this is an au of an au so you don't need to read thistle & weeds to understand this unless you wanna know Poppy a little better idk
i'll grab your hand, ask you to dance
in the middle of the street —
[love you like the movies, anthem lights]
"Come on," he tugs at her hand, eager in his (suspicious) endeavor. Poppy doesn't particularly trust the look on his face — the amount of concentration, mostly. That sort of intensiveness in a Prewett twin usually ends with a punch-line for the ages, and she doesn't exactly feel like she's aching to be a laughingstock on this very day. And with an audience, no less! Still, Gideon persists and she allows him to drag her out to the yard and away from the small horde gathering of Weasleys and Prewetts alike. Some of them look toward the pair, curious, but most dismiss the behavior as the usual for either of the twins.
She can hear Percy call after them, though; likely upset their conversation about the Tales of Beedle the Bard was interrupted so rudely by his own uncle. There's a small scowl on his little face.
"That was rude —"
"He'll forgive me, I'm sure," Gideon remarks, glancing over his shoulder at her as they slow. He doesn't let go of her hand as they stop and he turns to face her completely. "Well, then, Poppy Evans."
And that's how she knows for sure this is Gideon.
Poppy Evans, always, without fail. Whereas Fabian prefers just 'Evans', or 'the bird who turned my nephews against me that one time'.
She squints up at him, the sun in her eyes making it hard to read his expression properly. This just makes the anticipation swirling in her gut all the more twist-y. That's what it is, isn't it? Anticipation. It certainly has nothing to do with the handsomely freckled redhead man staring down at her with a crooked grin…Never… "What," she deadpans. "What is so great about this particular patch of grass that you had to drag me across the bloody lawn?"
"Can't you just feel the difference?"
She purses her lips. "No."
"Well, can't be helped then." He swings their intertwined hands playfully, effectively spinning her out and back into his arms. Poppy lets out a shocked little gasp, clearly not expecting such a sudden move. He tosses one of her hands over his shoulder so her arm loops around his neck loosely and keeps her other firmly grasped in his. Then, he starts moving them in dramatic circles with a pleased smirk forming on his face.
"What are —"
"What do you think? Always so many questions out of this one."
Poppy flushes. He spins her again. "I'm going to get dizzy," she protests weakly. "Prat."
"Don't get sick on me."
"Stop spinning me, then!"
He laughs — and the sound warms Poppy from her head to her toes, and dammit. This wasn't supposed to happen, and so she averts her gaze and notices Fabian off in the distance offering a cheeky thumbs up. She finds that she'd quite like to offer him a rude gesture in return if there weren't children running around the whole of the yard, and you know, if her hands weren't otherwise occupied. When she turns back to Gideon, he has the kind of smile she's only seen on blokes in films. Or blokes when they look at her sister, and by blokes she means 'James Potter' specifically — It's not fair. How dare he? The nerve... The cheek!
He does stop spinning her so madly, though. Now, they just sort of aimlessly make slow circles. Clearly, the man doesn't know how to dance properly but then neither does Poppy. The hand on her shoulder lowers to her back and she glares up at his audacity, even if the returning grin makes her go a little weak in the knees. Dammit.
"There's not even any music. They probably think we're crazy," complains Poppy, determined to ruin whatever 'this' is. She can't endure much more increasing of her heart rate, she thinks. "Well, they know you're crazy. Now you're just damaging my reputation." She notes the smugness glinting in his eyes and adds promptly, "On purpose."
"Let them think what they want," he says breezily. "The crazier they think we are, the better pair we'd make in their eyes. I don't mind."
"Who says rubbish like this?" Poppy cries, even if she is horribly flattered and her face is going that patchy shade of red. "Is this a wizard thing? Muggle men aren't nearly so brash. At least, not any in Cokeworth I've ever met."
"Aren't you glad you met me, then?" Gideon jokes. "Upped your expectations. Raised your standards. It'll be better in the long run, you'll see."
"The jury is still out on that one, I suspect."
"Ouch," and he dips her — honest to goodness, dips her! The blood is just beginning to rush to her head when he brushes his lips against hers in a brief kiss. In that moment, she's sure that she's going to combust into tiny particles of Poppy-shaped confetti. But soon enough, he drags her back upright with ease, his own face now looking a little flushed. He gauges her expression carefully and neither of them speak or move for a moment. Poppy can feel her own embarrassment manifesting in the heat rising to her cheeks and the way her fingers clench around his uncertainly. Finally, she puts her head to his chest and lets out an exasperated sigh.
"Alright, then?" He asks, sounding amused. If she hadn't seen his face go about twelve different shades of pink just moments before, she might suspect he's not fazed at all. But she knows better.
She mumbles something that was probably intended to be, "Alright." The fabric of his coat gets in the way, and he pulls her back by the shoulder gently to look her in the eyes. She lowers hers almost instantly and he tilts her chin up until she has no choice but to glare at him in response.
"Was that alright?" He asks, looking decidedly nervous. "If it wasn't, you can hit me. I'd deserve it, I promise."
Poppy considers it before discarding the idea entirely. She's not been kissed many times in her life, and she's not about to begrudge the giver of one of the more pleasant ones just because she's flustered… no matter how tempting the idea of running away is. "Fine. It's fine — I me— I mean it was fine!"
He stares down at her contemplatively. "Just 'fine'?"
"Yes! Just fine! What's wrong with that? Fine is better than most get."
"Most?" Gideon sounds appalled. "What kind of men have you been kissing that fine is an acceptable response? A positive one, even?"
"Cokeworth men, I guess!" Poppy argues, feeling the heat rush back to her cheeks in an instant. She pushes him away from her and glowers up at him heatedly. "Don't — Don't judge me! Just because I don't have the same internal scale for weighing kisses as you."
"Well, if you ask me — "
"I did not."
"—Ahem, but if you did ask me, I'd give it a 'bloody hell', I think."
A 'bloody hell'.
Was that… good?
Why does she care?! This man is infuriating!
"How is that any better? That's extremely vague, which is much worse than being upfront about it being significantly average!"
"Average!" His palms fly to his heart, wounded, and she does not immediately miss the warmth that permeated from the hand-holding, she does not. That would be insane, and Poppy Evans is anything but. Honestly. "'Average', she says! Are you trying to kill me, woman?"
"I don't understand why this is such a big deal in the first place!"
"Big deal? My pride is at stake here."
"Oh, you're so dramatic," she says, rolling her eyes. But then he fixes his eyes on her determinedly, and she knows she's in for it now. His hands reach up to cup her cheeks delicately and he looks into her eyes with a question she doesn't immediately register. It doesn't matter, she thinks. He could ask me anything right now and I'd probably say yes. He murmurs it again, but he's so close and she's just simply not having it. Impatient, she tugs at the collar of his coat and pulls him down to meet her half-way and... alright. Bit more than fine. Just a bit.
There aren't fireworks, and her heart certainly doesn't implode on itself. (Thankfully.) But it's more than fine, at least. His hands reach her waist, hesitant and unsure, and she loops her arm around his neck once more as they both lean further into the kiss. He doesn't push for more than she's already giving which is particularly nice. It's less clumsy than the first, seeing as she's upright this time, and when they eventually pull away Gideon's eyes are glossed over so she'd say she did alright on her end. Poppy keeps her arms firmly locked around his shoulders. He doesn't seem to mind.
"Bloody hell," she says after a moment of silence. As she watches the freckles on his face stretch into tiny constellations with his mirthful grin, she decides she's properly gone. She's gone and done it now— Poppy Evans has fallen in proper love with a proper idiot. And he's fallen in love right back.
AN;
me: Poppy's romance is gonna be slowburn af but once we get there it's gonna be True Love and nothing else will ever compare. I will never ship anything else. Disgusting.
also me: ok now write an au of her falling in love with someone else
I might continue this later w/ one-shots detailing their relationship as thistle & weeds goes on but idk it was 3 am when I wrote this I don't know what I'm doing?It's Complete for now but if I come back to it later I'll change it I guess
Someone needs to stop me from burning myself out on this OC business, ya?