#(I also love arthur shrugging like that's a totally normal thing to say)

[adhd-merlin]

merlin is so funny, he's like "arthur can't find out I have magic", then he goes and says shit like "every leaf and every bug is full of life here. can't you feel the world's vibrating"

[twinklelilstarkey]

Stopping You [Part 10] - Michael Gray

Words: 8.9k+

Summary: Y/N’s recovery from both her feelings and her wound takes a step back after a specific night.

Warnings: Female!Reader. Mentions of wounds, a lot of blood, death and night terrors. Emotional cheating. Self-hate (discrediting their own sadness and feelings; hateful inner voice).

Prologue    Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4    Part 5     Part 6    Part 7   Part 8    Part 9    Part 10    Part 11

It has been a total of 24 hours.

Yesterday was a bad day. Both mentally and physically.

Polly tried her best into bringing your mood up, which worked in some way. She eased your mind by telling you that what you were feeling is completely normal, but as soon as you were alone, it was like the whole world was crashing on you.

Over crying so much as hateful questions filled your mind, you were sore at the end of the night. You contracted your muscles so much while sobbing that you could feel your wound pulsate against your skin in pain.

You questioned almost everything about your life before and after Michael left and when he reappeared. Things have changed, not just around his family, but also around you. And that seems to be one of the most confusing matters.

You never cared too much about this, but you can’t help but think about how so many things have changed since Michael came back. From your behaviors to how you function. Everything has changed in some way.

You’ve always suffered with night terrors in your life, ever since your parents left, but they were almost never about Michael. The exception being when the whole Italian/New York mafia situation went down, and Michael got injured. But other than that, it was always you, or anybody else close, that would die.

Never Michael.

You want to know what could’ve possibly awaken those thoughts and that part of your brain that makes you think like that. Could it be because you now connect him to something bad in your life? Or that when he came back, he had-

No, you’re not going there. It’s useless. It will cost you nothing pain, and it won’t grant you any answers. Might as well push that away and live your life.

Or at least try.

You bring your hot mug back to your lips and take another sip of your tea, letting your eyes fall to the ground.

Polly believes you could talk to him. Tell him about how you’ve been feeling lately. But, honestly, for what? To say that you’re falling right back in love with him just to later be thrown in the face that he does not love or feel anything for you anymore.

He. Is. Getting. Married.

It would just be simply ridiculous to do such a thing.

He doesn’t feel anything for you and that’s okay. All he feels is pity and maybe he got a little scared over you being shot, but that’s it. There are no feelings attached, no romance. No nothing. Just simply… a connection through pain, which awoke lost and forbidden memories.

Maybe this could just be your pride talking over your heart but, you just can’t believe that you’re letting yourself fall so easily. After so long of crying over him and overworking yourself to become a Peaky Blinder and just- not worry about anything in your demolished love life. All of it going to the trash because… You caught feelings for him again?

It’s disappointing to say the least.

Today, you awoke as soon as the sun made its way into the living room and since then, you haven’t done much. You walked back to your room after getting yourself a warm drink and sat by the window staring at the green grass of the neighbors’ house like it’s the most entertaining thing in the world.

A book is resting beside you. You have read a few good pages, but you can’t bring yourself to read more than 20 at a time.

Your mind is too heavy.

Voices coming from downstairs make you look away from the window and up to your door. You try your best to identify them as soon as you find them familiar.

You can hear voices and the laugher of Lizzie and Arthur. Which is awfully strange.

You scowl at the sound, and the soft patter of quick feet running around the house squeezes your heart. The kids are here too.

You rise from your seat and walk across your bedroom to the door. You open it softly and the sound of everyone’s voices is now louder. Confusion is the most prominent emotion you can feel right now, but you can’t help but welcome it better than any other one you’ve been feeling lately.

While walking down the main stairs silently, a soft gasp is heard over the loud voices. Ruby’s.

You smile at her as she spots you walking down the stairs and she quickly let’s go of her mother’s hand to run towards you.

As you’re distracted swallowing down the jab of pain at your middle while leaning down to grab her, Polly’s eyes meet you. The smile in your face is almost like a warm hug in the winter. She could get used to this sight forever.

“Look who came back from war,” Ada jokes as she spots you.

She walks towards you and her arms wrap around you as soon as you’re close enough. You lean towards her, even with Ruby on your hip, and she squeezes you in closer.

“I was so worried,” She tells you, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

You pull away from the hug with a small smile and she gives you a wide one in return. It’s been a few weeks since you last saw her. She had left back for London not long before the whole event happened. You honestly didn’t expect to see her this soon.

As Ada moves back, everyone’s attention goes over to you. Everyone, or at least, almost everyone pulls you into a hug, sharing their words of how grateful they are from knowing that you’re still breathing.

You know they had visited you back at the hospital when you were still asleep, but nothing compares to actually seeing you move like nothing had happened. Arthur’s words, not yours.

Talking about Arthur. He was awfully apologetic while you two hugged it out. You believe he must have blamed himself for what happened, but you were quick to take that idea off his head.

You’re not about to see anybody else beating themselves for something out of their reach.  Unless that’s you, of course.

Tommy and Arthur, not even 20 minutes into stepping in Polly’s home, excuse themselves and leave off to work.

The crowd in the living room doesn’t consist in much more people. Both Ada and Lizzie, and of course the kids, stayed behind and took a seat on the couch. The kids surrounded you as soon as you all sat down, while the women in front of you were distracted on talking about whatever, or rather, whoever worth of gossiping.

You listen to some of their words while being continuously pulled into conversation by Charlie as you let Ruby sit next to you, leaning to your side.

Karl is sitting closer to his mother, but looking at you and joining the conversations, nonetheless.

“What about you, Y/N?” Ada asks as she sips her tea.

“What about me?” You ask confused, obviously having no clue on what she’s on about.

“We were talking about weddings,” Lizzie explains, “Sharing our opinions on what is the best wedding. And Ada asked if you have anyone in your mind as your future husband?”

Her tone is playful more than anything. Both Lizzie and Ada expect a disgusted scowl or a roll of your eyes as an answer, but Polly can’t help but tense up against her seat at the question.

As innocent as this conversation was, it was more than powerful to push you back into your inner darkness.

“Not that I know of.” You answer, trying to mimic Lizzie’s tone.

“Oh, come on. You don’t find any man attractive?” Ada asks, putting her cup down beside her, “Not even one?”

You shake your head slowly and she stares at you with half closed eyes, almost as if she has a suspicion of some sort about your feelings towards any male presences.

“There has to be someone,” Lizzie agrees with Ada, “It’s been… what? 3 years?”

You shrug, fighting your urge to correct her since it won’t do you any justice, and the two women share a look as Polly watches all the action unfold.

“What about Finn?”

Oh god, you almost gagged right here.

Ada laughs under her breath at your disgusted yet shocked look and shakes her thoughts of that couple even be slightly real, away.

“God.” Polly scoffs out loud, making every woman rip a slight smile.

“What’s so wrong about my baby brother?” Polly asks, hands over her hips, playful grin on her face.

“Nothing is wrong,” Polly explains, “They would just be the most chaotic couple to existence. Can you imagine?”

You chuckle at her words and shake your head.

“They would burn down the church right at their wedding,” Polly jokes making both Lizzie and Ada laugh, “Probably even when saying their vows.”

There’re a few seconds of silence as the women let their giggles die down.

“Where is Finn?” Lizzie asks curious.

“Oh, Tommy has been making the boy work double the shifts now, for some reason.” Polly answers, “I don’t understand why, but they changed a lot of his shifts since their last meeting.”

“There was a meeting?” You ask confused.

Polly looks over at you.

“Yes, there was. It was only between Tommy and some of the men.” She answers with a short nod, “Nothing too important was talked about, I’m sure.”

You nod at her a little bit unsure and Charlie is quick to grab your attention back to him. He pulls you by your sleeve to look at him and he starts showing you his new toy horse, again.

You feel like you’ve seen that horse a thousand times, now.

Another conversation restarts between the women and you lean back on the couch, letting Ruby continue to play with your gold necklaces as Charlie talks his heart out about the horse that his dad gave him.

Your mind is constantly somewhere else. But this time, it focused on work. Mainly, on what the meeting could’ve possibly been about. As if any meeting with just the men was ‘not important’. They always have the most interesting meetings.

And with that train of thought, hours go by.

You were so distracted by listening to the women beside you laugh and talk, or just with looking down at the kids, that you didn’t even notice the time pass.

Your mind is still on that damned meeting, but you don’t let it get the best of you. You’re sure that the information will eventually reach you. In one way or another.

Three knocks are heard from the front door, and only Polly stands to open it. Nobody thinks too much of it. Everyone knew that eventually someone would come and pick up Ada, Lizzie and the kids.

It’s soon to be dark out, they must be almost leaving now.

“I’m sorry that we’re late.” A familiar voice sounds from the door.

Ada freezes and at the same time she looks up at you, you look up at the door. Not even 5 seconds later, Michael enters the house, followed by, of course, Gina. His blue eyes travel to the couch in the living room, and as he finds you, you’re already looking down at Charlie.

Your hand rests against Charlies’ head, smoothing his soft hair between your fingers, detangling it softly.

He forces his gaze to go back to the blonde behind him and his mother closes the front door behind them.

“Go sit. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go make more tea.” Polly says, voice strong, not as soft as it was previously.

Ada’s and Lizzie’s eyes stay on both Michael and Gina as the couple stands in silence. They don’t find the women’s gaze as nothing more than their way to look at guests before exchanging some welcoming words, so, the tense air and shock just came unnoticed.

“Oh, hi Michael” Ada says, standing on her feet. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

She gives her cousin a quick hug, in which he hugs back, but her eyes quickly fall on the blonde.

“And who are you?” Ada asks softly.

“Michael’s fiancée, Gina” She says with her American accent, extending her hand towards the other family member she hasn’t heard of before.

Ada shakes her hand, feeling slightly confused and shocked with her words, but, just like anyone else in this room, she’s quick to hide her emotions.

“Please, sit. I don’t want you standing all night.” Polly says to the new guests, from the kitchen door.

Michael is the first one to move towards the couches. You don’t dare to look up at him and he notices, fighting his own urge to start a conversation.

Your heart quickens the closer he gets to you and Charlie looks up at him, probably recognizing his face somewhere.

“Charlie, honey, scoot over a little.” Lizzie tells the boy.

The boy in front of you nods in response and takes his eyes off Michael. He stands on the couch and carefully steps over your lap and sits on your other side, by the arm of the couch.

Michael takes his seat next to you and you hold in your breath as your arms rest completely against one another. Lizzie moves a bit to the side and Gina sits beside her fiancée, who has his attention somewhere else.

“How are you?” Michael whispers down at you and you still don’t look up.

“Good.”

Your tone is cold and distant, which he finds extremely strange and awfully uncomfortable.

The couch is surely not large enough for 4 people, but you and Michael are having it worse than anyone else seated down on it. Lizzie and Gina have at least a few inches between themselves, while you and Michael are almost completely leaning against one another, trapped between Gina and Charlie.

Michael’s hands rest over his lap as he hears the awfully awkward conversation between the women start, not finding it at all surprising that you are paying them no absolute attention.

Ruby lets go of your necklaces for the first time and looks down at your hands.

They’re slightly sweaty over the presence of the man beside you but she pays them no mind, grabbing onto them as she eyes the expensive jewelry, surely something she loves a lot about you.

Polly comes back not too long after, and she’s quick to serve everyone another cup of tea.

You refuse any more, since you feel like you’ve already drank too much and explode your own bladder if you keep on going. And as your hand lifts to dismiss the tea from Polly, Ruby catches it.

You smile a bit at her and Michael grins slightly at the sight of the small girl being so interested in your hand. You let her twist the rings on your fingers and her gaze moves up at Michael.

His grin seems awfully contagious to her since she ends up smiling shyly at him as she continues to hold your hand up. As they do their staring contest, you look over at Charlie, who entertains himself and his mind with his new, and very loved, horse.

You sigh softly as your heart continues to beat quickly against your rib cage and you can’t tell if it’s just because you’re anxious about Michael or is it just his presence that is making you react like this.

“Have you taken your pain meds?” Polly asks.

You look up quickly as you notice that the question must be for you and a shiver runs past you as everyone’s eyes fall on you, even Gina’s.

“I will when I go to sleep.”

She gives you a disapproving look and you give her a grin in return.

“It helps me sleep.” You justify, and she sits back in her chair.

Michael grins at the exchange of words and your stubbornness and Ada notices it before continuing with her conversation.

Ruby rests your palm against hers and starts comparing both sizes.

You chuckle at her and as your body jumps at the laugh beside Michael, he looks down at Ruby to see what made you react. The small girl looks up when sensing his eyes on her and as Gina joins the conversation between the other women, Ruby extends her other hand at Michael, holding it upright.

He looks at her confused and you notice.

“She wants to compare your hand to hers.” You explain in a low whisper.

He takes his hand from his lap and extends it to her. His hands are surely bigger than yours, and that seemed to shock the small girl.

You smile as she lays her hand over his with widen eyes and Polly looks up from her tea at you, mind still on the conversation she started.

Her heart swells up at the sight. You and Michael smiling down at the girl sitting on your lap as she holds your hands up and compares them to hers. She can’t hear what you say over the loud voices and from being across the room, but she sees you saying something to Ruby, making her nod.

Michael’s smile widens at the small girl and you look up at him quickly, stealing a look before you get caught, which you don’t, not by him at least. Polly surely did, but she doesn’t say or do anything.

It’s so obvious that you still feel something for him, at least for her. But Michael seems to be unreadable, sometimes. It’s hard to figure anything out.

Gina stares at Polly while grinning at what Ada says and finds her staring at her son, she follows her gaze and clenches her jaw. The urge to roll her eyes feels stronger than her, but her bottled up rage triples at sight of you smiling.

Ruby takes her hands off yours quickly, shyly putting them close to her chest. You continue to smile down at her and as you and Michael try to retreat your own hands, she holds on to them.

Her actions are innocent, purely curious on the size of your hands, but she still leans both of your palms together, still holding them upright.

You and Michael don’t give that much of a reaction as Ruby tries to align them perfectly at the base of your palms and see the size difference from the top of your fingers.

An idea pops in your mind as your hand rests against Michael’s, and as Ruby pulls back to check the difference after so much adjusting, you slide your palm against Michael’s, so your fingers align right at the same height.

Michael chuckles at the confused look on Ruby’s face and she smiles at the contagious sound.

But as soon as the small girl notices what you’ve done, she sends you a glare, making the two of you laugh at her.

Your conjoined laughs catch everyone’s attention for a quick second and Gina doesn’t even care to take a second look. Ada smiles as she sees Ruby readjusting your palms, and, this time, it’s Michael who moves his hand, almost making his fingers only lay over half of your palm.

Ruby glares at him too and you two laugh, again.

“Alright, we’ll stop.” You tell her.

Ruby retries, but this time she has a tactic. As she makes sure that you are aligned perfectly, she holds both your and Michael’s thumb and force them to rest against the other’s back of the hand.

She leans back and stares at the difference between your hands, now happy with her achievement.

You two let her stare at the size difference with her big wide eyes, but something interrupts the sweet moment.

“Michael, honey.” Gina calls out as the conversation between everyone restarts, “Can you pass me that cup?”

Michael takes his hand off yours and you can’t help but feel disappointed at the loss of his touch. He leans forward on the couch and grabs the cup of tea for Gina from the center table, something she could easily get it herself.

You let your hand fall back to your lap and you take a sharp deep inhale, not wanting to be sitting on this couch for any longer.

You let some minutes pass, so you don’t seem like a total bitch, and when feeling ready, you lean forward on the couch, wincing in pain as your body shows to have grown sore over the lack of painkillers and from not moving at all for the past few hours.

Polly’s eyes go over to you at the sound only her seemed to notice, and you look back at her.

“I’m going to bed, I think.” You explain, making everybody get silent and look at you, “I feel exhausted.”

“Need help to find your meds?” She asks, already starting to get up, and you shake your head.

“No, no.” You hold your hand up stopping her, “Stay here. I’ll find them.”

You make sure to sit Ruby on the couch comfortably before forcing yourself up from the low couch. You fight off any sound of pain as you stand on your feet, but your face made it quite obvious.

You really should’ve taken those meds earlier.

You walk to the kitchen, trying not to show any other expression of pain, and everyone’s eyes are on you. Gina stares as you lean against the doorframe to regain your strength, yet she doesn’t feel anything in return. Not even an ounce of pity.

You stumble into the kitchen and look at the main counter, expecting the meds to be sitting right in the middle, just like you left them. But this wouldn’t be Polly’s house if they were.

Your feet get dragged as you take your time walking around to the kitchen.

You start opening every cabinet and drawer that could possibly have your meds, but there are too many to find them right away. Maybe going to bed without your meds wouldn’t be that bad.

You just need to lay down, now.

“Need help?”

You turn on your heels to find Michael by the doorway, already in the kitchen. You look away quickly back to all the drawers and try to hide any type of emotion towards his sudden appearance.

“No, I think I got it.” You answer back.

You continue to look through the many drawers and only after 2 minutes of seeing you struggle; Michael decides to move. He walks towards you and you stand still as he does so.

As he passes between you and the counter behind you, he holds onto your shoulders to make you stand back a little and let him pass. Something that surely made your skin react, but, thankfully, it all came unnoticed to him.

He opens a drawer slightly away from you and pulls out exactly what you’re looking for.

“How did you know?” You ask, curious.

“This is where she would put my meds after I got shot. It’s her drawer from stronger meds.” He explains.

How the hell did you not know that?

You walk towards him as he opens the small paper bag, taking your medicine out and handing it over to you. You take it from his hands carefully and put it down on the counter beside you.

“Thank you” You whisper at him.

You take your medicine in silence as the conversation restarts in the living room, and you try not to cringe at anything that you’re taking. Why is everything so bitter?

Whenever you’re done with one of the meds, Michael grabs them slowly and puts them back on the bag without saying anything.

He slides the drawers closed when done and you start taking the jewelry off your hands, just to start and get your way to the bed way quicker.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks and you look up at him.

“No. But I’ll be.” You say sincerely before looking away and taking a step away from him, “That’s what matters.”

Michael notices your hesitation into continuing some sort of conversation, just like your slight cold tone, but he tries his best to ignore it.

“I’m going to bed,” You announce while turning your back to him and making your way out of kitchen.

“Good night.” He says as you reach the doorway.

You send him a tight-lipped smile and walk out, back into the living room. Polly is, of course, the first one to notice you.

“Did you find it?” She asks.

“Michael did.” You answer.

You walk over to her and once close, lean over and kiss her cheek. The rest of the family distracted with something else or some other type of conversation.

Michael walks out of the kitchen and you reach the stairs, after saying a quick good night, loud enough for everyone else to hear.

You jump up the steps with your rings in your hands as you bring your cold and clammy hands to your neck to try and unclasp your necklaces. Your eyes land on Michael’s as you reach the top floor and he’s staring back.

Gina calls his name in a whisper and he looks at her, breaking your eye contact. And as soon as his eyes reach Gina’s, he doesn’t hesitate into giving her a sweet smile.

As he looks back up while walking around the couch, his eyes meet nothing but some painting on the wall.

You’re not there anymore.

(…)

The sound of birds surrounds you, their soft and energized tweeting coming from the trees far away from you and some branches above you, as the warm summer wind hits your body like a warm hug.

You shift your position on the ground, laying on your stomach and looking up at the sky between the branches high up, far, far away from you.

Solitary clouds float over the bright blue sky, almost not shielding any land from the sunlight.

Your exposed back is warm, erupting into chills whenever Michael moves his hand. You close your eyes again and let yourself relax again.

A hand touches the side of your head softly and slowly you feel its fingers start to trace your hairline. You open your eyes, blinking the sunlight away, and look up at Michael.

His hand falls to your cheek as you move and a small smile spreads over his lips.

“Let me sleep,” You whine, and he finally gives you a full smile.

“Alright,” He answers in a whisper, “Sorry.”

You sigh and hold yourself up with your hands, you push your body up on his torso and his hands go to your waist. Not caring over only wearing a dress, you lay yours legs over his hips, straddling his lap while pulling yourself up.

“I forgive you.” You whisper back playfully.

You snuggle into the crook of his neck and his smell hits you like an embrace. The small bit of communication pulled you away from your sleepy thoughts and movements, but you still felt just as clingy and slow.

As you lay back against him, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close to him with everything in him. You snuggle in to welcome his tight hold and one of his hands stretches over your skin of your back.

You’re wearing a simple black dress, baggy from your waist down, but completely backless.

“Can we lay here for, like…” You pause, “Forever?”

Michael chuckles from under you and leans his head to the side to rest it against yours.

“We’ll get hungry eventually.” He answers, and you smile.

“I’m sure there’s some animals around here.” You continue to play around, smile prominent in your voice.

“I hope you know how to make a fire, then.”

You giggle into Michael’s neck and pull away slightly. His hold loosens slightly so you can move a bit and you look down at him.

“Don’t you know how to make a fire?” You ask and he frowns.

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know” You shrug, “Weren’t you like a country boy or something?”

With that, Michael lets out the biggest belly laugh ever, leaving you to smile as he cackles away at your words. Your tone had been obviously playful, but it still made it just as funny for him.

“I lived at a farm. I wasn’t a cave man!” He exclaims, tilting his head to look at you better.

“Sounds the same to me.”

He smiles at you and you bring one of your hands to his cheek, caressing it with your thumb. You lean in and give him the softest peck you could. When pulling away, you look at him in the eyes as he tries to pull you into another kiss. You let him, letting your lips rest over the softness of his as you too fall into the pit of slow and lovingly making out.

He sits up in the middle of the kiss and you sit over his legs as he does it. His hands travel effortlessly down your waist to your legs, lifting your skirt enough to slither in his hands underneath.

You pull away and look down at him as you stand on your knees, adjusting your seating on his thighs. You peck his lips multiple times before sitting back and eyeing him.

“I love you” He confesses in a whisper, eyes staring back onto yours, “so much”

“Really?” You ask, serious, leaning a little back and he frowns.

“Yeah…?”

He’s confused, but soon your playful smile reappears.

“How much, again?”

“A lot.”

“How much is ‘a lot’?” You keep going. “Like, ‘a lot’ like the size of a mountain or ‘a lot’ as in…” You think for a second, but he interrupts.

“How old are you again?” He teases about your childish words and you force your smile to disappear, just so you can scowl at him.

“Oh, fuck off” You say to him, “I was trying to be cute here, no need to ruin the moment for us.”

“Alright, keep going then” He says, “The size of a mountain or…?”

“Uhm… The size of…” You try to think, mind completely blank over any ideas. “The size of… the ocean?”

He chuckles at your final words and you grin.

“The ocean.” He says, sure of his words, no hesitation.

You stay silent for a bit.

“Which one?”

“Oh, come on!” He says, completely bored out of this conversation, making you laugh at him, “The biggest one you can think of”

“Really?”

“Yes. Now, can you please” He emphasizes the word comically, dragging it, “for the love of God, just tell me that you love me back?”

You kiss his lips over his frown.

“You’re so romantic.” You comment sarcastically.

“I know.”

You smile at him and decide not to give in just yet. The boy can suffer for a bit.

Telling him that you loved him now or in 5 minutes won’t exactly make that much of a difference.

You stand up on your feet, away from his lap, and he stares up at you while letting out a sigh.

“You gotta earn it.” You say with a playful look, making his frown break slightly.

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” You nod.

You take a step back as he stands up and your smile doesn’t disappear at all as you move away from him. Every step forward from Michael is a step back for you, making his urge to get to you bigger.

And soon, the running around starts.

You laugh as you run from him, sometimes feeling his fingers graze over your arms, making your heart beat faster with the adrenaline.

The tall weeds slap the skin of your exposed legs softly, tickling you as you ran away from your boyfriend. The scenery in front of you motivates into keeping on running, the summery flowers all open and colorfully staring up at the sky.

All you hear is your soft steps over the plants and the birds, it gives you peace. You can still hear Michael running behind you.

You let out a giggle as he’s about to touch you and out of nowhere, it stops.

The warm breeze lifts into a cold one and you look around confused.

You know that the weather can be unpredictable, but this is too radical for it to make sense.

Your hands start getting cold rapidly and soon your body is enveloped into complete body chills, your dress being nothing but useless when it comes to make you stay warm.

The breeze goes from cold to freezing in the matter of seconds, leaving you nothing but panicked.

You feel lightheaded and short of breath and as you try to warm yourself up with your own arms, soon you realize… You can’t feel your own palms touching your skin.

The sunlight fades as clouds fly their way in to color the skies a dark grey and you stare up.

You’re in a dream.

You’re dreaming.

You look over your shoulder at Michael to find him just as confused just a few steps away. He must have stopped running right as you did. But his skin, is not reacting like yours. His exposed arms, from the folded sleeves are not reacting to the cold in chills. It’s like it’s not affecting him.

He’s not the real Michael.

“What’s happening?” He asks you.

“I don’t know” You lie. You know exactly what’s happening.

Your dream is becoming a nightmare.

You look around as the wind gets harsher and your heart starts to beat more violently, just like your shortness of breath forces you into panting your way to find your peace again.

You step closer to Michael and cup his face.

He stares back at you still with his confused eyes and you kiss him. Your lips touch his and his hands come to rest over your waist as the wind continues to come at full force towards you.

Your hands feel numb, not being able to feel the texture of his suit, just like you had felt a few minutes prior. But you feel his hands, the way they rest on your waist, warming your skin under the violent and freezing wind.

“I love you,” You tell him as you pull away.

You open your eyes and you’re met with Michael’s pale face. His eyes are empty, with absolutely no light or sign of life.

You caress his cold cheeks with your thumbs, and you notice blood over his bottom lip. His hands had fallen a second ago from your waist, and you already miss his familiar warmth.

You bring your finger to wipe the blood away carefully and notice that it’s all over his mouth, coloring his white bottom teeth.

A small trail of blood starts falling off his nose and soon from his ears as well, slowly coloring your hands into the color red.

Red, hands completely filled with deep red, now that you try and wipe it.

Michael falls onto his knees and you do the same, holding him close to you even though it’s just his corpse. He’s cold and his hold is not even there anymore. His arms are by his sides as his head rests over your shoulder.

You wrap your arms around him, and the wind becomes more and more violent.

You force your eyes closed and let it take you too.

You open your eyes, and a loud gasp escapes your mouth. You’re not panting anymore, but your heart is beating quickly.

You try to sit up, but a sudden jab of pain hits you. You gasp and wince in pain but still bring yourself to do it. A sob escapes your mouth too right as you’re able to sit upright.

Your face feels wet and cold in the air of the room. You must have been crying before you woke up.

You whine in pain as you bring yourself to turn on the light beside you and as the warm yellow light illuminates the room, all you see is blood.

Your own blood, spread around your white shirt and white sheets, painting your hands just like in your dream.

“Pol-” You try to call out, but your voice breaks in a sob as pain runs through you.

You sob into the empty and silent air and try it again.

“Polly!” You sob out loud, hoping that that was enough to awake her if it’s late enough for that.

You wait a few long seconds for any sound coming from the hallway or stairs, but nothing.

“Polly!” You try to scream louder.

Polly holds her hand up to shut up Gina and the room falls silent. Michael leans forward from the railing of the stairs and looks at his mom confused; arms still crossed over his chest.

“Poll-” You cough.

Michael, before Polly could even get up, makes his way up the stairs and runs down the hall, trying his best to be fast enough to get to your room.

Your door swings open and you continue to sob as the lights are turned on.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.” You sob to whoever is at the door, staring down at your hands, “I-I, I woke up and…”

Michael shakes his shock away at the sight of your bed all bloodied, just like your hands, and walks towards you. His eyes fall to your shirt and notices from where your blood is coming from, your wound.

“Mom!” Michael shouts while looking up at the door.

Your ears start to buzz as panic starts to set in in your system and two hands move yours away from your eyes.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” The voice repeats and you sob helplessly.

Michael sits in front of you in the bed and brings you close to him, ignoring that he’s now being covered in blood as well.

He makes you rest your hands on his shoulders so that they’re away from your eyes and starts to unbutton some of the buttons of your shirt.

Polly finally gets to the door and the sight is absolutely terrifying.

“She ripped stitches. I think.”

Polly forces herself to walk to the bed and to help Michael check your wound. He continues to unbutton your shirt with one hand only and he’s quick to rip the bandage off.

You sob in pain as he does it and both him and Polly try to look past the blood and ignore your sobs to see what happened to your wound. It opened, maybe 3 of the 9 stitches ripped.

“I’ll call the doctor.” Polly says.

Michael nods and holds you closer to him, not wanting you to move too far away. Your side rests against his chest and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, while one of his hands grabs the sheets and holds them over the wound.

You sob silently while leaning closer to him and he looks up at your face.

“Hey. You’re okay, look at me.” He whispers at you and you do it, “You’re okay. It’s not too bad. You’re safe. I promise.”

You stare at him in the eyes and he leans his forehead against yours.

“You’re okay” He whispers lower.

You nod as tears continue to roll down your face and he nods with you. Your breathing starts to slow down, and he presses a kiss over your wet cheek.

“I got you.” He whispers against your skin.

(…)

Michael sighs loudly as he walks into the kitchen and he feels exhausted.

“Is the doctor finished?” Polly asks him and he just nods, “And her?”

“Passed out before he could even start” He answers, “The doctor said to just let her sleep.”

He walks towards the sink and he turns on the water, holding his bloody hands under it. The two women standing in the kitchen are silent, watching him wash his hands carelessly while staring at the wall.

“I’ll go get you a clean shirt.” Polly says.

His mom walks out of the kitchen and he turns off the water, turning around to face Gina.

“Are we going to the hotel after this?” She asks softly.

“I can drive you there, but I’m staying here, tonight.”

She takes a deep breath and brings her hands to her head, annoyed.

“Why? She’s asleep. You can visit her tomorrow.” She tries.

“I’ll sleep better here.”

She scoffs.

“You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable?” Michael answers, bringing his hand up to point at his own chest.

“Yes!” She almost screams, “You are unbelievable! And you want to know why?” She asks, “Because no matter what I fucking do or fucking say, you will always put her before me.”

“Always, Gina? Are you serious?” Michael asks in disbelief, “You’ve been my fucking priority ever since we met, and now because I show some sort of affection towards a girl that is fucking bleeding and crying her lungs out, I’m supposedly putting her before you?”

“Yes! I don’t even know what you had with her before me!” She shouts, “Ever since I step foot into this shit hole I’ve been listening to her name and seeing her over and over again. Do you really think I believe that she’s simply a ‘family friend’?” She air-quotes.

“You want the truth?” He asks, no shouting needed, but he sounds mad.

“Yes.”

“We dated for 4 years, almost 5. I ended our relationship when in America.” He answers and Gina stands silent, “See? I can tell you the truth when you ask nicely.”

“And if you broke up why do you still like her?” She asks, ignoring his hateful tease at the end of his sentence.

“You have to be joking-”

“Are you going to say that that’s a lie?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, “Let me give you some of my truth, Michael. I honestly don’t give a shit about what you two went through, or if you were in a good relationship or not when with her, but you broke up. I don’t care why, but you did. And there was a time when you chose me over her. That’s why you proposed, right?”

Michael doesn’t answer her.

“So, please, for the love of God, stop being a child and move on with your life. You’ve been mopping around her, touching her all the time as if you’re dying to do it at every second of the day… Even if she does still like you, you are with me now, not her.” She spits at him, “Move. On. She’s not yours anymore, Michael. I am.”

He swallows hard at her words and looks at her emptily.

Polly makes her way back inside the kitchen, acting as if she didn’t hear a thing, but that seems to not scare off Gina from continuing.

“Are you even listening to m-?”

“I am.”

“Then say something, Michael.” She scolds, “Is it not true, what I’m saying?”

Polly looks between them as if waiting for it to evolve in any way, and simply extends her hand towards Michael, so he can grab the clean shirt.

“Is she your priority or no-”

“Yes.” Michael answers, “Y/N is my priority.” He nods, sure of himself and his words. “Yes, I’m engaged to you, Gina, but I care for her, and she will always be my priority.”

Gina bites her tongue and looks at Michael.

It honestly comes to no surprise. She had just thrown these words at him not that long ago, at lunch. He had just never confirmed it for her, and now… he did. But ‘always’? You will always be his priority? Now, that, doesn’t sit right with her.

They stand in silence and Michael leans back on the counter, finally taking the shirt from his mom’s hands. He thanks her with a look but to no avail because her eyes are not even on him.

“You’re serious?” Gina comments in slight disbelief.

“I am.” Michael confirms.

“What does that mean for us, then?” She asks.

Michael stays silent and the blonde slides off the highchair she has been sitting on, standing on her heels. Her eyes stay on him as tears threaten to swell up at her eyes.

“I’m not sure.” Michael answers truthfully.

She nods at his words and brings her eyes to the ground. She feels disappointed but mostly betrayed. Her eyes are good to show that emotion, but soon, it evolves into something else.  Pure anger. Anger over the betraying words and truth, the one that just got thrown around as if it was nothing.

And Polly notices it.

“I think it’s better if you leave, Gina.”

Michael takes his eyes off his fiancée to stare at his mother, who just opened her mouth. He didn’t expect her to get herself involved in his worries, but she did.

“What?” Gina asks, bringing her head back up to stare at Polly.

“You heard me.”

Her eyes travel to Michael in hopes that he would defend her, but nothing. He’s just staring back at her, almost holding the same look as his mother.

He doesn’t want her here. He wants her to leave.

She shakes her head, overcome with emotion, and forces her feet to move. Her palms tingle with the idea of hitting something, or rather, someone, but her eyes fill with tears.

How could have she been so stupid?

She slams the front door shut behind her and the Gray family stand in the kitchen unphased.

“Rather dramatic that one, uh?” Polly asks her son.

Michael doesn’t answer her venomous comment, but that didn’t seem to surprise her. His mother walks around the counter and grabs the cup Gina used for her whiskey, bringing it to the sink so she can wash it.

It’s like this conversation didn’t affect her a slight bit.

Michael feels weird. He doesn’t regret telling Gina anything but the look she gave him spoke more than any of her words could. She felt betrayed by him, and she was holding back so many emotions and words.

He knows that if it wasn’t for his mom, Gina would be screaming at him, maybe even throwing stuff at the walls. Just like she usually does when she’s upset. But she didn’t do anything, she decided to contain herself and not scream or even curse him out.

And honestly, Michael doesn’t know what’s worse. The fact that she could be destroying his mom’s kitchen or the fact that she’s bottling up all her frustration and anger.

He thought he knew Gina before coming back home, but the trip only made him and her show their true colors. One can’t stop comparing his newfound love to his old one, and the other obsesses over the idea of power and desperately wanting to overthrow anyone in her way.

Quite a pair, that’s for sure.

(…)

You open your eyes as the lights burns your eyelids open and an involuntary groan runs off your mouth as you’re hit with the morning light right in the face. You turn your head to the side, but you’re met with another window with the curtains open.

“Fuck.” You curse out loud.

You sit up and another sound escapes your mouth, but this time, a whimper of pain.

It takes you a few seconds to connect the dots and you finally remember why you’re in pain in the first place.

“Jesus Christ.” You comment to yourself, again.

Your bloody sheets are set to the side, right next to your door, and before your mind could even try to process it, you push any thoughts of your nightmare away from you.

You pull yourself up carefully and try to ignore the tightness that you feel over your wound. You’re not quite sure what happened after the doctor appeared, but if you’re still at Polly’s house, it could only mean one thing…

It’s not as bad as it looked.

You walk to the bathroom and the sight that meets your eyes is, just, great.

Your shirt is mostly unbuttoned, bloodied, just like your bra. Some of your skin has been cleaned, but not all. Your face as some blood smeared on it, but it doesn’t surprise you. You remember moving so much when you woke up, it would be a miracle it your feet would be clean.

You throw the clothes into the bin and start cleaning yourself off. You can’t exactly bath over having to make the wound be dry at all times. But you have been able to manage quite nicely. With weird positions, for sure, but you’re able to wash your body and hair quite nicely.

You put on some washed clothes on and make your way out of the bedroom. It must be really early since the house is more than silent.

Before you walk down the stairs, you walk over to the guest’s room just to check. Finn is laying on his back over the large bed, mouth partly open as some light snores escape his lips, making you smile at him.

You take a step back and close the door back up. He must’ve gotten here after the doctor.

You make your way down the stairs easily, and as soon as your eyes land on the couch, you see Michael.

He’s awake with a mug on his hands, eyes on the carpet as he is completely lost in thought. He has a scowl over his face, hiding any kind of emotion from anyone’s eyes, and as your feet finally meet the last step, he looks up.

His scowl disappears and a slight grin appears over his lips.

“Good morning.” You say before he could.

“Good morning.” He answers back.

You walk towards him and he watches you as you carry yourself with ease over to the couch. You take a seat next to him and notice that his mug is still filled with warm coffee.

He extends the mug your way when noticing your interest and you smile, taking it.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

The hot mug burns your cold palms, and you welcome the almost uncomfortable heat into your skin. You bring it to your lips and take a small sip of the dark liquid.

You’re sitting close to Michael, sitting on top of one of your legs as you sit looking at him. You’re not wearing much more than a shirt, exposing your legs to him and to anyone in the house, but you don’t seem uncomfortable with your lack of clothing.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks and you bring the mug down from your mouth, licking your lips at the same time.

“Yeah” You nod.

You give him back his mug after taking your generous sips and he takes it back onto his hands.

“When did Finn get here?” You ask him, curious.

“About half an hour after the doctor left.” He answers, leaning forward to put down the burning mug on the coffee table, finding it impossible to drink from how hot it is, still.

You nod at as his answer and while you’re thinking about what else to ask, he speaks again.

“You scared the living shit out of us last night.” He says, making you look back at him.

His eyes are back on the carpet and your chest tightens at the sight.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize.

“Don’t.” He says, finally looking back up, “It’s not your fault.”

He leans back on the couch and both of you continue to look at each other. The air is not thick as it usually is, it’s light and easy to breathe in. Your looks are both familiar, always taking your minds back in time for a quick second.

Your mind takes you to your dream and soon his pale face reappears in your mind. You shake the thoughts away, right as Michael opens his mouth to talk.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, “I can make you something to eat.”

You smile widely at him and bring your hands to your lap.

“Are you finally proving yourself useful around the house?” You tease, making him smile back, “I must be in a dream. Since when do you-”

“I’ve always been able to cook” He defends himself.

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true!”

“Michael, you couldn’t even cook potatoes!”

“Couldn’t!” He says to you, leaning forward to be right in front of you, “Things have changed in my kitchen.”

A laugh escapes your lips as he smiles down at you and he stands from the couch. He gives you his hand and as soon as your palms touch, he pulls you up from the couch.

“Come on, I’ll show you my experienced cooking.” He encourages as you take small, demotivated steps his way, “Do you want me to make you potatoes, just so I can prove my point?”

“No.” You giggle, “Just- Do whatever.”

He turns around and starts walking to the kitchen, letting your hand fall from his as you stay a little behind.

“You know what?” You ask him as you get in the kitchen, making him look back at you, “Maybe you’re not as insufferable as I thought you were”

Michael laughs at your words as you say them, and he nods.

“Oh, why, thank you!” He says enthusiastically, “Aren’t you lovely right as the sun rises?”

You let out a loud laugh and he moves over behind the island counter, looking around the cabinets to look for something to cook for you.

You stare at the back of his head as he walks around and take a seat on one of the chairs.

One could get used to this.

Taglist: @ohhersheybars @woodland-mist @onlythechicagoway @soleil-dor @finn-shelbys-bulldog @oh-theres-a-woman @peakyxtommy @ms-reader @beautycinders @lovemissyhoneybee @graceedwards @jadesbabylon @marvelismylifffe @a-dorky-book-keeper @peakascum @shanetoo @hufflemendes @cherrytop02 @http-cherries @burnitup @livingforbarnes @iccyyyybitch @ravennaofasgar @carezzesuigraffi @fernweh-fangirl @hufflepeople @huskyhunny @desertgremlin @fireawayxx @lemur46 @sugarcoated-lame @i-sneeze-to-appease @gabytodd​ @cococola-cocaine​ @namelesslosers​ ​

If you’d like to be apart of the taglist, let me know.

Hope you enjoyed this! If would like to make any questions about the characters or when the next part will be available. My ask box is always open.

[jamilelucato]

Your Embrace

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Requests:

1. @witchglow​ hey love! congratulations on your followers! 🥺💗 can i request fred weasley x reader on which they are on the grimmauld place is not have beds for all so they have to share the bed, then they end up hugging or something like and the other day they wait and are super embarrassed, but in the end the two admit that they can share the bed whenever they want (im sorry if it got confused 😿) thank u, stay safe 💗😼💖

2. @whizbangs-78​ congrats on 1.5k followers!!! could i request a fred weasley x reader with the one bed trope pleaseee??? thank youuu c: also if you're requests for this are closed feel free to ignore thank youu c: congrats on the milestone, again!!

A/N: since the requests were very similar, I decided to combine both of them, hope you two like it! again, I can’t seem to write short fics.

Send a request! ||  Harry Potter Masterlist ||  Musical Hogwarts Series

It was late in the night when Professor McGonagall fetched you and all of the Weasleys to go to Dumbledore so you could all take a Portkey back to Grimmauld Place. The Professor said something had happened with Arthur Weasley; so all of his children, you and Harry were taken away from Hogwarts. 

It wasn’t the protocol getting you to travel too, but since you were awake when Professor McGonagall showed up in a hurry and told you to fetch Ginny, you managed to convince McGonagall that you would’ve to come with the Weasleys.

When finally there, nobody was able to stay still. 

Fred and George were desperately trying to convince someone to take them to St. Mungo’s, even though Sirius repeated that it was not the smartest thing to do. The best was waiting inside of the House of Black even if it was not easy.

You noticed Fred and George weren’t going to let Sirius have a moment of peace — if there could be one at this point — so you requested a tour around the place since it was your first time there.

Reluctantly, Fred and George walked you around the house.

“He’s gonna be alright, come on; you both know it,” you said while walking through some sort of music room — it had a piano at least. “Your dad’s tough.”

George sighed but remained in silence. It was Fred that spoke.

“You can’t be sure of that. ”

You sat down in the piano, running your fingers carelessly over the musical instrument. Thankfully, the sound that came of that wasn’t loud.

“I can’t, you’re right,” you lamented, gulping.

Fred and George stared at themselves — they were in opposite corners of the room — and then they looked down at you in the piano stool.

“Sorry I was rude,” gasped Fred, stepping closer to you.

He was already taller than you, but with you sitting, the difference started to actually hurt your neck.

You shrugged in response. Fred knew you weren’t mad at him, he didn’t need to hear you say it. However, for just a second, he gazed down at you, locked in your eyes. Those moments were happening with more frequency, and that kinda worried him. He was sure he was being too obvious, and you would soon realize you saw him as more than just friends.

But you were too worried about your own obviousness towards fancying Fred to notice he liked you as well.

George looked around the room, trying really hard to not make a sound and interrupt the moment. He knew how much his twin fancied you. He suspected you desired Fred too, but he wasn’t sure yet.

You fake coughed, totally ruining the moment on purpose. Gosh, if Fred finds out I like him, he’ll never talk to me again, you thought, turning to face the piano.

“Do you guys know how to play?” you asked, running your fingers over it once again.

Fred and George exchanged looks before bursting in laughter.

“Do you take us for pianists?” George asked back before laughing again.

You should have paid more attention — they seriously didn’t look like musicians. Even so, you three squizzed yourselves in the one stool and attempted to produce music. Each of the twins sat in one of your sides, and you had to concentrate a lot to act normal with Fred’s proximity. You two were practically breathing the same air. 

George’s here too, you freak, you thought, biting your inner cheek.

At ten past five in the morning, after a dozen attempts to play Für Elise — you three couldn’t even pass the third note —, Mrs Weasley stopped by the house.

As soon as Fred and George heard the doo, they jumped out of the stool.

“ ‘S gotta be mum,” said Fred. All the calm he had gained with playing the piano with you disappeared.

“Let’s see her,” said George and they walked away of the music room without waiting for you.

You sighed, closing the piano fallboard before getting up and heading out. 

Of course, you were worried about their father, but you were also very, very tired. They were sleeping when the Professor fetched them, but you had been wide awake by the fireplace trying to finish a book you were desperate to know the end. Now, you couldn’t care less.

When you got to the kitchen, Ginny, Harry, Ron, Fred and George were around Mrs Wealsey, analyzing every word she had to say.

“We can all go and see him later,” she finished saying. It was probably a phrase that had started before you got downstairs, but there was no need to hear more — if they could go see him, it meant he’d be alright.

Fred turned his face around, looking for you, and when he found your eyes, he pressed his lips together tightly. It was his way of saying he was sorry again because you actually turned out to be correct.

“Oh, y/N, my dear, I didn’t know you were here too,” said Mrs Weasley, interrupting your discreet moment with Fred.

“Yeah,” you said, having no idea of what to say beyond that. It was weird and unexpected your presence there. Not even Hermione was there, and she was always around Ron.

You didn’t spend much time with the whole Weasley family; just Hogwarts time with Fred and George. Sometimes, you’d share trips to Hogsmeade with Ginny, but that was it.

“The more, the merrier!” said Sirius, getting up from his chair with a tender smile.

“Sure hope you think that, Sirius, ‘cause we might stay for Christmas,” said Mrs Weasley, clenching her jaw.

Sirius chuckled. “If you promise to cook.”

“Of course!” smiled Mrs Weasley, and Ginny giggled in the back.

Breakfast was served, and it was weird eating it before having slept, but nobody seemed to care. It wasn’t as good as Hogwarts’ feasts, but you didn’t mind. The fact that you were actually there — headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, organization you only heard Fred and George mention — made the details unimportant.

“You five should sleep after eating,” said Mrs Weasley, who was up behind the chairs where Fred and George were sitting. “We can visit your dad later.”

Fred seemed about to protest when his mom touched his shoulder softly, but it was a clear warning for her son to not complain, and so, Fred shut.

Harry joined some minutes later, after a long conversation with Sirius Black — who was, to you, an honour to meet. You knew that, although the Ministry was painting him as a villain, he could only be pure of heart, so much Harry spoke well of the man.

“Fred, honey, would you mind sharing your bed with George?” asked Mrs Wealsey when she noticed that her boys had finish eating. “There won’t be an extra bed for y/N, I’m afraid.”

Fred snorted, annoyed, and said: “Mum, George can’t sleep still; you know how much he moves around!”

George didn’t even bother being offended — he knew his twin was telling the truth.

Mrs Weasley puckered her forehead, thinking an alternative through. Ginny couldn’t share the bed with you — the youngest Weasley had already gotten upstairs to her bed and was probably deep sleeping right now. Ron was never pleased with sharing, and she would never bother Harry, who was being a dear just help Arthur Weasley being rescued.

“I suppose you and y/N could share it then,” said Mrs Weasley, noticing that was her only option left. She concluded you and Fred would be too tired to try anything under her nose. She was only half right about that, though. “Take my bed that is bigger in the other room, and I take your single.”

George sighed with the thought of sleeping in the same room with his mom like a toddler.

You and Fred, on the other hand, couldn’t stand to look at each other. Every time you tried, you would feel your cheeks turning red, and you would look away.

However, neither of you complained to Mrs Weasley about it, scared to lose an opportunity to be closer to each other. After helping with the dishes, you both headed, side by side, to the mentioned room.

Fred cleared his throat as you lay with your bellies up, taking extreme care not to touch each other.

“Thanks for earlier, with the music and all. It was a great distraction,” Fred said, turning just enough to see your face.

Oh, how gorgeous she is! he thought.

Your hair loose over the pillow, his big hands rested over his abdomen, your faces blushed with the closeness... 

You turned to face Fred before replying. “My mum used to play me songs in our guitar back through the first war,” you said, biting your inside cheek, suddenly embarrassed fo sharing such a personal memory. 

Fred knew that your father had died in the first war, you two had talked about it before. But it was never something that caused you pain — you were much too young when he died. It was the days when growing up, seeing the neighbours’ kids with their fathers and you having only your mom — that was when it started hurting. And that was when your mom started playing music to calm you.

“I find it quite relaxing,” you said.

“I sure was relaxed with you,” Fred said before blushing, ashamed with his unexpected confession. 

You gulped, unsure of what to say or do. You decided it was best to remain silent because Fred probably felt relaxed with all of his friends.

There was nothing left to be said, and Fred really needed to sleep if he wanted to see his father later, so you returned to your first position — facing the ceiling. You never knew, but, without your eyes staring deep into his, he was finally able to fall asleep.

On the other hand, it took you a couple more minutes to travel to the dreamland. Knowing that Fred was closer than ever before made you feel more awake than if you had slept all day. Of course, that was just a false sensation your subconscious tricked you with — soon, you were sleeping too.

“Come on, love birds! Mum wants us to come now!” yelled a voice, pulling the blankets away from you.

“Be more gentle, George,” advised another voice.

“Come on, you two!” shouted the male voice again.

It toom you a couple of seconds to finally open your eyes and take a glimpse of who owned the voices that were disturbing the most peaceful nap you had ever gotten.

Ginny stared at you with a wan smile while George held in one of his hands the cosy blanket that was once over you. But their faces were hiding something, and it was just when George smirked to you that you decided to sit up.

Fred was thinking of doing the exact same thing as you, but he was having more trouble with it since you were practically all over him.

Yeah, that’s right.

The cosiness and warmness didn’t come from the blanket — it came from Fred Weasley.

He was still laying with his belly up, but over his abdomen, you had arranged yourself, in some sort of embrace or hug. So, obviously, you blushed right away — your whole face redder than the Weasleys’ hair.

Fred was blushing too, but since you had hidden your face over your pillow — the exact one you clearly didn’t use to sleep — you weren’t able to see.

“Get out,” he muttered with grinding teeth. George pretended to be angry and walked away, tossing the blanket over the bed with no caution. Ginny took one last glimpse around before whispering for you two to not be late.

Fred sighed before taking the pillow over your head.

“They’re gone,” he said with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry for... well, wherever was that. I probably am a sleepwalker or something; I swear I didn’t place myself over your chest on purpose,” you said, biting your lip and facing him with hope in your eyes — hope that he would believe you were not a maniac.

Fred wished you had done that on purpose because that had been the most comfortable he had ever felt in a bed.

“Don’t worry about it. Sorry about my siblings,” he said, finally getting up. “I’m gonna see my mum and make sure we’re going to St. Mungo’s too.”

“We?” you echoed the word out loud, but he had already left the room, and so, he didn’t hear.

You were planning on going with the Weasleys, sure, but you didn’t know they wanted you there as well. Well, at least Fred did.

You gave Fred a few minutes to get downstairs before you. When you got there, everybody seemed to be waiting just for you.

“Sorry for not waking you up earlier, dear. You both looked so relaxed,” said Mrs Weasley, stepping towards you. She held you by your shoulders. “I prepared both of you sandwiches, so you can eat faster.”

She let your shoulders go and grabbed one sandwich over the table — the second one was already half-eaten by Fred Weasley in the other corner of the kitchen. You were too embarrassed thinking that even Molly saw you hugging Fred in your sleep to say something other than thank you.

“Your trunks are here too,” the woman mentioned, with a small smile. Fred finished his sandwich, so you hurried to finish yours. “Tonks? Mad-Eye?”

With Mrs Weasley calling, both of the mentioned walked in the kitchen and Ginny rushed to Tonks, hugging her tightly.

“Nymphadora?” you asked, almost choking on the last bite. The short pink hair was the essential clue for you to connect the surname to the person. You just didn’t call Tonks Tonks, it was a childish habit, but it was unforgettable.

“Don’t call me...! Hey, it’s you!” exclaimed Tonks, as soon as Ginny freed her and ran to your side, hugging you. “You grew up, Merlin!”

You let out a hearty laugh while struggling to breath. Tonks finally freed you, but still stayed by your side. You knew each other because you were neighbours for a while, and often your mother alone could not take care of you — Nymphadora always offered (for a sickle a day) to babysit.

If it was up for you and Tonks, you’d have stayed the day talking, but Mrs Weasley kindly reminded there was a place you needed to be. 

The trip to St.Mungo’s was, to say the least, embarrassing. Every time Fred would lock eyes with you, your cheeks would turn red, and it felt like everyone knew how you too slept. Together, tightly, legs intertwine... Yeah, you had to fight yourself to not remember those things.

Thankfully, you and Tonks got a minute to talk when the family walked in with Harry to see Arthur Weasley. She told you everything about her job and how she liked to now be a part of the Order. “Sure Dumbledore will ask you to join when you come of age,” she even mentioned with a nudge of shoulders. 

The Weasleys trooped back into the corridor. Tonks glanced at you, but she already knew you weren’t going to come in, so she went in with Mad-Eye and closed the door behind them. Fred raised his eyebrows towards you — he wasn’t seriously expecting you had something to talk with his father, right? — but then George suggested to listen behind the door, and everybody was distracted for a moment.

After that espionage, Harry Potter started acting odd as ever, but definitely not more than you and Fred. Ginny and George would look from Fred to you, and then they would giggle. Somehow, that was making matters worse.

Back at the headquarters, things still weren’t easy.

“Ginny, would you mind sleeping with y/N?” whispered Mrs Weasley in what she hoped was a tone you wouldn’t hear, but you did. You stepped away as quickly as you had stepped in, and turned around, desperately trying not to overhear that conversation.

So Fred asked to not sleep with you again. That was presumable but still unpleasant. 

Ron asked for your help to decorate the house for Christmas, and you accepted gladly, hoping the task would take your mind out of Fred.

Ron was worried about Harry — he seemed to think whatever Harry heard Mad-Eye talk upset him. You agreed and added that Ron should just give Harry some time, without pushing him.

Ginny joined to help, and as soon as Ron went to the back to get a stair, Ginny rushed to your side and elbowed you.

“So, don’t know if you heard, but I told mum I wouldn’t sleep with you,” she said with a smile.

You almost dropped the ornament in your hand.

“Sorry?”

“So you can sleep with Fred again, duh!” she kept the smile on.

“Hm, Ginny, I’m pretty sure your brother doesn’t want that to happen again,” you said, avoiding to look at her happy face. “He asked your mum to change the place I was sleeping in.”

“What? No, y/N! Where did you get that idea? Mum’s the one trying to part you too,” Ginny laughed at your ridiculousness. “She thinks you two are secretly dating and she can’t let ‘Fred make her a grandma so early’.’’

Your eyes widened as you slowly turned to face Ginny, but first making sure no other Weasley was around.

“Her words, not mine,” added Ginny quickly and she burst into laughter staring at your silly face.

“Good Lord. I hope you corrected her about my relationship with Fred,” you sighed, pressing a hand over your heart. “I completely forgot she had gotten a glimpse at us this morning,” you whispered, just to yourself really.

“Why would I correct her? He wants you, you want him. Just a matter of time ’til she’s right” said Ginny and she started running away from you because the face you made was positively scary.

When decorations were up, and Christmas spirit was finally in the house, it was already time for bed again. Fred and George had gotten upstairs before you because you pretended to be really interested in Mrs Weasley’s knitting. The truth was you didn’t want to face Fred again.

You sighed, giving up in your fight. You should face Fred once and for all. Speak the truth, walk away and sleep in the couch downstairs.

But when you got into the room, and you saw his face, you just froze. He was laying on the bed with his belly up and his eyes closed — for a moment, you thought he was sleeping, but then his breathing wouldn’t be completely unregulated.

“Fred?” your voice was too high, and you ended up scaring him. He jumped up, sitting down immediately. “Sorry,” you muttered, sitting down in front of him.

You both breathed hard. Fred seemed to want to say something, but you would never know because you interrupted his half-open mouth with yours.

You kissed him in a rashed and inexperience way, after all, he didn’t expect that. And, honestly, neither did you.

Fred suspected that either you would ignore him forever and pretend that the nap shared in an embrace never happened or that you would hit him and kick him out of the room. Feeling your lips on his was a more fanciful idea than any he has ever had.

It took Fred a little while to get rid of the shock, but when he realized that you were kissing him because you wanted to, he gave in, pulling you by your waist and sitting you over his lap. He smirked in the middle of the kiss, causing you to let a slight giggle out. Your hands went from his cheekbone to his hair, and you played with it with pleasure.

“If I knew the way to your heart was napping with you, I’d have done it sooner,” Fred whispered, breathing hard when your lips were away from his.

You smiled, “you got to my heart way before you slept with me, Fred Weasley.”

He squeezed your waist, pushing you away just enough so he could see your face. You blushed when your eyes met.

“Good to know that,” he smiled too. “ ‘Cause I’ve been thinking all day that you were ignoring me, that you hated me... ”

“I thought you were ignoring me!”

You two giggled at your stupidy.

“Sorry for kissing you out of nowhere,” you sighed, slowly placing your hands on his shoulders.

“You are welcomed to do it anytime you want,” he said, looking down to your lap still over his.

“Like now?” you smirked too. “Because I feel we lost too much time sleeping today...”

“Y/N, I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing,” he susurrated and smirked, pulling you closer to his chest and kissing you harder than before.

And this time was just perfect.

__

Bonus:

“So how was last night?” Ginny asked as soon as you steeped in the kitchen the next morning.

You could have stayed in bed curled in Fred forever — you sure wanted to— but you knew that if Mrs Weasley had any more reason to believe you and Fred were together, nights in the same bed would be over.

And so, doing the things you did last night would be way harder to achieve.

“What you mean?” you asked, grabbing a mug of hot cocoa.

“Please,” Ginny rolled her eyes. “See that look in my brother’s face? Last time I saw him that happy was when he got a new broom.”

You turned your face insignificantly to see Fred, who was sitting at the end of the table, eating some sort of bread with Geoge right next to him.

You frowned slightly to Ginny, who rolled her eyes more time.

“Good Merlin, I won’t be able to be two meters near you two, will I?”

You giggled and tried to hide your smile with the mug. Fred heard the sound of your laugh and instantly turned to your direction. His eyes wandered your whole face, and he fixed them in your mouth. He licked his lips before smiling and blink, and then he turned to his twin as if he was paying attention to George all along.

When your heart started beating again, the rest of the Weasleys and Sirius Black had gotten to the kitchen too.

“Where’s Harry?” Ginny asked Ron, but he shrugged. Harry was going through his own problems. “Well, anyway, pay up, will you, Ronniekins.”

“What?” he looked at Ginny, “wait, what?” he looked at you. “Couldn’t have waited one more night, could you?”

Ginny smiled when Ron tossed her a sickle.

“You guys placed a bet over Fred and me?” you whispered to the red-haired girl.

“Sure I did, and I won,” Ginny smiled while you rolled your eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, Fred lost. He said you would never like him back.”

Your eyes went from Ginny to Fred across the table, and for a minute while you looked at him, you forgot his entire family was there, and you sighed like a girl in love. Well, that was what you were anyway.

When you and Fred finally got time alone, you gave him a sickle.

“You should never have bet against us,” you said, placing the coin in his hand.

“Never doing that again,” he promised with a soft smile before pulling you close one more kiss.

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 8

She Makes Me

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 3.8k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies​ @how-are-those-nuts-sarge​ @iilovemusic12us​ @hesbuckcompton-baby​ @tvserie-s-world​ @whovian45810​ @50svibes​ @cagzzz107​​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): None :)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7

AO3 link

Chapter 8 let’s go!!!

LONDON HEIR WEDS UP AND COMING LADY

Arthur William Burns, 33, of London has married Miss Elaine Spencer, 20, of Birmingham. The couple celebrated their union on February 14, 1944 at the chapel on his uncle Edward’s estate in Suffolk. The intimate ceremony was followed by a small reception of the couple’s closest friends and family. The new Mrs. Burns was thoughtful about her war-time wedding, taking extra steps to avoid unnecessary costs or supplies. She updated her mother’s wedding dress instead of buying new, and after the wedding, generously donated the gown to the Army. Her engagement ring was an heirloom of Mr. Burns’ family, but it didn’t stop there - 

The article didn’t stop there, but Juliet did. She couldn’t read another word about Arthur’s wedding. In fact, she slammed the paper down on her desk. It rattled the teacup in its saucer to the side, but miraculously, nothing spilled. Huffing, and her article forgotten, Juliet folded her arms across her chest and stewed. 

She couldn’t really say why it bothered her so much. She had moved on the same as him, but getting married? It hadn’t been that long. What could Arthur possibly know about this girl? For a girl she was at the tender age of twenty. Was that what irked her? That the girl was so young? No, it was fairly normal for an age gap like that, especially among their class. 

Perhaps it was the class issue that was grating on her. Elaine Spencer was - to the Burns family - everything Juliet was not. Young, rich, well-behaved, and (though only Arthur knew this difference) able to bear children. Seeing their announcement, and the kind of wedding they could afford, was a rather harsh reminder of all that. But even that should not have been this upsetting. 

Deep down, Juliet knew what was bothering her was that she was bothered at all. She was happy with Ron. So why did she care about her ex? Why did this feel like such a blow to her pride? Why did she feel as if Arthur had just terminated their engagement all over again? Wasn’t it enough to have Ron in her life, a man she truly respected and cared about? 

That was something else to consider. Juliet realized she had wasted far too much time on someone who wasn’t half the man Ron was. And yet, Arthur had rejected her. If what she thought about him was true - that he was a coward and totally undeserving of her - shouldn’t it have been the other way around? She knew she felt shame for how much she had loved Arthur when she didn’t receive that love in return. Was that what got on her nerves about this? 

She certainly was not jealous of the girl. Elaine. Juliet knew she absolutely did not want to be married to Arthur. In the long run, they could never make each other happy. Especially now that Juliet had experienced Ron, who truly appreciated what she had to give. She had to keep reminding herself of him or Arthur’s dumb face next to Elaine’s stunning smile would drive her crazy. And yet, she couldn’t stop looking at that picture. They looked so perfect. 

Her door opened and she jumped a little bit out of her seat with a gasp. It was Ron, but that oddly made her more nervous. She perked up. 

“Hi, honey!” she greeted brightly. 

His brown knit together over his eyes. “Honey?” 

“Yes, dear?” she returned. 

“Seriously,” he frowned. “Why are you calling me that?” 

“I haven’t before?” 

“Obviously not.” 

“You don’t like it?” 

“Obviously not,” he repeated. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing!” she insisted. Then it was her turn to frown. “What endearments am I allowed?” 

“Why do you need them, when my name works just fine?” he replied. 

“Oh come on,” she said. “Not even darling?” 

“Darling is meaningless here, you people call everyone darling,” he said. 

She considered that. “Alright. ‘Love’, then?”

“No, thanks.” 

“Baby?” 

“No.” 

“Dear?” 

“No.” 

“Sugar?”

“No.” 

“Sweetheart?” 

“No.” 

She bit back a giggle for the last one. “Daddy?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“My heart belongs to Daddy,” she began to sing as she got to her feet and approached him. “So I simply couldn’t be bad -”

“That’s a little bit sick, coming from you,” he cut across her as he shrugged off his jacket.

She ignored him. “Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy! Da da da da -” 

This time, he interrupted with a kiss. Juliet giggled into his mouth, but he was successful in stopping the song entirely. When they parted, she had a goofy grin on her lips. 

“Are you absolutely certain we should disregard the genius of Cole Porter?” she teased. 

“Let it go,” he returned. 

“What are you gonna do?” she challenged, making her voice dramatically husky. “Spank me?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” 

She blinked, taken aback by his casual reaction to such a suggestion, but she was also a little curious, so she decided to push the envelope. “You wouldn’t.”

“What’s the matter?” he questioned. “Afraid you’ll like it?” 

Her mouth fell slightly agape. How had he managed to so drastically turn the tables on her? She was supposed to be teasing him and somehow, she ended up being the one flustered and red-faced. She cleared her throat and shook her head to remove the rather graphic images that had popped up inside it. All thoughts of Arthur were certainly out the window. 

“I did not anticipate this backfiring,” she admitted. 

“And yet, here you are,” he said. 

“How tired are you from training?” she asked. 

“Not too tired to make love to you, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered. 

“That’s the perfect amount,” she said. 

With that, she tugged off her cardigan and pulled him in for another kiss, deep and deliberate, with a nip at his bottom lip to get him riled up. He lifted her into his arms and they fell on the bed together - her pinned beneath him as their lips remained locked. 

Afterwards, as they dressed to get some dinner and Juliet was in the bathroom fixing her hair, Ron spotted the article. Suddenly, her behavior when he first walked in made sense. She’d distracted him with the endearments conversation, and he hoped he had distracted her from what she’d read. But his gut told him there was something more. He’d walked through that door every day without surprising her. There was a reason she had started and panicked this time. He picked up the newspaper, and looked hard at the photo - at the man who had humiliated Juliet, but ultimately paved the way for Ron’s own happiness with her. 

Arthur was not much to look at, which was both surprising and expected. Surprising because well, Ron found Juliet to be very beautiful, and he knew she could do better. Expected because Juliet was not the sort of person to base a relationship on looks alone. Although she had certainly noticed Ron’s. But for the first time, that made him doubt. She told him once she was more upset by the indignity of what Arthur had done, but she must have really seen something in him to have agreed to marry him. And she talked so much about Ron’s looks, he started to wonder if that was all she saw in him. 

He quickly dismissed that thought. She had been incredibly vulnerable with him and shared parts of her life he was certain she had shared with few others, perhaps not anyone. But something was holding her back from addressing this with him, and he wanted to know what. 

“I reckon we can just pop downstairs and have something quick,” she said as she emerged from the bathroom and picked up her cardigan. “That way we won’t get too cold before we - y’know - warm back up again.” 

He faced her, and caught the surprised look in her eye at his expression. Her smile drooped and faded as she realized what he held in his hand. 

“Jules,” he said, voice heavy. “I want you to do something for me.” 

“Sure,” she looked nervously between the paper and his face. “Anything, Ron, just -” 

“Without one fucking joke, I want you tell me why you’re upset about this,” he said, indicating the paper, though she understood perfectly well what he meant. 

She sighed. “Are you sure you want to hear this?” 

“Yes,” he said. 

She waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. But he was not sacrificing his control of the conversation, he was solidifying it. She was going to explain herself to him. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m annoyed at myself for letting it upset me at all,” she said. She met his gaze, searching his face for a reaction, but he didn’t give one. “I mean, yes, it’s a wound to my ego that by all rights that announcement should be about me and him. Although, I never would have gotten married on Valentine’s Day. Seriously, of all the cheesy -” 

“No jokes,” he cut across her. 

“That wasn’t a joke, it was a disparaging remark,” she returned. 

“Juliet.” 

“Sorry.” 

She bit her lip, carefully forming how she wanted to say what was on her mind. But, it turned out he wasn’t giving her that either. 

“Don’t think, just talk,” he instructed. 

“I care about you so much,” she blurted out. “You make me happy in a way I hardly thought possible until I knew you. But seeing that announcement made me ache. It’s difficult to pin down why exactly since there are a number of things that bother me about it, but mostly it’s that it shouldn’t matter. I’ve moved on, haven’t I? But if that still hurts me, I’m worried that perhaps I haven’t, and that’s not fair to you or to me. And if that’s the case then perhaps I should let you go, but the thought of that makes me want to hurl myself out of a window. Then that makes me worried that no one will ever be enough for me. Which is ridiculous because you’re more than enough. You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met in your own weird way. So, that means there’s something terribly, terribly wrong with me.” 

She stopped to take a deep breath and paused. She considered saying more, that was really the sum of her feelings. Ron stood there calmly. 

“Can you talk now please?” she requested. 

A hint of smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, but he stopped it. 

“It’d bother me more if you didn’t care about this,” he replied, which made her brow wrinkle. “It’s okay to have feelings about someone you were involved with. Doesn’t mean you still have feelings for them.” 

“You don’t think it’s a reflection of my feelings for you?” she asked hesitantly. 

“No,” he said with a shrug. 

She bit her lip. “I just...I just don’t think it would get to him if he saw my wedding announcement in the paper.”

“It would,” he replied. 

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t know that, you didn’t know him.” 

“I know you,” he said. “That’s enough to understand that there’s no way you didn’t have an impact on him.” 

“That’s -” she began to argue but stopped herself as she absorbed it fully. “Well...that’s actually a lovely thing to say, thank you.” 

He set the paper down and walked over to her, gathering her up in his arms so he could kiss her forehead. 

“Don’t hide behind distractions when there’s something serious,” he said gently. “And don’t hurl yourself out a window, I had enough trouble with you on the bridge.” 

She looked up at him and smiled. “You’ve lifted your moratorium on jokes, I see.”

He pecked her on the lips. “Nope, just for me.”

She repaid him with a light jab to his ribs with her pointer and middle fingers. “Shut up.” 

On that note, they headed down to the bar for dinner and drinks. Though Juliet had mentioned wanting to return to her room quickly, they ended up lingering. Talking like they had when they first met. Juliet talked a little more about Arthur, and Ron gave her the space to do so. It didn’t last long. Slowly, he faded from the conversation and they moved on. Ron challenged her to a darts game, and Juliet readily accepted. 

“I’ve never played before,” she confessed. “Well, actually, I almost did when I was seven or so. Dad took Billy and I to the pub with him and left us to our own devices.” 

“I don’t like where this is going,” Ron said. 

She pressed on anyway. “We weren’t tall enough to reach the board, so Billy drew one on the wall we could use. The owner got upset and started shouting at him.” 

“I really don’t like where this is going,” he said again. 

“So, I stabbed him in the thigh with the dart,” she finished. 

“Billy?” 

“The pub guy.” 

“Just checking.” 

“Anyway, he starts screaming -”

“Billy?” 

“Nope, still the pub guy,” she said. “He grabs me by my hair and starts dragging me out. That didn’t sit right with Billy, so he leaps onto the man’s back and starts punching him. Mind you, Billy was only about nine at the time, so he wasn’t the most effective.” 

“I imagine not.” 

“But of course Billy doesn’t care, he’s just looking out for me,” she continued. “So the guy lets go of me, and I grab him round the legs and trip him. Then Billy and I ran out of there as fast as we could, terrified about what Dad would do to us if he realized we’d caused the commotion. Luckily, he never found out.” 

He blinked at her. “Honestly, I’m just impressed you stabbed a guy.” 

“He yelled at my brother!” she returned. “What was I supposed to do?” 

“Stab him, of course,” he said. 

“That!” she cried. “Right there! That’s why we work so well together!” 

She giggled into his mouth as he kissed her in agreement. 

“C’mon, let’s play,” he said. 

He showed her where to stand, how to hold the dart, and some tricks he used to get better aim. She was attentive to his coaching, and it certainly paid off. Each throw got her closer and closer to the bullseye. So much so, he considered tripping her on her last turn. He didn’t, since that would put her dart in rather close proximity to his thigh, and he was in no mood to get stabbed himself. 

She took her shot, and to the surprise of Ron and a few onlookers, she hit the center of the dartboard. She punched the air with excitement and let out an enthusiastic scream before turning to face him, beaming with triumph. 

“That’s right!” she bragged to anyone listening. “Juliet Fletcher is the darts champion!” 

For a moment, Ron genuinely feared she was going to try and chest bump him, and he wasn’t sure there could be romance after that. To his relief, she did not. She did something far more embarrassing. In movements that could only be described as lost and awkward, she...danced. If one could even call it that. Her limbs jerked, her hips lacked any semblance of rhythm, and her feet sort of scraped across the floor. He watched in disbelief as she went about her celebration, completely unabashed. 

“What’s the matter, Speirs?” she taunted. “Upset you lost to a girl?” 

He wanted to laugh, but he was so disturbed it came out more of a grimace. “What...what are you doing?” 

“Victory dance,” she returned simply. “Like footballers do.” 

“No one has ever done anything like what you’re doing,” he said. 

She came to a slow stop, a smirk on her face. “I told you I can’t dance.” 

“I thought you meant the foxtrot.” 

“Well, I can’t do that either.” 

“I’d expect not.” 

“Are you embarrassed?” she wondered. 

“Aren’t you?” he shot back, though judging by her expression, she wasn’t. 

“Nope,” she shook her head. 

“Should be,” he said under his breath. 

She ignored that little remark. “Life’s too short to stifle the joy of kicking your boyfriend’s ass in a game of darts.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I’d hardly call that an ass kicking.” 

“You wanna go again?” she dared him. 

“God, no,” he replied quickly. “If you win, you’ll start dancing again.” 

“So you admit it?” 

“What?” 

“You’re afraid I’ll win.” 

“Yeah, but not for the reason you want.” 

“Whatever,” she giggled. “I’m gonna get another drink, d’you want one?” 

“Sure,” he said. 

With a nod, she headed for the bar. She established fairly early on in their relationship that she was not the sort who wanted to be doted on. She had no problem sharing the responsibility of buying drinks or fetching said drinks. Ron rarely even pulled out her chair for her. Opening doors was different, as Juliet usually had a bag or something, but she never so much as suggested that Ron carry it for her. He once offered, but she told him she’d only allow it if she could tip him, which promptly ended the conversation. 

“Hi, Juliet,” Emily, the bartender, said as she approached. “‘Nother round of whiskeys for you and Lieutenant Speirs?” 

“Yes, please,” Juliet replied. 

“Just a moment, I’ve got to bring some beers to the lads back there,” Emily said, pointing to the other end of the pub. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Juliet assured her. 

While she waited for Emily, a man approached the bar. A dark haired, tall, but mousy looking man Juliet had seen at the Blue Boar only a handful of times. He was usually alone and stayed for only one drink before leaving. She got the impression he was not solitary by choice - he was clearly unpopular. The other officers always gave the table a wide berth. 

“Hi,” he said timidly. 

It took her a moment to register he was speaking to her. “Oh! Hello, there.” She stole a glance at his rank and then his name. Sobel. She decided against trying to say it to avoid the risk of mispronouncing. Plus, she didn’t want him to think she was interested. 

“My name’s Herbert,” he said. “Herbert Sobel.” 

She studied his face for a moment. “Herbert, huh?” 

He blinked, surprised. “Um. Yes.” 

“Oh, yeah, Herbert absolutely suits you,” she said. 

He was taken aback again. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“Never mind,” she shook her head. “How can I help you, Herbert?” 

“You could start with your name,” he replied. 

She wrinkled her nose. “Eh. No, thanks.” 

“What?” 

“I’d rather not give you my name,” she said. “Because I’m afraid the follow up is going to be your asking for my phone number or offering to buy me a drink. So I reckon we’re better off if I get the ‘no’ out of the way now. Save us all some time.” 

He sputtered for a moment before she went on. 

“I know this must seem like contempt prior to investigation,” she said. “But even if I wanted to - which I don’t, mind you - I am involved with someone.” 

“Wha - who?” he wondered. 

“Lieutenant Speirs,” she said, and pointed him out for good measure. 

Sobel glanced over just as Emily returned and began pouring the whiskeys. 

“Well, isn’t Speirs lucky,” Sobel murmured. 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Juliet said, taking their drinks. “I really am a horrid bitch, you wouldn’t like me anyway.” She held back a laugh as his eyes went wide. Emily covered her mouth to stifle her own giggle. “Cheers, Herb. And thanks, Emily.” 

Emily asked a stricken Sobel what he wanted to drink while Juliet left. She returned to her seat next to Ron and delivered his whiskey. He wore a deep frown which told her he’d been watching her interaction with Sobel. 

“What’d Captain Sobel want?” he asked, just a hint of bitterness to his voice. 

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I shot him down,” she replied. 

“He hit on you?” he questioned, but his shoulders relaxed a little. “Must not have seen you dance.” 

“Shut up!” she laughed, elbowing him. 

He didn’t say anything in return, he only put his hand on her thigh, giving it a little squeeze. Something about it thrilled Juliet. It was...intensely macho. Possessive even. Normally things like that disgusted her, but Ron made it sexy. Only, she had to question it. 

“Are you serious?” she said. 

“About what?” he returned. 

“You’re not bothered by my talking about my ex-fiancé, but a strange man offering to buy me a drink has you marking your territory?” she asked. 

“I can’t help who you were with before we met,” he said. “I can do something about anyone getting ideas now.” 

“What would you have done then?” she questioned playfully. 

“Stab him with a dart,” he replied, without missing a beat. 

She giggled before she sipped her drink. “You’re ridiculous.” 

She wasn’t able to remain in Ron’s grasp long. Emily approached and told her there was a phone call for her. Juliet excused herself, but not before kissing Ron deeply. 

“So the other girls don’t get any ideas either,” she teased. 

“Fine by me,” he said. 

With one more peck, she followed Emily behind the bar. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. 

“Juliet Fletcher,” she said. 

“Juliet, it’s Otis,” said the voice on the other end of the line. 

“Oh, hello, Otis, how are you?” she replied politely. She got along with the investigator most out of all the people involved in Peggy Lee’s case. 

“Quite well, thank you,” he said. “I’m sorry to call you so late, but I’ve just gotten the news that Meredith Fisher’s trial has been moved up. We begin on the fifteenth of March.” 

“Crikey, that’s quick,” Juliet said. 

“I know, but the prosecution is confident enough,” he told her. 

Juliet was tempted to let him know they were absolutely right in their confidence with the way Meredith Fisher’s lawyer was going about things, but she held her tongue. 

“That’s good,” she said. “I’ll be sure I’m there for the trial.” 

“I’ll see you then,” he returned. “Good night, Juliet.” 

“Good night,” she replied before hanging up. 

She returned to Ron, who shot her a curious look. 

“A trial date has been set for Meredith Fisher,” she said. “In just a couple weeks.” 

“Are you ready?” he asked. 

“Damn right I am,” she said. 

“That’s my girl.”

[thran-duils]

Total Eclipse (P.5)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Five) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 2,958 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always

Part Four || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

The address Sherlock had left was for a hotel and you approached it with hesitance, not knowing what room to go to. He had not left that and probably for good reason since he had not booked the room yet when he had left you the note. Plus if the note fell into someone else’s hands somehow if he had booked the room… But you were walking in blind no matter the circumstance.

Approaching the front desk, you meant to ask for a room booked under Holmes but as you were walking, you were intercepted, an arm looping through yours.

“Sweetling, wherever are you going?” he said to you calmly, his fingers caressing yours. You fell into the act easily, feigning normal, and leaning into his embrace.

Sherlock led you away from the front desk, pulling a room key out of his jacket pocket and waving it in front of you.

“You should not go waving that about so freely,” you told him out of the corner of your mouth, looking around the lobby. “There may be eyes.”

“There are none that are of any concern to you,” Sherlock reassured you as you came to the elevator.

“Except yours?”

He smiled briefly, amused. “Except mine,” he agreed.

Sherlock stayed close enough to keep you at his side but he again, was cordial until the pair of you were let off on your floor and he escorted you to the hotel room. You were nervous; this was bold. The two of you entering a hotel room together on a weekend that your husband was out of town. And the fact you had already been caught with him before – albeit years ago – was not a good thing to remember at that moment.

When the door closed, you turned, asking him immediately, “How did you know he was going to be gone? Arthur.”

“I saw it in a letter,” Sherlock responded curtly as he walked past you. He tore his jacket off and tossed it on the back of one of the armchairs.

Face pinched, you asked, “You went through his things?”

“I merely peeked. It’s not a crime,” Sherlock sniffed, sitting down on the couch, looking at you expectantly to join him.

You ignored his expression, putting a hand on your hip, staring down at him. “On top of going through his things, you stole my perfume.”

Sherlock was quiet and you rose your brows, waiting for him to defend himself. He looked uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact, busying himself with fluffing the pillow on the couch next to him. He finally asked, stammering a little, “Do… do you want it back?”

Exhaling deeply at his nervous behavior – something only you seemed to bring out in him, you dropped your hand.

“No, I already got another one,” you admitted. “I did not expect to get it back.”

“How fortuitous I stole from the rich.”

“Should I expect to find any other of my belongings missing then?”

“I was quite fond of your lotion collection, but I knew it would not serve me.”

“But my perfume would?”

“I do not intend to wear your perfume.”

“I surely hope not.”

Sherlock and you stared between yourselves, and you only smirked briefly before looking away from him. He was such an ass sometimes. And you loved him so deeply. So, so painfully deeply.

“Were you followed?” he questioned, breaking the silence.

“By you,” you told him as a matter of fact.

Sherlock gave a little laugh. “You saw me then. Good.”

“Were you even trying?”

“Of course I was. I don’t doubt your intelligence. I was just making sure you got here safely. It is quite late. However did you manage to come by yourself?”

“I snuck out.” Sherlock looked impressed by that. “They will not check the bed. I specifically request to be left alone at night and I put pillows under the covers. It’s a childish tactic but it’s not something they would expect for me. Getting back in will be more difficult but I will be able to manage.” You switched the convo back, “I also expected you to follow me, so I was looking for you.”

“Naturally.”

“And apparently I was right. Was I followed though? By any sinister looking characters?”

“No. You were not. By anyone else, I mean.”

You came to the couch then, sinking into the cushions beside him. He was enamored, watching your lips before meeting your eyes again. You touched his jawline and asked, “How did you like my house?”

“It was far too large,” he told you, sounding impassive. “Anyone could be hiding inside, and you would not know.” He was always worried about your safety. “The artwork is gaudy – Arthur is quite proud of it though.”

Arthur’s name fell off his tongue like acid.

“And you acted so interested.” He shot you a look and you smiled, squeezing his chin. “The act was immaculate if you need that praise.”

“Where even is your touch on the place?” he asked sincerely.

Your face fell then, and he noticed. He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again, thinking better of it. You shrugged in response though. “I was allowed to choose some of the furniture when I moved in because he thought new pieces would suit the place well… but the choices were very limited. So, it was me choosing from his array of choices. And I chose a lot of my wardrobe. But… not much past that.”

Sherlock sighed heavily and grasped your hand. He pulled your glove off, finger by finger and placed it on the back of the couch behind the pair of you. Your eyes were fixated on him, and he brought your bare hand up to his lips, planting a deep kiss. His eyes were something to drown in when he opened them again and you relaxed, feeling the anxiousness melt away beneath his affectionate look.

Scooting closer, he brought you in and his lips met yours, moving slowly. He reached for your other glove, lips still locked in passion, pulling it off as well. Bare hands grasped the back of his neck to pull him closer and you fell into the kiss completely.

<><><>

You woke up groggily. Where were you and what time was it? Blinking, you lifted your head and as your vision cleared, you realized it was Sherlock you were sleeping next to. Your lips curled up into a sleepy smile; this was a dream. Paradise. Your leg was swung over Sherlock, your head had been laid on his chest. You began to lower your head back down, wishing to continue sleeping.

That was until you remembered you had come to the hotel.

Sitting up straight in a quick motion, you startled Sherlock awake with the movement.

“The sherry! Christ!” you blurted.

The two of you had drank so much sherry. You had had sex and then drank and then had had round two. You must have dozed off after the second time.

“Yes, sweetling, we had a lot of sherry,” Sherlock confirmed.

Scrambling, you sat up on the edge of the bed, your bare back to him. You slid off, mocking him, “’Yes, sweetling’? Honestly? That’s what you have to say?”

“Is there something else I should be saying?”

You shot him a vexed glare as you went to get your socks. You should have been home by now. It was still dark out thankfully. But, you should have figured out how to get home by now and slipped back into your chambers or at least been back in your damn house. Your head was still swimming a little bit from the few glasses.

Sherlock continued, “If there’s something that miraculously just by me saying it, makes you feel better, pray tell me. I would do most things to set you at ease, love.”

“Help me get my dress on!” you demanded.

Propping himself up on his elbow, he asked you, “So soon?”

“Sherlock!”

“Certainly,” he responded, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and getting up. Nude, he walked over. “Are you sure you won’t stay longer, though? It is only three o’clock in the morning.”

Of course it was 3:00am. The witching hour. You pulled at your hooks on your corset hastily.

“How are you so calm about this?”

His hands came to rest on your shoulders, trying to be reassuring. “Arthur is out of town. You went to stay at a hotel because someone on your staff had a nasty cold and you wanted the house cleaned.”

“Yes and the fact my staff is not aware of this absurd story at all?”

“This is why you shouldn’t have a staff.”

You let out a growl of annoyance, pulling away from him and diving for your petticoat. Pulling it over your head and pushing it down to your waist, you struggled to stay calm under the climbing anxiety.

“Dear, let me,” Sherlock tried, grasping your wrists and stilling your movement. You breathed deeply as he held you, not moving. He slowly let go of your wrists and picked up the strings of your petticoat. “I will help you and then I’ll get myself dressed and I will escort you home. Only to a few paces from your home and then I will watch to make sure you get home. Is that satisfactory?”

Taking another deep breath, you calmed yourself more. You nodded, “Yes. That’s perfectly fine.”

“Good,” Sherlock responded as he tied your petticoat. “We must keep our heads, mustn’t we? If we are to continue this?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Sherlock laid a kiss on your cheek and said, “Let me help you with your skirts.”

Unable to help yourself, you quipped, trying to calm the mood, “You’ve already done that.”

Chortling, he tipped your chin back towards his and laid a slow kiss.

<><><>

Sherlock and you managed to keep up your dance, meeting at times. And he showed up at dinner parties, the two of you acting as mere acquaintances. His eyes followed you though at these dances and dinner parties; he was inconspicuous about it to others, but you always felt the heat of his stare. And you played just as coy, dutiful wife to this rich man you had landed. Arthur was simply in love with your son, George, him reaching a year and a half now. George was strong and in good form according to the doctor. Arthur never wasted an opportunity to show him off.

And he was more than pleased you were with child again. It had only just been determined. You had missed your last monthly cycle and coming up on the second…

You on the other hand were less than pleased. You had made sure to be as regular with Arthur as you could be, especially being careful to do it at the times you had met Sherlock. But… the two men were different in appearance. Discrepancies between him and the new child could certainly be called to you, but it still put you on edge.

Arthur had taken the pair of you out for dinner in celebration the same day it was declared by the doctor, gushing about you all evening. It was hard to not have adoration for him. The two of you got along well but the deep intimacy was missing. That was so important to you and yet you still cared for him.

“I am glad I found you,” Arthur told you, holding his dessert spoon up to your lips. You gave a light, polite laugh at the gesture and he mockingly begged, “Love, please. I am sacrificing this delicious syllabub on you.”

Opening your mouth, he placed it in and smiled warmly.

“We truly are blessed,” he told you. And you felt the sincerity behind the statement.

<><><>

The next night, the two of you were returning back to your estate from his brother’s. Again, you had been praised all night for the great news and you had grimaced through it, trying to be positive about the whole ordeal. You regretted nothing with Sherlock but just the idea of being found out was eating away at you.

Cradling George, you poked at his nose. He had slept almost the whole time there, which did not bode well for the nanny, but you would do your best to stay up as long as you could to keep him entertained in apology.

You were close to coming back into the city limits at this point. You could see the lights from the city in the distance from the windows of the carriage. You were eager to get back inside and swaddle George.

A distant gunshot rang through the air suddenly and you jumped, recognizing the sound immediately. George immediately started crying and you cradled him close, your heart pumping hard. You looked out the window of the carriage and in that moment, realized the carriage was starting to veer with the horses.

“What fresh hell?” Arthur demanded, sitting up to peer out the window clearly. He threw the door open and you called out to him to close it, begging him to actually.

The carriage was going off the path and you yelped as it hit a bump, sending the carriage off kilter for a moment in the tall grass. Arthur heeded what you said and closed the door now.

Slowly, the horses were coming to a stop and the two of you stared at each other, terror mirrored between the two of your gazes. Why were you out here in the middle of a field and why had your driver let the horses take you off the path?

“HENRY!” Arthur bellowed. You could see a cold sweat forming on his brow. When he received no answer, his eyes were back on you and he was quick to act. “Y/N, get down. On the bottom of the carriage. Bring George with you.”

“What?”

“Do as I say!” Arthur barked.

He had never shouted at you and it startled you into action. You moved yourself onto the floor, keeping yourself clear of the windows. George was still whimpering and you cooed him, trying to bounce him to keep him calm.

It was eerily silent outside, the moon shining in through the windows.

Another gunshot rang out.

Arthur grunted as he slumped against the seat of the carriage.

You gasped, hands coming to your mouth seeing the blood. Tears stung, your fear starting to overwhelm you completely now. What was going on? Were you about to be robbed? You had no money on you! And how would that fare for you and George?

Arthur’s eyes were on the two of you and his fingers twitched in one of his hands as if he was trying to reach towards you. You bit your cheeks to stifle a cry, only holding George tighter, holding him against your chest.

People were approaching, you could hear them. This was it. Gunshots started going off again and you let out a cry despite how hard you been trying to be quiet and not give yourself away.

The carriage was shaking as they climbed aboard and you stifled a sob, fearing the worst. Your horseman was shoved off the carriage, his body falling past the window. You let out a loud whimper again, you burying your head into George to shield his little face.

The carriage began to move again, quickly this time. You were being kidnapped. They wanted Arthur’s money and you both were being taken for ransom. That was the only thing that made sense.

The sounds of the gunshots fell behind you. And then they stopped completely.

Pulling your head up, you looked out the carriage windows from your position on the floor. You wiped at your tears, clearing your vision. You were inside the city now, but you were heading towards the water front, that much you could discern. You knew your bearings about the city well enough because of your adventures with Sherlock. Were they going to put you on a ship? And take you to where?

Arthur was breathing shallowly now, his eyes closed. You did not want him to die.

The carriage came to a stop. You tried to slow your breathing and focus. You needed to be able to get an upper hand if you were able to. The carriage was shaking again as the people disembarked from the front and your eyes were trained on the door as it was thrown open.

It was Sherlock.

And John.

“What… what the HELL are you doing?” you shrieked when your shock wore off at seeing them.

John was already moving past you into the carriage, ignoring your outburst. He was going for Arthur, tearing his shirt off. Arthur was pale, he had lost so much blood. John was assessing the wound.

Sherlock pulled you from the carriage, “Come with me. Come.”

“What is happening?” you exclaimed, trying to not sink into the shock, trying to look back at where Arthur was.

Sherlock forced you to look at him and he cupped your chin.

“The men Watson and I have been trying to track down that have been targeting diamonds were after Arthur. I only realized it was him tonight that the clues were heading towards for their most recent hit and I tried to get there as soon as I could. I’m sorry I was not quick enough to prevent this,” Sherlock informed you firmly, holding your hands tight. “Darling, I promised I would keep you safe and I intend to keep that promise. And by keeping you safe means we need to take leave of the city until we are able to bring them down.”

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

[thebestworstidea]

The Green Knight’s Lady (4)

Sequel fic to “The Witch and the Green Knight” (on Ao3)

Warnings: undeserved redemption arc, graphic imagery and as of this chapter violence against minors.

Chapter 1: In which Rowan has Unexpected House Guests

Chapter 2: In Which They Try to Figure Out What the Hell is Going On

Chapter 3: In Which Remus and Rowan’s Stupidity Escalates to Treason (sort of)

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

Chapter 4: In Which Life is Difficult

>-<>-< ——————-<>——————- >-<>-<

     The winter waned in a sloppy miserable way, kicking out with a few snowstorms like the flailing of a dying animal. Despite not really being bothered by the cold, D.N. practically hibernated, most often found in a window seat in the library, going through Rowan’s Mother’s books and being snarky about bad information about fairies. Rowan was fairly sure it was just a way to safely lash out. She dug out an old laptop and gave him access to the Netflix account. If nothing else it kept him distracted. Something Rowan had learned was that the fair folk did, as legend said, love stories. 

And apparently, soap operas and romcoms.

Like herself, Remus seemed out of sorts in the late winter, though more in the way of someone who had woken up long before they wanted to. He’d gone into the woods and returned dressed in his more normal attire, also having brought back a few changes of clothing that was closer to D.N.’s size, and of a finer make than anything in the Baker house, despite Rowan’s sister’s cautious attempt to find a fabric the fae child would like. For the most part, the rest of Rowan’s family treated D.N. with cautious courtesy, and a certain level of ‘not be alone in a room with him’. Remus, by contrast, was treated more as a benign nuisance, though not without kindness.  Frankly, that was more understandable than Rowan’s blase attitude. That didn’t stop a certain level of speculation as to why ‘Leif’ and his friend were staying with them.

     “I’ve figured it out!” 

Rowan balled a pair of socks and tossed it in her sister’s basket across the table. They were sorting the laundry by owner, and Rowan had made it her mission to find as many pairs of socks as she could. 

“Figured what out?” 

“What’s going on with Leif and the kid!” 

“Have you now?” Rowan said dryly and a little nervously. Her sister nodded. 

“It’s pretty obvious if you think about it. The kid is the spawn of the last fairy king.”

“What.” 

“Look, it’s obvious that Leif served him, right? And we know he’s dead. So then Leif disappears for months and reappears with a kid? With scales? We know that Leif’s traveled outside Wickhills before- so clearly he knew where the kid was, maybe he was even the one who took him away, probably more of a Cronos eating his kids thing than a Arthur sent into hiding thing, and now he brought him back.” She pursed her lips. “You know, I bet Leif can change genders like a frog.”

Rowan started laughing. 

“Leif might even be the mother-” she went on. 

“Definitely not.” Rowan choked. 

“But he is related. I’ve connected the dots.” she said smugly.

“You haven’t connected shit.” Rowan retorted throwing a pair of pants at her.

“I’ve connected them.”

     As spring burgeoned forth, Remus agitated with the need to leave the house. It was clear he wasn’t used to staying in one place, even for a few weeks like this. Rowan could always tell when Remus had gone wandering in the night, because D.N. didn’t come down from the attic until he’d come back. It wasn’t as if D.N. was avoiding his so-called hosts, so much as he was totally avoiding the humans in the house as much as possible as if by pretending they weren’t there he could pretend none of this was happening. 

When spring officially arrived Rowan made them clothing, a shirt of heavy green broadcloth for Remus, and a more delicate shirt of the finest white linen she had for D.N. The shirt he generally wore was made of undyed silk, and Rowan feared that the substance had come from the shroud- or rather bag- she’d sewn for the bones of the Serpent King. It was tricky to give them, as D.N. certainly wanted no gifts from her, and Remus wanted to gift her in return. But it was simply tradition, that for the first day of spring everyone had a new garment. So her green brother and erstwhile guest needed something new too, for luck. Honestly, Rowan thought he could probably use all the luck he could get.

     It was a fine warm day in mid April, when leaves were finally starting to show, and only the most stubborn bits of snow were sticking around in the darkest shadows, when Rowan was working in her garden.

“Little tree! You’re wearing pants!” 

The whippy rose vine Rowan had been arguing with slipped out of her hand as the twist tie sprang from her other, and she took the momentary break to glare at Remus, who had appeared in her personal bubble with no warning whatsoever.

“I wear pants all the time.” she retorted, giving him a half hearted shove. 

“Yeah, but usually you have dresses over ‘em.” theatrically, he collapsed to the scrubby grass outside the garden and sprawled in the sun. 

“Well, I learned that arguing with rose bushes in a dress doesn’t end well for the dress.” She grabbed hold again with her gloved hand, and pulled a fresh tie out of her apron pocket, lashing the thorny vine to the wrought iron trellis that kept most fae out of her garden. They could, in theory, pass under the iron arbor that faced the wood, wreathed as it was in plants, but until Remus it hadn’t been much of a problem. “How are you doing?” she asked quietly. He was looking better. He’d been kind of wan, a sickly sort of green rather than his normal healthy hue like a ripening acorn. 

“Starting to feel my oats.” He responded, tipping his face into the sun. “It’s a good spring. I’d say that spring was happy about something.” in the distance, a door opened and closed.

“Seasons do seem to have emotions.” She agreed, and had to step delicately over him to get to the next bush, pulling clippers from her pocket and studying the bush thoughtfully, before pruning a few branches, and returning to tucking them in safely so they wouldn’t grab passers by too badly.  That done she carried the trimmed branches away. D.N. emerged from the widdershins side of the house, having exited the front door and walked so he didn’t have to pass the rowan tree, even if he could do so under the protection of the porch. He glared down at Remus with frustration. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Having a kip?” Remus suggested, as Rowan stepped over him again to get back to the rose bushes. 

“You should tell me as soon as you come back from the forest.” he said grouchily, not making eye contact. 

“Well, not much is going on, so there’s nothing to tell you.” Remus shrugged. 

“That’s good right?” Rowan asked. 

“A secret unsaid is a secret kept.” D.N. muttered, not addressing Rowan at all. “What are you doing out there anyway?” 

“Favors.” Remus sighed. “So many favors. I’m not exactly a favorite right now. People don’t want me to do favors for them, but I need the currency. Also fixing up my house.” he rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s kind of out of the way, so it might be safe enough. It’s nice enough to visit with my little tree, but…”

“We can’t stay here forever.” D.N. agreed. “It buzzes.” 

“Yeah.” Remus nodded. “So I’ve got some improvements to make, and gotta reassert my territory. No one got near the tree, but I don’t have much around it.” he clicked his tongue “Fun and all, but I’m in a hurry.”  he made a kissy face at them both. “But I’ll always hurry back to you.” 

Rowan snorted, and D.N. rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms and cocked his hip, glaring down at the green-clad fae. 

“I’m sure whatever you stay in is better than this.”

“Hey, owch. It’s a good house. We finally got the roof fixed last year.” Rowan glared, waving her clippers at him. D.N. leaned away. 

“Well it’s hardly the hovel I’ve seen other witches live in,” he sneered at the Victorian style house. “But it isn’t anywhere I would choose to stay.” 

“Sorry for not being a magical house.”

“Oh it’s full of magic alright. Human magic, thick and inelegant, like mud on the bottom of a pond.”

“I like mud.” Remus commented, popping up and bracing himself upright on his hands. Rowan noticed that his knuckles were reddened and split. Putting her clippers away again, she dug into her other pocket, coming up with a small, shallow clay pot, closed with a wide cork. She crouched down and grabbed one hand, dabbing the ointment onto the wounds. Remus obligingly offered his other hand when she was done. 

“Why was this in your pocket?”

“It’s better to get the ointment on big jabs right away, and I’m doing lawn work.” she shrugged, and went back to her work. 

After a while, Rowan finished her discussion with the rosebushes, and headed back inside without saying anything. Shortly after that, a car drove up hidden by the bulk of the house. Another short while later, it drove away again. Rowan returned to her garden, hooking her apron over her head again.

“Bloody busy-body is what she is.” Rowan grumbled to herself. “No need to come by every time, her tea hasn’t changed in over a year, if I wanted everyone coming by and bothering me all the time I’d start up a tea room in town and read palms and cards. It’s what I get for being helpful and offering to do a unique blend.” 

“Can you tell the future?” Remus asked, popping up on the other side of the hedge wall of rose bushes, making Rowan yelp and clutch her rake. 

“Like the weather.” She retorted. “Which is to say, not really worth anything.” 

“You’re a useless kind of witch, aren’t you?” sniffed D.N. who had taken up a seat in an Adirondack style chair they had acquired somewhere, and everyone in the Baker family hated, which is why it wasn’t on the porch.

“Yeah, kind of.” she didn’t rise to the bait, and watched him stare at the woods. “You could go, you know.”

“What?”

“Nothing’s keeping you here if you wanted to leave.”

“Little tree-” Remus said, sounding hurt. 

“Not you, you’re welcome any time. And for that matter, if he wants to go for a bit and come back, that’s fine.”

“I can’t actually. I have to ‘stay here’ until further notice.” 

“Oh right. Fairy parole officer.” Rowan sighed. “Well you could probably get as far as the property line, or where our ‘official’ lot meets up with the woods.”

“It isn’t as if I’m desperate to wander in the woodlands, Witch, I just don’t want to be here. At all.”

“Boy, do I hear that.”  she sighed deeply, pausing to look into the woods herself. The small leaves were misting the tips of the trees with color, and there was a smell of wet and rot in the air. It looked like a storm was building in the west.  It would probably hit the before nightfall, gathering the dark in the clouds and making the night come that much faster in the growing spring day. Better to get her gardening done before it hit, so she’d only have to repair the damage it did, not do that and the maintenance. The plants were being especially springy this year, and she was tempted to put this down to Remus’s presence. 

D.N. continued to watch her, as though she was some sort of reality TV show, while Remus sprawled in the scrubby grass next to his chair. 

When the first cold wet gust hit, all three of them headed inside.

     The storm was really having fun, so they were in Rowan’s room instead of the loft. Remus liked to hang out with both of them, so Rowan coming to work on whatever she was doing -some sort of project involving embroidery floss at the moment- and sit with Remus while Remus would root through her work basket, or bring out a pouch and do something himself- embroidery, or sharpening knives, occasionally woodcarving. Sometimes he’d sit behind Rowan and brush or play with her hair, braiding it into elaborate arrangements that she’d have to ask for help to undo.

Sometimes Danger Noodle would use Remus as a cushion or a backrest as if he was staking his claim. That night however, he’d pulled the beat up floral armchair Rowan kept next to one of her windows to a different window (further away from the dancing limbs of the rowan tree) and settled down with a book.

Rowan noticed that he would raise his hand and rub the back of his neck occasionally as if it were hurting. She nudged Remus’s leg and inclined her head at D.N. He shrugged.

“Are you in pain somehow?” Rowan asked, startling him into dropping his book.

“Kindly mind your own business.” Danger Noodle sneered. 

“Are you cold?” Remus asked. “You do-” he rubbed the back of his neck “lots.” 

D.N. growled under his breath, picking the book up. 

“It isn’t important.” He told them. 

“But it is a thing.”

“You never used to.”

He sighed, explosively. “Are you two going to leave me alone about this?”

“Well now I’m curious.” Rowan admitted tipping her head with a smile on her face that reminded D.N. far too much of Remus’s mischievous expression. If it weren’t for her obvious humanity, he would think they were siblings. “If you’re cold, I could get you a blanket, is all.” 

“I’m not cold.” he rolled his eyes. “I’m a winter.”

She looked unimpressed. “So what’s with the lounging in sunbeams?” 

Danger Noodle sneered at her, scales glinting in the lamplight. 

“It's just a feeling.  It’s like a cold hand on the back of my neck, it’s not squeezing but it’s there.” D.N. spread his fingers over the back of his neck.  “Like something’s watching me, constantly.” 

“Huh.” Remus and Rowan said in unison, heads tipping to the side. Danger Noodle glared, there was no way they weren’t doing that on purpose. 

“Might be something?” Remus asked thoughtfully, looking at the corners of the room. 

“I’d want to keep an eye on him, if it were me.” Rowan admitted. 

D.N. sighed again, exasperated, then Remus perked up digging in one of the many pockets inside his vest.  After a search he came up with a bag, tied firmly shut with cord. He climbed off the bed and went to kneel next to the armchair instead. 

“I made this for you.” Remus opened the intricately tied knot, and from inside the bag, produced a scarf. It looked like heavy silk of some sort, dyed a beautiful saffron yellow, covered in single-thread embroidery. Vines twisted and twined along it, with a snake hidden among them.  D.N. stared at it for a long moment, then recoiled. 

“Are you out of your mind? Wait, never mind I retract the question.” 

“I made it for you a while ago but…” Remus admitted. “You wouldn’t have taken it.”

“I’m not taking it now.” He stood up, tossing the book on the chair. “What makes you think I would even want it?” 

“You’re not as strong now-” 

Danger Noodle hissed, flashing sharp teeth, pupils narrow. 

“-so I’m going to protect you until you’re stronger.” Remus finished as if  he hadn’t just been threatened. 

“I am still stronger than you.” the young fae said disdainfully, drawing himself up to his full, unimpressive height.

“Are you though?” Rowan asked, setting her project down and watching them. 

“I am certainly more powerful than you.” 

“Oh, that’s not even a question.” 

“So what this looks like is Remus is offering you his favor to wear, showing that you’re his...  I’m going to say ‘ward’, because you’re a kid.”

“I am not a kid!” D.N. retorted, stamping his foot like a child. 

“And therefore under his protection. Displaying a connection.” 

“It’s a little more complicated than that, but yeah.” Remus agreed. 

“Which is why I’m not interested.” 

“I don’t have to give you an oath to give you my favor.” Remus pointed out, he just stared up at Danger Noodle entreatingly.  The room was silent except for the storm outside, and the faint sound of someone watching a movie elsewhere in the house. D.N. rubbed the back of his neck again, and Rowan shivered, like a gust of cold air had made it through the window. Her eyes shut and she saw dead branches against a milky sky. Blinking the vision away, she got to see D.N. throw his hands in the air. 

“Uugh enough with the eyes. Fine. I’ll take it, but it doesn’t mean anything.” He accepted the scarf and looped it around his neck, spreading the folds upward to the base of his hair. 

“It means you’re wearing something I made you.” Remus pointed out and rose up, gathering Danger Noodle into a hug, to which he submitted, to Rowan’s surprise. “Which makes me happy.” 

“Mmgnh. Fuck off.” D.N. mumbled, face pressed to Remus’s bicep. 

Rowan decided not to comment on how cute it was.

[smallheathgangsters]

At Home | F.S.

A/N: Finally another Finn request! I really adore writing for him 😍. I actually very much like this piece of writing, so I hope you do too! Also, I left out prompt #33, because I’ve already written a request with that one, but I tried including it in a way that’s hopefully okay :) Like I always say, feedback is always welcome! ❤️ oh, and please consider that English is not my first language and I’m sorry this turned out so long again, I just couldn’t help myself oops

Request: “8 and 33 with finn?” by Anon

Pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 2664

Type: angst, fluff

----------------------------------------------------

You’d known Finn since you were about three years old, playing in the dirty streets of Small Heath together. And the older the two of you got, the tighter your bond grew, making you the best of friends.

At the age of sixteen you had to realise that your feelings towards Finn had changed. It wasn’t the brotherly love anymore you’d been feeling up until then. It was the love that made you want to grab his face and kiss him. It was the one that made you want to cuddle up to him at night and caress his soft skin in the mornings.

Little did you know, Finn had been feeling the same way. Luckily, he had been more courageous than you, giving you an unexpected peck on the lips when he had dropped you off in front of your house after a day of hanging out together. It had taken you by surprise, but you’d never been happier in your life. All of your wishes had come true and you didn’t understand what you did to deserve it.

Since then, the two of you had been a couple. It was hard for your families to imagine their everyday life without you being together, waiting for the day you and Finn were old and mature enough to get married. It was crystal-clear to them that you’d eventually end up being wife and husband. While your parents loved Finn and wouldn’t wish for any other man by your side, Finn’s family felt the same towards you. Finn and you really had been a match made in heaven.

In the year the two of you turned eighteen, Finn started working more and more for the Shelby business, Tommy letting him be increasingly involved in everything going on in the betting shop and outside. At the beginning, you were very supportive of him. You could feel his excitement of receiving responsibilities and challenging tasks. Although only a few years later, you had to notice Finn’s mood change as a result of the type of work his family was doing. The initial excitement turned into exhaustion and whenever you met up after work in the apartment, he had now been able to buy with the money he made, he wasn’t able to concentrate on conversations you were holding. You could feel his mind being occupied with work all the time, having a hard time not worrying about the assignments Tommy had given him and simply relaxing whenever he wasn’t at the betting shop helping his brothers on business trips and deals.

Another thing you had noticed was his personality shifting. Finn used to be the sweetest, most caring boy you’d ever met. His priority had always been your happiness and whenever you felt down, he was right there to cheer you up. Finn had been the one to initiate almost every cute date you went on, whether it had been a picnic out in the country or a quick coffee at a café. You’d never seen him be mean to anyone, ever, using his reputation to help bullied kids at school or girls being harassed by boys instead of abusing it to his own advantage.

Now, he’d started being very cold towards you, not listening to you when you told him about something that had happened that day or you weren’t feeling your best, longing for a shoulder to cry on. You could sense it had nothing to do with his feelings towards you, you’d known Finn for way too long. It had to do with his work and the way he had to act in front of his brothers in order to be taken seriously, and you started becoming more and more unhappy with the situation it was bringing your relationship into.

But no matter how distant Finn had become, you just couldn’t feel any anger towards him.

It wasn’t at all that you hadn’t been angry. You’d been very angry, as a matter of fact. But not a Finn. You’d been angry at Tommy and Arthur and John and the Shelby company and the business deals.

All of those things made your blood boil. But Finn still made your knees weak and your heart race. That had also been the reason why you had decided to surprise him today after work by picking him up and taking him to a nice restaurant for him to wind down and forget about all the stress.

When you pushed open the front door to the betting shop, you realised it had been quite a while since the last time you’d been there.

“Y/N, what a lovely surprise!” you heard John shout from the large chalk board at the other end of the room. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Nice to see you too, John,” you replied, smiling at him. “Do you know where Finn is?”

“Still in his office,” John said and pointed to the door of his office. “The boy’s been really hard-working lately.”

“Yeah …” you mumbled, your eyes fixed on his office door. “Thanks anyway.”

John gave you a cheeky grin. “Nothing to thank me for, sweetheart.”

You walked over to Finn’s office and knocked at the door. After waiting a few seconds, you heard him answer. “Yes?”

You pushed open the door carefully and stepped into the room, your gaze falling on a very stressed-out looking Finn, leaning back in his chair and massaging the bridge of his nose closed-eyed. “John, I told you I’ll be there any–“

Finn hadn’t realised it was you that had entered the room until he opened his eyes. “Y/N?”

You gave him a friendly smile and walked over to his desk, leaning against it with both of your hands. “Hello, sweet boy.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could feel you being very stressed out about work lately and I thought I could take you on a date night to one of our favourite restaurants,” you suggested, smiling widely. “It would be a great opportunity for us both to relax a little and just enjoy each other’s company.”

But instead of being excited about your proposal, he just sighed and ran his hand over his face. “Can’t we do that another time, Y/N?”

Your smile vanished from your face. “W– what do you mean?”

“I’m just not feeling it,” he said coldly, shrugging his shoulders.

His words stung. “When do you have time then?”

He sighed again. “I don’t know, Y/N. Like next week maybe.”

“Fuck you, Finn,” you said, gritting your teeth and pushing yourself away from the desk.

You had been very patient. You had been understanding, loving and supporting. You had blamed everyone else, just to not have to be angry at Finn, because you didn’t have the heart to be mad at him. But right now, he was really testing your nerves and could feel yourself snap.

“Excuse me?” he said, frowning.

“Do you think this if funny?”

Finn pushed himself out of his chair and stood up, now leaning against the table himself. He locked his eyes with yours, the blue in them you chills. “What the fuck about my face is giving you the impression that I’m laughing?”

“I’m talking about how you’re treating me, Finn,” you hissed. Your voice took on a tone that you never knew you had in you. Even Finn seemed a little surprised, his frown vanishing for a second. But he composed himself quickly. “How am I treating you?”

“I feel as if you’re taking me for granted. Taking everything I do for you for granted,” you explained angrily. Your heart was beating fast and you felt a knot build up in your stomach.

“I never expected anything from you,” Finn said annoyed, throwing his hands.

You gritted your teeth together ever harder, trying to hold back the tears that were building up at the corners of your eyes. “You’ve changed so much, Finn. This fucking job has changed you so much! I just wanted to do something nice for you and you’re treating me so awfully!”

“Just because I’m not feeling like going on a romantic dinner with you?”

You let out a frustrated sound. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re not seeing that you’re pushing me away further every day? Or is that exactly what you’re trying to do? Do you want me to fucking leave?”

The last few words came out as a sobbing mess. All you’ve ever given Finn was love and affection. Even though you still adored him so much, you had to admit to yourself that this relationship wasn’t healthy anymore and you deserved better.

“I think you need to calm down.”

That was all Finn replied. Your heart sunk and you immediately stopped holding back your tears. You let them stream down uncontrollably. You watched him walk over to the hanger and grab his coat. “I’m going to The Garrison with the boys, we can talk later if you want.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever be talking again after this,” you spat and burst out of his office and the betting shop before he was able to get to the door, crying your eyes out the entire way home.

 ***

 From that day on, you totally ignored Finn. You knew the silent treatment was harsh and actually wasn’t at all your personality, but you realised it had to be this way. You weren’t going to be the one crawling back to Finn, even though you still loved him so much and cried yourself to sleep every night. It was hard getting normal everyday tasks done while carrying this burden on your shoulders.

Finn had tried talking to you on different occasions, waiting for you in front of your parent’s home or after school, when you had finished teaching your class, but you had consequently ignored him, not even giving him a look when you pushed past him, hurrying down the streets as fast as you could so he wasn’t able to catch up with you.

Every time you did that, your heart clenched, and you had to pull yourself together to try your hardest not to talk to him or fall back into his arms. You missed his scent, his warmth, his voice. You missed everything about him.

You were able to continue this behaviour about three weeks when one day, you spotted Finn standing and waiting in front of the school you taught at. You wanted to hurry past him like you’d done all the other times, but he unexpectedly grabbed you aggressively by your wrist. “Fuck, Y/N, please talk to me!”

You tried to twist out of his grip, but he didn’t let loose. “This has to stop! I can’t watch you run away from me any longer!”

You lifted your head and glared at him with teary eyes. You hadn’t noticed that hearing his pleading voice would make you emotional so quickly. “All you’re getting is a taste of your own medicine, Finn.”

His face dropped and you could see him hurting. But you told yourself to stay strong. There was no way you were going weak just because he got a hint of how he had made you feel for a very long time.

“I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through,” he whined, still gripping your arm.

“Do you even know what you’re sorry for? Or are you only apologising because you hate being brushed off by me?” you hissed, teary eyed.

“N– no, I–“ he stammered, but you could sense that he wasn’t exactly sure what brought your relationship to this point.

“Fuck, Finn! Are you really that blind?” you gasped speechlessly. “Don’t you realise that your job is tearing us apart? That it’s ruining not just our relationship but our friendship as well?”

Finn gulped audibly and started letting go of your arm. You immediately pulled it away and took a step back from him. Then you crossed your arms and looked down at the ground again.

“You don’t even seem to notice yourself changing …” you whispered sadly.

Suddenly you felt a pair of arms wrap around your body. Finn pressed you closely to his chest and placed his chin on the top of your head. “I’m sorry you’re suffering because of me, Y/N. And no, I do feel that I haven’t been the same …”

“You do?” you sniffled, letting him hug you tightly. This was the place you wanted to be and belonged to.

“It’s just been very hard lately …” he mumbled, and you could hear him choke on his own words. “It’s been fucking hard.”

You lifted your head from his chest and looked up at him, your sight still blurry from all the tears in your eyes. “Then let me help you, Finn. I’ve never not been there for you when you needed my support.”

“All I’ve been trying to do is make Tommy see me as an equal, a man, somebody they can trust and not just their useless little brother,” he exclaimed frustrated.

“You’re not useless, Finn! You have qualities that all of your brothers only dreamed they had!”

“Like what?” he huffed, almost rolling his eyes at your comment.

You pushed yourself away from him to grab his face with both of your hands and look him deeply into his eyes. “Finn Shelby, you are the kindest, most caring human being with the biggest heart. That may not be a trait that Tommy sees as a valuable one for his business, but it is one he probably wished he still had. Being nice isn’t a bad thing, Finn. And if they think that you’re not worth working with them because you’re not as cold-hearted and emotionless as them, what kind of brothers are they?”

Finn inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, taking in your words. He opened them again, when you continued speaking. “You don’t need to change for them, Finn. Please. I love the man you were before. Whoever you’re trying to pretend to be just doesn’t suit you at all, makes you miserable, if anything.”

He gave you a sad look. “I’ve been really unhappy, Y/N.”

You sobbed. “I know, Finn. I’ve known all this time, but you wouldn’t let me in, wouldn’t let me help you.”

“But I really want to stay in my family’s business …” he said quietly, almost insecure, making you stare into his ocean eyes even more intensely. “And you will! Your brothers accept and love you the way you are, trust me.”

He sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against yours. “Forgive me? I know I’ve been the worst, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Of course, I forgive you, Finn,” you told him with a soft voice, trying to give him as much comfort as possible. “I knew all of this was never directed against me. But I had to take care of myself as well.”

“I understand,” Finn said and caressed your cheek with his thumb. Suddenly a weak smile danced at the corners of his mouth. “I love you. You know that?”

“Yes, Finn, I know. And I love you too.”

You gave him a wider smile, trying to cheer him up. You hated seeing your boyfriend upset, he didn’t deserve any kind of unhappiness.  

He then pulled his head away from yours and observed your face. His weak smile from before turned into a genuine one and his soft hand pushed away a strand of hair from your cheek.

“Kiss me please,” he whispered. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I really miss your lips.”

You giggled. “No, you don’t deserve it. But I missed your lips as well.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer again, locking your lips with his passionately. It was all you needed in that moment. Finn was where you felt at home, safe in his embrace, where nothing could ever get to you.

[killherfreakout]

i’ve got the touch placebo

elu au / 5.2k words

“You don’t remember a lot of things.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucas’ voice cracks slightly when he asks, those oceans looking like high tide. Eliott’s heart drops to his stomach at the question. Does he tell him, or does he keep that kiss locked away as the secret they didn’t know they were keeping?

or: Lucas kissed Eliott after a few too many one night; three times Eliott almost brings it up, and the one time he does.

:readmore:

It all started by accident, really. Eliott falling for Lucas, that is. He’s always had a little crush on his best friend, but one night changed everything. 

It all started when Lucas kissed him. But, you see, that’s the problem - that was months ago. Lucas kissed him, and absolutely nothing was different between them. Eliott doesn’t know if Lucas just regrets it and pretends it didn’t happen, or if he’s waiting for Eliott to bring it up, or worse: he doesn’t remember.

Sure, Lucas may have had a few too many that night, but was it really enough to make him forget? Enough to have absolutely no memory of something that completely turned Eliott’s world upside down?

If a drunken kiss was all it really was, Eliott doesn’t know what to do. But if it was more, he wouldn’t know the first thing either.  

Sometimes Eliott thinks he’s got enough love for the both of them, and perhaps that is enough. Or at least he’s trying to convince himself that it is.

*

Eliott is perched on the edge of Emma’s balcony where he slipped out of the party going on inside, opting for some fresh air and a smoke. The gang and the girls are celebrating the end of terminale and Eliott comes to join the fun even though he has another uni exam before he’s finally free. It’s a warm summer night and a slight breeze offers some relief from the muggy air and crowded apartment. The moon keeps him company until he’s joined by another warm body in search of his.

Lucas nearly trips over the lip of the balcony door and giggles at his own misstep. Eliott tries his best not to laugh, but a small chuckle escapes, earning him a retort from the other boy.

“Hey! Are you laughing at me?” Lucas asks after he tips back the rest of the bottle of vodka he’s holding, his voice higher than normal and cracking towards the end. It’s way too endearing for Eliott that he smiles around the rolled paper between his lips.

He doesn’t respond, and next thing he knows, Lucas lunges forward and snatches the joint right out of his hand in retaliation. Eliott looks at him in disbelief and Lucas has a devilish grin on his face, again way too endearing to be taken seriously. 

Lucas tilts his chin and chest out with pride and brings the joint to his lips. He takes a long hit, breathing in deep and feeling the strength of the weed. He coughs and hands the joint back to its owner as he recovers.

“That is good shit, fuck,” Lucas adds when he regains his breath. “And expensive, I bet.”

Eliott does one of his signature shrugs. “I know a guy” is all he says to that.

Lucas scoffs at his smug reply and comes to join him on the edge of the balcony. He sits on the ledge with his back against the wall and hugs his legs close to his chest. Eliott’s heart skips a beat at how small he looks.

Lucas unwraps his arms and reaches one out to Eliott, a gap between his first and second fingers in a silent plea for the joint again. Eliott obliges and transfers it to him, hands touching for a fleeting moment - the weed is nothing in comparison to the high he gets from moments like this.

There’s a wrinkle in Lucas’ brow when he notices something. The joint in his hand points to Eliott’s, specifically a faint smudge of black on his right hand. 

“Otteli strikes again?” Lucas is amused at himself and Eliott tries not to indulge him. “I’m best friends with a famous urbex artist, I might have to use that as a pick up line someday.”

The words cut deep coming from him. Sometimes Eliott forgets about his enormous crush on his best friend because everything is so easy with them, but other times - like this - it’s hard to forget. Eliott hides behind the smoke, hoping his face doesn’t give him away.

“I‘m not sure how effective that will be, but...” he raises his hands in acquiescence. 

“Of course it will work!” Lucas’ voice is wet and nasaly and still fucking adorable. “I mean, you’re basically the French Banksy.”

“I wish,” Eliott laughs. “They’re rich and not just tagging places with their spirit animal.” He picks at his cuticles and stares at the remnants of spray paint on his skin, suddenly insecure and words sounding more bitter than he planned.

Something changes on Lucas’ face. “Your tag is fucking cool!” His face goes back to before, features softened by the weed and alcohol aglow in the city lights and embers of the joint. 

Eliott’s heart keeps skipping a beat at every compliment, but especially at the adorable declaration of the love of his silly signature raccoon tag.

“And need I remind you that you’re rich? I mean,” Lucas pinches the joint between his thumb and forefinger, raising it to prove his point.

Lucas hops down from the ledge and stumbles a bit; he finds the vodka bottle again and frowns when he realizes he already emptied it. 

“I may need to marry rich, what with the way my bac went, to be honest.” Lucas is walking across the balcony, bringing the heel of one shoe in front of the toes of the other, wobbling with each step.

He looks extremely focused even though his movements are lazy and slow. And suddenly he gasps as a lightbulb goes off in his head, face lighting up -  both Lucas and Eliott’s. “I know! I’ll just marry you if it doesn’t work out. There, problem solved.”

And no amount of warning could prepare Eliott for a sentence like that coming out of Lucas’ mouth. This time his heart drops straight down to the street two stories below.

Lucas nearly faceplants when he steps on his own shoelace, but Eliott slides off the ledge in time to catch him before he falls. They lock eyes for what feels like the first and only time ever; Lucas’ intense, big, blue doe eyes meeting his and quite literally steal his breath away.

Lucas retreats from their embrace for another hit, the joint burning shorter and shorter.

Eliott sputters, trying to think of a way to change the subject before he melts into a puddle. “We won’t be getting married if you keep smoking all of my weed,” he tries as a comeback. 

Lucas looks up at him like a deer in headlights or a kid caught with a hand in the cookie jar. He looks down at the joint that has about one hit left in it, then that devilish look grows on his face once again.

Eliott swears that time stops just for them as he watches every move Lucas makes like it’s at half speed. The joint is closed between Lucas’ bitten lips, and suddenly Eliott feels the smoke in his lungs when the other boy leans forward and presses their lips together.

It’s so sudden and unexpected that it makes Eliott’s mouth open wider in a gasp, and Lucas takes it as an invitation to test the waters. He slips a tongue into Eliott’s open mouth, and Eliott thinks he is in both heaven and hell. 

Eliott instinctively reciprocates the kiss until he gets a grip and tastes the alcohol on Lucas’ tongue, reminding him of the fact that Lucas is not sober enough to warrant this. He pulls back, cheeks flushed, but Lucas looks unaffected - like nothing earth-shattering just happened.

Eliott’s phone rings in his pocket; turns out Idriss left his keys at the apartment and needs Eliott to let him in.

Lucas notices the interruption and, with a gravelly voice, says, “Sorry about the weed,” before stepping inside, tripping on the threshold again.

Eliott stares at the moon high in the sky who was witness to his entire world being flipped upside down. He takes a deep breath and walks down the stairs to retrieve his heart from the ground. 

1. 

Eliott is sitting on the dock of the lake with his feet dipping into the crystal blue water below, weight held up by his arms outstretched behind him. The remaining droplets on his tanning skin quickly evaporate into the warm summer air, leaving a cool sensation in their wake. 

There’s some shouting and splashing from the far side of the lake where Basile, Arthur, and Yann are jumping off the neighbor’s dock and trampoline. Eliott had his fun with them earlier and went for a cooldown on his own while he watched the guys perform backflip after backflip.

The usual suspects have all traveled to Arthur’s beach house to kick off the gang’s last summer before they go separate ways for university. The girls are here too; they went inside to fix dinner for everyone while the boys spent the sun’s dying hours out on the water.

Lucas is swimming his way back over to Arthur’s dock and Eliott sits up in anticipation of his return. 

It’s been a total of 72 hours since the night of the party. The night that the love of Eliott’s life and best friend of over 10 years had kissed him. Not so accidentally, but also not quite on purpose.

He hadn’t even had a full conversation with Lucas since that night - the day after the other boy had the world’s worst hangover, the next Eliott was taking his last final exam of the semester, and then they were at the lake. Lucas had fallen asleep against the window for most of the car ride and every other waking moment was full of Basile’s ill-timed jokes and Emma’s ramblings over her recent Tinder dates. 

In other words, there was no appropriate time or place to bring up the situation. No opportunity to ask, hey, remember when you kissed me haha? And Eliott didn’t want to say it like that, so nonchalant and in sing-song with a poke to the ribs. Because it meant something to him, more than he ever thought a drunken kiss could, and because it would kill him to make Lucas think that it meant anything less. 

It’s like that night Lucas gave him this enormous heavy feeling but in a physical form - held it in his hands and said here, hold this and left, but not without Eliott’s heart. And Eliott was left holding on to it, this thing he couldn’t quite find the word or feeling for, and a hole where his heart should be. And it’s softened now, melted, turned to liquid and still losing shape. And with every glance and hidden smile more and more slips from his hands. 

Eliott is violently brought back to his senses when everything in his vision is darkened by the shadow of Lucas climbing up the ladder of the dock and blocking the setting sun. Eliott’s eyes involuntarily rake down the boy before him, all sun-soaked skin and water dripping from every pore. He catches himself after a second too long, obvious even under the sunglasses he has on. He tilts his head back up to Lucas standing at the edge of the dock - taller than him for once - and the sight makes Eliott’s insides shift. 

Eliott’s eyes adjust to the lack of direct sunlight, squinting up at him. He watches as Lucas brings both of his hands through his wet locks, putting his skin on display as the water that Eliott swam in returns to the air, reflecting what’s left of the day’s rays as they go. Eliott feels a shiver run down his spine - be it at the sight in front of him or the now dry surface of his own skin.

“You coming?”

Before he realizes, there’s a hand being offered to him. Eliott’s brain is a few steps behind and he takes the hand when it catches up. Lucas pulls him up and he’s back to being the taller one, although he still feels at Lucas’ mercy. 

Lucas leads the way back to the house, leaving wet footprints on the dock and concrete of the patio. Eliott follows and uses the prints as relief from the scorching surface. Lucas grabs the towel hanging on the patio chair, rubs it into his wet hair, then lets the damp material hang around his neck. 

And there it is, finally: a moment where he could bring it up. A chance to give back the heavy, shifting feeling he’s been holding since. Ask him if he remembers, if he meant it, if he regrets it. The shapeless thing he carries starts to move again, starts to form into something akin to the shape he was given. He can give it back. 

Eliott stands there looking at Lucas, eyes flicking down to the lips he can’t stop thinking about on his own. They’re red and chapped now, a product of sun and salt. He holds in a breath and forces his eyes up to Lucas’, which are darting around the patio looking for something. 

The moment is there and then it’s gone - and the thing starts to slip yet again, just as the water had off of Lucas’ back. 

“Hey, did you bring any chapstick, by chance?” Lucas asks when he can’t find what he’s looking for.

That’s another thing that happens sometimes: Eliott thinks about something and the next minute Lucas brings it up, or vise versa. Like noticing his chapped lips conjured Lucas to search for relief. 

“Uh, yeah.” Eliott walks over to the bedroom he and Lucas and Arthur share through the back door and returns with it. 

He hands it over to Lucas; the gesture feels strangely intimate given the context of Eliott’s feelings toward him, the context that their lips have touched now. It feels coded with something more than a favor for a friend, and hurts more than it should. 

“Thanks,” Lucas says before removing the cap and pushing the balm onto the split skin. 

Eliott can imagine the minty balm stinging the cracks in the other boy’s lips and swears he can feel the same tingly sensation on his own, even without having used it all day. 

It’s entirely innocent, but it gets Eliott’s heartbeat to quicken at the thought of using the chapstick after him. It doesn’t have to mean anything - Lucas borrowing his chapstick - but it does. It’s as if the tube of balm is a placebo for the real thing - having his lips pressed to Lucas’ again - but still just as effective. 

And technically another moment presents itself: the topic of lips, specifically both of theirs, sharing something like the lip balm. 

Think, Eliott, think. He could casually comment on the party, ask how bad the hangover was, anything to get the ball rolling. But the second Lucas returns his gaze and places the tube in his hands again, all rational thought leaves his mind at once. 

The silence is starting to grow uncomfortable until Lucas breaks it.

“How was your exam, by the way?” He shoves some hair behind his ear and rubs his lips together to spread the product.

“Uh, it was fine,” Eliott answers, watching the movement. Something blooms in his chest at Lucas asking about it, the genuine curiosity present on his golden face.

Say something, anything about the party. 

He gets an idea. 

“You know—” He stops when Lucas puts the towel back on the chair to dry. The remaining sunlight hits just right, the balm on his lips shiny and intoxicating. Eliott swallows and starts again. “You know, if college doesn’t work out I could always marr—” 

“Lucas, there you are!” Arthur shouts as the trio come walking through the patio to get inside.

The look on the younger boy’s face turns bright at the sight of his friends, high points of his cheeks dusted pink with sun and stars sprinkled on his nose in the form of freckles. Yann shoves his shoulder and the skin turns white before returning to the pinkish tan. The skin is soon covered in cotton when Lucas shrugs his shirt on. 

Lucas bites the corner of his bottom lip and gives Eliott a glance over his shoulder when he follows the guys inside - a glance that could be saying something, but Eliott’s not sure what.

Eliott makes his way to the kitchen and pours some drinks and thanks the girls for preparing the meal. Everyone sits around the counter and some at the table nearby; Lucas takes the seat across from him. 

There’s chatter between the girls and the gang that Eliott feels slightly disconnected from, but he focuses on filling his empty stomach with food. 

“Eli, what were you going to say, outside?” Lucas inquires, not in a whisper but not loud enough to draw attention towards them.

And there’s another moment, right there for the taking. Lucas literally asks about it - possibly without even intending to. 

Lucas looks at him while taking another bite then puts his fork down to take his napkin and wipe the pasta sauce - and chapstick - off his mouth. 

Eliott’s chest feels tight again, the heavy feeling still there but no longer physically. No way he can hold it and give it back now. The moment is gone like the sun for the day, only leaving what it has touched behind.

The placebo burns a hole in the pocket of his boardshorts. “It was nothing.”

2.

Eliott hates drinking. He’s not a fan of the taste of beer, wine is okay only if it’s expensive, and liquor is gross unless mixed with so much sugar that makes the hangover even worse than straight alcohol.

He finds himself in a gay bar with Lucas celebrating Mika’s half-birthday because Mika decided that ‘6 months is too long’ to celebrate.

It has now been two months since the kiss and neither of them have said a word about it. The unnamed thing Lucas dropped into his hands has vanished, no way of returning it to its owner. Every day is harder to pretend and even harder to speak up. 

The birthday boy is already on his way to being wasted living it up on the dance floor and Eliott sits next to Lucas at the bar. Lucas is on his second beer and Eliott has a melting vodka tonic in front of him. The DJ takes a short break and the music changes to quieter radio jams through the house speakers instead of the mixing table.

“So?” Lucas asks behind his beer bottle, tilting his chin in the direction of a handsome guy across the bar. “Aren’t you gonna go over there and talk to him?”

Eliott looks at the sweaty glass on the countertop and quickly glances over to the him Lucas refers. He picks up the glass and raises it in the guy’s direction as a thank you and sips the thin black straw. It’s strong but watery and makes his lips pucker.

“Isn’t he the one who’s supposed to make the move?” Eliott answers Lucas’ question with one of his own and flags the bartender for water instead.

Lucas points to the drink. “Well, technically, he already did.” Eliott huffs. 

The music picks up again as the DJ puts on another mix, volume even louder than before, or perhaps it’s just loud in comparison to the radio.

Eliott raises his voice and leans into Lucas’ ear. “What if I’m not interested?”

When he pulls back, they share a look similar to the one at Arthur’s lakehouse with the same indescribable meaning. There’s also something different this time in the way Lucas intentionally keeps his gaze. 

It’s dark on this side of the club but when the flashing lights hit the side of Lucas’ face he notices the contrast of his crystal eyes and his blown pupils. Eliott thinks if he stares any longer he’ll drown in their oceans.

To stay afloat, Eliott turns back toward the mirrored wall behind the bar and grabs his water to sip. The second the liquid touches his tongue he realizes it’s not the water he reached for, but the vodka soda. He winces in reaction and shoves the glass toward the lip of the counter out of his reach.

He can feel Lucas’ eyes on him and then in the direction of the sender of the drink. Eliott gathers the courage to look again, but he shouldn’t have - the determined scowl of his brow hurts more than the back of his throat when he puts together what Lucas plans to do.

Lucas reaches for the drink at the edge of the bar and brings it to his lips, tongue darting out to catch the thin black straw he closes his lips around, downing as much of the concoction as he can stomach. 

Still looking at the guy across the bar, Lucas says, “Then I’ll tell him you say thanks for the drink.” 

Eliott’s soul is soaked when he sees the blue of Lucas' glance as he makes his way over to the other end of the bar.

Over the next two hours Eliott nurses his glass of water from his seat and tortures himself by watching Lucas dance dangerously close to the stranger that hit on him with a new drink in hand.

Eliott directs his attention to the glass Lucas emptied when it gets too much to bear. The black straw sits in the glass of ice staring him down and he gets a new urge to drink the remnants of alcohol from it. Perhaps it’s a new prescription of placebo that would work better than the drink itself.

Eliott steps out for a cigarette later, in need of the fresh air more than the smoke in his lungs, but it gives him something to do instead of sulking in a room of dancing strangers. 

Lucas comes to find him minutes after, no handsome stranger on his arm. 

“Okay. My head hurts so bad I can’t stay a second longer,” he says instead of a greeting, words slurred and movements wobbly. 

“Where’s Mika?” Eliott asks, helping him stand up straighter.

Lucas giggles. “He went home with a guy like two hours ago.”

“Oh,” he hadn’t even noticed. “What about the guy and the drink?” Eliott clenches his jaw and looks around expecting him to show up.

Lucas giggles again, and the sound makes Eliott’s heart flutter - it flutters then stops at what he says next.

“Don’t worry, Demaury, no one is coming between our eventual marriage.”

Eliott trips on a bump in the sidewalk and Lucas falls into his side. 

And just like that, he’s back at the lake again – the sting of a moment there and gone – and he’s sinking deeper and deeper.

3.

Everything seems to happen by accident ever since the night on the balcony. 

Eliott hadn’t even planned on going back to Lucas’ flat, but after the party was shut down prematurely, Lucas asked if he wanted to come inside for another beer. And it’s not like Eliott had the heart to say no. He definitely didn’t plan to stay this late, but he also doesn’t want to leave.

“I thought you said you were going to lay off the weed now that you’re ‘taking your studies seriously.’” Eliott grins as he watches Lucas light the joint hanging from his lips. 

“I don’t remember saying that,” says Lucas, leaning his head back on the couch and releasing smoke from his lips. 

His pursed lips carve out the hollows of his cheekbones and plants a rather dirty image in Eliott’s mind. The movement also makes his hair bounce a little; it’s messy and fluffy from when he shrugged his hoodie off when they came inside. Eliott has to busy his hands with the frayed edge of his jeans so as to not reach out and touch.

Eliott pivots from his stare and instead laughs at Lucas’ nonchalance and the irony that he said that while high.

Lucas’ eyes stay closed for a moment before slowly blinking them back open. His long lashes fan over his cheeks like that of a renaissance painting as he’s bathed in a muted golden light from the kitchen. The eyes underneath them look tired, probably due to the lack of sleep that comes with the first year of university Eliott knows too well. The oceans of blue aren’t any less breathtaking, though; Eliott has to look away before he drowns in them once again.

Eliott takes a sip from the plastic cup he filled with water once it was empty of beer. He feels his heart shift and twists in his chest like it does when he looks at Lucas too long, performing a somersault when he feels the ghost of those lips on his. 

Eliott’s words just slip out, his mumbling echoes in the plastic pressed to his lips. “Yeah, you don’t remember a lot of things.” 

It’s almost quiet enough that he could have gotten away with it, but not quite. He can tell he’s been caught by the furrow of Lucas’ brow and the confused tilt of his head - which is way more endearing than it should be.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucas’ voice cracks slightly when he asks, those oceans looking like high tide. Eliott’s heart drops to his stomach at the question. Does he tell him, or does he keep that kiss locked away as the secret they didn’t know they were keeping?

Lucas slowly wets his lips and worries one between his teeth in anticipation. It’s like a knife to Eliott’s gut, piercing through his heart where it rests there. 

Eliott scrambles for an answer, panicking and lacking the courage to tell the truth. “I mean maybe this is all going to your head.” He makes a vague gesture to the smoke wafting the air between them. Not like he meant anything else.

Lucas takes a page out of his book and gives him a one-shouldered shrug before sitting up and putting out the joint in the ashtray on the coffee table. He takes a moment like he’s trying to decide his next move, then gets up and runs a hand through his hair. God, that hair.

He goes to the kitchen and cleans up, leaving Eliott to sit in the awkward space he left. Eliott takes his phone out of his pocket and checks his notifications, noticing it’s already almost 4am. As in, no buses back to his place at this hour.

“Maybe you’re right. I’m super tired so,” Lucas turns his body in the direction of his bedroom indicating he’s going to turn in.

“Yeah, um,” is all Eliott can find in response, shifting on the couch to settle into a position for sleep.

“Come on, Eliott, I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

“No, it’s fine—”

“You’re literally too tall and don’t even fit on that couch. Come on,” Lucas insists, cracking a smile.

And what is he supposed to do, deny him? 

So they fall asleep in Lucas’ bed — without bringing up the kiss. Eliott doesn’t know how much longer he can breathe under the pressure. 

+1

Eliott startles awake with Lucas too close for comfort; they’re facing each other in the middle of the bed even though there’s plenty of room on either side.

Lucas is wearing an expression he’s never seen before, although he never seems to be able to read him these days. Eliott wants to ask about it, but gets lost in those eyes again, looking tired but somehow refreshed like he’s been awake for a while.

And Lucas does that thing again, bringing up what he’s thinking without fail.

“We’re okay, right?” Lucas asks softly, like the words burn on his tongue as he says them.

Eliott studies his face again, an openness to it that wasn’t there before – like he wants to talk about it seriously this time, no more dancing around.

“Yeah, of course,” he takes a breath and lowers his tone, matching the sincerity of Lucas’, “Why wouldn’t we be?”

 Lucas twists his mouth and answers, “I just, I feel like things have been weird between us since Mika’s half-birthday. Is there— did I do something?”

And do something he did - he brought up their wedding talk on the way home and basically confirmed he remembers that night at Emma’s, and maybe the kiss. But Eliott can’t find it in him to ask, but can’t stand not asking any longer.

Lucas looks expectant now, an adorable wrinkle forms on his forehead and those eyes are crystal clear. If it’s his eyes that pull him in, it’s his lips that pull him under.

Eliott removes his hand from under his pillow and slowly raises it near Lucas’ face resting in front of him. Eliott’s gaze is drawn to those lips again, the ones he can’t ever seem to stop thinking about in the phantom touch from months ago. Lucas’ tongue peeks out to wet them followed by teeth trapping one, which makes Eliott sink further. 

His hand tenderly brushes Lucas’ rosy cheek and thumb rests near the corner of his mouth, the touch causing Lucas’ breath to hitch and release the pillowy flesh from his teeth.

Eliott quickly looks up at Lucas again, only to find the other boy’s eyes trained on Eliott’s lips now. It’s enough confirmation Eliott needs to do what he’s been wanting to since the day at the lake. And he doesn’t want to swim around it anymore, it’s finally time to reveal the truth.

He delicately strokes his thumb over Lucas’ red bitten bottom lip. “You really don’t remember?” 

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lucas speechless before, at least not like this. Perhaps absentmindedly Eliott strokes his lips again, and it’s the closest thing to a kiss he’s had since the one on the balcony. It’s too much and not enough, and also the closest placebo to the real thing.

Eliott suddenly gets nervous that Lucas has no idea what he’s talking about, and that the breath caught in the other boy’s throat is not a sign of remembrance but of surprise to the incredibly intimate touch without the context of that night.

He hopes he hasn’t misread Lucas’ mind, for that would be the first time they’ve been on different wavelengths in years. Sure this whole fiasco was push and pull of avoiding the truth, but there was always some unspoken understanding present even so. Eliott feels he’s in too deep and Lucas is just floating, too much darkness and pressure between them. 

Eliott retracts his hand like he’s caught flame, silently begging for forgiveness as he meets Lucas’ eyes again. 

And this time it’s Eliott who can’t breathe. Lucas inches even closer, eyes flicking back down to Eliott’s lips once more. He whispers hotly in the limited space between their lips. “Make me remember.”

After days and weeks and months of waiting, dying, drowning, Eliott gets his fix as Lucas presses his sinful lips in a kiss – a completely and intentionally purposeful kiss. A kiss that pulls Eliott up so quickly he gets the bends, muscles and bones aching from the speed of his ascent, head and heart feeling lighter than ever.

“Lucas—” Eliott sighs, everything this means dawning on him.

“I know. Me too,” Lucas interrupts before locking Eliott’s lips again.

They indulge in the taste of each other with nothing to hold them down, eager and wanting like all kisses should be. He’ll never have to refill the script for placebo ever again, too busy getting high on the real thing.

[buckysflannelpajamas]

Bleeding Hearts

Summary: Being Tony Starks daughter has its pros and cons. One of the pros being you get to live with your best friends, the Avengers. One of the cons you will soon find out is having to deal with the one and only, James Buchanan Barnes...

Takes place during that happy made up time after civil war when everyone live in the tower.

TRIGGER WARNING: non graphic attempted rape and non consensual drug use

Chapter 3

2nd person POV

You wake up to the soft creek of your bedroom door being opened. You don’t even have to wonder who it is. The only one on the tower that would break into your small apartment was Natasha.

You groan, the creek of the door sounding much louder than it really was due to your hangover. You went a little crazy last night. After Tony had come back to the table you stormed off to your room in an angry rage, grabbing a bottle of vodka on the way. You made multiple trips to the liquor cabinet during the night. You honestly couldn’t remember how much you drank, but you knew it was well more than the average person could handle. But your Stark genes gave you a higher tolerance than most.

“I see you decided to redecorate.” Natasha jokes, referring to the state of your trashed room.

Oh yeah. You almost forgot that in your drunken rage that you totally trashed your apartment.

“Friday, turn the lights to 15%.” Natasha tells the AI.

You groan again. “What do you want?”

“Girls day, remember? And also, a fork, really?” Nat almost laughs as she speaks.

You sit up slowly. “Don’t tell me you're here to lecture me.”

The redhead shrugs. “Just wanted to advise that you at least use a knife the next time you plan to go up against the Winter Soldier.”

“You're the one that held me back, remember?” You remind her.

“I almost didn’t.” She sighs. “But then I thought that the ramifications of a second civil war might not be worth it.”

“What time is it?” You ask, changing the topic.

“About half past eleven.”

“Shit.” You jump up out of bed. “Isn’t are appointment at-“

“12? Yeah. Not to mention it half way across the city.” Nat points out.

“I’ll be ready in ten. Meet you and Wanda in the garage?”

“Sure. Brought you this by the way.” Natasha tosses you a Gatorade and a bottle of Advil.

You catch them out of the air with ease. “Thanks.”

“Wow.” Nat says with a surprised look on her face. “Your hand eye coordination has improved.”

A small smile makes its way to your face. “Strange as it is I’ve been playing catch with Steve. He said improving my hand eye coordination would help with my aim.”

“Well have to test that out on Monday. Now get ready, Wanda isn’t going to be happy if we’re late.”

~

Just as you were leaving your bedroom you heard a knock outside of your apartment door.

You groan. “Wanda it hasn’t even been ten minutes yet!” You call out, grabbing your bag and heading out into the living room. You don’t bother grabbing anything to eat on your way out, seeing as how the three of you paid for the ultra deluxe package at the spa. Which includes sushi and champagne.

You open your apartment door, prepared to lecture Wanda on the importance of patience, only to find…

“Dad? Hey, I thought you would be Wanda.”

“Oh are you two going somewhere?” Tony askes.

“Yeah. Nat, Wanda and I are having a spa day before the party tonight.” You say quickly, trying to hurry up the conversation. Not only was talking to your dad always awkward, you were also running late.

“Oh that’s nice!”

“Yeah and I’m running late so I really have to get going.” You move past him and out your door.

“Oh, ok, well I just wanted to ask you about what happened last night.” He asks as he follows you.

You brush it off. “Oh it was nothing, just a little disagreement.”

Tony places a gentle hand on your shoulder, urging you to stop walking. “You know you can talk to me, right? I know things have been a little tense between us but I want you to now I’m here for you.”

You smile at him softly. “I know. But seriously I’m fine, we just had a little argument.”

“Ok.” Tony buys the lie, or rather, he decides not to pry. “But if Barnes ever gives you a hard time, let me know. I’ll kick him out like that.” Tony snaps his fingers.

You laugh lightly, as much as you hate him, you know he’s an asset to the team. “Good to know. But seriously I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” You say flippantly as you turn to leave.

“Love you kid!” Tony calls down the hall.

Unfortunately you were too far away to hear him

~

You feel hot. Very hot. You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. Your body is covered in sweat. The little drops of perspiration sliding down your back and hitting the wooden boards below you.

The three of you are in the middle of your first treatment of the day. Fifteen minutes inside the dry heat room.

You take a swig from your water bottle. The cool water feels like heaven as it trickles down your throat.

Girl's day was off to a good start. The sushi was great, and you assumed the champagne was as well, though Natasha refused to let you drink any after last night.

You and the girls had talked about only meaningless things so far, no one bothering to bring up what happened between you and Bucky last night, which you are thankful for.

You’re still trying to figure out why he hates you so much. All his reasons last night sounded like excuses. If being happy and nice all the time was such a problem then why didn’t he hate Steve too? Maybe he was jealous that you were normal and didn’t have emotional baggage. Which he was wrong about. You had your own demons you fought, and even through they weren’t physical, they still brought you down.

To make things worse, you had this stupid little crush on him. You couldn’t even try to understand your feelings towards him. You hated him yes, but he was just so damn handsome and a silly part of you hoped that maybe he was hiding his feelings with anger.

A loud sigh catches your attention. You turn to find Wanda hunched over, Rubbing her temples with her fingertips.

“Y/n can you please think more quietly. I’m trying to relax.” Wand whines.

“Wanda stay out of my head!” You shout, not out of anger but out of embarrassment.

“I wasn’t!” Wanda defends. “You just think so loud that it’s projecting out of your mind.”

“What is she thinking about?” Nat interjects.

“Don’t-“

“She’s thinking about Barnes.” Wanda cuts you off.

You throw your head back and groan. “Wandaaa.” You whine. “Why’d you have to tell her that?”

Natasha laughs. “She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?” You ask hesitantly.

Nat shrugs and takes a sip of her water before answering. “Well it’s obvious you two have the hots for each other.”

Your eyes widen. “W-what? No it’s not! We hate each other.”

“She's right you know.” Wanda comments.

“You looking in his head too?” You accuse.

“You’re not the only one with loud thoughts y/n.”

That piques your curiosity. “What… what is he thinking exactly?”

Wanda and Nat share a smirk. “He’s totally into you.” Wanda answers. “He’s only being an asshole because deep down he’s scared of letting himself have a good thing.”

You furrow your brows, shaking your head. “You must be reading him wrong.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You don't have to be a mind reader to see the way he looks at you.”

“He looks at me?”

“Only all the time.” Natasha laughs. “He’s constantly eye-fucking you.”

Your eyes widen at the thought. “That can’t be true.”

“Have we ever led you wrong?” Wanda asks.

“Well, no but-“

“But nothing.” Nat interrupts. “We’re not saying you need to make a move or anything. Just telling you the facts.”

“Ok, ok, fine. Let’s just move on alright?”

“Good with me! We have better things than men to talk about anyway.” Wanda starts. “Like what are you wearing to the party tonight?!”

You smile, starting to get excited. Wanda and you love fashion. Natasha likes fashion too, but she isn’t as obsessed with designer brands as the two of you are.

“You remember the dark metallic Saint Laurent dress we saw at the mall?”

“The one with the short asymmetrical skirt and the halter top?”

“Yes!” You say excitedly.

Soon the three of you were laughing and gossiping about all the people and celebrities that would be attending the party. Your thoughts and worries about Bucky sloping from your mind.

~

Floor 53 aka Tony Starks party floor. Waiters dressed in all black carry trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne around the floor. The bar is fully stocked with only top shelf quality drinks and the room filled with only the most famous and wealthy people in New York.

You had a love hate relationship with these parties. On one hand, you enjoyed getting to meet and converse with some of the actors and actresses you admire. On the other, you hated talking with the snobby social elites that your father was friends with from work. They always either make meaningless small talk with you or try to pry into your personal life. Two things which you hated. Usually you would put up with it, smile and laugh at their dull jokes, but tonight you had a goal. Tonight you heard someone special was going to be attending the party.

Arthur Milligan. Academy award winner, child star, man of your dreams Arthur Milligan. He has been your celebrity crush ever since you were 13, and now you finally had the chance to meet him. It’s safe to say you weren’t going to let anyone get in your way of meeting him tonight.

You step out of the elevator with Nat and Wanda flanking your sides. The three of you had made a plan. With Steve and Tony being so protective, they would immediately notice if you were flirting with Arthur. Them being the way they are it was unlikely you would get a moment alone with him. So Wanda and Vision (who surprisingly is going along with it) would distract your dad while Natasha took care of Steve.

“Remember y/n, keep the drinking to a minimum.” Nat reminds you.

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “One drink, I promise.” You reach your hand towards hers to momentarily cross pinkys.

“Good. Now go get em tiger.” She encourages you, giving you a small nudge forward.

You take a calming breath, getting all your nerves out before letting a smirk come to your face as you turn on the charm.

You strut out through the crowd, keeping your eyes out for the man of your interest. It takes you about five minutes to spot him. The 6 foot tall blonde man standing on his own near the bar. He seemed to be people watching.

You make your way towards him, careful to stay out of his line of sight. When you finally reach him, you purposely trip, stumbling right into him.

Of course, just as you planned, he catches you.

“Are you alright?” He asks, sounding slightly irritated, though his demeanor completely changes when his eyes land on you. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You blush, a smile making its way to your face. “Surely you must be looking at your reflection in my eyes.”

“Actually I was staring at your lips.”

“Y/n Stark.” You introduce yourself.

“Arthur Milligan.” He pauses. “Can I offer you a drink?”

You flutter your lashes. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Arthur smiles, his white teeth gleaming. “I’ll be right back.”

~

Chapter 3 Pt. 2

3rd person, Bucky’s perspective

Bucky isn’t staying at the party long. Just long enough to appease Steve’s need for him to socialize. Bucky barley socializes through, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of y/n.

He was a total asshole last night, even by his standards. After the fight with y/n, Steve and him had their own argument. It lasted quite some time, the two of them yelling back and forth. Eventually Bucky opened up about his feelings and Steve convinced him to apologize.

He really did intend to apologize, but he hadn’t seen y/n all day… not until the party.

Bucky can’t help but stare when he sees her walk in. Both her legs and chest on display. She truly is a vision.

For a moment he wonders why he was so mean to her. She didn’t do anything to deserve it. It’s almost as if Bucky has subconsciously tried to ruin things for himself. Deep down, he knows he wants her, but for some reason he just can’t let himself have a good thing.

In a moment of clarity, Bucky moves from his spot by Steve and Natasha, prepared to go talk to y/n, apologize, and tell her how he feels. But as soon as he sees her talking to the blonde man, his hopes are squashed.

He’s suddenly overwhelmed with jealousy. Not that he has the right to be jealous. They aren't even friends. But Bucky can’t help it, his emotions getting the best of him.

However, instead of interrupting the pair's conversation, he heads back to his room. He wants to say somthing, he truly does, but who is he to get in her way of happiness? He doesn’t deserve her. She’s too sweet, too perfect for someone as broken and bad as him. He’s a murderer, a weapon. Y/n deserves better than that.

With a sigh he walks back to his apartment, giving y/n one last look before he leaves.

In his room he leans back on the bed, one arm propping his head up, the other holding a bottle of bourbon. Not that he can get drunk, he just likes the flavor along with the warm burn in his throat.

He had been in there about 15 minutes when Friday called out into his room.

“Sergeant Barnes, it appears Miss Stark has left the building unattended.”

“Not my problem.” Bucky grumbles. Someone else can deal with it.

“I’m afraid it is sir. I can’t get in contact with anyone else at the moment.”

Bucky sits up a little straighter. “They're all at the party, can’t you just make an announcement?”

“Making an announcement would alert everyone that she is unprotected. You never know who may try to take advantage of that information.”

“I guess it is my problem.” Bucky sighs as he gets out of bed. “Where’d she go?”

[lukatheselkie]

FrUk Week Day Six - FACE

@frukweek2020

Uh. This got INCREDIBLY out of hand. The characters took over and they didn’t want me to stop writing until this was finished. Even though that was roughly 6,600 words long. Human AU. Alfred and Matthieu are elementary schoolers, and they each have a single dad. This is the story of how the boys met, and dragged their fathers into a relationship.

High key I love writing child Alfred, he’s adorable. And Matthieu.

Warnings: Cussing. There’s a blowjob at the end, BUT I’ve marked where to stop reading if you want to read to that point. The sheer freaking length of this thing deserves a warning, though it’s not technically needed.

    Alfred and Matthieu literally run into each other on the playground at school. As they stand and look at each other, their similarities stick out to one another almost immediately. Alfred is the first to react. “You have my face!” He screams, pointing at the shy boy. Matthieu flinches back, bringing his hands up to cover his ears. Why did he have to run into potentially the loudest boy in the entire elementary school on his first day? And where are his glasses!? He drops to the ground, and runs his hands over the soft, slightly bouncy pad meant to keep kids from hurting themselves too much. The strange boy sits next to him, and holds out his hand. “Here. These are yours, right?” He reaches out carefully and grabs the thing offered to him. To his relief, it is his glasses. He slips them on and scowls at the boy. Apparently this is an invitation for him to start talking.

    “What’s your name? Mine’s Alfred! Are you new here? I’ve never seen you here before! I think I would have noticed someone that looks so similar to me. How old are you? I’m ten! Do you think we could be brothers? I’m adopted! Dad says he doesn’t like keeping secrets from me, so I know that, but others that are adopted might not. It’s okay if you don’t know! I can ask your parent...s!? Do you have one parent, like me, or two? Hey, we should switch places! You’ll really love dad! He’s kind and caring and he makes the best scones! Though everyone else seems to dislike them, I’m not sure why. I think he’s the best cook in the whole wide world. If you don’t want to switch, you should come over after school! I know my address, so I don’t get lost. Do you know yours? No, probably not, if you just moved here. But we should totally have a sleepover! Then dad can bring us both to school tomorrow. Or we can have a weekend sleepover! Tomorrow’s Friday, after all! How does that sound? I’m excited! I made a new friend that looks just like me! Well, almost. What’s this?” He reaches out and tugs on Matthieu’s curl. He shoves his hands away quickly, cheeks flushed.

    “Don’t touch that please. It’s really hard to get it to stay how I like it!” Alfred scrunches up his nose at him.

    “You’re too quiet. I can barely hear you! Try speaking louder. It’s so much fun when you can be heard! And why didn’t you answer any of my questions? Oh, your glasses are different from mine! We’d have to take each other’s if we want to switch. And I’d have to get this stupid cowlick into a curl.” Alfred starts rocking back and forth happily. “You’d have to make your curl a cowlick! I think you’d look cute with one. Hmm, you have purple eyes though. I don’t. Mine are blue! I’m sure dad won’t notice though. He’s not exactly the most observant. I love him, but he’s sometimes wrapped up in his own stuff. It must be hard, being an adult. Say, why haven’t you answered my questions again?”

    “Because you won’t be quiet long enough for me to speak!” He narrows his eyes at the boy. “You’re obnoxious.” He sighs heavily.

    “What’s that mean? Is it a compliment? I’m going to take it as a compliment! Dad says those are nice things people say about you, to you sometimes.” He pauses long enough to take a breath. Finally.  “I miss dad. Maybe we shouldn’t switch. I want to see him when I go home. Not that I think your parents won’t be loving!” He stops rocking, and frowns deeply at his new friend. “Hey, should I stop talking to give you a chance to talk back?” A nod, then silence.

    “Alright. Now that you’re done. My name is Matthieu, I’m also ten. Daddy and I just moved here last week. It took a bit for me to get into the school system. I don’t want to switch places, or have a sleepover with you. I don’t know you.” He answers the bare minimum, despite knowing every question that was asked. He’s not adopted. He would have already been told that! ...Right? Now he’s not so sure. He looks over Alfred, frowning. He looks like my twin. It can’t be. Can it?

    “Pfffft! You still call your Dad ‘Daddy’! We’re too old for that, dude! We’re big boys now! Men.” He hops up, placing his hands on his hips in a superhero pose. “See? Men! Little men. We don’t need to call them that anymore!” Matthieu hugs himself. He doesn’t like this loud boy. He’s too energetic. He plops back down next to him, and lays his head on his shoulder. He hopes he doesn’t have head lice. “Though it would be nice to be able to call him that again. I might try it. I miss it. Thanks! Oh! Here!” He pulls something out of his pocket. “I’ll share my scone with you for that! You’ll love it.” Alfred feels the boy next to him shudder, and wraps an arm around him tightly. “It’s not cold out here. Why are you cold? Are you sick? Do you need to go to the nurse? Want me to walk with you? I will! I’ll even ask if we can go. You’re too quiet to be heard by them. Hey, that’s a good idea! I’ll be your voice from now on! Tell me what you want to say as quiet as you want, and I’ll say it as loud as I want! That’ll be great! I can’t wait to do that!”

    “I’m alright,” he mumbles, staring at his fingers. He very much dislikes that he likes having someone his age hug him. Sure, cuddles and hugs and kisses from his father are nice, but he always feels too big. “If I ask Daddy about sleeping over and he says yes, will you hold me like this the entire time?”

    “Mmhmm!” He nods his head dramatically. “I will! Anything to make my new friend happy!”

    “Then your father isn’t cooking. I’ll ask Daddy if he can make us something. He’s a professional chef.” Normally, he wouldn’t gloat about that. But he has to do something to stage this kid up. He’s got so much confidence, and courage, and everything Matthieu has ever wanted. It feels like the only thing he has on him is his father’s job.

    “Profes… What’s that word mean?”

    “He’s very good at it.” Well, and maybe his vocabulary. But that’s nothing to brag about. That makes him a nerd. Prime picking on material. That’s part of the reason he stays so quiet and  to himself. He doesn’t want to be picked on again.

    “Ooooooh yes! Please! I wanna eat something he makes! Dad isn’t a chef, but he���s still the bestest cook to me! I have to say that though, he’s my dad. And I love him very much. Don’t worry though! I’ll be honest about your dad’s food. I can’t wait!” Alfred hugs his new friend tighter. “Do you live with anyone else? If not, we should totally have a mega sleepover! You and I, and our dads! I’m sure they’d love to get to know each other. What parent doesn’t want to get to know their child’s best friend’s parent?” Matthieu shrugs, not knowing what else to do. He’s never really had a friend before now. “Here!” He shoves a piece of paper into his hand. “It’s my dad’s number. I’m supposed to keep that paper in my pocket for safety reasons, but I want your dad to call him! I’ve got it memorized, I’ll write another one when we go back in. Please have him call when you get home! I want to be able to do this sleepover tomorrow! And let’s go all weekend!” He looks up, and frowns deeply. “Awwww man! It’s time to go in. You know what to do, right? I’ll talk to you later!” He stands and runs off. What a strange boy. He glances down at the paper in his hand. This is going to be interesting.

~

    Alfred bursts into his father’s classroom, a million things to say about his new friend. Arthur has to take both of his hands, squeeze, and tell him to breathe. He closes his eyes to do so, and takes maybe ten deep breaths. “Do you think you can answer my questions without getting off topic now?” He nods frantically, and his dad smiles at him. “Thank you. What’s your new friend’s name?”

    “Matthew! No, that’s not right. He said it really weird, I think it’s another language.”

    “Perhaps. I’ll ask his father when he calls. You said he was going to do that, right?”

    “Mmhmm! Can we have a sleepover tomorrow?” Arthur sighs.

    “We’ll have to see. I’ve got a test tomorrow, and I might need extra time grading. I can’t watch the two of you and grade at the same time.”

    “His dad can watch us! He’s coming over too, I think. He’s cooking for us. He’s a profesonel chef! And then he’s going to stay the night with you, if that’s okay? That way we can have a mega sleepover! Matthew and I, and you and his dad! We should watch movies and cuddle!” Arthur takes in the information without struggle. He’s assuming Alfred meant professional chef. He’ll have to help him with his pronunciation on that. As for the sleepover…

    “I would very much like to have a sleepover with him as well, but I’m sure he has to work. I don’t mind watching the two of you if I can get my grading done. I will speak with him about that. If he doesn’t mind staying until I’m finished, you two can have your sleepover.”

    “Yay!” He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout, and crosses his arms over his chest. “I wanna tell him now though. Can he hurry and call!?”

    “Alfred. You know not everyone works here. His dad might not even be home when he gets there. Or he might stay somewhere else until he can be picked up. Give it a little bit, alright? Here. Why don’t you draw me a picture of Matthew?” He hands him a pile of printer paper and some crayons. “That way I can know how similar you two truly are.” He runs over to one of the desks excitedly. Thank goodness that distraction worked.

~

    “Daddy!” Matthieu runs toward Francis. He picks him up, and hugs him close. The boy buries his nose in his hair, smiling brightly.

    “Oh? I see that smile. What brought that on? Did something good happen on your first day at your new school?” He nods, giggling quietly.

    “It did! I made a new friend! I think. He looks a lot like me, Daddy. Do you know if I have a brother? We’re the same age, so he’d be my twin. He says he’s adopted, too, so I… I thought it might be possible. He said something about me being adopted? It made me think. I’ve never heard you talk about mom.” Francis sighs heavily.

    “I didn’t want you to find out this way. And I’m so sorry for not telling you earlier. I just… I didn’t want you to love me any less, I suppose. You are adopted. But that doesn’t mean I don’t see you as my perfect little boy. I love you very much. You know that, right?”

    “Mm, I do!” He giggles again as he nods, wrapping his arms as far around Francis’ shoulders as he can. “I sort of figured I was adopted after he said that. It’s okay! I love you exactly the same. No! Actually, I love you more now! You chose me. You didn’t have to, but you did.” He kisses his cheek. “So don’t feel bad for it, okay, Daddy? I promise it doesn’t hurt! And I’m sure there’s a reason you didn’t get Alfred, if he’s my twin.”

    “He is. I desperately wanted him as well, but he had already been adopted. I’m guessing by his dad now. I was told he wanted both of you, too, but was denied. He couldn’t bear to leave both of you though, so he adopted your brother. Not that there was anything wrong with you! Alfred would cry without him. He adopted the one that seemed hurt more by his absence. You’ve always been my sweet independent boy, so that makes sense. I’m glad you two have found each other though. Who knew we would move to the same area?” He laughs softly.

    “It’s like fate wanted us together! All four of us.” He squeezes his shoulders lightly. “Alfred wants us to spend the night with him and his dad. Both of us. He called it a mega sleepover. You’re supposed to call to talk to him, when we get home. I got his number!” He tugs the paper out of his pocket and hands it to his father.

    “Alright. I can at least call. But let’s go home first, oui?” He walks toward the vehicle, smiling at his son’s excited nod.

~

    Alfred perks up when he hears Arthur’s phone ringing. That must be Matthew’s dad! “Hello, Arthur speaking.” There’s a quiet laugh from the other end that makes him blush a bit.

    “Hello, Arthur. Are you Alfred’s father? I’m Matthieu’s father, Francis. He told me to call you?” So that’s how it’s pronounced.

    “Ah, yes! It’s nice to speak with you. Alfred tells me he met your son today and made plans with him. I apologize. He can get carried away. He shouldn’t have decided on anything without our input.” He gives his son a pointed look.

    “It’s alright! I don’t mind. I’d do anything for Matthieu’s first friend. So he mentioned the mega sleepover?”

    “That he did. I told him we might have to work. But if you’re off tomorrow afternoon, they can have their sleepover. I may have to grade papers and I can’t watch them without help while I do that. If you’re okay with helping.” There’s a playful scoff.

    “I’m not hearing the part where I stay all night, like they have planned.”

    “I- You can! Please don’t think you aren’t welcome! I thought you would have to work is all.” His cheeks flush crimson.

    “You’re forgiven. For now. I make sure I have the weekends off to spend time with Matthieu. If he wants that time to be with Alfred and you as well, then I’ll gladly go with him.”

    “I would do the same for Alfred.” A comfortable silence falls between them. After a moment, he remembers something. “Oh! Alfred said they planned for us to sleep together.” He lowers his voice so his son can’t hear. “They don’t realize we aren’t as carefree as them. We can discuss sleeping arrangements when you arrive. I’ll send you the address. What time should I expect you?”

    “Around five. I have something important to talk to you about as well.”

    “Alright. We will eagerly await your arrival tomorrow.”

    “Thank you. Have a wonderful rest of your day.” This makes Arthur blush even more.

~

    Francis looks back at Matthieu when he pulls up to Arthur and Alfred’s house. “You ready for your first sleepover, kiddo?” He hugs his stuffed polar bear tighter to his chest.

    “I-I think so! But my legs are all wobbly. Can you carry me in?”

    “Of course I will. Anything for my sweet little boy.” He hops out, and opens Matthieu’s door. He unbuckles him from his carseat, and picks him up. He grabs hold of his overnight bag as well, then closes the door, making sure to lock up the vehicle. He kisses Matthieu’s hair reassuringly, and walks up to the door. “Do you want to knock?”

    “Yes please!” He reaches out and taps the door. Apparently Arthur is waiting for them to arrive, because the door swings open a second later.

    “Hello, and welcome to our home.” Matthieu wiggles to be let down before they even get inside, and Francis places him down carefully.

    “Thank you very much! Alfred! Where are you!?” He runs into the house.

    “He’s usually very shy. I’m glad he’s found a friend that he feels comfortable around.” He looks at Arthur, who’s got a shocked expression on his face. “What?”

    “He and Alfred look almost exactly alike,” he whispers.

    “Oui, they do. But you know why.”

    “He’s the twin I couldn’t adopt,” his voice is louder now, though barely. Francis nods.

    “He is. I’m happy they found each other. But what are the chances we would move to the same area?” He laughs heartily. “It’s like fate wanted them together again. I’m glad.”

    “How are we going to tell them that?”

    “I’ve already told Matthieu. I hadn’t realized you didn’t tell Alfred yet.”

    “I didn’t think they looked as similar as he said. Alfred has a tendency to hyperbolize everything.” Francis snorts quietly. Arthur scoffs. “What? Did you not expect an English teacher to use that word?”

    “An English teacher, hmm? That only slightly explains your inability to cook. Alfred offered Matthieu some of the scone you made him, and he told me he feared for his life.” Arthur snaps his head around, ready to chew him out. His heart skips a beat. It’s the first time he’s looked at Francis, and he feels light headed. He’s beautiful. Shit! This isn’t good! His house guest is super fucking attractive!

    “Not all of us can be professional chefs,” he settles on, looking away again.

    “Oui, that is true. Though I can teach you, if you would like to learn?” He shouldn’t take the offer. That’s torturing himself. But he finds himself nodding. “Great! We can start tonight. After you’re done grading, of course. I’ll go watch the boys until then. Where might I find them?” Arthur steps back, and points at the door to Alfred’s room silently. He smiles at him, and walks toward it. Well shit. He’s royally fucked. ~

    “You have a stuffed polar bear?” Matthieu nods sheepishly. “Cool! Are they a comfort item? I have one of those! His name is Toni. He’s an alien!” He crawls up on his bed, and grabs Toni. “See? I sleep with him every night. Does yours have a name?” He nods once. “Nice! You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I know it can be personal.” He shrugs, and slides back down to the floor, holding Toni close. “What do you wanna do first? Dad’s still got to grade some, but we can start on the fun! They can join later. We’ll get the ball rolling. Whatever that means. I’ve heard dad use it a few times, so I know I’m using it right!” Matthieu giggles quietly. He really likes his brother. They’re each other’s opposite. Perfect for completing each other. He wraps his arms around him, giving him a big hug. “What’s this for?”

    “To show you how much I love you.” Alfred brings his arms up to hug him back.

    “I love you too! So much. And we’re going to love each other even more, as the night continues! I can’t wait for it.” Someone opens his door, and he turns his head to it. “Oh! Hello there! You must be Matthew’s dad! You’re very pretty, you know. Prettier than most women I know!” He chuckles softly.

    “Thank you. I’m glad to see you two getting along. Matthieu, do you want to change into your night clothes?”

    “Please!” Francis smiles fondly, and hands him his overnight bag.

    “Oh! Of course! You can change in my bathroom!” Alfred points at a door inside his room. “It’s over there!” How sweet of Arthur to give him the ensuite room. Though he did the same for Matthieu. They must think similarly. He watches his son walk into the room after pulling out his clothes. “Hey! You should change into your night clothes too! Jeans are uncomfortable.” He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout.

    “I have to cook first. But I will when I’m finished, alright?”

    “Pinky promise?” He holds out his hand.

    “Pinky promise.” He kneels, and grabs Alfred’s pinky with his own. The boy grins, and throws his arms around him. “Aren’t you quite the hugger?” He laughs. “I’m glad Matthieu made friends with someone so friendly.”

    “Matthew’s great! I love him already. He loves me, too! He told me so.” He pulls away to cross his arms over his chest proudly. “But I’m sure he loves you still! Just like I love my dad still.”

    “I’m sure he does. Love isn’t a limited feeling. The more it’s needed, the more it shows up.” Alfred furrows his brows slightly.

    “Matthew and I don’t love you both any less, but we love each other more than we did. Does that mean if you and dad come to love each other, you will still love us the same you already do?” Francis feels his cheeks heat up slightly in embarrassment. He picks Alfred up and brushes his nose against his cheek.

    “That’s right. We might love you both even more by then. If that happens. I’m not going to promise it will. But it could.” Alfred’s eyes light up.

    “Then you would move in together and Matthew and I would never have to be apart! Except for at school, but everywhere else we could be together!” He gasps. “We could have sleepovers every night!” He wiggles out of Francis’ arms and runs over to Matthieu, who’s just come out of the bathroom. “We have to get our dads together! We’d be able to have a sleepover every night! We’d live in the same house! Let’s get them together, pleeeeeeeeeeeease!”

    “Daddy says love isn’t something you can force. And they’d have to be in love for that to happen.” Alfred’s bottom lip trembles, and he starts crying. “Hey! Okay! Alright! We can try. Just stop crying. Please.” He wipes at his tears. “I don’t want to see someone I love crying.” He hugs him tightly. “Just don’t be disappointed if they don’t wind up loving each other, okay?” Alfred nods, hiccuping slightly from his outburst of tears. “Shh. I’m right here. I’ll soothe you.” He glances up at his father, who’s standing in the doorway with an amused expression. “Go find Arthur, Daddy! We’ll be fine!”

    “Yeah! We’ve got to plot! Shew! Go! You can’t hear any of this!” He laughs, and leaves the room without protest. He finds Arthur, and leans against the wall next to him.

    “Just thought you should know, our sons are plotting ways to get us together currently. They want a sleepover every night.” Arthur groans quietly, but doesn’t look up from his grading.

    “It was Alfred’s idea, wasn’t it? No need to answer, I know it was. I’d hate to disappoint them. Should we just let them plot for now?” Francis raises a brow.

    “Don’t you think we should stop it before it becomes something serious?”

    “I’ve never seen him this happy. I want to enjoy it a bit more before I tell him anything.” He sighs softly. “I knew it would come back to bite me in the ass when I told him boys could love boys, and girls could love girls. And everyone in between.”

    “I wondered why he used a neutral term for Matthieu’s polar bear. Now I know. He’s got a wonderful father.” He notices Arthur’s cheeks turn red.

    “I’m only teaching him love and acceptance. That shouldn’t mean I’m a wonderful father. It should be the norm.”

    “But it isn’t. And that’s what makes you wonderful for doing it. I’m teaching Matthieu the same things.” Arthur looks up at him. “It’s relieving, knowing I can make a friend with the same views I have about that.”

    “I suppose it is. But are we friends? We aren’t their age anymore. Looking at each other doesn’t make us friends.”

    “Maybe not. But I would say trusting me to watch your child, and trusting me to be in your house, counts as friendship. I view us as friends. Don’t you?” Arthur rolls his eyes, and goes back to grading.

    “I know you wouldn’t do anything. You’ve got a child as well. We aren’t friends because we don’t know much about each other.” Francis scoffs.

    “Then let’s change that. You’re an English teacher. I’m a chef. Your name is Arthur. Mine is Francis. We both have beautiful little boys that are actually twins. That alone should be enough for us to be friends.”

    “I really must finish grading. Please, leave me be. We can speak when we cook. Feel free to sit on the couch and watch something. I have a feeling Alfred and Matthieu will come out if they hear the television going.” Not wanting to push anything, Francis does as he’s told. Arthur was right; the two boys come out less than a minute after he turns on the television, and cuddle up to him and each other.

~

    “Well, good to see you three getting along.” Arthur smiles at them. Alfred launches himself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

    “You’re finished! Yay! Can we have macaroni and cheese tonight? And chicken nuggets!”

    “Some corn, too?” Comes Matthieu’s quiet voice. Before he can respond, Francis is speaking.

    “Of course you can.” He kisses both of them on the forehead, then looks at Arthur. “But I won’t stand for boxed food. Can you watch after Matthieu for a bit? I’m going to get ingredients.” He nods slowly. “Merci!” He pulls his car keys out of his pocket, and is out the door before Arthur can comprehend what happened.

    “Ooooooh! Chef food!” Matthieu lets out a snort of laughter. It reminds both of the people with him of his father’s amused laugh.

~

    “Sorry I ran out so fast. I was inspired. Can you put on a movie for the boys? Then meet me in the kitchen!” He hurries to the room, washing his hands while he waits on Arthur. He grins at him when he comes into the room a few minutes later. “Great! Wash your hands.” He does so silently. “Do you know how to make corn on the cob?”

    “Boil some water, right?”

    “Okay. Can you get some bowls for the chicken? I’m going to bread it.”

    “What? Is that not how you make corn?” Francis smiles sweetly at him.

    “It’s better in the oven.” Arthur blushes slightly. He feels silly now. Why has he never thought of that? “It’s alright. I don’t expect you to know all of my tricks. That’s why I’m teaching you. If you knew them already, there wouldn’t be a point in doing this.” Arthur nods slowly. That makes sense! He hurries to pull out some bowls for Francis. “You can boil some water for the macaroni though. After we make the noodles.” Make the noodles!? What on Earth!

    “Are we doing everything from scratch?”

    “Absolutely.” This is going to be a long prep. “Let’s see… Noodles first. They have to rest for a bit. I can cut the chicken while that happens.” He pulls out some ingredients, and starts whisking them together. He explains exactly what he’s doing to Arthur, smiling the entire time. Once the pasta is resting, he washes his hands again, and shifts to cutting the chicken into cubed pieces. He covers them in a flour, season salt, salt, and pepper mix, dips them in egg, then in breadcrumbs. He places each one carefully on a pan, placing them in the oven when he’s finished. Arthur’s stomach knots up nervously when he leans close to him to wash his hands. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He shakes his head quickly.

    “I think I can do that in the future.”

    “Good. They’re much healthier than anything store bought. And tastier. I’m sure Alfred will appreciate it.” He pulls away, and Arthur lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “On to the pasta!” He starts folding it delicately. Arthur… tries. And very miserably fails. “Here. Like this.” He takes his hands and moves them carefully, showing him how to do it. He can feel his heart beating fast. Francis is stunning. He feels special, having him here to teach him all of this. “Try on your own?” He does, focusing hard on the dough in front of him. He actually manages to make one.

    “I did it!” He smiles brightly, laughing a bit. “I didn’t think it was possible! Thank you!” He turns to hug him, and freezes. Right. They’re not close enough for that. He goes back to making pasta, head bowed and cheeks flushed. When they’re finished, Francis places them aside, washes his hands again, and fills a pot with water to boil it. Arthur washes his hands, and starts shucking the corn. At least he can do that! Francis watches him curiously, but doesn’t comment. Hopefully that means he’s doing good? He hands them off to the man when they’re clean, and he places them on a sheet to be buttered.

    “It’s sweet corn, so it’s better to only butter them. Other types you want to prepare differently.” Arthur nods. He’s actually understanding this! “Would you like to put them in?” He carefully takes the pan, and slides them into the oven, next to the chicken nuggets. He trusts that Francis knows what he’s doing. “Now for the macaroni.” He pushes them into the boiling water, and stares intently at them. He drains them way sooner than Arthur expected. Seeing his confusion, Francis explains it to him. “Fresh pasta cooks a lot faster.”     “Ah.” He bows his head again, blushing more. He glances up just in time to see his companion adding shredded cheese and milk to the noodles. “Even the cheese has to be made like this?”

    “It’s better this way, trust me.” He bites his bottom lip, and measures out some breadcrumbs. He tosses those into the macaroni and cheese, and stirs them in. That’s… interesting. “They’re really good. I promise.” He gives him a reassuring smile, then checks on the items in the oven. He pulls out the corn, but leaves the chicken nuggets. Maybe three minutes pass before he deems them done. He turns to grin at Arthur. “Doesn’t that feel better? Oh, by the way, you’re covered in flour from the pasta.” He brushes his shirt off lightly. Fuck. His hand is warm, and gentle, and Arthur steadfastly ignores the pleasure that comes from him touching his chest.

    “I should probably go change. You should, too.” He gives him a polite, slightly concerned smile. “You must be hot in that. I don’t know how you cook with sleeves.”

    “I guess I’m used to it. But oui, I’ll change too. Then we can all eat!”

~     Did Arthur already mention he’s royally fucked? Because he is. He’s been staring at Francis for the past two and a half hours. He only knows it’s been that long because that’s the length of the movie that just ended. He didn’t watch a second of it. “I’m glad we were able to tell the boys they’re actually twins. I think they took it well. Don’t you?” He looks at the two between them. They’re snuggled up to each other, asleep. Matthieu is beside Francis, and Alfred is beside him.

    “I think they’re happy to have each other in any way. Being brothers just makes it better.” Francis nods thoughtfully.

    “I’ve been thinking a lot about their plan to get us together.” Not this. Anything but this. “I don’t think we should ruin their fun.”

    “We have to. We can’t let them think there’s a possibility of moving in together sometime soon.” Francis looks him dead in the eyes.

    “Who’s to say there isn’t a possibility? I know you’ve been staring at me. For the entire length of the movie. Do you even know what we just watched?” His face turns crimson, and he jerks his head to the side. “I thought so. Don’t worry though.” He carefully reaches over the boys to grab Arthur’s hand and squeeze, causing him to look at him again. “The only reason I know you’ve been staring at me is because I’ve been staring at you. More discreetly, of course, but I have. You’re cute. And I love your eagerness to learn. I hope that exists in every category.” He winks at him, then runs his tongue along his teeth. Arthur shudders at the implications.

    “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he huffs out indignantly. Francis raises a brow at him. It’s a challenge. Are you sure this is the route you want to take? It is. “Besides, I’m only eager to learn because there’s so much I don’t know yet.”

    “I can teach you something right now, if you want.” He squeezes his hand again. “I know I want to.” He licks his lips.

    “That depends on what it is. And where our relationship stands if it’s what I think it is.”

    “It’s definitely not as bad as what you’re thinking it is. But I won’t do it if you aren’t willing. As for our relationship… Will you be my boyfriend?” There’s the word. That darn word that has Arthur’s face practically on fire from the embarrassment! He nods, feeling too shy to say anything. “Good. Now I want to teach you something.” He releases his hand, and carefully stands, making sure not to wake the boys. He picks Arthur up, still being cautious. “Where’s your room?”

This is your stopping point if you’re not reading the blowjob part

    “U-upstairs. First door on the right.” He clings to Francis tightly, stomach twisting nervously. He makes his way to the room, and sets Arthur down on the bed. To his relief, he doesn’t get over him. Instead, he kneels by the bed after locking the door. “Oh! You want to do that!” He covers his face. Wearing sweatpants wasn’t the best idea. It’s super easy to tell he’s horny.

    “Only if you’re okay with it.” He nods nervously.

    “I am.” Francis grabs both of his thighs from behind and squeezes reassuringly.

    “I promise to be gentle.” He presses a heated kiss to his bulge. Shit that feels good! It’s been too long since someone else touched him. He lets out a quiet whine.

    “More. Please.”

    “Non, not until you’re completely hard.” He kisses it again. Arthur’s breath hitches, and he tilts his head back. “You’re very sensitive. This will be fun.” He tightens his grip on his thighs, and sucks lightly. Arthur squirms a bit. This will be really fun. “Try not to wake Alfred and Matthieu,” he mumbles before tugging at his pants. He lifts his hips up, letting him slip them off easily. He can’t help but smile when he sees his underwear. “Superman.”

    “Shush. Alfred picked them out. He wanted me to know I’m his hero. Now continue. Please.” Francis nods, and sucks on his bulge again. He jerks slightly, letting out a faint squeak. He breathes out through his mouth to tease him, and is surprised to feel hands in his hair.

    “That’s how you want to play?” Arthur nods. Francis smirks, and bites down lightly on the fabric. His hair gets tugged on, and Arthur jolts slightly.

    “Fuck,” he breathes out. He reaches for his pillow, and brings it to his mouth so he can bite down on it. He’s not going to be able to keep himself silent. Francis bites down again, and he moans heartily into the fabric. His erection is already nearly as hard as it can be. “You’re good with your mouth,” he mumbles into the pillow.

    “I know I am~” He nips at it lightly, then tugs on his underwear. Arthur lifts himself up, letting him take them. He presses a kiss to the head with a smirk. “Beautiful,” he whispers before taking all of it into his mouth. Arthur is definitely going to take advantage of him seemingly not having a gag reflex. He bucks his hips, reveling in the quiet noise of surprise Francis makes. He pulls on his hair, guiding him up his shaft a bit. He pulls away from his pillow to talk.

    “It’s really hard to resist doing what I want, so I’m going to ask if it’s okay. I won’t do it if you say no, but I really want to fuck your mouth. Can I?” Francis’ eyes widen slightly. Arthur smirks, knowing that’s not what he expected. “What? I like being in control~” He watches the man shudder, then nod. Immediately, he starts moving his hips. Slowly at first, then a bit faster. Francis tightens his jaw slightly, causing him to drag his teeth along the top. Arthur shoves his pillow back in his mouth and moans loudly. He tries to make eye contact, but he tightens his jaw again. Arthur tosses his head back in pleasure as his teeth rake along the top and bottom. Francis brings a hand up, running it along his thigh. He pauses to fondle him for a moment, then continues back more. He pushes one finger into Arthur, and he screams into the pillow. He’s close! And coming undone.

    He tugs harder on his hair, now guiding his head back and forth, in time with his hip thrusts. “Oh God!” it’s loud enough to hear through the pillow. He lets himself enjoy it for a few more moments, before deciding he’s too close to tempt fate. He releases Francis’ hair and scoots back, but he comes with. “You want me to…?” He nods. Arthur flushes crimson, but grabs his hair again. He gives a few smaller thrusts, then a big one that pulls a scream-moan from his lips and lets him reach his release. He rides it out, thrusting a few more times, before releasing Francis’ hair for the night. He feels the finger slip out of him and shudders. They both pant heavily, not looking at each other. Just as he parts his lips to ask Francis if he wants the same done to him, he moans loudly, trembling with pleasure. “Did you just…?”

    “Masturbate while I was sucking you off and finish while I was swallowing down your release? Yes.” Arthur shoves his face into the pillow, completely embarrassed. He peeks out when he feels a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to clean up a bit. Then we should put the boys to bed. Can we sleep together tonight?”

    “You don’t need to ask,” he mumbles out shyly. He hugs the pillow to his chest, and sticks his tongue out at Francis. “I want you to sleep with me.” He smiles brightly. “And I’m happy to report you taught me some very valuable information that I will be using in the future. Hopefully the near future.” He winks at him. “Oh, and the bathroom is across the hall. Towels are in the linen closet.” He blows him a kiss as he opens the door. “Have fun, sexy.” His ears turn red and he leaves the room quickly. Arthur stands, stretching himself out. He’s not got any mess to clean up, so he pulls his clothes back on and wanders out into the hall. He meets up with Francis, who kisses him deeply. He doesn’t even mind not knowing if he brushed his teeth or not.

    “Let’s put those two to bed and make out until we fall asleep.”

    “That sounds wonderful.”

[josh-cole]

Jack & Josh / 30th Jan 2021

Group event rewrite

Josh lowers his voice to ask Jack, “you’re not drinking, are you?” He hadn’t planned to say it- it sort of just slips out now the man is in his space, his demeanour having changed in the short time he’d disappeared.

"No, of course I'm fucking not." He snaps back, not bothering to lower his voice like Josh had. He’d got nothing to hide. "Where’d you get off, asking shit like that?" How fucking dare he.

Flinching slightly, Josh frowns as he takes a step back just as Elijah presses a hand to Jack’s chest. “Woah, back off,” E says as he pushes Jack a few paces back. Stella instinctively reaches out to steady Jack- as the other man goes on to ask, “what’s wrong with you?”

“You've been back for five fucking minutes,” he spits, looking right past Elijah who tells him to calm down as his glare remains on Josh. He’s visibly angry, but he makes no move to approach Josh, his arms crossed over his chest defensively now. Stella nudges Jack, giving him a look.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Josh says. God, he really hadn’t meant to say it at all. The switch in Jack’s mood doesn’t help his case, but he wouldn’t dream of saying that now he’s seen how defensive he is about the subject. “I just—”

“I’m trying to have a good time.” Jack shrugs.

The small group falls into a tense silence: Elijah’s standing a fraction in front of Josh; Eric looks totally lost with what’s happening, not knowing whose side to be on; Jack and Josh don’t break their eye contact, although both of their faces begin to soften as they realise the short scene they’d made

“Maybe we should talk,” Josh suggests eventually.

Clearing his throat, Jack feels a little shaky as he straightens up and gives a stiff nod. "Probably, yeah."

Elijah looks hesitant as Josh’s shoulder brushes his own, stepping out from the arm Elijah had thought was necessary to guard him with. Still, though, he visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping as his gaze darts between the two of them

“We’re gonna...” Josh mutters vaguely and, without another word, he’s quick to lead the path away from the group, eager to get out from under their stares.

“We'll go into the back,” Jack finishes for him before he rushes to follow the man. The club is at its peak volume at this time of night, and it’s a task in itself to get through the crowd, but after a short while of weaving through the masses, Jack catches Josh’s arm as he almost passes the staff door. “Here,” he tells him as he punches in the code and presses it open. The lights in the corridor are bright enough to make Jack squint as he adjusts to the change.

Meanwhile, Josh gets the odd feeling that he’s in trouble as Jack unlocks another door, practically dragging his feet as the man holds it open for him to enter, still silent. He lingers near the door as Jack releases it and drags his hand through his hair as he makes his way toward the desk. He leans against it with his arms folded again, and Josh gets the hint that he’ll be the one breaking the silence.

“I wasn’t trying to be a jerk.”

Jack waits for the door to click shut before he says, "I just didn't expect for you to use it against me so soon," he admits, "it's been a long time Josh, a lot has changed."

Josh leans against the door, mirroring Jack as he folds his arms. “Not everything,” he mumbles, mouth betraying him once again.

Jack squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing two fingers over the lid as he searches his brain for a response - doesn't remember Josh being this cocky, but then… “You’ve got it all wrong.”

It’s a wonder Jack hasn’t said that sooner. When Josh had messaged him to tell him that Kevin would be taking over on his side, Jack hadn’t even responded. Josh had figured he was too busy to reply, probably at the dinner by then – the one Spencer was so angry he’d forgotten about.

“After everything you did to me, you’re still stuck to him - after all this time. And I heard what he said - about letting it go, I mean I—What do you think this is?”

He huffs. “A business partnership, Josh,” Jack stresses. Spencer and his big mouth. Suddenly everybody thinks Jack is pining over Josh except for Jack himself.  "Spencer and I aren't like that anymore,” he says instead of begging the man to believe him. Not that it's anything to do with you, he thinks.

His drinking habits and his sex life: two things that Josh thinks he has any say in, and two things he knows nothing about at all.

"Look, it's really not how you think. He's been a good friend in the city, nothing more,” he reiterates. Jack knows that Josh really has no reason to trust his word and he feels wired as he scours his brain for a better explanation. "I know Spencer's half the reason everything went to shit - but he's also one of the reasons I got out of it. You haven't been around long enough to see."

It’s probably wrong of Josh to feel such bitterness, listening to Jack tell him about how Spencer has helped him, but he forces his own feelings about the man aside to say, “I’m glad.” He’s still not sure just how much he believes him, but Josh isn’t sure he’s allowed to care enough to press either. With that thought in mind, Josh is sure to tell him, “I’ve moved on. I’m happy.” He looks down at his hands, shrugging. “But it’d still hurt, you know?”

“I know,” Jack says simply.

“Cutting you off was childish,” Josh admits then. “And I’m sorry.”

Jack regrets not putting up more of a fight when Josh had handed everything over to Kevin. He just feared that, if he did, it’d be a lifetime of back and forth. “Me too,” he admits. “But it was nice, the two of us getting along like that. It’s good to see you happy. Though it’s hard for me too, you know.”

Josh nods hurriedly, just glad to be having a pleasant conversation with him again. “I know. You seem happy too, though.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” he agrees, though normally he doesn’t really have a chance to think about that, “it’s crazy, huh”

Josh nods again, slower this time. “It is. Life is suddenly happening so fast.”

"For the past couple of years I've put my whole life into this place," Jack digresses. “I live for it. I love my job,” he tells him honestly, smiling now just to make his point as he taps his heel against the ground. “Nights like this make me excited!"

“I believe you, Jack,” he insists, the man’s sudden burst of energy bringing a smile to his own face.

"Great, I've just got to work on the other parts now." Just has to find a way to prove that Spencer is nothing to him but a pain in his ass. "If you'll give me chance after tonight?"

Josh hadn’t really considered that they’d have much reason to meet again after tonight. At friendly gatherings sure, but nothing worth Jack having to prove himself to Josh in order to clear the air. Still, he says, “Sure.” Let’s just... Start fresh.”

Now smiling up at the man Jack says, cockily "How about we keep the sex bit?" and before he has a chance to think maybe he's pushed his luck, he adds. "Right, get back out there. I bet Elijah's looking for you."

“Y-“ He scoffs, really trying not to laugh, his face heating up suddenly. “You think you’re funny.” He rolls his eyes as he hauls the heavy door open, still smiling as he steps back into the hallway and walks away from the room as the door swings shut behind him.

Jack chuckles as the man slips out of the room. He moves to sit at his desk, shaking the mouse until the screen lights up. After tapping in his password, Jack clicks to open a folder on his computer "Think? I am funny." he mutters to himself.

***

“There’s a pizza place right across the road,” Josh is telling Arthur over the music as they reach the bottom of the stairs, arms linked again, before his attention switches to Elijah who’s walking just a few steps behind them. “I need to catch up with Jack before I leave,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll be there over there in five minutes, though.”

He breaks away from the group and heads towards the main bar where he knows Trisha will be hovering. Josh is right: she’s leant against the bar, looking bored as she stares down at her phone, likely having run out of things to do now the club is only minutes from closing.

“Hey, you seen Jack?” He asks, leaning an elbow against the other side of the surface.

She startles slightly, apologising before pointing him over to the far side, where he spots the man sat on one of the tables along the outskirts of the room, feet propped up as he stares at his own phone. It takes him a moment, but he next spots Kevin, picking up glasses from the tables around Jack like he works there.

“Kev,” he calls with a frown as he crosses the now-empty space between them. “Is he paying you now?” He muses, glancing at Jack just as the man raises his head, his voice having stirred him from his trance.

Kev just shrugs, mumbling, “just keepin’ good.”

“Well we’re getting pizza across the road,” Josh offers as he takes the glasses from his friend's hands. “I’ve got these. Gotta catch up,” he explains, nodding towards Jack who is on his feet and stretching now.

“Neh, it’s fine, I’ll—”

“You head off, Kev,” Jack calls as he moves to join them. “You’ve helped enough,” he then adds as he rests a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Thanks so much.”

Kev releases the glasses that Josh has a grip of, seeming to hesitate a little. “Are you sure? I- I mean, I thought…”

“Of course, you go. Get a bite to eat,” Jack insists, and Kev still doesn’t seem eager to leave Jack and his staff to carry on recovering the place without him, but eventually gives a brief smile and heads for the exit, throwing an, “I’ll see you over there, Josh,” over his shoulder.

He’s a little wobbly on his feet, although he’s stopped drinking up on the roof. Josh can’t help his smile as he watches the man walk away before the security shuts the door behind him.

“His jacket’s in the back,” Jack only then notes in a monotone. “I did tell him that already.”

“Of course it is,” Josh rolls his eyes, chuckling at the fact. “Hey, tonight went well, right?”

Gesturing for the man to walk alongside him, Jack nods as he says, “absolutely. I’m about to cash up with Trisha, but the footfall was crazy tonight.” He’s left his jacket over on the table he’s just left and folds his sleeves up now as he walks. Reaching the bar, he says, “come ‘round here,” as he slips behind it, nudging Trisha with his hip to get to the cash register. “Check this out,” he says as he opens the drawer.

Inside is piles of notes and coins. In a few compartments though, is a pile of orange tickets, some folded and others screwed up, and Josh recognises them right away.

“That’s how many people are staying at the hotel, huh?” He observes, taken aback by seeing a physical version of the numbers.

“Well, no,” Jack tells him as he pulls the drawer out and gestures for Josh to follow him again. He does, looking mildly disappointed until Jack goes on to explain, “this is just how many people are staying at the hotel and got their first drink at this specific bar. I still have another four to go.”

“Shit,” he mutters, smiling over to the man. “All that worrying for nothing,” he thinks aloud.

Jack hums in agreement, having known from the start that Josh needn’t worry. “So I’m gonna send all the numbers to James tonight,” he tells him. “I’d rather do it before I go home. Kinda wanna know what they are myself, honestly,” he admits. “I could text them to you though? I know you’ll be wondering.”

“Sure,” Josh nods, grateful. “God, I’m glad it played out,” he gushes. “Who’d have thought you and I would actually work well together?” He Jokes.

“Hey,” Jack cuts in. “I never had a doubt.” They reach the next bar and he leaves the drawer on the side in favour of opening the next one. “Gonna take these two in the back. I’ll get the jacket for you,” Jack offers as he taps on the screen to open the register.

[1001galaxies]

Commentary on Netflix’s Cursed: Episode 2

Edited for language, because I have a few younger/more sensitive readers.

THE MONK SPEAKS. HOT DIGGITY DANG.

Well, DAYUM again. The monk meeting Squirrel is delicious. The LOOK in Daniel's eyes. The staging and lighting. A+

“Born in the dawn.” “To pass in the twilight.” I burst out laughing so hard. The cheesiness. But also. When it's DANIEL SHARMAN SAYING THE FIRST LINE, I mean. I M E A N.

Just watch, that’ll be the new 'may we meet again'.

Squirrel is a discount version of Blue from King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, but he's cute, so that makes up for a lot. And he does have some decent lines so far. “Do you hate them because they're so beautiful and you're so ugly.” “Even your horse is ugly.” “And I love horses.”

But, hang on, his line: “You're so ugly.” *looks at Daniel Sharman* *looks at Squirrel* *looks at Daniel* *blinks* Ah, kids.

Dang, they really do give Nimue every single flippin YA teen girl trope in the world, from both fanfic and traditional fic. Wow. That's impressive, even by my standards.

Joss: “Get up you murdering pig...tie him up...I think we've caught the big killer.” Me: You haven't caught anything, and if you think you have the upper hand with the MONK? Oh honey, you poor deluded fool.

Joss: “Ever been dragged by a horse with a hot coal up his bum?” Monk: “Not that I can recall.” Me: Dang, HIS VOICE. Me: Secondly, there are better ways to motivate horses than that, excuse you.

Monk: “I've got no interest in the boy. He's bait.” Joss: “Bait for what.” Me: Oh yeah, here we go, awriiiiiight. Monk: “For YOU.” *kicks Joss*

Who cares that Daniel is the bad guy, he's the only interesting one. Hot DANG, that roll over the horse. HE'S FIGHTING WITH HIS HANDS BOUND. Gives a new meaning to 'hands tied' Also dang. And WHAT DID I SAY, JOSS. You got owned.

Monk: *kills five or six people with //his hands bound//* Me: Now that's what I'm talkin’ about. Me: Wait, he just killed innocent people. Me: Eh, he’s still the best character so far.

How does Daniel manage to sound sexy saying “go.”

Every SINGLE time we come back to Nimue: Me: okay, booooooring.

Obviously, they’re going with the traditional representation of Bors as a brash lout. Eh. Why.

Can I have Bors played by Tom Hopper, please. He was a good Percival, but I'd like to see him play a surprisingly FUNNY and GENTLE and SMART Bors. Twist the traditional representation.

Ah yes. Cursed: LOOK AT US, WE'RE SO ENLIGHTENED AND SUBVERSIVE AND DIFFERENT that we're going to have the guy save the girl the same way 90% of all fantasy saves occur. Much impressed.

I mean, TELL her, Arthur, yes please. She didn't think, that's the problem. She just reacted with the sword. I get she’s a teen, but come ON, why must every single teenager ever—male or female—react with impulsive emotion. Not every single teen in the world always reacts with emotion first.

Well, this heroine rant is like every other YA fantasy heroine guilt-trip rant I’ve ever seen. I get being sad and emotional and being guilt-stricken because of how events have fallen out, but really on the wording? Really.

Arthur: “And I'm not a cutthroat.” And his head tilt. That's cute. Arthur is genuinely likeable so far, which is /good/. Also nice to see the guy taking care of the girl solicitously for once instead of the other way around. I do appreciate that.

And here we have the OH SO ORIGINAL trope where the heroine was bullied as a child and 'oh you made the village boys pay romantic attention to you with your magic' backstory. REALLY. REALLY NOW. I'm absolutely positive I've got YA fantasy heroine bingo at least twice over by now.

Nimue’s mum: “When you were five years old, you faced a dark god alone in the ironwood and survived.” Bingo again.

Let's play a game called: how many times can this show throw out a Game of Thrones reference/imitation?

IRONWOOD. REALLY? REALLY. Here's the thing. a) Game of Thrones did this already and called it the Godswood, and if you think people aren't going to see what you did there, you 100% have another think coming. and b) THE LAST TIME I CHECKED TRADITIONAL FAE LORE, iron KILLED and/or BURNED fae. But THAT is what you unironically* called your SACRED WOOD THAT PROTECTS YOU???? *Only being 2 episodes in, maybe I'll find out later that it was/is an ironic name, but it suuuuuuure doesn't seem like it so far.

Nimue’s mum: “You are not some fragile maid, you are a warrior..." Me: She's going to say 'and you are strong'. Nimue's mum: "And you are strong." Me: See, this isn't even fun. There's no challenge to this. Also, YA fantasy trope bingo again.

Arthur: "It's a rare blade, I'm not sure I've seen its like." AT LEAST THAT is a decent line. Normally, they say “I've never seen its like” with this awed tone, but he's just factually observing. Cool, cool.

ARTHUR WITH THE SWORD. I'm going to be an Arthurian geek for just a minute and revel in this. I know there's more to this story. Much of it is dead boring. But I'm just going to enjoy this minute because //Arthur with the sword//.

I really did not expect to like this Arthur. He's nothing extraordinary yet, but he's fun. Without being a copycat of BBC's Merlin or King Arthur: Legend of the Sword. He's just a young knight (possibly a prince somewhere along the line??) who is genuinely caring, not super arrogant, and just a DECENT AND FUN GUY. So far.

Arthur: “I've seen a lot of lives wasted fulfilling the dreams of the dead.” YES? FINALLY? SOMEONE SAID IT? I'm here for this. Call out that fantasy trope that is all well and good in some doses but is basically THE FOUNDATION OF EVERY SINGLE YA FANTASY ARC EVER, and it's so annoying. Give us some VARIETY now and then.

Nimue to Arthur: “Spoken like a true mercenary.” No, spoken like the only sensible person in the show so far, Nimue, you twit.

AW YEAH. YOU TELL HER, ARTHUR. She's shrugging off everything you say AFTER ASKING FOR YOUR HELP. Geeeeez. It’s so annoying when people do that.

Arthur: “Get an hour of sleep.” Implied: Everything looks better after sleep + you’ll need your strength. Me, who hates sleep: I feel so attacked right now. ...But he’s right.

Merlin is TOTALLY fantasy Haymitch.

Veiled Lady: “You told us the sword of the first kings was destroyed. You lied.” Okay, so MAYBE Merlin's getting mildly interesting...but are they going to do a good job with it? DOUBTFUL.

Veiled Lady: "This affects all of us, not just you. The fae are on the verge of extinction." Um, THEN WHY EXACTLY ARE YOU DOING NOTHING ABOUT IT? Is this another ‘we can’t bend the rules of heaven for mere earthlings’??

Veiled Lady: “If the church acquires the sword of power, then they will decide who wears the crown. Have you forgotten the words?” Merlin: “Forgotten them? I WROTE THEM.” Me: Okay, that's a good delivery. Merlin: “Whosoever wields the sword of power shall be the one true king.” Me: And a nice mocking accent on that, Oooh yeah, I like. Merlin: “But I'm wiser now. There IS no one true king.” Me: Huh. Now see, that's slightly interesting. Give me more of that.

Pretty sure they told Gustaf to model his Merlin on Starz Camelot's Merlin, “but make him fun and drunken.” He's got that whole Fiennes vibe going on, but also definitely fantasy Haymitch. (Someone else on tumblr said Jack Sparrow, and I could see that one too, thought not as much yet. Where I am, Merlin doesn’t seem super keen on adventuring for the sake of adventuring. He has the bitter past and cynicism of Haymitch right now. Maybe he’ll get more Jack Sparrow-y as this goes on.)

MERLIN HAS NO MAGIC BECAUSE HE GAVE IT TO THE SWORD, okay, that right there is a GOOD element, and chock full of potential. Especially his bitterness. And his insistence that he won't touch the sword again. Are they going to do a good job of using it? Dollars to donuts, NO. Ugh.

Veiled Lady: “I sense fear around the sword. But also great power.” And here we have our Galadriel imitator. Dang, I need TWO more bingo cards.

Veiled Lady: “The sword is finding its way to you, Merlin, but which end of the sword, the point or the pommel, is another question.” Me: *snorts* Cute.

Merlin: "The sword was forged in the fae fires, and to the fae fires it shall return. I shall melt it back to its origins."

Let's play another game called: how many times can this show imitate LOTR?

Veiled Lady: "You are aware the fae forges burned out a thousand years ago?" Yeah, cause Frodo and Sam destroyed Mount Doom, guys, go read your history.

Veiled Lady: “Oh dear.” Veiled Lady: “Tell me you're not planning to steal from him. Without your magic.” Merlin: “I still have my wits and my charm.” Veiled Lady: “I fear you overestimate both.” Ahem, the lady has a point.

CONCLUDING THOUGHTS:

- Arthur is still interesting. That could change super quickly, but so far, I like him.

- The Monk is beautiful, and I'm so here for upcoming stuff I won't talk about, but also for his arc period and more interactions with Squirrel.

- Squirrel is cute, but nothing above the average so far. Still, better than almost anyone else on the show.

- Merlin has the potential to be intriguing, if only they use it.

- Obviously, I'm going to keep watching.

Footnote:

I saw spoilers today about the Monk’s arc, and I'm HERE FOR IT, so here, so beyond here for it, GIVE ME THAT RIGHT THE HECK NOW. IT'S THE ONLY REASON I HAVE ANY EXCITEMENT FOR THIS SHOW RIGHT NOW.

THE WEEPING MONK AS *SPOILER* I. CAN'T. FREAKING. WAIT.

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S4 E3: So Many Dragons in This One

Y’all so I’m like getting over a pretty nasty cold that’s pretty much wiped me clean like a hard reset and this episode coinciding with it is something else because this episode is essentially a fever dream start to finish.

First off:

If your mind didn’t immediately start playing ska-like alt rock and go through every lyric from “Escape From the City” then I can’t help you. Because that’s where my mind directly went and stayed for the entirety of this episode.

Back in the museum, Yugi learns about some more crypto-history.

Because Y’all, Yugioh just LOVES to screw with history. I mean we’ve already seen what they did to Seto Kaiba’s timeline, but get a load of what they’re about to do with world history.

(Arthur now has the USA gradient because I was at a loss of how else to describe Arthur. If Bandit Keith comes back then I’ll be mixing fonts, yet again.)

This was done mostly to recap the last 3 seasons, but also to drop in some brand new lore that came out of freakin nowhere.

Atlantis.

Yes, he said Atlantis.

(read more under the cut)

In the actual dialogue of the show, Tea mentions she read a single book about Atlantis once in her life, and then Joey and Tristan go “Tea, you nerd!” and it’s like wow the standards are low in this group. One single book, boys? That’s all it takes to be a nerd? When you have any of the KAIBAS right over there? One single book is the requirement?

Starting to think no one in this universe knows what a nerd is.

So the underwater cave dwelling from a few episodes back is none other than the Atlantis ruins. I feel like this should be a way bigger deal in terms of like all of history, since in this universe, Atlantis is time wise at the dawn of (checks wikipedia)...proto-writing...and yet they seem to really have their math and large construction science down.

The arch wasn’t really utilized (I hesitate to say “discovered” as it is an arch) until about 2000 BC or so. Good on the Atlanteans, I guess?

Don’t know why we’re getting so sidetracked by cards when a civilization 10000 years ago could make immense underwater 60 ft castles that don’t immediately collapse under the pressure, but this is the Yugioh universe and everyone’s card addiction runs strong and true.

It just seems funny to me that Hawkins, who devoted I want to say like 60 years of his life toward becoming a walking encyclopedia about Egypt, got super sidetracked and ended up 10000 leagues under the sea in Atlantis. He just threw all that Egypt work completely to the wind and basically changed his career at age I dunno 70 or so. Or maybe this guy is only 50 but he just seems super way old to me.

(And raising his granddaughter for some reason? Hell knows what happened to Rebecca’s parents, but knowing Yugioh, it will probably be really, really tragic.)

So then, although Atlantis is in our world and under the sea, Hawkins decides to throw another fast one on us.

(I just chose a random number, but Buzzfeed decided Washington was 34th. Which is wild.)

Bro took this moment to explain to me in great and excruciating detail that the Atlanteans in Aquaman did in fact invent tanks. Aquaman is his favorite. Ya, I know.

So I thought “ah, this is the Shadow Realm” (since we have seen Bakura just make a monster a real boy before) but then it became kind of unclear if the Shadow Realm is a different realm than this other realm which is just where the nice monsters live. So um...I’m still not sure about that one, I’ll get back to you when it’s made clear (I may never get back to you on that one)

Then Rebecca decides to drop this lore about the ghost that lives in Yugi Muto’s head that we’ve been *pretty Sure* up to this point was strictly Egyptian dealing with strictly Egyptian things.

I am not entirely sure how we’re going to take a guy who lived 5000 years ago and explain why he’s living now in AD 2002 Yugi Muto’s head because of some guy 10000 years ago. But they’re going to try.

Like I’ve heard this referred to as a filler season, because it uh did not happen in the Manga. So, legally, they can’t really touch the manga at all (and I assume they were probably waiting for the manga to finish at this point), and so we’re just gonna...pull Atlantis out of nowhere because the nice thing about Atlantis is that it is so freakin old that it is well outside of copyright. Completely fair use. But it’s still kinda wild.

Also, Yugi made sure to off-handedly tell us that most of the monsters who’ve invaded their world have been very, very, nice, and that’s why everyone has been so chill.

I mean. OK?

You still have literal dragons flying around but apparently only some of the dragons are mean and attack, the rest just chill and float around like a fish or something. Personally, I wouldn’t be thrilled by this.

Hawkins notices Yugi’s enchanted dead guy necklace, and without asking “so...does this belong to a dead guy? Did you get this from the dead guy’s corpse? Yugi? Yugi, look at me. Yugi, young man, is this another dead guy necklace you’ve been carrying around in your pocket because I feel like I see a problem here, buster.”

Hawkins suggests, instead:

Oh OK...that’s a lot to take in.

Didn’t expect giant possessed lady statues but it’s a nice spooky touch. Can’t have enough giant possessed lady statues in your anime, honestly.

Also, I’m really glad they gave this skinny lady statue a double chin.

And after all that, Hawkins decides he’s done with his one single afternoon in Japan, and he’s going to go and travel 16 hours back to the US stuck in a plane within hearing distance of Rebecca. Worth that 32 hour round trip for that one afternoon in Japan (or actually one way is 4 hours longer than the other way or something? I forget the details.)

And like the show had him blush and then Tea got mad, but like Yugi also blushed when Mai gave him a note once that said “thanks for the help!” so I feel like Yugi just shuts down completely whenever he has to deal with girls.

Maybe this is just the face Yugi makes when he quickly enters the pyramid zone and is like “Pharaoh, it’s getting mad weird out there!” And Pharaoh’s just sitting on his throne eating cheese whiz straight out of a can in star pj’s with matching bootspants and he’s like “My Gods, Yugi! If I’m here, and you’re here, who’s driving the plane!?” and then they just start shrugging at eachother about who has to go on the date this time until Yugi snaps out of it.

ah, a disembodied voice.

Literally thought it was my own voice.

It keeps Yugi up for a while, but when has Yugi ever fallen asleep right away on this show?

After Yugi calms down enough to go the hell to bed, we zoom back to our Xtreme sports boys who have finally decided to stop Tony Hawking all over this island long enough to deliver the sober news that Gurimo is freakin dead.

Which they barely brought up at all because who freakin cares about Gurimo? This guy sure didn’t.

Cool. Good plan.

Hard to rebuild civilization without people. Just throwing that out there.

But ya. Lets go end mankind on Episode 3. Thought it would take a little bit longer for him to get enough soul juice but apparently he’s good on the soul juice from these three juicy cards that have no souls (I thought).

3 God Cards + 1 Gurimo - 1 Rex - 1 Weevil = Destroy Humanity

First, a dream sequence.

This is one bizarre ass dream sequence and like...I don’t even know if I have much to say because it’s like...so out of left field and both out of the lore of this show and just barely inside the lore enough for it to work.

Still feels hella out of nowhere though.

That may be just the Dayquil talking.

Either way, we get to have Yugi run around in pjs again, but unfortunately they have no stars so I just don’t freakin care when see it. I get that stars are hard to animate and he’s a year older and maybe grew out of the star pj’s but c’mon. We had a good thing going, show.

But they hear a voice within the pyramid, and I’m using Tea’s font color here but it’s not Tea, it’s another girl who is...a lot like Tea honestly.

So up to this point we’ve accepted that the puzzle is all of Pharaoh’s mysteries and also mixed with the memories of Yugi as well. We have a room of short term memory (that pharaoh never uses) full of little clones of Yugi’s friends. We have a room full of all the lego pieces that Yugi lost over his young life (and 2 very cursed tamagachis.) We have a room that has a gigantic guardian Dark Magician who almost killed Shadi once. We also have several rooms that are just traps that can basically kill you, or if you are Shadi, just totally set you on fire, because screw Shadi.

Also it has this room:

But we find a new room that is like an entire fantasy realm and it’s like...so what memory is this?

Somewhat confusing if you’re me and you’ve assumed up to this point that everything in the puzzle has something to do with Pharaoh’s past. Apparently there’s just a door to another world in here they just never knew was here.

Just this entire time Yugi and Pharaoh were completely unaware that they had a DOOR TO ANOTHER WORLD in their necklace. Which, as I mentioned before, is where all the duel monsters live, but looks nothing like the Shadow Realm, which we’ve seen before.

And like honestly I kinda just figured at first that the giant eye was supposed to be there eating dragons, as if this was some sort of cycle of life for the duel monsters, to be a dragon, grow old, and then get devoured by the eyeball in the sky to start over again as nutrients to feed the baby dragons.

But in fact the eye is Not Normal and we should be alarmed by it.

Very hard to know what should and should not be normal when I’ve never seen this place before, also it has three crystal dragons that I guess the other monsters MUST be worshiping or something because check out the purple tile palace they made just for these crystal dragons.

Like this made me ask a LOT of questions about the civilization of duel monsters. Like who made this? Did a bunch of Kuriboh make this? Hell does this civilization works and is it a monarchy and are there castes?

Do they do taxes?

And then we meet her, the voice asking for our help, it’s this girl. Dark Magician girl. Nice to finally meet you. Wish it had a little more build up and made more sense.

We’ve talked to this chick before. She was digital at the time, but she kind of pretends that she already knows Pharaoh and Yugi and they kinda just...take this as it comes. I mean there wasn’t much time to deliver this dialogue so they were like, if the lady in the cornucopia hat says so, I guess we have to do the thing.

It is nice that we do finally get an explanation for why Pegasus could make all these cards but could not resurrect his dead wife--being that she is...not from this world.

But like now the puzzle not only dives into Pharaoh’s past but is also just a straight up a dimension portal. You can just...visit these people whenever? I guess?

I was getting used to the puzzle being a very large metaphor, and I wasn’t actually prepared for it to have a utilitarian use like a Stargate. This asks a lot of questions, but put those questions aside because we have to adopt this dragon by pulling a huge ass sword out of it’s right eyeball.

This show is SO mean to eyeballs.

She explains that there was some lore that lead to this sword being plunged into this buddy’s eye over here but I forgot it already. It was like half a sentence and then it was gone and I’m on Dayquil and I’m sure it’ll come back. At some point they’ll bring it all full circle, I’m sure.

Like if this happened in a dream then does this place even exist on a mortal plane at all? Can it only be accessed through dreams and being dead? It’s kind of a fascinating concept since these duel monsters have to be summoned through paper, which has all sorts of relevant meaning in a lot of Eastern mythologies.

Stuff I’ll never know because say goodbye to the Duel Monster Land that Apparently-Exists-Now-And-Absolutely-Always-Existed,-Stop-Thinking-About-Who-Invented-Tanks,-It-Was-Obviously-The-Atlanteans-10000-Years-Ago, we’re gonna go and take this huge ass dragon we have no business inheriting but are anyway because the dumbass ghost in our brain has this grand reputation that he banished some sort of evil 5000 years ago but has absolutely no memory of how the hell he did that or what even occurred, and because of his completely wiped bean, this makes him a complete idiot at best and a complete psychopath at his absolute worst.

But yeah, lets take this dragon and see what happens.

You gotta bring furniture, but the dragon is free. 2 bedrooms, no rugs, it’s free.

I just realized we got a dragon and not the sword. Only in this anime.

And then he wakes up to the last thing I expected.

It was nice of Yugi to take the time it took for him to get entirely dressed and ready, but I guess if the world has to end you gotta go out in style. Which for him means his school uniform because, although Yugi absolutely hates this school for some reason, he has a lot of pride for it. Just a crazy amount of school pride for how rarely he attends school and for the lengths he went to get out of soccer practice that one time. But will Yugi be caught dead in anything but his school colors? No.

HOW IS THIS CITY STILL STANDING.

Also Kaiba must be having a wild time on the top of Kaiba Tower but maybe he took a helicopter a while back to go on a world dragon tour because we didn’t hear a peep out of him this entire very Very VERY dragon-centric episode.

Really weird how many dragons there are with so few Kaibas. It’s like the moment they turned around, every dragon on Earth came out of hiding to throw a huge ass dragon party.

PS get a load of this dragon.

Why would you ever give a dragon an ass?

I don’t even know how this is possible because it doesn’t have a butt crack, but it’s got serious ass going on. It’s the Lizzo of dragons, when you set it to defense mode, it probs just twerks to intimidate the other side.

(Yugi’s friends are so freakin patient OMG)

Also how the hell can Yugi play this card on his duel disk if neither Kaiba or Pegasus have any idea this card exists? Magic, I guess? The duel disk is part magic?

Not like it matters much, we know from Bakura that you don’t need a duel disk to make real boy cards if you have a millennium item anyway.

So at this point I’m like...I think I watched the last episode of the season, I think it’s...out of order and bro was like “nope...it’s Episode 3. We’re still on Episode 3.”

And so after that it closed the...dimension joining portal, which was a Golden Compass style aurora borealis, then Dark Magician Girl returned to her home planet.

...Which is also dangling around Yugi’s neck.

This was a lot.

I have a lot of questions.

Everyone in domino SHOULD have a lot of questions but I think they all went back to bed.

A tornado with a GLOWING EYE tried to destroy their city, and they just rolled over and went back to bed.

This season sure takes off really quickly holy crap.

Now fair warning, because I’ve been hella sick the next recap is uhh...a huge mess so it will probably be a week or so before I post it/even get to it. At some point I started numbering them completely wrong and I either saved 10 caps to a different folder or I never made them in the first place and I honestly am not entirely sure. Last week is kind of a blur and it’s a mess on my desktop right now, so my pacing is gonna reflect that because I am...behind...on everything.

Oh dude and actually now that I look at what date it freakin is, I have to go to one of my best friends weddings real soon so can we just say...it might be a few weeks before I can steadily update again? I have to learn a whole dance routine for this giant wedding and y’all, I am not a dancer. And, while my friends have had dance classes since they were like 5, I’m like...low key extremely certain I will fall completely on my ass. Anyway, there is no way out of this situation I thought would never actually happen, and thought was just a funny idea they invented when they got drunk at the bachelorette, but nah, they remembered, and this is really happening but the bride will think it’s funny so here we go.

PS this dance is to the only existing mashup of Bollywood and N*syncs Bye Bye Bye (which, yes, it is a breakup song) I hope you feel the second hand embarrassment through your computer, I am dancing for 300+ people. Directly following the groom’s parent’s dance, which is 10 minutes long, and for which they hired a professional choreographer. We are the only dance out of four epically spectacular dances that is from the bride’s side, and our dance is...2 minutes and the equivalent of a high school lipsync.

TBH I'm low key excited to do it because potentially it could be a really great story depending on the reaction of what happens.

Anyway, so if I disappear for a while only to post fanart I’ve drawn out of stress, that is what I’ve been doing in the background. I’ve just been trying to remember how to do the Bye Bye Bye dance correctly for 2 straight weeks while feverishly trying to catch up with all my other work.

Also, because I mentioned George Washington, I had to go and find the horny grandma clip from Gilmore Girls and I’m so glad that two people on the internet managed to clip it, and I can’t believe the only two people who’ve clipped this did it with their phones. In fact, kudos to this youtuber for videoing a Tablet with his phone, because there’s no better way to watch a show from the 00′s than to make you feel really illegal about it.

[ciarawritesmarvel]

the trouble with wanting [2] - steve rogers x reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: There might be swearing? I can’t be bothered to check tbh I need to get this out quick before I go out...

A/N: Chapter Two of mine and my love @spiderrpcrker‘s entry to Fic Wars, and awesome challenge by @revengingbarnes and @chillingbucky who are such lovely and wonderful people - I am so sorry to be so late for this! Tanya’s first chapter was quite something so I hope I don’t disappoint and also hope you’re all doing perfectly well <3

Chapter One // Series Masterlist

---

She had never missed a day of work before. Ever. In her life.

Sure, she’d been ill before, but then she’d taken whatever pills would get her through the day and soldiered on, bolstered by the joy she derived from her job in the first place. There had been funerals missed because work was just too important (nobody she was close to, of course) and weddings that she hadn’t been able to make the bachelorette party for on the Friday before and parties that she simply hadn’t been able to go to, all because work was everything and she wasn’t going to miss a single second of it.

They were going to be so mad at her now.

She’d put on her favourite dress, the one with the floral pattern and the flare at the waist, paired it with her favourite pumps, a pick me up that had proved helpful. As her heels clicked against the corridor floors, she smiled, enjoying the familiar sound. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard a voice that told her to get a life, but she ignored it. She had other peoples’ lives to worry about.

30 other people, in fact. And they were quite little, and rather dependent on her and she could not believe that she had left them to fend for themselves yesterday.

They would have had a supply teacher, but that was so not the point.

At just the thought of not having been there for them, it was as if her pace picked up of its own accord and she began speed walking through the halls, taking a right to cut through the sports’ hall, then a left into the corridor, a quick right-left until she came out into the playground and spied her little hut. Her own little paradise.

It was true that when she’d first been assigned the hut as her classroom, she had been more than just a bit pissed off. But a lick of paint bought with her own money here and displays that would rival even Sharon in the best classroom in the house and she was pretty proud of what she’d done with a less than ideal situation. Now, when classrooms were assigned, she would always ‘take one for the team’ and offer to take her little hut.

She practically skipped up the stairs and deftly unlocked the door, smiling in relief as she saw the classroom relatively unscathed after a day without her. Of course, there were a few things out of place that she quickly set right and then she began with her usual routine, writing the date on the board and the title for the morning’s lesson, setting out the materials on each desk, scarcely referring to her lesson plan as it was so carefully rooted in her brain already.

A glance at the clock. 8:58. She smiled. Wide.

Last few touches and she was ready, skipping back outside and onto the playground where she spotted most of her kids playing and waiting for the bell to ring. As soon as it did, she gave them a wave and they came rushing over to line up.

“Miss Y/L/N! You’re here!”

“We missed you so much!” “Where were you?”

“Maisie, don’t ask that!”

“Why not?”

“Just...cause!”

She shook her head fondly, promised she’d answer anything they had to ask a little later on and lead them all into the hut. Today was going to be a better day than yesterday, she was sure.

---

It was the afternoon. She’d managed to get the kids quiet by promising that she’d answer any and all questions in ‘storytime’ at the end of the day instead of a book, to which they all heartily agreed. Literacy had been a piece of cake, fractions a little more difficult and now they were just finishing off a timeline of the 1900s in groups. A normal day. The juxtaposition was still a little shocking.

“Okay guys, we ready for storytime...or question time, rather?”

A cheer rang out among them as they ran to sit on the carpet, crossing their legs with ease and leaning forward in eager anticipation. She tugged a chair over in front of them and grinned at them as she sat down.

“Miss?” Arthur had his hand up and she nodded at him, “Where were you yesterday?”

Somebody nudged him in an attempt to quiet him down, as some of the more mature students realised that perhaps that wasn’t the best question to ask but she said she would explain, promised even, so she had to follow through on that one.

“Well, the night before, I went on a date-”

A sudden ‘oooh’ overtook them and she laughed outright, tipping her head back a little.

“-but he didn’t show.”

The ‘ooh’s cut out as quickly as they appeared and were replaced by about 20 embarrassed faces and 10 who looked adorably angry.

“Anyway, I was in the bathroom when I began hearing some loud shouts and…” she trailed off, trying to word this right when Sarah gasped.

“You were in that restaurant? The one that was attacked?”

The other kids started gasping then, turning to each other in horror and she was quick to reassure them.

“Yes, I was Sarah. But I’m fine, as you can see,” she held her hands out calmly, “Mainly because...well because somebody saved my life.”

“WHO?” came lots of tiny voices, totally enraptured by her tale and she bit her lip.

“Captain America.”

Her voice came out hushed but the impact was loud. The children began talking over each other all at once, to the point where she couldn’t make out a word of what any of them were saying. She could see that all of them looked excited, but for some reason Sarah looked practically giddy and her and Maisie seemed to be shaking each other in happiness.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough, guys, that’s enough!”

It took them a few more moments but they soon quietened down.

“Any questions, I want hands up only,” she warned, only to see every single hand fly up in the air instantly. She sighed. Perhaps this hadn’t been her best idea ever.

---

30 minutes and seemingly hundreds of questions later, it was home time and for once, it didn’t feel it could come soon enough. Of course, not because of the kids, but because if she had to answer one more question on ‘what Captain America smelt like’ she might just lose her mind.

As she let the kids go one by one to their guardians, Sarah seemed to be hanging back to the end and she crouched down to her eye level when it was just her remaining.

“Everything okay, Sarah? Is your dad not here yet?”

She didn’t answer and instead, with a strength that surprised her, Sarah grabbed her hand and began pulling her along behind, giggling as she went. She staggered to a standing position and followed reluctantly, eyes narrowing.

“Sarah, could you tell me where we’re going please?”

“This is going to be so good!”

She was cackling and Y/N was beginning to feel very uneasy. She led her around the wall of the playground and just as she was about to pull out of Sarah’s grip and ask her what the hell was going on, there was a man in front of her that she had to rear back from not to bump into.

“Hey prin-” Steve stopped short as he pulled his baseball cap and sunglasses off to greet his daughter only to be met with another figure as well. When he recognised just exactly who this figure was, he balked, “YOU?!”

She blinked. Blinked again. Stared slack jawed between Sarah and Captain freaking America. When she’d sufficiently composed herself, she turned to Sarah with a kind smile.

“Sarah, sweetheart,” she said slowly and calmly, but with an edge of a wobble in her voice, “Is Captain America your father?”

“...yes, Miss Y/L/N,” she giggled uncontrollably, face contorting and Y/N pressed her lips together as she nodded solemnly.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath and Capt- or Steve as she should really call him shook his head in disbelief.

“I knew your surname sounded familiar!” he said triumphantly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips and she rolled her eyes at herself.

“A kid called Sarah Rogers, and it never even crossed my mind...I’m thick,” she declared and Steve quickly looked horrified.

“Oh no, you’re not thick! I mean, who would think that?” he said and she shrugged, supposing he was right, “It’s nice to see you again, anyway, Miss Y/L/N, safe and sound.”

There was only a hint of a tease in his tone and she kind of liked it anyway. She decided to play along, if only a little.

“All thanks to you… Mr Rogers.”

They held eye contact for just a moment too long, before she came to her senses and returned her gaze to the ground, coughing slightly.

“Anyway,” she said pointedly, “I don’t want to keep you from getting this one home.”

She ruffled Sarah’s hair just a little and Sarah rolled her eyes, taking her dad’s hand and grinning up at him.

“Right,” he agreed, averting his own eyes to his daughter and returning her smile, “Ready to go, sport?”

She nodded excitedly and Steve turned back to Y/N. His smile stayed put.

“I’ll see you soon, Miss Y/L/N.”

She simply smiled shyly in response and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she gave Sarah one final wave and turned away, heading back through the playground and into the hut. She decided to take her marking home tonight. She needed to go home, right now.

“I love Miss Y/L/N! Don’t you, daddy?”

Steve swung their joined hands back and forth between them. He didn’t answer.

He didn’t even hear her speak.

[inkribbon796]

Loose Lips, Sink Ships

Summary: Secrets, secrets, never tell . . . Secrets, secrets, just as well. Sometimes secrets are harmless, like the fact that Roman has a chronic case of losing the remotes and they don’t actually grow wings. But for Virgil and some of the other heroes, they’re a bit more serious. Too bad the Jims have no sense of the words: “keep out”.

A/N: No ships were harmed in the revealing of secrets. Just Virgil’s peace of mind. ALSO! Just wanted to put it out there I’m really glad I didn’t commit to a name for Deceit, might come out with a bonus fic this weekend for Deceit, cause I’ve got Sanders Sides on the brain.

Marvin would always swear up and down that it was an accident.

The magician had always been good at brewing potions. They took time, and Marvin prided himself on the fact that he could succeed where others failed, or even weren’t so good at. So of course he could make about any type of potion that wasn’t necessarily “above board” to make. I.E: love potions and truth serums. Both of which didn’t last nearly as long as fiction liked to say they lasted for.

However, when the Jims walked into a relatively packed common room with a huge grin, everyone knew something was up with them.

Eric, Patton, Virgil, and Randall were all watching a movie, a little bit of downtime before Patton and Virgil stepped back out. King was in the kitchen arguing about the coffee maker with Ethan and Roman. And Jackie, who was just watching the room, took one look at the Jims and thought, “Oh no, what are they up to this time?”.

“Party’s in the house!” RJ screamed and threw the glass potion he’d been hiding behind his back onto the floor. It smashed into pieces and quickly began to fill up the space.

A silvery smoke instantly flooded the room, more smoke than could have possibly fit inside that little glass orb.

Everyone in the lobby area began coughing, the smoke physically forcing them to breath it in. Jackie used his super speed to open the door and force the smoke out into the open air.

“Fook!” Jackie coughed, “what was that?”

“Not a glitter bomb,” RJ shrugged.

“I thought the label said it was a glitter bomb,” CJ agreed.

“Yeh fookers are mad,” Jackie spat. “Where’d you even get it?”

“Marvin’s study,” CJ answered. “He was working on something else.”

“Then why’d you take it?” Anxiety shouted. “What even was that thing?”

Both of the Jim Twins looked at each other, and then shrugged at the same time.

“Helpful,” Virgil glared at them.

“Okay, so we gotta figure out what it does,” Patton added. “Do you think it’s going to hurt anyone outside?”

“Nah, it was starting to dissipate when it hit the air outside,” Jackie said, zipping over to check outside for a second “Yep, coast’s all clear.”

Patton let out a sigh of relief, “Okay, that’s good.

“Maybe we could ask Marvin,” Randall asked.

“Good idea,” the Jim twins began at almost the same time. “We’ll go find him.”

Then they looked at each other with confusion.

“Nah uh,” Ethan walked over. “I don’t trust the two of you with shit. I’m coming with.”

Once the three of them were gone, Roman commented, “What if it only works on twins. Oh no! Will I be forced to share a mind with Remus again.”

“Shoot me,” Virgil groaned.

“No, you don’t really mean that do you?” Patton asked in concern.

“Of course not,” Virgil said. “It just slipped out.”

Patton looked relieved, and then tears started prickling his eyes, “Oh good, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Then Patton raced over and wrapped his arms around Virgil, the more anxious Side stiffening up like a cat that had been suddenly picked up.

“Come on, Pat, let me go,” Virgil struggled.

“Why don’t I ever get a hug from you?” Roman complained.

Jackie had his head in one of his hands, his phone starting to ring for Marvin. He was getting impatient, even more so when Marvin didn’t answer him. “Come on, we need to figure out what we got hit with.”

Marvin walked in with Ethan and the twins, and Jackie immediately stomped over to him.

“Hey Marv, what the hell?” Jackie spat. “What’d they steal?”

“I can’t tell just by the color ‘a smoke,” Marvin defended heatedly. “Has anyone suddenly tried making out.”

“No,” Eric said. “I ha-ve a b-b-oy-friend now, and . . . I don’t want to cheat on him. I’ve . . . I’ve never had a boy-friend before and—”

“Eric,” Marvin called out. “Breathe.”

“Is it Illy?” Roman’s attention hyper focused on Eric. “Did he call back? Tell me.”

“Illinois?” King balked. “Why the hell you are dating that asshole?”

“He’s not an asshole, he’s a sweetheart,” Eric began tearing up.

“He put slugs in my bed,” King dismissed. “He’s a nut job who got crazier the older he got and the closer he got to Dad.”

“Is it the same Illinois that works for Dark?” Virgil spoke up. “King’s right, he’s crazy.”

“He’s not!” Eric began crying.

“Hey, quit making ‘em cry, assholes,” Randall shouted back.

Magic suddenly seized all of them, Marvin taking control of the situation. “Hey,” Marvin called out. “Okay, it’s either a truth potion, or someone aerosolized my supply of Whiskey.”

“What were you doing with a truth potion?” Jackie demanded. “Did you give it to those two fookers?”

“No,” Marvin scoffed. “Those two would steal the clothes off my back if it meant pulling a prank.”

“We totally would,” CJ smiled, fist bumping with his brother; both of them which huge proud smiles.

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t try something,” Jackie reminded.

“I didn’t drug yeh, an’ it’ll wear off anywhere from an hour ta about a day, ‘pends on the dose.”

“A whole day!” Jackie was practically screeching.

“Depends on the dose,” Marvin answered. “But as long as no one’s got some deep dark secret you all should be fine.”

Anxiety let out a nervous scream.

Kay laughed nervously, “Everyone already knows mine.”

Patton began sobbing, whatever he was saying almost indecipherable.

“Well that’s great,” Marvin groaned.

“Why did yah even have that potion?” Jackie asked, still glaring at Marvin. “Probably didn’t mean for us ta get it though.”

“I made it ages ago an’ didn’t want ta risk it by flushing it down the drain,” Marvin spat. “Just get e’eryone comfortable, I’ll see if I can whip an antidote up.”

“Thanks, asshole,” Jackie spat. Then he looked a little surprised. “Dammit, that was supposed to stay in my head.”

“Well ‘til the potion wears off, it’s not. Keep everyone who was affected here,” Marvin sighed. “I’ll make some calls.”

Jackie nodded, thanking Marvin in-between cursing at him.

Keeping themselves in the lobby they tried not to insult each other the best they could. Eric was mostly calmed down, only  snapping at King who snapped back. It was fun for everyone to see the normally timid Eric snapping at someone.

However Patton was lying in the middle of the floor, staring at the ceiling. Virgil and Roman were on either side of him. King and Jackie were on the sofa and both the Jim’s were piled into a bean bag chair. Eric has gone to his room to sleep everything off, Randall taking him there.

“Do you ever think that your life’s a lie?” Patton mumbled out loud. “That no matter how many times you fuse, and how hard you try to be a good person, someone can just scoop out everything that makes you a good person and put in something else.”

Roman stared at him. “Like what?”

“I think I was replaced with another Patton, that your Patton is in my world, and I’m here,” Patton began to ramble. “But I wanna be a good person, I wanna be a good person so bad it hurts.”

“You are a good guy, Pat,” Roman said, cuddling up next to him.

“No, I’m a bad person,” Patton said in-between sobbing, his voice choking up. “I worked with Dark, I’ve watched people die.”

“You never worked with Dark, you’re been with the other Sides the whole time,” Anxiety told him. “I would have recognized you.”

“Then why do I have all these awful memories in my head that won’t go away,” Patton sat up, looking desperately at Virgil. Whether or not he was looking for reassurance or someone to validate his claims was unknown. “They only go away when I fuse. When I was Thomas last time they went away for months.”

Anxiety seemed to be thinking on Patton’s words, “It must be Arthur, he must be doing that to you. He’s forcing you to think that way.”

“Who’s Arthur?” Patton asked.

“Arthur’s dead,” King interrupted. “He bled out on an operating table in front of me. How many times do I keep having to repeat that.”

“What do you mean he’s dead, he can’t be,” Virgil responded. “He’s been keeping Dark from taking over the base.”

“Nah that’s Host and J.J, the two of them keep Dark out,” Roman bragged. “Dark’s always been trying to get into the base but it wasn’t until the Host joined that J.J got some help.”

“I knew he was a liar!” Anxiety shouted.

“Who?” Roman asked. “Dee?”

“Dark!” Anxiety answered. “Oh no.”

“He lies about a lot of stuff,” King agreed. “He once told me we couldn’t get a pet, and then he got himself a cat and named it after himself. I just wanted a puppy.”

“That’s so sad,” Patton told him, rolling over to prop his chin up on his palms. “Least you got a kitty.”

“For a couple days,” King dismissed. Then he paused, “Hey Vee, how’d you even hear about Artie? Everyone in the network uses nicknames.”

Virgil felt the words coming, like an out of control freight train with broken brakes. He grabbed at his throat. “He told me to look for him.”

“Who?” King asked. “Artie?”

“I don’t want to do it, I have talked with him since,” Virgil said, everyone was staring at him.. “You have to believe me, I didn’t believe it, I’m not spying on you, I promise!”

“I believe you,” Patton told him. “You don’t have to talk to him ever again.”

“What kind of spy doesn’t report on the people he’s spying on?” Jack agreed.

“You’re not mad?” Virge asked, daring to hope that somehow he was getting out of this alive. “Even if I was a bad guy?”

King laughed, “You think that’s bad, I’m hiding out from my old man because he would probably kill me if he ever saw me again.”

“Who’s your dad?” Randall asked.

“Dark,” King said, before slapping his hand over his mouth. “Oh no, Host’s gonna kill me.”

“What!?” About half of the heroes in the room shouted. Virgil stared at King.

“You’re not Arthur,” Virgil said out loud, his filter completely destroyed by the truth dust.

“Nah, that’s one of my siblings,” King was staring at his hands. “Host, Bim, Yan, me, Illy, Yancy, and . . .”

Then he stared at his hands, “Huh, weren’t there seven of us?”

“Was that Arthur?” Virgil asked.

“Nah, I already counted him,” King dismissed, waving at Virgil’s direction. “Sides, Artie’s kinda dead, except in the ways that probably matter. You all lucked out, you guys didn’t have to babysit him.”

RJ, who was almost falling asleep with CJ snapped away, almost dragging him and his camera over to have it almost pressed into King’s face. “This sounds like a story.”

King stared at the camera in fear, “Is that live? Please tell me it’s not live.”

“The Jim Twins should make sure it doesn’t see the light of day,” the Host announced himself.

“Host, there’s a truth spray in the air!” King called out desperately as the Host walked closer.

“Even if it was still the air, the Host’s narrations have him dictate his mind anyways,” the seer reminded.

“Oh yeah,” King’s mouth formed a thin line. “You really got the short end didn’t you?”

The Host just stared at him. “The King of the Squirrels should take a nap before he incriminates himself any further.”

“What if I did?” King somehow looked halfway between apologetic and not even a little remorseful. “Like, what if I messed up, bad?”

“The Host noticed,” the seer frowned at him.

“Nah, it was bad,” King frowned. “The one thing you told me not to do, I did it.”

“The Host can see the future, he doesn’t need a replay,” the Host reminded curtly.

“Do you hate me?” King asked sadly. “You probably do, right?”

The Host sat down on the couch next to his adopted brother, his expression softening, “The Host has never hated King.”

“Did Artie?” King was staring at his hands.

“No the Author did not hate King either,” the Host told him “He was angry and dangerous, but he did not hate his adopted family.”

King looked sad, “Oh, that sucks. Cause you were an asshole and I always felt bad about not being nicer.”

“King should save his sympathy,” Host decided. “The Author did not deserve it.”

“You did,” King told him. “You were in there, an’ I should’a been nicer.”

“So you’re Arthur then?” Virgil asked, narrowing his eyes in concentration. “Probably should have called that.”

“King and his friends should sleep,” Host told him, as his words began to curl around the room and people began dropping one by one to sleep. “Everything will be better after you sleep.”

They slept, making it easier for the minds to clear even if each of their dreams were a little more unusual and potion-fueled than usual. Marvin was able to lift the spell by the time they woke up, leaving an uncomfortable atmosphere in the potion’s wake.

[moonwest]

Full Ben Whishaw Interview in Sunday Times Magazine

Ben Whishaw, the voice of Paddington, the millennial Q in the Bond films, the next generation of Mr Banks in Disney’s epic Mary Poppins reboot, is fresh off the plane from LA. He is wearing a navy shirt, dark wool trousers and a fluffy knitted hat over his lush curls. It’s a strange combination of quirkiness and elegance. At the start of the year he won a Golden Globe and a Critics’ Choice award for his captivating portrayal of Norman Scott opposite Hugh Grant’s Jeremy Thorpe in A Very English Scandal. Of course he says he didn’t expect to win, and of course he says it feels great, but when I ask if this recognition from Hollywood means he’ll spend more time out there, he says: “No idea. I don’t feel it’s my world. I just sort of dropped in and it was a lovely thing. I would like to drop in more often. Maybe it opens doors. I guess we’ll see.”

For now, it’s back to the day job. Whishaw, 38, is rehearsing a play called Norma Jeane Baker of Troy, in which he plays a man who likes to dress up as Marilyn Monroe. “We just got the costumes,” he says. “I wear a dress that’s a replica of the one she wore in The Seven Year Itch — the white one where the wind comes up. They’ve also given me the bum, hips and breasts. I don’t think they’re as big as Marilyn’s, but they’re proportionate to my body. It’s a strange thing. I’m not playing Marilyn, I’m playing a man who’s infatuated with her. The play is set in the year she died and he’s in mourning for her. Apparently there was a spate of copycat suicides that year.”

To research the role, Whishaw has been reading a book called Fragments. “It’s bits of Marilyn’s diary, notes on hotel paper, poetry,” he says. “She writes beautifully. Arthur Miller was here with her when they were doing the film The Prince and the Showgirl, and she opened his diary and read about how disappointed he was with her, how embarrassed he was being around his intellectual friends with her. Apparently this was devastating to Marilyn. All these men say how difficult she was. It makes you want to strangle them. But she really was amazing. She had a lot going on, a lot of sadness on her plate, poor darling. To be a star in that star system and those men.”

If she had been born 50 years later, does he think she would have been part of the #MeToo movement? “I’m sure she would have. I’ve been listening to interviews with her. She doesn’t seem afraid of anything.”

Fearless and vulnerable. It’s a contradiction that could possibly describe both of them. “Yes,” he smiles.

Almost 15 years have passed since Whishaw, fresh out of Rada, was acclaimed as one of the best ever Hamlets in the Trevor Nunn production at the Old Vic. His portrayal earned him an Olivier nomination and opened the door to film and television roles. He voiced Michael Bond’s Peruvian stowaway bear in the two recent Paddington films and is lined up for a third, as well as an animated TV series for Nickelodeon. Perhaps his best known role is Q in the Bond films Skyfall (2012) and Spectre (2015). As soon as he’s finished his Marilyn, he will begin shooting the next one, though no one in a Bond movie can tell you in advance what it’s going to be like. “I think they’re probably trying to figure out what to do with the storyline,” he says. “At least I know that my character is the same. Someone did tell me there might be a scene with Q’s cats.”

I immediately want to sort out an audition for my cat Roger Moore.

“Does Roger travel?” he asks. “Could he go to Pinewood? And can he cock an eyebrow?”

Yes, he can. That’s why he’s called Roger Moore.

“I’ll get onto Barbara Broccoli about it,” he says.

Whishaw has created an ever-widening niche for himself — he has made room in film, theatre and television for malleable, sensitive male characters that are sometimes described as androgynous, but what they really are is sexually ambiguous.

“Do you think I’m androgynous? I think I’m quite male-looking. Androgyny is different to non-binary, but I hate all these labels. I get mixed up.”

It’s true, there are many labels; nonetheless Whishaw is a 21st-century man. When you think of those macho actors of the last century, men like Rock Hudson, who revealed he was gay only when he was dying of Aids, it seems so different now.

Whishaw entered a civil partnership with the Australian composer Mark Bradshaw in 2012, but for a long time he did not discuss his private life. He would say things like, “An actor shouldn’t reveal their sexuality because it pigeonholes them.” Once he had come to terms with it himself, however, hiding it became difficult in a different way. “People assume there’s some juicy secret,” he says. “But I don’t agree any more with that statement [about being pigeonholed]. I don’t think it’s the be-all and end-all, and since revealing my sexuality I haven’t had any negative effects.”

Perhaps that’s because he is such a skilful actor, perhaps the pigeonholes aren’t as rigid as they used to be, or perhaps the revelation has actually helped him. He shrugs. He doesn’t mind talking about it now, it’s just he can’t be conclusive.

At one point, Whishaw was lined up to play Freddie Mercury in Bohemian Rhapsody, although he was never given a contract or confirmed officially. Various versions of the biopic had been on the cards for about 10 years. Sacha Baron Cohen was in the frame first of all, then Whishaw, and ultimately Rami Malek. The film has been accused of not being “gay enough”, but, for all the criticism, Malek’s career-defining role won him an Oscar.

We talk about how hard it was for Mercury to admit that he was gay and how he would refer to himself as bisexual. But then perhaps he was. He certainly had sexual relationships with women. “I think it’s very unfair when people say they’re bisexual and they’re accused of being gay really,” Whishaw says. “If we’re honest about these things, perhaps most people are on a spectrum.”

Whatever the risks he took in revealing his sexuality to the public, Whishaw found it much harder coming out to his family. “I’ve gone through a few difficult things,” he says. “There was a moment in my early twenties when I did not feel very good about myself. It was to do with my sexuality and not knowing how to be myself and hating myself. I did know [my sexuality], I just couldn’t tell anyone.”

When he eventually told his parents, they weren’t surprised, but he still struggled. He sought therapy. “It really did help,” he says.

He carries himself with such a sense of otherness that I am surprised to learn he is a twin. “We were born on the same day and we came out of the same place at the same time, but we are totally unalike,” he says. “Perhaps you can see we are related, but we don’t look alike. He’s blond. He came out first and was very pink and chubby. And I was this squashed, dark thing that popped out a few moments after. We were so different, but we were always dressed the same and taken everywhere together, even to things I was not interested in, like football. So I’ve always defined myself by him, but in opposition to him. I like everything different to him. There’s not a single thing we have in common, except we both liked the scary rides if we were taken to a park.”

Don’t twins normally have a kind of supernatural understanding? “No. No understanding, no telepathy. When I told him [about being gay], he wasn’t surprised, of course, but still.”

He notices a black crystal around my neck and I explain that it was given to me by my hypnotherapist.

“I’d like to try hypnotherapy,” he says. For what? “Smoking,” he says. “It’s so frowned upon. You feel ostracised from the world if you smoke. And there’s the hair twiddling thing.” He starts twiddling his hair. “I’ve probably been doing this for the whole interview.” He hasn’t, but apparently it’s been a lifelong habit. “I’ve done it since I was a baby. I don’t know why I do it.”

I recall the title of a Peter Cook anthology: Tragically, I Was an Only Twin. That’s what Whishaw seems like. I can’t imagine him with a brother. “My dad says if my brother and I were one person we would be an amazing, perfect human,” he replies.

It’s often reported that his father works in IT, but that’s not true. “He lives in the countryside and raises chickens behind a farm. He used to be a footballer and he now works in sports with young people. He’s not an IT person at all,” Whishaw laughs. His mother works in cosmetics. They split up when he was a young boy, but he has good relationships with both of them. He talks about them with love.

The last time we met, Whishaw told me he was afraid of meeting people. “I haven’t got over that,” he says. “I love people, but I’m just shy of meeting new people, especially when they’re famous.”

In particular, he was bashful around Meryl Streep, whom he starred alongside in Mary Poppins. “I’m so completely left speechless when I’m in the same room as her. Do you never feel that speechlessness come on you?” he asks sweetly. “Even though she seemed to be the nicest person, I was very timid and shy around her.”

It’s odd how someone so shy can look so confident — smouldering even — on screen.

He walks off in the furry hat that makes him look part man, part mole. It’s certainly a statement. But perhaps the most curious thing about Whishaw is we’ll never entirely know what that statement is.

Norma Jeane Baker of Troy is showing at the Shed’s Bloomberg Building, New York, April 6-May 19; theshed.org