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buckthegrump · 4 years ago

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I’ve Been Trying Hard Not To Talk To You - 2

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Y/n hates Bucky Barnes. Absolutely loathes him what makes it worse is that she has to share her office with him. Now with a promotion on the horizon she has to find a way to work with him and not against him.

Warnings: Angst (kind of), it’s an enemies to loves, there’s not fluff in this part

Word Count: 1473

A/n: anyway please leave feedback

Peter Parker lucked out in Y/n’s eyes. He was a paid intern. The paid internships when she had first started looking into publishing companies had been few and far between. But they had since changed their ways, lucky for him. She knew that he still lived with his aunt and helped out with the bills, and he was the sweetest kid.

Sorry, not a kid. Or so he reminded her every time she called him that. But Bucky got no back talk when he called Peter kid. Any time Y/n pointed that out, Bucky said it was because Peter had a crush on her, there were a few flaws with that logic. The first one being, no one had a crush on her. Not ever. She hadn’t even ever dated anyone, and she was almost 28 years old.

The second problem being that - no, just that.

Not that any of that mattered. What did matter was that it was Monday, and that meant that Peter was back. Thank the lord because Y/n was about to go crazy if she had to go another week without some sort of buffer between her and Bucky. He’d been incredibly annoying last week.

“Hey, Peter!” Y/n called, and not three seconds later, Peter was standing at her office door out of breath.

“Yeah, boss?” He smiled at her.

“Is everything ok?” He nodded, still smiling. Y/n wasn’t sure if he ever didn’t smile. “Ok, well, I was supposed to be getting a package from -”

“From R.R. Williamson, yes, I think someone just dropped it off at my desk -” Peter looked as if he was about to run off back to his desk.

“Parker,” she stopped him, and he looked at her, “You don’t have to run. No one’s going to fire you or take your internship away if you walk to do your job.”

“Yes, boss,” he nodded. And he started to walk away, got about three steps, and ran the rest of the way.

That kid was always go, go, go. And at some point, this kid was going to have to slow down. He ran back, but before he got to the door, he slowed down to a walk, and as casually as he could, walked over to her desk.

“You’re not fooling anyone, and thank you,” she reached out her hand as he handed the package to her.

Y/n often didn’t like to do a read through on the computer. She would get constant headaches staring at the screen. So she did a lot of her work on paper before making the edits on the computer. And she had a pair of blue blocker glasses that she kept in her drawer at work, not that she wore them all that often with Bucky sitting so close to her.

Speaking of Satan’s right-hand man, where was he. It was almost eleven, and she hadn’t seen him all day, meaning he was late. But why? Did he have an appointment? Was he sick? Not that she should care. No, she should focus on doing her fucking job.

“Stop running in the office, Parker,” she called after him as he walked out of the office, “one of these days you’re going to run into someone, literally.”

“Yes, boss.”

“You can call me Y/n,” she said.

“Yes, boss.”

Y/n rolled her eyes as she opened up the envelope.

* * *

The hours seemed to tick by, and she was having a hard time focusing on the words in front of her. She hadn’t even made it through half a page.

She looked at the clock, 11:30am.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She whined and slammed her head on her desk.

“Ahh, sunflower, had I known that my absence was going to drive you to insanity, I would’ve left you all alone much sooner. Did you miss me?” Bucky’s voice filled the room.

Y/n groaned into the paper, unwilling to look up to her office mate. If this last half-hour was any indication as to how the week was going to go, this was gearing up to be the longest week of her life.

“Yes, here you are. And my life is so much better now that you’re here and back at the office,” she said, sarcastically lifting her head slightly, “oh, please take me away from this place and be my part-time lover.”

“Awe,” Bucky patted the top of her head.

“Binky get your hands off of me,” she snarled.

He groaned at the nickname, Y/n smiled to herself. She thought of that nickname after she had babysat her niece, Monica, and watched Arthur. And on that glorious children’s TV show had a character called Binky Barnes. She didn’t use it often, but his reaction to it always made her happier.

Bucky sat down at his desk and started typing away at his computer.

“Hey, kid!” He called after a few minutes.

It took Peter a few seconds longer than usual. Y/n was about to be proud of him for not running over, but clearly, his delay was because he was further away than usual. He showed up at the door, looking disheveled.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

Without looking at the poor boy, Bucky held out a pile of small envelopes. “Take these down to the mailroom.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.” Peter grabbed the mail and walked away.

“You could be nicer to him, ya know,” Y/n told him.

“If I wanted your opinion of how to treat my employees, I’d ask. But alas, I didn’t ask, so keep it to yourself,” Bucky winked at her.

Y/n glared at him as she contemplated how to kill him. He continued to smirk at her, god did she hate him.

“Well, I’m just pointing out that if you’re nicer to the intern,” she leaned back in her chair. “Who’s internship ends at the end of October, by the way, and if we want him to come back to be our assistant, we have to be nice to him.”

Bucky let out a laugh. “There’s no worry about the kid coming back.”

“Why?” She asked, but she wasn’t sure that she wanted the answer.

“The kid is in love with you. It’s cute that you can’t see that. He practically worships the ground you walk on. Why do you think he runs in her any time either of us calls for him? Oh sunflower, you don’t realize the power you hold over that boy, do you?”

Y/n stared at him. The mere idea of Peter, really anyone, being in love with her, was laughable.

“First of all, using someone’s feelings against them to get what you want is terrible. Just be nice to him. Second of all, he’s not in love with me,” and because she couldn’t stop herself, she gave him finger guns as she said the next thing, “and my history would suggest that I am unlovable.”

Bucky’s face twisted into what she might have called confusion if she hadn’t known him any better.

“Anyway, be nice to the intern, he’s a good worker, and I don’t like how you’re treating him,” she continued before he could say anything.

“Are you in love with him?” Bucky chuckled. “Oh, sunflower, he’s a bit young for you, don’t ya think? It would be taking advantage of him if you decided to pursue that relationship.”

“You’re really funny, Binky. Binky Barnes,” she said, falling back on her true and true. “Binky Barnes, love expert. You should write a book. Maybe you might even be able to get it published.”

She beamed at him and gave him a wink. He huffed and turned back to his computer.

The rest of the day flew by after that. But all she could think about was what Bucky had said, more accurately what she’d told Bucky. About not being loveable, and the face he gave her after she said it.

It would’ve been so easy to not say anything.

“Is your car still in the shop?” Bucky asked as they rode the elevator together. Breaking their routine again. Or (the tiniest voice in the back of her mind interrupted) starting a new one.

“My car was never in the shop, my friend Carol needs to borrow it while her’s is in the shop,” she corrected. “She needs a way to pick up her kid. And I’m not making my niece suffer through this terribly cold autumn.”

“Are you going to continue being stubborn, or will you accept a ride home today?” Bucky asked.

Y/n furrowed her brows and looked him up and down. “This whole trying to be nice thing, it’s kinda scary.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the doors opened on the lobby floor, and she walked away from her.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes au

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ask-joeydrewstudios · 6 years ago

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A Second Friend, Part 4 (Angst War 2018)

[submitted by: @disneyphantomlover]

Joey was…honestly thankful that the ink man with Wally’s voice had run off, and seemed to forget to return. He’d managed to grab a wallet, which had slid off with gelatinous ink and was now coated with it. He’d needed to grab an extra rag from one of his lower drawers in his office to sop up some of it. And he couldn’t help but want to look inside. …He was curious, but his curious nature had bit him in the ass before. Especially with some of these last multi-verse excursions. But at least with those events, he KNEW what had caused the peeks into other realms. Here, he was flying blind. He wanted to fix this, but he wouldn’t know where to even start. … And if this ink man sounded like Wally, even called him “Mister Drew”… There was that glaring possibility that this different Wally had been corrupted by Ink, something he’d never allow.

But other hims might. Some even encourage it. Other hims didn’t care about studio employees or who got hurt in pursuit of their collective dreams.

…

Made him hesitant to open the wallet up. He didn’t want to confirm how “he’d” ruined someone else’s life like this.

…

In the end, he needed to know. He needed that confirmation. And if one “him” wasn’t going to fix this, then he would.

Carefully peeling the wallet open, Joey was greeted by two pictures. There was an identity card for Massachusettes on one side, and a laminated photo in the other. Joey attempted to pull out the card, but it was already stained with ink to the point some information was lost. But… He could see the face fairly clearly. A long face, decorated with freckles and framed by light-colored springy hair. This photo was in black and white, so it was difficult to get all the details of this man’s face… But it was fairly similar in shape to the ink man. And… Sure enough, there was the man’s name. “Wallace H. Franks”.

…He could see his Wally’s voice coming out of this man, but it was surreal idea to consider.

Looking at the second picture wasn’t easier. It was a colored photo, and it showed three young girls with equally springy hair, colored a light red-orange color. Two of the girls looked ridiculously similar, the only main difference was one having a purple ribbon in her hair while her twin had a dark green one. Both girls were gently supporting their baby sister -at least he assumed it, considering how similar they looked- in the middle, who was wearing a ridiculously over-ruffled white dress. All three girls looked happy and charming in their own ways… And all shared features with the man in the identity card.

He shut the wallet, leaning back in his seat as he took a deep breath before exhaling. Great. He got his confirmation. …Now what?

….

Well, he should work on figuring out how to get him back. That was first and foremost. But there was no way to figure out what realm he was from. He could try and ask, but there was no guarantee he’d tell “Mister Drew” the truth. Not that he blamed him.

But he could try. So he straightened up in his chair, leaned to the left, and carefully grabbed a book out of the bookshelf. If he was the only Joey willing to do something right, than dammit, he was going to do something right.

“Lets see…..Memories… Memories, memories…Memories lost? Remembering? …Cmon now, there’s got to be something…”

—————————————————————-

“Cmon ya fuck! Jus’ poin’ yer foot!”

“I’m TRYIN’!”

Out of all ways Shawn thought his day was going to go, helping an ink creature get their “foot” out of a bucket was not one that crossed his mind. Yet, here he was. And honestly, his daughter was more cooperative than this fuck. They were making some headway at least! Shawn held the bucket while the ink creature held onto a nearby beam to hold still.

But alas, the dumb bucket didn’t seem to want to let go! It was like the damn man’s foot was twisted around or something. Then again, maybe it was “cartoon logic”. …Why it’d apply to the toons and not an ink being like this was a different question entirely. One he’d try and ask Mr. Drew when he saw him next. After a moment of struggling, the bucket finally slid off with a “plink” sound effect. The toymaker hadn’t been expecting it, so he took a few steps backward from the force before slamming his hip against a table. He immediately dropped the bucket, cursing a little under his breath.

He’d spoken said curses in English, so he wasn’t that surprised that the ink creature had scowled at him. What had surprised him was the man’s response. “Shiiiite, póg tú do mam leis an mbéal sin?”

…

Shawn blinked a moment, having to take a moment to process he had JUST heard that. Worse yet, that he heard WALLY’s voice -out of everyone it had to be Wally Franks??- jibbering in Irish Gaelic. He was honestly not sure whether to laugh or cry at that realization. The absurdity was a little…Okay, the absurdity was incredibly strong in this.

This bastard was just full'a surprises, wasn’t he?

The ink creature tried to steady himself and pull himself up to his own feet, brushing off droplets of ink from his front as Shawn tried to rationalize this. Nothing about this…whatever this was was right to him. The voice was the same, but his form, his twisted back… Oh, and the ink. Because why not the ink? He scowled at the “man”, who was in the process of walking off again. “…An’ jus’ where you headin’ off to?!”

“…..” The ink creature stopped on a dime, unmoving at first before looking over his shoulder at Shawn. “I dun know. …But outta yer way, I guess.” The shoulders bounced in approximation of a shrug, and the man leaned against the beam again. “….This is…The ninth floor right?”

Oh…Oh oh oh, he didn’t need this. Ink creatures? Much less those with absolute shit memory? Shawn pulled a hand up, rubbing his forehead as a headache started to take hold. He’d almost gotten calm enough to shoo the creature out when he heard someone walking up the stairs to his office. Great. Someone else’s problem.

“…The fuck is that?"

Shawn looked over, finding HIS Wally hiding behind a music intern. This was sure to be fun.

(( B3 ))

((joey’s at the point where he’s accepted that most/all other hims are Assholes and he’s just trying to fix their bullshit, i fucking love it that’s perfect :’D and is your wally irish?? that’s neat! :o ty for the fic!!))

#batim #joey drew #wally franks #shawn flynn #fanfic #angst #submission #disneyphantomlover #angst war 2k18

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mariequitecontrarie · 7 years ago

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Meet Me in the Courtyard: Part 3

Part 3 Summary: Belle finally finds out what’s under the sheet on Gold’s worktable. The Fic: Belle hosts a monthly movie night in Storybrooke, always leaving the seat next to her empty. Gold loathes movies, yet movie night at the library is the one community event even he can’t seem to resist. Rating: T, actually A/N: Sorry this took me so long, guys. This was supposed to be for the July @a-monthly-rumbelling, but alas. And then I saw the September smut prompt…”Friends can totally watch porn together and nothing can happen…no they can’t.” And this has both prompts. But no smut. IDK I’m getting a headache. Thanks to @magnoliatattoo, who makes everything I write better.

{On AO3} Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Barefoot, Belle scrambled over to the worktable and lifted the corner of the sheet to peek. Her eyes widened in happy surprise, her dimples puckering. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Depends on what you think it is.” He leaned back against the wall with an indulgent smile, his annoyance from the scene at the diner having faded enough for him to risk teasing her.

Beaming, she yanked the sheet off the table and it billowed to the floor. “Yes! It’s a movie projector! Where did you get it? When? Who is it for? Is it a commission? Are you restoring it for someone?” She squealed and waved her hands around the machine, skipping around the table like a young girl.

“So many questions.” He laughed at her enthusiasm, then, suddenly cautious, he looked at his shoes, frowning at a scuff mark on the toe. They needed a good polishing.

“What are you planning to do with it?” she persisted, running her finger along the edge of a metal reel.

Gold turned his attention to the contraption. The concept seemed self-explanatory to his mind, but she seemed to want him to come out and say it.

A crash of thunder pierced the quiet patter of rain on the roof, and when Gold shifted his gaze toward Belle again, her eyes were misty and her pink lips parted. “You did this for me?” she asked softly. She stepped closer, laying a hand on his arm.

Oh, she definitely wanted him to come out and say it. Bollocks, he hated bloody sentiment.

“I suppose,” he allowed, then bit down on his wayward tongue when her face crumpled and she took a step back.

Gold ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Nothing he did or said in regards to Belle French ever went according to plan. He felt like he was standing on the curb by the library once more, his tongue twisted into knots as he tried to decide whether to come to the movie or go home. Instead, his existence hovered somewhere in between— he was but a spectator in his own life; never a participant. Now, even in his own shop, he had lost his footing.

“Yes,” he corrected himself gruffly. “It is. You like movies, right?”

That was all it took to see her brilliant smile beaming his way once more.

“I do.” She nodded so hard he thought her head might fall off her shoulders. “Do you have any movies we can watch?”

“I may have one or two in storage. Let me check the inventory.” It was a welcome excuse to turn away from the intensity of those too-blue eyes.

The wind howled and the rain intensified, slanting east toward the front of the shop. Gold continued to rummage through the inventory closet while Belle looked through the small pile of movies he’d unearthed. On the top shelf, he found a thick blue-grey cardigan sweater, and offered it to her. “You’re still shivering.”

She shook her head and giggled, pushing the sweater back at him. “I told you, I’m not cold; I’m excited.”

“Nonetheless.” He draped the garment around her slender shoulders. “Humor me.”

“All right,” she allowed, drawing her arms through the sleeves, “then humor me.”

He lifted an eyebrow and waited.

“I’m sorry about before. With Ruby and the others. They were way out of line and I should have…I don’t know.” She toyed with one of the sweater’s oversized buttons. “Something other than sit there and do nothing.”

Gold waved a dismissive hand. They’d been over this already, and her apology was unnecessary. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I did.” The sheen in her eyes told him tears were near again. “Sitting in silence while another person is insulted is the same as hurtling the insults yourself.”

“I suppose I don’t make it easy most of the time,” he offered, making his way to his desk. He opened a drawer and retrieved a box of tissues, handing her one. “I have something of a temper, as you’ve witnessed firsthand.”

“No, you have a sarcastic streak, and a sharp edge to your wit. I like your way with words.” She sniffled and blotted her eyes.

He smiled coldly at her misplaced defense of him. “I’d have just as soon bludgeoned your friends over the head with my cane,” he said. “I’m not a good person, Belle.” It was important she understood that fact, however many stray dogs he fed or fortune cookies he ate. He was ruthless in his business dealings and eschewed personal connections. Manipulation and force were ways of life for him.

“That’s what you would have everyone believe.” She crumpled the tissue in her hand with a snort. “Then why didn’t you? Cane them, that is?”

He sighed. “Because you’re one of the few people I genuinely like. I didn’t want to frighten you…” He drew his brows together in a fierce frown. “But I’m not a pet project, some lost soul you can tame and bend to your will.”

The look she gave him was entirely too shrewd. “I think you’re lonely.”

He shrugged. “There are benefits to being alone, you know.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t wake anyone up when I start screaming at night.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean…”

“That was a joke, Miss French.”

She laughed. “I’m the opposite, I guess. Too much of a people pleaser. I worry about what everyone thinks.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Then what are you doing here with me?”

Holding his eyes for a long moment, she caressed one of his hands in both of hers, cradling it as she would something rare and precious. There was that peculiar feeling in his chest again, the one that bloomed whenever she touched him, a cross between suffocation and freefalling.

“I don’t care what other people think when I’m with you,” she said, giving his hands a light squeeze.

“That’s fortunate,” he said curtly, looking down at their joined hands. He slipped his hand out of her grip and clapped his hands to break the tension, then stepped closer to the movie projector with a decisive nod. “Well, then. It’s raining too hard to go anywhere. May as well tinker with this thing and see if I can get it working.”

“Yay!” Belle slid onto the cot and scooted backwards until her back was against the wall, then curled up like a kitten. He watched, bemused, as she tucked the blanket around her hips and covered her bare toes, preparing for the show.

“I don’t have any popcorn,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting…”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” She shook her head. “Besides, you hate popcorn.”

He smiled a bit, inordinately pleased that she remembered.

“Right. I’ll just…” He motioned toward the machine again, then rummaged through his tools. The last time he’d worked on the projector, he’d been trying to adjust the suspension, but to his surprise, there was already a film loaded on the feed spool.

“How odd.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I wonder if…”

He hit the power button. A soft blue light spilled across the darkened room and filled the screen. As the picture brightened into focus, the sound of disco music crackled through the old, lo-fi speaker. A woman’s frosted blond hair bobbed up and down while small, whiny screams sounded from her bubble-gum pink lips. A man with a thick, black mustache and a carpet of chest hair grunted in effort, his gold necklace dangling as he thrust on top of the woman.

Gold stared in abject horror at the scene. The picture was grainy, but there was no denying the obvious. The tanned, oiled couple shifted on screen, and the man flipped the young woman onto her stomach and lined himself up with her as the camera angle narrowed to capture their new position in hideous detail.

Belle uncrossed her legs and rose from the cot, head tilted as she stepped closer to the screen. She laughed at the woman’s exaggerated moans. “Are those leg warmers? Wow! Seventies porn. How vintage.”

For a moment he joined Belle in gawking, mesmerized as the couple continued to thrust and grind, the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoing off the wood-paneled walls. It reminded him of one of those terrible sea lion shows at an aquatics park. Against his will, a warm sensation swirled in his lower belly and Gold gulped, drawing a deep breath as he felt himself twitch.

The display may have been vulgar, but he was still a man. A man alone with a beautiful woman. In the middle of a rainstorm.

Sweat beaded on his upper lip and an odd prickling sensation creeped up his spine—half arousal, half revulsion. He sprang toward the machine, trying to turn it off. The switch was stuck and he slammed the power button repeatedly, desperate to be rid of the horrible movie. “Damn it, Baelfire! I’m sorry, Belle. My son…I let him take his girlfriend on a tour of the shop the other night.”

“But he got it the projector working,” Belle pointed out, ever the optimist. “That’s great! Besides, what’s a little porn between friends? I’m not offended, if that’s what you’re worried about. There’s entertainment value here!” Her laugher was shrill as she shifted her eyes away from the screen. “Friends can totally watch porn together.”

Friends? His heart clawed at his dry throat.

All he could manage in response was a stiff smile. This was not how he envisioned this evening playing out. Disgusted with himself and furious with Bae, he turned his back on the screen.

“How old is he? Your son?” Belle asked, shifting her attention away from the moans and groans of the couple onscreen.

“Old enough to know better and young enough not to care.” He winced as the man onscreen drew the woman’s legs around his flanks and pounded into her hard. “You might know him better as Neal.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Neal Cassidy is your son?”

He couldn’t help but grimace at her surprised expression. Neal hadn’t been back in Storybrooke for more than a few months, and he didn’t care one bit for the idea that he’d crossed paths with Belle. “His reputation often proceeds him.” He sighed heavily. “Why, what has he done this time?”

“Nothing! It’s a small town and he comes into Granny’s for burgers at least a couple of times a week. All my friends think he’s handsome.” She rolled her eyes.

“I see.” His clenched jaw began to ache. Of course Belle and her friends giggled over Bae. Every woman did and—bastard that he was—he was petty enough to be jealous of his own son.

“It’s not…I don’t mean to pry, but why is Neal not a Gold?” she asked.

He waved away her concern. “His way of asserting his independence. We had a falling out when he was nineteen. He moved to Boston for school, switched to his mother’s maiden name, and starting using his middle name as his first—all to spite me. We’re over it now for the most part, but he still prefers Neal to Bae.” He narrowed his gaze and hardened his voice in warning: “I wouldn’t bother getting to know him. He won’t last long in a small town like Storybrooke.”

Belle laughed. “You think I’m interested in him?”

He stiffened at her lighthearted tone. “Most women are.”

“Not me,” she said firmly. Like a gazelle, she moved toward him on light, quick steps, then reached for his face, drawing the backs of her fingers from his temple to his chin and circling her thumb through his five o’clock shadow. She rose up on tiptoe, her breath ghosting over his ear. “Neal is an attractive young man. But he’s not…you.”

Oh. Perhaps she didn’t really mean friends after all?

Stunned by the compliment and her closeness, he fumbled for something to do with his hands, seizing on an antique fishing hook on the corner of his desk. He jiggled the heavy piece of metal in his fingers and squeezed. He didn’t even like fishing, but Belle’s eyes were on his mouth and her lips were inching closer to his. She moistened her full bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, and Gold’s mouth went dry. He dropped the hook, snagging it on his trousers. Damn it.

Belle laid a calming hand against his chest. “Here, let me.”

“All right.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. She was standing so close he felt her hair brush against his wool waistcoat as she bent down to retrieve the hook. His heartbeat increased its tempo, and Gold was sure she could hear it pounding inside his chest, like a prisoner begging to be rescued.

“Do you have it?” he asked, hating his weak, breathless tone.

“I think so,” she said in a small voice.

He shifted his stance as her fingers brushed his thigh again. He could feel the heat of them through the thick wool and his body responded. Gold gritted his teeth; he didn’t want to become aroused when Belle’s head was hovering at his crotch.

He grasped her elbow and tried to take a step backward.

“Ouch!” She lurched against him, her cheek pressed against his half-hard body.

“Do you need me to help you up?” he asked, trying to be polite. What the hell was she still doing down there?

“I, uh, well. I seem to be stuck.” Her laugh was feeble.

“Stuck? What do you mean stuck?”

“Some of my hair is caught in your belt,” she clarified. “Please, no shouting.”

“Fine,” he gritted out, forcing another breath between his clenched teeth. “I’ll just take it off. The belt. I mean the belt!”

“Great idea,” she said, sounding relieved.

He carefully wriggled his hands between Belle’s face and his belt buckle, but a movement out of the corner of his eye made him pause.

There stood Miss Lucas, her eyes wide as saucers in her pale, wet face. He looked down at Belle’s head, still fastened to his crotch, and behind him, a long low moan echoed onscreen where the loathsome “vintage” pornography continued to play.

Miss Lucas’s bright red lips stretched in a wide smile. “Is this a bad time?”

xoxo

Sorry for the cliffhanger. Sort of.

The movie projector.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #a monthly rumbelling #belle x mr. gold #ruby lucas #nonmagical au #meet me in the courtyard #mqc writes

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