I started this a lifetime ago, and it's been sitting unfinished in my drafts. I don't remember where I was going with this but who cares. Post Hogwarts but Pre-Wizarding War.
Bill fixes his eyes on her profile, the micromovements of her face --- for some reason the fluttering of her eyelashes and the pull on the corner of her lips seem a lot more interesting than his book of oceanic runes. He's known Rowan for quite a few summers now to comprehend the way in which the worries of her mind show through her skin.
His body is stretched out behind her as she uses his hips to support her back. The sun is out for one rare moment in London so they gathered to go to the park and do a little bit of work outdoors, still, the cold lingers in the air so it's nice being close to each other.
She adjusts her glasses when she notices his stare. "What is it?"
"Something wrong?"
Her chest shows the effort of a deep breath she's purposefully silent about. "No, everything's fine."
He pinches her side playfully. "Why are you so fidgety?"
She flinches with a giggle. "Ha! I'm not."
He stares more intensely until she turns to him and he raises his eyebrows inquisitively.
She looks away immediately with a defeated sigh. "I never seem to breathe properly when I'm around you... and it makes me restless."
He grins in that cocky way he'd acquired after becoming a curse breaker, that way that makes her want to either roll her eyes or bite his lip.
"And I haven't even given you a reason to be out of breath yet."
She makes a surprised noise. "Yet?"
He wraps his fingers around her elbow and tries pulling her closer for a kiss but she stands her ground. "I'm writing, Bill."
"When do you need to submit that?"
Rowan was always on her best behaviour, but with a promotion in sight, she wanted to be indispensable and irreplaceable. "Tomorrow!"
"Then you have five minutes to spare."
She's back at adjusting her glasses that misaligned with his pull. "Five minutes!? You'll take me out of my line of focus!"
She makes a sound of frustration but allows herself to be pulled this time.
He gives her a look -lips parted just so, eyelids heavy, green-blue eyes clouded with hunger- that makes goosebumps spread up her arms. "I've already stolen your focus."
He lifts a hand to brush her hair behind her shoulder, but keeps his hand on her, making circles with his fingertip on her neck. Neither cares about her glasses, he's learned to get around them while kissing her.
There are still remnants of sugar and cinnamon sprinkled on the corner of her mouth from the churros they had been eating earlier. "Five is perfect to reorient you. Any less and that'd be underwhelming, anymore..." He licks it off and she gasps, only remembering to exhale when he smooches her. "I'd have to take you home."
When Sawyer first opened her eyes, two days after she was born, I cried.
I was changing her into clean cloth diapers on the bed, the fabric stiff from its newness and she kept closing her legs, rubbing her little toes together and reaching her tiny hand up to rub against her cheek, I barely knew what I was doing, barely understood the grandness of what I had become just two days prior.
But even in my cluelessness, I comprehended joy, that for the moment everything was so simple and sublime. So, after observing my okay job of folding the diaper and my glorious job of building her into life, I leaned in and touched the tip of my nose against hers, taking in her delicate and peculiar newborn scent, and humming a song my grandpa used to sing me.
And with a throaty sound in response, she fluttered long lashes open and that so familiar shade of green nearly had me taking a step back. Bright like an emerald, alive like a luscious tropical leaf, elusive like a Kelpie underwater. Not golden or amber. Like his, his, his.
I had to sit down, to look away. I crawled down to the floor, curled against the bedside, in tears, sobbing as quietly as I could to keep Barnaby blissfully away in the kitchen.
At first, I thought it was for nothing except emotions motherhood had dawned on me, everything so new and drastic. But the realization came quickly. I had never been one to cry for no reason, so my tears were, as I concluded, of relief --- she wasn't like me.
She wasn't cursed.
These eyes only Jacob and I possessed in our family, the one trait that undeniably linked me to him. Only he and I had been cursed with seeing and hearing too much, tied to ancient magic, and sought after in the least pleasant ways.
In that sense, I was much like my mother. She also rejoiced in how Jacob and I looked so much like dad, even with her precious beauty. Except the reasons were completely different. Though partially from my love for Barnaby and every detail of him, like she had felt about dad and me, it was mostly because being like him would be way less of a burden --- a kinder heart, and a brighter spirit, not the leaves of autumn but the grasses of spring.
I wanted her to be mine but not like me, so at least in this prayer, I had been answered.
But as if sensing the arrogance of my ways, she started bawling and shaking right behind my head. I couldn't blame her, after all, she offered me her very first gaze, and I looked away. I finally finished my task, carefully wrapping her in the softest of our tartans in the lack of proper clothes for babies, trying to shush her tears away.
I then climbed onto the bed with her tiny body pressed to my chest, apologizing for my callousness and hoping she'd understand, in some subconscious way, that I had nothing but all-consuming love for her regardless of what I could have seen when she opened her eyes.
She was close to ceasing her crying when he came rushing in, wide-eyed and alarmed. "Everything alright?"
I smile, not trying to hide the tears that painted my face. "She has your eyes."
For just a moment I couldn't translate what feeling went through his face, nor would I dare to dig into his mind for any meaning. Soon a smile bloomed as he came closer and looked lovingly at her.
Yes, there was no weight, no meaning, simple joy and just a colour, green like a four-leaf clover.
some sorted few words of smut I'm proud of from yours truly
(they're both 20 and it's their honeymoon)
He throws the fabric on the small couch's general direction while his eyes stay focused on her. Her shape, bare under him, her skin in places he had never seen before.
His breath catches up to his feelings, and he finds himself breathing heavily as his hand traces her curves where her lightning scar cascades from her shoulder down to her thigh. It's a heavenly sight, every line and the unique shape of her — all the times he had fantasized, nothing compares to the real thing, warm and solid with the scars and the marks and the suppleness.
He rests his hands on her thighs, attesting thickness and the range of his hold, how they’re big and soft under his grip. He pictures all he could do, all the positions, but for tonight the simple touch would have to suffice. Then, with a racing heart, he slithers his hand towards her most private space and Indigo, shaking with thrill, pulls her legs apart at his touch. While his eyes are fixed on her sex, his own body reacts like it knows this is where it's supposed to be, this brand new piece of her anatomy he had only blindly touched and heard described. He looks at her topography and remembers the places his fingers had been while pleasuring her in the past, how delicate and complex everything looks now before his eyes.
It’s pathetic, even for him, but his eyes water and his lips part with a brand new flavour of joy and his whole body twitches at the thought of sinking into her.
-----
He knows she’d want him… the dreams he had had about her. All feverish fantasies. The real thing thrice as thrilling even if both stood still in the dim light and soothing silence. His eyes had never been this dark, she thinks, desire gripping at her throat.
She's not scared, she needs not repeat the words to herself, but her body understands the primitivism of such scene — bare naked, electrified, and above her a man such as Barnaby, so much bigger, so much stronger, cock straight and red, thoughts of being ravaged poluting her mind — and therefore she's trembling, pitiful breaths as she tries lying very still under his hungry stare, her inside clenching in silent pleas.
“Come have me.”
Her words, so succinct, yet they move him, and he has to wash the spine-deep shiver that courses his body with a deep breath. He’s a man attuned to his feelings, familiar with desire, but everything pales in comparison, the want so primitive and pressing, he knows no words to explain it, only comparison he could draw was when he first witnessed a starving wampus feasting on a poor mooncalf caught in its ravenous path, the splutter of blood, the force of its jaw cutting through bone, the ferocious gleam in its eyes.
How hungry does he look? He ought not to know.
His mouth waters. Is she prey? No. Not with a dark in her golden eyes that mirrors his to perfection.
She’s predator too.
----
Without warning she holds her palm against his cock pressing it against her, gasping as he pushes through her restriction, sliding past her clit.
“Don't stop,” she orders, muscles tense as she watches the spot where they meet.
Their rhythm becomes chaotic as the heat picks up between them, both thrusting, shaking, panting, crying, on their uphill battle against exhaustion, keeping up towards the promise of release. As she feels her climax approaching, muscles and tendons as stiff as metal, she forces herself to keep her eyes open to look him in the eyes. He’s already looking, the emerald green in intense contrast against the red creeping down his forehead, eyes narrowed at the agony of his own pleasure to come.
Her lips part into the most lovely ‘o’ as she arches into an orgasm against him, thighs squeezing against his hips, rocking for more fractions of ecstasy. With the high still clouding her mind, she feels him sliding away from her hand and before she can inquire why, she feels him inserting two fingers into her, making her whine.
His fingers are thick and she can easily squeeze around them as he rides off her previous high, sliding easily against yet another wave of wet slick blooming from her walls, it doesn’t take much before she writhing again, crying out his name to make him finally satiate her lips with his own.
He lays beside her as his fingers continue to shove into her, feeling for every texture and shape of her, kissing her lips when the same are free from their need to gasp for air. He had never seen her in such a state and it shakes his very core, shifting reality. She's his lover, his wife, this is her most vulnerable, most private. She is his.
Just a lil thing I wrote for Jacob, not necessarily compliant with my fanon but it's here anyway.
Jacob is in one piece, his apparition had been successful despite his weakness and all the years without practice — how many years now? He isn't certain, all he knows is that his little sister and brother don't look as little as he remembers, Phoenix standing even taller than him, Indigo practically as tall as himself. He hasn't aged, has he? Then why does he feel so old?
The air outside is misty and cold, and he nearly chokes with his first breath of it. He considers taking a handful of snow and letting some of it melt in his mouth to put some water into his system, but gives up on the idea as it would kill the little warmth still in his body, and his worn-out clothes wouldn't do much for him in this weather — for the first time in years, he thinks of clothes, and wonders if he'll live long enough to allow himself the luxury of purchasing any new ones.
It's a different sort of cold from that he experienced in the portrait — a chill, stale and numbing, never quite freezing —, this feels soothing and sharp and wet and fresh. He takes a deep breath and another, filling his lungs with oxygen, filling his veins with adrenaline. He couldn't tell how trapped he really was until this very moment of absolute wild freedom.
How he missed it, the cold, the feeling of being free and alive. When his eyes shoot up he's thankful for not seeing a moon in the navy blue, any werewolves venturing the forest tonight could make his walk into liberty bitter way too quickly. But there are stars, plenty of them, in beauty he hasn't recall seeing in ages even before the portrait. If he could stop for a moment longer he'd probably would've cried at the sight.
But then it hits him, it's Rakepick he's out there for, it's because of her he left his siblings behind — because she made his little sister fight a dragon and then proceeded to torture her, because she risked his brother's life under a shower of boulders, because there were questions to be answered and mysteries to be solved and he wouldn't get the short end of the stick this time.
Also because he needs to see her, for reasons unknown to himself, the one true thing that there was in his life even with her lies, the one who in comparison could make him seem like a good person, even if she was also the one to break apart such concept as being good.
But there's no time to consider such dilemmas. He pats his coat for his wand he hasn't touched in a long time and conjures a frail point of light.
He's weak, so terribly exhausted, muscles supple and feeble, bones stiff, barely any fat under skin to keep him warm. So at first he doesn't run, hesitant, tempted to turn the other way and hide, rest and wallow in self-pity. Not just because of his body, soul weak and barren like a burnt down tree, having seen Indigo and Phoenix inside that vault bringing forth shame and gloom unlike any other. He failed them, he put them in grave danger, he made them go through hell to find him.
But standing still wouldn't help and it wouldn't be fair to his family either, he'd have to make up to them, somehow survive, somehow compensate for the years he'd lost, even perhaps get something out of this colossal mess he made. So one step at a time, both literally and figuratively, he ignores the pain and the hunger, and marches into the thick of the forest.
Oh, well, I hope you don't mind doing 15 for the kisses prompt for Chariper then (I was thinking maybe after Marwa's death) 👉👈
I sooo sorry for taking so long, but I kept going on and off writing this and then I got caught into it and ended up incredibly long 🙈 Also I think I derived from the initial prompt so sorry for that x)
I considered writing Scottishly but then I'd take double the time, so just pretend is there xD Tried using as much info as I could, still I'm sure it won't be all accurate x) Also a lil Indigo mention bc yes xD
I really hope you like it 😘
From this prompt list.
Ship: Juniper Moss × Charlie Weasley
Time: 1997
Wordcount: 3.5k (well...)
CW: Injury/torture description (nothing too graphic), mention of suicidal thoughts, grief, yearning, angst (like you asked xD)
/////
Charlie’s house isn’t exactly made for two, at least not comfortably, Juniper knows it well — it’s all too small, from the sofa to the bed, the tight kitchen, the few utensils, and the one bathroom. But she’s also aware he’s making his utmost to make this as comfortable for her as he can and it tears her up.
He gave up his bed for her and acquired more cutlery and plates, he did abundant grocery shopping, and with magic tried increasing every space possible. She felt like a waste of space and time with the way Charlie was bending backwards to serve her, but where else could she go? In her state travelling would be unsuitable and even if she could, go back home to who? Go back home just to witness the empty space left by Marwa’s absence, her sweet and welcoming smell still on her bedroom, her shoes by the bed and her books on the nightstand, unread, her clothes still in the wardrobe never to be worn again.
The thought plagues her every morning like a dull pain even worse than that of her physical self. But still, she gets up, for Marwa — to keep pushing through, to finish what she risked her life for —, but mostly, for Charlie, the one who has believed in her enough to carry the weight of her grieving soul in his arms, in his home, in his attentive care. Because, yes, she needs care and who better to get it from than somebody like him, somebody her heart is weak for.
She’s still exhausted, but gets out of bed, cleans herself and brushes her hair the best she can, looks in the mirror and tries her hardest not to hate her scars, her looks, herself. Marwa hated her self deprecation, hated how that treatment of herself made her reckless about her own safety. Juniper can almost see it, Marwa would shake her head and say, “You’re better than this”, she’d agree even if she didn’t believe in that but she’d try to, for Marwa, always for her. Living has been difficult, but surviving should be enough for now.
When she walks into the kitchen/living room and its delicious aroma, it almost seems like she’s dressed to go out into a snowy day in three layers of Charlie’s clothes — a thin long-sleeved sweater, a thicker one, and a sheep lining coat, not to mention the two layers of trousers and a cap to top it off —, but that’s the only clothes Juniper could stand to wear without shivering down to the bone, one of the side effects of the Ice Curse they used to torture her for days on end. Only God knows how she survived, very close to dying from hypothermia, skin battered and frostbitten, trembling like crazy once she was rescued, unable to be heated up fast due to the cursed nature of the cold.
Charlie tries a smile over his shoulder and it’s genuinely the warmest thing in the house. In comparison, Charlie’s simply in a sweatshirt and his favourite trousers, trying to flip pancakes using his wand. “Morning, Junie. Sleep well?”
“Aye. The earmuffs helped.”
“I’m glad it did.”
She tucks herself onto one of the chairs by the small round table. “Sorry, I woke up late.”
“Hey, don’t, don’t apologise.”
“You always insist on preparing me breakfast, you’ll be late for work.”
“I’m staying at home today. My superiors wanna see how the new girl does without my help, Ursula her name.” He levitates the pancake from the pan onto a sloppy pile on the plate. “Ha! Didn’t burn a single one this time.”
“Uhm, I was getting used to the sharp taste of coal in the morning.”
“Hillarious. Maple or honey?”
“Honey.” He places the plate and the bottle in front of her before sitting down with his on stack double the size of hers.
On the side of her pancakes, a little bunch of unevenly chopped banana slices. “I feel like a child when you do this.”
“I like doing something special for you.”
“You’ve already done enough. I won’t say I’m fine, I’m not naive, but… you don’t have to do so much.”
“Cutting a banana is not too much. Besides, I’m not doing it out of pity, Junie. I’m doing it because I like you and I take pleasure in taking care of you. Mom says it’s second nature to want to take care. Of kids, dragons, friends, plants.”
“Plants… maybe not.” She thinks for a second. “Yeah. I loved taking care of Marwa.”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t want you to step on eggs around me, Charlie.” She takes a forkful of bananas to keep the teary sting from her eyes. “I also don’t wanna forget her, I don’t want her to be forgotten.”
“She won’t be. Especially considering her love will outlive her. Well, it’s too early for tears.” He points to her pancakes with his fork, smiling from ear to ear. “Come on, take a bite, tell me if they’re worth anything.”
.
“Should we take a walk?” Juniper asks, looking out the small window.
“Uhm… if you want to.” Charlie closes the book he was reading and gets up from his armchair to look out the window with her. “But isn’t too cold for you?”
“I can throw another layer on. I need to keep my muscles from atrophying. Winter soon will come and then I certainly won’t be in shape for any walks outdoors.” She smiles weakly. “Besides, in all the chaos I didn’t have a chance to enjoy the Autumn view.”
“You right, I’ll just fetch you something to keep warm.”
Juniper puts on her old loyal boots, tying them slowly. Any precise movement was still difficult — tying shoes, writing, folding clothes, cutting her own food, braiding her hair, even certain spells that required a more delicate hand movement —, suffering from her weak and stiff hands. Hands that are in such a state thanks to the torture she endured.
She watches her trembling hands and can recall the cold of the room she was held captive at, the foul smell, the cold, the hard ground, the magical ropes that bind her wrists behind her back, the bone crumbling muscle tearing pains, so cold. If she hadn’t resisted, if she had died soon, Marwa wouldn’t have come to her rescue, she’d be safe, she be alive. If only she had—
“I got something nice for you here,” Charlie exclaims from the other room bringing her back to her senses.
She takes a deep breath trying to steady her mind. Juniper believes herself to be strong, she knows she’s strong, but even she understands the limits of her body. She once thought cruciatus played only with the mind, simulating pain, but in doing so it also hurt the body, the soul. But Charlie, he’s an anchor, a strong and steady one. She focus on his existence and the world doesn’t seem as horrible.
“How is the tying?” He steps into the living room, soon placing a shawl over her shoulders.
She takes the gloves he’s handed and begins putting them on. “It’s fine.”
He gives a look. “It’s not, you’ll trip. Here, let me help.” He undoes her sloppy tying and reties it perfectly. “I told you a hundred times, ask when you need help.”
She gets up and he follows. “I can tie my own boots. It’s embarrassing enough that you had to cut my nails and cut my steak and brush my hair.”
“I love the way your hair feels.” She rolls her eyes and he laughs. “Stop complaining. Nobody’s forcing me to do this.”
She gets up. “I am. Indirectly I am.”
“Just say thank you and I’ll be the happiest guy.”
“Thank you, Charles. It’s a braw shawl,” she says, wrapping the thick tartan shawl tighter around herself as they walk out the door, wind hitting them first thing.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“I’m going with or without you.” She clears her throat at the harshness of her tone. “But I’d appreciate if you stay, I promise this is nothing.”
He simply shakes his head. “Indigo sent me it on my birthday, the shawl. I haven’t worn it yet.”
“She has good taste, I’ll give her that.”
“Kinda biassed coming from another Scot.”
She chuckles. “Have you seen her lately?” He shakes his head with a frown. “Me neither, it’s been quite about a year when we bumped into each other at the Ministry. Last I heard was that Barnaby’s parents escaped Azkaban.”
Charlie’s eyes darken in a frown. “They religiously write to me once or twice a month. I haven’t received any letter in three from neither. And if what I think it happened, happened, there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Juniper feels a shiver run down her spine. “These are dark times we’re living in.”
“I just hope they’re well and together. Going through all this alone is hell.” He gives Juniper a pained smile. “I hate the circumstances but I’m glad you’re here with me. What happened to George, Bill… thank goodness it wasn’t fatal, but that did a number on me and even when your life was going into a spiral, you supported me.” He waits until she’s looking at him to continue. “That’s why I don’t mind doing what I’m doing for you, I know you’d do the same for me.”
Juniper can barely speak nor face him, nodding with undistinguishable sounds boiling in the back of her throat, words she’s refrained herself from muttering for years, now daring to emerge. A volcano, words hot and glowing like lava daring to erupt from her blazing heart, they’d burn her, they’d burn him as well. Of course she’d do the same for him, the same and much much more, whatever Charlie asked of her.
He touches her arm and she nearly jumps. “Are you alright, June?”
She nods roughly. “Yeah, I just— Let’s keep walking.”
Their walk is quiet from there on, taking in the red, orange, and green of the landscape, a much-needed sun shining down on them even if it didn’t offer much heat along with the light. Her feet ache but nothing her inner turmoil couldn’t distract her from. They walk for about twenty minutes before reaching the limits of the plateau where Charlie’s cabin house is located with an overview of a small muggle village below.
The view is, in fact, very beautiful, especially with the way the sun shines down at the landscape before them, the river running alongside the village glistening with the light. But all the while, her chest’s on fire from his words, smoke clouding up her mind, the sparks coming off of his mere presence not helping her case.
“I wanna take you there once you get better. There’s a little shop… not really a shop, an old lady’s house where she sells all types of cheese and sweets, you’ll love it.”
Again the lump returns, but she offers a weak smile. “I’d love that. But, uhm, can we go back?”
He takes a step towards her. “I can apparate us there if you’re not feeling well.”
“I’m well, I’m just… cold. I’ll get warmer on the walk back.”
It didn’t make sense considering the long walk they had to get there, but he wasn’t going to refute it. He offers her an arm and they make their way back in half the time, the warmth of the house like a sweet embrace once they walk in, the honeysuckle and cinnamon scent intoxicating her every sense, wrapping around her heart like Devil’s Snare.
She turns to him, his countenance visibly worried, and just watches him drunk in a semi-conscious haze, despite the blur of her vision, she can see him clear enough — his beautiful copper oranger amber hair falling over the most beautiful eyes she has ever seen, freckles over skin like a starry sky. And as her eyes slowly move down his body, she feels herself lose balance and he’s close enough to hold her up.
Her cheeks are flushed which drives him to touch her them with the back of his fingers. “You’re burning.”
He unwraps the scarf and the shawl from her, all the while knowing she’s out of herself. It had happened before, short lapses in consciousness and thought, yet another side effect from the extensive torture she went through, but nothing this aggravating.
Juniper herself can’t tell, brain glowing and quiet like a flame. He then takes her face in his hands to try and bring her back to herself but it works against his wishes and she practically melts. His face so close, his chocolatey eyes. It’s love, so solid and heavy and palpable, emanating from her, weighing her down down down down—
.
In her sinking, his voice, calling her name. It’s glorious.
.
Juniper first hears heaving, centimetres away from her face, then the overwhelming heat from fire irradiating so incredibly close. She blinks her eyes open, a little lightheaded still. She’s being embraced, if not that, held.
Charlie’s pupils almost overtake the honey brown, face pale like snow. He holds her face with one hand. “Junie? Juniper? How are you feeling? Merlin! I knew that walk wasn’t a good idea!”
She takes his wrist to stop him from shaking her. “Charlie, calm down. What happened?”
“You fainted. You were burning up then you went cold again in a minute.” Explaining why were they on the rug by the fireplace. He finally stabilizes himself, trying to breath normally. “Scared the shit outta me.”
“Fainted? I’m so dramatic,” she tries laughing it off, distracting herself from the fact she’s in his arms. “I bet it was just the… the exertion.”
“Dramatic!? You didn’t faint on purpose.”
“I know, but I’m better now, don’t worry. See? No fever.”
“We gotta take you to a hospital, June. There’s a decent one in Bucharest.”
White hot panic takes over her and she pulls away from him, suddenly is harder to breath. “I don’t need to.”
“Bucharest is not that far, you clearly need help—”
“I’d rather die.” She curls against the sofa’s base. “I am not going, Charlie. I refuse.”
She can already picture it, the prying eyes, the antiseptic smell, the cold, healer’s assuming this and that about her condition while she knows very well what’s going on. Paired with her lapses in consciousness and thought she hadn’t experienced when she was first rescued, her stay would certainly be long and definetly a not so pleasent one. They had brought her back to life back then, when she was found burned, bloody, starved, and so terribly weak, but she’s also aware that if it weren’t for Bill and Charlie’s beggin for them to save her, she wouldn’t have survived. She had decided since then to be careful, to never again be at their mercy.
He gets up, pacing in circle. “And you expect me to just watch you fall ill and do nothing about it? I brought you here so I could help you get better and care for you, if you don’t—”
Perhaps it was the gut wrenching panic, perhaps the sickness still left in her, perhaps his wide and glistening eyes shinning at her, but the words just spill. “Because it was you… who made me sick. And no healer can cure that.”
He looks at her as if she had spoken in another language. “Wh-What? How– Me?”
“Yes, you. You’ve been driving me mad. You treat me so well, you keep me close, you allow me in your little world, and it’s driving me over the edge, Charles. It’s too much for me.”
His tone becomes serious. “What do you mean, June?”
Juniper wants to get up, to run, to jump off a cliff and go underwater, to release the building adrenaline in any other way but through her words. But she’s too weak, too exposed. She has lost the most important thing in her life, yet there’s still so much to be lost, but now the feeling has become familiar, the feeling of letting go.
She lays down on the carpet, exhausted, releasing tears long held back. “I love you, Charlie!”
He freezes where he stands, loosening up his hands and shoulders.
She wipes a few tears away. “I’m sorry.”
The word seems so big, his mouth can barely hold it. “You lo-” He lowers himself back to the ground with her. “How long?”
“For almost as long as I’ve known you. Really known you.”
He can’t drive himself to talk any comprehensive words, he lowers even more to lay right beside her. A few minutes pass before he can speak. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”
“Many reasons.”
“Examples?”
She sighs. “I was afraid, you weren't… emotionally available, I was a walking hurricane. So much I can't even put into words.”
“What about Talbott?”
It’s almost a slap to hear his name alone in Charlie’s presence. “I did love him, but… I never forgot you. There was always the shadow of what I felt for you looming over us until it wasn’t sustainable anymore.”
His breath trembles. “Bloody hell, Junie. Isn't even ten am yet.”
She chuckles. “I'm sorry for dropping this bomb on you like this.” Her voice is monotonous again, trying hard to swallow her feelings. “I'll leave if you-”
“I don't want you to leave.”
She turns to him. “But I don't know if I can stay.”
“Why couldn't you?”
“I can't stop this. These feelings, they're tenacious, like a little creature that'll only grow the longer I stay close to you.”
He turns his body her way. “What if I want it to grow?”
“It might consume me. You.”
“I'm used to it. To creatures that might consume me. Including you.”
She can’t help a smile. “What are you impling Charles?”
“That neither can I hold back what I feel for you. I didn’t have a word for it before but now I do.”
And just like that, things aren’t as heavy as Juniper had predicted for years. It is significant, but not heavy. She loves him, a fact like that of the grass being green or that of fire burning. (How many times had Marwa told her to stop cowarding away and just confess her feelings? If Juniper had only known it’d be this liberating, this soft.) And just as light, Charlie’s reciprocating affection.
He's staring directly at her, glancing at her lips indiscreetly — never feeling as seen as she does right now, even if she’s sure she definitely doesn’t look her best, having lost too much weight in the past months, distressed, and loss of her sunkissed glow, but it doesn’t matter, not when his eyes tell her otherwise. He then draws his hand up, slowly, to touch her cheek, palm hot against her cold skin.
“Juniper.”
“Charlie.”
His caloused thumb brushes its way to her lips, glancing at them as if asking for permission. She reaches out, fingers in his hair, streaks reflecting the firelight in colours she hasn't seen anywhere else.
“You don't have to do this alone,” he whispers.
She nods and he finally allows himself, leaning in a soft press of lips, slow and sure, the faintest flavour of honey in their mouths, the back of his fingers caressing her cheekbones. The house engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burning logs, but to Juniper it smells like desire mixed with Autumn. She reaches out and wraps her weak arms around him to bring him closer, she feels comfortable to do so — he’s the most important thing she has, equating only to her own life, she has to hold him the tightest she can.
Yet his lips remain soft and slow, savouring this moment of fresh blossom of love. Their first kiss together, therefore it has to be long and sweet and loving. She loves him and isn’t that enough? To know that across the table there’s someone who wants you, with her warm eyes like coffee in the morning and her french-blue hair, to know that throughout all those years most times her eyes had laid upon him with love, desire, affection.
He keeps their foreheads touching as he pulls away. “I’m not going anywhere, Junie. And I’m not letting you go either.”
“I know.”
“We’ll get through this.”
“We have to get through it.”
“And I’ll be with you on the other side. Marwa would be proud of you for living.”
She’s crying even before he’s done speaking. “Thank you.”
“No, no thank yous.” He brushes a strand of her hair back. “I love you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I love you, Juniper. I do.” He begins laughing — a weight immediately lifting from his chest as the words have finally been freed. He kisses her again and neither can help smiling against the other’s lips.
For the first time in a while she doesn’t feel bad doing so, doesn’t feel guilty for being happy without Marwa, because Charlie's right, because behind closed eyes she can almost hear it, her laugh from the kitchen, proud of her. I hope you're proud of me.
Well... this is embarrassing 🙈 it's obviously no longer Valentine's Day, but I already have partially done drafts for nearly all of them and I most certainly won't let them go to waste. Problem is, since I've written so much more of them, barnago comes much easier than the others, not to mention procrastination and discouragement to write anything, also bc I'm never satisfied and overthink every word.
"Yes and no. I don't like my real name, but I like roses, so…"
Not many roses, I'm afraid, but the mc of my fic Max is gonna die tonight is called Rose.
Lily
I'm gonna cheat in this one, I couldn't think of anything with Lily, so I'm gonna go with another character name, Lylia from my Mads Mikkelsen fanfic. She's the mc's best friend and fashion designer.
It's not a Wip but...
But after a lifetime with Lylia Woodbine going to fashion shows, magazine parties, and all sorts of high fashion events, I couldn't be indifferent to what I wore anymore.
Dragon
(...) Indigo turns to Charlie who's both looking over his shoulder at Indigo and up the tree trying to encourage Madeline to get down. "And why did you stole an Acromantula's egg? They're a Class A non-tradeable! Not to mention, they're deadly!"
"A guy sold us the egg saying it was a Dragon!" He says.
"Can't you tell the difference between a dragon egg and an acromantula egg?"
"Don't blame him, he was excited about the prospects of a dragon egg," Madeline says from up on the tree.
Suprise!!! xD This is from something I started writing for you and I need to finish 🤡🤡🤡 someday, someday
I found this while looking for pink in my George fic, placeholder name - Blood Orange - and I really like it so...
Despite being sort of unhappy to be walking back into the muggle world again — and consequently back to the crowded hostel — she has butterflies in her stomach and a foolish smile on her lips. Percy wasn't the most handsome, but with careful eyes she could see his beautiful traits — serious green eyes and pink lips, specially when his features soothed into peace or grew into a smile out of the poise he held since the minute they met — and he seemed smart, perfectly aware of himself, interested in her, listening truly and not pretending like almost every boy she has ever been in a date with.
I always think people hate Percy but then my posts about him get attention from people who don't even follow me so I'm always like ????
