted him. Instead of appreciating that and showing that he is worthy of their faith in him, he messed around with her heart and put himself into this incredibly awful situation. Why? Why didn’t he stop her, why did he continue hanging out when he knew damn well that her intentions were beyond him tutoring her?

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard quiet, muffled sobs. Part of Satan wanted to run away, because he couldn’t believe he would ever hurt the person he loved and hearing them like this already tore him apart, but he had to own up to his mistake, so he kept walking. What he didn’t expect however, was that they weren't’t alone. Solomon sat next to Y/n on a bench and just hugged her without saying a word. When he saw Satan, his expression hardened. He didn’t  say anything as a sign for Satan to start talking.

“Y/n, my love…” the sobs stopped. Y/n looked at Satan with an unreadable expression on their face. They were deep in thought. Should they talk to him? Or leave and talk it out later? No, this had to be done now. Y/n was done being toyed with like this.

“Solomon,” Y/n said, their voice shaky. “C-could you leave me and Satan alone, please?” he gave them a kind smile and nodded before leaving, shortly glaring at him without Y/n noticing. When he left, Satan carefully sat down next to Y/n and spoke up.

“My dear-”

“Quit the petnames, Satan.” Y/n shot at him, their voice now sharp and angry. His eyes slightly widened at the change of tone, but he couldn’t blame them. And he had the feeling that this wasn’t going to end the way he wanted to.

“I trusted you. I kept telling myself you weren’t messing around with her because I believed you would never do that to me! I wanted to believe that you were only tutoring her, I wanted to believe that so badly!”

“Kitte-Y/n, please believe me, the only time we did anything physical was what you just saw. I never-”

“That’s one time too many Satan! It should’ve never happened! Even if it wasn’t always physical, the fact that you started hanging out with her more than me at one point, broke my heart. Do you think that that doesn’t hurt because I didn’t see you two making out? How would you react if I suddenly became friendly with someone and started ditching you completely for them?” To that, Satan had no reply. He knew they were right.

“I’m done, I don’t want to talk about this.” Y/n said and stood up. “I hope you two had a nice time together, because you can spend all of your days with her now that we are over.”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry, please let me make it up to you. I promise I won’t talk to her again, I’ll prove to you that you can trust me.” Y/n chuckled softly as they shook their head.

“Satan, you don’t know what they tell us about demons in the Human world?” y/n sighed.

“They do nothing but lie and make empty promises.”

Lucifer

Of course, he was just an assistant. Diavolo had hired him to help Lucifer, nothing more. Really, at first Y/n even believed that Diavolo was an angel - how ironic, for finally finding someone who could help their boyfriend with the ton of work he always had to do. This way They could spend more time with their boyfriend, right?

Nope.

It was still a lot of work that still took Lucifer a lot of time, he was just less stressed because of it now. But still, the amount of time the two got to spend together wasn’t more than before, which made Y/n a little sad, but they didn’t want to start an argument, so they decided to not mention it.

After a little while, things slowly started to change though. It seemed that Lucifer actually had to work more now, to the point where he was overworking even. It made them worried about him but whenever they’d mention it, Lucifer would just brush it off. And again, because Y/n didn’t want to start an unnecessary argument, they kept quiet about this as well.

However, when Y/n heard Asmodeus talking during breakfast at the house of Lamentation, they got worried. He was talking about Lucifer.

“He really seems to get close to that assistant of his. Oh my, I dare even say that new guy has taken an interest in him!~” Asmodeus giggled. Y/n’s expression fell, which didn’t go unnoticed by the other brothers.

“Y/n, you know how Asmo is,” Satan reassured them. “he’s just exaggerating, don’t sweat it. Despite the fact that I cannot stand him, I know Lucifer wouldn’t  do something like that.” Though Y/n’s worries hadn’t completely disappeared, they did feel a little better because of their friend’s words.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, Satan.” Y/n said and smiled at Satan, who nodded and sent a kind smile back. Of course Satan wasn’t completely wrong, but Y/n was still scared that for some reason things were going to take an unexpected turn. And people often said to trust your gut right? No, Lucifer wouldn’t do that…

During the days that followed, Y/n was constantly having an inner debate on whether or not to voice their concerns to their lover. On one hand, it could turn out to be nothing and Y/n would immediately be reassured that everything was completely fine. On the other hand however, maybe this would only stress out Lucifer. If that happened, Diavolo’s attempt of lessening the stress of Lucifer would be for nothing, so perhaps staying quiet was the better option.

“You can always visit him if you’re that worried.” Belphegor said after he listened to Y/n’s rambling about her concerns. “The worst thing that can happen is that Lucifer gets annoyed and sends you back, but knowing him and his weakness for you, that’s unlikely.” It was a good suggestion… But then again, was it really necessary?

“If you’re worried about being too obvious, just bring him a meal or something.” Oh, that was a good idea! Y/n was on cooking duty today anyway, and he never turned down their meals.

Keeping something for Lucifer, so, making sure Beel didn’t eat it was a whole task, but Y/n managed to do it successfully. With a small smile they packed his dinner in a lunch box along with something to drink. After they were done, Y/n left the kitchen and let the others know that they were leaving. Within a second Mammon was in the hallway, wanting to come along.

“Hey, I don’t want ya to get eaten by a demon or somethin’, okay? It’s dangerous for a weak little human to be here out alone.” He said, looking away to hide the small blush that was forming on his cheek. “Lucifer would kill me if somethin’ happened to you, so that’s why I’m here.” he mumbled, causing Y/n to giggle.

“Alright, let’s go then.” They said before the two them left together. Luckily the walk wasn’t too far, and the fact that Y/n wasn’t on their own was probably one of the reasons that it was peaceful too.

When they finally arrived at RAD, Mammon and Y/n were greeted by Diavolo, who seemed more than happy to see them.

“Y/n! Mammon! What brings you two here?” he asked curiously, before noticing the box in Y/n’s hands. A small smile was on his face and he looked back at the human. “Nevermind, I see. Lucifer is in his office.” Y/n nodded, thanking Diavolo before leaving on their own. Mammon decided to wait, wanting to give the two some alone time.

As Y/n got closer to their boyfriend’s office, a feeling of discomfort came over them for a moment. No, this was so silly, they just had to go, give this to him and then leave.

When they got to his office, Y/n knocked on the door softly, but they received no reply. Strange… Didn’t Diavolo say he was supposed to be here? Y/n decided to knock again, just in case he hadn’t heard it and oftly called out his name too, but to no avail. Y/n bit their lip softly. Maybe he was really busy. But then again, a tiny break wouldn’t hurt anyone, Diavolo didn’t tell Y/n to hurry up or something. So finally, Y/n decided to just open the door.

But now they really wish they hadn’t done that. Indeed, Lucifer was here. But on his lap was whom Y/n assumed to be his assistant, both half naked as they were making out. In shock, Y/n dropped everything they were holding which caused the two to stop and look. Lucifer’s eyes became the size of dinner plates when he realised who was standing there. The other male could probably tell who this human was, and was flustered as well.

“Fuck you, Lucifer.” Was all Y/n could say before they left. Y/n was almost running, wanting to do nothing but go to their room and cry. When Mammon spotted them coming in his direction, he was confused to say the least. That was quick? But soon his confusion grew into concern when he saw the tears rolling down their cheeks.

“What happened?” Was all he managed to ask. Y/n shook their head and looked at him.

“Can we just go back? Please, Mammon?” Their voice was soft and wavering, as if they could burst into tears at any moment. Without even thinking he nodded. On their way, both were silent. Y/n couldn’t stop replaying what just happened. Why did he do that? For how long has this been going on? Had they been like that before, or even more intimate? Why didn’t he just break up with them if he was interested in somebody else?

When they got home, Y/n ran to their room without saying a word to anyone. Right when Mammon was about to close the door, Lucifer’s hand pushed it open, surprising the younger brother. He was panting because he had been running and his face looked distraught, but really Mammon wanted to do nothing but punch him. However, he knew that was a bad idea so he kept silent.

Lucifer immediately ran to Y/n’s room, knowing that that would be where they’d go. As he got closer, he felt a sense of guilt, which as the Avatar of Pride, he absolutely despised. How could he have done something so horrible to the love of his life? He decided not to knock, but slowly opened the door of Y/n’s room, and when he saw them laying on their bed crying into a pillow, he only felt more remorse.

“Y/n..” he began. “I-I’m-”

“Get out.” Y/n said, their voice low as they lifted their head up to look at him. Lucifer was surprised at this attitude since Y/n never acted like this, but he knew he deserved it. However, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t lose them.

“Dear, if you would just listen-”

“Lucifer, I said get out!” Y/n repeated, their voice louder this time as they stood up. “You have no right to just come into my room and do the talking now after you betrayed me! Here I was thinking you were overworking, but you were just fucking someone else!” For the first time in his life, Lucifer was speechless. He had no excuse for this. Nothing made this okay.

“I see you don’t have anything to say either. I have one question, Lucifer: Do you love him, or me?” They asked, their voice a lot softer now. Normally Lucifer was able to answer this within a heartbeat, but his mind was all over the place. Why was he even kissing that demon like that?

“I see…” Y/n said with a defeated smile. “I expected this. Now, can you just go?” Their eyes were practically begging him to leave, their voice thick and laced with hurt. And Lucifer knew that this was the best option for the both of them. He truly hoped that they would be able to solve this. He didn’t say a word as he turned around to leave the room.

“And I know what you’re thinking right now.” Lucifer stopped in his tracks. “And no, I don’t want to give you another change. I’m so done with you, Lucifer.” They said, their voice becoming rougher again. The demon tried keeping his head up, not wanting to give in where anyone could see and left, closing the door behind him. When he finally got to his own room, Lucifer’s tears started spilling too. He made a huge mistake, and he just knew he had lost them, he really had. And this reminded him exactly why he deserved to be here, in Hell, where he had to pay for his horrible actions. He swore to himself to never hurt them, yet he just crumbled their heart like it was nothing. He was a monster.

[wistfulcynic]

The Meet-Cute, Part One

In which Ruby decides that what Emma’s love life needs is a good old-fashioned meet-cute, and sets about arranging one for her. Or two, or three, or six...whatever, she’ll set up however many it takes for her friend to meet The One. But it may turn out that Emma doesn’t need any help finding The One after all...

Rating: T Words: 5.2k (first chapter)

On AO3

-

LOOK @optomisticgirl I WROTE THE THING.

Also, @ohmightydevviepuu, @shireness-says, and @distant-rose you are complicit in the writing of the thing.

-

PART ONE:

“What you need, Emma Swan, is a meet-cute.”

Emma swallowed a sigh but couldn’t hold back the accompanying eye-roll. “I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing I need.”

“No, hear me out,” Ruby insisted, her eyes alight with excitement. “This is actually perfect for you.”

Emma let the sigh go this time, reminding herself firmly that Ruby was her best friend and had been for years.

“All right,” she said. “Tell me why I need a meet-cute.”

“Yesssss,” said Ruby. “Okay, listen. There’s nobody at work you’re interested in dating, right?”

“My co-worker is literally my brother.”

“Yeah that’s kind of what I meant. Most people meet their future spouses at work—”

“That’s not a real statistic.”

“—but—yes, it is real—but there’s no one at work for you and that’s not likely to change, so you have to look elsewhere. Now, the next most common place to meet someone is where you live—

“Seriously, you’re just making this stuff up.”

“—but there’s no one for you there, either,” Ruby pressed on, ignoring her. “No cute guys across the hall—“

“No straight ones anyway.”

“—and seeing as you are for some strange reason dead-set against online dating—”

“I absolutely am.” Emma shuddered at the hideous thought.

“—which actually does work, by the way.”

“It doesn’t. You and Mulan are just outliers.”

“Look, Emma, don’t knock the matchmaking power of Good Omens Discord chats until you try them.”

“Yeah, no thanks.”

“Well then,” Ruby declared, in a voice that suggested she thought she’d won the argument. “That leaves you with no option but the meet-cute.”

“Really, that’s my only option?”

“Just think about it, Emma.” Ruby’s eyes grew dreamy. “Adorable mix-ups in coffee shops… picking up the wrong leash at the dog park…”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“…you both reach for the last croissant…”

“Where am I going to find a croissant in Storybrooke?”

“The last bear claw then, the pastry is really beside the point.”

“And what is the point?”

“The point is that you meet someone and it’s fucking cute, okay? And then you fall in love and live happily ever after.”

“Or I could just, you know, go on as I am, not meeting anyone.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, woman,” said Ruby sternly. “Do you want to live the rest of your life alone?”

Emma shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing.” Better than being stuck with someone she didn’t love, just for some dumb reason like—

“Do you want Henry to grow up without a father?”  

—like giving her son a decent man in his life.

“Henry has a father,” she reminded Ruby. One he hadn’t seen for the best part of a year, but still.  

“Do you want Henry to grow up without a father figure who isn’t a massive douche?” amended Ruby. Emma sighed again.

“Neal does the best he can,” she insisted.

Ruby snorted. “Sure he does.”

“He does, really. He’s just… not cut out to be a parent.”

“Well, that’s for sure.”

But Emma didn’t blame Neal for being a shit dad, though she knew her friends and family did. It wasn’t his fault it was hers, for stupidly falling for and getting knocked up by a guy whose ‘best’ was showing up once or twice a year to shower Henry with presents and promises before disappearing again without a word a few weeks later. At first it had broken both their hearts—Henry’s from disappointment and Emma’s from anger and guilt over his disappointment—but Henry was twelve now and starting to learn that the parents he adored were human and flawed, and to adjust his expectations accordingly. Emma had to admit that it was a relief not to have to cover Neal’s ass anymore by trying to make excuses for him, however deeply she regretted Henry’s loss of innocence.

And yeah, it would be nice not to have to raise her kid alone. Neal got to be the fun parent, buying Henry all the stuff she couldn’t afford and taking him on trips to exciting places, leaving Emma to enforce bedtimes and check homework and try to make Henry eat the vegetables she herself hated. Having someone else around, a real adult she could rely on to share those responsibilities with her, that would be good. Great, really. Wonderful, in fact. But dating was hard enough without having to start it off by explaining that even though you yourself weren’t yet thirty you came in a two-for-one deal with a near-teenager, and Emma had had far too many first dates end early and awkwardly to hold out much hope that she would ever meet the man of her dreams, be it cute or any other way.

“I appreciate the thought, Rubes, I really do,” she said. “But I’m just not looking for anyone right now.”

“But don’t you see?” Ruby cried. “That’s the best time to meet someone—when you’re not looking.”

Emma threw up her hands. “You are impossible and I’m not talking about this with you anymore. I’ve got to get back to work anyway.”

“All right.” Ruby shrugged and let the subject drop, but the glint that still remained in her eye warned Emma that this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

—

Before she returned to work after her lunch with Ruby, Emma stopped by the library. Belle wasn’t at her usual spot behind the desk so Emma ventured into the stacks on her own, in search of some books that would help Henry with his school project on the solar system. She was standing in the astronomy section with her hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans, frowning at the frankly baffling array of options when a voice spoke just to her left.

“Can I help you find something?” it said.

Emma turned with a smile that stalled abruptly as her mouth dropped open. “Um,” she said, blinking in confusion at the blue eyes and dark hair that very definitely did not belong to Belle, and the bright smile that took her breath away. “I actually could use some help, but—sorry, but do you work here?”

The owner of the voice—and the hair and the eyes—laughed. “I do, for the moment at least.”

“Did something happen to Belle?”

“To her grandfather, apparently,” he replied. “I’m not sure of the details but Belle told me she had to go back to Australia for family reasons.”

“Oh. I didn’t hear anything about that.”

The man’s eyebrow twitched in a small frown. “Well, it was quite at the last minute, so she probably didn’t have time to tell everyone. But I’d spoken to her recently and mentioned I was looking for a quiet place to spend a few weeks’ holiday and so when she asked if I could come here and cover for her for a while, I gladly agreed.”

“And why would she call you?” Emma nearly flinched at the harshness in her tone but the man’s smile widened and his eyes twinkled, sucking even more air from her lungs.

“We’re old friends from library school,” he explained, as Emma struggled for breath. “My name’s Killian Jones.”

His smile began to crumble as Emma just stood and stared at him, until she managed to shake herself out of her breathless haze and smile back. “Emma  Swan,” she said. “I’m the town sheriff.”

“Ah.” Killian’s grin brightened again, and Emma thought vaguely that he should really have a licence for that thing. “That explains all the questions.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. We don’t get many new faces in Storybrooke and, well—”

“Aye, of course, you can’t be too careful.”

“Um, right. Exactly.”

“Well, Sheriff Swan,” said Killian, with an absurd little waggle of his eyebrows, “I can assure you that haven’t broken any laws, but then I did only arrive in town last night so there’s still plenty of time.”

Emma laughed. She couldn’t help it, his goofy humour and ridiculous eyebrows were too charming. “But if you broke the law I’d have to lock you up,” she replied, and fucking hell was she flirting with him?

He seemed to think so, if the way his eyes glinted as he leaned in closer was any indication. “I might not mind being locked up, if you promised to stay and guard me,” he murmured.

Emma’s breath caught again at the look in his eyes, the edge of danger behind the flirty charm. “Do you talk like this to all library patrons?” she asked, cursing the raspiness in her voice.

“Definitely not. It’s highly unprofessional, but then there’s not much else I can say when you still haven’t answered my question.”

She swallowed hard. “Wh—what question?”

“Can I help you find anything?”

“Oh.” Duh, Emma. “Um, yeah, actually. My son has to do a project on the solar system, so I’m looking for some books he could use.”

She waited for Killian to freeze up, to awkwardly withdraw from her now that he knew she had a kid. But he simply nodded and asked “How old is your lad?”

“Ah, he’s twelve. Sixth grade.”

“Hmmm, in that case I’d recommend this one.” He reached over her shoulder to take a book from the shelf, giving Emma a whiff of some spicy cologne and a briny scent like he’d been out on the sea. Her knees went weak, and when he held out the book she stared blankly at it, trying to marshal her scrambled thoughts back into some kind of order. “It’s an excellent overview of the solar system with plenty of details on all the planets,” Killian explained, “but the language is accessible for someone your boy’s age.” His eyebrows rose again in an expectant look.

“Um. That looks great, thanks.”

“See how he gets on with it, and if he needs more information I’d be happy to make another recommendation.”  

Emma nodded and followed him to the check-out desk, wordlessly handing him her card and watching as he completed the process of checking out the book. When he finished he tucked a bookmark between the pages and handed it to her with another warm smile.

“Well, Emma Swan, it’s been lovely talking to you,” he said. “I hope it won’t be a one-time thing.”

“I—I’m in here a lot,” she replied. It was only a slight exaggeration. Henry was in the library a lot and she often came to pick him up. “So I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

For the third time in fifteen minutes Killian Jones stole her breath with his smile. “I’m looking forward to it already,” he said.

—

The next morning Emma was at Granny’s waiting in line for coffee when out of nowhere someone gave her a hard shove, knocking her into the man in front of her, who had just accepted his cup from Ruby.

“Oh my God!” she cried. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened!”

“It’s okay,” said the man with a tight smile, shaking droplets of coffee off his hand as Ruby’s eyes grew comically wide.

“Oh, no,” she said. “What a terrible accident. Let me get you another cup, sir.”

“Thanks,” said the man, and Emma’s own eyes nearly rolled clean from her head. Ruby was known for her lack of subtlety but this was ridiculous, even for her. Emma glanced over her shoulder just in time to spot the tip of Mulan’s braid just disappearing through the door.

“So,” the man was saying to Ruby when Emma returned her attention to him, leaning on the counter and giving her a crooked grin. “You come here often?”

“Every day,” said Ruby dryly. “I work here. But maybe you’d like to ask Emma that question.”

The man’s pale blue eyes flitted to Emma, then rapidly away. “I’d rather ask you.”

Ruby gave a frustrated huff. “Here’s your coffee.” She thrust the new cup at the man and turned her back.

“What’s her problem?” the man muttered.

“I don’t know,” snapped Emma, “maybe you should ask her wife.” The man’s eyes widened in alarm at the look on her face and he backed away, slowly edging towards the door.

“Have a great day,” she called after him, then turned to her best friend as the man fled the diner.

“I hope you’re happy,” she hissed.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ruby asked, the picture of innocence. Emma rolled her eyes.

“I’m guessing this was your attempt at a coffee shop meet-cute? I spill the man’s coffee, apologise profusely, he laughs it off. I offer to buy him another cup, he refuses but asks me to dinner instead? Was that the idea?”

“...maybe.”

“And you see how well it turned out?”

“He was clearly just not The One,” said Ruby stubbornly.

“There is no ‘The One’ Rubes, that is a myth, and I cannot believe you roped Mulan into this nonsense too.”

“I didn’t rope her in, she volunteered! We both want you to be happy, Emma.”

“And you think dumping coffee on the world’s creepiest doctor will make me happy?”

“What? Have you met him before?”

“Yeah. Last year when Henry broke his arm. You’ll be pleased to hear that he tried to hit on me then. Right in front of my kid.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Meet-cutes only work in romcoms and fanfics, Ruby. Here in reality they just piss people off.”

“Well,” said Ruby, handing Emma her coffee, determination clear in the set of her jaw. “We’ll see about that.”

—

Emma: What do you want for dinner?

Henry: What have we got?

Emma: Nothing, that’s why I’m asking. I can stop at the store on the way home.

Henry: I suppose pizza isn’t an option?

Emma: We had that yesterday.

Henry: Not a problem for me. But chicken or something would be okay too.

Emma: One of those rotisserie chickens?

Henry: Yeah, sounds good.

Emma: Okay, kid. See you at home.

Emma was standing in the grocery store, frowning as she compared the rotisserie chickens when a voice spoke just to her left.

“I don’t think there’s much of a difference between them, love.”

Her heart leapt and her skin tingled, and yet when she turned to face Killian Jones—and his damned smile—she was still not prepared.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “I, um, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“No reason why you should, I guess, except that I like all people do need to eat from time to time.”

“Of course.” She felt foolish, but his expression was warm and only slightly teasing.

“How did your son get on with the book?” he asked.

“Really well! He read for like two hours last night. Thanks for the recommendation.”

“Any time.”

They stood grinning at each other until someone behind them cleared his throat and they both gave a little start. Killian rubbed the back of his neck as he moved aside to allow Mr Clark to select a chicken.

“So, um,” said Emma after he’d left. “Are you getting stuff for dinner?”

“Aye. I’m staying in the apartment above the library and this morning I discovered that the oven doesn’t work, and the repairman can't come until tomorrow. So I need something that comes pre-cooked. Hence rotisserie chicken.”

“Solid plan,” said Emma, though she felt sad thinking of this lovely man eating dinner alone in that tiny apartment, and that was the only reason that she blurted out “But, ah, why don’t you come over and eat with Henry and me?”

“Oh.” Killian blinked in surprise.

“Since we’re both having the same thing it makes sense not to waste a chicken,” Emma barrelled on. “When Henry and I get one we’ve always got leftovers, so… I mean, you don’t have to if you’d rather not—”

“No, no. I mean, yes! Yes, I’d like that.”

“Oh. Um, good.”

He smiled again, bright as always but with a hint of shyness that caught her off guard. “Is it, ah, just the two of you?” he asked. “Presuming Henry is your son, that is?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “His dad’s, um... not in the picture.”

“I see. Well then I would love to share a meal with you, Emma Swan. And your son. And perhaps you would allow me to bring dessert?”

Emma’s heart was pounding so loudly now she was sure he must be able to hear it. “That’d be great. Um, here’s my cell number, just at the bottom of this.” She took a business card from her pocket and handed it to him. “Text me and I’ll send you directions to our place. Can you come over about six?”

“Six it is.” Killian slipped the card into his own pocket carefully, as though he didn’t wish to harm it. “I’ll see you then.”

—

Emma finished the rest of her shopping in a daze, wandering haphazardly through the aisles and putting random things in her cart without thinking before giving herself a mental slap and a stern admonition to get a fucking grip. She removed the strawberry syrup from her cart (she and Henry both hated fake strawberry flavour) and the tuna (what the hell had she been thinking?) and then remembered that Henry was nearly out of peanut butter. His favourite kind was the most popular one and the store could hardly keep it stocked, so she was pleased to see that there was one jar left as she approached the shelf. Just as she was reaching for it, though, another hand appeared and snatched it from her grip.

“Hey!” she cried indignantly. “That was mine!”

“Sorry,” said the man who’d taken it. He didn’t look sorry in the slightest. “Maybe they’ve got more in the back?”

“Are you kidding me?” Emma huffed.

“Nope,” the man replied. “Look, I really am sorry but someone needs this peanut butter. She sent me in here to get it specifically.”

Emma hissed her breath out through her teeth. “She did, did she? And did she say why she couldn’t get the damn peanut butter herself?”

“Ah, no,” said the man, frowning warily at her. “She didn’t. But listen, lady it’s just a jar of peanut butter.”

Emma’s lip curled into a snarl and the man’s eyes widened in alarm. He backed away from her, nearly stumbling in his haste. “So, um, I’m going to, ah, go now,” he stuttered. “Bye.”

He turned and fled towards the checkouts with Emma close on his heels. She followed him to the self-checkout line where he kept shooting nervous looks over his shoulder at her and she amused herself by giving him darker and darker glares each time and keeping her eyes fixed on him when he took the jar of peanut butter and ran out the door.

When she arrived at where she’d left her car Emma was entirely unsurprised to find Ruby there, leaning against the hood and looking slightly sheepish.

“So what was the plan this time?” asked Emma. “That we would both reach for the last jar of peanut butter, our fingers would touch, sparks would fly, and we would exchange cute banter with sexually charged undertones ending in a date?”

Ruby nodded. “Something like that.”

“Ruby, I keep telling you, that is not how real life works!”

“Oh yeah?” Ruby challenged. “Well, what about David and Mary Margaret! They had a meet-cute.”

“He mistook her for a burglar and she hit him in the face!”

“Exactly!”

“How is that a meet-cute?”

“How is it not? They met, it was cute, and now they’ve got an amazing story to tell their kids.”

“I met Neal when I tried to steal the car he’d already stolen,” Emma pointed out. “That’s an amazing story and yet our relationship was a fucking dumpster fire that I’d be happy to forget all about if it weren’t for Henry. Not all cute meetings end in happily ever after, and frankly I don’t think a squabble over peanut butter in a small town grocery store is the best way to jump-start true love.”

“And what would you know about true love?” Ruby snapped, then gasped in horror as her eyes went wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Emma, I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her fingers. “I didn’t mean it.”

Emma’s chest felt tight. “It’s okay,” she muttered.  

“No, it really isn’t.” Ruby gripped Emma’s hands in hers. “I love you, Ems, and you’re one of the most loving people I know. That’s why I want so badly to see you happy.”

“I know.” Emma nodded and gave Ruby’s hands a squeeze. “I know you didn’t mean to say it.” However true it might be, she thought bitterly.

“Let me make it up to you—”

“Oh my God, please don’t—”

“—with this free jar of peanut butter!” finished Ruby triumphantly. She reached into her bag and removed the jar, offering it up with a flourish.

Emma smiled as she took it. “Thanks. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Henry how someone stole the last jar right out from under me.”

Ruby flashed a grin, then turned solemn. “Are we okay, Emma?” she asked hesitantly. “Truly?”

“Of course we are,” Emma reassured her. “Truly. I do have to get going though I have—uh, Henry will be getting hungry.”

“Of course.” Ruby stepped back to let Emma unlock her car door. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you.”

As Emma drove home she tried not to think about why she hadn’t told Ruby that Killian was coming for dinner. It might stop her friend’s meet-cute-ing attempts if she knew Emma had a—well, not a date exactly but a man coming over to... well, just to eat really, but still. She could have spun it so it seemed like a date and got Ruby off her back, at least for a while. Yet for some reason Emma wanted to keep Killian just for herself. At least for a while.

—

Killian Jones was punctual and he could follow directions, Emma thought when her doorbell rang that evening at six o’clock precisely. That alone put him head and shoulders above Neal... and what the hell was she doing comparing a man she’d literally met yesterday with her son’s useless father, even just in the privacy of her own head?

She smoothed her hair and the front of her blouse and took a deep breath to calm herself before opening the door, and still she was not prepared for that stupid, gorgeous smile.

“Good evening, Swan,” Killian greeted her. “I come bearing brownies.”

And wine, she couldn’t help noticing as she stepped back to let him in. “Great, uh, brownies are my favourite,” she lied. “Um, Killian, I’d like you to meet my son, Henry.”

Henry came forward with smile on his lips and mild confusion in his eyes. “Hi Killian, nice to meet you.”

“And you, lad. I hope you like brownies as well.”

“I love them,” Henry replied. “Though my mom usually prefers—” he broke off when Emma gave him a Look. “Ah, she prefers hers without nuts.”

“Well, she’s in luck because these are nut-free.”

“Sounds perfect!” said Henry brightly, and Emma didn’t think she’d ever loved him more.

“Let me just take those from you,” she said, relieving Killian of the box of brownies and bottle of wine. “Henry, can you show him into the living room? Oh, and Killian what would you like to drink?”

“Whatever’s easiest, love.”

“Water, soda, beer?”

“Beer would be great.”

“Coming right up.”

Emma fled to the kitchen, doing her best not to look like she was fleeing. Once safety through the door she set the brownies and wine on the counter and desperately drew air into her lungs. She wasn’t going to survive spending much more time with Killian if she didn’t learn to breathe around him, she thought wryly, and also why was she even thinking about spending more time with him—this was nothing but a casual, friendly meal and they had only just met.

“Get a fucking grip, Emma,” she reminded herself firmly, and went to pour some beer.

When she entered the living room a few minutes later Killian and Henry were sitting next to each other on the sofa, deep in discussion about the solar system. Henry had his project notes spread out on the coffee table and Killian was rubbing his chin, listening intently as her son spoke, and Emma’s heart absolutely did not melt at the sight of them. It didn’t.

She set a glass of soda in front of Henry and a beer in front of Killian, who looked up at her with a smile.

“Thanks, love.”

Aaaand there went her breath again, thought Emma. Damn it.

“Ah, I’m just going to go finish up dinner, um, if everything’s okay in here?” she said.

“Aye, I think we’ll be all right.”

“Mom, guess what? Killian knows all about astronomy and he’s going to help me make sure my project’s good!” Henry exclaimed.

“All about astronomy, eh?” teased Emma.

To her astonishment Killian’s cheeks and the tips of his ears turned pink. “A slight exaggeration on the lad’s part,” he said, scratching at a spot just below his ear. “But it is an interest of mine and I’ll do my best to be of some use to him.”

“He’s already helped me with Saturn’s moons, and now we’re gonna talk about the rings on Uranus,” said Henry excitedly. “Did you know Uranus has rings, Mom?”

“I did not,” said Emma, biting her lip as amusement glinted in Killian’s eyes.

“Yep,” Henry continued, oblivious to their mirth. “Just skinny ones, though.”

“I suppose bigger ones wouldn’t fit,” said Emma. A muscle danced in Killian’s jaw as he clenched it tight. Henry frowned.

“Uranus is still pretty big,” he said. “Not as big as Jupiter or Saturn but—hey! Are you guys laughing at Uranus?”

“Of course not, lad,” said Killian. “Uranus isn’t funny at all.”

“It’s very serious actually,” said Emma.

“I certainly take it seriously,” Killian agreed.

Henry glared at them. “You guys realise I’m the twelve-year-old boy, right? If anyone should be making Uranus jokes it’s me.”

“Well you have been letting some excellent joke opportunities slip by you, my boy.”

“Yeah, Henry, we’re just picking up your slack.”

“Much like rings on Uranus might.”

“Oh my God,” Henry groaned, as Emma lost control of her laughter and collapsed onto the sofa. Killian was grinning like a maniac, ridiculously pleased with himself, which only made her laugh harder. Henry held out for nearly a full minute before he started giggling too, then all three of them held their stomachs and roared.

—

Their fit of shared hilarity helped Emma relax, and the dinner ended up being one of the best evenings she’d had in a long time. Killian, as it turned out, had spent several years in the navy before he became a librarian. He had hundreds of stories about his adventures in far-off lands and seemingly endless patience for inquisitive twelve-year-olds who wanted to hear every single one.

Emma sat and ate and listened as Killian regaled her son with his tales, and tried not to think too hard about how simply nice this was. Like the sort of pleasant family meal she’d always dreamed of as a child and regretted that she couldn’t give Henry, and she really needed to stop thinking about Killian like he was an actual part of her life when she’d barely known him for a day. She knew better than that. From bitter experience.

And yet. Killian’s kindness to and interest in Henry was genuine, she was sure of it. There was no hint in his words or actions to suggest that he was trying to use her kid to get to her, or that he was only pretending to care about Henry’s project. Her superpower didn’t even twitch. Every instinct Emma had was screaming that the most sinister thing about Killian Jones was how dangerously attractive she found him. He was just a nice man who knew how to talk to children. A nice, insanely hot man with the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen and a smile that stole all the air from her lungs, who not only didn’t run when he found out about her kid but actually liked him.

Fuck, she thought, as Killian caught her eye and gave her a little half-smile that had her gasping for air. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

—

“Well, thank you for a lovely evening, Swan.” Killian’s hand was on the doorknob but he seemed in no great hurry to leave, and she was equally not eager to see him go. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Me too. And thanks for being so nice to Henry.”

“Your boy is a delight, it was no hardship.”

“Still. It meant a lot to him.” She didn’t mention Neal and Killian didn’t ask, but she had the strangest feeling that they both wished they could.

You only just met him, damn it!

“It was my pleasure,” said Killian, and the way his voice went gruff on the word pleasure set her heart racing and heat blooming across her skin, and when his breath caught and his gaze dropped to her lips she had to force herself to remember that this wasn’t a date and she didn’t actually know this man. But she could tell from the rasp in his throat and the flush on his cheeks that he was feeling the same things she was, that he wanted the same things just as badly, and it would be easy, so easy just to lean in and press her lips to his—

Too easy, and far too risky. Emma gulped and stepped back as Killian gave a shaky exhale, closing his eyes as his Adam’s apple bobbed and Emma shoved her hands hard into her jeans pockets. He opened his eyes and then the door and gave her a brief smile before stepping into the hallway. Emma dug her fingers into her legs and firmly squashed the tiny part of her that wanted to beg him to stay.

“Well, ah, thanks for coming,” she said. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Aye.” He took two steps then stopped and turned back. “Er, perhaps next time you might allow me to provide the meal?” he said hesitantly. “Just for you?”

“Um. What?” said Emma, then immediately wanted to kick herself.

Killian’s nervous expression softened. “Well you see, as much as I enjoyed Henry’s company this evening, I’d very much like to take you out, Emma,” he said. “Just the two of us. On a date.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Aye, really. On Friday, perhaps, if you’re free?”

“Ah, yeah, I can be,” she replied, trying not to sound too eager. “I’ll have to see if I can get someone to watch Henry, but… yeah. I’d like that.”

That breath-stealing smile broke across his face as she knew it would, and yet she still wasn’t ready for it. “It’s a date, then,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something warm.”

“Uh.. okay.”

“And love, if you can’t find someone to look after Henry at such short notice I’d still like to spend the evening with you.” Killian’s face was earnest now. “With both of you, I mean. We’ll just postpone our date until a more convenient time.”

A lump rose in Emma’s throat and for a moment she thought she might cry. “I—that’d be good too. I’ll let you know.”

He nodded. “Good night, then, Swan.”

“Good night.”

—

@katie-dub @thisonesatellite @spartanguard @kmomof4 @stahlop @mariakov81 @teamhook in case you’re interested :)

[hopevalley]

Season 8, Episode 4: Welcome to Hope Valley

Another fun episode, everyone. I’m finding that, this season, I’m genuinely looking forward to each episode. Let’s hope things stay that way!

--

Scene 1: Awkward Library Encounter

Elizabeth walks in on Lucas sleeping in the library early in the morning; he stayed up all night and didn’t go to bed.  He tells Elizabeth that he managed to save the oil derrick before it was ruined in the fire, and I’m sure he was trying to make the numbers come out in the books and all that. Elizabeth is there to get some books to give to the Canfield children since everyone else is bringing stuff over to welcome them to town.

It’s a pretty awkward scene, probably because he was mean to Elizabeth last episode (though nothing he said was untrue lol). They then talk about Nathan’s trial a little bit, but it doesn’t really go anywhere beyond Lucas saying that “evidentially” Nathan was not “entirely” exonerated. 

--

Scene 2: The Canfields

Elizabeth brings over the books. Apparently they’re from Jameson. Angela is blind and is schooled at home by Minnie, her mother. Minnie asks Elizabeth if she wants to stay for breakfast, but Elizabeth politely declines as school is starting soon. Elizabeth makes it clear that Angela is welcome at school, too, but Minnie cuts her off and thanks her; it’s very clear this is not an idea she’s willing to entertain.

Not much to say about this scene. I would die for the Canfields.

--

Scene 3: The Train Station

Lee and Rosemary meet Lee’s sister Susannah and niece Rachel. They’re in Hope Valley for three days. It comes off a little silly because they were no doubt on the train longer than three days, but...eh. It’s all good. Rachel is cute and thought the train ride was...divine.

--

Scene 4: Inquiry Part One

Bill is on the “witness stand” in the inquiry “trial” and he details the events of the prisoner transfer. The short version of this is that Bill did not see the woman discharge her gun; he was looking at the mountie who had drawn his. Hargraves suggests that perhaps the woman fired her rifle due to Nathan’s actions—actions Bill was incapable of seeing.

This is probably the first scene we get where it’s incredibly clear that Superintendent Hargraves just straight-up has it out for Nathan. Meh.

--

Scene 5: Infirmary

Carson is looking for his stethoscope but it’s around his neck. He’s been called away to assist in a modern surgery. Carson tells Faith that they’ll figure things out and Faith admits that right now it feels like they either have to stop working together, or stop seeing each other, and she doesn’t like either option. Carson suggests a date to talk things over when he comes back from his trip.

Molly interrupts them about to kiss, and tells Faith it sounds like they’re working things out. Faith admits that it feels like the status of their relationship changes from minute to minute. Molly...then...asks...Faith for her advice?

Like if Faith isn’t that secure in her relationship, why ask her? My only thought would be that Faith would keep it to herself...unlike some other women in town lol.

--

Scene 6: Barber Shop

Jesse and Mike deliver some small things to the barbershop and we get exposition about how Jesse is in the doghouse after the whole motorcycle thing. I want to say this is a good scene because it continues the flow of the last episode (and we get to see what happens), but... I dunno. It was just okay, I guess.

--

Scene 7: Thirsty Rachel

Rachel and Susannah make it to town and Rachel is a thirsty girl. Specifically for Jesse when he walks by.

I kind of hope this isn’t a “plot” that’s dropped suddenly, but...eh.

--

Scene 8: Fort Clay

Allie is afraid of what will happen to Nathan and tells Elizabeth that she’s worried because Nathan’s been in trouble before; he was suspended when he was stationed at Fort Clay. Fort Clay was Jack’s last post, and nobody seemed to know that that was where Jack was last stationed. Big shocks all around.

This would be...more believable if it hadn’t been three years, and if we didn’t have the most obnoxious man in the world in town already who would have looked into Nathan’s past before trusting him fully. (Hint: I’m talking about Bill.)

I just find it super hard to believe that Bill wouldn’t know this lol. I guess we have to assume that if Bill did look, he only looked at Nathan’s last posting (Ft. Simpson) and didn’t go back to the previous post before that, which was Ft. Clay.

--

Scene 9: Elizabeth talks to Joseph

Elizabeth speaks with Joseph about the kids. She wants him and Minnie to know that Angela is welcome at school for real...and Joseph says he knows, but Minnie is protective of Angela and would prefer to keep schooling her herself.

Elizabeth talks about wanting to learn how to teach a blind student and says she understands why Joseph and Minnie are protective of Angela, but...Joseph tells her she doesn’t actually know, and that he doesn’t expect her to really understand it. He’s exceedingly kind in the way he states this, too. Like he knows Elizabeth grasps the basic concept, but cannot see the whole picture. He’s right, of course. Elizabeth literally cannot understand it.

--

Scene 10: Inquiry Part Two

Nathan gets raked over the coals some more, and him and Hargraves are kind of rude to one another. Bill tries to act as Nathan’s lawyer even though it’s not a court of law. Bill objects to Hargraves’ questions to the point where all the men are at each other’s throats and they call a recess.

It’s kind of nice to see Bill being unreasonable for the right reasons, actually. He so rarely gets to do that anymore... Feels good, feels organic, thank you.

--

Scene 11:Early Dinner

Susannah is a joyless strict woman I guess, and Elizabeth confides in Rosemary that she heard Nathan was stationed at Ft. Clay. Elizabeth feels bad about Nathan never telling her the truth about it and Rosemary suggests that...maybe Nathan didn’t want to bring up something that would be hurtful to her. Elizabeth thinks maybe there’s something he’s not telling her though-- like a reason he wouldn’t want to bring it up.

--

Scene 12: Bill talks to Nathan

Bill confronts Nathan about the “incident” where he was suspended at Fort Clay, and the short version is: Nathan disobeyed the newly promoted Hargraves’ orders and acted on his own. He made the arrests himself but Bill is firmly on Hargraves’ side in that Nathan still disobeyed orders.

Bill admits that it doesn’t sound like the Andrew Hargraves he knew, but Nathan reminds Bill that he knew Hargraves before he was promoted. Bill asks Nathan if he ever met Jack and Nathan says he did not ever have the honor.

It seems clear there’s something more going on there... My guess is that Nathan was part of the team that recovered the bodies of the men that died (specifically Jack’s).

Anyway, Bill tells Nathan he should get some sleep and be ready to come in swinging when they reconvene in the morning. “And this time, take my advice!” This confused me at first, but he means that Nathan should take the advice he literally just gave him: to get sleep and come in swinging.

--

Scene 13: Early Dinner

Gustav tells Lucas he’s spending too much time trying to manage the oil business: “When a man wears two hats, one is sure to fall off.” This comes up because Lucas thought he did the ordering for the saloon but didn’t.

Rachel calls a meal “delish” to the annoyance of her mother. (Delish was in print in 1920 at least, and was probably used well before that, so this is not as inaccurate as it might feel.)

There’s some awkward conversation about Rachel’s future (she wants to do something exciting). It’s the worst.

--

Scene 14: Jesse and Clara

Jesse and Clara have a chat about buying things without talking to one another first and everything is okay and fine again. 

The camera pans over to Nathan and Allie. He tells her he’ll always be there for her and that’s...that.

--

Scene 15: The Motorcycle

Lee tries to sneakily get on the motorcycle to avoid spending time with his uptight sister. Rosemary tells him that she’s sure Susannah wants to ask them something. Lee tells her it’s really none of their business how Susannah raises Rachel.

--

Scene 16: Cooper Goes to School

Cooper gets introduced to the class and the Canfields sit outside listening in on it. He tells the class about his sister. Angela confesses to wanting to play with kids her own age. She’s lonely. Minnie is worried about how the other kids are going to treat Angela, but Joseph feels Hope Valley will be different.

Minnie promises to think about it.

This makes me excited for the potential of a friendship between Angela and Allie. ;o;

--

Scene 17: Inquiry Part Three

Nathan doesn’t try very hard in the courthouse tbh. Bill makes his chair thud loudly so that he can find an opening to speak his mind. “It’s not an objection...you just happened to all be looking my way, so...”

He says it’s possible if Nathan had complied with the woman’s order to release her brother, that they all could have died.

Nathan seems...slightly amused by this?

--

Scene 18: Piano Woman

Angela climbs up on the wagon to play the piano and it’s nice. There isn’t much else to this scene but there didn’t really need to be much else. It’s clear Angela has a passion for music.

--

Scene 19: Molly’s Glow-Up

At the dress shop, Molly tries on the dress Dottie sent over from Union City but feels uncertain about it. Rachel suggests a necklace & sash to complete the look. She admits to Rosemary she’s trying to catch someone’s eye, and Faith tells her she will, looking like that!

Molly decides to buy it.

Rosemary tells Rachel to find something she likes in the shop, and that she can wear something from it.

--

Scene 20: Piano Part Two

Jesse and Elizabeth take Cooper home as Jesse was planning to help Joseph move his piano. Elizabeth seems moved by Angela’s playing. I have to admit I like this scene specifically for the fact that music would be a very popular and enjoyable pastime at this time period because there wasn’t a lot else to keep a person occupied, so it was nice to see it here.

Elizabeth has a heart to heart with Minnie about Angela. Minnie admits she wants Angela to feel safe and encouraged and also tells Elizabeth that she doesn’t understand how cruel people can be. Elizabeth says that wouldn’t be allowed in her classroom (which is silly cause if people say shit, she can’t take that back even if she disciplines a child, you know what I mean?).

But she also tells Minnie that she’ll never stop trying to understand how things are for Angela, or for Minnie, and she won’t stop trying to help. I think Minnie kind of ‘gets it’ but isn’t ready to let go just yet.

--

Scene 21: Tension at the Coulters

Rosemary brings Rachel home wearing the Freedom-Alls (and a lot of makeup). Susannah tells her to change right away. Rosemary tries to intervene and Susannah says that Rachel will be working her the family store. Lee tells Susannah not to talk to Rosemary like that. Everyone is upset. 

--

Scene 22: Bill Confronts Hargraves

While Ned and Florence are on a date in the background, Bill confronts Hargraves about doing the right thing instead of just trying to end Nathan’s career out of some petty grudge he’s feeling. 

I think this scene functions specifically to show us that Hargraves doesn’t actually think he’s being petty, or that he’s abusing his position of power, but part of what Bill is telling him is helping him to see that that’s what he’s doing. It just doesn’t click until later.

Bill storms out of the room only barely acknowledging Molly as he leaves.

It clearly hurts her feelings and Florence rushes over to tell her how hot she looks. Molly’s like, “Yeah I know, I’m hungry and looking amazing. Let’s eat.” And then says “When it comes to Bill it’s all about the long game.”

I need me some of that confidence.

--

Scene 23: Susannah Apologizes

Susannah apologizes for speaking that way to Rosemary (first to Lee and then to Rosemary herself). She then asks Lee and Rosemary to let Rachel live with them for a little while, because she feels they can do better for Rachel than she can, since she’s so much different than Rachel is.

Lee doesn’t want to agree to it, but the answer is an instant yes from Rosemary.

Awkward.

On the plus side, they do talk about how when Susannah was Rachel’s age, she was a caretaker already for their father and never had a chance to live a youthful life. That was a nice touch.

--

Scene 24: Allie’s Speech

Allie tells Elizabeth she’s gonna bust into the courtroom and give them a piece of her mind and Elizabeth doesn’t try to stop her... she just...kind of lets it happen.

Allie busts in just as Hargraves is about to read his recommendation (a two page long spiel). 

Allie says Nathan is all she has and he’s like a father to her. Elizabeth gently coaxes Allie out of the room while everyone looks either moved or uncomfortable lol. Hargraves puts down his speech and decides to drop the inquiry. Lol.

I really wish we’d gotten a scene with Bill and Hargraves after this, just to get more insight into that... but eh. I already posted my minor nitpicks on the scene.

--

Scene 25: Susannah Leaves

That’s the scene lol. She apologizes a little to Rachel for not being better. But it’s mostly a wholesome little scene. Lee seems really NOT on board letting Rachel live with them, though. Yikes.

--

Scene 26: Carson Returns

Carson brings back a gift for Faith and it’s a doctor bag embroidered with her name. Very nice. It would be more meaningful of a gift if he’d gotten it for her well before the whole “not treating her equally” thing.

--

Scene 27: Molly

Molly is standing outside and Florence approaches her to ask what’s up. Molly tells her that she’s outside ‘cause Carson came back and Florence tells her that she needs her own office.  I really do like the way these two talk.

Florence tells Molly again that she looked amazing last night (GAY!!!! I mean, I’d ship it) and Molly says “I did, didn’t I?”

Bill walks by and greets them and then says, “Molly, that was some dress.”

The best part is Florence’s face.

Molly says, “$23.00 well spent!” and they walk off together.

Hey y’all, $23.00 in 1918 is $400.00 today. Yikes?

--

Scene 28: Jinx! Buy me a soda!

Clara and Fiona run into each other and say something at the same time, so they both also say, “Jinx, buy me a soda!”

I literally could not find any information about the history of this saying, though one person did say it dated at least back to 1913 when their great-grandmother would say, “Snap! You owe me a soda!” It feels more 1950s to me than rural 1918 speech, so I personally would not have included this phrase in the writing just for that reason, but...I guess at least it has energy to it.

Fiona mentions that she’s going to visit her family and suggests maybe Clara could run the barber shop while she’s gone.

--

Scene 29: Elizabeth and Lucas, and also Nathan on the Side

Elizabeth decides to be the first to reach out. She apologizes to Lucas for hurting him and he accepts her apology but tells her he had no right to be mean to her.  He apologizes too.

She tells him that she told Nathan she can’t give him what he wants and she won’t be seeing him anymore. So Lucas asks what that means for the two of them, and she says they’ll have to see.

Lucas seems very pleased about that.

Nathan approaches Elizabeth and she tells him that she knew the Mounties would reach the right decision and asks him why he never told her that he was stationed at Ft. Clay. 

He says he meant to tell her but after so much time had passed he didn’t know how to bring it up. He tells her he never met Jack but is kind of evasive about it, which again suggests he did meet him...just possibly...not when Jack was alive.

I still feel it’s going to be that he recovered the body or something like that. Oh, or worse, that he recovered Jack from the landslide but he wasn’t dead yet and possibly even died in front of Nathan.

I really hope if they go that route that Jack didn’t say anything about Elizabeth to Nathan, because that would...make things really weird.

--

This episode had fewer scenes in it than the other episodes, and did more “sweep camera over to the next scene so that the transition is seamless” and that kind of camerawork is really...working for me. It looks nicer and helps things feel less disjointed. You might also have noticed we have fewer massive closeups and a lot more long/wide shots (of people walking or sitting together). I’m really enjoying that, too.

I hope y’all’re looking forward to the next episode as much as I am. :)

[artificialqueens]

Sweet On My Lips (Crygi) - Mumu

A/N: This is my first fic! I usually write poetry, so this is quite a change. Hope you enjoy :) You can also read it on AO3!

Summary: Gigi’s a barista and Crystal stumbles into her cafe. Softness ensues.

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when Crystal Methyd stumbles into the cafe with a book bag under her arm. She needs a sugar high. Immediately.

She wanted to go to a Starbucks, but a few wrong turns on the way back from the new tattoo studio she was an apprentice at, and she was suddenly twenty minutes away from the nearest one. She ended up having to settle for a local cafe to satisfy her sweet tooth. How is that even possible? Starbucks is supposed to have a store on every street. That’s, like, the law.

Add that to the fact that LA summers felt like Satan himself was preemptively boiling everybody alive to lessen his workload once they made it down to hell, and you got one very pissed off Crystal.

“Hi! Can I get, uh, a-” Crystal starts, approaching the counter. She squints at the menu, trying to decide from the creative names which drink has the most cream and sugar. Her mouth tastes filmy and gross from dehydration, not at all helping her concentrate on scanning the drink names.

Tiramisu mocha? White chocolate raspberry frappe? Maybe the frappes are sweeter, given that they’re usually topped with whipped cream and all. She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. It’s too hot out to order a hot chocolate. Maybe she could ask to get it iced, though? Is that a thing?

She honestly should have just walked the twenty minutes to Starbucks; at least she knows for sure that they’re okay with modifications.

She realizes she’s been quiet for a few seconds too long when the barista speaks.

“Take your time! There’s not much business this time of day anyways.”

“Thanks,” Crystal drags her gaze away from the menu and up to glance at said barista. Her breath catches as soon as she does. The first thing she notices is curly red hair, pulled into a shiny ponytail. It looks soft, and she wants to touch it.

Crystal’s pretty sure this barista is the first redhead she’s met (apart from that one time she decided to dye her hair red in eighth grade, of course, but she doubts that counts.)

She’d only done it to piss off her English teacher after he’d gone on a rant and said that unnatural hair colors were an abomination of god or whatever. It didn’t come out to be a pretty shade like this girl’s. More… Clifford the big red dog. But ultimately, three months of picking out clothes to match her hair and drenching her damaged split ends in coconut oil were worth it, if only to see Mr. Rhodes splutter every time she came into his classroom.

A thump from the cafe dishwasher brings her back to the moment, and she startles slightly.

“D’you want some help choosing?” The barista asks helpfully.

She doesn’t trust herself to speak without stammering out something embarrassing, so Crystal just nods instead.

“Great!” The redhead says, smiling. Her nose scrunches as she does so, and Crystal notices the coral-colored blush placed there for the first time. It gives the girl a sunburnt look. It’s cute. She’s cute.

“I love guessing people’s coffee orders. It’s like, coffee shop tarot reading or whatever,” The girl says.

“Aren’t tarot readings for the future though?” Crystal gets out, finding her voice again. Her eyes drop to the barista’s name tag- Gigi. It’s nice to put a name to the pretty face. “So this would be more like a BuzzFeed personality quiz or something.”

“Whatever, I don’t know.” Gigi waves the question away, shrugging. Her smile is warm, and it makes Crystal feel kind of melty inside. “You’re probably right.”

“Do you do it often?” Crystal ventures.

Gigi gets a bit flustered, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. Crystal wishes she could be the one playing with Gigi’s hair. Is that creepy? Definitely creepy.

Gigi considers how to word her answer. Okay, don’t tell her you analyze everyone that comes in here like some sort of serial killer.

“Mostly just in my head? It keeps me entertained.” Or do. Great.

“Cool! Do you want me to answer questions or something? I can do that.” Crystal offers.

“No, that’s cheating. Just, like, stand there for a sec, yeah?”

Crystal obeys, feeling a bit silly. Gigi narrows her eyes, studying her.

“You’re wearing bright colors and mixing prints… that tells me you’re fun and like, a child at heart and stuff.” And you’re really pretty, Gigi wants to add. Really, really pretty, because nobody else I’ve ever met could get away with mixing prints. Not even Nicky, and that girl is a runway model.

“Uh, thanks, I think!” Crystal shuffles a bit. She hopes that being “a child at heart” a good thing in Gigi’s book. She wants Gigi to like her. The realization almost makes her snort in irony. Of course. I’m head over heels for a pretty girl I just met five minutes ago who’s probably not even gay. How very cliche lesbian of me.

Crystal makes a mental note to never, ever tell her group chat about this. (Meaning, the group chat is the first place she’ll go to talk about this after she leaves in around five minutes.) Jaida will probably never let her live it down. On the bright side, it would probably give her a break from constantly having to relive the Mailbox Incident of Summer 2017. She nearly shudders just thinking about it.

“Oh! And cute earrings! Where’d you get those?” Gigi asked, bringing Crystal out of her thoughts.

“Thank you, I made them!” Crystal says, and only allows herself to grin like an idiot for five seconds.

“No way, that’s incredible,” Gigi marvels. “Do you sell them or anything?”

“Yeah, mostly just to friends, though. Once a month I go to an art fair and that’s when I sell the most stuff.” Crystal says. She hesitates for a moment, before throwing in a, “but then again, lesbians will buy anything if you stick a needle on and call them earrings, so.”

“That’s cool,” Gigi says. “And amen to that. I just bought a pair of bottle cap earrings? I have no idea when I’m ever going to wear them.”

“Thanks! Those sound cute, I bet you’d look pretty in them.” Crystal feels like a broken record at this point, just repeating the same few phrases. The praise has her feeling a bit shy, and she can’t help but get a little self-conscious. She fiddles with the hem of her denim jacket to keep herself busy.

Gigi doesn’t seem to notice, still very much focused on analyzing her appearance. “Freckles, cute! Are they natural?”

“Oh, uh, yeah!” Crystal brings a hand up to tap her nose. “I used to hate them.”

“What, no, they’re adorable! I’ve always wanted them. I would, like, dot them on with mascara in third grade.”

Crystal giggles. “That’s so cute.”

She flounders for a second, trying to come up with something to say as Gigi goes back to staring at her. “Uh, I like your hair! I dyed my hair red in eighth grade, but it didn’t look natural or anything.”

“Aw, thank you. Yeah, red hair is really hard to get right apparently.” Gigi nibbles on her bottom lip, thinking. “Okay, I think I’ve got it!”

“What’s the verdict?” Crystal asks excitedly, all previous discomfort forgotten.

The redhead pauses, steepling her hands and drumming her fingertips together. She lets the silence sit for a few seconds to build anticipation, though this time it’s decidedly less awkward, both girls having warmed up to each other.

There’s a pause before she announces her decision. “I think… you seem like a diabetes in a cup kinda girl.”

Wow. Okay, how the hell did Gigi do that? Is Crystal that easy to read or something?

Actually, yeah, it makes sense that she’d get it right. Crystal thinks, answering her own question. I dress like something out of a five-year-old’s wildest dreams. Still, pretty impressive.

An indignant part of her wants to insist that she can handle bitterness, thank you so much, but Crystal’s never been a great liar, and something tells her this girl wouldn’t buy it either.

“Is that… a good thing?” Crystal says, a dumb grin spreading on her face. Get it together, Crystal.

“What? Girl, in what world is diabetes a good thing?” Gigi cackles. “It’s horrible. I get an iced black coffee, for reference.”

“Ew,” Crystal blurts without thinking. Shit, I said that out loud. She immediately flushes and tries to take it back. “Or, no, I mean, not ew, but-”

“No no, it’s okay! I know some people just aren’t mature enough for Big Girl coffee,” Gigi mocks. Crystal would usually be offended, but judging from the way Gigi’s blue eyes are sparkling with mirth, she knows the girl’s just joking.

She still makes a sort of offended squeak, pouting. “I just like the way sweet stuff tastes!”

“Okay, okay!” Gigi holds her hands up in surrender, barely concealing a grin. “Don’t pout, you’re too cute to pout.”

The squeak that escapes Crystal is real this time. Gigi called her cute? Is she flirting or just being nice? I’m probably delusional. Right?

There’s a moment where neither girl speaks. It hangs in the air with the smell of vanilla and cinnamon, mixing until Crystal’s half sure the entire cafe’s suddenly been turned into some sort of fairy-tale confection. She’s afraid to move, like the space around her will crackle and shatter if she does. It’s quiet, safe for the background of the coffee grinder going steadily and some gentle R&B flowing out of the sound system.

It’s a comfortable sort of silence. Crystal likes it, feels safe in the cocoon-like ambience. She wonders why she’s never come to this cafe before. Maybe it’s time to break her Starbucks addiction, explore a bit more.

Gigi clears her throat.

“So, how does a double chocolate cookie dough frappe with Nutella drizzle sound?” Gigi asks, finger already poised above the cash register screen.

Perfect.

Okay no, she can’t say that. Crystal clears her throat, trying to come up with a response that’s not as corny. She eyes the wall opposite the counter, where the menu is, then Gigi, confused.

“Wait, I don’t see it on the menu?” She scans the menu again, trying to find Gigi’s recommendation. Did she miss it? Her coffee budget is $3, what with rent due at the end of this week. Hopefully, Gigi’s recommendation isn’t over that limit.

“Oh! Yeah, um, I kinda just made it up right now.” Gigi flushes, sounding a bit flustered. She rushes to explain. “My boss is, like, super cool though! She lets me experiment and stuff. And I can just ring you up for a hot chocolate and it’ll be our little secret.”

In truth, this is Gigi’s first time making anything off-menu, so she isn’t sure what her boss Widow’s policy on the practice is. But she has this inexplicable urge to want to impress this girl. Gigi wants her to love the drink she orders.

I mean, it can’t go that bad, right? She reasons. Worst case scenario Widow takes it out of my tips or something. But Widow’s nice. She probably won’t do that.

“Well, in that case,” Crystal starts, and then changes her mind. “Actually, what did you say you usually ordered? Black coffee? I’ll take that.”

A shocked noise escapes Gigi. “I get an iced black coffee. You sure you want that?”

“Yeah yeah yeah! I can handle it, you’ll see,” Crystal hears herself say. This is an astronomically bad idea, she knows, but then again, she’s never been one to turn down a challenge. She wants to impress Gigi, and what with her teasing earlier, she honestly feels like she has something to prove.

“Okay, your funeral,” Gigi relents, raising an eyebrow. “That’ll be $2.49, then.”

Crystal hands her card over, watching Gigi go through the motions of scanning it, handing it back to her, and tearing off the receipt.

“You want the receipt?” Gigi asks.

“Nah, I trust you,” Crystal winks at the other girl, surprising even herself with her boldness.

Crystal thinks she sees Gigi redden, though that could just be a combination of her makeup and a trick of the light. Something tells her that the redhead is fond of blush, what with the way the coral powder has been taken across the bridge of Gigi’s nose and on her cheekbones.

“Okay!” Gigi flashes her a smile and grabs a cup and sharpie. Two can play this game. “Can I get a name for the order, babes?”

“Um, it’s- it’s Crystal.” Crystal blinks, trying to figure out whether she heard that right. Whatever boldness possessed her to wink at the pretty girl in front of her fled the moment that pet name passed Gigi’s lips.

“Well, nice to meet you then, It’s It’s Crystal,” Gigi says with a smirk. “One iced black coffee coming right up! Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring it to you when it’s done.”

Crystal plops down at the nearest table, watching Gigi work. Now that she has an excuse to just quietly observe, Crystal takes in Gigi’s full appearance. Her red hair is glossy and shiny under the sunlight that streams through the cafe’s windows, and she moves with expert ease through the space behind the counter. Her apron is checkered red and white. It’s tied in a bow at the back—a bow that’s lopsided, sagging slightly to the left, Crystal notes with a smile.

The girl is gorgeous, there’s no doubt about it. If Crystal met her on the street she definitely would have mistaken her for a model. And she was nice, too.

Nobody ever noticed her freckles or complimented her on her earrings the first time they met her. Most people thought her style of dress was weird, and Crystal figures that’s fair enough. Just the other day she wore a magenta jumpsuit with matching bunny ears. Anyone in their right mind would be a little taken aback at her fashion (as Jaida put it, her aesthetic is best described as “thrift store on acid.” Not exactly everyone’s cup of tea.) But Gigi got her right away, and a little part of Crystal wants to take that as a sign. Okay, maybe a large part.

Just as Crystal’s about to get lost in her daydreams again, Gigi bustles over with two cups, one in each hand.

“I made you a cookie dough frappe just in case,” She says, setting both cups on the table. “It’s on the house.”

Crystal exhales a light laugh. “You didn’t have to.”

“Oh,” Gigi says. She shifts her weight onto the other foot, suddenly shy, and gestures lamely towards the two drinks. “I wanted to. Just in case, like, the black coffee was too bitter. Sorry. You don’t have to drink it, uh, if you don’t want to.”

She offers an awkward smile. “I won’t force you.”

“Oh! Uh, no!” Crystal says, a little louder than necessary in her haste to reassure the other girl. Gigi jumps, and Crystal grabs her hand out of impulse. The movement jerks Gigi closer to her. “I mean, thanks. You don’t have to apologize. It’s really sweet of you to think of that.”

Gigi blushes, and Crystal’s suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she’s holding the girl’s hand.

And the fact that they’re the only people in this cafe. And the fact that when Crystal grabbed Gigi’s hand, it sent her stumbling a step closer, so now she’s pressed right against Crystal’s leg.

Gigi is very, very close to her all of a sudden, and her hair is really pretty, especially with the sunlight backlighting the frizz into a golden halo. She looks like an angel, and her eyes are hypnotizing.

Crystal wants to kiss her.

“Okay,” Gigi whispers, and licks her lips. It dawns on Crystal that she said that last part out loud. Fuck.

But Crystal can’t think, can’t panic, because Gigi’s so close and she smells like chocolate cake when it’s freshly out of the oven and still gooey in the center, just the way her abuelita makes it, and she’s warm and everything Crystal has ever imagined or wanted. Everything molecule in Crystal is telling her to crash into Gigi, and she decides to just go along with her instincts, because when a pretty girl is that close to her there’s no way Crystal can think logically.

“O-kay,” Crystal whispers back, stretching out the word, and then Gigi’s lips are on hers and they’re soft.

God, they’re soft. Gotta ask for her lip balm brand, Crystal thinks, because that’s a perfectly normal thing to ask someone you’re kissing, and then Gigi’s shifting positions and sliding into her lap to kiss her more comfortably and she’s lost the ability to think again.

All she can do is feel, feel the way Gigi’s hand snakes around her waist, the way Gigi’s eyelashes are fluttering against her nose bridge, the way Gigi’s hair is smooth as she tangles a hand in it, the way her heart feels like it’s soaring and exploding all at once and each one of her veins seems to be pumped full of fizzy champagne all of a sudden. All she can feel is Gigi, and she thinks she likes that.

As they part, Crystal accidentally bumps her nose against Gigi’s. She pulls away, wincing, and meets Gigi’s eyes for one very still moment. They peer at each other in wonder, as if discovering each other for the first time, and then Gigi’s lips quirk and she’s giggling. Before long, Crystal’s joining in too, and both lose it, still riding high off the adrenaline of the kiss.

After they’ve both calmed down, Crystal motions to the drinks on the table. “Wanna share?”

Gigi smiles softly at her. “Yeah, sure.”

Crystal grabs the black coffee and takes a small, tentative sip. She immediately chokes, breaking into a coughing fit. Gigi pounds her back, hard, then races behind the counter and pours her a small cup of water. After Crystal’s done hacking her guts out, she accepts it gratefully, trying to catch her breath.

“That,” She pants, “Is fucking disgusting.”

Gigi lets out a full-bellied laugh. It’s the prettiest thing Crystal’s ever heard, she thinks, which is saying a lot because she’s been to at least one show for all four of the One Direction tours. ‘“What a feeling” harmonies can’t even come close to the magic of Gigi’s laugh. Crystal wants to hear it over and over.

“I tried to warn you,” Gigi says with a snort, then covers her mouth, eyes wide and mortified, clearly shocked at the sound she produced. The comical expression sends Crystal straight into another bout of laughter, and before long they’re both losing it again.

Sometime later in the afternoon, somehow, Gigi ends up in Crystal’s lap again. Crystal’s lost track of time, but she doesn’t mind. She wants to kiss Gigi again, and again, and again. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of looking at her, kissing the sweet almond balm off her lips, touching her. Crystal wants to be in her presence forever. Gigi’s tongue pokes out of the left side of her mouth as she gazes down at Crystal, lazily tracing the smattering of freckles across her nose, forehead, and cheekbones with her peach nails.

“I wanna kiss every one of them,” Gigi whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then: “They’re cute.”

Crystal’s pretty sure if she wasn’t already giving heart eyes to Gigi, they are most certainly happening now. “You’re cute.”

“Can I? Kiss them.”

“There’s a lot of them,” Crystal says. It’s breathy, a challenge and a plea at the same time.

Gigi smiles, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind Crystal’s ear. “We have time.”

And they do, so Crystal lets Gigi kiss her until the drinks beside them are both completely melted and the whipped cream in Crystal’s has gone all weepy and deflated. Gigi insists on making her a new one, and on entering her number into Crystal’s phone before she leaves.

Crystal goes home and dreams of her.

[jbbuckybarnes]

Professor Sugar - 2/7

Pairing: Student!Reader x Professor!Bucky Description: Like tons of other students you struggle with finances, but you can’t get any aid since your parents are filthy rich. The system doesn’t care that they broke off contact after you came out as bisexual. There is, however, someone else that cares. The prof of your class on PTSD and trauma. Professor Barnes. Written for: @fanfictionaries​ & @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​‘s challenges. Warnings: Financial Instability, not beta read.

Professor Sugar Masterlist // Masterlist 

Books & Coffee

You sat in the student café next to the building Mr. Barnes held his classes in. An hour is what he said. An hour on your phone and staring up at coffee prices that were worth multiple instant noodle packs. Last semester you could sometimes indulge in a cup of coffee if something was left at the end of a month. Now that you were one job down that wasn‘t a possibility anymore unless you had an absolute reason to celebrate or were seriously down.

„I see you‘re doing your homework.“ You heard and looked up at your favorite professor. „Yeah. It feels weird not doing anything.“ You commented and let your fingernails clack on your phone case. „You could read a book.“ He suggested and sat down on one of the chairs. „I don‘t really have the concentration for that and audiobooks are too expensive.“ You shrugged and started playing with the hem of your shirt. „The library has a lot of their books as audiobooks. In case you didn‘t know.“ He continued suggesting. „Yeah, but it‘s mostly the boring stuff. I want some true crime or deeply researched investigative journalism.“ You smiled a little awkward, thinking about your oddly specific book interests. „Oh, that‘s your type of thing, huh?“ He grinned and took note of how your interests connected perfectly to the field you studied. „I have this really cool book on my list about the Pentagon and how it works. $35 for the audiobook. Nobody can tell me the government doesn‘t want the less stable to stay unstable.“ You got a little political. „$35 you say?“ You heard and looked up from the café menu you had been spinning around. Confusion clearly written across your face, „Yeah.“ „How about you write a B+ or better on the first test and I get you your book?“ He smiled over at you and made you blink in disbelief. „I can‘t take th-“ „Yes, you can. I‘d buy any student a book if they wanted one.“ He held out his hand to you. „Fine.“ You shook his hand, „But it‘s on you if this isn‘t allowed, Mr. Barnes.“ „Promise.“ And with that sweet smile he was all the way over by the counter, ordering a black coffee. *Cute Prof just told me he‘d buy me a book on my reading list if I land a B+ or better!* You texted Samantha a little nervous about the whole thing. *Academic sugar daddy!!!!* Was the only message coming back. *Of course, your mind goes there.* You sent back while rolling your eyes.

And like that you went and studied harder than ever for that course. Having a professor that actually felt like he believed in you made quite a difference. After every lesson you went and showed him your neatly organized study notes from the previous lesson and every time you got a thumbs up or a good suggestions from him. You looked at study accounts and tried to emulate their notes so you had more fun studying and you regularly watched „study with me“ videos to keep yourself going on the bad days. The other courses were still hard, but you knew you wouldn‘t have to be as concerned about them compared to Barnes‘ class.

After a few weeks the first test came around and you felt prepared and motivated...until you got the results back. „B-“ He handed the paper to you with an almost apologizing smile. „Fuck.“ What did that mean for the rest of the year if you already were so under average in the first test? „Hey, it‘s alright. I saw how much you worked your butt off. You‘re trying.“ He said encouragingly. „Apparently not hard enough.“ You mumbled and walked out of the classroom under worried eyes. How was it so hard for you to learn about trauma and then put it onto paper in a test? You really liked the topic too, so why didn‘t it feel easy to you?

You went into the coffee shop, mind kinda clouded and ready to just plop into bed. But instead, you decided to order a drink. „A caramel macchiato, please.“ You got out a little more depressed than intended. „Make that two.“ A familiar voice said behind you. You turned around to see your professor again, „It‘s on me.“ „Miste-„ „I said what I said, put your money away.“ He grinned and you rolled your eyes while putting your wallet away. Was he like this to everyone? Damn it, this is why you should be more social with people in courses you‘re in!

A few moments later you were sitting on your usual table with him across from you. „Found your Goodreads account. And a few others‘ in the class. Why do my students keep using their full name as nicknames? Whatever. I saw the book you mentioned last time. Pulitzer, huh?“ He smiled impressed. „Yeah, and she reads her audiobooks herself. Super calming voice.“ You drifted off a bit until you saw him take something out of his wallet. A card that he slid over to you. „An Amazon gift card...Mister B-“ „-I said in the first lesson, you all can call me Bucky.“ He grinned. „That‘s too much. A coffee? Fine. But this?“ You raised a brow and pointed at the card. „I‘ve seen your hard work and you‘ll finish on time if you keep working like that.“ He gave you a proud smile. „I can‘t take that Bucky.“ You said again and it felt strangely good saying that name and it also felt good to hear out of your mouth. „Yes, you can. I‘m not taking it back.“ He held up his hands a bit with a dramatic face. „Fine“ You grumbled and put it in your worn off wallet. Your phone lit up, a screen with a few scratches was illuminated. *And? What‘s the grade?* *B-* *Fuck...but that‘s still way better than the C‘s and C-‘s you had last year.* He looked at you a little more. The only really nice thing you had was your iPad Pro with the Stylus. You constantly used it in his classes. The rest? He didn‘t see financial instability, but if he looked closer, like right now, he could see the little things. The old phone, the fact you never really get coffee here, the torn-up wallet, the old backpack you used for your study materials. „Can I ask what happened with your parents?“ He asked a little softer. „Came out as bisexual to them.“ You mumbled, staring at your coffee, shrugging lightly. „That‘s all?“ His eyebrow raised and he was surprised that this was everything to it. You nodded, „Wow.“ „Jup. Just don‘t know if my psyche would‘ve suffered less around those people, compared to living with my friend and barely paying rent.“ You commented on your weekly recurring thoughts. „I‘ll look into more potential study aids, alright? I know you‘re not the only one in the class with that problem. I hate to see that happen more and more.“ He frowned concerned. „You don‘t have to.“ You mumbled again, still holding onto your coffee. „Yes, I do. You keep studying. No reason why you should also have that on your mind all the time if I have more than enough time for it.“ He insisted. „Bucky?“ „Hm?“ His eyes went up and you were met with a glimpse of a puppy face. „Thank you. You do more than a professor needs to do.“ A big smile was interchanged before you brought out your iPad again and flipped open the case to reveal the keyboard. „How‘d you afford that handy thing?“ He pointed at it nonchalantly. „There are aids for digital study material, and tax benefits, so I took the opportunity that I saw.“ You grinned proudly. „I see you frowning every time that pen runs out of battery and you need to switch to typing with the pen attached to it.“ A wide grin was spread across his face. „Glad I‘m entertaining.“ God, why was it so easy to flirt with him? It shouldn‘t be so easy to flirt with him. „Well then, my office hours start soon. Tell me how the book is.“ He said standing up. „Will do.“ And he was out of the door.

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Room 73- Chapter 1/8

There is a being that lives in the chemistry building of Haley-Dove Secondary. It has been there longer than anyone’s living memory, and nobody questions it anymore.

Pairing/s: (Eventual) Romantic Prinxiety, Loceit and Pintroverts/Karrot Kings, Queerplatonic Intruality and platonic DLAMRT(N) with mentioned background Kailliot. Romantic (married!) Remile and mentioned Sanders Shorts characters.

Read on AO3!

Word count: 2950

Warnings: Mentioned bullying, allusions to the foster system, perhaps minor disassociation? Paranormal elements.

Other notes: So many thanks to my Beta (!!!) Juicyboxers for looking through this fic for me- and teaching me so much stuff about dialogue!! So if you notice that the dialogue here is better than the dialogue on my other stuff, than thank him!

Anyways, without further ado... (tinny drumroll)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is a being that lives in the chemistry building of Haley-Dove Secondary. It has been there longer than anyone’s living memory, and nobody questions it anymore.

It’s a strange one, a space completely fuzzed out by something resembling static, but if that static could exist, could take up space, be real in a way static really can’t be.

The being lives on the third desk to the right, second from top, room 73. It seems to be on friendly terms with the thing that sometimes screams in the courtyard and the witch who lives in the woods surrounding the town. It doesn’t seem to like the slamming locker much, but it doesn’t hurt anyone, so nobody cares.

It lingers, at that desk, watching boys and girls and everyone in between study the sciences as the years go on, seeing the building as a boy’s school, then a bomb shelter, then a public school classroom, watching. Nobody knows what the being is, really, but it’s there, so nobody will say anything.

Across the country, three people grieve quietly.

…

”BEEP, BEEP, BEEP”

“Shu-Shuddup, Pat...” Groaning slightly, Janus lifts his covers from his head, just a little, to flip the bird at his brother, who clearly understood the concept of ‘don’t wake someone up before sunrise’. “...lemme sleep.”

Pat doesn’t seem to realize this, clearly and he continues making obnoxious beeping noises at him. Stupid Pat and his relentless cheer never letting Janus brood enough to fit the aesthetic.

“Alright Pat, let’s get up then. Besides, this has to be better than middle school.” Janus feels bad almost immediately for bringing that up because Patton’s eyes cloud over some, before clearing themselves up and his brother smiles again, a little wider, beckoning Janus out of bed.

“Pat, could you pass me my cape?” asks Janus, holding out his hand expectantly. He’s moderately surprised when there’s nothing there after a few seconds. He glances over, and his brother’s looking at him a bit cheekily.

“Aww Janny, couldn’t you possibly go without it for our first day? You wear it all the time!” Patton replies, picking up the cape and throwing it to him, Janus catching from below. It’s routine.

“No, and you know it. Now, slacks or skirt?” asks Janus, sifting through the small clothes pile Patton kept out for the week

“Skirt, please! The one with the suspenders?” “You have no taste”

“Says the guy wearing the cape, Jan.” when Patton takes the skirt, it brushes against the wall first, promptly setting off a chorus of whispering flowers gossiping. Jamus is really, really lucky that Patton hasn’t realised that that’s a viable way to wake him up.

Deeming themselves acceptable, they both go downstairs, with Patton skipping down the steps more than anything, and Janus trying to avoid the cracks on the eighth, sixth, and second steps. The shadow in the creaks always snarled at him if he stepped on a crack, and it was, frankly, annoying.

Emile and Remy were already in the kitchen, Emile making (slightly charring) breakfast and Remy brewing coffee while simultaneously downing his fifth cup of the stuff, shifting from foot to foot to some mid-2000’s pop playing from Emile’s phone.

“Hey there, small fries! It’s eggs and toast for breakfast, so gobble up before you go- breakfast is the most important meal of the day!” Exclaims Emile, as soon as he catches sight of Patton’s yellow skirt in the stairwell. Remy looks up from the coffee pot, acknowledges Both Janus and Patton’s existence, then nods and brings out two more mugs, one yellow and black and one yellow and pink onto the kitchen island, next to the Steven Universe and ‘I’ll sleep when I’m Dead’ cups respectively.

“Hi, Emile! I’m so excited for today- do you think Jan and I could make some friends today?” asks Patton, still smiling as he elbows Janus for the latter part of that sentence. Janus turns around, knocks the perpetrator’s elbow, and grins, sitting down to accept his burnt eggs and coffee while Patton gets his burnt eggs and sugar concoction. Remy takes up the seat on Patton’s other side, grunting as he downs his sixth cup of coffee and Emile swoops into his husband's space, plucking the empty cup from Remy’s hands and not letting him get a refill. Remy grumbles a bit, but there’s no real malice- this is routine, always has been, as long as there have been witch-hazel plants growing along the house and as long as Remy and Emile have known each other.

Emile plops down with his breakfast and his coffee mug- always too much milk- and turns to face Patton, straightening his sweater vest, beaming in a way that fools a lot of strangers into thinking that Patton’s actually biologically related to him.

“I think you two can, Kiddo! With the right people, you and Jan could set the world on fire!” he cheers, and even though the smile’s a bit smaller around the end, the statement is sincere.

“Hey, arson is fun.” quips Janus, and Emile gasps, but clearly is holding back a grin, while Remy is straight-up (nah) cackling, as Patton chokes a bit on his eggs at the deadpan delivery. Janus doesn’t make an expression, just puts another bite of eggs in his mouth, scraping the edge of the plate with his fork. He cringes at the sound some, but it’s over in a second, thankfully.

It’s only about ten minutes later that he and Patton are at the doorway, book-bags packed and ready to go, with Remy and Emile waving, does Janus finally realize that yeah, High School is starting, and he’s terrified. A year without Patton at his side constantly is crazy- they only have two common classes, and that means this year will have the longest amount of time they’ve ever been away from each other since meeting every day. Patton’s scared too, Janus can tell, because the hand that he’s using to play-guide Janus around (“Because you’re a SLOWPOKE!”) grips tighter and tighter every metre closer to the bus that the two of them get, till it’s nearly bruising, the same colour of the whispering flowers down by the creek.

But they make it to the bus in time, and it’s good that Patton and Janus are holding onto each other so tightly, because of the swarm of kids piling in. Without that grip, they might not have been able to snag an empty seat to sit in together, right across a kid their age, sitting with his back ramrod-straight, wearing glasses and… going through this year’s textbooks? Nerd. But hey, Janus likes dissecting Shakespeare, so what can he say?

The bus starts going, from dirt paths in the residential area to a better built road as they all get closer to the main town, with the offices and shops and buildings and well, the school. Everyone looks a little exhausted, and some even look a bit excited, but nobody here is really memorable except for textbook-kid. Midway through the ride, as the view of the woods on everyone’s right starts thinning out a little, the witch who lives there waves, and her daughter, who’s apparently on top of the seats, in the luggage shelf (because buying buses from airports makes total sense), hangs upside-down, grinning wildly with her tangerine-colored hair falling out first, as she waves to her mother, still wearing her gathering-dress. She vanishes again soon after, lugging herself back up, but that’s no matter. She seems happier there anyway.

As the sun starts to rise in earnest, a lot of the night plants growing along the bus poles start shrinking away, letting the morning glories take centre stage for a while as the bus pulls over into the schoolyard, with the kids who took their bikes here already in their classrooms or on their way there, it’s a bit of a frenzy.

Janus takes a look at Patton, whose nerves that had been kept at bay for the moment while taking the scenery coming back in full force, and tries to smile for him. His brother deserves that much. Patton relaxes, and gives Janus’s hand one last squeeze before getting off the bus, and immediately hunting for his homeroom. 9-D, Janus thinks. He’s in 9-C himself. He sighs and trudges forward, seeing the witch’s daughter and glasses-guy enter the same classroom and hoping this doesn’t end like middle school.

…

Logan and Virgil Varma are in no way looking forward to school. Never have, really. Brings too much back about being too ‘weird’, or ‘scary’.

“Pssh, other kids are scarier” mumbles Virgil darkly under his breath while putting his bike away. He notices Logan behind him, fresh off the bus, putting his biology textbook in his bag (more like stuffing it, but Virgil isn’t about to say anything)

“Virgil, I do not think that you should say things like that when ‘other kids’ can hear you, especially if I could hear you-” Logan’s cut off by Virgil, who smirks.

“Three feet away, I know, L. But you have one thing nobody else does-”

“Superhuman hearing!” They finish off together, knowing this routine by heart and then some. Logan giggles, and Virgil automatically feels better than before for making that happen. His smirk turns into a bit more genuine of a smile as they finish the walk into homeroom together, in the same room for once, thank fuck. Virgil really needs to thank his Mom for pulling that off. She really pulled some strings for Logan to have a better year this time ‘round.

9-C. That’s his and Logan’s homeroom. When Virgil looks inside, he sees a… decently eccentric class lineup. There aren't many high schoolers in this place, so there’s only about ten people here. Hildi, who he’d hung out with in middle school, who waved at him enthusiastically, fiery hair flying about. It’s infectious, so Virgil smiles a bit back and waves too, albeit a little less excitedly. Well, there’s one person Virgil knows.

There’s a person just behind her who’s dressed up like a nineteen-twenties mobster, with the yellow-black aesthetic and cloak. He has a giant scar along the left side of his face which looks a bit like snake scales, so Virgil’s going to dub him ‘Snek Boy’ for now. There’s two people next to him, too. One looks like the ‘Chad from the horror movie’ archetype incarnate, and is flicking spitballs at the other kid in front of him, who smiles and passes him a stim toy. That person’s most likely an introvert, with all the pins on his stuff. Well then hello, fellow pintrovert.

Virgil inhales, knowing that he’s about to run out of time to stay at the doorway without looking weird, and takes the seat just behind Logan. Back row, no sun from the window. Logan turns back to face him, and Virgil does his best to smile reassuringly. He’s… relatively sure it worked, because Logan smiles as well, adjusts his glasses and turns back to face the front of the class, where the teacher enters. They look decently severe, tall, and wearing a tweed coat over a sweater vest, in extreme contrast to his dark skin tone. He puts his files down, cleans his glasses and turns up to face the class.

“Hello. My name is Corbin Robinson, and I’m your homeroom teacher for this year. I use he/him pronouns!” the severe expression tapers off into a bit of a smile as he finishes off his sentence. “Now, could all of you come up here and introduce yourselves? Preferably with your preferred name, pronouns and one fact about yourself that pertains to your personality!” he takes out a notepad, and steps to the side. Chad walks up and clears his throat after about ten awkward seconds.

“Uh, hi! My name’s Brian. Brian Cornwall. I use he/him pronouns. This is my boyfriend’s jacket! We’re wearing each other’s jackets for good luck today!” Ch-Brian finishes. He’s blushing furiously by the end of his statement, but the entire room (Virgil included) is clapping for him anyways, so he ducks down a bit to go back in his seat. Professor Corbin’s looking at Virgil now, and what is he gonna say what if he’s dumb and says something wrong and--

Hildi hops up to the front of the room, and Professor Corbin’s attention is on her for the moment. Thank god. She winks at him, and he smiles weakly back.

“Hi! I’m Hildi, the witch’s girl and I use she/her pronouns! Fun fact about me… uh, I once got to find out who’s hand the disembodied hand in plaza belonged to- Some guy called Andy from the thirties.” Hildi finishes with her hands crossed on her heart, the typical greeting that her coven uses. Virgil nods and crosses his hands as well.

Professor Corbin’s eyes wander around the class, to find whoever hasn’t spoken yet, and they land on Virgil. Since Hildi’s gone up, the eyes stay there. Virgil takes a steadying breath, and fiddles with a loose string on his hoodie.

“H-hi, I’m Virgil. Virgil… Sanders.” Great he’s already fucking this up why did he do this--

Okay, breathe. In two three four, hold two three four, out two three four five six seven eight.

“I use he/him and they/them pronouns, but I don’t really mind whatever you do end up using for me, and uh… fun fact about me?”

“I’m a twin, and my twin’s the coolest person on this planet.” he finishes, and tries his best to smile over the nerves. He feels good, though, praising his brother. Logan smiles, properly now, even as he burrows himself into his shirt best he can. Virgil smiles back, and makes his way back, trying to get his breathing back under control. It works, and he’s breathing just fine by the time Logan walks up, shoulders set.

“Hello,” he waves. “My name is Logan Ejiah Sanders, I use he/him pronouns and am Virgil’s twin. A fun fact about me is that I only use blue coloured stationery.” Logan finishes, clipped as ever. He’s careful with what he shares these days, and using solely blue stationary is something that can just be summed up as a personality quirk, instead of something wrong, the kinds of wrong that made teachers sigh and avert their gaze or puff irritably or what made him cannon fodder to other kids.

Logan’s nervous, and Virgil wishes that he could’ve done something sooner.

The introductions slip by after that, Janus, he/him, vitiligo scar, Nico Flores, they/faer, aspiring writer, because Virgil’s too floaty to care. Hildi passes him a floating earbud, and he takes it.

…

Roman really doesn't know what to expect from high school. In the stuff he reads and watches, it's portrayed as this ecosystem with really strict rules. His family calls it the most idyllic time of their lives. College students call it hell. So yeah, Roman's confused.

Remus is in a different class entirely this year, which isn't weird, so he doesn't know why he thought that? Stupid brain.

Roman was already in a shitty mood, having had to skip out on seconds of bacon because he'd already eaten too much this morning and might have to miss lunch later for club sign-ups, which is terrible. He's hoping that at least his class isn't too bad this year. Haley-Dove is a small town, but small doesn't always mean nice. He'd know.

(Roman can't get the words out of his head anymore.)

Both Mitchell and Croft were forced to change schools from Haley-Dove Secondary but what if there are new people?

Roman shakes the thoughts out of his head. School. First day. Homeroom. Class 9-D. This is doable. Just breathe, 4, 7, 8 and walk into the classroom. You can do it Roman, where's that confidence? Wait don’t answer that question just GO--

bump

“Hi! Sorry, I was so clumsy. Hey, I’m Patton!”

Roman first needs to decode that sentence before answering. Okay- Patton, sorry for bumping into Roman. Okay. Greeting, so greet back. Performance time, baby!

“No problem, Patton! I’m Roman!” Patton visibly cheers up in front of him, skirt swishing sideways a bit in the wind. Patton notices Roman looking at the skirt starts talking again.

“Uh.. he/him pronouns- but my gender is weird, yanno?” Roman did not know, but it seemed to matter to Patton, so he nodded and smiled a bit.

“Tis alright! I use he/him as well! Now, what homeroom address have you got, dear Patton? Let us make haste!” Patton giggled at Roman’s antics, meaning it was working. Good. Both of them fish into their pockets for a piece of paper they got at the entrance, unfolding it. Roman’s reads 9-D, as expected, along with Pattons’s.

“Hey- this means we’re in the same class! Woo-hoo! That means one new friend, huh kiddo?”

“Kiddo?”

“Sorry, I call my friends that.” Patton looks sheepish, as if he doesn’t expect Roman to react well.

“Oh no problem, dear Patton! I look forward to going through this year with you!” they both giggle, and Roman actually feels like they can be friends- Remus will be proud.

“Well, I am too! C’mon, let’s go- we’re already a bit late for homeroom.”

Roman looks at the clock- 8:02. They are officially two minutes late. Remus is probably in class already, if not just to pull a prank on the new homeroom teacher, meaning Roman had better get to class already.

“Yes! Onward! To academic achievement!”

…

The chemistry room is a little cold all of a sudden, and something has clearly woken up.

School’s in session, everyone. Hope you’re ready for this.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘The Christmas Caper’ Chapter 3: Take a Chance

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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               Sherlock stood in the backyard wishing he had a cigarette. This was not the situation he wanted to find himself in the middle of. He was torn between wanting Molly here, to kiss her so soundly it would be hard to breathe, and wishing she wasn’t here at all. And of all people to make sure this happened, why was it his brother? What Eurus put them through changed their perspectives, and Mycroft wasted no time with Anthea who, like Molly, harboured feelings for a Holmes.

               The backdoor clicked shut, and Sherlock sighed. “Can’t anyone leave me alone for five minutes?”

               “No, Sherlock, we really can’t,” John joked. “I don’t understand what the problem is. For weeks, all you’ve talked about is wishing you could fix things with Molly, whatever that entails. And now, you’re suddenly uninterested in the chance that’s been given to you?”

               “It’s complicated.”

               John shook his head. “No, it’s really not. You are the one making things complicated. She loves you, you love her—that isn’t complicated at all.”

               “It’s because I love her, I can’t be selfish with her. I’ve always known how I felt about her to some extent. I was going to tell her the day I took her on cases with me,” Sherlock admitted. “I couldn’t though. She was engaged and I felt she deserved a chance at a better life, even if Tom was quite dull in comparison.” He turned to his friend. “She is safer if we’re not together in any capacity. Eurus figured it out when nobody else could—not even Moriarty understood how important she was to me. Molly Hooper deserves better than that.”

               John chuckled. “Jesus, Sherlock. Molly knows you better than anyone else—better than your family, even. She knows what she’s signing up for. Everyone in the world is in constant danger, but that doesn’t stop them from living their lives.”

               “We aren’t talking about falling down the stairs or getting hit by a car—we’re talking about dangerous, twisted criminals.” Sherlock was fidgeting with his hands. “What I’d do for a cigarette right now.”

               “You want a cigarette?” John asked, revealing the box he had hidden from Sherlock. “Talk to Molly. This may be the very last chance you’ll ever have to fix things.” He left the consulting git to his thoughts.

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                 “Look, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, I am so appreciative of you wanting me here for Christmas, but I haven’t brought any of my things. I was led to believe it was an emergency,” Molly explained, still in her lab coat.

               “I assure you, Doctor Hooper, it was an emergency,” Mycroft cut in. “You and my brother need to patch things up, and since neither of you appear to be willing to make the first move, I intervened.”

               “And I actually have a couple of bags packed up with your things in the trunk of the car,” Anthea informed her. “This was all planned out meticulously.”

               Molly stared at everyone dumbfounded. “Are all of you in on this?? Greg? Mike?”

               Mr. Holmes broke the silence. “Everyone but Miss Rosie. When Mycroft told us of what had happened, we were more than happy to help. We’ve only heard about you through word of mouth, but my Millie always said”—the Holmes parents now spoke in unison—“That Molly, always so good for our Sherlock.”

               She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. “You know, I think I need a drink. I’m too sober for this.” Molly plopped down in the chair Sherlock had vacated.  

               “Please stay for Christmas, Molly,” Mrs. Holmes begged. “I know it would make Sherlock so happy, and by extension, you.”

               The man in question appeared only a minute behind John. His eyes locked onto hers automatically. There always seemed to be this strong magnetic force pushing them together. He looked so sad behind those beautiful eyes. They were a dark shade of blue today, like waves crashing in a storm.

               The moment was shattered when Anthea returned with Molly’s bags. “I’ll show you to your room.”

               Molly gave Sherlock a small smile as she passed by. She could’ve sworn his eyes lit up for a brief second. The thought filled her with hope. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

.

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               After showering and changing into her black and pink flannel pyjamas, Molly crept downstairs only to find Sherlock in the chair by the fireplace, book in hand. He looked as if he was desperately trying to concentrate on the words. It was almost like he was attempting to escape his racing thoughts. Between the fire and the glow of the fairy lights on the Christmas tree, he almost looked ethereal. She tried to sneak past him as to not disturb his solitude, but he apparently wasn’t having any of it.

               “Molly,” he called to her, the baritone of his voice sending a thrill through her.

               She turned toward him, unsure of what she should be doing with her hands at this point. It was difficult feeling so exposed the way she was now. There would be no escaping the inevitable conversation she had easily avoided in London. “Yes?”

               Sherlock locked his eyes on hers, warm and inviting, but frightened. “I owe you an apology.”

               “Oh, don’t worry about it; this was all your brother’s doing. You’ve got nothing to apologise for,” Molly assured him with a wave of her hand.

               Her heart felt like it nearly stopped when Sherlock stood from the chair, setting the book aside, and closed the distance between them. “I meant that I wanted to apologise for not going to see you…after, well, you know. I meant to, but it was all too much, and the longer I waited, the harder it was to even pick up the phone.”

               She was taken aback. This wasn’t what she had expected at all. “It’s, um, it’s alright, Sherlock. Thank you for your apology.” Apparently, the surprises would never cease, because before she knew it, she was enveloped in his arms. It took her a moment to process, but she returned his hug, arms wrapped tightly around him.

               “I missed you,” he spoke softly.

               Molly closed her eyes, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. “I missed you too.”

               He didn’t want to let her go—the thought of doing so made his heart ache. The fact she didn’t seem to be in a rush to get away settled his pulse. It told him she wanted to be in his arms as much as he wanted to hold her. Sherlock breathed her in, the scent of spiced honey and wildflowers filling him with warm familiarity. It was like finding a place he belonged—like home.

               Pulling away from him, cause this needed to end eventually, Molly felt the loss of him, immediately regretting she had been the first to let go. It felt so much colder now. Sherlock’s face had gone stoic again, and that was what broke her heart the most.

               Sherlock cleared his throat. “You should get some sustenance.” He motioned towards the kitchen. “My mother just made shepherd’s pie—it’s her specialty.”

               “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked with concern.

               His eyes roamed the room quickly. “Not hungry.”

               Molly watched as he headed upstairs, leaving her once more.