That One Time I Fell In Love.
(And other impossible things). Fred Weasley II finally meets his match in the form of one loud-mouthed and free-spirited, Emma Terry. [GIR World!]
Chapter 2: That one time I got caught up in a thing.
It wasn't just sex.
I can tell you that now, of course, but at the time I would swear until I was blue in the face that we were literally nothing! She was just … a thing. Someone. Someone I apparently had sex with every now and then. It wasn't even friends with benefits, because I don't think we ever had one proper conversation. It was literally just BENEFITS! And it was fine. It worked.
Until it didn't … but I'm getting too far ahead.
It was sometime in November when I finally realised the full extent of what the hell I'd just gotten myself into. I didn't work at the joke shop full time or even have a schedule, really. My usual job had a rather erratic timetable, so I just went in and helped out whenever, maybe one day a week or on the weekends. Weasley's Wizards Wheezes was my dad's pride and joy, after all. Thaaaat, and I may or may not have accidentally blown it up several months ago. It's a long story, let's just say I learned that it's a rather bad idea to juggle exploding piñatas right next to a pressure-sensitive fireworks display ("I could've told you that," my dad had said exasperatedly to me in the hospital). Look, I did my community service, blame James, it wasn't ALL my fault!
Either way, the shop was looking pretty flash now that it had been rebuilt, although we'd lost a lot of business with it being out for several months. Finally, we were getting back into the swing of things and parents were going to start flocking in soon, trying to think of Christmas presents for their insane children. That's where we came in! Outside, the weather was pretty abysmal as it pissed it down, so the amount of people in here was probably just because no one wanted to get a little wet. I had just sighed and flicked another page of the Quidditch magazine I was reading against the front counter when a voice said,
"Jesus, do you ever actually work?"
"About as much as you do, Roxie," I said without even looking up.
I could tell it was my younger sister pretty much straight away, seeing as she scoffed at me and smacked my head with her bag as she swept past around the counter. "Hey!" I yelled in indignation.
"Do some work and you might not get in my way," she teased, turning and sticking her tongue out at me.
"What are you five?"
"Older than you are, dogbreath."
Rather unfortunately for them, there was a Pygmy Puff display cage right next to me on the counter. I ended up grabbing a squeaking pink one and throwing it at Roxanne's head. She squealed and cringed and the Pygmy Puff was rebounded off her forehead with a slight, 'Weeeee!'
"OI!"
The two of us snapped to attention at once. Dad had arrived and had apparently caught the little pink Pygmy Puff that was now trembling in his hands. Oh, George Weasley. His hair was definitely grey rather than red now and a lot of the time he had hard lines on his face and a look his in eyes that told you that he'd been through hell in his day, 'so don't you fucking cross me, bitch'. You could always count on him to make us wilt. I don't know what I'd do without my dad being disappointed in me! Roxanne shuffled her 50-Galleon boots on the floor, refusing to meet his stern gaze. Roxanne had the same brown skin and dark curly hair as I did, so while half the time a lot of people thought we were twins, I legit don't think anyone actually believed that George Weasley was our father.
"Would you two please refrain from killing each other, until at least after lunch time?" Dad asked. "It's not even ten o'clock yet!"
"She started it!"
"Dad, tell your son to get off his arse and actually do something for a change."
"I'm working!" I said, holding a hand to my heart. "Besides, you see my arse sitting down? Noooope, still standing here."
"Leaning against the counter doesn't count," Roxanne said.
"What the hell do you know?"
"DAD!"
"Fred," Dad turned and smirked at me. "Get to work."
"DAD!"
"I've got re-stocking that needs doing in aisle seven!" Dad flicked his wand and produced a list from nowhere before sending it flying into my chest. "And I think the Pygmy Puff cage is starting to smell, don't you? I don't want you to stink up the place, huh little guy …?" he added in a cooing voice to the Puff in his hands as he moved to place it back in its cage. I noticed the pink bundle of fuzz poke a furry tongue out at me once he was back inside.
"In the meantime," Dad continued. "Roxie can take counter."
"Yes," she cried.
"Wha – Dad, I got here first!" I complained.
"Better hop to it, guys," Dad said, cheerfully. "This rain's going to turn in a massive crowd!"
I grumbled and complained, but unfortunately knew better than to challenge my dad. The guy is crazy, I swear. He moved away then to talk to a witch who had approached the front counter asking for assistance and Roxanne just held out the list Dad had sent me and I'd promptly tossed aside. She left it swinging on the end of her finger, a smug expression on her face.
"Just you wait," I told her, snatching the list back off her. "one of these days, Dad's gonna cut me some slack and you'll be the one cleaning out the Pygmy Puffs."
"Not likely!" Roxanne grinned. "Oh, and don't be a dickhead to everyone you meet and maybe he wouldn't have to snap at you."
"I hate you."
"Hate you, too!"
I stuck my tongue back out at the evil Pygmy Puff before storming away from my stupid little sister. Honestly, she was only four years younger than me, but that meant she was the baby of the entire Weasley family. Seriously, she was the youngest cousin out of all of us at 21 years old, which meant that she had been spoiled and babied and looked after her entire life. No wonder she was perpetually chipper, crazy as fuck and could afford 50-Galleon boots! Me, sometimes I would have months where I could afford to splurge on a new knick-knack, but others I was lucky if I could even pay my rent on time.
Re-stocking shelves was so boring that I could basically do it without even looking. Actually … I know I should be refraining myself of me and my usual ridiculous ideas (I BLEW UP A JOKE SHOP I HEAR YOU REMINDING ME) but I had just grabbed a bandana from two aisles over and was levitating costume packages completely blindfolded when another girl voice said,
"So that's a good idea, huh?"
"Shit–! WHOA!" I lept out of my skin and as a result, sent an entire box of wigs crashing to the floor. I whirled around, but forgot that I couldn't see. As a result, I skidded on a wig that had been flung across the floor, nearly crashing to my death.
"Oh my god!" the voice said again as I swore and grumbled under my breath, pulling the bandana down off my eyes as I staggered back to my feet. Emma came into view, her jacket stained dark from the rain and her frizzy brown hair plastered to the sides of her face. But she was laughing and I gaped for a moment, suddenly not quite knowing what to do with my hands.
An entire months worth of sex suddenly came flying behind my eyes without me really wishing it to. Ok, maybe I wanted it to a little. Strange didn't even cover how it felt to have her standing in front of me in public. I almost felt guilty for picturing her against my will without her clothes, and I had to look away and stare at the offending wigs still strewn about the floor. Here was me thinking that this would be totally fine, yeah, I could sleep with this girl and have it stay as nothing! Tooootally, she had a lack of confidence that I could work with, or at least I'd thought she had. It had soon become quite clear over the last month though that as we got more used to each other, she could apparently get rather comfortable …
("Fred, you've clearly never done shower sex before if you're gonna hold me like that," she'd remarked a couple of weeks ago. "OW –!"
"Jesus, I don't even know why I suggested this," I'd grumbled back, hastily letting go of her.
"I'm sorry, YOU suggested this?" Emma was literally arguing in the middle of a shower, water pouring over her disgruntled face, arms folded across her chest in a huff. "I was innocently trying to get clean before leaving and YOU followed me in here!"
"… your point?"
"If we're doin' this, we're doin' it properly. Now kiss me.")
I mean, I've been around. You know that, I know that, Emma fucking knows that – I've done my fair share of women. I've had good sex, bad sex, and the worst sex you could possibly imagine (word of advice: if you're consenting to being tied up, assure first that your partner is in fact NOT a psychopath who was due in court five days ago). Which just goes to show that I had no clue what the hell kept making me go back to Emma. Yeah, she was hot –
("I don't know why you still insist on wearing underwear every time you come over," I muttered into her ear, feeling said underwear under my hands.
"Because they're fun to take off," Emma had smirked back.
She kept wearing them).
– and yeah, the sex was kinda on a whole new level of its own –
("Shit, shit – oh c'mon, you KNOW I don't like that!" I'd complained.
"I know, you annoyed me."
"How could I possibly annoy you right now?"
"Bonehead, even your face annoys me," Emma grinned up at me. Her hands moved. "Better?"
"Better," I'd squeaked).
– but seriously! She wasn't THAT amazing! In fact she was mouthy, annoying and a little too sassy for her own good. But naturally, in the face of her now, I was desperately trying to keep my Mr Cool & Calm exterior, despite the fact that I had literally just tripped over a wig in front of her. I like to think that I succeeded, although on the inside, I'll admit that I was fucking screaming.
What was she even doing here? Why was she talking to me outside of my flat?
I WAS GOING TO FALL IN LOVE WITH HER NOW, I KNEW IT!
"Fred?" Emma mentioned then. "Helllooooo …?"
"What – hello – yeah – it raining out there?" I leaned against the nearest shelf casually.
Emma pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh. Jesus, those lips. Don't think about the lips. "Just a bit, yeah," she said. "Even Impervious wasn't doing it, so I thought I'd duck in on the way back from lunch. What're you doing here?"
"It's my dad's shop," I said defensively. You found me, girl.
"Well, yeah," Emma shrugged. "but don't you have a job? What do you even do when you aren't beddin' women?"
I just snorted and waved a hand. "Sweetheart, please."
Emma shot me a look at that, but didn't press again. I think this was the longest encounter we'd ever had before clothes started coming off! I didn't even know if I really liked her as a person or anything. Sure, she had a spunky side, but I was slowly discovering that it was also a kind of demanding-control-freak side. Yeah, I mean, I was attracted to her no kidding, I wouldn't be sleeping with her otherwise … but apart from that, what did I see in her? Jesus!
"Why're you here?" I ended up demanding.
"The rain," she shrugged.
"Oh, come on!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing talking to me? We don't do this."
"Maybe you don't," Emma shot back at once. "but me, I saw someone I knew and came over to see 'em. That's sort of what one does in polite society."
"What a princess. Oh, come on, you know me," I snorted. "In what universe am I polite society?"
Emma just mock sighed. "Should've known better," she said. "Tell me, are you a little shit to everyone, or is it just me?"
"Just you, Princess."
"I highly doubt that."
"Just hang around a Weasley family event and you'd find out," I said.
I blinked.
WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?
Emma raised an eyebrow at that and I quickly blurted out,
"No, wait! Fuck you!"
"What the hell?" she scowled back. "FUCK YOU."
"Right!" I said, quickly. "I think that was a pretty good conversation, wouldn't you say? Been nice sleeping with ya, see you tonight – no? OK, BYEEEEE."
And with that, I turned on my heel and promptly skidded on yet another wig that I'd failed to pick up.
Jesus, I had so much dignity. What the hell was wrong with me? I hadn't meant that back there at all, it had just come out and immediately realised how it could be interpreted. Naturally, I'd panicked! What if she took it the wrong way? Nah, no, she knew I was only in this for the sex. She knew that. I had absolutely NO intentions of letting my family get anywhere near her! For her own protection clearly, seeing as my family was made up of a bunch of criminally-insane nutjobs. She was never going to want to sleep with me again!
Oh, well. Guess it was fun while it lasted.
"Who was that?" Roxanne's annoying voice chimed in.
"No one, shut up," I thumped her on the arm.
"It's not no one, you're literally hiding behind the front counter," Roxanne pointed out, glancing down at the top of my head.
"Who's hiding? YOU'RE HIDING!" I said.
"Fine, whatever," Roxanne just rolled her eyes. "Be weird. See if I care. By my accounts she doesn't look hot enough for you to try and sleep with her, and I know you're not related to her, so by process of elimination that must mean you work with her for you to be casually chatting–"
"Who the hell says she's not hot enough?" I scowled.
Roxanne looked down at me crouched behind the counter among the plastic bags and rubbish bin with a triumphant look on her face. "Aha!" she said gleefully. "So you DID sleep with her?"
"So what?"
"Why're you talking to her in broad daylight, then?" Roxanne asked. "Don't you normally love 'em and leave 'em?"
My little sister had a point. I normally did. I didn't even know why I was suddenly hiding behind the front counter. Maybe it was because she had yelled back at me. I don't fucking know. I know I certainly didn't expect her to turn up that night, so later that evening when I answered my door to have her standing there, I had to quickly glance around outside.
"What're you –?" Emma began.
"Just checking that I'm in the right flat," I said.
Emma rolled her eyes before shoving me back inside. She quickly followed, shutting the door behind her. "Just letting you know, I'm still mad at you!" she told me as she tugged her thick winter jacket off.
"Fair enough, I'm mad at me," I said, walking backwards from her as she approached. She threw her bag against the wall. "Hey!" I complained at that. "I know my place isn't exactly Casa De Fancy, but I put a lot of thought into decorating this place! Have some respect for the wall!"
"Fred, I know for a fact that you own a boob lamp," Emma shot me a look. "You couldn't giva shit about the wall."
"The lamp was a gift!"
Emma raised an eyebrow.
"Ok, fine, I bought it in a thrift shop."
"Why are you bein' so determined to make me hate you?" Emma asked me.
"What – I'm not –"
"Yes, you are!" Emma countered, pointing an accusing finger at me. She came a little closer down my hallway. I suddenly felt the need to prove a point and stand my ground. "You're being a dickhead on purpose! Is this because of what you said earlier today? You know I don't care. I've met most of your family already, I certainly know they're all crazy."
Maybe it was. Maybe I was trying to get rid of her. Yep, this was a nice wild game for a little bit, but it had gone far enough now! Time to wake up and face reality, Freddo – Emma … Emma … whatever her last name was, HAD TO GO!
"What's your last name?" I asked.
Emma gave me the strangest look she'd mustered up so far. "Why?"
"I can't dramatically throw you out of here without a last name!"
"Oh, for god's sake," Emma rolled her eyes.
"Never mind then," I stormed up to her and took her eblow, steering her back round towards the door. "It was nice knowing ya, Emma Oh For God's Sake, but our time is at an end!" I bent down and picked up her bag, shoving it into her arms. "I've come to expect this kind of attitude from you, which obviously means that I've somehow gotten to know you, and that tells me this has gone waaaay too far! So see ya, have a nice life and all that –" Like the gentleman I was, I opened the door for her.
She threw her bag in my face.
"OUCH!"
"Douchebag, get off me!" Emma yelled, wrenching her elbow out of my grip. The door slammed shut once more. My weird neighbours would be round in a minute wondering what was wrong (oh, nothing Mrs Ramsey, I was just being murdered by a very pretty, very angry monster). Was it just me, or did her hair seem to get bigger when she was mad? "Fred, I don't know what the hell your problem is, but you don't know a thing about me!" she shouted straight into my slightly sore face.
"Oh, really?" I asked.
"What's my favourite colour?" she snapped. "How do I like my tea? How old am I?"
I opened my mouth to snap back at her … but my mind was blank. I couldn't answer any of those questions. That couldn't be right. I knew her too well, that was why I was throwing her out, right? I mean, I knew lots of stuff about her! I knew that when her hair dried naturally after a shower, it went even frizzier than normal. I knew that she was sensitive around her neck and that there was a spot on her collar bone that she liked being kissed and occasionally bitten. I knew that she really liked my hands and that we both struggled to be the one in control ("For god's sake, let me be on top for once!"). I knew that she didn't like being tickled (I learned that the hard way by accidentally getting her in the side and receiving a resulting kick to the balls … that had killed the mood) and that she had a burn scar on her right thigh from when she had tried hot waxing as a teenager and got the spell wrong.
But shit, how old was she?
"Um … I want to say twenty ffff – no, um, twenty thrrrrr …?"
"Exactly," Emma said, folding her arms in triumph. "So quit being an idiot and kiss me already."
Fuck. Can't get around that logic.
Later, as my hands caressed at her bare back and she kissed my neck in that oh-so-beautiful way of hers, I asked,
"For the record – seriously, how old are you?"
Emma just made a non-committal sound against my skin.
"Shut up, Bonehead."
And things were ok.
More or less.
"You are NOT ok!" my sister ever-so-helpfully pointed out for me at one point near the end of November. "You're not telling me that you're still seeing that chick with the frizzy hair?"
"I'm not seeing her, shut up!"
"But you are sleeping with her, yes?"
"It's not the same as going out," I said, throwing a look at Roxanne's head from over the family dinner table.
"Roxie, I hardly think I need to hear about my children's exploits over food," Mum chimed in from over at the oven. "If you would be so kind as to change the topic."
"No, Mum, you don't get it!" Roxanne cried, almost toppling her chair over in her dash to Mum's side. I just groaned and pelted her with bits of carrot from across the kitchen that I was supposed to be chopping. "This is Fred, I don't think he's ever been in a committed relationship in his life – oi, stop that–!" She batted a carrot from her head, deflecting it so far across the room that it landed in the fish tank, much to the surprise of the fish. "–I really think something's wrong with him if he's sleeping with the same girl."
"No, seriously! Any time you want to drop this is fine by me," Mum said sweetly, ignoring Roxanne's insistent tugging of her robes.
"I agree whole-heartedly!" I added, flinging another carrot.
Unfortunately, that one hit Mum. She spun around and threw both of us a glare worthy of Grandma Molly (and there was a terrifying woman if you ever met one – not afraid to admit that). "Fred! Either eat those carrots or continue chopping them – if I see another flying, you won't have anything left to throw them with. Roxanne! Leave your brother's personal life alone, he is free to have a relationship with whomever he likes."
"It's not a relationship!"
"Fine," Mum sighed. "He is free to not have a relationship with whomever he likes. I can't believe I'm saying this …" she added, turning back to the sauce pot on the stove.
Roxanne huffed against the kitchen bench, folding her arms. Then, a second later, she perked up and said,
"Dad'll agree with me! He'll think that your brain needs checking," she literally poked her tongue out at me. Baby. "Mum, where is he?"
"Your father's sleeping," Mum answered, softly.
Immediately, Roxanne wilted. I glanced back down and hastily started chopping carrots again. Even my insane sister knew when to stop. Everyone in this house knew what 'sleeping' was code for. I mean, Dad probably was sleeping, but not very fitfully. He suffered from depression, so this was probably a bad day for him. Apparently the death of his twin brother years before I was born was a blow to the stomach that he'd never quite recovered from. Despite having a cheerful, cheeky outside, George Weasley often had days when he couldn't even get out of bed. There's only so much potions and medication can do, in the end. I wasn't supposed to know all this technically; Roxanne and I had never actually been told, but we'd heard far too many whispers from the rest of the family over the years to not know by now. I think Mum knew that we understood, even if it had never been outright explained, even at this age, but we had always respected our dad's worse days. As kids we knew not to scream and run around and generally be a pain in the arse like usual. One time, I remember Roxanne and I inching into his and Mum's room, crawling into bed with him and just lying there for a majority of the day. I knew that he'd stopped taking anything for it years back because the side-effects had been even worse than the actual condition. Honestly, to me he was just my dad and it was a part of who he was … but I wish it didn't have to be.
Life just fucking sucks sometimes.
Maybe that's why Mum insisted that Roxanne and I come and have dinner at home tonight. Sometimes it helps Dad to know that his family's nearby. Other times it just makes him feel worse, but we try at least. Roxanne hugged Mum's arm in way of apology, before loudly talking about a new client she'd just received at work. Cover up the awkward, that's Roxanne – she's worse than James at dealing with tough emotions sometimes.
"That reminds me!" Roxanne continued, getting her mischievous smirk back. "We're having another beauty expo in time for Christmas, Fred! Usually it's a no-brainer that you wanna come, buuuut …" she just raised an eyebrow at me.
"Shut up, I'm coming!" I demanded at once.
"What about your darlin'?"
"Fuck her, and fuck you! I'M COMING!" I cried.
"I don't know why I bother," Mum sighed from the kitchen bench.
I know that Roxanne's beauty expos doesn't exactly sound like my kinda thing, but you'd be surprised! Roxanne worked as a beauty therapist for a huge salon located in Diagon Alley with about ten other branches scattered across the UK. Every now and then they would throw together a large lifestyle expo, selling products I couldn't pronounce and offering 10-Galleons-off facials or some shit like that. I couldn't have cared less about getting my legs waxed at such events, but you know who does? Hot girls.
Who I care about very, very much.
I used to have to beg Roxanne to let me in as a set-up volunteer. "Honestly, you're only ever in these things for the women, why should I let you come and deface my own gender like that?" she would complain. But I think she found a kind of grudging sense in the idea or something, because in the end she'd apparently realised that over the years, I'd actually learnt a lot from her rambles about beauty therapy and actually knew what I was talking about. The fact that I wasn't bad-looking either helped rake in clients! … so now, she reluctantly lets me in.
The second my words had come out of my mouth, though, I had kind of faltered. I sleep around, but I don't screw over. I'm usually pretty straight up in my intentions and hey, if whoever I'm with doesn't get that, only then will you find me trying to leg it out a window at four in the morning! So for a brief second, my mind went to Emma.
But like I said – BRIEF SECOND. She doesn't matter. It's fine. Move along to something important now, please.
So after having dinner with my family (well, most of my family) and knocking gently on my dad's door to tell him that I was glad to have come and y'know, all that shit, I went away with the date written on my hand and Roxanne's sceptical look in my head. I promptly ignored that look every single time it came into my head (GO AWAY, Sceptical Sister!) and I also ignored the fact that eventually, Emma figured out that something was going on.
I'll admit that most of the time, I owled Emma first. She usually came, I can only remember once or twice that she's sent back no, she didn't feel like it. I'd tried not to be so annoyed at her in those moments (it's fair enough, stop acting disappointed, you loser). This time, she had messaged me. Usually, we tried to be subtle about it, in case some nosy person decided to read my mail (JAMES), something along the lines of:
Yo, Princess –
Wanna come storm my castle?
Sorry, that was a lame one.
– F
Which she usually replied back to with an equally punny one-liner which either made me groan or laugh when I read it. I mean, I didn't laugh THAT much … but still. Today's message had in contrast, been short and to the point:
Bonehead –
Can I come fuck you after work?
Many thanks,
– Em
Which had been unexpected, but uh, YEAH OKAY.
She was late though, which was why I was about to catch her outside in the hallway, since I was in the middle of arguing with my neighbour across the hall as something to do. Mrs Ramsey was some senile old lady who I think was older than this entire building and for some reason, had taken it upon herself to hate me. She was a witch and often wore old robes over her nightdress, although I think most people thought she just wore a dressing gown 24/7. She always found SOMETHING to complain about, whether it was I was being too loud, or that my continuous stream of 'friends' was irritating her.
"– look, I couldn't give a shit about your dog!" I yelled, the tiny rat-like thing yapping at Mrs Ramsey's feet. "In my opinion, if it's small enough to fit into a handbag, it's not a dog!"
"You are hurting Otis' feelings!" Mrs Ramsey said back.
"I couldn't give a fuck about Otis' feelings!" I cried, throwing my hands in the air. "It's not a dog!"
"Well, stop leaving your rubbish outside your front door and Otis wouldn't be tempted to eat any of the disgusting filth that you own!" Mrs Ramsey said, the curlers in her grey hair askew in her temper. "It's already made her so sick –"
"I've already told you, it's my life, I can do what I like!"
"Not when it's affecting residents outside your own little world inside that flat!" Mrs Ramsey accused.
"Well –!"
"Fred?"
We both turned at the name. Emma stood there, obviously straight from work and watching us yell at each other with a bemused expression. Mrs Ramsey scoffed and rolled her eyes.
"So where did you find this one then, hmmm?" she demanded. "Do yourself a favour, girl!" she called over at Emma. "Don't go anywhere near him! He's a menace to society, and you ain't the first girl he's brought home, let me tell you!"
"Oh, don't worry, I know," Emma, the crazy woman, seemed to actually be grinning. Honestly, I thought the feat was quite impossible within the presence of Mrs Ramsey!
My senile neighbour seemed to be thinking along the same lines as me, for the first time since I moved in. "Bit early in the evening for this, isn't it?" she mentioned to me. "Normally you wake me up with banging and thrashing about at some ungodly hour of the morning!"
"Ah, c'mon Mrs Ramsey, you know I only ever do things to please you," I told her. I threw out an arm and tucked Emma under it. If she thought there was anything weird about being hauled into my side, she didn't show it. She leaned in, watching this exchange with Mrs Ramsey with keen interest.
My neighbour was apparently in a delightful mood, however. It was one of those times where life is grand and everything is hilarious.
"I hate you," she said.
"Love you too, GRANDMA!" I said back, knowing the endearment pissed her off, since she didn't actually have any children or grandchildren of her own. To top it off, I suddenly swung Emma down into a dip and kissed her hard right in front of Mrs Ramsey. Emma let out a slight squawk of surprise and I yanked her back to her feet before she could physically maim me in some way (although I didn't put it past her to get her revenge later – I swear to you that the girl has an evil streak in her somewhere).
"… what the bloody hell was that 'bout?" Emma asked, voice a little astonished as I eventually slammed my front door behind us.
"Crazy neighbour, doesn't approve of my lifestyle, has a demon-dog," I shrugged, pulling my jumper off as I walked casually for my room.
"Demon-dog?"
"She says it's a teacup-Chihuahua, but I'm fairly certain that it is in fact the reincarnation of the devil," I said. I looked back over my shoulder to see where she was shaking her head, taking off her jacket.
"Right, so just your average crazy neighbour, then?"
"You got it! So we doing this or what?"
"I'm here for a reason, right?" Emma smirked at me. She pulled off her tie.
How the hell did I find this woman?
I don't know why I felt guilty.
Emma and I are basically nothing. No, seriously! I know they say that casual relationships are always doomed for failure because someone always ends up developing feelings. Someone always ends up wanting more. But that just wasn't how Emma and I worked, ok? We slept together sometimes, it was no big deal. Rather unfortunately, I kept thinking about my intentions to go to Roxanne's beauty expo, like I do every fucking time, and even more unfortunately, I couldn't seem to get it out of my head!
And it was starting to piss me off.
Emma was currently sprawled out next to me, trying to get her breath back with a shaky sigh that blew her wild hair out of her face. The bare skin of her side was pressed against me and she still had a leg casually thrown over mine. While my mind whirled a hundred miles an hour (which, let me assure you, wasn't normal for post-mind-blowing-sex) Emma looked like she had just been struck dumb.
"You – damnit, that was good," she mentioned, lightly.
"Sure," I grunted.
Emma gave me a weird look. "You know, I don't think I'll ever understand you and your moods, Bonehead."
"For god's sake, stop calling me Bonehead!" I complained.
"Well, maybe if ya stopped slammin' me into things, I might," Emma countered right on back. "I swear you made me see stars from last time with the door!"
"I didn't mean to hurt you," I said exasperatedly. I eyed her for a moment before hesitantly adding on, "I mean, like, unless you're into that kinda thing –"
"Nooooo."
"No, definitely, of course!" I said, hastily. "No sadism or masochism, noted for the future."
"I mean, there's a difference between passionately shovin' me against a wall, as opposed to actually hurtin' me," Emma's eyes sparked. "Let's try and keep ourselves out of the Emergency Department and save any future concussions, yeah? It might get a bit awkward if we have to somehow explain this to Rose at work."
"How come I can imagine that conversation?" I muttered. I could literally see Rose's raised eyebrow, quill poised on her clipboard as she came across us both at the hospital, trying to justify why exactly we were both walking a little funny.
"Your cousin's a riot," Emma mentioned, simply.
This was starting to get into conversation-territory, which simply wasn't ok after increasingly satisfying sex with her. I jostled her head, which she protested against with a scowl, as I hauled myself upright.
"I'm going to go to this beauty expo of my sister's."
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, FRED?
I don't know what the hell was wrong with me. MATE, what are you thinking? Emma didn't say anything for quite a while as I hastily stood basically for something to do, trying to find any kind of clothing to throw back on. Eventually, she sat up so that she could meet my gaze, curling up with my duvet. Why did she look so comfy?
"Fred, if you've got something to tell me, I won't judge …" she grinned.
"Fuck off," I threw back at her.
"Just sayin'! A beauty expo? Sounds kinda divine," she sighed. "Tell me, you planning on getting your legs waxed? Because if so, does that mean I don't have to shave mine anymore?"
"My sister's salon is one of the stalls, it's on every few months," I explained exasperatedly, not even bothering to address her teasing. She could literally do whatever the hell she wanted with her legs, whether that was shaving them or letting them grow into hairy beasts (I'd still fuck her). "I help set-up, hand out flyers, promote her salon, that kind of thing."
"Uh-huh," Emma stretched like a cat, pushing her linked hands into the air. I averted my eyes. BOXERS! Where were they? "So what's in it for you?"
"What makes you think there's something in it for me?"
"Well, considering what I know about you so far, the world of beauty doesn't really seem to be your thing unless it's to attract the ladies," Emma said. There they were! I snatched up my boxers from the floor under my desk, pulling them on hastily.
"You got me!" I rolled my eyes, turning my back on her. "I help out, typically because of all the women who think it's hot that I'm straight and also know the difference between mascara and eyeliner."
"So why're you telling me about it?" Emma asked.
I didn't move. I didn't want to see the expression on her face. Quite honestly, I didn't know why I was telling her. Maybe it was because a part of me wondered what kind of reaction I was going to get; whether she would be angry at the thought of me sleeping with other people, or whether she wouldn't care. Another part of me also wondered what reaction I wanted to get. I didn't know what to tell her, so I told her the truth (which admittedly, I don't do very often).
"I don't know."
Emma was silent. Then, I heard the rustle of covers and a thump as she apparently crawled out of bed and made her way over to me. I nearly jumped when I felt her arms wind around my waist from behind, but I couldn't give her the satisfaction. Her body was still deliciously naked and burned where she pressed up against mine, despite the fact how comically short she was. I never usually went for women who were that much shorter than me, just because of the logistics and anatomy of the whole thing, but the top of Emma's head only just reached my chin. Despite annoying me like it normally did, I found that the pluses more or less outweighed the minuses, even if it did mean we had to give up on shower sex after that first time (while I found that I could lift her for a while, it was just a fucking killer on the legs). She could almost reach my neck, but settled for reaching up and kissing my shoulder instead. Damnit.
"I reckon I do know," she murmured. "but let's not think about it."
"Weeeelp, this evening got strange," I mentioned, trying not to shudder as her kisses spread across my shoulder, aiming for my neck. She paused at my words.
"You're not going to try and kick me out like last time, right?"
I loosened her grip around me so that I could turn around in her arms. I kissed her fucking properly then, hands in her hair and no thinking required. Just sex. JUST SEX, OK?
"Nah."
A/N: For the record, I would have mentioned that Fred is 'mostly' straight, but it wasn't the right time for that conversation. It doesn't really have any effect on the plot at all, but my personal headcannon is that Fred is about 90% straight, 10% not, usually all about Da Ladieez but tends not to be picky. :)
Also, I should have probably all warned you back in the first chapter that about 99% of the time writing this story, I didn't have a fucking clue what was going to happen. I'm still trying to figure out the ending. So I'm going to apologise in advance if you're ever reading this and at some point you literally have to wonder, 'Does Moon even know what she's doing?' ... truth is, I probably don't, haha.
AND THANK YOU SO MUCH for your support so far! Seriously, I hope you enjoyed this as well. :)
Please review, they are my light, my sunshine, my ... you get it. Let me know what you think! Until next time -
- Moon. :D
PS. Also, I am on Da Tumblr as moonprincess92nz. If you want, come find me!
