#in the walls of his bookshop in the fairy lights of the shops in the bentley in the flowers in the sunrise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thevillainswhore · 3 months

Text

Read Between The Lines

Pairing: Modern!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: There shouldn’t have been anything unusual about your routine visit to the local bookstore. Your life was simple and mundane, even if you were a daydreamer at heart. But you were pleasantly surprised when this time you met a handsome stranger between the shelves.

Warnings: Pure fluff, meet cute, meddling bookstore owners, lets also pretend that walking someone home after you’ve only just met is fine 😅🤣

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics and dividers by @rookthorne 💜 hope you enjoy your gift my love 🥰

It was an early morning in Brooklyn as you walked down the cobblestone path — a light dusting of wind had you wrapping your coat tighter around you while a chill tingled your cheeks.

Finally, a free day marked out in your calendar meant you had the opportunity to spend some time to yourself and of course, that had to include the cutesy, tucked away bookshop — fittingly named Hidden Treasures — found in an unplanned outing; a true secret gem you held dear to your heart.

Weekly stops to your new bookstore soon became routine in your life. A daydreamer at heart, you were always on the hunt for a new fairytale or fantasy to delve into; best friends to lovers, soulmates bound to fall in love, a bump in with a handsome stranger — a girl could dream.

Modern dating had proven disastrous for you when plenty of first dates arranged online had turned sour fast. That embarrassment was enough to have you swear off real romance for life.

So, you had always kept your head in your books. Yes, your days might have been a little stale. And yes, you could have used a little more excitement in your life. But, you were more than happy to stick to your safety net of fictional men — they would never disappoint you.

The chime from the store bell rang as soon as you opened the door and stepped inside. Shimmying your coat and scarf off, you hung them on the rack and sighed happily. By the counter as always was Teddy; the sweet, old man who had greeted you with a beaming smile and an enthusiastic wave since your first visit. “Morning, darlin’!”

“Good morning, Ted.” It was impossible to contain your wide grin as you stomped the dirt off your boots onto the mat, happy to see the bookstore owner and your now good friend. “I’ll catch you when I’m finished, okay?”

As usual, Teddy gave you the go ahead with a nudge of his head to get on with your weekly haul, already expecting you to jump into your adventure of fiction and find him after.

The feeling of being transported into another world each time never disappeared. The floor to ceiling oak bookshelves wrapped in green vines, towered over you like castles and the bumps and ridges of variously sized books you ran your hands over reminded you of their stone walls. Fairy lights were strung between the exposed wooden beams of the roof and streams of daylight casted in through the window that brightened the shop.

All your responsibilities vanished for the time being and a blissful peace clouded the stress and anxiety of the week. It was magical.

Endless coves and hideouts hid around the shop — the amount of times you had gotten lost, even in such a small space, never failed to amuse Teddy. You would always find your way back to the counter, a stack of books overflowing in your arms with a sheepish expression. You were still finding secrets to this very day.

After idly walking around the cozy bookshop for a while with no real goal, you eventually decided to stroll towards the romance section. You were on a mission to find the next installment of the series you were currently reading, browsing from A-Z and trailing the tip of your finger along the coffee stained, worned spines.

The rustic smell you could only find between the pages of written stories were deeply breathed in as you hummed along to the calm jazz song that played from the speakers. You scoured through the endless selection until you reached exactly what you were looking for. Finger coming to a stop, you were about to carefully pluck the book from the shelf.

Now, you believed you were a cautious person — a healthy amount of awareness of your surroundings never hurt to keep you safe. However, instinct seemed to fail you when a figure brushed your back. They were directly behind you, light on their feet and quiet.

The tiny hairs on your arms stood up, alert with the presence close by and before you could have spun around, a thick arm stretched over the top of your head and into your vision.

The feel of ringed fingers gently brushed against yours as they landed on the book you planned to take. You looked at both of your hands, transfixed at the difference in size between you. The staccato of your heart was sent into overdrive, thumping wildly against your chest.

You watched in real time as the cold silver against your warm skin thrummed all the way through your body, a bolt of electricity tingling your nerves — never had you felt more alive.

Following a path from the stranger's hands all the way up his arms, the pattern of colourful tattoos screamed out at you. Beautiful, intricate designs with immaculate detailing bursted over his olive skin and decorated his frame perfectly.

There was no doubt this stranger heard the small gasp you let loose. But you couldn’t have helped it. Those arms taunted you — the devil on your shoulder poked its sharp tail against you and whispered delightful sins into your ear.

Down girl. You didn't even know him yet.

“Oh!” The stranger exclaimed. “My apologies, Doll. Looks like we were reaching for the same book.” The deep voice that rumbled above caused a shiver to run down your spine — pure heaven in your ears.

You gained the courage to turn around and look up at his face, and you were utterly mesmerised at the ocean blues staring straight into your soul, reaching into the deep valleys of guarded secrets you kept close to your heart. Everything you wanted to keep hidden started to unravel in one look. You were unsure whether you loved it or hated it.

Your mouth fell agape as this tattooed stranger with a dreamy gaze smirked, watching you take his appearance in. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you racked your head for something to say as your eyes darted over his features — desperate to take in his beauty.

However, you failed to realise this man had also been basking in your beauty too, obsessing over every detail of your face. You watched him slowly lick his lips, flitting his eyes up and down your figure before he summarised, “Huh — I guess you do look the type for a good romance.”

As much as you tried to remain composed, your mind apparently had decided that was the time to throw your filter out the window. “I can’t say the same for you.”

Your mouth instantly fell open in shock, mortified at your audacity. The embarrassment of your own awkward nature forced you to slap your hand over your mouth.

Quick to want to rectify your mistake, you stuttered, falling over your own words as you attempted to say your apologies. “Oh my god. I didn’t— I didn’t mean it like that, I swear! Just— just with the tattoos and— and the— the um…” your words trailed off as you gawked at his nose ring in awe.

You were too busy lost in this man’s invisible spell to notice the laugh he tried to keep in. All you paid attention to was his teeth biting into his plump bottom lip.

However, it was the sudden realisation of the position the two of you hadn’t moved from that shook you out of your haze — now hyper aware of the proximity against each of your chests. The way this walking, tatted sin on legs, plucked straight from your dreams held eye contact astounded you. Your legs were almost forced to cross over each other, to stop the flutter between them as his breath tickled your neck and the scent of mint and leather permeated your senses.

Outwardly shaking your head to snap out of your brain fog, you stepped back to lean against the bookshelf, out of this unusual hold of a stranger so you could actually think properly.

You undoubtedly expected him to bid you farewell, for him to take offense to your quip (rightfully so) and never see him again — your chance flushed down the drain already due to your own inability to socialise like a human being.

The world would be that cruel to you, you figured. To dangle the most gorgeous man you had ever seen in front of you only to rip him away because of your lack of grace. Why not after your so called luck with dating?

So it was to your pleasant surprise that instead, this stranger wasn’t repelled by you and in fact took a step closer towards you, eyes homed onto yours intensely with a glint of mischief. “While my looks may be deceiving,” he rested his hand on the shelf beside you and leaned down to your height. “I sure don’t mind the element of surprise if it captures the attention of a pretty girl.”

The charm and the charisma that seeped from his pores had you releasing a giggle. And the delight of being the cause of that twinkle in his cerulean eyes was unlike anything else.

Testing the waters, you teased him, praying you didnt mess up the second chance you had been graciously gifted. “Do you normally pick up girls in bookstores?”

The bewitching stranger didn’t let up on his allure though. “This is actually my first time, is it obvious how bad I am at this?”

“You’re not doing so bad.” You shrugged, a smile edging its way into your face.

“Well, thank god for that.” He dramatically clasped his hand to his heart, blowing out a breath. “I was hoping that would work because I had no more pick up lines to win you over.”

Your laughter filled the aisle. His endearing nature — just the right balance of wit and appeal — attracted you even more.

A calm broke over the two of you as your joint amusement naturally settled. You both continued to gaze at the other before your companion introduced himself. “I’m Bucky.”

Bucky. You finally had the stranger’s name and it suited him, you figured. Hearing it gave you a warm feeling in your chest and an itch to test it on your tongue.

“Can I have the pleasure of knowing your name too?” he asked smoothly.

The subtle cock of his head and that damned sparkle in his eye, finished off with a tongue in cheek smile almost had you giving in. Bucky was patient as the tension brewed in the air and he looked at you as though all of his problems would have been answered if he knew what to call you.

However, a sudden defiant nature within you wanted to test him. Make him work for something so personal. “I think I’ll stick with keeping it to myself for now,” you granted him instead.

Bucky was visibly surprised with your comeback, eyes widening the slightest as he stood tall and slid his hands into his jean pockets, but the glint in his eyes told you he liked your sass — a mystery stood in front of him that he was desperate to unravel.

“Elusive, I like it.” He cocked his hip and grinned, giving you an appreciative once over before he declared, “Doll it is then, sweetheart.”

Your heart swooped. Like you were on a rollercoaster, about to drop from the highest point. The rush you experienced from one small interaction was addictive and you wanted more.

“So,” Bucky said. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut and winced as a flush crept up his neck.

Discreetly, you covered your mouth with your hand to hide the laughter lodged in your throat. You actually thought his dorkiness was adorable, but you wanted to let him suffer for a little longer. “Is that really what you’re going with?” You sniggered. “I knew you said you were out of pick up lines, big guy, but you’re scraping the barrel with that one.”

Bucky squinted his eyes open and sighed. “I know — I know — that one was awful.” Surprisingly, he managed to pull you back in with his dreamy smile. “I swear I got better game than that.”

“Oh really?” You challenged, crossing your arms over each other. “I don’t believe it.”

But as quick as a whistle, he retorted. “Go out with me and you’ll soon know how I could win you over.”

It was your turn to stifle the heat rising to your cheeks. There was a hopefulness in his gaze, desperately pulling you in. The hopeless romantic in you could have fallen in love with him right there and then, but you knew that wasn’t at all reasonable or realistic.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one,” you laughed. Turning on your heels to pluck the very book that had been the cause of your bump in with your beautiful stranger, you waved the book over your shoulder, “But I think I better go pay for this.”

“Ah, you beat me to it, Doll.” He clicked his tongue, a bout of sadness to his tone. “Would you mind if I walked with you? I’ve already got everything I hoped for.” Bucky’s eyes never left yours as he reached over the top of your head, once again trapping you, and taking a book from the shelf.

Had your mind been any less fuzzy, you would have noticed he hadn’t even looked at which book he was reaching for, picking one at random to gently wave in the air between you, too.

You cleared your throat. “Y—yeah, of course! Not a problem whatsoever.”

After Bucky had stepped back, he gestured for you to go first and the two of you silently walked over to the counter. You tried to discreetly glance over your shoulder, unable to resist looking at him. But your cheeks heated up when he met your gaze and winked.

Once you reached the counter, you offered a bright smile to Teddy, who was already grinning back at you. Placing your chosen book on the wood between you for him to scan, he raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Just the one for you today, little one?”

“Just the one this time, Ted.” You confirmed.

“That’s unlike you.” Teddy hummed in thought. “Didn’t find anything else you like back there?”

You mumbled under your breath, quiet enough that Teddy struggled to hear, “You could say that.”

Aware that Bucky was literally right behind you, you swiftly changed the subject. “How’s that husband of yours getting on anyway?”

George, said husband of Teddy, had been away for a trip overseas to collect rare editions of books on his wish list (along with a few surprise items for Teddy that you knew of) and as much as Teddy loved to keep up his beloved, bubbly personality alive in the shop, you knew he missed him deep down. The pair of them were two peas in a pod — incomplete without the other.

So, you were shocked to see a grin crawl on his face as he scanned your book. “You can ask him yourself.”

You were confused until another figure popped their head around the doorway of the back room with a flourish. You gasped and ran towards him, throwing your arms around his neck for a hug. “George! I wasn’t expecting you back so soon!”

George rocked you side to side with a big squeeze before he held you at arms length with fondness to check you over. Your face scrunched up when he booped the tip of your nose. “Yeah well, you can’t keep me away for too long, sweetheart.” Playfully side eyeing Teddy, he brought you closer and whispered loud enough for his husband to hear him say, “Besides, someone has to keep this troublemaker in check, don’t they?”

“Haven't got the slightest idea what you could mean, Georgie.” Teddy overheard and put on his most innocent face. You giggled into George, amused by his husband’s antics. “I’m an angel.”

Their love encompassed everything you wanted from a life partner. You longed for their banter and their care and the passionate fire that was still raging all these years later between them.

Looking over to Bucky, you were caught off guard to find him gazing at you already, a smile on his face that slightly scrunched up his nose.

You stepped back to the counter, heated under the spotlight just as Teddy rang you up with a price. Though, you didn’t miss the seemingly casual glance he made behind you. “Mornin’, Buck. Got any nice plans for today?”

You frowned, surprised that they were familiar with each other. Bucky cleared his throat before he spoke from behind you, “Just a small visit here today I’m afraid, Ted.”

Teddy still continued to speak over your shoulder as he took a suspiciously long time to bag up your book. “Right,” he murmured. “No plans for the rest of the day then?”

“Nah.” Bucky's voice rumbled at your back, as if he had taken a step closer to you. “Nothing else, unfortunately. Can’t go anywhere without a pretty date now, can I, Teds?”

Almost immediately, Teddy looked at you, a glint in his eye of excitement before he innocently offered, “I may know someone.”

You choked, causing all three men to look at you; Teddy had a shit eating grin on his face, while George tried to hide his laughter in his hand — unsuccessfully. You could even feel Bucky’s stare locked in on you from behind.

“Don’t you dare,” you muttered under your breath to Teddy.

But you knew by his wicked smile your threat wouldn’t stop him from meddling. “Why don’t you walk little one home after this? Get to know each other,” he said to Bucky.

Amazed by the man’s audacity, you scolded him. “Teddy!”

“Nonsense, girl,” Teddy rounded the counter to you and slid his arm around your shoulders, turning you towards Bucky before he continued. “Besides, you heard the boy. He needs some company and I know for a fact you’ve got no plans apart from locking yourself at home.” Teddy looked proud of himself as he shrugged. “Problem solved.”

He wasn’t lying. Although you were a little embarrassed he would out you like that, you in fact did not have any other plans. Traitor.

“As lovely as Bucky seems, I don’t know him, Ted.” Quickly you glanced at Bucky and shyly uttered, “I mean no offense by that.”

“Don’t worry, dollface,” he said and you just knew by the grin on his face he was about to tease you. “I think I’m used to it by now.”

Bucky snorted at your mouth falling open in shock. Cheeky bastard.

“Oh, dating back in my day was so easy.” Teddy sighed. “You liked the look of someone? You speak to them. You want to get to know them? Great! Ask them out.”

You shook your head in exasperation. The complexities of modern dating weren't as simple as Teddy’s reasoning. Respectful, charming men didn’t just fall from the sky, unfortunately, and fairytales didn’t just happen.

Looking at Bucky, you gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about him.” You threw a lighthearted glare at Teddy while you admonished him. “Someone doesn’t know how to keep their mouth shut.”

Bucky waited until you looked at him and shrugged with a lopsided smile. “Eh, I don’t mind the old man so much.” Scratching the back of his head, he admitted, “Especially when he sets me up with pretty girls in bookstores.”

Okay, maybe a few charming men fell from the sky.

You clasped your hands together tightly, repressing the urge to squeak from giddiness.

Bucky stepped forward and placed his single book onto the counter before he offered his arm to you. “What do you say, Doll? Fancy humoring me?”

While Bucky was still technically a stranger, Teddy knew him and one thing you were sure of was that he would never let any harm or danger come to you — you would be safe.

Sighing lightheartedly, you stepped out of Teddy’s hold and stood before Bucky. You observed the slight bob of his Adam’s apple, taking pleasure in the small victory of his nerves and decided to put him out of his misery. “I guess you wouldn’t be the worst company on my way home.”

Hooking your arm through Bucky’s, the glee that overtook his adorable face was worth your decision alone. He looked over to Teddy and gave him a single nod. “I'll take good care of her, Ted.”

“You better boy, because now I’m in trouble.”

You grabbed your book from Teddy, already bagged and paid for. “Me and you will talk next time,” you warned.

Teddy tightened his lips, hiding his laughter as he saluted you. “Yes, ma’am.”

Rolling your eyes, you looked to Bucky, “You’re sure you don’t mind? Please don’t feel as though you have to do this.”

But he just smiled earnestly, subtly pulling you closer towards him. “Believe me when I say I absolutely want to do this.”

Your cheeks warmed, flustered beyond belief. You were relieved as he started to usher you towards the coat rack, helping you pull your coat over your shoulders and wrapping your scarf around you.

With a departing wave, you said goodbye to both George and Teddy as you began to exit the store. Teddy’s shout of, “Have fun kids, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” was the last thing you both heard before the door closed.

George rounded the counter, having witnessed the whole exchange and curled up to his husbands side. He squinted his eyes in suspicion. “What are you up to, mister?”

Teddy continued to watch the two of you walk into the distance out the window, both jittery, arm in arm and a joint hidden excitement to be together. He just smiled as he shrugged. “Oh, nothing much, dear.”

“Little one, huh? Very cute.”

“Oh, god,” you groaned, ducking your head in embarrassment.

Bucky wasn’t deterred by your timidness, however as he gently nudged your shoulder and playfully whispered, “Almost suits you as much as Doll, sweetheart.”

Your huff of breath froze over in the cold air and you looked up at him with a shy smirk before shaking your head. “You’re good, you know. The women must love this — you stealing them from their daily life and whisking them away on dates.”

Bucky just laughed before he brought you closer to him, slinging an arm over your shoulder as he said, “Oh, so you're admitting this is a date, Doll?”

You couldn’t help gazing into his stormy blue eyes that lit up in the sunrise above you. He was carved by angels, you swore by it.

Walking forward, you detached yourself from Bucky’s hold, letting his arm drop, and spoke over your shoulder, “Play your cards right, handsome and we’ll see what this is by the end of the walk.”

You caught the redness creeping up Bucky’s face before you turned your head forward, though you did miss his goofy fist pump in the air.

The thud of his heavy footsteps neared as he caught up to you and you decided to play dumb when he sneakily snaked his arm through yours.

“So, Bucky,” you began. “Since we’re still practically strangers, let’s get to know each other.”

He quickly recovered and nodded in agreement, “Great idea, Doll. What do you wanna know?”

“Tell me what you do for work,” you said.

Bucky cheekily smiled before asking, “Any guesses before I tell you? No offense will be taken.”

“Wow,” you laughed. “You’re really making me work for forgiveness aren’t you?” You hummed in thought before saying aloud, “Okay, I have something.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Hit me with it, Doll.”

You hesitated a second before you muttered, “A drummer.”

“What?!” Bucky laughed in shock and stared at you, eyes wide. “A drummer?”

Giggling, you held your defense. “Oh, come on! You can’t blame me with the tattoos and the jewelry.” You gestured to his form before shrugging. “You just have this classic rockstar look to you — nothing wrong with that of course.”

Bucky held his free bare hand out, red from the cold and decorated with black ink. With a smirk, he leaned over to whisper in your ear, “The tattoos doin’ it for ya, Doll?”

His Brooklyn drawl caused a shiver to run down your spine and you lightly gasped. He chuckled, overly satisfied to have made you flustered while you attempted to keep your dignity in tact.

You bumped his hip with yours, ignoring his laughter. Brushing his flirtations off to try and keep your composure, you asked, “What is it you do then?”

A proud smile on his face, he answered, “I’m the owner of a vintage bike shop.”

You turned to look at him, taking in his appearance for the umpteenth time and cocked your head. “Hm… I can see that actually. You got the whole biker aesthetic going for you.”

You were pleased to see a small dust of red coat his cheeks. “Thanks, Dolly. Got anything else for me?” he asked, squeezing your hand.

“Do you have any family?” you asked tentatively, worried it may be a sensitive topic.

But Bucky’s face lit up at the mention and he turned to you, resembling an excited puppy. “I have the best family, Doll. My mom—Winnie, she raised me and my sister, Becca. They’re both amazing women and—“

As he went on, you stared at him and admired the way he spoke about the two most important women in his life — so full of love and awe for them that you felt like you knew them yourself. Your own mother had always taught you to take notice of a way a man speaks about other women in order for you to know how he would treat you. You were happy that Bucky did not disappoint.

Along your walk, you had learnt how Bucky had a secret passion for pottery, something that allowed him to create beauty and art from his calloused and worn hands that years of oil and mechanical work had damaged. You were also over the moon to hear he was an avid reader. Of course you knew he must have a knack for reading if you met him at a bookstore. But, his detailing of certain stories he enjoyed and quotes that had stuck with him from authors he loved had your heart melting even more.

The two of you continued to ask questions back and forth, learning more about the other as you walked together.

“So,” Bucky started. “Hypothetically speaking of course, since this isn’t our first date, what would your perfect one look like?”

You looked at him from the corner of your eye, watching as his eyes suspiciously darted around — whether he was digging for key information or not was a mystery to you. But you decided to answer the question anyway.

“I think,” you began. “I think I’d enjoy an active date — maybe like a trip to Coney Island? You know the one with the—“

“The cyclone!” Bucky said enthusiastically. “Oh man, I haven’t been there since me and Stevie were kids.”

“A good friend I take it?” You smiled, secretly enthralled by the way his eyes lit up.

“The best,” he nodded. “Sorry, Doll. I got a little carried away there.” Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that was free. “Carry on.”

“Don’t worry about it, it was cute.” you assured, before quickly clearing your throat once he started to smirk. “Anyway — after a couple of rides and games where my date wins me a stuffed bear, a romantic little trip on the ferris wheel would be next and he would pay to stop at the top so we can see the whole of Brooklyn.”

You feel Bucky’s stare on you as he said, “And then?”

“Then he would walk me home and kiss me goodnight.” You finished quietly.

“Interesting,” he mumbled. You didn’t miss the tone of his voice, one that made you skeptical of his antics. “So, kinda like I’m doing now?”

Smartass, you thought internally.

“Don’t be getting any ideas, Bucky,” you scolded lightheartedly. “This isn’t a first date, remember? You’re just walking me home.”

He thinned his lips, trying to contain his smirk. “Of course, of course.” A moment passed in peaceful silence before he muttered, “There’s still time though, right?”

Bucky ran away and out of your reach before you could land a playful whack to his arm.

“Come on, Doll — I’m a dateless man!” he shouted. “Are you really gonna leave a poor man high and dry?”

You scoffed, unable to contain the growing smile on your lips. “In your dreams, Bucky!”

In hindsight, you should have known his retort wasn’t going to be anything other than cheeky — especially, with his sinful grin that made butterflies flutter in your stomach. “That you will be, Doll.”

Beams of light from the sun, breaking through the clouds of the cold day, casted down over Bucky, creating the most heavenly glow over his features. Those ocean blue eyes that starstruck you from the very first look shone bright as ever and his piercings and rings that glistened had you entranced, wondering how they would feel against your body.

The walk home, while not long, had given you a fair insight to this man you had met not only an hour ago. Bucky was unlike anyone you had met before — sweet but mischievous and the biggest flirt you had ever known.

Not that you were complaining.

The two of you were shortening the distance to your apartment. Admittedly, you felt a small ache in your chest, disappointed that the walk had to end so soon. However, the steps to your apartment that you reached signified the end of your time with him.

Your hands twitched in anticipation. Was it inappropriate to want to see him again? Would you look desperate if you asked for a real date with him? An array of thoughts rushed through your mind until Bucky spoke over the scrambled mess in your head. “Okay. I have a confession to make.”

You looked up, frowning to witness him twirling the rings around his fingers, dare you say looking as nervous as you felt.

He had been making you stumble over yourself since your first bump in with his shameless flirtations and smooth moves. But now he was reduced to a man on edge.

Intrigued, you wished for him to keep talking, curious to know the cause of his unease. “Go on,” you urged, softly.

Bucky nodded and took a deep breath. “I may have seen you. In that same bookstore. A couple of weeks ago.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing at his inability to formulate his sentences coherently. “I um—found it after wandering around one day. I was in the far corner when I saw you walk in for the first time.”

Your mouth fell agape, and your eyes widened while you listened intently. Though the shock of his confession rendered you speechless, you were rooted to the spot, hanging onto every word he said.

Then, he gazed straight into your eyes, stepping closer and you gulped. “I swear I had never seen someone so beautiful in my life. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, Doll.” He shook his head and laughed earnestly. “You’ve had me in a chokehold for the longest time.”

“But— But earlier?” You tried to get the words out to explain your confusion regarding the way he acted as though you met for the first time.

Bucky closed the distance between you, tentatively closing his hands over yours. “I’ve seen you every week, walking into that store with your bright eyes, taking in everything like it’s the first time all over again. And every week I found myself in that far corner, obsessing over you and falling for you a little more each time.” He sighed before finishing, “I’d been building up the courage to come up to you until I finally did — Today.”

You could only imagine how you must have looked — a deer in headlights most likely, about to run away. Honestly, you were floored and you weren’t quite sure your mind had caught up yet.

Attempting to settle your nerves, you cleared your throat. “You’re telling me,” you paused. “You’re telling me you planned on reaching for the same book as me? How did you even know which one I was going for?”

Bucky looked ultimately relieved that you hadn’t slapped him across the face just yet. His fingers twitched against yours while he laughed apprehensively. “Actually, I may have had a tiny bit of help with that one.”

The cogs turned in your head and after a while the realisation struck you from his suspicious antics this morning. “Teddy!” you gasped.

“Guilty as charged.” Bucky sheepishly smiled. “I asked him if he thought I had a chance with you the first time I saw you and he gave me some pointers.”

You couldn’t help the huff of laughter that spilled from your lips. The whole situation was incredulous, something that would never happen to you.

The tension slipped from Bucky’s shoulders, but his eyes still held on to some hope. Easing his worries, you grinned. “That was brave of you.”

Confidence visibly returned to him as he cockily shrugged, lips curving into his familiar smirk. “It was a risky move to take.”

Placing your hands on his chest, over his black leather jacket, you gave Bucky a run for his money as you caught his shudder with your eagle eye and decided to play him at his own game. “Some might even say creepy.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky licked his lips and smoothed his hands over your hips. “Is that why you’re grinning like you’ve just found your future husband, Doll?”

This man, you thought to yourself. “You’re cheeky,” you replied aloud while you gripped his jacket.

“And you like it.” He squeezed your hips.

There was hardly any distance between you; eyes glued to the others like neither of you could bear to look away.

His eyes hooded as he joked playfully, “You gonna invite me up?”

You smacked his chest, watching the crows feet by his eyes crinkle with amusement in the sweetest way. “I don’t put out on the first date,” you batted back.

You weren’t prepared for the sudden shiver that rippled down your spine as he whispered, “Clever girl.”

The charged air heightened your senses, you could feel every minute movement his fingers made, the way his thumb rubbed back and forth over your waist.

“Can I have your name now?” Bucky disrupted the silence between you as his gaze flicked between your eyes.

The rebellious nature from earlier had only come back tenfold. Coming within a hair's breadth away from his lips, you daringly muttered, “I’ll give it to you on our next date.”

His eyes lit up, like a kid on Christmas. “Next date?”

Pushing him away with a smirk, you held your hand out while he dazed at you longingly. “Phone,” you said confidently.

You held in your laughter as Bucky quickly fumbled over himself, patting each of his pockets to find his mobile. Once located, he quickly slid it out of his leather jacket and into the palm of your hand.

The glow of his screen lit up your face while Bucky tried sneaking a peek. But you shoo’d him away and carried on typing into his phone.

Finally, you were finished and handed the phone back to him. With eagerness he grabbed it and instantly smiled with joy once he saw the screen. “Your number?”

“Use it wisely, handsome,” you purred. Leaving him staring at you in his own haze, you walked up the steps to your apartment, a sway to your hips. You couldn’t be completely sure whether you heard Bucky stifle a choke from behind you, but you ignored it for the sake of his ego.

Reaching the door to the lobby, you spun around on your feet and raised an eyebrow in question. “See you soon?”

Bucky grinned from ear to ear. “Absolutely, Doll.”

With that, you waved him goodbye and swung the door open, missing his besotted stare following you until you were out of sight.

You raced up the stairs, holding in your excitement while you entered your apartment. As soon as your apartment door was shut behind you, you released the squeal that had been trapped in your throat while you danced on the spot.

And at midnight, as you laid in bed thinking about Bucky, your phone chimed and you instantly grabbed with haste. The bright screen stung your eyes but once you saw who had texted you, they shot open — a thrill causing you to bite your lip and squeak.

Unknown Number: I was supposed to be asleep by 12 but you’re still on my mind.

A few weeks later…

Teddy and his husband, George were readying the shop to open again after closing because of maintenance. The early morning was quiet yet peaceful; the only thing to be heard were the birds singing their song as the sun rose and shone into the shop windows.

George leaned his elbow on the counter and sighed with nostalgia as he reminisced back to the beginning of their relationship. “Do you remember our first date, honey?”

Teddy spun around from his task of shelving the newly released books and smiled lovingly. “How could I forget?”

The two gazed over the space between them, lost in their own bubble of harmony when the chime of the bell above the door snapped them out of their reverie. They both knew it was the usual time you would visit the shop, precise to a fault.

With bright smiles, the pair looked towards the door, ready to greet you as was routine. But George gasped loudly when they found something a little extra glued to your side. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Teddy, however, kept quiet — no vocal response to be heard, only the visible large grin on his face once he caught you looking at him with a sheepish smile.

“Well, good mornin’, little one,” he said teasingly.

You hid behind the tall frame next to you, embarrassed from being the center of attention. “Hi, Teds. Hi George,” your mousy voice spoke up.

Easing the attention of you, Teddy glanced to your side and raised his eyebrow with a smirk. “Bucky.”

Your new boyfriend smiled and nodded his head in greeting to both men. “Good to see you, fellas.” Gently, Bucky grabbed your hand and pulled you with him as he began to lead you away. “Catch up with you shortly.”

Giggles and laughter echoed through the shop as you followed him down the closest aisle of books and away from prying eyes.

George rounded the counter and came to his husband’s side, looking at him with a sneaking suspicion. “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that would you, honey?”

Teddy thinned his lips, hiding his smile as he glimpsed at the two of you disappearing from his sight before getting back to shelving the books in his hand. He spoke over his shoulder, with all the innocence he could muster. “Me? Not at all, George — That’s nothing but a little bit of magic from Cupid.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #sebstanwhore

299 notes · View notes

infoactionratio7 · 10 months

Text

(you) on my arm - s. adamu

summary: sydney is at a wall, she has no ideas when it comes to the new menu at the bear. she decides to go to a bookstore for some new inspiration, she finds it, but not in the way she was expecting.

pairing: sydney adamu x fem! bookseller! reader

word count: 2,514

note: annoying! carmy bc he literally is insane, kinda fluffy meet cute vibes, reader just moved to chicago, inspired by the song (you) on my arm by leith ross cause the song is rlly cute! also sydney gives me sapphic vibes, she definitely would have a crush on a girl!

monday morning -

Sydney was pissed, she had sent at least ten messages to Carmy in the last twenty minutes. Some about the new menu they were working on together, some about the fact that he had been a bitch the night before when he kicked everyone out because Claire just had to see the new restaurant. She ran her hands down her face in frustration as she sat at her dad's kitchen table, the sun streaming in through the blinds into the apartment. It warmed the floor as she got up from the table, debating what to do. She had no ideas left, everything was either not working out, or it just didn't fit the menu for the new revamped restaurant.

"Sydney, where are you headed off to today?" Her dad walked into the room with a steaming cup of coffee, freshly brewed from a new coffee blend she had found shopping the day before.

"Uh well Carm is not responding so I'm gonna head over to The Bear and meet up with him for a little then see where the day goes from there I guess." She walked out of the dining area and put her breakfast dishes away.

"Okay honey, have a good day. Hope he stops being an ass." She laughed, "Me too... me too."

Sydney grabbed her shoes out of the closet she had thrown them in last night, slipping them on and grabbing her bag. "I'll see you later dad." She grabbed her keys, and started making her way to the restaurant where she could deal with Carmy in person.

You looked around the bookstore, you had only been open for a month but it had been a hit within the community. You had almost any book anybody could want. There were teens coming from the school a few blocks away to get some cheesy romance novels to bring to the park and read with their friends, and there were grandparents coming in to get their grandchildren a new picture book about god knows what. You even had some people come in and request books you had never heard of before, you promptly ordered two copies of any book you didn't have. One for the customer, and one for you, to read and explore the pages.

It was a beautiful space, tall ceilings strung with fairy lights and lanterns, trying to bring some sense of whimsy to the dull days in Chicago. The books were arranged in every which way, requiring the customers to truly search for a book they wanted to read. You had tables full of recommendations, from people online and the employees of the bookshop. You really enjoyed curating all the titles you had in your collection. Tourists looking for a cute little magnet or souvenir adored the hole in the wall place, a safe space to just cuddle up and read a book.

You had a few customers that day, a mom and her son looking for his first chapter book to read. You had suggested he read The Magic Tree House, a series, about a brother and sister and their time traveling tree house. There was a tall guy with a buzzcut, who said he worked just down the street and was looking for a book about how to get rid of mold in the structure of a building. He seemed in dire need of some help, so you found the best book possible, The Toxic Mold Recovery Guide. You had no idea you had the book but it was meant to be. He thanked you immensely, leaving his name and number just in case you ever needed anything. His name was Richie, he seemed pretty nice.

Low music played as you restocked a shelf, you hated the idea of having Colleen Hoover books in the store but they were a big source of income. They absolutely flew off the shelves. The least touched section of the store were the cookbooks, it seemed like everyone in Chicago was moving too fast to just dedicate one hour of their day to making a meal from scratch. It was disappointing, because you had a large selection, from Mastering the Art of French Cooking by Julia Child to Momofuku by David Chang and Peter Meehan. You knew that someday it might come in handy and you would be lucky to have all the cookbooks.

Sydney walked into the restaurant in a sour mood, Carmy had still not responded to any of her texts and she knew he was here. She walked straight into the office, passing the locker room, sans lockers and covered in black powder. Richie furiously flipping through a book that said something about mold on the cover. He glanced up at her

"Shut the fuck up." She was taken aback

"I didn't even fucking say anything Richie," he scoffed at her

"Well I was preparing for you to say something dumb as hell, and you did so I stand by my first statement." He looked back down at the book and mumbled something unintelligible to himself. She rolled her eyes and made her way into the office.

"Carm are you here?" Turning the corner she saw the chef, surrounded by papers and various file folders. He had his phone in his hand and was about to dial a number, "You little bitch, you fucking had your phone this entire time." She couldn't believe what was right in front of her.

"What do you mean chef?" Carmy looked confused, "Of course I had my phone, I'm about to call the fridge guy."

Rolling her eyes she brought her hand up to her face, holding her forehead in her palm. "I texted you at least ten fucking times, you couldn't even bother yourself to respond!" Shaking her head she sank down into the office chair Carmy had abandoned an hour ago.

He looked around the room, trying to get her to understand how much work he had been doing, "Syd I've been trying to make sense of this paperwork for hours, I haven't had time to respond to your messa-"

Fak's head popped into the doorframe, "Carmy I got your text about helping Richie clean up the mold but he's being mean to me." Sydney turned from Fak to the red faced chef sitting on the floor. He had been caught in a lie, of course Fak came in at just the right time for this to happen.

"Okay fuck you chef, I'm leaving." Sydney shrugged, stood up and left the room. She heard heated words from Carmy as she walked out of the office and passed the locker room again, now he was pissed at Fak, as usual. She heard her name as she turned around,

"Sydney, wait a sec come here."

"What do you want Richie, I thought you wanted me to shut the fuck up." She crossed her arms tight and shot him a pointed look.

"You should go to that bookstore a few blocks down, I got this damn mold book earlier and saw a shit ton of cookbooks. You should check it out." She sent him a tight smile and turned her back to him. "Thanks Chef."

You had just finished restocking the shelves for the day when the little bell above the door rang. You went behind the desk and called out, "Welcome to The Book Worm, If you need anything let me know!"

You heard no response so you just busied yourself cleaning up the case that was behind the checkout, it housed all your special edition signed or first edition copies of books. It needed to be dusted pretty often because you wanted to keep the quality of the books at their highest, just in case anyone would ever want to purchase one.

You heard a thud come from behind you, and turning around you looked down at the counter. There was a stack of six cookbooks placed on the counter in front of you. Looking up you saw one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen since you had moved in to the city. Her hair was long and perfectly braided, her eyes a beautiful shade of umber catching the light in a hypnotic way. She had a grimace on her face, yet still looked stunning. You had no idea how to react, so instinctively you started to enter the books into the register as you made some small talk,

"So how has your day been," She sighed and looked up to meet your gaze, "If I'm being honest, shitty. My fucking partner wouldn't respond to my messages and when I went to talk to him he had is phone in his hand about to call someone. So yeah really fucking shitty." You looked back down at the book at disappointment, of course she had a partner and of course she was straight.

Awkwardly smiling you tried to think of a good response"Oh, um, wow. That's pretty shitty I'm sorry." She seemed to sense your disappointment, trying to save the conversation, "Shit uh, my business partner I mean, he's a little bitch sometimes. We're uh, opening a business- or I should say um," She rubbed the back of her neck, "We're kinda rebranding his brother's old restaurant, its a lot." You had finished entering all the books into the system, your chest had filled with warmth when she rushed to clarify that he was her business partner. You thought that maybe, just maybe it might be because she wanted to make sure you knew she was single, and not exactly straight.

"I guess that explains the cookbooks then," You looked at her, she had been staring at you in a flustered state of shock. "What, oh, uh, yeah! I'm kinda stuck making the menu so wanted to get some inspiration."

Sharing an understanding smile, you read her total out to her. She grabbed her wallet and pulled out some cash, as she handed it to you her fingers brushed along yours. It sent chills down your spine, no matter how cliche it might be, you knew that she was someone to keep close. Your face flushed red as you took the cash and put it into the register, printing her receipt and giving her any change she needed back.

You decided that since she got so many books you would give her a free tote bag, just so she could carry all the books out of the shop. You pulled one off of a hook behind you and started to put the books into a bag. You decided to quietly slip a business card with your cell number and a little note into a book so she could find it and contact you. A subtle way of screaming, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen I want to spend the rest of my life with you, without being too forward. As you finished packing the bag, the two of you both happened to say something at the same time.

"Do you wanna come see my restu-"

"Do you work at the restura-"

You flushed

"No you can go-"

"No you can go - sorry um. Do you want to come to the opening of the restaurant. It's uh, the one down the street, we're not opening for a while but, if you want to come to the friends and fam-"

You cut her off, wanting her to know you really wanted to go to her restaurant, "I would love to go... what was your name?"

"Sydney, It's uh Sydney" Her face got hot, nervous about the fascinating bookseller she just had the pleasure of meeting.

"Well Sydney, I would love to go. Just let me know the details," You softly smiled as you gave her the bag filled with books. She looked to you and grabbed a bookmark you had as a display that happened to have the shop's phone number on it. "I'll call you, um when we get closer to the open date, promise." You smiled, hoping that she would get in contact with you sooner than she expected to. She turned to leave.

"Thanks for coming in, really good to meet you Sydney." The door rang again and she sent you a wave through the glass, walking away quickly.

You were frozen, you had just given a random girl you just met your number, and had openly flirted with her for all the world to see. You crouched down onto the small stool you had behind the desk, tucked your head into your knees and screamed. You were feeling rushes of emotion and didn't think you would ever recover from that interaction. The bell rang again just as you finished screaming, you shot up and saw a group of teenagers heading to the new books you had just set out.

"Welcome to The Book Worm, If you need anything just holler!"

Sydney rushed back to The Bear, she was so utterly mortified, she had never seen someone so radiant and in their element. The chef couldn't contain her emotions as she stormed into the restaurant, Richie was the first person she saw, he started to say something,

"Not right now Richie I swear to God" The tall man was taken aback but threw his hands up in surrender, not wanting to get involved.

She might as well have ran into the office at the speed she was going, throwin the bag of cookbooks on the ground and closing the door, sliding down the back of the door she groaned,

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, fucking, fuck," dragging out the last word as she hit the floor.

Carmy stared at her from the floor a few feet away, "Yo Syd what happened to you? Looks like you just ran a marathon." He chuckled at the expression on her face.

"I just met the most beautiful girl and totally fucked up my chances with her cause I left so quickly." Sydney put her hands into her face and just sat there marinating in her embarrassment.

Carmy had some strong suits, his attention to detail one of them. He noticed something poking out of one of the books. He grabbed it, hoping that it was something that would change Sydney's mood before he had to work with her for more hours than they could count. He grinned taking the note out of the book and reading it,

"Hey Syd," He reached out to give her the note.

She looked up from behind her fingers, "What?"

He shook his hand, implying he wanted her to take the note from his grip. She groaned, then leaned forward to forcefully take it out of his hand.

She read the note, and smiled. Thank God you slipped her this note.

cookbook girl -

i hope you enjoy your SIX cookbooks, i have some more you could borrow for some inspiration. text me

Sydney's face heated up as she leaned back into door and scoffed.

Carmy had saved the day, one again.

303 notes · View notes

kimberleyjean · 6 months

Text

Discontinuity alert - let there be light!

So, welcome to the next instalment of my Good Omens metas where we look at some of the inconsistencies and discontinuities in Season 2! In a previous post, I brought attention to the issue of the disappearing cross on Gabriel's Statue and then also the Illustrated Bible. I have more to say about both of these, the book in particular, but that's for another time - because I think I've found something even more obvious!

A word of caution before we jump in - what I am about to share can have significant consequences for the season 2 plot. If you are averse to analyses that reinterpret the narrative of season 2, it might be better to skip this one. You have been warned.

RED ALERT EVERYONE - The scenes in good omens 2 may not have been in order and if you're new to this idea, please check out my previous post first. This has been my conclusion after the mounting evidence, but it's still possible there are other explanations - I just don't think they're very likely. So, FAIRY LIGHTS! Yes, that's right. While everyone has been picking through the details of every scene, what character is wearing, the road markings, the cars... how did we miss the fairy lights around Marguerite's restaurant??

For most of the show we can see these fairy lights, either as characters sit and stand in front of them, or through the windows of other shops.

The first time we see the fairy lights is in episode 1 as Maggie is leaving her record shop (around 13:18):

There are so many shots with the fairy lights throughout the show that I won't exhaust you here to cover them all. However, to my knowledge they are always there until suddenly... huh?

In episode 4 they disappear. We only get one Whickber street scene in episode 4 and it starts around 41:19 with Aziraphale standing next to the Bentley (presumably just returned from Edinburgh):

Nina pulls up on her bike (around 41:27):

Nina goes into her cafe, receiving bad text messages, and we see Aziraphale cut across the road (around 41:50):

Then we cut to Crowley handing his plants to Aziraphale outside the bookshop (around 42:03... and we also hear a weird crash sound during this scene):

While they load the plants in, the wall of Marguerite's is out of shot all the time.

However we then get this shot over Crowley's sholder and they aren't there (around 42:47):

Ok, so they took the lights down from episode 4 onwards right?

Nope, they reappear immediately in episode 5 and stay there:

Just like with Gabriel's Statue, if this was a continuity error, then someone was asleep on the job! But, no, the good omens team are all talented, amazing and they put their heart into this. Something as big as having these fairy lights off for episode 4 was done on purpose.

So, why? What does missing fairy lights tell us about this scene in episode 4? When the fairy lights aren't being shown on screen should we assume they are off or on?

Let the rewatching begin! (I sure will be.)

And there is more to come by the way... when I have time to write it down :)

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens speculation #good omens clues #good omens fairy lights #ineffable mystery #discontinuity #good omens spoilers

80 notes · View notes

classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years

Text

Meeting and Courting Jareth

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Apologies for the long meeting, I just love him and the story of Labyrinth with all my heart)

- The thing about Jareth is that he becomes what you wish for him to be. If you want an adventure then he’ll give you one. Want romance? You’ll get it. Want an escape? He’ll whisk you away in an instant. Everything that you encounter is there because of you.

- But perhaps we’re getting ahead of ourselves. You and Jareth meet after you encounter the story of the Labyrinth at an old bookshop.

- You couldn’t quite explain why you’d entered the shop. Curiosity perhaps, you’d never been inside, in fact, you hadn’t even known it existed. But a part of you knew that it was more than that; you felt a pull towards it. It was as though something beyond your understanding had wanted you to go inside. And so you did.

- Wandering between the dusty, wooden shelves filled with old, fading books, you jumpd as an abrupt dull thud came from behind you. Once you’d turned, you found that a book had fallen off the shelves. ‘The Labyrinth’ the cover read and upon opening it, you saw the portrait of an unsightly yet endearing goblin printed on the opening page.

- You went to put it back on the shelf before an odd gnawing feeling filled you, as though you were missing out on something if you returned it to its; what you thought was it’s, rightful place. You turned the book around and gazed at the cover for another moment before deciding that you’d purchase it.

“Oh that one? That one you can have for free. See how old it is? Free, free, free. No ones bought it for many years, you’re doing me a favor by taking it.” The withered shop keeper had said as you went to hand them the book.

- Odd. You thought since nearly all of the books in the shop were just as old if not older. But who were you to turn down a persons generosity? Thanking the shop keeper, you left the store, clutching your newly owned book in your hand as you made your way home.

- Once you arrived home, you set the book down and went about the rest of your routine. It wasn’t until later that night that you actually cracked the book open, completely unaware of how invested you would become in the story.

- You spent hours devouring the pages, seldom stopping for anything and oblivious to the starry eyes which watched you from the dark of the night outside your window.

- It was a few days later that you would first encounter the goblin king in person. You’d had a bad day and felt as though you’d rather disappear forever than be a functional human being for another day. It was then that you remembered a specific quote from the story you’d read mere days before. With a solemn chuckle, you sank to the floor, closing your eyes and saying the words.

“I wish the goblins would come and take me away right now.”

- You sat silent for a long moment, taking a few deep breaths and trying to forget about the day you had. Creak! Your eyes snapped open and your head whipped to the side before you began to laugh nervously, there was nothing there.

- But in an instant, it felt as though the entire room was alive and that; even though you were completely alone, there was someone or something there with you. The distinct feeling of being watched filled you and you felt a twinge of panic invade your senses. You quickly made your way towards your back door and stepped outside …only to find that you weren’t in your backyard.

- Before you was the beautiful view of a, well, a labyrinth. It was just like the one in the book. Were you dreaming? You must have been, how else would you be …here.

- You began to walk towards the labyrinth, soon encountering the fairies, Hoggle, the worm. You marveled at the place around you and yet, you were worried. How would you get home?

- The answer wasn’t going to be anywhere outside of the labyrinth, and so you kept on going. Maneuvering your way through obstacle after obstacle, joining up with Hoggle once more who agreed to show you the way out after some bribery and blackmail. It was with Hoggle that you saw him for the first time.

- Well, it wasn’t really him at first, he was sitting on the ground in the shape of a creature-esque beggar. Even if it was him, you wouldn’t have recognized him. You moved closer to Hoggle as the two of you went to pass the blind beggar, creeping past before the creature spoke.

“Your majesty.” Hoggle said and your eyes widened. Stooping slightly, you bowed your head in a show of respect, up until the king made Hoggle confess his “true intentions behind helping you”.

- Unbeknownst to you, the goblin king was jealous of your newfound friendship with the ghastly little man and sought to squash it. Playing the role of kind king, he watched your reaction to the news, hiding his glee and making a face of teasing disappointment at the Hoggle.

“And you Y/n,” he turned his attention towards you, a smirk settling on his face as he leaned against the wall in front of you. “How are you enjoying my labyrinth?”

“Well, it’s very beautiful,” you fumbled for the right words to say, your throat dry and your stomach filled with butterflies. “I’ve enjoyed my time here, the good and the bad. But …I would like to know the way home....”

- He tsked at you before offering you a deal. If you managed to arrive at his castle in the next thirteen hours, then you could leave. But if you couldn’t, you would have to stay with him forever. With no other option, you accepted the challenge.

- Of course, he tries to foil all of your plans and attempts. Every now and again, he’ll drop in and make your mission harder. He’s always very smug whenever he messes you up and makes you take a longer route, though; at the same time, he wants you to arrive at his castle as soon as possible.

- Throughout his visits, he’ll try and win you over. Trying to impress you with his powers and woo you with his charms.

- Not many people have gotten as far as you have so believe me; he’s impressed. Though he also feels jealous as he watches you express any affection to the creatures of the labyrinth and your new friends. He threatens them every time they leave your sight.

- Regardless of his attempts to throw you off track, you do in fact make it to the castle in time. Thoroughly distraught, he offers you a final desperate deal though it sounds more like a plea. Let him rule you. Stay with him, fear him, love him. Do as he says, and he will be your slave.

- The offer makes you freeze, your heart and mind racing. For a long moment, you remain silent before you slowly open your mouth and give him your answer. Yes, you’ll stay.

- The smile he gives you is genuine and the world around you begins to put itself back together. Soon enough, you’re standing in the room full of staircases, a hopeful feeling rising within you.

“Come, let us pick your new room.” He offers you his hand and you take it, allowing him to lead you into the corridor of the castle.

- The two of you have dinner that night and both of you would consider it to be your first date. Candle light, flowers, the occasional rambunctious goblin; it was beautifully strange and you wouldn’t have changed a thing.

- The two of you share your first kiss in one of the many gardens of the Labyrinth. You were admiring the flowers and he was standing beneath a shady tree, admiring you; something he does very often.

- Out of nowhere, he stalked out from his shaded corner, hands behind his back as he leans down and kisses you. No words spoken, no questions asked and certainly no complaints made. He pulled away and you smiled up at him, though he was looking at the flowers in front of you. He only returned your smile as you turned back to the flowers happily, his heart full of adoration and gratitude.

- The two of you would only remain together forever ...not long at all.

- You’re only ever in the company of goblins and/or other creatures; and he couldn’t care less about their comfort or opinions, so pda isn’t really a problem for him. The only problem with Pda is the fact that he doesn’t want to appear too soft in front of his subjects.

- Passionate, breathtaking kisses that make you weak in the knees and send a wave of heat coursing through you.

- He loves when you come to spend time with him; or just to see him, on your own accord, even if you’re technically disrupting something. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He’ll say, his face brightening as you come into view or the instant he hears your voice.

- He craves your affection and attention, even though he’s good at hiding it. He knows that he’s been “alone” for a very long time but it still genuinely surprises him when he’s reminded as to how much he’s actually missed having a companion.

- He always gives you a closed lip smile whenever you kiss him on the cheek. How big it is depends on the situation.

- He loves when you play with his hair, he’ll lay between your legs and toy with his crystals while you braid or twirl his teased locks.

- Getting to hear him sing. He usually pulls you into a dance while he does so.

- He’s quite fond of terms of endearment, he likes that only he is truly allowed to call you them and you him. Usually, he’ll call you love, darling, pet, and my queen.

- He’s a cuddler but you aren’t allowed to let anyone know that. Most of the time, the two of you will sleep with your head on his chest, one of your hands in his and his other arm wrapped around you, keeping you close.

- He likes tracing his fingers across your skin, usually your bare back while you’re laying on your stomach next to him in bed.

- Hand kisses.

- Constant compliments and praise.

“Well don’t you look ravishing~”

- He plays little tricks on you from time to time. I’m fairly certain that he’s; at least, part fae and we all know that they’re mischievous little bastards.

- Occasionally getting spooked by him because he’ll just appear somewhere close to you out of nowhere, usually with an expression that tells you that he knew exactly what he was doing.

- He enjoys the banter that the two of you get into. He likes the little smiles he can force you into making with his teasing comments.

- Sometimes, he’ll just drape himself across you; or lay his head on some part of you, and start a conversation as though nothing is out of the ordinary; which is true because he does it enough that you’ve gotten used to it.

“Do you think it’s too much?”

- Telling him about your dreams and the little odd things that happen to you throughout the day, even though he most likely already knows about them. He finds it amusing to listen to you describe them either way.

- He likes having your full attention. He likes the feeling of being yearned for and adored, though he adores you the same amount if not more.

- He’s sorta clingy though he tries his best to hide just how clingy he is. You get little glimpses of it every now and again, like him dropping in to see what you’re doing throughout the day or having you stay close to his side whenever you can.

- He’s a; for the most part, chivalrous gentleman, even when you’re testing his patience. It doesn’t matter if you’ve just had an argument, he’s still offering you his hand to steady yourself with while climbing up the castle steps.

- Getting his capes draped over your shoulders.

- Getting to hear all of his stories about the land, the labyrinth, and all of the creatures that inhabit it.

- You definitely sit on his lap while he’s in his throne, having little conversations while the goblins jeer at each other and cause trouble around you.

- You try to get him to be nicer to the goblins and all the other creatures of the labyrinth but old habits die hard; especially since he sees them as below him. He tries though, mainly to please you.

- You’re somewhat feared by association; at least until they get to know you, which means everyone is pretty much always incredibly nice to you, even if they’re usually rude to people. After they do get to know you, then they just begin to genuinely like you enough to be kind to you.

- Although, they revert back to their; understandably, timid selves when Jareth shows up. You can; quite literally, tell when the king shows up because their smiles will drop and their eyes will widen, some cowering slightly as you glance behind your shoulder, finding the blonde watching you.

- Masquerade balls thrown in your honor.

- Strange but delicious meals.

- Nights spent in front of a fire, cuddled into his side and watching different places and dreams in his crystals.

- Watching the sun rise and set together.

- You get anything your heart desires, all you have to do is ask or mention something in passion. He’ll either leave it for you to find in your room or manifest it right then and there, raising an eyebrow at you and smirking, a sparkling little glint in his eyes.

- Magic tricks. He enjoys seeing the wonder and awe on your face.

- Hugs from behind.

- Catching him talking to the goblins about you. It’s always something that you can’t help but find cute.

- Getting dressed up in extravagant clothing. He enjoys seeing you in proper goblin ruler fashion.

- You assume your queenly duties and take it upon yourself to make the labyrinth a better place wherever you can. He doesn’t understand your need to be kind but he does find it quite adorable when you return home with dirtied clothing and mussed up hair; usually out of breath with a big smile on your face, having spent the day helping the citizens of the labyrinth.

“Well look at your dress. You’ve ruined it.” He’ll say, usually in such a fond teasing manner that you can’t help but let out a little laugh.

- All the goblins adore you, even if you don’t necessarily fit in with them and the king. They like your little quirks and contrasting personality traits as much as they like the ones that match theirs.

- Occasionally stepping in to stop him from making brash; and oftentimes cruel, decisions.

- He’s incredibly jealous. Anytime he sees someone talking to you in a relatively “too friendly” way, he’ll threaten them with the bog of eternal stench or some other horrible part of his land.

- He’s very protective of you, the labyrinth can be a very dangerous place for someone who doesn’t truly know where they’re going. He always insists that you have someone accompany you; which you usually have no problem with. He also watches you from his crystals whenever he feels that something is wrong.

- You cant be sure but you guess that Jareth has something to do with the barn owl that follows you on your little journeys through the land.

- Arguments here and there. He usually ends up either shutting you down or snapping at you, though he doesn’t ever yell. Just to be petty, you’ll ignore him and occasionally go to stay somewhere else, usually being wholeheartedly yet wearily accepted into the home of one of your strange friends.

- He’s extremely irritable during these cold shoulder sessions, snapping at the goblins more than usual and ranting to them about how you “could dare just walk out on” him. He usually makes the creatures/goblins try to convince you to talk to him. Eventually, he’ll visit, telling you that you’re acting childish before breaking; as you refuse to say a word to him, and desperately trying to get you to forgive him.

- He doesn’t say “I love you” constantly but he does say it very often. Even so, it doesn't change how special it feels every time he says it.

- He wants to marry you as soon as he can but he thinks he’ll wait for children for a little while, wanting to savor your lives together before making a new one. As surprising as it may be, he genuinely does like children and is eager to have his own, especially with you.

#80s movie imagine #80s movie imagines #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon #labyrinth imagine #labyrinth headcanons #labyrinth headcanon #labyrinth imagines #jareth imagine #jareth headcanons #jareth headcanon #jareth imagines #jareth x reader

1K notes · View notes

ineloqueent · 4 years

Text

from sea to stars

Brian May x Reader

synopsis: from sea to stars, the world is ours.

warnings: brief allusion to depression

word count: 2.6k

a/n: happy birthday sofie ( @drivenbybri )!! i hope you have a wonderful day, you absolute star. this is inspired by the moodboard you made me of holidaying with brian in italy <3

⭒

1992

The sun had gone down hours and hours ago, and yet, Positano was only just awakening.

Twinkling lights and narrow, cobblestone paths wound down the cliffs until the land dispersed and gave way to water, and the starry sky sparkled above a sea shining beneath the newly risen moon.

The tables were being set out for dinner, shop owners returning from their midday naps that had lasted long beyond their prescribed time allotment, elderly women gossiping as they hung up their washing, fishermen returning from the ocean to play their parts in the family scene.

There were young people too. Lovers and lone wolves alike, friends and proclaimed family, they laughed as they ambled half-tipsy down the streets of their village, or shouted to one another as they ran between the alleys and dodged adults who had the mind to complain about the noise.

It was by no means a quiet night in Positano, but then again, no nights were ever quiet on the Italian Riviera, with such a lively population, driven by music and a little bit of madness.

Or those were Brian’s words anyway.

He’d said that as the two of you had wandered along the low wall by the water, and you’d smiled fondly at him as he’d swung your hand in his own, enunciated his words in that particular manner of his, with that slightly-distracted air, which gave way to rapt attention once his thoughts had been spoken.

“A people, a village, driven by music, and just a little bit of madness.” He’d laughed then, a soft, breathy sound, one that you only ever heard when it was just the two of you, shrouded in the intimacy of solitude, where you felt like you were dreaming because you felt like you were standing at the centre of the universe.

And right now, there was nothing more to the universe than Brian’s hand clasped with your own. The lights of Positano caught on his ringlets as he smiled beneath the glow of the full moon.

Somewhere along the way, he pulled you to the side of the path and stopped beside a bush full of crepe-pink flowers. He broke one off from an overhanging branch and proceeded to brush the hair from your face with light fingers before he placed the flower behind your ear.

You smiled up at him again, because how could you not— this gentle soul with his wandering mind and ever-generous heart, who swore he loved you more than you loved him.

But you wouldn’t— you couldn’t— believe him when he said that, because surely, he could not have felt any love greater than the one that overwhelmed you, bubbled and overflowed from your heart, when he smiled at you, when he so much as simply looked at you, and you found yourself falling in love all over again. Surely there were limitations as to how much one person could love another, and surely you had reached those limitations with the way you loved Brian. Except for the fact that each day you spent with him made you love him just a little bit more.

There was always something new to learn about Brian, how he had a different frown for different types of concentration, whether it was music or mathematics, and how he hummed to himself when he thought no one was listening. He could be a grumpy sod sometimes, but otherwise, he had a mild temperament, and his darker moments always yielded far sweeter ones. He was stubborn, but somehow, he always came around when you laid your head on his shoulder and took his hand in yours. He would talk and talk about what was bothering him, hardly taking a breath, quite often on the verge of tears, but then you would look to him and nod.

“I know,” you’d say.

It was hard these days. But you promised him that better ones lay ahead.

He would sigh softly and kiss your forehead, and the two of you would sit together quietly for a little while longer before going about the day.

But here, in Positano, the world seemed to spin more languidly than anywhere else, the sun lingering high in the heavens, unperturbed by its winter curfew, and time was felt much more as a construct than a reality.

At nine o’clock, you and Brian sat down to dinner at a little place that overlooked the bay, mid-way up the cliffs and boasting the best scenery in the village, secluded beneath the lemon and pine trees, with a clear view of the rolling waves and the boats that rocked atop them.

“So,” said Brian, setting down his menu to look at you, “what is it to be?”

“Hmm…”

“Pizza or pasta?” he joked, as the two of you had done since you’d arrived in Italy two weeks ago. You were beginning to like this modified routine of lying in the sun and squealing like a teenager when Brian tossed you into an oncoming wave, winding your fingers through his curls as you kissed him beside cyprus trees, tasting homemade wine on his lips and seeing the sunlight brighten his eyes anew.

“I think it’s a pasta kind of night,” you replied, and within a few minutes, Brian had ordered for the both of you in haphazard Italian.

Somewhere, there was somebody strumming a guitar and whistling, and the sound echoed softly between the close-packed buildings of the village, reminding you of another time. Exactly what other times you were reminded of was unclear, but there was a certain nostalgia to the old architecture, old families, old memories of Italy, and you closed your eyes to drink in the music as Brian’s hand found yours again.

“Someone’s playing guitar,” he said, and you murmured a response. “Makes me want to write a song. Maybe I will.”

You opened your eyes.

Brian hadn’t written in ages.

He associated writing with his bandmates, and, rightfully, found the idea of writing quite painful, without them.

But here he was, saying he wanted— no, that he would— write a song, and you felt the world grow a little lighter.

You tugged on his hand. “Will you write one about me?” you said.

A smile broadened his pretty lips. “I’d write you a thousand songs if you asked.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “There’s nothing about me that warrants two songs, let alone a thousand.”

Brian lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed a tender kiss to your skin. “That is utter rubbish, and you know it.”

You had nothing to say to that, so you settled for a blush and a smile, and glancing down at the table, at heart still the teenager you’d once scorned, but had now come to love for her belief in the goodness of people, for the purity of her love toward those who loved her in return.

You weren’t old, but god, Brian made you feel young.

Young enough to believe that everything would eventually work out for the best, young enough to imagine that the sea and the stars went on forever, and that happiness came to those who deserved it.

It was all very unrealistic, but then again, you had never thought that someone as beautiful and kind as Brian could exist in this world plagued by human cruelty.

“Love?” Brian’s voice called you from your thoughts. He was looking at you concernedly, the crease between his brows for once revealing his age, some of the tragedies which he has lived through. His normally cheery smile hid these little sadnessess, but suddenly, they were as plain to you as the moon shining down from the gradient of the Italian summer night sky. “What are you looking at? Have I got something on my face?’

He lifted a hand to his cheek, but you beat him to the chase, running your thumb softly over his chin.

“No,” you murmured, staring into those endlessly hazel eyes. “Just you.”

His smile melted you. He pressed a lingering kiss to your fingers and said nothing more.

The food came and went, and after the two of you stayed a while longer, as was custom to do in Italy, you rose and ambled down the winding paths of Positano again.

It was an aimless sort of wandering, but that was the beauty of it all. There was nothing to be done, no task to be completed or deadline to be met. There was simply you and Brian, and the hidden corners of a foreign city, begging to be explored.

One such hidden corner involved a bookshop, and Brian was quick to pull you inside before you walked on by it.

You had almost not seen the place, shrouded by overgrown shrubbery riddled by the night-blooming jasmine. Indeed, Brian had not seen it either, but had noticed the aroma of the jasmine, and had glanced over his shoulder to catch sight of the rickety little shop.

Inside, there were books everywhere, stacks on the floor that stretched toward the ceiling in winding towers, shelves overcrowded with books both vertical and horizontal, tables and chairs occupied by novels and fairy tale collections in place of people.

Brian navigated the maze of the shop with purpose, and you smiled bemusedly.

“Anything in particular?” you asked him, as though you were the shop clerk.

He stopped briefly to wink at you. “Poesia,” he said.

You left the shop only ten minutes later, Brian with a tattered book beneath one arm. He led the way down the cliffs, until at last the sea shone before you once more, and the sand sparkled with moonlight like it was made of stars.

As the waves washed ashore and the sea breeze drifted in to accompany them, you looked up at Brian, who cast his eyes about the beach.

“Please tell me we’re not going swimming,” you said, to which he laughed.

“No, it’s a bit too dark for that. And with the way the waves are cresting right now, I’d say we would easily be carried out to sea, from one moment to the next.”

You blinked, puzzled. “So what are we doing?”

“Absolutely nothing at all.”

“Nothing?” you said, considering the purposeful way he had surveyed the beach.

“Well,” he stepped into the sand and pulled you with him, “not quite.” He smiled again, that lovely, secretive smile that was yours alone to witness; he never smiled that way for anyone but you. “Come on.”

He turned to his right, and you perceived a calmer swell of tide, mitigated by a small outcrop of rock which shielded the shore from the wilder waves.

Brian sank down into the sand and drew you with him, easing you down so that your head rested in his lap, and his hand in your hair.

You closed your eyes, as he opened the book and began to read softly, the hum of his words drawing you close to dance with your imagination, to see the lights and colours of the stories he spun, because even if you could not understand the language of which they were made, you could hear the intention, the emotion, of which they had been composed.

It occurred to you then that the most beautiful sound in the world was that of Brian’s voice. It was a striking thought, yet the realisation was so simple to you that it brought tears to your eyes to think that you should have been so lucky as to hear it. He spoke more beautifully than the wind could have hoped to speak, in its whispers through trees, more beautifully than the rush of the ocean could have dreamed to emulate, in its effervescent, ever-changing beauty. You would have given up anything, everything, to listen to him forever, for there was such love in the pensiveness with which he chose his words, such care in the fluidity of his speech, the melody of his song.

But then the lilt of his voice became suddenly unfamiliar, and you opened your eyes to find that he had diverted from the script of the book in his hand, and as his fingers ran through your hair, you realised that they were trembling.

“Brian,” you began softly, sitting up to take his hands in yours. He had stopped speaking entirely, and worry gripped you at the expression on his face— the bitten lip, the watery eyes. “Brian, what—”

But he shook his head, shushed you gently, and you closed your mouth, though your concern did not subside.

With a shuddering sigh, he began anew.

“Il mondo è bello,” he recited, “dal mare alle stelle, e se mi salvi, sarà nostro.”

“I don’t understand,” you murmured despairingly, but he pulled his hands from yours, and your gaze followed his movements as he picked up the book once more.

“Quindi, salvami, amore mio, e sposami.””

The pages fell open then, and at the perfect time, too, because you had been about to question him further, to impress upon him just how little of the Italian he spoke made any sense to you.

But betwixt the pages of the book, as answers often do, lay the only answer you needed.

A little jewel, shimmering atop the circle of a thin silver band.

A ring.

Your eyes abruptly filled with tears, and if you had been able to see more than blurry shapes before you, you would have sworn that Brian’s eyes did too.

His voice nearly failed him when next he spoke, a stutter in his throat to match the one which pulsed in your heart.

“The world is beautiful, from sea to stars, and if you save me, it will be ours. So save me, my love, and marry me.”

You could not speak, for the emotion that had thickened the air in your throat.

Maybe it was the ease with which he had spoken the words, because though he had stumbled through the Italian, there had not been even a glimmer of hesitance in his eyes as he had bid you marry him.

Maybe it was how he gazed at you now, the way you had never imagined anyone would gaze at you, or how he looked ready to surrender himself to shame, should you have said no.

Maybe you were just amazed. Amazed at how he loved you. Amazed by how little you understood of the world, in contrast with how certain you were that nothing would make you happier than to spend the rest of your life with Brian May.

“Will I marry you?” you repeated, as the smile flooded your lips and the tears your cheeks.

Brian nodded silently, his chest rising and falling in a way that betrayed his quickened heartbeat.

You nodded in return.

Brian drew nearer to you until the two of you were leaning forward in the sand, until his fingertips ghosted the sides of your face. “Please,” he murmured. “Please, will you say it?”

Your eyes fluttered closed and the world sank into darkness, for but the lightness of his touch. The word fell from your tongue.

“Yes,” you said.

As the ring found its home upon your finger, the world spiraled out of touch with reality, for surely you must have been dreaming. The salt of your tears sweetened the taste of his mouth as he kissed you, with a tenderness even more beautiful than his words.

Yet, when you opened your eyes again, you knew that you could not be dreaming, because Brian still knelt before you, beneath the midnight moon of Positano.

And suddenly you understood what he had meant.

Because with your promise and his still tingling upon your lips, you knew that from sea to stars, the world would be forever yours.

⭒

a/n: my sincere apologies to anyone who actually speaks/understands italian. i neither speak not understand the language, but i had someone who does look over the grammar. i’m still not 100% sure that it’s right, but hey, i tried :)

#tina's writing #brian may x reader #fic

79 notes · View notes

btab66 · 3 years

Text

I sit and think about him

I wrote this as a companion piece to one of my other fics because Angeleyes by ABBA just had a *vibe* that I wasn’t quite done with yet!

See this as a love letter to both Good Omens and to music.

@jukeboxomens

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

1981

It was just after a temptation.Well, time is a fickle thing, it could have a been a day after or possibly even a week after. Regardless.

The posters in the bar were the same: torn at the sides, colour faded and peeling from the wall at their fraying edges. A glass, half empty, lay on the table in front of him and half a dozen water rings were branded onto the wood around it. Crowley picked it up and swigged. Amber liquid swirled in the glass as he placed it back, not daring to drip over the sides and add to the water rings. Crowley himself was no different; thoughts swirled in his mind, reached two thirds in a train of thought then got flooded back down into submission by bouts of amber. Crowley vowed not to leave until his thoughts were stopped half way, at best.

“Sometimes when I’m lonely I sit and think about him”

Music filtered into his fogged mind, emanating from the tinny speakers connected at the ceiling, projecting their music half-heartedly onto the patrons. In an unwelcome moment of clarity, his thoughts shot to Aziraphale. He began to wonder what Aziraphale would be doing.

He imagined Aziraphale would be completely immersed in a book. In fact, he would have been so enamoured by his latest leather-bound purchase that he would have forgotten to close the shop and simply sat down and started reading. His tea would have gone cold, but that’s alright because Crowley would heat it up for him again. He’d sit there in the bookshop and wait until his angel needed him; when Aziraphale’s shoulders became tense from poring over the text for so long, he would sidle up beside him and massage him until he relieved the tension. Aziraphale would thank him, turning around to press a kiss –

No. He couldn’t think about that. He would have no reason to be there and it would be irresponsible to make Aziraphale turn him away. Let alone everything else.

“Every time when I see him, will it bring back all the pain”

______

Current day

Things had changed. The world hadn’t ended, somewhat surprisingly. But that isn’t the point of this story. No, things had changed between Crowley and Aziraphale.

“Look into his Angeleyes, you’ll think you’re in paradise”

It was dark, but not oppressing. Fairy lights were wound around trees, twinkling and shimmering with energy as they cast their coloured light onto the pavement, winking at the stars above. Frosted branches of trees glittered in evening opulence, frozen in a glorious display of creation.

Beneath this elegance, Crowley and Aziraphale were walking hand-in-hand. This being of the aforementioned changes. They were making their way to the restaurant – Crowley’s suggestion but Aziraphale’s discerning choice, of course.

Arriving at the restaurant, the waiter led them to their table. It was sequestered in the far end of the restaurant, beside the blossoming orangery, leaving them pleasantly secluded from the others, no miracles required.

Encroaching on their privacy, music flowed lightly from the centre of the restaurant and wound around them in comforting familiarity. Music, like words, carried such significance. It bore the power to evoke the most visceral emotion, emotion that could be repressed for decades before blooming like a wildflower at the sound of a note. Or perhaps it was more like a boulder, Crowley thought, blundering down the mountain with no hope of being stopped, inevitably crushing the wildflower in its wake.

“He took my heart and now I pay the price”

His eyes met with Aziraphale’s and they stared at each other, the latter fond and the former – well, shall we say there was a boulder and a wildflower involved.

“Really, my dear, it’s not the most uplifting song, is it?”

“S’pose not, do still like it though. Memories and all that,” Crowley vaguely gestured to their surroundings.

“Memories, dear?” Aziraphale shifted in his seat, making an attempt to catch the lyrics of the music.

“Yeah, ngk, you know,” Crowley leant back before continuing, “about us and well we never could have had all this, but now…”

Aziraphale understood. Of course, he understood. Except now he realised just how Crowley understood it too.

Crowley and Aziraphale shared a look of understanding before returning to their meal, content and for the first time in a very long time, at ease.

Wine was poured, delicacies were enjoyed, and smiles were shared. And Crowley? Well, he couldn’t stop thinking about a certain angel, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Keep thinking 'bout his angel eyes”

___________

Feel free to like/comment/scream in the tags!

#jukebox omens #ineffable husbands #good omens #fluff #music #abba #this is soft fluff with a with a bit of angst #like just at the start #i'll put this on ao3 as well #my writing

30 notes · View notes

twittytelly · 4 years

Text

The Library

Chris Evans x Reader

Disney Drabbles Masterlist

Inspired by

Summary: Chris wants to make your first Christmas living together as special as possible by making a childhood dream come true. All the fluff.

Warnings: The slightest bit of swearing and sexual references.

The first time Chris took you back to his home, you were blown away by how nice it was. Tucked away in a quiet Boston suburb, far from the camera flashes you could see why he preferred to be here over the glare of Los Angles. Inside was clean, crisp and cosy, with the biggest back garden you had ever seen. Even in the dark, you spied a den and a climbing frame. Primarily installed for Chris' niece and nephews, you couldn't help but be tempted to have a go yourself. However, all thoughts of playtime and interior design went out the window when you felt a pair of strong hands squeeze at your waist and a beard brush against your neck. Turning to look into his ocean blue eyes, you couldn't help but surrender yourself to him as he leaned in to press his lips against yours...

A couple of years later, when Chris asked you to move in with him it was a no-brainer. So much so you gave your answer by simply jumping into his arms and kissing him. While there were creases that needed ironing out, the pair of you soon fell into your new routines and homes were found for your belongings. As Chris was taking an extended break from work after back-to-back filming and press, he decided that it was time he started taking carpentry classes like he always said he would and you relished the time to yourself to work on your own personal projects.

However, when the oppressive heat of summer gave way to a cool, freeing autumn breeze Chris started acting strangely. He had asked you to stay out of the small spare bedroom to the right of the master suite and when you enquired why, he simply stated that it was a surprise, raising his eyebrow the way he would when he was up to something.

When Chris had first made his request, you thought it would be for a day or two. But the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months. You still had no idea what Chris was up to, but the house regularly echoed with the sounds of sawing, drilling and hammering, and it wasn't even the kind you enjoyed! Once or twice, you gave into your inquisitive nature and tried to steal a glance only to find that Chris had installed a lock on the door. Bastard. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it was fuelling your frustration.

As time came around to swap the pumpkins for fairy lights, more oddities started occurring. You started misplacing your books, only to find them the next day in the exact same place where you left them. You could have sworn that some of your other belongings had gone missing too but when you had tried enlisting Chris' help... well he was as useful as a chocolate teapot!

You were not planning on spending your first Christmas with Chris' family contemplating murder, but here you were stuck in snowy Boston traffic on Christmas Eve cursing yourself for not being able to resist Chris and his puppy-dog eyes. He had practically begged you this morning when he confessed that he had forgotten to buy the book of fairytales he had promised to get for his niece, but was too busy to get it himself.

“Please Y/N,” he pleaded. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

You began quietly reciting the long list of ways he was going to make it worth your as you finally found a parking space. Fortunately, the first book shop you came across had the exact copy of the book Chris wanted. Relishing in your victory, you decided to tolerate the shoppers who were as idiotic as Christopher and have a quick browse. A good bookshop was your Achilles' heel after all, and there were one or two books that you needed to buy sooner or later.

Chris was waiting for you at the front door when you pulled up on the driveway with a look on his face that aroused suspicion. Before you could think about it too much the air was filled with an excited bark and you felt two paws on your hip. Bending down to greet Dodger you felt any remaining annoyance dissipate. You had barely crossed the threshold before Chris had swept you down the hallway towards your shared bedroom.

“Chris I know you said that you were going to make it up to me, but you could at least give me the chance to put my bags down!”

Chris chuckled shaking his head. “Keep it in your pants Y/N! There won't be any of those shenanigans until later.”

You then realised that you were being led towards the forbidden room. A nervous excitement rushed through you, and you quickly forgotten that you were still in your coat and bobble hat. Were you finally going to be allowed in? Chris suddenly stopped outside the door and you turned to him.

“I want to give you your Christmas present now.” He started sheepishly. “But it's too big to fit under the tree. I need you to trust me and close your eyes.”

Turning back around, you compiled with Chris' request; but apparently you were not to be trusted as you felt Chris' warm, large hand cover your eyes. As he leaned to open the door you felt his hard chest press against your back, as both of you felt Dodger brush past. Taking your free hand in his he guided you inside. Your face, back and hand felt cooler as Chris removed himself from you. But then you sensed his lips millimetres away from your ear.

“Open.”

As you opened your eyes, you couldn't help the gasp that left your lips. Your nostrils were flooded with the scents of fir trees, your favourite festive candle and fresh paint. Looking around the white, bright room you could barely believe what you were seeing.

The walls were lined with bookcases, mostly filled with your books; but with plenty of space for you to add to your collection. To the side sat a desk, where sat your laptop, a small potted Christmas tree and your most treasured trinkets, including your favourite framed photo of you and Chris at the L.A. house just before you left for the Oscars: the blue velvet of his jacket making his eyes pop and the golden yellow of your outfit making your skin glow.

You. Were. Speechless. You had mentioned on an early date that when you were little you wished you had a house that was big enough to have a library in it, but you didn't expect Chris to remember, least of all actually give you one.

“Chris this is incredible, I...” You breathed, trying to find the right words, eyes welling up. “Thank you so much!”

You hadn't realised you were still holding onto your bags until Chris had pried them from your grip. Placing the bags on the desk, he pulled you into a tight bear hug as you allowed the tears to fall. Dragging yourself from the embrace, you brought yourself back towards him and captured his lips in yours. Hoping to convey your gratefulness that could not be described with words. Soon enough you had to tear away from each other in order to breathe. You stole another glance around the room, as if it was about to disappear.

“Did you make all this furniture in your carpentry class?” You asked, still amazed by what was around you. Chris' body started shaking as he tried to suppress his laughter.

“No this was all done by some Swedish guy. But I did make that” he said as he gestured towards the window.

Another gasp left your lips as you saw what you were too overwhelmed to see before. It was the pièce de résistance. On either side of the window stood two bookcases that were connected by a window seat where Dodger was currently lounging. There was more shelving underneath the seat, where Chris had placed your original Harry Potter collection as well as the books that you never got tired of rereading. On the side you saw your Christmas candle burning and you noted that it would be a perfect spot for a mug of tea. You looked out of the window onto the garden. New snowflakes were falling from the sky, blanketing the garden. You imagined looking out to see Chris playing fetch with Dodger, his niece and nephews playing on the play equipment, your future children running about and causing chaos.

“Oh, Chris this is perfect” you started.

“I'm sensing a 'but'.” Chris cautiously interrupted.

“But..” you said making your way back to the desk and fishing through the bags. “Where's the little guy gonna sleep?”

Confusion swept across Chris' face as he looked towards Dodger and back to you. “What do you mean?”

You couldn't hide the smirk that ran across your face as you walked towards him, book in hand. Wordlessly you placed the book into his grasp. You saw his eyes look down at the book and back to you, before doing a double take. You watched his eyes widen as he read the words.

What to Expect When You're Expecting

#Chris Evans #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #Disney #captain america #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #beauty and the beast #TwittyTelly writes #disney drabbles #christmas fic

292 notes · View notes

bangtanxm · 4 years

Text

Bookclub; April Highlight

This month’s theme is “Fluff, Fluffier, Bangtan!” asking for our bookclub members to find the most fluffiest stories to recommend for this month. These are our our monthly fanfic recommendations from our bangtanxm; bookclub!

In the following you find a list of fics we recommend and reviewed this month. Please support these amazing authors! Happy Reading!

PS. Next month will be a ‘break’. We will be back with a new concept for the bookclub! Please watch out for the official announcement!

BOOKCLUB; recommendations

HOME written by @cassiavioletblue & @softjeon

» Series; Namjoon x Yoongi (Platonic) » Summary; Namjoon watched Yoongi strutting after him over his shoulder and sighed. He couldn’t believe he’s really done it; paying too much money for a hybrid that would bite him if given the chance when all he had wanted was a cute, little - very much harmless - kitten to begin with. » Disclaimer; anxiety, insomnia

bookclub; review

“Ahhh, so cute. I love the idea of Yoongi as a fox, such a perfectly fitting hybrid choice for him. His fear and insecurities really showed through in a realistic way, but were dealt with so sweetly by Namjoon (and vice versa once they warmed up to one another). I really loved Jungkook’s character as well, always the bunny boy; such a sweet soul who’s just happy for friends. It’s so true to his personality as we know him. And the ending was perfect. I was so scared it was going to end bittersweet in some way, but it was just adorable with him trying to be all cute and sneaky coming back into the home. Loved it.”

“if you want a fic that makes you cry because it is so soft, then this is the one to go to! my heart still hurts so much until this day! what an amazing story!”

UNEXPECTED COMPANY written by @yoongified

» One-Shot; Yoongi x Jungkook (Platonic) » Summary; In which Yoongi is terribly afraid of spiders. Luckily, Jungkook isn’t. » Disclaimer; spiders

bookclub; review

“the sweetest cutest little fic ever; i literally want to know more about how little kook saves his hyung! it was so sweetly written and their relationship is very clear which although it's just a little short fluff makes it a deeper story”

“AAAAHHHH! I've been seeing this fic everywhere and I know I've reblogged it once or twice and I finally got the chance to read it! I definitely relate to Yoongi with the spider, even reading it made my skin CRAWL I wish I had Jungkook to take care stuff like that for me OOF this was so adorably written I love it when writers show Yoongis softer side in stories I just burst so many uwus this was very well done!” [flowerwrites06]

THE GARDEN WALL written by @chimknj

>>One-Shot; Namjoon x Fairy!Jimin >>Summary; The window in the garden wall has been boarded up forever, but tonight a dull, violet light pulses in the cracks.. >>Disclaimer; None

bookclub; review

“The Garden Wall is a short and sweet prompt-inspired fic perfect for lovers of whimsy, gardens, flowers, fairies, Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, or all of the above. It is an enchanting glimpse into a land ripe with possibilities for expansion. The beautifully crafted imagery transports you into Namjoon’s world and his chance encounter with the fae leaves you wishing that you, too, can journey beyond the wall.” @ourownwings

"You really need a certain amount of talent to be able to sketch and colour a world in less than 1k words and Gina definitely did exactly that! In a small piece I could already see the world before my eyes and it leaves me wanting more and more. Also fairy Jimin is a downright CLASSIC THAT TROPE SHOULD NEVER DIE fjfgfjgjn a really good piece!!” [flowerwrites06]

“Gina has an amazing way of telling a story and filling up a whole scenario within just a couple of words. A sweet drabble for a sweet afternoon, when you enjoy your cup of tea.”

KISS ME QUIETLY written by @cassiavioletblue & @softjeon

» Series; Yoongi x Jungkook » Summary; Yoongi always said what was on his mind, while Jungkook was shy, fearful and just like a wallflower he was quickly overseen. Yoongi wore leather jackets, had tattoos while Jungkook wore soft, baby blue sweaters with sleeves that were way too long. Yoongi was everything he wasn’t. Not that he cared, but men like Yoongi didn’t care about boys like Jungkook. That’s just how it always been like until… » Disclaimer; mentioning of alcohol, selective mutism, tooth rotting fluff

bookclub; review

“This fic was such tooth rotting fluff, my goodness. And such an interesting premise, I can’t even begin. I feel like it really was written in a good, kind way so that those with things like selective mutism and the like wouldn’t be offended. Yoongi was so beautifully kind and tolerant, going out of his way to make sure Jungkook felt welcomed and safe even though he ‘couldn’t’ talk. And of course the twinge of angst made their makeup and happy ending so much more special. Such a perfect fic.”

“THIS IS IT! THIS WAS IT! THIS WILL FOREVER BE IT. I just want to know more. What’s their first date going to be like? Will they find a way to communicate without words whenever Jungkook gets to shy? Will their love truly conquer? ahhhhhh this was the sweetest!”

“This is the perfect fluff fic!”

“Im absolutely in awe at how sweet and lovely this fic was! I don't think I've felt this soft in a while and I couldn't help getting so invested in Yoongi and Kookie's relationship. It's like the perfect "opposite attract" and the bluntness vs. the shyness just worked so well!”

SWEETER THAN SWEET written by @yoongified

» Series; Yoongi x Hoseok » Summary; In his second year, Hoseok discovers dance, befriends Jungkook and his silly friends — and makes the mistake of falling head over heels for Park Jimin’s boyfriend. » Disclaimer; mentions of smut, implied smut, alcohol, swearing, toxic relationships (from the past)

bookclub; review

“This is such a promising start to this fic. Though a wip, the author really was able to capture Hoseok as a character - his insecurities and worries, as well as giving the readers just enough information to really be intrigued about him and his backstory. The other characters are great as well, endearing, sweet, and a little infuriating, and each one really fits bts as we know them in a way - Namjoon’s attention to work and Jin’s and Jungkook’s friendliness, etc. An excellent start and I’m quite curious where the rest of the fic will go!”

“I’M HOOKED! Hoseok is such a different character that here from what I’m used to read. I already love it a lot and I can’t wait to see what’s upcoming and how he will cope with falling in love with Yoongi.”

WOLFSBANE written by @cassiavioletblue & @softjeon

» Series; Wolf!Yoongi x Wolf!Jungkook » Summary; For a a few short hopeful minutes he thought that maybe he could just have Jungkook here at his place for a little while longer, maybe it would take the others a few days to find him, maybe they were busy with something else - but he was fooling himself, he knew that and when he could hear the sound of paws drumming on earth he knew that this little adventure of Jungkook’s was already over. » Disclaimer; mention of violence, light graphic content, smut

bookclub; review

“Such a great story. Really a spectacular mix of both angst and fluff, with the ups and downs of a truly well written piece. The emotional shifts and growth with all of the characters, not just Jungkook and Yoongi, were excellently played and so moving. And of course the end, the happy satisfaction that Yoongi was finally happy, Jungkook found his home, and that things may begin to change for the better. I loved the other members as well, Namjoon and Taehyung were adorably written and such vital characters for Jungkook’s development. Great work.”

“Amazing plot and story-telling. I was hooked from the first word until the last! Within a few chapters, these two manage to suck you into a whole new world!”

PAGE BY PAGE written by @sujigguk

» One-Shot; Yoongi x Jimin » Summary; Bookworm and frequent bookstore dweller, Park Jimin, has been harbouring a crush on Yoongi, the assistant at his favourite establishment, for months now. Min Yoongi, heir to his father’s beloved bookshop, has been dropping subtle hints that he’s into Jimin, waiting for him to realise that the novels he offers as recommendations aren’t simply a coincidence.

bookclub; review

“Page by Page is a warm hug, a fresh cup of tea, an afternoon curled up under a blanket with your favorite book. Its atmosphere is crafted as lovingly as the characters, thoughtful bookworm Jimin and clever store clerk Yoongi, and I promise you will fall in love with all three (or four, including Jimin’s daring best friend, Taehyung). Bibliophiles and lovers of book shops or libraries will find a sanctuary in the charming aisles of Sugar and Spice. A gentle romance blossoms from shy glances through the stacks and secret messages sent via books. I could not stop smiling while rooting for Jimin and Yoongi to solve each other’s mysteries. All stories must end, but like in my favorite books, I found the ending bittersweet because I wanted to keep living in these pages.” [ourownwings]

“She has a way of telling a story so uniquely that you just fall in love with their love. It is just sooooooo sweet!”

SING ME TO SLEEP written by remi_niscent

» One-Shot; Yoongi x Jungkook, Jimin x Taehyung » Summary; When Yoongi finally pulled himself out of his bedroom and fell asleep on the park bench during a rainstorm, he never expected to wake up to a world full of colours. Jungkook never thought that he would meet his soulmate in a park during the rain, but he could suddenly see the colours from the light across the road. Neither of them thought that a conversation could be held on your arm with pens, but they chatted until there was no skin left to write on. So what happens when one of them is ready to take things a step further but the other is still figuring himself out? » Disclaimer; mentioning of alcohol

bookclub; review

“I usually don't read a lot of Soulmate AU's but this was so freaking adorable!! I really loved Yoonkooks friends trying to be matchmakers throughout the whole thing it was hilarious and when Yoongi thanked Jungkook for the colours I ALMOST STARTED UGLY SOBBING THAT WAS DANGEROUS TO MY HEART OKAY hear me when I say I'm not an adamant fluff reader but this was such a heartwarmer!!” I loved everything about it!! [flowerwrites06]

“AMAZING! SHOWSTOPPING AND SO GOD DAMN ADORABLE!”

WASTE IT ON ME written by @yoongified

» One-Shot; Taehyung x Jungkook » Summary; A troubled artist, in search of inspiration, stumbles into a bar and finds everything he’s been looking for. » Disclaimer; casual drinking

bookclub; review

“WOW. So this fic was unbelievable. The first thing I have to comment on is just the beauty of the prose. It felt like a painting in itself. So much detail and flowery (but appropriate) descriptions that just flowed along the page. I feel like the author really was able to capture the painter’s spirit within Taehyung and it came out so forcefully within this writing. It’s absolutely stunning. And of course the descriptions of the characters and their own personalities – mysterious and just as artistic and flowing as Tae’s own paintings. It really felt like everything was told from his painter’s vision and that was such a unique and gorgeous way to tell the story, and so fulfilling to read.”

“What an unique piece of a story! At first you think...okay this might be your typical drunk stumbling into a bar troubled artist - au but it’s not....it is wonderful!”

SAMHAINS BLESSING written by @cassiavioletblue & @softjeon

» One-Shot; Witch!Yoongi x Vampire!Taehyung » Summary; How little vampire Tae found his way to Yoongi. » Disclaimer; mentioning of blood

bookclub; review

“If you prefer your Halloween celebrations sweet rather than spooky, then Samhain’s Blessing is the treat for you! Adapting to his new vampire abilities is not going well for the hopelessly adorable Taehyung, until he falls—quite literally—into the life of Yoongi, an adept witch with a soft spot for animals. The tale that unfolds has many moments with “bat eating banana” levels of cuteness (look it up, you won’t regret it), as well as my new favorite appearance of a sieve in any work of fiction. Of course, the story by this prolific writing duo can be enjoyed year-round, no Halloween required. I only wish I had found it sooner! Now if you’ll excuse me, some cute bat videos are calling…”[ourownwings]

“This fic was so SO CUTE. I really liked that Taehyung wasn’t a perfect, sexy, badass vampire. This is often the case with vampires in fics, but he was rather a misfit and just sweet and cute. I think it really worked for Taeyung’s personality, as well as for the fic itself, letting the two bond in a really adorable way. “I’m Taehyung and I suck at being a vampire.” Cracked me up so much. Also the imagery of Tae in his bat form is just too good; I love bats anyway and him as a sweet little hoppity-bat not wanting to hurt anyone and just being generally fluffy and adorable is too precious. And the really soft, happy ending was great, the knowledge that they’ll figure it out one way or another is just A+; working things out and making an overall amazing couple.”

A SONG OF FIRE AND FRUIT SMOOTHIES written by teecysh

» One-Shot; Dragon!Namjoon x Jimin » Summary; Namjoon is part dragon, and to his complete and utter embarassment, he can’t stop collecting cute things for his hoard. Which would be fine except Jimin is the cutest person he’s ever seen and it’s becoming a real struggle not to collect him too…

bookclub; review

“omg this is one of my favorite little minjoon stories! how sweet jimin is towards the dragon?? omg can i shout about it all day? i love how intrigued namjoon is and how he slowly gets closer until he finally takes jimin with him haha such a fun concept!”

“The title alone hooked me haha, but to then see what it was about made me squeal. Namjoon just loving cute things and Jimin being one of those cute things is the best minjoon thing. It's made better by the fact that he's a dragon who has a love for adorable things <3 It was also really well written and paced so that it didn't seem to be going to fast or too slow. Both of them are so good together, and I love how Jimin reacted to Namjoon. It seemed so real haha”

“The premise of this story had me lining up to read it as quickly as Jimin’s smoothie truck customers, and by the time I finished, I was absolutely smitten. The characters really shine, as the author is faithful to their established personalities. Namjoon is curious yet painfully shy, with a penchant for taking advice a little too literally. Jimin is a hard-working sweetheart who sees past his new observer’s unusual social etiquette as well as the small detail that he is, in fact, a dragon. The tale that unfolds is humorous and heart-warming as Namjoon navigates how to invite Jimin to join his horde of “cute things,” with some delightful appearances of Yoongi and Hoseok in supporting roles. A Song of Fire and Fruit Smoothies is as sweet and refreshing as Jimin’s titular treats.” [ourownwings]

— Join the Bookclub here! — official post — faq

#bangtanxm #bookclub*#bts #bangtan #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #april highlight*

26 notes · View notes

soybeantree · 4 years

Text

― ― → secrets within

pairing: immortal!do kyungsoo x (reader) genre/warning: magic, potential fluff description: kyungsoo may have finally resigned himself to living out his days surrounded by the voices of years gone by. think ‘hotel de luna’ but *bookstore*. a/n: march installment of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is in the service’ series. check out the other’s here.

The rain pushed you into the bookstore. You had believed that you could make it home before the clouds released their deluge, but you had been wrong. Home had been a distant hope before the storm even began anyway. Ducking under the nearest awning you found yourself standing in front of a bookshop you had never seen before. The rain showed no signs of letting up, so you decided to wait it out in the shop. The bell above the door jingles as you enter. You wait for someone to greet you, but the shop is silent. Your footsteps echo as you move past bookshelves. The sweet tang of bound pages and the dry musk of undisturbed leather fills your nose. Brushing your fingers across the soft leather bindings, you attempt to read the titles, but their script is a foreign swirl. You pull one off of the shelf and open it, eliciting a crack from its spine. The words rise from the page, drawing you in as your mind reaches for their meaning. “I would recommend not reading this one.” The tome slips from your hands as the speaker’s voice breaks the mysterious spell on you. Blinking as you bring yourself back to reality, you meet the eyes of the speaker. Thick spectacles frame dying ember which cast a spell of their own while his soft voice continues to echo in your head. He appears to be around your age, but something in his eyes feels ancient. “Sorry.” You stutter out. “They have a mind of their own.” He breaks eye contact as he returns the book to the shelf. His hands brush over the book’s neighbors. They all have the same script on their spines, and you swear you can hear them thrum in response to his touch. “Was there something I could help you find?” His hands move behind his back as he gives you his full attention. “Um…” You fumble for a response. After the book and him, you feel like your brain is moving through sludge. The pitter-patter of rain gives you a rope to grasp onto. “The rain. I came in to get out of the rain.” You gesture to the window behind you as proof of your claim. His eyebrows lower as his eyes grow darker. “You weren’t looking for the shop?” “N-no.” Your lips pucker with the denial. You clear your throat and smother them into a thin line as you glance everywhere but at him. “If I need to go- “

“Would you like some tea?”

“What?” Your eyes snap back to him. A soft smile lifts his lips. “I was going to make myself some tea. Would you like some?” A shiver travels through you, and you nod. The rain has seeped through your clothes and is threatening a chill. “There’s a fire at the back of the shop and some blankets.” He gestures through the rows of shelves to a faint orange glow. “You can warm yourself while you wait for the tea.” He finishes with a nod before heading off, but after two steps, he stops and glances back at you. “It would be best if you didn’t touch the books. The rest are shy around strangers.” With that warning, he continues on his way. Torn between unease and intrigue, you glance between the door and the faint orange glow. Sheets of rain blur the street, and another shiver wracks your body. While you could be at the start of some terrifying fairy tale, you much prefer the warmth of a fire and tea to suffering through the torrential down pour and the coming cold it promises. The fire waves at you as you settle on a set of plush pillows. Grabbing a blanket from a nearby pile, you wrap it around your shoulders. Your eyes stray to the portraits on the mantel. They travel through time from oil on canvas, black and white, to modern digital, but in all of them, the shopkeeper stares out at you. “Teas ready.” You glance over to find him in the flesh, carrying a tray. He sets it on a small table you had overlooked. It’s a full tea set complete with snacks. He pours two cups, holding one out to you. “So, are you a time traveler or just eccentric?” You incline your head to the portraits while your hands reach for the proffered cup. The sweet smell of jasmine tickles your nose as the steam brushes your cheeks, chasing away your chill. “Neither.” He sips his tea as he settles into an arm chair. After a moment, you sip yours. “I’m immortal.” Still steaming liquid flies from your lips as you splutter. Pulling a handkerchief from nowhere, he sets it on the table, exchanging it for a biscuit which he nibbles on while you regain your composure. Setting your cup on the able, you grab the handkerchief to clean up your mess and dry your lips. “I’m sorry?” He shrugs as he pops the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. “I’ve been cursed to remain the keeper of this shop until I can find someone to take the burden.” You search his face for the lie, but all you find is a despair which tugs at your heart. Sitting in this bookshop surrounded by books which may or may not be sentient, you allow yourself to suspend reality and believe the impossible. “Are you trying to pass the burden to me?” You gesture to the tea and biscuits. He chuckles. Rather than a continuous melody, his chuckle is three distinct sounds which remind you of a donkey. You cover a snort with the handkerchief as you try to erase the image from your mind. “I never liked fairy tales when I was little.” His voice grows somber as he delves into his memories. “Maybe, if I had, I would have avoided this fate.” He gazes into the fire as he speaks. You watch the flames. They waver and spark, changing their shape until a woman appears within them. She leaps forward, but the fire surrounds her, keeping her within its circle. Her flame flickers, threatening to extinguish, when a man appears. He fails to notice her, but she notices him. She steps forward and wraps her arms around him, drawing him into her world. The more he is with her the dimmer he becomes and the brighter she grows. When he is nothing but a flicker, she blazes and bursts through the fire, disappearing in a puff of smoke. He remains trapped within the fire. “Why aren’t you trying to burden me?” You whisper when the flames are once again flames. “You have no magic. This shop would destroy you.” The unfiltered truth startles you. Wrapping your blanket tighter around your shoulders, you glance at the shelves and swear you can hear the books whispering. “Nothing will harm you while I am here.” He draws your attention back to him and offers a simple smile. You return the smile as your shoulders relax. “I don’t know if I believe any of this is happening, or if I think I’m in the middle of a strange dream.” “It’s better to think of it as a dream.” He leans forward and refills his glass. “But I am happy you are here.” Settling back in his chair, he cradles the cup in his hands. “Do you not get any customers?” You grab a biscuit, breaking of a piece and popping it into your mouth. The morsel melts on your tongue as it releases a burst of flavor. “Mmm, this is really good!” You pop the rest into your mouth and reach for another two. The shopkeeper ducks his head, but the fire light reveals the bright pink tips of his ears. “What is your name?” You ask after realizing that you have failed in the most basic display of manners. “Kyungsoo.” His ears still hold their color as he raises his head, but his voice retains its even timber. “Kyungsoo.” The word is as sweet as the biscuits. “Do you not get any customers?” You repeat your question. He nods. “Quite a few, but they come for what they need and leave after as few words as possible. No one wishes to linger here for fear they will become the shopkeeper.” Raising the cup to his lips, he blows gently – the steam coating his glasses – before drinking. The steam clears, and you watch the embers in his eyes fade further. You search for a response or a new vein of conversation, but the sludge from earlier returns. “The rain has stopped.” The continuous pitter patter has come to an end. You wonder when and how you failed to notice it. Setting his cup on the table, Kyungsoo pushes himself out of his chair. “You also should not linger. The books may become fond of you.” Oddly, you like that idea, but Kyungsoo is reaching for your cup. You give it to him to set on the table beside his. He reaches for you, and you place your hand in his and allow him to pull you from your nest of pillows and blanket. “Thank you for the tea.” You say as he leads you back to the front of the shop, his hand still holding yours. He nods. Stopping by the shop’s door, you stare out at the freshly washed world beyond then back at him. He releases your hand and steps back. “Thank you for stopping by.” You wait for him to say something more, but he simply stands with hands clasped behind his back. With a smile and final nod, you step out of the shop. The bell jingles behind you as the door closes. Glancing back, you find a plain brick wall.

Perhaps you could believe it was a dream if you weren’t still holding his handkerchief.

#do kyungsoo #kyungsoo #exo #kyungsoo drabble #kyungsoo fanfiction #exo drabble #exo fanfiction #kyungsoo collection #hmw

32 notes · View notes

freddiesaysalright · 5 years

Text

Beautiful Mess Part 7

A Brian May x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader works in a bookshop. She meets Brian May and they have an instant connection. It seems to be a fairy tale romance. But, things are seldom what they seem.

Word Count: 3k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @mrs-jack-murphy, @not-john-watsons-blog, @simmisblog, @mirkwoodshewolf, @assembledherethevolunteers, @thosequeenboys, @lv7867, @maymacca, @rethought, @brianslittlepet, @jinxy93, @stephydearestxo, @mrcleanisthicc, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls, @readinghorn, @lookuptotheskiesandsee If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: The drama continues :)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Part 7 here we go!!!

Your mind was solely on Brian, even as you watched reporters setting up cameras and police trying to control the crowd that was steadily gathering around outside the bookshop. The flashing lights were nearly blinding. Finally, you saw an ambulance pull up amongst it all. You let out a sob and looked at the intruder.

“Please let Brian go,” you begged him. “Please. I’ll do anything you want, but please let him go get help.”

The intruder looked out and saw the situation. He looked between you and Brian, seeming to consider what you said. Your mind raced with ways to convince him. You had nothing to offer him, really, so you couldn’t bargain. You pleas to his humanity were clearly not effective. What could you say to him?

“If he dies,” you said, holding back the way your heart broke at the very idea. “You’ll have a murder charge on you.”

He scoffed. “He won’t die, it’s not that serious.”

“I don’t know,” you said with a swallow. It was true, you weren’t sure how any of this worked, but you had to lie. “He’s losing a lot of blood. And he’s Brian May. The manhunt for the one who killed a member of Queen would be hard to evade.”

He didn’t answer, but pulled you away from the window now. The police and reporters had seen you enough to know that you had a gun to your head. Your eyes went to Brian, who tried to take a deep breath as he clutched his still bleeding arm. You wanted to hold him and protect him from any further pain. But the way to do that was to continue down the track you were on.

“If you let him get treated, he’ll survive, and you -”

“Shut up,” the man cut across you, pushing the muzzle harder into your temple.

You winced.

“If you let him go, I won’t press charges,” you said desperately. “You can take the money and leave, I’ll make sure they never pursue you.”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it again. Your heart raced impossibly faster. Had you swayed him? Had you been believable enough that he was actually considering your offer?

“You have to let him go now,” you said. “If you don’t...well, you seem to be familiar enough with the resources the Kimballs have on hand.”

He grabbed you by the hair again and dragged you over to the counter. You hissed with pain as your scalp stung from his handling of you. He took you to the side where there was a ring attached. There used to be a chain there but you had it removed ages ago. You weren’t really worried about people coming behind the counter. He retrieved handcuffs from his back pocket, snapped one ring around your wrist, and the other he looped through the counter ring.

“W-what are you doing?” you demanded.

“Letting him go,” he said. “But I won’t risk you running out the back or attacking me while I do.”

“You don’t need to-”

“How many times am I going to have to tell you to shut the fuck up?” he snapped.

You recoiled and closed your mouth. You kept your eyes fixed on him as he walked over to Brian, kneeling down and putting Brian’s unwounded arm around his shoulders. He lifted Brian off the ground.

“Come on, on your feet,” the man barked.

Brian miraculously stood up. But he was weak. He leaned heavily on the intruder, who struggled beneath the weight. As Brian stumbled to the front door, he locked eyes with you.

“I love you,” you mouthed to him.

Then, he just barely smiled - the corner of mouth just flicking upward for a brief moment. That eased your heart somewhat. You had no idea what would happen now, but at least you made him smile.

Brian was in an absurd amount of pain. He’d never felt anything like this. His whole arm was burning and throbbing, and it muddled any other thought process he could have. He saw the front door of the shop, and he ached to have you there supporting him instead of this violent stranger. It killed him to leave you behind in such danger.

“Don’t hurt her,” he murmured to the man as they reached the door at last.

“That’ll depend entirely on her,” the man returned.

He reached toward the lock and Brian saw that his hand was shaking. He turned it, cracked the door open, and suddenly there was a wall of noise. Brian couldn’t make sense of it, but he searched the crowd for who would come and get him. His heart leapt with joy when he saw Roger shoving his way through people. He was followed closely by Freddie and John. It was ironic that Roger was the smallest and yet here he was, parting the crowd with the efficiency of Moses, while his taller counterparts trailed behind. They were stopped by a police officer, and Brian saw Roger immediately begin an argument with him.

He didn’t have time to try and listen since he was roughly shoved through the small space between the door and the wall of the building. With a grunt, he stumbled forward, hearing only a quick snap and a turn of the lock. Part of him was relieved, while another part of him was gutted. You were beyond his reach now and anything could happen.

“Brian!” Roger called, reaching him at last.

Brian wished he could have heard what Roger said to get past the police. It was certainly laced with swear words. Brian was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion as his bandmates surrounded him and supported him to the emergency vehicle. He squeezed Roger’s hand.

“You came for me,” he sighed.

“‘Course we did,” Roger returned, and Brian almost thought he heard the drummer choking up.

As the paramedics sat Brian down and started working on him, he got a good look at the rest of the band. Roger’s eyes were quite watery. John’s face was white as a sheet and he was keeping his hands resolutely in his pockets. Freddie was already fussing, talking to paramedics about how Brian was going to be treated. Brian blinked and felt a tear slide down his cheek. He reached out and grabbed Freddie’s jacket sleeve. It was almost childlike, the way he looked at his friend.

“It hurts,” he mumbled.

Freddie nodded. He looked at the medic sternly.

“Can’t you give him something for the pain?”

“Soon,” she said. “We’re going to get him to hospital first.”

Brian’s heart constricted with panic. He couldn’t bear the thought of being driven away to just wait and wonder what was to become of you. You were still there inside. Close enough to him. To go now would be abandoning you, and he could never do that.

“No,” Brian said, harsher than he meant to sound. “I’m not leaving without Y/N.”

“Forget her,” Roger said, and Brian understood the bitterness there, but he ignored it.

“Mr. May,” the medic said gently. “We’ve got to get you treated. You’re not going to die or anything, but if this wound gets infected it could lead to all kinds of problems.”

Brian shook his head. “I can’t. Do what you can here, but I’m not leaving her.”

She looked around at the other band members for some backup, but they didn’t give it to her. Brian’s heart swelled with appreciation for them. Their frowns showed him that they didn’t agree with him, but they were standing by him no matter what.

“You heard him,” John said.

The medic took one last look at them and then sighed, giving up the argument. She started telling the others what to bring her so she could clean Brian up. They would need to put stitches in at the hospital, but they needed something cleaner than your stockings on the wound. Brian looked at the door as if willing you to emerge and come to him.

Inside, you looked at the intruder, really studying his face. He was sweating, and you could see that he was also shaky. Clearly, he had not intended on all of this and was hoping it would be easier to extort you for your fiance’s money. You almost laughed, but refrained. It was wiser for now to not test his limits by angering him.

“So, you’re cheating on your fiance with Brian May, huh?” he said.

“I thought you wanted me to shut the fuck up,” you retorted.

“Not when I ask you a direct question,” he replied.

“Yes, I was unfaithful to Richard with Brian,” you said. “Not that it’s really any of your business.”

He chuckled. “God, what a woman. Tell me, is it just their money or are you really that much of a slut?”

Rage roiled inside you at his ignorance and the insult.

“Oh fuck you,” you spat. “All men ever want is for women to fuck them, and then when they do, they’re a slut. If they don’t fuck you and fuck someone else, then they’re even more of a slut. And if they don’t fuck anyone, they’re a stuck up bitch.”

He only blinked at you.

“Is that what this is about?” you wondered. “You want money to get women?”

His face went red. This time, you allowed yourself to laugh.

“The problem isn’t your money, mate,” you said. “It’s not that women aren’t shagging you because you’re poor. Women aren’t shagging you because you’re a fucking psycho.”

“Hey!” he shouted, pressing the gun into your skin again.

You weren’t sure where this cheekiness was coming from, but you supposed it was because Brian was safe now. And the more time you spent with this man, the more you realized how little he’d thought this through. You were still frightened of him, but you knew that if he killed you, he’d have nothing.

“Maybe I should just end you now,” he said.

You didn’t answer because you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself.

“Richard did disobey my order by getting the police involved,” he continued. “And now you’re mouthing off.”

You watched him carefully, eyes on his hand wrapped around the gun. His finger hovered over the trigger and your stomach churned. Would he really give it all up so easily?

Closing your eyes, you thought only of Brian. If this was to be your last moment, you wanted to think only of him. You thought of the feeling of his lips on yours and the way he made love to you. You thought of the way he played and when he winked at you. You remembered that first dinner laughing together and the surprised look on his face when Cat jumped out of that box. A tear slid down your cheek.

Suddenly, the intruder gave a surprised cry and the pressure of the gun was lifted from you. You heard a violent hiss and little growl and then the intruder stumbled backward, away from you. Snapping your eyes open, you took in the scene.

Cat was latched onto the intruder’s neck, biting and scratching him furiously. Blood dribbled down the intruder’s throat and shirt as he flailed, trying to get a grip on the orange ball of fluff.

“Cat!” you cried. “Cat, no! Get out of here!”

He meowed viciously and sank his teeth into the intruder’s neck like a vampire. The intruder howled in pain and you were once again tempted to laugh. Brian had not been nearly as dramatic and he’d been shot.

Cat leapt away from the intruder, having done enough damage, and landed on the sill of the shop window. The intruder, fuming, aimed and fired, but was pointing the gun far too high to get anywhere close to hitting Cat. The window shattered with a thunderous CRASH, and you covered your face with your hands as glass scattered around you. Cat jumped out of the window and ran toward the crowd, disappearing among them.

When everything settled, you looked out and saw the police officers all gathered around, guns fixed on the intruder, who had resumed pointing his at your head. He moved to stand behind you so the officers wouldn’t shoot.

“Sir!” the officer called. “Put the weapon down and release the woman!”

“Where is Richard Kimball?!” the intruder demanded. “WHERE IS HE?!”

“Here.”

You recognized Richard’s voice as he emerged from between the two officers at the center. He walked slowly and menacingly up the sidewalk. You’d never seen him look so dangerous. His bright blue eyes - usually so warm and friendly - were like ice. His mouth was turned down in a mean scowl as he glared at the intruder.

“Well,” he said. “Here I am.”

“Hope you’ve got your checkbook,” the intruder returned. “I want the money.”

“Very well,” Richard said, reaching into his coat pocket.

It hit you suddenly how cold it was outside. It seemed like an absurd thing to notice at such a time.

“Two million, yes?” Richard asked, flipping open his checkbook and retrieving a pen.

“Yes,” the intruder said.

Richard suddenly stopped and looked up.

“You do know that’s tipping money for me, don’t you?” he said. “My fiance isn’t worth two million.”

Your brow furrowed. That was sort of a low blow. Did he know about Brian or something? Even if he did, it was a shitty thing to say. He continued writing and signed the check with a swish.

“There,” he said. “Now. Please don’t hurt my family.”

On instinct, you let your body become dead weight and dropped to the ground. That was the code phrase. The family had practiced it for years, just in case of situations like this. Your arm remained up because of the handcuff still attached to the counter, but you were out of the way. The officer beside Richard fired once, striking the intruder in the shoulder. He screamed and fell to the ground beside you. The gun fell from his hand. You kicked it away and then curled against the counter so he could not get behind you again.

You watched as Richard climbed in through the broken window, shards of glass crunching under his shoes. He leaned over the intruder.

“My fiance is not worth two million,” he repeated darkly. “She is absolutely priceless.”

The police officers entered behind him and starting to take the man away. They escorted him out through the front door and you looked up at Richard, shivering.

“Help me,” you whimpered.

With the assistance of a police officer’s tools, they freed you from the handcuffs. You collapsed into Richard’s arms, still shaking with relief. He wasn’t angry with you, after all. He held you tight, and then you openly wept, holding nothing back. You released the fear and tension - everything you had just gone through. He just held you, rubbing your back and stroking your hair.

“Oh, Richard, I thought -” you blubbered. “For a moment, I really thought I was gonna die. I didn’t - oh, God…”

“Shhh, it’s alright now,” he soothed. “I’m with you. You’re safe. I’m so proud of you, my brave dear.”

You sobbed again and clutched his coat. He bent down and scooped you up, carrying you bridal style out of the bookshop. Then an officer approached.

“Mr. Kimball,” she said. “The medics are waiting to take her.”

“Right, then,” he returned, and he followed her to the ambulance.

You hid your face from the reporters that were snapping photos and putting mics in your face as Richard carried you. He was also ignoring them. When you got to the vehicle, the police shielded you from them. Then you saw Brian, sitting on the edge of the back of the truck.

“Brian!” you gasped. “What are you still doing here?”

“He refused to leave without you,” the medic explained irritably before he could answer. “Can we all go to the hospital now?”

Brian nodded, and allowed her to help him into the back. Richard climbed in with you. Brian looked at this bandmates, and you felt a twinge of guilt at the looks Roger and John were giving you. Freddie appeared more sympathetic.

“We’ll meet you there, darling, alright?” Freddie said to Brian.

“Yeah, alright,” Brian said with a weary nod.

Then the doors were closed and you were in the back of the van with Brian and Richard. You would normally have felt awkward about it, but you were too shaken up.

Brian felt weak and lightheaded, but that didn’t stop the pang of jealousy he felt when he watched you curled up in Richard’s lap and relying on him for comfort. Logically, Brian understood that he physically was unable to do that for you, but he wanted you close to him. He wanted to be your refuge.

But also, he didn’t want to say anything in case you had not told Richard about the affair. He didn’t want to expose anything in case you were going to stick to your guns and marry the man. He was too tired to form questions now, and eager to get to the hospital and get treated.

When you arrived, you and Brian were taken to separate rooms. You were being treated for shock, really, and to be sure you had no serious injuries. The doctor asked you a few questions and then you were cleared to go. He left the room. You looked at Richard, the truth bubbling up inside you.

“I slept with Brian,” you blurted out.

It was a ridiculous moment to come clean about this. But time felt even more precious to you now. You would not waste a second.

Richard blinked. “Oh?”

You wrinkled your brow. “Aren’t you angry?”

“Not particularly,” he replied. “We’re not in love or anything. Does he make you happy?”

You nodded. “Extremely.”

“Well then,” he said with a gentle smile. “I’m happy for you.”

“But -”

“Y/N, all I’ve ever wanted is your happiness,” he cut across you. “You’re my best friend.”

“But we’re still engaged,” you said.

He heaved a deep sigh. A melancholic look settled on his face and he held your gaze.

“I’m letting you off the hook,” he said. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, but the truth is, Y/N, I haven’t been faithful either.”

Your eyes went wide with surprise.

“What?”

135 notes · View notes

blackirisposts · 5 years

Text

Of Ghosts and Coffee Shop Whispers

This work is part of Spoopy October Writing Challenge 2019 (SOWC19) hosted by me, annnnnnd Happy Steve Bingo (HSB) by: @happystevebingo !!! ❤

Prompt: Day 6: Ghost for SOWC19 && Romance Novel for HSB ❤

Pairing: Darcy Lewis x Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes x OMC, Jane Foster x Thor ❤

Word Count: 2404

❤ Book Shop && Coffee Shop ❤

Reblog will include links and tags! ❤

Warnings: Swearing, Mild Crack and the occasional cameo ❤

A/N: Special thanks to @pegasusdragontiger and @heartbreaker6995 for both shocking my brain into actually working and cranking out this fic ❤

Darcy’s eyes follow the blond man across the room as he moves to wait for his coffee order.

“You’re staring.” Jane says, not looking up from the small wired contraption she was fiddling with.

“Yep.” Darcy pops the ‘p’ like the word’s made of bubble gum. “What a sight.”

Jane hums not fully paying attention to Darcy.

“Thor’s off world, your loss.” Darcy says with a slurp of her coffee.

“Thor?” Jane looks up and around in confusion.

Darcy pats her hand, “Off world, dear.”

“Right. I knew that.”

Darcy pushes a barely touched panini sandwich towards Jane.

“Eat, my scientific one. It shall give you strength!”

“Eat later. Science now.”

“Eat now. Science, well, also now?” Darcy sighed dragging her eyes back to Jane. “Don’t make me take whatever the hell that thing is away from you until after you’ve finished your no longer hot sandwich thingy.”

“I dare you.” Jane stares at Darcy.

“Jane.” Darcy arches a brow.

“Fine.”

“Love you too.”

Jane takes a few bites as she fiddles with her contraption.

“Still staring.”

“He’s still a sight to behold.”

“You stare at him whenever you see him here. Go talk to him. Dazzle him with your wit.”

“Yeah. That’s likely to happen.”

“Where else are you going to run into him? The lab?”

“No.” Darcy huffed, fixing her mass of curls. “Maybe a bookshop.”

Jane scoffs.

“You never know.” Darcy takes a drawn-out sip of her nearly empty coffee mug. “Okay, but if I ran into the glory of that in a bookshop, I’d die happy. . . oh, and then I could haunt the bookshop, too. . . okay, Jane. New plan!”

As Darcy dreams out loud, a half-asleep man in a stained purple shirt and black apron sidles up to her.

“It’s your lucky day then, Dee.”

Darcy squeaks in an undignified manner, startled by Clint’s sudden appearance at her side. She glares at him, her cheeks tinted pink. Clint’s an incorrigible gossip. And he will definitely tell Nat, another incorrigible gossip. This will not end well.

“Where’d you crawl out of?”

“I’m on break.” Clint shrugs and sips his coffee.

“You know something, Barton?”

“I could use more tips.” Clint arches a brow at Darcy.

“Ha! You’re lucky you make the best coffee in the city.”

Clint chuckles and takes the empty chair at their table, partially blocking Darcy of her glorious view.

“I might know a little something-something about a certain possibly haunted book shop on 66th street. If you’re planning on taking up an additional post to haunt it.”

“Possibly haunted?” Jane asks, suddenly interested in the conversation and not believing a word he says.

“Yeah. There’s like at least two ghosts. They’re—well they’re really annoying. Funny sometimes but mostly annoying.”

Darcy and Jane share a look and Darcy snorts turning back to Clint.

“So, what are you actually saying?”

“Maybe he’ll be there. Maybe he won’t be.”

“But?”

“But I’d check it out if I were you.” Clint grabs the empty cups and crumpled wrapper that once contained Darcy’s Danish. “You two check each other out far too much for you both to not have noticed yet. It’s driving everyone insane.”

“Whatever, dude.” Darcy rolls her eyes, biting her lip to keep her smile at bay. “If this bookshop is real, it’d be worth it to run into him there. Haunted or not.”

“Whatever you say, Dee.” Clint says walking back to the front counter.

“Okay, Jane, new plan. Same plan. Whatever.”

“Darcy. No.”

“Darcy. Yes.”

“Wait, what’s the address?” Darcy looks from Jane to Clint.

‘Look at your phone.’ Clint signs from behind the counter.

Darcy looks down to her phone to see the address and several emojis light up her phone.

“Who put this here?”

“You know who.” A tired voice replies, muffled by the rows of books.

“Dude. You can’t put this here.”

“I can. And I did.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fix it!”

“There’s nothing to fix. It should go here.”

“No. No, it shouldn’t.”

“Guys.” The tired voice calls out.

“You cannot put Tolkien in the romance section.”

“Yeah. I can.”

“No.”

“It’s totally a romance novel. You’d know that if you ever learned to read.”

“Guys!” The voice calls out again.

“NO!”

“Yes! He goes in every section!”

“Tolkien. Does. Not.”

“Yep. Every one. That’s what everyone wants to read anyways.”

“Oh my god. It’s like arguing with a wall.”

“Guys. Knock it off.” The tired voice shouts.

A barely discernable pair of ‘sorry’s are uttered without feeling. Hushed arguing can still be heard throughout the book shop that finally stops when a book is thrown down aisle slamming into a wall with a harsh thud.

“You done yet?” Darcy asks, tapping the end of her pen against the table top.

“Does it look like I’m done?”

“No. You’re never done. Even when you are, in fact, done.”

“What?”

“You started spouting equations when you were asleep. Remember? I recorded it incase it was something import.”

“I don’t remember that.” Jane eyes Darcy. “There’s no way I did that.”

“You did.” Eric taps his head. “I remember. It was odd. All your equations where correct but they had nothing to do with each other.”

Jane huffs. “Typical.”

“Nah, just proof you need more sleep, Doc.”

“I need more sleep? Or you want to go ghost hunting?”

“Maybe both?” Darcy holds both hands up defensively. “Can’t we have both?”

“Take the rest of the day off, Darcy.” Eric chuckles grabbing the pen from her.

“Really?”

“Yes.” He gives her an incredulous look. “Go have fun with the—ghosts.”

“I don’t think they’re—”

“I don’t want to know. Just call us if you need help or are pulled into another dimension again.”

“Thanks, ma dude.” Darcy bounces on her toes and presses a quick kiss to Eric’s cheek. “And you’ll take care of Jane-y?”

“Yes. Now, go before you convince yourself not to.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t science too hard.”

Darcy bites her lip, checking her phone one more time for address to the bookshop. The entrance is warm and charming. Totally inviting. Not that there was a bookshop that hadn’t agreed with Darcy yet.

The door chimes softly as the smell of fresh coffee and paper flood her nose.

“Yeah. This is a place I could call my forever home.” Darcy mutters to herself.

Not a soul in sight. Only books and a mismatched pair of leather chairs and a purple velvet couch.

Mismatched fairy lights hang crisscrossing overhead, leading to a small stage. A framed chalkboard sign reads: Poetry reading, Tonight 8pm.

Darcy snaps a pic and sends it to Jane and Eric, found my happy place.

She wanders farther into the bookshop when she hears it.

“Was the fair palace door—”

First it sounds like a whisper.

“Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing—”

Now a little louder. The disembodied voice sounded pensive, annoyed even.

“Flowing, flowing, flowing—”

Darcy’s curiosity gets the better of her and she follows the voice, stifling a snort when she hears it curse in frustration.

She hears papers moving and an irritated sigh.

Rounding a corner, she sees the source of the voice. Not a ghost by any means, but definitely something that took her breath away. Before her perched precariously on a stool is a rather large man in a rust colored sweater, his dark hair tied messily in a bun.

“That was really beautiful.”

The man looks up and blushes. “Th-thanks. I’m trying to memorize it before tonight.”

“You’ll get it.”

“I better.” He sighs, his voice dropping low in embarrassment. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, for who?” Darcy beams a toothy grin at him as his blush darkens.

He hands her his book, an anthology of Poe, open to the poem that he’s struggling with.

“It’s for my boyfriend, it’s his favorite. If I can pull it off, I’m going to ask him to move in with me, too.”

Darcy squeaks out a noise that makes him chuckle.

“I’m Bucky by the way.”

“Darcy.” She replies. “And that is possibly the sweetest thing I’ve heard all month.”

“I call bull, Bucko.”

“What the fuck now, Sam?” Bucky asks, features going neutral.

“No way.” The man referred to as Sam crosses his arms over his chest making himself look intimidating in the small book aisle. “You paid her to come in here and say that. Admit it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

Darcy snorts, drawing their attention. “You two don’t sound like ghosts.”

“What?” They ask in unison.

A low chuckle is heard an aisle or two over.

Darcy points in the direction of the laugh. “Now there’s your ghost.”

“Ghost?” Sam asks.

“A friend recommended this place, said it was haunted by at least two ghosts, annoying but sometimes funny. I imagine he was talking about you two. You’re not the boyfriend, are you?” Darcy asks Sam as she draws soft lines of graphite in his book.

“Oh, hell no. He wishes.” He chuckles, holding out a hand. “I’m Sam. I can only stand that man as far as I can throw him.”

Darcy takes his hand, offering her name in return.

“What the hell man? You know you can’t throw down like I can.”

“Knock it off, guys.”

“So, is he the ghost then?” Darcy snickers referring to the voice as both men roll their eyes at the phrase they’ve heard far too often.

“No.” Sam seems to pout. “You’d think so, but no.”

Darcy shrugs and hands Bucky the book back. “Here, try to memorize it in chunks, it has more rhythm that way, might be easier.”

“Thank you so much!” Bucky’s face brightens and he wraps Darcy in a quick hug, nearly crushing her. His movements startling her into laughter and cause Sam to roll his eyes.

“Why you gotta hug everyone, man. Some people don’t like it.”

“I don’t mind.” Darcy shrugs with a laugh. “Some people need kindness in physical platonic gestures.”

Sam hums, eyeing Darcy and then Bucky.

“What?” She asks confusion written across her face.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, Buck?”

It takes Bucky a moment, but he gets there. “Oh. Stevie. Yeah.”

“Who?”

“They’d be perfect together.” Sam nods, giving Darcy his sweetest smile. “You’d really love him.”

“No, seriously, who’s Steve?”

“For us to know and you to fall in love with.” Sam arches his brows at her.

“Hey, maybe then he’ll spend less time here giving us a hard time.” Bucky says, nudging Sam.

“Give the lady some room otherwise she’ll never come back here, ya crazy mutts.” Says the voice again, this time closer.

“What?” Darcy asks while Bucky shakes his head and goes back to his book. She looks to Sam who throws his hands in the air in mock defeat.

“We try and we try, Steve.” Sam says, his smirk growing into a full smile. “But we can only do so much for you, old man.”

“This is why business is erratic.” Says the voice, who Darcy is now assuming to be the Steve formerly mentioned. “You two aren’t sharing shifts anymore if you keep this up.”

“Uh oh, looks like you’ve upset the man behind the curtain.” Darcy quips, earning a fist bump from Sam and a chuckle from Bucky.

“Yeah! Good one.” Scott cheers coming around the corner, bowl of orange slices in hand. “Who’s the new girl?” he asks, offering everyone to take from the dish.

“Scott, be cool, man.” Sam shakes his head, grabbing a handful of oranges before walking out of the aisle.

“When am I not cool? I’m cool right?” Scott looks to Darcy, like she’ll back him up.

Bucky chuckles and disappears around the corner before being dragged into it.

Darcy laughs and nods, her words caught in her throat as Steve rounds the corner, rolling his eyes.

“You’re the coolest Scott.” Steve confirms, eyes tired until they fall on Darcy and light up. “Can you finish inventory in the back?”

“Can do Cap!” Scott mock salutes, shoving the large bowl into Steve’s hands as he leaves.

“Sorry about him.” He shuffles his feet a bit, suddenly shy at finding the ‘cute coffee shop girl’ in his shop. “’Bout all of them, really.”

Darcy shakes her head “You must be Steve?” Darcy smiles at the flush starting to color his cheeks.

“Yeah,” He says softly, smile as bright as she knew it’d be. “And you’re—”

“Darcy. It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

“How’d you survive the minotaurs that work here?” He asks, putting the bowl on an empty shelf, his free hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“I know how to get around a maze with minimum casualties.” Darcy laughs, the sound feeling like a wave of sunshine rippling through his veins.

Steve can’t help but laugh with her. He should have listened to Clint and Nat and talked to her sooner.

“Would you—” He’s interrupted with a tap on the shoulder by a guy with a creepy yet happy smile holding three pizza boxes.

“We didn’t order anything.” Steve says with a confused look. “Wait. Guys? Did you order take out again?”

“No!” Come Bucky and Sam’s reply almost in unison, followed by a late and muffled ‘no’ from Scott.

“Sorry, man.”

“Smells good, though.” Darcy murmurs.

“Eh, thought I’d just say hi. This goes next door.”

“What?” Darcy takes a step closer to Steve.

“Hi. Wade Wilson.” The man says with a sigh of admiration. “Big fan.” And turns to leave.

The door hasn’t shut yet and they hear his voice again from the street.

“Fuck! I got distracted by those baby blues. What was my line? ‘Everything’s better with pizza?’ Fuck it, close enough! Can’t I do it again? Shit!”

“What the fuck was that?” Darcy asks, holding a hand over her mouth as she laughs.

“You keep the pizza, boss?” Bucky yells.

“Or are you two too busy making out already?” Sam sticks his head around the corner waggling his eyebrows.

“Why did I agree to hire you two?” Steve asks, giving Darcy an apologetic look.

“Wanna get out of here?” Darcy slips her hand into Steve’s.

“Yeah.”

“Buck!” Sam yells over his shoulder. “They’re holding hands!”

“Ha! Nat owes me twenty bucks!” Comes Bucky’s voice from behind the stacks of books.

“Coffee shop?”

“Coffee shop.” Steve agrees, his smile faulters. “Wait, do you know Clint?”

“Shit.”

#Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes/OMC #bipspoopy19 #happy steve bingo 2019

17 notes · View notes

emospritelet · 5 years

Text

Key to the Cell - chapter 5

[1] [2] [3] [4] [AO3 link]

Once breakfast was over, and the men had ridden out for the hunt with a cacophony of shouts and baying hounds, Belle retreated to the library to read the remaining chapters of the book. It told her nothing she didn’t already know, and squinting at the drawing of the ornamental dagger in the light of day still didn’t reveal what was written on it. She noticed that the drops of her blood had disappeared, though, sucked into the paper by the book’s own magic, no doubt. It was tempting to try the spell again, but she had nothing more to bargain with, and no desire to make any more demands on the Dark One’s time than she had already dealt for.

She put the book back on its shelf and sat back in her chair, thinking. It wasn’t the only book on the Dark One that existed, to be sure, but a search of the shelves before she sat down had yielded nothing further on the subject. Belle smiled to herself as she reached a decision. In the months that she and her father had been coming to Sir Gaston’s lands, she had made a friend of sorts. A purveyor of hard to find objects, he called himself, but he specialised in old books. If anyone would know where she could find out about the Dark One, it would be Jefferson.

Half an hour later she was taking the carriage into town, a tall, silent footman named Marcel and one of the maids, Celine, accompanying her. She knew it was for reasons of safety and propriety, but she missed the freedom of being in her own lands, with her own people. Here she was followed wherever she went, which was why she had begun sneaking down to the library at night for a brief taste of freedom. It felt as though Gaston’s servants were spying on her. As though she were a beautiful bird in a gilded cage, too valuable to be allowed to fly free, however briefly.

On this occasion, however, Marcel seemed more interested in the pretty maid than in her, the two of them sneaking glances at each other as the carriage rolled along, and a plan began to form in Belle’s mind. She kept a sharp eye out as they reached the market place, and once she spotted the shop she sought, she tapped on the roof of the carriage to stop and rummaged in her purse for some coins.

“Here,” she said, handing them to Marcel. “It’s a warm day and the road was dusty. Why don’t you both go to the tavern and have a cup of something while I visit the bookshop? It’s right across the street, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me.”

“We’re supposed to stay with you, milady,” said Celine automatically, but her eyes flicked to the footman again.

“I’ll only be ten minutes,” Belle assured her. “I want to enquire after some books I ordered. Once that’s done we’ll go to the haberdasher’s and the apothecary. You may both accompany me once you’ve quenched your thirst.”

Marcel and Celine shared a smile.

“Thank you, milady,” they said as one, and Marcel got out to hand Belle down.

She shook out her skirts, eyeing the shop she sought. The door was closed, but a bell above tinkled merrily when she pushed it open. The shelves inside lined every wall, and were filled with books, with cabinets holding ornaments and nautical navigation aids. There was a pleasing, familiar scent of parchment and leather and old paper, and Belle smiled as she glanced around, a sense of peace flowing over her.

She started as the proprietor bounced up from behind the counter, dressed in a russet-coloured coat over leather breeches and knee boots, a patterned cravat at his throat and a somewhat battered top hat on his head. Jefferson was a handsome man, with a ready grin and a glint in his eye, and from what she could tell, had a good heart and a keen sense of fun. He also had a young daughter named Grace, who liked to read as much as Belle had at her age, and Belle had given her some of her old books to borrow, much to Grace’s delight. Jefferson beamed at the sight of her.

“My Lady Belle!” he declared, sweeping a dramatic bow that was somewhat curtailed by the shop counter. “I’m delighted to see you! It’s been too long.”

“An entire week, at least,” she said, amused.

“Yes indeed.” He clasped his hands behind his back, bouncing on his toes. “Your frequent visits to my humble shop have not gone unnoticed. Why, only two days ago I had Sir Gaston’s steward come to visit me to enquire about them. Imagine my delight at such esteemed patronage.”

Belle’s blood ran cold.

“He was asking about me?” she said. “Why?”

“Oh, I’m sure your noble intended only wishes to ensure your safety,” said Jefferson cheerfully. “I’m to report back to him what you purchase from me. Romantic, no?”

Anger flared in her, and she felt her jaw protrude, as though straining against an invisible leash. She tried to relax, and smiled at Jefferson.

“It’s a good thing I seek only appropriate reading material for an innocent and fairly stupid woman, then,” she said dryly.

“It’s not as though I would sell you anything else,” he said, pressing a hand to his heart in mock horror. “This is a respectable bookshop.”

“Good,” said Belle seriously. “In that case I want to ask about the books you most definitely are not holding in this shop. In order to ensure - public decency.”

“Public decency has always been a passion of mine, my Lady,” he said gravely. “Tell me of these terrible tomes.”

She felt her lips twitch, but tried to maintain her concerned expression.

“I have heard tales of a sorcerer known as the Dark One,” she said. “No doubt there are books that cover his history, his origins. It would be dreadful if they were to fall into the wrong hands.”

“You won’t find such distasteful books on any of the shelves in this shop,” he said promptly, pointing under the desk and winking at her.

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“Anything else?”

“I’ve also heard that there are books on magical prisons, and the breaking of curses.”

“A terrible rumour, if true,” he said. “I have no such books for sale.”

He mouthed you can borrow them behind his hand, and she wanted to giggle.

“Thank goodness,” she said. “You’ve put my mind at rest.”

“I should probably check, though,” he added. “Just to make sure. If you return in half an hour, I’ll be able to confirm it.”

“Good.” She hesitated. “While I’m at it, there may be something you could sell to me. Do you have anything on the Blue Fairy? Or on light magic in general? I’m sure there could be no objections to me reading something like that.”

“Let me see what I can dig out,” he said, tipping his hat to her.

“And I suppose I’d better add in something about proper wifely duties, as well,” she said. “That should put Sir Gaston’s mind at ease.”

Jefferson grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“For managing a new estate or for managing a new husband?” he asked, and she sent him a dry look.

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

His grin widened, and he lifted a finger.

“I have just the thing.”

When Belle left the shop, she took a moment to straighten her gloves, irritation with Gaston warring with satisfaction at having obtained more information on the Dark One. So. She was being spied on. No doubt to ensure she was suitable, the picture of a subservient, dutiful wife. The nerve of the man!

“Milady?”

Marcel and Celine had hurried over to her, and Belle nodded curtly, smoothing her features.

“I’ll call back for my books in half an hour, once they have been wrapped,” she said. “The apothecary next, I think.”

She walked swiftly enough that Celine had to trot to keep up, and made the rounds of the shops in less time than she had anticipated, but the exercise helped to ease her anger, and by the time they had left the haberdashery, she was calm again. She slowed the pace as they turned into the street leading back to the bookshop, and Celine sighed in relief, hefting the basket of her purchases.

“Alms for the poor, milady?”

A woman reached out to her with a pleading tone, blonde hair tied back from a face reddened by the sun, and Belle drew to a halt, biting her lip in distress. She imagined the woman had once been plump and pretty, but now looked gaunt and exhausted, her faded dress hanging from her, her hand a claw extended on a thin wrist. Two skinny, big-eyed children watched from the shadows, brother and sister, clutching at one another. The girl had a bracelet on her thin wrist, woven from brightly coloured woollen threads, no doubt scavenged from weavers' scraps. It made a strange contrast to her dirty smock and tangled hair.

“Get out of here, go on!” said Marcel roughly, aiming a kick at the woman, and she shied away. Belle rounded on him.

“Do that again and there will be consequences!” she snapped.

“I’m charged with protecting you, milady,” he said. “You don’t have to deal with these vermin.”

“When I marry your lord, these will be my people!” said Belle, frowning. She turned back to the woman. "What's your name?"

"Gerta, milady."

“And what has brought you to this sad state? Have you no work?”

“Not since the clearances, milady,” she said, eyeing Marcel warily.

“Clearances?”

“We had a strip of land down by the river," said Gerta. "A herd of goats and some vegetable plots. The Lord’s men drove us off two winters gone. Us and all the other smallholders. Beat our men when they protested, killed some. Killed my husband. The fields have gone to barley for the brewers, the goats slaughtered.”

Belle shook her head, and reached into her purse for some money.

“Milady, you shouldn’t—” began Marcel.

“I’ll do as I please with my own coin!” snapped Belle. She pressed some silver into Gerta’s hand, followed by a gold piece. “Here. That should feed and clothe you all for a little while, at least. Once you feel able, come to the castle and ask for me: I'll speak to the steward about finding some work for you."

"Oh thank you, thank you!" Tears pricked the woman's eyes.

"No need to thank me," said Belle. "You shouldn't be in this situation. I shall speak to Sir Gaston about what has happened to you.”

“It won’t do any good,” said Gerta wearily. “But bless your kind heart, milady.”

She clasped Belle’s hand between her own, smiling a little, and slunk away, the children following. Belle noticed that the boy was limping badly, his lower leg twisted and useless as he shuffled along, supported by his sister.

“They’ll probably just spend it on ale, milady,” said Celine.

“They look too hungry to want to bother with the tavern,” said Belle shortly. “Have many families been driven off their lands?”

The servants shrugged, and she clicked her tongue in irritation.

“What provision has been made for their welfare?” she asked. “Are there soup kitchens? Anything?”

“The brewers set up a soup kitchen,” said Celine. “They were told to take it down, because it just encouraged the beggars.”

“Well of course it encouraged them, how would they eat otherwise?” snapped Belle, and shook her head with a sigh. “Still, this is a matter for Sir Gaston, not you. I need to pick up my books, and then we’ll take the carriage home.”

She stomped off, seething with anger. What sort of lord would let his people starve?

Jefferson seemed to catch her mood when she returned, and made no quips as he handed Marcel a pile of books wrapped in paper and tied with string. Belle paid him, smiling slightly to show that her bad mood had not been caused by him. He was far more reserved in front of the servants, and she imagined it was just as well. No doubt an account of their day in town would reach Gaston before long, and she didn’t want Jefferson singled out for any special attention from the steward.

The ride home was subdued, and once the servants had carried the books and other purchases up to Belle’s room, she announced that she had a headache, and would be lying down until it passed. Celine drew the curtains and helped her off with her gown, and Belle lay down with a damp cloth over her eyes. The sound of the door closing softly made her sigh in relief, but she still waited a few minutes before tearing off the damp cloth and sitting up, reaching for the parcel of books. There had to be answers in there somewhere.

Jefferson had wrapped up five books in total, the top one being a very proper treatise on the management of estates from a noblewoman’s perspective. Belle tossed that aside with a curl of her lip, but after a moment, placed it on her nightstand. If Gaston wanted to hear about what she was reading, let him hear about that.

The second book was infamous, and made her blush fiercely and glance around before turning back to it. The Lady’s Boudoir by An Anonymous Gentlewoman of Note was rumoured to be the most complete compendium of detailed intimate relations between husband and wife. Along with illustrations. After suppressing a giggle at the look on Gaston’s face if he were to find such a book in her possession, Belle resolved to hide it somewhere safe until she could take it back to Jefferson. She had already read it, anyway.

The third book had an embossed illustration of a fairy on the cover, wand lifted high with a blue star at its tip. A Study of Fairies and Their Use of Light Magic, read the title page, and Belle pursed her lips thoughtfully and set the book aside on the nightstand before reaching for the next. It was a heavier volume, bound in battered blood-red leather with gilt letters on the spine: First Steps in Curse-Breaking.

She was almost trembling with excitement, eager to open up the book and pore over its contents, but the final book in the paper package had already drawn her eye. It was the slimmest by far, perhaps two hundred pages if that, with a plain black leather binding. Opening it up, Belle ran her eyes over the title page: The Dark One: His Origins and Powers.

Belle clutched the book to her chest, heart thumping, and sent up a prayer to the gods that the information she sought would be contained within. Then she got back onto the bed, wriggling against the pillows to get comfortable, and began to read.

#fic: key to the cell #rumbelle fic #my fic #rumbelle #dark castle rumbelle

37 notes · View notes

prepare4trouble · 5 years

Text

It had been three days, and nothing. No word from Heaven, or from Hell, no divine judgements, no Hellfire; nothing.

Aziraphale didn’t like it.

Sooner or later, they were going to make their move. He didn’t know when, and he didn’t know what it would be, but the one thing that he did know, with absolute certainty, was that it would happen. They wouldn’t let what they had done go unpunished.

And Crowley too; he wouldn’t get away with it either. There was little doubt in Aziraphale’s mind that Hell was plotting something for his friend, and likely something even worse than Heaven could come up with. It was true that most demons lacked imagination, but they were extremely good at punishing people.

Right now, Aziraphale wished that he lacked an imagination. His was currently working overtime, feeding him terrifying images of all kinds of things that he was quite certain were worse than anything Heaven actually had in their arsenal.

But then, maybe Heaven and Hell would work together to punish the two of them. They had, after all, been completely united in their anger at their respective agents. With the war called off, it wasn’t completely outside of the realms of possibility that they might combine their efforts to do something about the angel and the demon that had stopped all their plans.

And if the worked together, well, the possibilities were so much worse. Not bad enough, though, that Aziraphale’s fertile imagination could not come up with suggestions. He had, after all, spent millennia lost in the writings of creative human beings. he had picked up a thing or two.

It would be keeping him up at night, if he slept. It was certainly having that kind of an effect on Crowley, who was currently pacing the limited floor-space of the bookshop like a caged elephant in a very old zoo, slowly being driven mad.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Maybe they’ll just let it go,” he suggested, not really believing it.

Crowley paused in his pacing to look at him. Something in his gaze suggested that the Aziraphale had taken leave of his senses. He shook his head. “They’re not going to let it go, angel. This is Hell we’re talking about. They know how to hold a grudge. Your lot do too.”

He was right, of course. In fact, Aziraphale might even go so far as to say that Heaven was better at holding a grudge, although not knowing the exact state of affairs in Hell, it was difficult to be certain. They were certainly not as forgiving as humanity seemed to believe.

“No, they’re biding their time,” Crowley told him. “And they’re doing it on purpose. Both of them. They’ll wait until we finally relax, until the moment we let ourselves believe that we might have gotten away with it, and then…” his words tailed off into silence.

“And then?” Aziraphale prompted.

Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know! Could be anything; that’s the whole point, isn’t it? You keep your victim good and scared, and not knowing what’s going to happen, or when, makes it worse. It’s basic stuff.”

Aziraphale straightened the fabric of his jacket with the backs of his hands and sat up a little straighter. “Well, I wouldn’t know. Punishing people isn’t exactly in Heaven’s remit.”

The demon stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief. “Not in their remit?” He shook his head. “Ever heard of the Fall? You know, millions of angels burning in agony as they were cast out of Heaven? Ring any bells?”

Aziraphale looked away as he desperately tried not to think about that, not to imagine it being his own fate. “Yes, well, that was a little different…”

“Kicking Adam and Eve out of the garden just because I managed to convince them to try a piece of fruit? Drowning people, drowning children in forty days and nights of rain because… what exactly? Because humans were doing what humans do? Sodom and Gomorrah? Murdering all the firstborns of Egypt? Not the ones doing the actual enslaving, but kids again. Heaven’s so good at punishing people they punish the ones that don’t even deserve it.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale conceded. “Fine, yes. Alright.” He sank into a chair, no clue what to do.

“And as far as they’re concerned, we do deserve it,” Crowley added.

Aziraphale really wished he could switch off his imagination, just for a little while. Because Crowley was absolutely right, and he didn’t want to think about it.

Every demon was an angel once,” Crowley continued. “Where do you think they get that penchant for torture from in the first place?”

Aziraphale checked the time on the old grandfather clock that stood against the wall between two overcrowded bookshelves. It had been a week. Seven whole days, right down to the minute, since the world hadn’t ended. Seven whole days of waiting for the hammer to fall. Holding his breath, expecting it at any moment.

“Maybe that’s it,” he mused.

Crowley looked up. He wasn’t wearing his shades and for a moment, Aziraphale thought that the stress of the situation had brought his eyes to full snake. On second glance, he realised that the whites of his friend’s eyes were not yellow, but bloodshot red with exhaustion and lack of sleep.

“You should really get some rest,” he said. He didn’t sleep, personally, but he knew that Crowley did, and apparently over the years his human body had grown accustomed to it, not unlike his own with food.

“Maybe what’s it?” Crowley asked, ignoring the suggestion.

Aziraphale considered his answer carefully. “You said a few days ago that they would wait until we relaxed before they made their move. Maybe if we never do, that will keep them away.”

“Great,” said Crowley. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “So all we have to do is keep feeling like this for the rest of time.”

He was right, it wasn’t the best solution. Especially when one considered that believing they had a way out of their predicament was the kind of thing that was bound to let them relax a little anyway.

“Not possible, anyway,” Crowley continued. “Nobody can keep up that level of anxiety forever. Not even you, Aziraphale. Eventually you’re going to start to think you’re safe.”

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley was right. It had begun to happen already. This time last week, he certainly hadn’t been making plans for the future, now he found himself wondering what the weather would be like tomorrow and whether it might be a good day for a stroll in the park.

He wondered how relaxed was too relaxed.

It had been almost two months. August had long-since faded, first into an increasingly chilly September, and then into a drizzly October. The nights had been drawing in for some time, but they appeared to have accelerated, and it had long-since passed the point where there were more hours of darkness than of sunlight.

There was a chill in the air. People had begun to bring out their winter coats, their gloves and scarves and wooly hats. Some of the larger shops had begun to stock items for Christmas. Aziraphale wondered whether he would still be on Earth to see it this year. He did so enjoy the decorations, the fairy lights, the same old songs on the radio and the sense of love they appeared to provoke in the people around him. For a short time every year, at the end of December when life should have been hardest, love appeared to pervade the whole city for a short time, and it was beautiful.

Maybe, just maybe, they really had been forgiven. Or maybe whatever Adam had done when he had changed reality had made Heaven and Hell forget what they had done. Maybe, as far as they were concerned, there was nothing to forgive.

He didn’t believe that though. Not really. As much as he wished that he could. All had been quiet from Heaven since that day at the Airbase in Tadfield. Complete radio silence. That didn’t happen. If Gabriel had really forgotten the incident, somebody would have been in touch with some task for him to perform. The fact that they had not, told him that things were very much not okay.

He wished that someone would get in touch. It didn’t matter what for. If he could just have a short conversation with another angel, he might be able to work out the mood in Heaven from the way that they spoke or the words that they used.

But nothing. Nothing at all.

He had imagined a thousand scenarios by now, each one worse than the last. He was quite sure that no matter what Heaven decided in the end, he had already lived through worse in his own mind.

Aziraphale sighed and pulled his old coat a little tighter around himself, reluctant to use a miracle when he didn’t really need to, for fear of drawing attention to himself. He passed a shop with a Halloween window display of pumpkins and autumn leaves next, to one where a young woman with messy hair and a beautiful smile was putting the finishing touches to a Christmas one.

Soon, he supposed, it would be time to begin his annual campaign of attempting to put customers off from entering his shop in search of gifts. The thought made him tired, and some quiet part of his mind began to suggest that really, was there any point?

“Do you think we got away with it?” Aziraphale asked. He spoke in a whisper, although he knew that there was no point. If Heaven were listening, they wouldn't be deterred by quiet voices.

It had been six months since the world hadn’t ended, and it was the first time that Aziraphale had dared to voice the question aloud.

It was the middle of February and snow glistened in the trees and on the untrodden areas of the park, while the paths, and the rest of the city, had been rendered the dirty grey of well-trodden sludge.

Crowley hesitated. His hand stilled inside the brown bag that he was holding on his lap, and a nearby duck quacked in frustration when the food it had been expecting failed to materialise. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t.”

Aziraphale sighed, and he could see his breath.

The demon tossed a handful of duck food — they didn’t throw bread, not anymore. Not since Aziraphale had learned how bad it was for the ducks —to the waiting birds.

“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “I suppose you’re probably right.”

It had been two years. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how, but those two years had appeared to last longer than the entire last decade; maybe even the last two decades put together. Perhaps maybe time was slowing down as a way of prolonging their misery, or perhaps it was the opposite. Perhaps it slowed as a curtesy to them, to allow them to make the most of the short time that they had.

But most likely it was neither of those things. Most likely, it was simply his perception, growing confused under the stress of not knowing.

The human body he wore had grown thin from lack of food. He still did eat, but certainly not with the same gusto as before. It was difficult to enjoy a meal when you managed to convince yourself every time that it would be your last.

He knew that he should forget about it, just try to carry on as he had before. It wasn’t as though worrying about it would stop it from happening. All worry did was ruin the time that he had left. But he couldn’t help it. He had always worried, right from the beginning. He had worried when he had given away his sword, and every time he had spoken to Crowley. He had worried when they had struck up the Arrangement, and he had worried when Crowley had suggested trying to save the world.

Worry was familiar. Without it, he didn’t know who he was.

But it had always been something that came and went. He had never lived with so much anxiety for so long without respite. It was beginning to wear on him.

It hadn’t even been that long, he reminded himself. In Heaven, two years could pass in the blink of an eye. The judgement, when it came, could come at any time.

He tried not to think about it, and in doing so, found himself thinking about it even more.

It had been twelve years; long enough to see the world beginning to move on around him. He was beginning to see changes in technology, and to notice new regular customers coming into his shop; young adults that had been children when the world hadn’t ended. People that had had a life because of what they had done.

It was gratifying, in a way. Twelve whole years of people meeting and falling in love. Twelve years of friendships. Twelve years-worth of new literature and movies and all the other things humanity could create with their clever minds. Twelve years of new babies being born that would never have existed if the world had ended.

He and Crowley had done that.

Well, no, not them alone. Adam had done it, with the help of his friends as well as Crowley and Aziraphale. And the witch and her boyfriend, was now her husband, and Madam Tracey, and even Shadwell.

Twelve years of weddings. Of people growing old together.

But also twelve years of loss. And of heartbreak.

He liked to think that the good outweighed the bad. And even if it didn’t, the world continued. It had the potential to go on for millions of years. It could be so much more than just a battleground in the war between good and evil.

“What are you thinking about?” Crowley asked.

The demon was lounging in a chair in a way that did not look comfortable at all; sitting the wrong way around, curved around it in a manor that for anybody that wasn’t actually a snake, would have been quite impossible

He was wearing new sunglasses. He tended to change them every few years or so, when he got bored of a style, or they fell out of fashion, or simply because he saw a new pair that struck his fancy. It had been an unusually long time since he had updated his look though. In fact, this was the first new pair he had worn since… well, for twelve years.

That was encouraging, Aziraphale supposed. It meant that he was starting to move on, starting to stop worrying about what might happen tomorrow.

He only wished that he could do the same. The night before, as he had sat drinking a cup of cocoa and allowing his mind to wonder in a way that he rarely did anymore, he had imagined that he had Fallen; been cast out of Heaven and into the depths of Hell. That he had awoken as a demon, cut off from God’s love.

On other, similar nights, he had imagined that he and Crowley had become human; that they had been forced to age and eventually to die, and face a different kind of judgement. Other times, he imagined Gabriel standing over him, gloating as he pronounced some torture or another. Whatever it was going to be, he just wanted it over with. He was ready now. He had been ready for a long time.

It couldn’t be as bad as he was imagining.

“Angel?” Crowley asked, concerned now.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Nothing, dear,” he lied. If Crowley was going to move on, he was going to do his best to pretend to do the same. “How about a spot of lunch?”

He wasn’t sure how long it had been. A long time; he knew that much. He could probably work it out, if he tried. He didn’t want to. It felt as though it was better not to know.

It had been a long time, and still nothing had happened. He felt sure that by now he should be able to relax, but he just couldn’t. Every time he felt himself enjoying something, or looking to the future, he remembered the threat hanging over his head, and the anxiety returned.

He knew, deep down, that this was the punishment. That it had probably been their plan all along, to keep them guessing to the point of madness, to have them constantly looking over their shoulders, to make sure that they could never again just relax and enjoy the world.

He knew it, but at the same time, he couldn’t be sure. Heaven and Hell could still be biding their time. A judgement could still be waiting around the next corner.

He almost wished that it was. That they would simply make their move, whatever it was, and then leave him to deal with the consequences. He didn’t care what those consequences might be; he just wanted it to be over.

But it never would be, would it? It would always be there, waiting.

Crowley had been right; if Heaven were not better than Hell at punishment, they were at least exactly as good.

He shivered despite the heat of the summer morning, and glanced around the bookshop. It looked different now. Old books sold off, replaced with new. It had happened slowly, so slowly that he had barely noticed that it was happening. One book sold to a particularly enthusiastic collector, another to an old woman that had cried with joy when she had picked up a first edition of her childhood favourite from his shelf, and little by little, his collection had begun to dwindle.

After all, if he could no longer enjoy them, why not sell them on to somebody that could? Only his very favourites remained, in a box in the back room, out of view of customers. It had been a very long time since he had read them, perhaps it was time to sell those too.

He would think about it, when he got back.

He took a deep breath and released a sigh, then turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and headed out into the city to meet Crowley in the park.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #aziraphale #crowley #alternatives #last one #I wish tumblr still let you put lines in to break up text #why can't you do that anymore?

17 notes · View notes

cryptidkieren · 5 years

Text

come around (5/6)

im back guys!! 🎉🎉

dogsitting a puppy while 3 dogs are already in the house is a STRUGGLE, let me tell you

here’s the ao3 link for those who prefer that!

-----

Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t talk about what happened at Solstice.

The week following passed normally, though, with both of them basically joined at the hip. New Year’s Eve found the two otherworldly beings once again in Aziraphale’s flat. Twin flutes of champagne clinked as the newscaster on the telly counted down to midnight along with the rest of London. Fireworks exploded in the sky, the Thames far enough away that the eruption of cheers wasn’t deafening.

Aziraphale wished he was brave enough to set their glasses on the coffee table, take Crowley’s face in his hands, and steal a kiss from the demon that he had loved for millennia. He wished he was brave enough to talk about his feelings, openly and genuinely, without the fear of being rejected. He wished he knew Crowley returned his feelings, that the demon loved him just as fiercely.

He wasn’t brave, though. At least, not brave enough to do as he wished.

Instead, the angel laced his fingers with Crowley’s free hand. He smiled at the demon’s surprised look, his eyes uncovered for once. The fireworks booming outside the window lit the sky with a kaleidoscope of color, bathing the room with light and haloing around Crowley’s copper hair.

It always hit Aziraphale at the most inopportune times, just how much he loved Crowley.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, begging to come out. The angel choked them back with a shaky breath. Rather, he raised their entwined hands and kissed the demon’s knuckles softly.

“Happy New Year, Crowley.”

Crowley was frozen where he sat, his surprised look shifting into one of astonishment before mellowing out into something softer, almost like fondness but… Different. Warmer.

“Happy New Year, angel.”

-----

Winter had eventually melted into spring, helped along by the dreary rain that London was known for. Aziraphale stood at the front window of the shop, the tea on the small table next to him long gone cold, as Crowley made a nuisance of himself. A record the demon had put on played softly from the gramophone on the counter.

“I think we should get out of here,” Aziraphale spit out suddenly, spinning to stare apprehensively at Crowley. The demon looked up, the paper tower he had constructed out of the angel’s record-keeping index cards collapsing immediately.

“Okay,” he drawled, an eyebrow raising in question as he stood up from his previously hunched position over the cards. “Where would you like to go, angel? I’m sure the Ritz can squeeze us in, since a table for two just opened up.”

Aziraphale only made a sort of frantic noise through his nose. His hands fluttered uselessly by his sides, clenching and unclenching with anxiety. “No- I-”

“Hey, alright, calm down, Aziraphale,” Crowley quickly rounded the counter to stand in front of the angel. He gripped his arms firmly, golden eyes glinting in concern over dark glasses. “What’s wrong?”

The angel sighed noisily, steeling himself to force the words out. “I think,” he choked out, his voice rough. He cleared his throat before continuing. “We should leave. London, that is.”

Crowley’s brows raised to his hairline, blinking at him over his lowered glasses. “What?”

“Oh, you heard me, Crowley! Don’t make me say it again!”

“Yes, I heard you, angel, but I’m not processing it!” The demon pushed his sunglasses up to rest on his forehead, releasing the angel and completely uncovering his bewildered eyes. “You love London, your bookshop is here, why would you want to leave?”

Aziraphale fiddled with his pocket watch, intent on not meeting Crowley’s gaze. A quick glance at the demon, though, only revealed questioning amber eyes.

“Well, it’s dangerous to live here right now, Crowley,” the angel began haltingly, eyes firmly planted on Crowley’s leather shoes. They were quite nice, though he imagined the demon had just wished them into existence instead of buying them at a shop. “Heaven and Hell know exactly where we are, because we haven’t done anything different in so long. They could come at any time, be that tomorrow or ten years from now! I-I don’t want them to hurt you again.” Aziraphale finally raised his head to smile at the demon, trying not to let this flash of bravery fizzle out too quickly. “I also recall asking you to run away with me during the Winter Solstice.”

It was silent a moment, every second making the angel’s anxiety grow, before Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale’s smile dropped, nonplussed at the demon’s amusement. His shoes really were quite fascinating, a second look wouldn’t hurt. “That’s really not necessary, Crowley. A simple ‘no’ would’ve-”

“No!” Crowley wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “No, angel, I very much do.”

The angel blinked. The swirl of rejection and hurt that had started to form in his heart dissipated as he met the demon’s eyes. “You do? Really?”

Crowley, his lips still twitching with amusement, shook his head at the angel’s confused expression. “Of course I do, Aziraphale. I’d go anywhere with you.”

Aziraphale felt like he was both sinking and flying at the same time, his entire being floating as his heart clenched painfully.

“The fact you thought otherwise is hurtful and, frankly, unbecoming of you,” the demon continued after a moment, dramatically placed a hand over his ‘wounded’ heart, his face a picture of over-the-top sorrow. Aziraphale grinned at his antics, his relief almost palpable.

“Well- good!” The angel sniffed, trying to hold back his smile. “It would be a pity if you had disagreed, after all. You would be missing out on some superb tea making skills.”

“I rather think I would be missing out on a lot more than that, angel.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat as met Crowley’s eyes, the demon’s own expression so soft that it sent the angel’s heart into double time. He bustled off to the tea service he had set out earlier, already talking a mile a minute in an effort to hide how flustered he was.

‘He’s going to be the end of me,’ thought Aziraphale as he watched Crowley jump up to sit on the front counter, index cards fluttering into a semi-neat pile as the demon tried to convince him that a castle would be perfect instead of some lowly house. The angel could only smile into his fresh tea, the pot steaming again with only a thought, and jump into the playful debate. ‘Not a bad way to go, though, is it?’

-----

It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for. Well, not long after Aziraphale started dropping hints with newspaper clippings of houses placed where the demon was likely to find them. Hung on the front door of the shop, taped to the windshield of the Bentley, even on the demon’s pillow in his flat. It took a pile being dropped on his face while napping on the tattered couch in the back room for Crowley to get fed up and drag the angel out to look at properties.

The cottage they had decided to look at first was beautiful. The stone walls were covered in climbing ivy and a plethora of other blooming fauna surrounding the perimeter, making it resemble something out of a fairy tale. It stood on a cliff, a sheer drop only a few dozen feet from the edge of the property’s fence that opened up to the expanse of the churning ocean around them. The sea air was brisk, but rejuvenating to Aziraphalel. It was so different to London, so new.

(Well, not new, exactly. He had lived by the Roman coast during his visit in 41 AD, if only briefly. But that was neither here nor there!)

After a moment, though, the angel started to notice little things about the cottage. It had the air of being abandoned for a long while. The front garden was overgrown, wild and forest like. The stacked stone wall that surrounded the property was covered in moss and falling apart, entire sections laying defeated on the ground. The wrought iron gate was almost completely rusted over and barely hanging on by a hinge. And that wasn’t even touching on what the situation inside might have in store for them.

“This place, angel?” Crowley turned to him, his disdain evident despite the ever present sunglasses. “It’s a dump!”

“It has… Character!” Aziraphale blustered. “Really, my dear, just give it a chance!”

The demon only groaned theaterically, drawing the attention of the real estate agent standing by the worn front door. The woman smiled genially at them as the two of them approached.

“Gentlemen!” She shook their hands in turn, her grin deepening the small wrinkles by her eyes. “I’m Danielle Rochette, the realtor for this property, but you can just call me Ellie. You must be Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley!”

Aziraphale returned her enthusiastic handshake, already liking this human. “Yes, I’m Ezra Fell and this is-”

“Anthony Crowley,” the demon cut in smoothly. His smirk disappeared for a moment as he kissed the back of the woman’s hand, causing her to let out a dreamy little “Oh!”

Crowley yelped his own “Oh!” when Aziraphale viciously pinched the back of his arm once he released the poor woman, the angel’s polite smile still in place. Crowley could only grumble and rub the attacked spot as the other two chatted idly.

They soon entered the cottage, the air a bit stale and dusty. Aziraphale had to hold in a sneeze when the door swung shut behind them. They had entered into what was probably the living room, which then led directly into the outdated kitchen at the back of the house. A hallway to the left of the front door held three doors along the same wall and was equally covered in cobwebs. The sparse furniture left behind by the previous tenant was either worn down or broken into pieces on the floor.

It was dreary and in desperate need of a good cleaning, and Aziraphale loved it.

“Listen, I know it looks bad right now,” cautioned Ellie, her nose wrinkling a bit. “But I think it would be back in tip top shape with a bit of paint, a mop, and some new furniture!”

“Oh, that would be no problem,” Aziraphale smiled, winking at Crowley with absolutely no subtlety. The demon snorted inelegantly as the realtor looked between them with a confused smile. She cleared her throat a moment later, launching into her pitch for the house. The angel nodded along, making affirming noises at the right places, but his mind was as far as it could be from the conversation.

The cottage really was what they were looking for. Aziraphale could easily picture how the place would look if they moved in; how the floorboards would gleam when they were cleaned, the fireplace cleaned out and a log crackling happily away inside, cozy blankets and throw pillows piled on the new sofa. The both of them cooking together in the remodeled kitchen, Aziraphale sneaking tastes of whatever was on the stove while Crowley halfheartedly threatened him with a wooden spoon, soft music from the gramophone enveloping them with the sense of home.

A hand on his startled Aziraphale out of his fantasy. He blinked, seeing the cottage as it actually was again. An ache started up in the region of his unneeded heart at the loss of his daydream, as sweet as it was.

Crowley had moved closer when he wasn’t paying attention, the demon’s hand slightly cooler where it was wrapped around his own. “You alright, Aziraphale?”

“Of course, darling,” the angel sighed, patting Crowley’s hand lightly before pulling away with a wistful smile. “Absolutely tickety-boo.”

The demon only raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to Ellie. The realtor had moved on to the kitchen, still going on about various facts about the property without noticing their little aside. They moved to the hallway at the front of the house soon after, disturbing the dust as they went.

The hall itself was dim, making it feel smaller than it actually was. Granted, the two windows were covered with the climbing ivy on the front of the house, allowing in barely any light.

“Now,” Ellie stopped at the last door in the hall, grinning cheekily. “We’re going to leave the best for last, so stay with me, yeah?”

When the two of them bewilderedly nodded assent, she led them into what could only be the bedroom. The same dark flooring was continued in there, making the chipping plaster walls seem brighter with the sun shining through the large windows. It was of a decent size, obviously remodeled at some point in its history.

“This is the master suit, since this a one bedroom property, but I think it’s perfectly fine for two gents such as yourselves.” Ellie stood by the door with a smile, allowing them to take their fill of the room.

Her words caught up with Aziraphale a moment later, setting his face aflame. He hadn’t even thought of the sleeping situation, since he rarely partook in the activity. He also hadn’t thought how it would look for two men to be buying a one bedroom house together.

As he tried to nervously correct her, though, Crowley only sidled up next to him and wrap an arm around his waist. It was very effective in stopping his witless stammering, at the very least.

“Well, I think it’s perfect for what we’re going for. Don’t you, angel?” The demon’s smile was positively saccharine, his voice like candied honey. The thread of teasing amusement was hard to miss, too.

“I-I mean- Well, yes, of course-”

Ellie had a hand covering her mouth in an attempt to hide her smile, though her laughter was a bit harder to conceal. She led them out of the room, Aziraphale’s face still dreadfully warm. Crowley had released him, thankfully, as they came up to the next door in the hall.

This one opened into a terribly outdated bathroom. Salmon colored tiles covered the walls, while aquamarine tiles of a different size made up the floor. It made the small room feel even more confined. Even the angel couldn’t stop himself from grimacing as he looked in horror. The only saving grace (no pun intended) was the large white clawfoot tub that dominated the space.

“There’s no windows,” commented Crowley, his eyebrows making a break for his hairline as he looked over Aziraphale’s shoulder in disgusted awe.

Ellie, on the other hand, only grinned mischievously at them. “That’s where the best is saved for last.” She ushered them back into the hall before gesturing to the door nearest the entrance to the hall. “I know you were looking for an office to store your books, Mr. Fell. I think you’ll rather fancy this room.”

The two otherworldly beings glanced at each other, equally perplexed, before the angel turned the knob. For a few moments, he could only stare in wonder.

The room opened into a short hall spanning the length of the bathroom, floor to ceiling shelves running along the right wall. It opened up to a fairly large room, about half the size of the bedroom, with the other two walls covered in the same shelves.

The back wall, however, was almost entirely comprised of glass. A set of glass double doors at the center led out into a sunroom at the back of the house, very reminiscent of a greenhouse. The view was facing the back garden, which was closed off with more of the collapsing rock wall. After that was the cliff behind the property, with the rolling ocean right beyond it all the way to the horizon. It was breathtaking.

“Oh my,” breathed the angel, utterly overcome with emotion as he looked around at all the empty shelves. The windows let in an enormous amount of light, making the room feel open and airy and perfect.

“The current owners put that in around seven years ago,” Ellie said brightly. She opened up the glass doors to allow them into the sunroom. “Trying to make it more interesting, I reckon.”

Crowley gently led him through the sunroom and out to the back garden. The salty air hit him with the force of a blow, effectively breaking the trance the office had placed on him. The sun had finally broken free from the cloud cover, warming the small group as they stood in the overgrown grass. Aziraphale, still amazed by the view, felt something brush his hand softly. Without even thinking about it, the angel wrapped his hand around Crowley’s, trying to ignore how his heartbeat kicked up a notch at the simple touch.

“I’m going to be frank with you, if I may,” Ellie started slowly, her red painted mouth turned down. The wind whipped her chestnut hair around her face, pulling it from its previously tidy bun. “The previous owner died some time ago. Her husband had passed years before her, so she was alone when she finally followed him. Their sons live in the city and want nothing to do with the property, hence why it’s in such disrepair. I’ve been the agent for this place since I started selling real estate, probably some 10 years ago now, though no one has been keen to fix this place up like it should be.”

Aziraphale hummed. A glance at Crowley emboldened him when the demon smirked and shrugged fluidly, the creaking of his leather jacket almost lost in the wind. “Well, I think we’re very keen. Cleaning this place up shouldn’t take too much time, and our godson and his friends would love to play at the beach during the summers.” The angel smiled brightly at the woman, who mirrored his grin.

“Fantastic! Let’s see to some paperwork, shall we?”

-----

[beginning] // [previous chapter] // [next chapter]

15 notes · View notes

swanslieutenant · 5 years

Text

from the sea - chapter six

Summary: When Emma becomes sheriff, the pressure of running a department with a dwindling budget becomes nothing but an exercise in frustration. That is, until she finds an unlikely ally in the town treasurer, a man who her kid Henry is convinced is not an ally at all, but rather a villainous enemy. Season 1 AU, Cursed!Killian.

Rating and Warnings: Teen.

Catch up: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5

Read on AO3

Early Sunday morning, Emma and Mary Margaret venture into the crisp morning air of Storybrooke, walking down the main street towards the lone local bookstore. Emma is on a mission to find some science books that could help Henry (and her) with his homework. The internet is spotty at best in this town; Emma sometimes feel like she’s stepped back in time to the days when the internet was just starting up, and she’s getting sick of having to wait twenty minutes for Google to load each time she needs to look something up for Henry.

They walk past the shuttered library, which would have been an ideal starting place but as it has been closed up for as long as Mary Margaret can remember, they head onto one of the back streets to a bookstore called Enchanted Books. A copper bell above the door announces their entrance into the small, brightly lit shop. The place is crowded with shelves, rows of books extending far down the narrow confines of the building. The shop is deserted this early, save for two men, brothers by the looks of them, both with sandy brown hair and brilliant green eyes. One of the men is seated behind the counter, counting bills, while the other is organizing a display of books just inside the entrance, and they both smile pleasantly at Emma and Mary Margaret as they enter.

Mary Margaret slips by Emma, off to the fiction books at the back of the store, while Emma asks the man behind the counter, who introduces himself as Jake, where the science section is. He gestures over the other man – William, he greets as he shakes Emma’s hand – and William leads her to a bookcase against the opposite wall.

The selection is meagre, and though Emma’s heart sinks, she nods in thanks as William returns to the front of the store. Her disappointment as she looks closer; the science books reside on only two half-full shelves and everything there is terribly out of date. The latest book is from the early 80s, and Emma scowls and huffs out a breath in frustration.

This won’t be helpful for Henry’s homework, and Emma glances around to see what else she can find, so at least this isn’t a total loss. The section over from science is the kids’ section, and Emma abandons the pathetic science books to see if there’s anything Henry may like there. Though he’s obsessed with his storybook, she’s seen some comic books around too and maybe there is a new one he’d like.

She finds the comic books easily, but then she frowns at the numerous copies, at the many brightly coloured covers and dramatic superheroes. She doesn’t know which ones Henry already has, let alone which series he likes best, and her heart clenches at the reminder of just how little she really knows about her son.

Unhappy and frustrated, Emma turns around to search for Mary Margaret so they can get the hell out of there. She can’t see her roommate over the shelves, and as she’s moving through the shelves to find her, a thick, leather bound book catches her eye. It’s a thick tome, heavy and dusty with age, the title Grimms’ Fairy Tales in etched in gold flecked ink.

Emma smiles at faint memories that resurface at the sight of it. These had been the types of fairy tales she’d read as a child, unlike Henry’s twisted versions where Snow White is a bandit on the run and Rumpelstiltskin is Cinderella’s fairy godmother. These are the stories she remembers – stories of Rapunzel, Hansel and Gretel, and the Golden Goose. Alone and unwanted in the foster system, tales of princesses saved by shining knights, tales of seeking true love, of being reunited with real, loving families; they’d been the perfect stories for an unloved little girl.

Emma flips the book open to a random page, curious to see if it’s like her old copy. The story is, of course, about Snow White, the illustrated page with a woman sighing over a wishing well, and Emma rolls her eyes; typical. With Henry’s insistence that she’s literally the daughter of said Snow White, Emma doesn’t need any more of that story in her life, and she shuts the book again with a huff.

The little bell tinkles above the door again. To her surprise, Wes Newport steps into the small bookshop, a dark form silhouetted against the bright sunlight outside. He doesn’t notice her, hidden as she is in the children’s books, and he murmurs a quiet greeting to Jake and William.

He looks like he always does; polite and put-together, no sign of the dark edge to his face that Emma witnessed the other day at the farmer’s market. She felt like they were a team when they were there at first, the two outsiders against the rest of the town, but when she’d returned from dealing with Gold and French, Newport’s mood had darkened so quickly, it was like he was a different person standing there in front of her.

She sets the book of fairy tales down, and heads towards him, curious to see if that side of him is there again despite herself. He doesn’t notice her, engrossed in the book display at the front, flipping through an old copy of Treasure Island with a slight frown on his face, eyes narrowed.

“Hey, Wes,” Emma greets, and he looks up, startled. But quickly his frown disappears, and he smiles, eyes lighting up in delight. Any edge of his anger from before is gone, as if it never happened in the first place.

“Swan, what a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?”

She tilts her head back towards the science section. “I was looking for a book for Henry.” She glances over to the brothers, but both William and Jake are occupied with Mary Margaret at the counter, and she says, in a much lower voice, “But the selection here isn’t the greatest.”

Newport chuckles conspiratorially. “Aye, it is a bit outdated.”

“Hi, Wes! It’s nice to see you here.”

Emma turns around and comes face to face with Mary Margaret. Her roommate has a decorative bag entitled Enchanted Books, heavy with her purchases, slung over her shoulder.

Newport smiles in greeting, and Emma nods at her bag. “I see you were more successful than me.”

“I got some new books for the classroom,” she replies, shifting the bag on her hip. “But no luck for you, Emma?”

“No,” she replies, with a sigh. “Slow Google it is.”

“Ah, well,” Mary Margaret says, with a wry smile. “At least we can get coffee now. Ready to go?”

Newport has looked back to his book, frowning again at it, and Emma glances to him to say goodbye, but she changes her mind in a split second.

“Want to join us? We’re going to Granny’s for breakfast.”

Both Mary Margaret and Newport stare at her, surprised. Emma herself is a bit taken aback at her offer, but smiles through it, and he nods.

“That would be lovely.”

He sets the copy of Treasure Island down and the three of them leave Enchanted Books with a wave to William and Jake as they go. Outside, they’ve only made it a few steps before Mary Margaret skids to stop.

“Oh, wait,” she says, starting down at her watch with a strange look on her face. “I said I’d go over and help Ashley with her baby for a few hours later this morning. You two go on without me.”

Emma’s eyes narrow; that’s a lie if Emma ever heard one, and she glares at her roommate. Mary Margaret has never done that before, and if this is some twisted scheme to ditch and go off to see David Nolan again …

“Are you sure? I thought you wanted breakfast.”

Mary Margaret waves that away. “I’ll be fine. I promised Ashley, after all. Besides, I think you’ll have more fun without me.”

The strange look on her face makes more sense now, and Emma glances to her sharply. Mary Margaret isn’t ditching them so she can go see David – she’s ditching them out of some strange inkling that Emma wants to have coffee with Newport without her.

Emma is going to kill her.

“See you at home, Emma and it was nice to see you, Wes. Have fun!”

Mary Margaret waves to them, before heading off in the opposite direction, book bag swinging over her shoulder. Emma glares at her retreating back, and then turns back to Newport with a sigh. He’s silent, watching her with guarded eyes, as if he expects her to bolt after Mary Margaret.

But Emma smiles brightly instead, biting down her annoyance at Mary Margaret, and says, “Shall we?”

Newport smiles, and Emma smiles back. Mary Margaret can think whatever she like, but as far as Emma’s concerned, this is just coffee between friends.

(And that’s what she’s gonna keep telling herself.)

The bookstore is only a block away from Granny’s. Emma half-expected the conversation on the way over to the little café to be stilted after Mary Margaret’s departure, but it’s anything but. Newport is insistent that it’s his turn to buy their coffee, but Emma insists right back that he doesn’t have to get hers, that she bought his last time as a thanks. By the time they arrive at Granny’s, they’ve come to no agreement.

As they enter, bell tinkling overhead to announce their entrance like at the bookstore, Newport darts towards the bar to order their drinks. Emma moves to join him, ready to butt in and pay for her own drink, but before she can, she catches sight of a familiar head of brown hair at the back booth, bent over his storybook, and she makes for the booth instead; fine, Newport can pay.

“Hey kid,” Emma greets when she makes it to the booth, ruffling Henry’s hair and taking a seat next to him. “What are you up to?”

He smiles widely at her, eyes alight. “Emma! I’m glad you’re here, I have something to tell you. Remember when Mr. Newport was in your office a couple weeks ago? Well I’ve been doing some research, and I was re-reading his story and you’ll never guess what I’ve found.”

Her heart sinks; she chances a glance behind her, but Newport is still chatting with Ruby at the counter, his back to their booth.

“Henry,” she says, gently, looking back to face him. “I thought we talked about this.”

Henry continues as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “Last week we had a project about the fishing industry and we went to the harbour for a field trip. The Maritime Museum is right beside where we were, and they’re having this exhibit on pirates right now. We didn’t go inside, but they have a huge, real life pirate ship moored outside, and at first I didn’t think anything other than ‘cool, a pirate ship’, but I was looking through my book again, and you’ll never guess what the ship in the book looks like –”

Then, making Henry’s mile-a-word sentence skid to a stop, Newport arrives at their booth. Instead of just two drinks, he’s got three, in one of those Styrofoam cup holders so he can manage. He slides one of the drinks to Emma after setting the tray down, and then one to Henry too, before taking a seat on the opposite bench.

“Hi Henry. I got you a hot chocolate, I hope that’s okay.”

Henry stares at him, eyes wide at Newport’s presence, let alone having gotten him a drink. Emma herself is a little taken aback by the show of thoughtfulness, but she recovers quicker than Henry, elbowing him lightly.

“Oh, yeah, thanks, I love hot chocolate.”

Newport smiles lightly. “So, how’s school going?” he asks, sipping his drink.

Henry surveys him for a few moments, still looking wary, before he answers, more coolly than Emma is used to hearing from him, “Fine. Just school, nothing exciting.”

“Oh no? Your mum was telling me that there was a school science fair a couple of weeks ago. How did that go?”

Henry narrows his eyes, and he eyes the hot chocolate suspiciously, before turning the look to Newport. “My mom told you that?”

Newport glances once to Emma who just shrugs back, confused herself at what Henry is getting at.

“Yes, uh, she mentioned it to me at our last meeting as she had to leave quickly.”

Henry’s eyebrows raise a little, and he glances quickly down at his open storybook. Emma looks down too, and, upon seeing what page it is open to, instantly has to repress the urge to roll her eyes.

Seriously, Henry?

Newport looks back and forth between Emma and Henry, but before he can say anything, Henry announces, “I’m just gonna get some cinnamon for this, I’ll be right back,” and side checks Emma out of the way.

She settles back down, sliding over to leave room for Henry’s return. “That kid is stronger than he looks,” she mutters darkly, rubbing her sore hip, reaching across the table for the sugar and bowl of creamer, dumping two creamers and a couple spoonfuls into her coffee.

Newport isn’t listening to her, his gaze over Emma’s shoulder on Henry as he bounces up to the bar, frowning. “Did I say something wrong?”

Emma sighs, and glares down at the storybook. The image is of the character Henry has claimed to be Newport, standing nearly nose to nose with the dark-haired woman Emma has also seen many times in the book, the one Henry says is Regina. The picture, knowing what she knows about Henry’s beliefs, disturbs her, and she shuts the book with more force than necessary.

“It’s this book,” she says, angrily.

“What?” His eyes travel to the book, and then back up to her, an eyebrow raising in confusion. “The book?”

She lets out a huff and shakes her head in frustration, but she can’t explain further, as Henry is on his way back, sliding back into the booth beside her. He reaches across her for the book, opening it back up.

“So, Mr. Newport,” Henry begins, flipping through the book until he finds the page with the dark-haired man on the ship he’d shown her at the sheriff’s station. “Do you like sailing?”

Emma grits her teeth, but there is a glitter of interest in Newport’s eye as he leans forward to look at Henry’s book.

“I do enjoy it, aye. Can’t say I’ve ever been sailing on a ship like that though,” he adds, a curious tone to his voice that Emma can’t place. “She’s a real beauty.”

Henry nods knowingly, as if he expected that answer. “I went down to the docks earlier. There’s actually a ship like this here at the Maritime Museum. It’s a pirate ship,” he adds, and Emma suppresses a groan.

“Pirates,” Newport echoes, a bit amused. “I didn’t realize there had been any pirates around this part of Maine.”

Henry looks pointedly at him for a long moment – long enough that Emma has to stifle another sigh – but then he simply shrugs. “This ship is ... not from around here.”

“Where is it from?”

The question is innocent, but Emma tenses. To Henry, the answer is obvious: the Enchanted Forest, where they were all really from before Regina the Evil Queen cursed them here to the Land Without Magic, duh.

But, to her relief, Henry plays it off. “I’m not sure.” He turns to Emma, and says, “We should go to the exhibit and take a look.”

She’s hesitant to agree to this, knowing Henry’s beliefs, but she wonders if seeing the ship up close, seeing its true history could change his mind. “Yeah, we could do that. You want to go today?”

Henry shakes his head. “No, my mom said I have to be home at ten. What about tomorrow morning, around 10?” That is fine with Emma, so she nods, and Henry looks to Newport. “Is that good with you?”

Newport coughs into his coffee, nearly choking. “Me – me?”

“Well, don’t you want to see the ship?”

Newport gapes at Henry, and then continues, “I – er, sure. I suppose, if that’s alright with your mother –”

“It will be,” Henry says cheerily. “It’s going to a museum; how can a parent not be okay with their kid doing that?”

Granny approaches their booth then, frowning. “Henry, your mother called,” she says, lip curling slightly at the mention of Regina. “She said you were supposed to be home ten minutes ago.”

Henry groans, and Emma offers quickly to drive him home, but Henry shakes his head. “No, no, that’s okay. If my mom finds out the reason I’m late is because I was with you, she’ll never let me go to the museum tomorrow. I’ll be fine walking.”

He gathers up his coat and shoulders his backpack. He is about to turn and go when Emma spots the open storybook on the table, and calls out to him. “Wait, kid – your book.”

Henry pauses, eyes flickering briefly to Newport and then back to Emma. “Why don’t you keep it, Emma? I’ll get it from you another time.”

She opens her mouth to disagree, but Henry, with a knowing glint to his eye, is already moving away. “Thanks for the hot chocolate, Mr. Newport! See you tomorrow!”

The bell tinkles over the door as he bounds out, and Emma turns back around from watching him leave, not surprised to see Newport watching her with narrowed eyes.

“What was that all about?”

She glares at the book again in response, and Newport notices. His eyebrows pinch together in question and he taps the book with his gloved hand. “What is this?”

No way of avoiding it now, Emma thinks, and she takes a deep breath. “It’s just a book of fairy tales. But … well – and don’t laugh, okay?”

“Of course not.”

Emma hesitates, but then it all comes tumbling out. “Henry – Henry has been having some trouble lately. I think – well, long story short, he thinks everyone in Storybrooke is a character from this book. He thinks Mary Margaret is Snow White, his mom is the Evil Queen who tried to kill Snow White with an apple, his therapist is Jiminy Cricket, on and on … basically, if you’ve ever lived in Storybrooke for any amount of time, you’re a fairy tale character.” She pauses, and adds, sadly, “I think it’s a coping mechanism. He’s – he’s a pretty unhappy kid.”

She glances to Newport, fully expecting him to have ignored her warning about laughter and be laughing that Henry is absolutely bonkers, but instead he is frowning.

“Poor lad. I didn’t know things had gotten this bad for him.” He gestures to the man on the ship, tapping the picture. “Me, I take it? Who is he – who am I supposed to be?”

Emma hesitates. How are you supposed to tell a man who lost his hand in a horrific accident that your kid thinks he’s the real-life version of a one handed man who terrorizes and torments children? “Uh … I don’t know if you’ll like it …”

“Try me, love.”

She sighs, and braces herself for the inevitable. “He thinks you’re Captain Hook.”

He stares back at her, blinking several times. “From Peter Pan? Is that even a fairy tale?”

“To the book it is.” She pulls it from his grasp to flip through a couple of pages, pointing them out to him as she goes. “The stories are all different, too. It’s not like Disney; they’re all interwoven. See here? Snow White and Cinderella are best friends, the Evil Queen tried to force Hansel and Gretel to live with her after tricking them to go into the candy house, then earlier, it says Red Riding Hood herself is the Big Bad Wolf …” Emma trails off when she looks up and catches Newport’s wide-eyed expression. “It’s quite something,” she adds, lamely.

He tugs the book back towards him. “Captain Hook, eh? I suppose if he’s trying to fit every character in here to a person in Storybrooke, then my missing a hand and being in charge of the town’s money fits. Pirate, right?”

She blinks back at him, at his casual tone. “You’re – you’re not offended?”

He shakes his head, with a wry chuckle. “Oh no. I’ve been called much worse.” He pauses for a moment, eyes far away, but then he grins, shaking his head. “And I do like sailing, but me a pirate? Imagine that. And having a hook for a hand … I gather that’d be quite the bother.” He flips the pages several times until he comes back upon the page Henry had been showing him, of the man at the ship, ducking his head back to examine it closer.

Emma breathes out a sigh of relief she didn’t even know she’d been holding. He could so easily have scoffed at her, could have rolled his eyes and made a nasty comment about Henry and his ‘delusions’, but instead he seems simply curious, if not saddened for Henry, by it all.

But even as she thinks that he’s just interested, his eyes darken, mouth turning down in a frown.

“I take it Captain Hook in this story is still a villain?”

Emma nods nervously. “Yeah.”

Newport leans back, still frowning. “That explains why he never seems to warm to me. He thinks I’m a villain.”

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” Emma replies, forcing a light edge to her voice. “He thinks anyone involved with Regina is a villain.”

“Involved with Regina?” Newport repeats sharply, glancing at her swiftly.

Emma can feel her cheeks turning red, and she quickly adds, “I mean, working with her. You’re the treasurer, she’s the mayor, that’s all I think he means …”

“Oh,” Newport says, his own cheeks brightening into a light pink now. “Aye, I see.”

Emma can’t help herself. After being blindsided with Graham’s relationship with Regina, she just needs to know what she’s dealing with here; she can see Mary Margaret preening in her head.

“You’re not involved with her, are you?”

“No,” he says, almost instantly. “No. Regina and I … she may have helped me out in the past, but no. We just work together.”

Emma nods mutely, hoping he can’t read her relief on her face. Newport looks away from her then, and gestures to the book.

“And you? Who does Henry think you are?”

She thinks of all Henry has told her – you’re in this book, you’re the only one that can save them all, you’re the saviour – but shakes her head. “I’m not in the book.”

“I suppose you haven’t been in Storybrooke long enough, aye?”

“Something like that,” she responds quietly.

Emma’s phone buzzes against her leg, and she pulls it out of her pocket. It’s a text from Mary Margaret, asking her if she’s coming home for lunch or if she’s going to stay there with Newport. Emma has no desire to have Ruby saunter by again like she did the other night, with menus and a knowing twinkle in her eye again, so she tucks the phone into her pocket.

“Sorry, Newport. I’ve got to run. Thanks for the coffee.”

He nods, and slides the book back towards Emma with a smile. “Anytime, Swan. I’ll see you tomorrow at the museum with your lad. Perhaps we can convince him I’m not a hook handed pirate when we’re there.”

Despite herself, Emma grins, and a flutter of something she hasn’t felt in a long time appears in her chest. “That would be great. See you then, Wes.”

After Emma departs Granny’s, Newport only stays a bit longer to have an early lunch. When he’s finished the burger and fires, the rest of the afternoon stretches out before him and, even though it’s Saturday, he decides to head into work for a few hours. Regina has jokingly called him a workaholic in the past, and Newport’s never denied it before. There’s something about the routine that calls to him, as if he can’t quite help it. It must be in his personality to latch heavily onto one particular vice because, if he’s being honest, ever since he’d become treasurer, he certainly has swapped a more destructive version of -aholic for this one.

But today, he’s not feeling the usual urge to rush into work and, despite the chill to the air, Wes walks all the way to town hall, if only to eat up some more time. He even pauses along the way, taking his time and watching the fishermen return to the harbour from their morning trips out to sea. A few of them see him standing along the boardwalk and wave as they move passed him in the water, and it’s only when the harbour of Storybrooke is quiet again that Newport continues his way to work.

The town hall is empty when he arrives. Usually the quiet atmosphere is just what he likes, but today he finds the silence irritable and distracting. He switches from project to project, trying to get into a rhythm, but it’s a fruitless task and he only ends up frustrated and no further ahead than when he started. He’s never quite cared before about the monotony of his work, the constant paperwork and filing that he needs to do, but today it wears on him.

As a result, Newport’s thoughts being to wander, and, of their own accord, turn to Henry’s storybook and his conversation with Emma about it. He agrees with Emma that it’s a coping mechanism, but the thought of why Henry had to create a fantastical alternative reality in the first place saddens him. He’d known Henry was in therapy but hadn’t known that the boy was so unhappy that it had led to this.

He feels empathy for the boy; his own childhood hadn’t been pleasant either and he wouldn’t wish any remotely similar sadness onto anyone. Thinking on that, though, when he tries to think of why exactly it was so bad, for some strange reason, he finds he cannot quite remember. It is as if there is a gaping hole where those memories should be and he’s left with just an ache of unhappiness and longing that won’t leave him.

Strange, he thinks vaguely. He must be really getting old to be forgetting things like that.

A bit disconcerted, Wes tries to bury himself into his work. He brews himself a whole pot of coffee, and even though it’s the low-quality stuff Regina insists on buying, the caffeine helps focus his mind and he’s actually able to make some progress on his current projects in the next few hours.

The sky is darkening, his stomach growling, by the time he calls it quits. The air is colder on the way home, and his step is brisker, as he’d forgotten a coat and the evening chill cuts through his thin jacket like icy knives. By the time he’s trotted down the street to his apartment, the sun has been down for twenty minutes already, leaving behind a spectacular sunset that paints the sky purple and pink, its fading light just managing to sneak in to the apartment as he lets himself in.

He takes his coat and shoes off, depositing them near the front door for tomorrow morning, and then moves further into the small apartment. It may be small and cramped in here, but it’s home. A bathroom in the far corner, a crammed kitchen just beside it, and a tiny living room in front, with a staircase just near the door that leads up to the loft where his bed is. He flips on the light switch, illuminating the whole place, and as he makes his way into the kitchen for a glass of water, he pauses, attention caught by the large painting hanging on the opposite wall.

He’s had it for a very long time and avoids looking it as often as he can. It brings nothing but pain and grief at the memory of whose hand had drawn it, and Wes has enough trouble keeping the thoughts away without a physical reminder of it. But, for all that’s worth, he’s never had the heart to take the painting down, content to have the knowledge that even though he tries his hardest to forget it, there is still something of her that exists in this world.

But, for the first time in a long time, the painting spikes his interest, and he takes a couple steps closer until he is standing right in front of it, gazing up.

The painting is of a massive ship moored at a dock, drawn in black ink with elegant lines and brushstrokes, and until today, he’s never given it much thought about the design of the ship before, but now he stops in his tracks at the sight of it. He had looked closely at the image in Henry’s storybook earlier, feeling like there was something so desperately familiar about it, and now, looking at the painting on his wall is like looking at a re-creation of the one in the book. It has the same banding around the hull of the ship that the one in the book had had, the same set up of the deck with the raised helm and small bell hanging just above the entrance to the lower decks.

He stares, dumbfounded.

What?

How on earth could they be the same ship, drawn by a long dead hand and then in a child’s storybook?

He shakes his head. He’s being ridiculous; it isn’t uncommon that drawings of ships would look similar, he tells himself, because, really, there can’t be that many different designs for big galleon style ships out there. The artist of his painting probably just used the same reference photo; after all, he knew the artist of this painting, and knows she never would have seen anything like this magnificent ship in real life.

Nothing but a coincidence, Wes is sure.

But with the uneasy thoughts swirling around his mind, faint memories of an event he can’t seem to quite remember clearly, Wes finds himself unsettled for the rest of the night. It’s as if there’s something lurking at the back of his mind, straining to be remembered, but no matter how much he strains his mind to remember what it is, it remains elusive, a forgotten whisper of something very important.

#cs ff #cs mc ff #captain swan #from the sea #cs fic #sorry if there are spelling mistakes i can't look at it anymore

30 notes · View notes