#RomComWC

[katymacsupernatural]

The Proposal Chapter 1

Jensen Ackles x Reader

1200 Words

Written for @iwantthedean​ and the Rom-Com challenge. My prompt was the movie the Proposal

Summary: Jensen needs help keeping his life in order. To keep the media off his back. In order to do so, he comes up with a plan. Y/N, just a producer's assistant, is pulled in to play a part she never thought she would have. Jensen's fiancee. Only will it stay as a part to play, or will she start to want more?

Warnings: None

You had no idea why you were being called into the producers office. Nervously smoothing down your t-shirt, you ransacked your brain, trying to figure out what you could have done wrong. Sure there was the spilling of the coffee yesterday, and running into Jensen the day before. But you were sure you were doing well after being on set for almost a month now. 

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door, your heart plummeting when you saw the producer and Jensen inside, laughing at something, seeming totally at ease. 

“Y/N!” Jim boomed, a huge smile on his face as he came around the desk. Patting you heavily on the shoulder, he guided you to the chair beside Jensen’s. “Always great to see your smile.”

Your smile was wavering, full of nerves, but you still tried to keep it pasted on your face. “Thank you...sir.”

“Sir?” He chuckled. “Can you believe this girl Jensen?” 

Jensen glanced over at you, all laughter gone from his face. In it’s place was annoyance, and almost disdain. A look you had never seen from him before, and you scooted back in your chair, trying to get away from it. “Yeah, she’s something.”

The office was large and spacious. Framed prints of Supernatural filled the walls, awards placed proudly behind Jim. The desk was dark and masculine, matching the man sitting behind it. “I bet you’re wondering why we called you in here.” 

You nodded, not trusting your voice to talk. You had been wondering that exact thing since last night when you had received the email. It had left you with a sleepless night. That, with too much coffee had your hands shaking in your lap.

“You see, Jensen here is quite the catch,” Jim started off slowly, leaning back in his chair, his hands clasped loosely over his protruding belly. “He’s been deemed one of Hollywood’s hottest bachelors more than once.”

“Okay,” You whispered, wondering where the heck he was going with this.

Jensen took over, turning slightly in his chair. “You see, the attention can be...too much. Especially when I work a full week here, then head home to Texas to help run my brewery.”

“You have a brewery?” You hadn’t known that. But it shouldn’t have surprised you. He was a very talented man, and was wealthy enough to dabble in whatever he wanted. 

“Yes,” he sighed. “And as much as I enjoy the bachelor life, the women throwing themselves at me has gotten…,”

“Out of hand,” Jim finished for Jensen, leaning forward. “And that’s where you come in.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth parting in a silent oh. You still had no idea why you were here. “We needed somebody, a woman, to step in and pretend to be Jensen’s fiance. It would help his public image. Along with that, it would hopefully put a stop to those showing up at his house...naked.”

“Naked?”

Jensen nodded. “I have this image I’m trying to keep. And it’s hard without…,”

“A woman to share it with,” Jim finished for him. “Sure, he’s had relationships, but…,”

Jensen rolled his eyes before reaching out and grasping your hand, surprising you. “I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I just want to be able to go to work, then head back down to Texas and run my brewery without the media and fans ruining it.”

“How can I help?” You asked, wondering how a production assistant could help Jensen out. 

Jim and Jensen glanced at each other, and you had a feeling you weren’t going to like what was going to be said. “We want you to pretend to be Jensen’s fiancee.”

Your mouth dropped open. You couldn’t help it. In your wildest dreams you had never imagined this is what they would have asked of you. “Fiancee?”

Jensen shook his head yes, and you could see him wondering if they picked the wrong person. “Yes, you would pretend to be engaged to me.”

“Why?” You blurted out. “Why me? Why the pretending?”

“Like we’ve explained,” Jim started slowly. “Jensen needs normalcy in his life. The media would go wild if he knew he was settling down with a woman. They’ve been trying to pair him up for years.”

“And as for you,” Jensen continued. “You’re somebody I see daily. You’re on the locked set with me. It could make sense that we met here and…,”

“Fell in love,” Jim finished for him. “I know this all sounds a little crazy, but it’s done all the time in showbiz. Hire someone to act like a fiancee, give it a couple of months then end it amicably. Listen, I’ll leave you two to figure out details. But Y/N, understand this. You will be doing all of us a huge favor. And if you don’t...well I’m not sure we could keep you on here at Supernatural any longer.”

“That’s...that’s not right,” you tried arguing, but he had already shut the door behind him. “He can’t do that!” You exclaimed to Jensen. “Fire me because I won’t be your fake..fiance.”

“So you won’t do it?” Jensen asked.

“I didn’t...I don’t…,” you stuttered.

Jensen stood up and began pacing the office. “Listen, I know this is a lot to take in. And a lot to ask. But please understand, I will do everything in my power to let you keep your job if you say no. But what’s the harm of doing this? You can still work here. I would have you move in with me, just for appearances. You would travel to Texas with me, help with the brewery down there. You would meet people, lots of people that could help your career move however you wanted it. And you would be doing me a huge favor.”

He pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his back pocket. “There’s also this as an incentive.”

With shaking hands you took the slip of paper, opening it to see it was a check. A very generous check at that. And you knew exactly what you would do with that money. Money that was so desperately needed.

You stared up at Jensen, your heart racing. He was handsome, you had always thought so. With that light brown hair always styled perfectly, his strong cheekbones and dreamy emerald eyes. Not to mention his plump lips, and those legs that jeans formed to so perfectly. Pretending to be engaged to him? That didn’t sound difficult at all. 

But on the other hand you would be living a lie. And you weren’t an actor. How could you make it work?

But with the pleading look he was sending your way, the words slipped from between your lips before you could stop it. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Thanks for reading. Tags are open.

READ CHAPTER 2

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82​ @acreativelydifferentlove​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @a-girl-who-loves-disney​ @akshi8278​  @bebravekeeponfighting  @bi-danvers0​ @brindz30 @cap-just-said-language​ @colette2537​   @deansgirl215​  @flamencodiva​ @hamiltrash1411​ @its-not-a-tulpa​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @justanotherwinchester​ @just-another-winchester​ @karouwinchester​ @keikoraventeller​  @krys198478​ @librarygeekery​ @magssteenkamp​ @misspygmypie​ @mlovesstories​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​  @mrspeacem1nusone​ @nothinbuttrouble2​ @ria132love​ @ruprecht0420​     @sortaathief​ @superseejay721517​ @squirrelnotsam​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @torn-and-frayed​ @tricksterdean​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @woodworthti666​

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[justformyself2]

Notting Hill ³

Hi guys!!. I'm back, not by popular demand hehe. Well, at least I'm not showing up empty-handed. Hope you enjoy it and if you did please let me know. Yes, it gives me motivation.

This is my participation on my friend’s @lullabieswrappedinlies​​ Rom-Com writing challenge (go check her out, she is so damn creative and amazing). This story is based on the movie Notting Hill and will be added to my MASTERLIST.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

The 'narrow eye move' does not affect people such as Alexis, who remains leaned on the counter, gazing at you from above for the past ten minutes.

She huffed low and kept going. "It's okay if you want to talk about it."

"Alexis... I just want to take care of my store. I want to sit here till it's time to receive Agnes and five more women who will try to make me do coffee runs for them and then, hopefully, or not, I will sell a book or two before Kirk comes in to try to steal something, then I want to close, go home, lay down on my bed and think about the fact that I might go broke somewhere in the next three months."

"Kirk is at it again? Shit, I thought he fled after trying to steal from the stalls."

"He let the beard and hair grow a lot, lost weight, most people still don't know is him, yet, but I'm on it."

Her eyebrows raised and rested.

"Well, if you can prepare for the thieves you can definitely prepare for when-."

You take a long audible breath, rearranging the bills scattered, which made Alexis retrieve for a moment.

"He is not coming. He can be an asshole, but he is not as audacious as Kyle."

There was a hint of confidence flourishing inside your chest, although Alexis's persistence kept accelerating.

"He is famous, that makes you gain some audacity, thinking that it will allure people into doing what you want. I'm just saying, I'm here for you."

"Well, thanks. Did you talked to Kyle yet?"

"Fuck no! He can rot in hell for all I care about. That night was a disaster! The son of a bitch suddenly showing up."

You watch her squeeze her left thumb inside the other palm, harshly, before you shove the pile of bills under the glittery paperweight.

"Did he suddenly realized he wanted to be a father after ten years?"

She lets out a bitter chuckle.

"Appear at my front door with the most ridiculous, bushy mustache, like he just came out of a seventies porno." She huffs aggressively, archiving the blended expression of disgusted and angry.

"I couldn't even recognize him."

"Well, it's been years." You reminisce. " Did you really thought you could avoid it? At some point-."

An, almost discreet, movement next to the shelves interrupts the conversation.

The tired creak of the wooden floor exposed Nova, purposely or not. Judging by the posture shown seemed calculated. She had both hands inside the red apron, combined with a hint of annoyance spread on her features, very clearly portraited.

Alexis is dynamic, remaining natural regarding what her daughter could have listened to.

"Hey baby, are you ready to go?"

Nova sighs and her shoulders go down.

"No mom, I just arrived. What are you doing here?"

"I work next door, Nova."

"Still."

"Well, actually I wanted to take you all to eat something."

Cold lie, easy to spot, mainly because it was a fact that your sister hates to eat out, and that was why your niece's gaze, filled with doubt, was shot in your direction.

It didn't take a lifetime to recognize the type of moves, of which, Alexis would appeal for damage control. She needed to reassure her daughter, keep her on her side.

"She should have told him to go back the same path he came, but no, she just let him in." It was the following thing Nova said to you after arriving from school today, dropping her pink backpack into the ground behind the counter, followed by "I feel like she will accept him back at some point."

There was no remark on exactly when the pendulum of your niece's feelings towards Kyle became so stuck on the pure hatred side, although expected to happen at some point.

The complicated questions completely stopped at the thirteen. Alexis couldn't decide between relief or disbelief till browsing the history bar on the laptop while innocently- as she said- tried to find the recipe for cannolis and instead found Kyle's Facebook page, where he was incredibly active. There were photos, places, friends, trips, a lot of women, one of them Carly Raymond, his highschool sweetheart, who still had a perm.

There was nothing else for Nova to be curious about, and it is not your niece's fault technology was way easier to navigate for information than your sister was.

Alexis reacted cold, in the way you wouldn't expect, not actually trying to salvage the situation because a part of her would never forgive Kyle, the same part that wished Nova did the same.

"Was I supposed to lie to her? Make it worse, make her doubt me too? What he did is hateful, can I blame her? I was the one who always told me he would break her heart no matter what. He didn't even have to come here to do it, and do you think he is ashamed of all that crap online? Traveling, living his life around the world but not being able to come to see her, choosing this 'lifestyle' over here?"

"I know a good, quiet place, that opened down the street."

You ignited, but Nova kept the skeptical stare.

"Sounds great, come on Nov, get this apron off."

"Ok. We will have to talk at some point anyway."

You watch Nova give up, untying the apron behind her back, approaching the counter in slow steps, and leaving it there.

"That's my girl."

"Wait, I have to take something first."

Alexis watches her search inside her backpack as you got up from the chair, taking your sky blue Weichen wristband.

'Closed for lunch' in pink Sans Serif font as Nova made, was hanged on the inside of the glass door before you locked.

"Sorry for the inconvenience", advised to be added on by your niece was revoked by you since no one, not even Agnes would have felt inconvenienced by the closing. You still had the, sometimes, foolish hope of the weekends, when the streets would be fuller than now.

Leading the pace you could only hear Alexis's voice behind your back before you could spot the large Navy blue plaque of Ledbury restaurant and its crowded sidewalk, right next to Walmer Castle pub.

"Guys" You called. "There it is." You pointed front, towards the other side of the street, stopping on the sidewalk as the cars accelerated on the green light.

Turning around you capture your niece's smile as your sister whispered something in her ear. On Nova's hand, there was the same Smithsonian Magazine from this morning.

You forgot to tell Alexis about the way she sounded, reading on the drive to school an extended report about how brains are wired to capture and respond to emotions.

She held the magazine, folded in one hand while eating a Dairy Milk with the other, and in a very 'Alexis' tone discoursed: "Basically is just our brain responding to our way of thinking, even when we anticipate something in our minds. We don't even have to see it."

Your sister still whispered something towards Nova's ear, but the smile placed there died down as she looked, eyes wide, ping-ponging between you and something else that appeared to be amidst the crowd, standing on the other side. She pokes Alexis's arm with emergency.

Spreading as easy as the people starting to move again around you, the same tension, mirrored on their faces, irradiated on the pitch of your stomach right when sister's eyes went cold.

"Excuse-me." You hear, close to your right ear, remaining standing still.

"Oh, my God!" Another voice, a woman's voice as you can now notice as Alexis leaves Nova's side to grab your arm.

The woman's voice sounded alarmed and so does the beats of your heart as more people start murmuring.

"I can't believe it is him."

"Oh! Lord, it is Mike Levine."

Cars started to honk as the crossing street became fuller, and the crowd starting to form began to work as a magnet of more curiosity and obstacles, but Alexis's arm stood strong over your shoulders, navigating and crossing you to the other side.

You wished her arms were stronger than the temptation you blamed for making your back swerve.

There was a moment of not knowing what to expect till you came to realize expectations grew in a matter of seconds. There must be was a reason to want to look back at Mike Levine, surrounded by strangers all over, ungratefully creating an illusion of a time that didn't seem to pass.

He was still the same as you came to see once or twice in a free subscription magazine, but he wasn't plastic anymore.

[musings-sans-muse]

My Big, Fat, Brazilian Wedding

Summary: Good news change your outlook on life, after many years living just as your family expected. You decide to use the newfound joie de vivre to steer your life away from the same old you knew awaited you.

Warnings: some language / a bit of angst

Word count: 2,7k+

A/N: This is my submission to @arrowsandmixtapes​ Rom-Com Writing Challenge. My prompt, as you probably noticed was the movie My big, fat, Greek Wedding (2002). I know very little about the Greek culture and much less its language, so this will follow a Brazilian reader, but it won’t lean heavily on the culture clash. There will be references to food and cultural aspects of Brazilian life, though. I’ll do my best to describe them.

For this part: Sambadrome:  parade area built for the Rio or São Paulo Carnival in Brazil. The venue is also known as Passarela or simply the Sambódromo in Portuguese. Feijoada:  a stew of beans with pork. Served with  white rice and oranges, as well as couve, a side dish of stir-fried, chopped collard greens, and a crumbly topping called farofa, made of manioc flour. Tutu:  consists of bean puree thickened with manioc flour or corn flour. Cracklings:  pieces of pork rind that have been fried until brown and crispy, and most of the fat has been rendered out. Manioc: commonly called cassava, manioc, yuca, macaxeira, mandioca, kappa kizhangu and aipim, is an edible starchy root. Often called yuca in Spanish America and in the United States, it is not related to yucca. Can be steamed, boiled, baked, or fried before being eaten on its own, mashed, or added to other dishes. Its starch is called tapioca.

Thank you @shellbilee​ for making sure I didn’t write anything weird. 

🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉🧉

It was raining.

I remember it clearly, because my hair was all frizzy in the reflection of the restaurant’s huge mirror by the entrance. There, as I hung my coat, I wondered if my life would ever change.

Being the middle child of a Brazilian couple established in the UK, and the last to be born in Brazil, I moved here when I was three years old.

Ever since, my parents have done their very best to make sure our culture is not lost, and insist on doing everything ‘the Brazilian way’. That included outings, making sure we studied Portuguese, our parties - including a very noisy carnival celebration with the broadcast straight from the sambadrome - family gatherings, social life, food.

So, when they opened the restaurant, of course it would have to be a family business, and of course all our time outside school would be spent holed in there. 

My sister lucked out, marrying (obviously) a Brazilian guy to my father’s content, his best friend’s son, as if they had been promised. But they loved each other, and I loved my three nephews, even if one of them was still on his way.

My younger brother, spending last summer holidays in our grandma’s house, in Brazil, met this girl he kept in touch with and from the look of things, they were pretty solid. He had a spring in his step as he worked in the kitchen - his feijoada was better than my mom’s - whistling when he wasn’t shouting at his sous-chef.

Which left me, in my early thirties, educated and skilled, to run the books for my dad in the restaurant. I knew I had talent for more and I could make more money, but talking to my dad once, as my graduation approached, made things quite clear to me.

“Our professor has contacts and said that I could find a job easily with my skills set!” I told my parents at dinner, my hands going wild with excitement. “And…” 

“What do you need a new job for?” my father asked, interrupting me. “ You’ve never complained about your job at the restaurant. Is your allowance not enough?”

His voice boomed louder with each phrase. He got up then, grumbling all the way into the kitchen to grab his nightcap.

I looked at my mom, who was looking at the threshold where my father had disappeared into. Her face was unreadable.

I lowered my head, trying hard to control the burning in my eyes as I held back my tears.

“Why must you bring up a subject like that during dinner? You know how he gets.” My mother sighed as my first tear fell. “I’ll talk to him.”

She got up then. My head shot up, my heart swelling with hope.

“Do you think he’ll come around?” I asked after a quick sniffle, with a shadow of a smile on my lips.

“Oh, you should know better than him. You do the bookkeeping.” She answered, waving a hand dismissively and turned to head to the kitchen.

“Mama, what do you mean?” I asked, honestly puzzled by her answer.

“Well, you’d know if increasing your allowance would be a problem for the business, wouldn’t you?” She shrugged and turned, disappearing into the kitchen.

I looked at my brother, who was intensely concentrated on his last spoonfuls of soup. He lifted his eyes to mine when the yelling started.

“They’ll come around eventually. Give them time.” he said as he grimaced. Apparently, he believed his words as much as I did.

That’s how I ended up staying, helping my father where I could.

And that day, with my mom sick with the flu at home, I was a waitress during opening hours and worked on the books after hours.

I was by the window, serving two plates of tutu, when I saw him.

Tall, towering over the people walking next to him, broad-shouldered, filling out the navy blue overcoat in such a nice way, I didn’t feel bad ogling as I noticed I wasn’t the only one.

He and his entourage sat by the far wall, and even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t have gotten close to them. People definitely recognized him, and a good ten minutes of his time were spent on photographs and autographs.

Only after my dad got in there and told people to leave the man alone is that they were given menus, and my dad took their order himself as an apology for taking too long to intervene. The man told him he was used to it and that it was no problem.

Coming back to the counter, my dad put the order in my hand as I watched the group talk animatedly, my eyes mostly on him.

His eyes locked with mine.

“Did you hear what I just said?” my dad elevated his voice slightly, bringing the attention of many patrons to us and mine to him. “Get this to your brother. Prioritize it. Complimentary cracklings and fried manioc. I’m heading home to check on your mother.” he added, stern.

“Yes, father.” I lowered my head, and made my way to the kitchen.

He wasn’t the one to pay and the lunch rush got me too busy to have served them anyway.

I heard the waitresses talking, before we closed, that he was some super film star, but I was too tired to join the conversation and I still had to work the day’s numbers.

When I arrived home, I was glad to see my mom up and watching tv with my father sleeping, resting his head on her lap. I smiled at the scene and waved at her, making my way up the stairs to my room.

It felt like I had just closed my eyes when my alarm went off. 

My dad decided to stay home and make sure my mom wouldn’t overexert herself, which left me to “manage” the restaurant.

Things were pretty smooth until I was called. That never happened when my dad was there, so my brother and I exchanged a look.

Two gentlemen sat at the table in question, the one that had his back to me already middle-aged, his hair greyer than black. The one who sat facing me was completely bald, and had tiny, deep set eyes behind his round glasses. I didn’t recognize him.

“How can I help you gentlemen? Oh, Professor Mathison!” I said to the one who I couldn’t see before. “How nice to see you again!” I exclaimed, unable to contain my surprise.

“I’m happy to see you, too!” he replied “When I saw the name of the restaurant, I thought that maybe it could be your family’s. This is my partner, Kevin.”

We exchanged pleasantries and they invited me to sit with them to chat for a bit until the evening crowd was down to two tables when they said their goodbyes.

“So, what was so important that held you back for most of the night?” my brother asked me, concerned.

“It wasn’t a problem.” I said, still smiling and shaking my head at the frown on his brow. “That was my former professor in the Uni.”

“And you sat to reminisce?” he asked me with a bit of a scoff.

“No, they actually had a proposal.” I replied, averting my eyes to the look I was sure I’d see in his.

“Oh, dad won’t like that one bit. The day he chooses to leave things in your hands, you go and stab him in the back?” his accusatory tone irked me quite a bit.

“Excuse me? Stab him in the back? What the hell are you talking about, and who the hell you think you’re talking to Junior?” he straightened upon hearing the nickname I only used with him when he was being an ass.

“I’m sorry. But dad won’t like it anyway. What was this proposal all about?” he replied, his voice this time much milder, but still carrying a little discontent.

“They want me to work at their law firm. They need someone trustworthy to audit the companies they work for, so they know if they’re clean or if there’s money laundering, in case of lawsuits or investigations.” I explained, unable to hide my excitement.

“And you can do that?” his tone suggested genuine surprise.

“Yes. That’s why I studied as much as I did. This is everything I wanted.” I told him earnestly.

“And I bet you’ll make a lot more money.” he added, trying to hide the sarcasm but not quite managing.

It hurt me that he couldn’t be as happy for me as I was. But I understood. The things he wanted for his life didn’t matter to me, had and would never matter to me.

“Money is not what this is about. You know that. You all should know that.” my eyes burned with the tears I was holding back.

Mercifully, someone called me back to the dining hall.

“What is it Angela?” I asked the waitress.

“We have finished cleaning the hall and there’s one last order to be delivered, but Daniel has already left.” she told me with a grimace.

“I’ll deal with it. Does my brother have it?”

“Yes, Jean is already working on it. Good thing the man called when he did, because they were already starting to clean up the kitchen.” she added and said good night.

I said my goodbyes to her and the other waiting staff, to the cooks that were leaving, and waited by the kitchen for the order.

“What about the books?” my brother asked me.

“I’ll work on it tomorrow. I’ve left everything ready upstairs to do it as soon as I arrive tomorrow.” I answered, waving my hand dismissing his concern.

“You be careful!” he added.

“Yes, dad!” I replied. “It’s paid for, so I won’t be carrying cash around. Nothing to worry about. Deliver, drive home, shower, sleep.” I clapped after I finished just for effect.

“Yeah, that’s a great plan.” he said, handing me the bag with the order. “Goodnight, I’ll lock up. Be safe.”

“You too, goodnight.” and kissing his cheek, I left.

The night was chillier than I had anticipated and I had left my coat in the restaurant. I decided not to go back, otherwise the food would be cold by the time I delivered it, and turned on the heating as soon as I got into my car, rubbing my hands on my arms. The wool cardigan I was wearing wasn’t helping much.

London was already quieting as I drove through its wet streets. The light reflecting on the asphalt only added to the chill, and my hands on the steering wheel were painfully cold.

The trip to the address stapled on the brown paper bag was not a long one, which meant I was still not warm as I left the car to knock on the black door of the white house. It had to stay a few houses down the street in the only available spot, as the street was already littered with the residents’ cars parked for the night. All the houses on that street were white I noticed with a pfft.

Immediately after my knock, booming barks reverberated through the house and could have woken the Queen.

“Cow, cow, quiet!” came a command as loud as the bark had been.

That’s why the Queen lives in Windsor! I thought, smiling and shaking my head.

The door opened, and so did my mouth.

The man opposite me also looked surprised.

We stared, open-mouthed, at each other until it got weird.

“Your delivery!” I rushed the words out of my mouth, shoving the bag at him.

“You!” he exclaimed at the same time.

“Me?” I asked, and my face undoubtedly contorted into a puzzled frown.

“Thanks!” he replied, once more at the same time.

Still confused, I uncomfortably laughed. He did too, and I wanted to take a picture of that smile, making a mental note to never judge fangirls for the rest of my life.

I shivered involuntarily then, the cold overwhelming any warmth the butterflies in my stomach had generated.

His smile fell and he lifted a finger to tell me to wait, taking the bag from my outstretched arms. Our hands touched. His leaving a searing trail in their wake. 

He yelped at the contact.

“Your hands are freezing!” he said as he retreated, opening the door to what was probably his living room and putting the bag by a massive curious dog.

“Cow, leave!” he commanded.

He then opened a door to his right, probably a closet.

“Why did you name your dog Cow?” I asked, unable to hold back my curiosity.

He was still hidden in there and poked his head out, with a laugh.

“It’s not cow.” he said, diving back in there, and coming out with a coat draped on his forearm and gloves in his hand. “It’s Kal. K-A-L.” he spelled with a smile.

“Oh, what an odd name.” I wondered, under my breath.

“Here, put these on.” he said, and before I could protest was already holding the heavy coat open for me to slide my arms in. It was huge and engulfed me almost like a blanket. 

“Much better.” he whispered, as he tied a knot around my waist with its belt. “Put these on too, they’ll protect your icy hands.”

Words failed me as to why the gigantic man was so kind and pushy. Also, the smell of his cologne was intoxicating, it was hard to say anything as I inhaled deeply.

“Thank you.” I finally replied, and let go a long and deep sigh.

“Don’t mention it.” he said, smirking. “Just bring it back before spring.”

I stared at him for a second.

“It was a joke.” he said, the smile ever present.

“Oh.” I paused. “Is that a way to get me to come back?” I asked, a newfound boldness overtaking me. 

So many great things had happened so far, why not push my luck a little?

He puckered his lips, and looked up for a few seconds.

“What about dinner? Whenever you’re available?” his brows shot up to his hairline where his lovely messy curls waved in the icy breeze. He put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, and swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Nervous.

I frowned as I couldn’t fathom why such a man would be nervous about my reply. He must certainly have models lining up to dine with him.

“Thursday is my day off. I’d love to.” I answered smoothing my features, which led to him relaxing in turn.

“Smashing! I loved the food in your restaurant, but something tells me you’re fed up with Brazilian food.” he said, eyeing me from under his lashes, which was kinda comical with him being so tall.

“You’d be correct.” I replied, nodding. “What about Japanese? My friend owns this restaurant in Soho.”

“That would be perfect! At seven?” he asked, a contagious enthusiasm in his voice.

“Works for me.” I said, and there didn’t seem to be enough air in my lungs. I wanted to jump along the street like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain.

The moment stretched as we stared at each other for a few seconds once again. Smiling this time.

Now if the objective me were to examine this scene from the outside, she’d see two dorks smiling at each other like fools. But she wasn’t around at that moment.

He finally sighed and cleared his throat.

“Will you give me your number?” he said, and it felt like he wanted to add something but decided against it mid sentence.

“Oh, sure, duh.” I picked up my phone from my pocket and handed it to him. 

As soon as he handed it back to me, I sent him a winking smiley face with my name. I looked up then and told him my name.

“Oh, shit, yeah! Forgive my lack of manners. I’m Henry.” he said, making a face, as if it were obvious. It must have been to the fangirls.

“So, see you Thursday, at seven.” I said in lieu of a goodbye, and waved briefly.

“See you then.” he replied. “Drive safely.” he added, when I was about to descend the last step.

I half turned and looked at him, haloed by the light coming from his entryway.

“I will.”

[harley-sunday]

10 Things I Hate About You - Masterlist

Summary: Based on the RomCom ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ for the RomCom Writing Challenge hosted by @arrowsandmixtapes we follow the reader as she tries to win over Bucky Barnes so his best friend can finally go on a date. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader [f]

Warnings: Language

Status: Complete

Part 01 - published March 2020

Part 02 - published April 2020

Part 03 - published April 2020

Part 04- published April 2020

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Rom-Com Writing Challenge!

We all love a good rom-com, amirite? They’re my favorite, and Chuck knows I’ve pulled inspiration from these movies more than once. Now, it’s your turn to do that! I’ll get right into it, but I’ll put info and prompts under the cut so no one has to scroll past a crazy long post. Please read all of the information carefully!

Rules, Guidelines, Important Dates:

Sign-Ups start when this post is live and will go through to June 28, 2020. I will accept two people for each prompt.

Please send your sign-ups to my ask box so they’re easier to keep track of. I will answer them privately so I’m not flooding anyone’s dash!

In your ask, please include your preferred prompt and a backup option, as well as your pairing (so I don’t take the same pairing for the same prompt). Also, please let me know if you’ll be posting from a URL other than one you’re asking from.

To be included in the challenge masterlist, please post your fic (or the first part, if it’s a series) by June 30, 2020.

Please include an author’s note tagging me and mentioning the challenge in your fic post; include #RomComWC or#RCWC in the first five tags. If the tag doesn’t work, you may DM the link to me, also. If you decide to write a series, please tag me in the masterlist.

Please give me up to 48 hours to read your fic before checking if I have seen it. If I have not liked it after 48 hours, please DO check. (You know, since we’re all aware of how unreliable tumblr is.)

The challenge masterlist will be posted between July 1 and July 4, 2020.

There are no word count limits, but please use the Keep Reading feature if your story goes beyond 500 words. Additionally, if your fic goes beyond 5000 words, please consider splitting it into multiple parts. This is not a requirement, only something to think about.

Yes, this is a rom-com challenge, but that’s only where your inspiration begins! Feel free to mold your story into any genre -- fluff, angst, smut, hurt/comfort, crack -- or any combination of genres.

HOWEVER. Since it is a rom-com challenge, your ending must be happy and/or hopeful.

Your fic does not have to be exactly like the movie. You can change up the ending, take one scene, one relationship, any one component of the movie you chose, and build your fic from there. As long as we can see notes of the movie in the fic, you’re good.

For personal reasons, I do not read and will not accept into the challenge stories that include non-con/dub-con, underage sex, adult-child romantic/sexual relationships, spouse-bashing, child abuse -- I could go on, but I think you get the idea. If you’re not sure about something, I’m always happy to answer questions.

Characters and RPFs are welcome.

Bring on the ships, OFC’s, reader pairings -- I’m trying to be more open-minded as of late, but I can’t promise that I will read everything. Again, for personal reasons.

I’m running this challenge on multiple blogs, and you’re more than welcome to sign up for more than one fandom!

Other fandoms: SPN | John Krasinski (Actor & Characters) | Multi-Fandom

Prompts:

License to Wed (2007)

Secret Admirer (1985)

10 Thing I Hate About You (1999) @harley-sunday (Bucky) 

Fools Rush In (1997)

Isn’t It Romantic (2019)

Crazy, Stupid, Love (2011)

The Proposal (2009) @docharleythegeekqueen (Steve Rogers)

Sweet Home Alabama (2002) @captain-s-rogers (Chris Evans) | @fanfictionaries (AU Steve Rogers)

Sixteen Candles (1984) @past-perfect-future-tense (Bucky)

Better Off Dead (1985)

Pretty In Pink (1986)

Overboard (1987)

Look Who’s Talking (1989) @sunriserose1023 (Bucky) | @oh-its-nova (Steve Rogers)

The Wedding Singer (1998)

Never Been Kissed (1999) @captain-rogers-beard {Stucky)

One Fine Day (1996)

The Cutting Edge (1992)

Valley Girl (1983)

Pretty Woman (1990) @romaxnogersav (Steve Rogers)

It Could Happen to You (1994)

It’s Complicated (2009)

Something’s Gotta Give (2003)

You’ve Got Mail (1998)

Notting Hill (1999)

Serendipity (2001)

My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002) @alyxkbrl (Henry Cavill)

Love Actually (2003)

Wedding Crashers (2005)

The Holiday (2006)

P.S. I Love You (2007)

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008)

Easy A (2010)

Second Act (2018)

First Daughter (2004)

Music and Lyrics (2007)

What Happens in Vegas (2008)

He’s Just Not That Into You (2009)

The Prince & Me (2004)

Fever Pitch (2005)

Friends With Benefits (2011)

When In Rome (2010)

Letters to Juliet (2010)

Forces of Nature (1999)

200 Cigarettes (1999)

Reality Bites (1994)

Addicted to Love (1997)

Whatever It Takes (2000)

Can’t Hardly Wait (1998)

Coyote Ugle (2000)

America’s Sweethearts (2001)

@captain-s-rogers @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @captain-rogers-beard @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan

[fanfictionaries]

Where the Green Grass Grows Masterlist

@imanuglywombat​ credit for the moodboard/art! 

After leaving town in 2001, Marianne Grace Barnes swore she’d never step foot in Texas again. She was happy with her life in San Francisco. She had great friends, a great job, and a loving boyfriend. But when her mother insists she come home after six long years away, Marianne comes face to face with someone she vowed to never lay eyes on again. Now the questions arise: Is he so different from the man who broke her heart? Is she so different from the girl she used to be?

And most importantly, is she as happy as she really thinks she is?

A story of love, heartache, and that special feeling of being home.

My Entry for @arrowsandmixtapes​ ‘s RomCom Writing Challenge! So sorry for the late entry, Covid has been a whirlwind of a time. 

Prompt: Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

*Smut/18+ NSFW

Part 1 - A Real Fine Place to Start 

Part 2 - All My Exes Live in Texas

Part 3 - She’s In Love With the Boy

Part 4 - I’m From the Country 

Part 5 - Boot Scootin’ Boogie

Part 6 - I Can Still Feel You

Part 7 - My Maria

Part 8 - Where the Green Grass Grows 

[iwantthedean]

Rom-Com Writing Challenge!

We all love a good rom-com, amirite? They’re my favorite, and Chuck knows I’ve pulled inspiration from these movies more than once. Now, it’s your turn to do that! I’ll get right into it, but I’ll put info and prompts under the cut so no one has to scroll past a crazy long post. Please read all of the information carefully! 

Rules, Guidelines, Important Dates:

Sign-Ups start when this post is live and will go through to June 28, 2020. I will accept two people for each prompt.

Please send your sign-ups to my ask box so they’re easier to keep track of. I will answer them privately so I’m not flooding anyone’s dash!

In your ask, please include your preferred prompt and a backup option, as well as your pairing (so I don’t take the same pairing for the same prompt). Also, please let me know if you’ll be posting from a URL other than one you’re asking from. 

To be included in the challenge masterlist, please post your fic (or the first part, if it’s a series) by June 30, 2020.

Please include an author’s note tagging me and mentioning the challenge in your fic post; include #RomComWC or#RCWC in the first five tags. If the tag doesn’t work, you may DM the link to me, also. If you decide to write a series, please tag me in the masterlist.

Please give me up to 48 hours to read your fic before checking if I have seen it. If I have not liked it after 48 hours, please DO check. (You know, since we’re all aware of how unreliable tumblr is.)

The challenge masterlist will be posted between July 1 and July 4, 2020.

There are no word count limits, but please use the Keep Reading feature if your story goes beyond 500 words. Additionally, if your fic goes beyond 5000 words, please consider splitting it into multiple parts. This is not a requirement, only something to think about.

Yes, this is a rom-com challenge, but that’s only where your inspiration begins! Feel free to mold your story into any genre -- fluff, angst, smut, hurt/comfort, crack -- or any combination of genres.

HOWEVER. Since it is a rom-com challenge, your ending must be happy and/or hopeful.

Your fic does not have to be exactly like the movie. You can change up the ending, take one scene, one relationship, any one component of the movie you chose, and build your fic from there. As long as we can see notes of the movie in the fic, you’re good.

For personal reasons, I do not read and will not accept into the challenge stories that include non-con/dub-con, underage sex, adult-child romantic/sexual relationships, spouse-bashing, child abuse -- I could go on, but I think you get the idea. If you’re not sure about something, I’m always happy to answer questions.

Characters and RPFs are welcome.

Bring on the ships, OFC’s, reader pairings -- I’m trying to be more open-minded as of late, but I can’t promise that I will read everything. Again, for personal reasons.

I’m running this challenge on multiple blogs, and you’re more than welcome to sign up for more than one fandom!

Other fandoms: Marvel | John Krasinski (Actor & Characters) | Multi-Fandom

Prompts: 

License to Wed (2007)

Secret Admirer (1985)

10 Things I Hate About You (1999) @official-and-unstable-satan (Jared) | @wingedcatninja (Dean)

Fools Rush In (1997)

Isn’t It Romantic (2019)

Crazy, Stupid, Love (2011)

The Proposal (2009) @tumbler-tidbits (Dean) | @katymacsupernatural (Jensen)

Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

Sixteen Candles (1984)

Better Off Dead (1985)

Pretty In Pink (1986)

Overboard (1987)

Look Who’s Talking (1989)

The Wedding Singer (1998)

Never Been Kissed (1999)

One Fine Day (1996)

The Cutting Edge (1992)

Valley Girl (1983)

Pretty Woman (1990)

It Could Happen to You (1994)

It’s Complicated (2009)

Something’s Gotta Give (2003)

You’ve Got Mail (1998)

Notting Hill (1999)

Serendipity (2001)

My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)

Love Actually (2003)

Wedding Crashers (2005)

The Holiday (2006)

P.S. I Love You (2007) @deanwinchesterswitch (Dean)

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008)

Easy A (2010)

Second Act (2018)

First Daughter (2004)

Music and Lyrics (2007)

What Happens in Vegas (2008)

He’s Just Not That Into You (2009)

The Prince & Me (2004) @queen-serena88 (Dean)

Fever Pitch (2005)

Friends With Benefits (2011)

When In Rome (2010)

Letters to Juliet (2010)

Forces of Nature (1999)

200 Cigarettes (1999)

Reality Bites (1994)

Addicted to Love (1997)

Whatever It Takes (2000)

Can’t Hardly Wait (1998)

Coyote Ugle (2000)

America’s Sweethearts (2001)

@ashleymalfoy @busybee612 @mrswhozeewhatsis @atc74 @blacktithe7 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @jayankles @evansrogerskitten

[lullabieswrappedinlies]

Rom-Com Writing Challenge!

We all love a good rom-com, amirite? They’re my favorite, and Chuck knows I’ve pulled inspiration from these movies more than once. Now, it’s your turn to do that! I’ll get right into it, but I’ll put info and prompts under the cut so no one has to scroll past a crazy long post. Please read all of the information carefully!

Rules, Guidelines, Important Dates:

Sign-Ups start when this post is live and will go through to June 28, 2020. I will accept two people for each prompt.

Please send your sign-ups to my ask box so they’re easier to keep track of. I will answer them privately so I’m not flooding anyone’s dash!

In your ask, please include your preferred prompt and a backup option, as well as your pairing (so I don’t take the same pairing for the same prompt). Also, please let me know if you’ll be posting from a URL other than one you’re asking from.

To be included in the challenge masterlist, please post your fic (or the first part, if it’s a series) by June 30, 2020.

Please include an author’s note tagging me and mentioning the challenge in your fic post; include #RomComWC or#RCWC in the first five tags. If the tag doesn’t work, you may DM the link to me, also. If you decide to write a series, please tag me in the masterlist.

Please give me up to 48 hours to read your fic before checking if I have seen it. If I have not liked it after 48 hours, please DO check. (You know, since we’re all aware of how unreliable tumblr is.)

The challenge masterlist will be posted between July 1 and July 4, 2020.

There are no word count limits, but please use the Keep Reading feature if your story goes beyond 500 words. Additionally, if your fic goes beyond 5000 words, please consider splitting it into multiple parts. This is not a requirement, only something to think about.

Yes, this is a rom-com challenge, but that’s only where your inspiration begins! Feel free to mold your story into any genre -- fluff, angst, smut, hurt/comfort, crack -- or any combination of genres.

HOWEVER. Since it is a rom-com challenge, your ending must be happy and/or hopeful.

Your fic does not have to be exactly like the movie. You can change up the ending, take one scene, one relationship, any one component of the movie you chose, and build your fic from there. As long as we can see notes of the movie in the fic, you’re good.

For personal reasons, I do not read and will not accept into the challenge stories that include non-con/dub-con, underage sex, adult-child romantic/sexual relationships, spouse-bashing, child abuse -- I could go on, but I think you get the idea. If you’re not sure about something, I’m always happy to answer questions.

Characters and RPFs are welcome.

Bring on the ships, OFC’s, reader pairings -- I’m trying to be more open-minded as of late, but I can’t promise that I will read everything. Again, for personal reasons.

I’m running this challenge on multiple blogs, and you’re more than welcome to sign up for more than one fandom!

Other fandoms: Marvel | SPN | Multi-Fandom

Prompts:

License to Wed (2007)

Secret Admirer (1985)

10 Thing I Hate About You (1999)

Fools Rush In (1997)

Isn’t It Romantic (2019)

Crazy, Stupid, Love (2011)

The Proposal (2009)

Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

Sixteen Candles (1984)

Better Off Dead (1985)

Pretty In Pink (1986)

Overboard (1987)

Look Who’s Talking (1989)

The Wedding Singer (1998)

Never Been Kissed (1999)

One Fine Day (1996)

The Cutting Edge (1992)

Valley Girl (1983)

Pretty Woman (1990)

It Could Happen to You (1994)

It’s Complicated (2009)

Something’s Gotta Give (2003)

You’ve Got Mail (1998)

Notting Hill (1999) @justformyself2 (John)

Serendipity (2001)

My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)

Love Actually (2003)

Wedding Crashers (2005)

The Holiday (2006)

P.S. I Love You (2007) @justformyself2 (John)

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008)

Easy A (2010)

Second Act (2018)

First Daughter (2004)

Music and Lyrics (2007)

What Happens in Vegas (2008)

He’s Just Not That Into You (2009)

The Prince & Me (2004)

Fever Pitch (2005)

Friends With Benefits (2011)

When In Rome (2010)

Letters to Juliet (2010)

Forces of Nature (1999)

200 Cigarettes (1999)

Reality Bites (1994)

Addicted to Love (1997)

Whatever It Takes (2000)

Can’t Hardly Wait (1998)

Coyote Ugly (2000)

America’s Sweethearts (2001)

@ulovemelightsout @professorkrasinski @jackryanfanfic @i-am-a-stupid-robot

[whiskeyxcola]

Rom-Com Writing Challenge!

We all love a good rom-com, amirite? They’re my favorite, and Chuck knows I’ve pulled inspiration from these movies more than once. Now, it’s your turn to do that! I’ll get right into it, but I’ll put info and prompts under the cut so no one has to scroll past a crazy long post. Please read all of the information carefully!

For this blog, you may do any fandom and any pairing, as long as it falls within the guidelines! 

Rules, Guidelines, Important Dates:

Sign-Ups start when this post is live and will go through to June 28, 2020. I will accept two people for each prompt.

Please send your sign-ups to my ask box so they’re easier to keep track of. I will answer them privately so I’m not flooding anyone’s dash!

In your ask, please include your preferred prompt and a backup option, as well as your pairing (so I don’t take the same pairing for the same prompt). Also, please let me know if you’ll be posting from a URL other than one you’re asking from.

To be included in the challenge masterlist, please post your fic (or the first part, if it’s a series) by June 30, 2020.

Please include an author’s note tagging me and mentioning the challenge in your fic post; include #RomComWC or#RCWC in the first five tags. If the tag doesn’t work, you may DM the link to me, also. If you decide to write a series, please tag me in the masterlist.

Please give me up to 48 hours to read your fic before checking if I have seen it. If I have not liked it after 48 hours, please DO check. (You know, since we’re all aware of how unreliable tumblr is.)

The challenge masterlist will be posted between July 1 and July 4, 2020.

There are no word count limits, but please use the Keep Reading feature if your story goes beyond 500 words. Additionally, if your fic goes beyond 5000 words, please consider splitting it into multiple parts. This is not a requirement, only something to think about.

Yes, this is a rom-com challenge, but that’s only where your inspiration begins! Feel free to mold your story into any genre -- fluff, angst, smut, hurt/comfort, crack -- or any combination of genres.

HOWEVER. Since it is a rom-com challenge, your ending must be happy and/or hopeful.

Your fic does not have to be exactly like the movie. You can change up the ending, take one scene, one relationship, any one component of the movie you chose, and build your fic from there. As long as we can see notes of the movie in the fic, you’re good.

For personal reasons, I do not read and will not accept into the challenge stories that include non-con/dub-con, underage sex, adult-child romantic/sexual relationships, spouse-bashing, child abuse -- I could go on, but I think you get the idea. If you’re not sure about something, I’m always happy to answer questions.

Characters and RPFs are welcome.

Bring on the ships, OFC’s, reader pairings -- I’m trying to be more open-minded as of late, but I can’t promise that I will read everything. Again, for personal reasons.

I’m running this challenge on multiple blogs, and you’re more than welcome to sign up for more than one fandom!

Other fandoms: Marvel | John Krasinski (Actor & Characters) | SPN

Prompts:

License to Wed (2007)

Secret Admirer (1985)

10 Thing I Hate About You (1999)

Fools Rush In (1997)

Isn’t It Romantic (2019)

Crazy, Stupid, Love (2011)

The Proposal (2009)

Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

Sixteen Candles (1984)

Better Off Dead (1985)

Pretty In Pink (1986)

Overboard (1987)

Look Who’s Talking (1989)

The Wedding Singer (1998)

Never Been Kissed (1999)

One Fine Day (1996)

The Cutting Edge (1992)

Valley Girl (1983)

Pretty Woman (1990)

It Could Happen to You (1994)

It’s Complicated (2009)

Something’s Gotta Give (2003)

You’ve Got Mail (1998)

Notting Hill (1999)

Serendipity (2001)

My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)

Love Actually (2003)

Wedding Crashers (2005)

The Holiday (2006)

P.S. I Love You (2007)

Forgetting Sarah Marshall (2008)

Easy A (2010)

Second Act (2018)

First Daughter (2004)

Music and Lyrics (2007)

What Happens in Vegas (2008)

He’s Just Not That Into You (2009)

The Prince & Me (2004)

Fever Pitch (2005)

Friends With Benefits (2011)

When In Rome (2010)

Letters to Juliet (2010)

Forces of Nature (1999)

200 Cigarettes (1999)

Reality Bites (1994)

Addicted to Love (1997)

Whatever It Takes (2000)

Can’t Hardly Wait (1998)

Coyote Ugle (2000)

America’s Sweethearts (2001)

[musings-sans-muse]

Oh yeah , today is Friday.

New story coming up in 2 hours.

[harley-sunday]

10 Things I Hate About You [01]

Summary: Based on the RomCom ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ we follow the reader as she tries to win over Bucky Barnes so his best friend can finally go on a date.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (f) Steve Rogers x Maria Hill

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4k

AN: So this is my entry for @arrowsandmixtapes​ RomCom Challenge. I’ve never really written anything for the MCU-fandom before, so just know I might have taken some creative liberties here. And although this is a reader insert, the reader does have a name (Petra) to keep in theme with the movie/play (Patrick/Petruchio) and because I hate using Y/N, even if it’s just a few times. Also, I know paring Steve & Maria is unconventional, but they’re definitely my guilty-pleasure ship :) This is the first part in what I assume to be a four-part story and I absolutely loved writing this, so please let me know what you think! ♥

Beads of sweat roll down your face at a steady pace, some of them finding their way into your eyes, making it harder for you to see. You’ve long stopped trying to blink them away. It doesn’t matter anyway, muscle memory means you know where the punching bag is even with your eyes closed. Your gloved-up hands hit the bag in a tempo that was too high from the beginning, but you’re stubborn so you keep it up even though your arms are killing you by now. The high tempo helps though, because with every hit you land you feel yourself calm down, the anger with which you entered the gym slowly subsiding. 

That’s the downside of solo-missions, you learned a long time ago, when things go wrong there’s no one to blame but yourself. 

Because even though you technically still are a part of the team, you have come to an agreement with Tony and so he doesn’t include you on the team’s missions anymore. Some of the newer recruits think it’s because you have these mood swings that nobody really knows how to deal with. Others think Tony is playing favorites, letting you go out on your own because you’ve been here for so long already. You always tell them to just ask Tony what happened in Padua a couple of years ago. The gossip usually stops when they do. 

You tell yourself ten more punches, because you’re starting to struggle for breath, but then there’s someone standing next to the bag, clearing their throat to get your attention and so you let your arms drop without too much of a struggle, part of you just relieved the workout is cut short by someone other than yourself because now you don’t have to admit defeat. 

“What did that poor punching bag ever do to you?” Maria asks with a grin, her hands on either side of the bag, stopping it from swinging around.

By now she should know you’re not one for smalltalk, so you just shrug, even though the fact that you’re still trying to catch your breath might have something to do with it as well. 

“Fine,” she lets go of the bag and lets her hands rest on her hips, her feet planted firmly on the ground, almost like she’s ready for battle. What she says next tells you she probably is, but with you instead of a shared enemy, “I need you to take Barnes.”

You just shake your head.

“Petra-”

“Maria,” you counter, still breathing heavy. You hold out your hands for her to help you out of your gloves, and watch her sigh at the task at hand, but then she loosens the Velcro and starts pulling on the leather anyway. You look up at her, “You know I don’t do partners,”

“Oh, I know,” Maria replies with wry smile, dropping your gloves on the floor once she’s pulled them off. She holds out her hands and motions for you to give her yours again, her skilled fingers finding the tape and taking it off before she starts unwrapping your hand wraps.

“Then why do you even ask?” 

She sighs, her eyes finding yours while she continues to work on your hands, “Do I really need to pull rank on this?”

“That bad?” you ask, because she’s never done this to you before. Hell, no one has ever done this to you before. 

She shrugs, “Not per se.” There’s a slight smile playing on her lips then, “Not if you just agree.” 

“Maria, I just sort of fucked up an important mission, I’m not in the mood for games." You let out a frustrated sigh and pull your hands back, your left massaging your right, trying to get some feeling back, “Just tell me what you want.”

You find her in the otherwise empty kitchen, “Natasha!” 

“Oh shit,” she mutters, mocking you by raising an eyebrow at you as she turns around, “am I in trouble?”

“Depends,” you growl, now standing next to her. She offers you the cup of coffee she’s just made and you take it with a quiet, “Thank you,” until you remember why you’re here. “What-” you start, but then think better of it, “How-” no still not what you were going for. “Why did you-”

“Come on, use your words,” she grins, taking a sip of her coffee, casually leaning against the counter now because you are sure she already knows why you’re here.

“What is this about Steve not being allowed to date until Barnes does?” 

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that,” you echo. “I just had Maria Hill come up to me because she wants to ask Steve out on a date but can't until she finds someone who takes Barnes out on a date first.” 

Nat laughs, nodding her head, “Yeah, that is the deal.”

“But why?”

She shrugs, “I don’t want Rogers to get hurt. I know all the new recruits are lusting after him, but he needs someone who’s interested in him, you know, not just in this perfect specimen of a human being they think Captain America is.”

“And he agreed with that?”

“Who, Steve?” She grins, “Steve likes it when someone else takes the decisions every now and then. So he was more than happy to.”

“I guess Hill is the perfect candidate then,” you agree before taking a sip of your coffee.

“Yeah,” Nat agrees.

“So why don’t you just let her ask him out?” You reach for the sugar that’s on the counter next to the coffee machine because fuck Nat makes a strong cup of coffee. “Why does Barnes still need to be included in this narrative? I feel like I’m in ‘The Taming of the Shrew’.”

She throws you a poignant look, “Because Bucky will never get to go on date otherwise.” A sigh then. “Everyone thinks he’s this bad-tempered assassin you shouldn't go near unless you have a deathwish, but he really is a good guy.”

“Natasha,” you coo, bumping your shoulder into hers, “is that sympathy I hear?”

“I know him from way back,” she admits easily. “He deserves someone who can see past his tough exterior and appreciate him for what he really is.”

“And apparently that’s me,” you say with a shrug.

“Yeah, about that,” she says, putting her now empty cup back on the counter, “how did Hill get you to agree anyway? Did she offer you money?” She gently shoves you then, “Or does she have a dirty little secret she threatened to expose if you didn’t go along with her plan?”

You just shake your head, not really wanting to share this with Natasha, but knowing all too well she’ll never drop it unless you tell her, and so you almost whisper when you finally admit, “She pulled rank on me. Said to look at it like it was a mission.”

“She did what?” Nat’s laughing now, punching your upper arm. “She pulled-”

“-rank on me so I’d take Barnes out on a date?” You nod, “Yeah, she did. Offered to foot the date night bill because as she said, that seems like the fair thing to do.” 

“Well, good for her.” 

You find him in the gym, just like Maria said you would. Once you agreed to do this she gave you a rundown of his schedule, telling you exactly where you could find him at which time of day. What she didn’t tell you, however, was what you should talk to him about and so here you are, having found him, but not knowing how to start up a conversation. You decide to go with a good old, “Hi.” 

He doesn’t even look up when he answers with a low, “Hey,” instead keeping his attention on the target he’s throwing his knives at.

Taking a better look at the cut-out figure that’s taped to a dummy hanging from the ceiling you realize the outline reminds you of the Iron Man suit and you wonder what Tony ever did to piss Barnes off so much that he’s now using him for target practice. The dummy’s at least thirty feet away but every knife he throws goes in effortlessly, all hitting center target. If this whole ‘bad-tempered assassin’ thing really is just an act, you think, well then at least he’s very dedicated to the cause.

“Barnes?” He doesn’t reply but you continue anyway, “Nat says I have to improve my hand-to-hand combat skills and I figured you might be able to help me out.” Nat never said such a thing, but you figured it’s a good excuse as to why you’re here.

He doesn’t reply, keeps on throwing knives instead and it’s then you realize you haven’t actually asked a question yet and so you add, “Would you be able to teach me?”

“Able?” he echoes, “Yes.”

“Ok,” you draw out, not sure what his angle is. “And willing?”

He throws the last knife, but its blade hits the handle of one of the other knives and so it bounces back, landing tip first, wedging itself firmly in between two floor boards. You expect him to curse, or get mad, but instead he just turns to you and shrugs, “Sure.” 

“Eh, ok,” you reply with a surprised smile. “When can we start?”  

“Well, I doubt you have the same adversity against Stark as I do,” he says with a nod towards the dummy, “so why don’t you spend a day or two making some targets of your own and we’ll meet here on Thursday? Two o’clock?”

This is the most you’ve heard him say, maybe ever, so for a moment you’re too shocked to reply, but then he’s looking at you like you’re losing it and so you scramble to find your words, nothing but a “Sure,” coming out.

He nods and walks away and you can swear you can see the hint of a smile tugging on his lips when he turns around and looks back at you over his shoulder before he walks into the locker room. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Making a target,” you mumble, not looking up from the absolute work of art you’re creating. If you may say so yourself, of course.

“Huh,” Nat replies, and you see her cross her arms in front of her chest out of the corner of your eye. 

“Oh and by the way,” you say, dipping your brush into the yellow paint again, “you want me to improve my hand-to-hand combat skills in case anyone asks.”

“Ok,” she draws out slowly, taking a few steps so she’s standing behind you, no doubt eyeing the target you’re working on. 

“I needed an in,” you explain.

“Sure,” she agrees. 

You look up, because she seems distracted, and find her looking down at you with a worried look. “Nat, it’s fine,” you’re quickly to assure her, “it worked.”

“That’s not,” she starts, but then she seems to change her mind. She nods towards the table, “What the hell did Big Bird ever do to you that you’re now going to use him in target practice?”

“Alright, so remember,” he says as he puts his hands on your hips and makes you turn ever so slightly so you’re not facing the target head-on but rather at an angle, “hold the blade when you throw the knife.” 

“Yes, sir,” you say, not even mocking him, just the years of training kicking in. For a moment you wonder who would even outrank who between the two of you, figuring it’s probably him. He’s got more years in the field of course, so he’d definitely hold the higher rank if you were to go by experience alone. 

Shaking your head you try to focus on the task at hand, and you roll your shoulders back so you’re standing a little more upright. It’s like you can hear every teacher you’ve ever had screaming at you in unison, “Posture, Petra!” because more than once people have told you you tend to slouch.   

You go over everything he’s told you so far, from holding the blade when you throw to finding the balance point of each individual knife before you even think about throwing it. You feel sort of ready but at the same time you worry you’re going to fail miserably. You rely on guns and explosive devices to help you on your missions, not hand-to-hand battle. 

“Ok,” he lets go of your hips and steps aside, “whenever you’re ready.”

The knife you’re holding seems old, beaten up by years of use, and you wonder if this is the knife he went to war with. It is amazingly balanced and when you grab the tip of the blade between your thumb and index finger the handle rests on your hand comfortably. Taking a deep breath you focus on the target, only ten feet away this time because you convinced him to take it slow. 

By the way, if he was surprised your targets are all characters from Sesame Street he definitely didn’t show it and you’re thankful for that. No need to share that childhood trauma just yet, you decide, worried he’ll just make fun of you when you tell him those puppets used to scare you shitless when you were a kid.

You raise your arm then, your muscles only tensing up after a second or so when your mind makes the decision to make the throw. The knife flips through the air at an incredible speed and lands blade-first in the target, one ring off center. 

He lets out a low whistle somewhere next to you. “Nice,”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile, surprised at your own capabilities. 

“Alright,” he says, walking over to the target and moving it back a little before he pulls the knife out, “let’s try that again.”

He has you walking around the compound with a plastic knife almost 24/7, showing you some tricks at the end of the first lesson and telling you to master them by lesson number two or he will stop teaching you. And so here you are, flipping around a fake knife, letting it twist and turn between your fingers, ever so often throwing it up in the air, trying to catch it while you change position, trying to predict where the handle will be once it lands in your hand. 

Thank God he gave you a plastic one or you'd be a few fingers short by now.

The next lesson is scheduled for Monday, after you both agreed one lesson a week wouldn't be enough to get you into shape. And while the knife throwing was fun, and you were surprisingly good at it, it's the actual hand-to-hand combat you're most looking forward to. You’ve seen him in action only once, on some footage Tony showed you, but you remember being in awe of his skills.

By Sunday you have mastered most of the tricks he’s showed you, except one, where you’re holding the knife in your right hand while blocking an invisible attacker with your left. During the block you’re supposed to throw the knife up, while at the same time retracting the arm you’re blocking with, only to catch the knife again with your right hand, but at the same height where your left arm was before.

You just can’t get it right. Either you use too much force so the knife is too high up for you to catch or you forget to retract your arm so the knife bounces against it and falls to the floor. You’ve gone from quietly cursing to cursing out loud, growing more and more frustrated by the hour. You’re glad the team’s away on a mission this weekend, so it's just you and some of the newer recruits left in the tower. They have their quarters on the lower levels and absolutely no reason to be up on your floor so you doubt they’ve heard you. 

Taking a deep breath you decide to give it one last try, but just as you want to throw the knife you hear the Quinjet coming in and so you’re distracted and mess up. You let out a frustrated groan, grab the knife off the floor and make your way to your room, not really in the mood to see anyone else. 

“Alright, show me.” 

It’s the first thing he’s said to you since you entered the gym a minute or so ago and so you quietly mutter, “Yeah fine, thanks. How are you? Sleep well?”

“How I sleep is none of your concern,” he grunts.

A bit taken aback by the tone in his voice you throw him a look. He seems unfazed by it, instead raising his eyebrows to let you know he’s waiting. You huff at whatever is going on and grab your knife, the plastic one, of course, and start the sequence you now know by heart.

You’re not sure what happens, maybe you’re too distracted by the mood he seems to be in, or maybe you just didn’t take enough time to focus on the task at hand, but fact is you blow every single trick. Not one of them goes as it should. If you were anyone else right now you’d be secondhand embarrassed. 

Just as you bend down to pick up the knife from the ground you see him turn and walk away out of the corner of your eye. Standing up you call out to him, “Barnes?”

Of course he doesn’t respond and you figure, fine. Whatever. Fuck him and his attitude. You’re not going to need knife skills anyway. At least this means you’ll have the rest of the afternoon off. But then you remember that you’re not here to improve your knife skills, not really anyway. You’re here to help Hill get a date with Steve and so you let out a frustrated groan, drop the knife, and set out in a jog to catch up with him.

“Barnes,” you say, coming to a stop in front of him and putting a hand on his chest to get him to listen to you. Well fuck me, you think when you feel his hard muscles against your fingertips, you knew the guy was muscular from the way his clothes stretch around his torso, but to actually feel it is something else. You’re distracted for a moment but then you look up and find him looking down at you with a hint of a smile playing around his lips.

“I uh,” you clear your throat and pull back your hand, “I can do better than that. I promise.”

The smile drops and he actually sighs. “You don’t get a second chance in direct combat.”

“This isn’t direct combat,” you counter, starting to get annoyed. “This is me doing knife tricks. By myself. With a plastic fucking knife.”

“To prepare you for direct combat,” he replies, arms now crossed in front of his chest. “That’s what you wanted right? To be better prepared? Improve your skills?. 

“Yeah, ok, fine.” you agree halfheartedly. “But unless you decide to attack me right now, there’s no direct combat in my foreseeable future. So, you know, can I least get a second chance?” A tilt of your head then, “I mean, that’s part of improving my skills, isn’t it? Doing something over and over and over again until I get it right?”

He actually looks a little defeated but impressed at the same time and you wonder if it is because people usually avoid confrontation with him because they're afraid of what he might do. He nods then, “Ok. Let’s go.” 

He follows you back to the mat and this time you do focus, allowing yourself a few seconds to clear your mind from any distractions. The knife rests comfortably on your hand and after a quick countdown in your head you start. You nail trick after trick but when you get to the last one, the one you haven’t been able to master yet, you start to feel nervous and so of course you fail.

“Nice,” he compliments from somewhere on your right, his tone of voice now very different from  before. You wonder what brought that on, it can’t just be your knife skills, right?

“That last one always gets me,” you admit, letting out a frustrated sigh then.

“That’s because you think about it too much,” he offers.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you mutter quietly, sitting down on the mat to catch your breath. You hear him rummage through his bag and don’t look up until he’s standing in front of you, holding out something that definitely isn’t made from plastic.

“Try this.”

You scoff, “You want me to try with a real knife?” Shaking your head then, “You better have a first-aid kit in that bag too then.” 

“Come on,” he holds out his hand, hoisting you to your feet once you take it. “Just try it.” 

Taking the knife from him you carefully place it on the tip of your index finger, trying to find its balance point. It’s not where you expect it to be, the blade almost weighing as much as the handle and the balance point not far off center. Interesting. You throw the knife in the air to see what it does, surprised when it falls back down blade first. Huh. 

“This might work,” you say, turning to him. You do a double take then, because is that admiration you see in his eyes? Weird.

“Go for it,” he says with a nod of his head, taking a step back to let you have your space.

Planting your feet firmly on the mat you take position, left arm straight out in front of you. A deep breath then, tightening the grip on the handle of the knife before you throw it, retract your arm, and catch it again. “Oh my God!”

“Yes!” he exclaims. “I knew you could do it!”

“Oh my God,” you say again, panting a little now from the excitement, “that was awesome!”

He lets you keep the knife. Tells you to keep practicing everything you’ve learned so far and so you do, ignoring the looks you get from everyone else whenever they see you entering a room while throwing a knife around. Strangely enough most of them are smiling, like they’re all in on this little secret you know nothing about. You decide to ignore them.

Maria finds you and your new arts and crafts project in the common room Wednesday evening. Bucky’s told you to make new targets, but smaller this time, so you opted to go with cutouts of the Muppets. Ignoring the one you’re working on now, of Kermit the Frog with a target painted on his head, Maria sits down next to you, “Hey,”

“Hi,” you reply without looking up, too focused on finishing the smallest circle.

“I was just uh,” Maria says, her voice just above a whisper even though the common room is empty except for her and you, “I need a mission update, I guess.” 

You let out a laugh, “Please don’t make this awkward.”

“Any more than it already is?” she counters with a grin.

“Yeah, ok, fair point.” You wipe your brush on an old cloth and set it aside, admiring your handy work.

“So?”

“So, he’s teaching me hand-to-hand combat twice a week,” you start, nodding towards the targets on the table. “I’d say it’s going well.” 

“Right.”

“I can’t force this, Maria,” you say almost apologetically, “we’re not two giant pandas, you know? You can’t just put us together and expect us to mate.”

“That’s not,” she all but sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I know, ok? If you could maybe, step it up just a little?”

She must really like Steve, you figure, if she’s getting impatient after just a week. So you agree, “Ok,” gently patting her arm you try to reassure her, “I’ll see what I can do.”

[suitofvibraniumarmor]

Due to a misunderstanding on my part, I do have an opening for 10 Things I Hate About You in my Rom-Com Writing Challenge. Bucky x Reader pairing is taken, but you may do another one. Even if you have already confirmed your prompt, you are welcome to switch. First ask I get, that’s who it will go to!

[fanfictionaries]

Where the Green Grass Grows - Part 1. A Real Fine Place to Start

@imanuglywombat​ credit for the moodboard/art! 

Summary: After leaving town in 2001, Marianne Grace Barnes swore she’d never step foot in Texas again. She was happy with her life in San Francisco. She had great friends, a great job, and a loving boyfriend. But when her mother insists she come home after six long years away, Marianne comes face to face with someone she vowed to never lay eyes on again. Now the questions arise: Is he so different from the man who broke her heart? Is she so different from the girl she used to be?

And most importantly, is she as happy as she really thinks she is?

A story of love, heartache, and that special feeling of being home.

MASTERLIST

Pairing: AU Cowboy!Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: Swearing 

Author’s note: This is my entry for  @arrowsandmixtapes​ ‘s RomCom Writing Challenge! So sorry for the late entry, Covid has been a whirlwind of a time.

Prompt: Sweet Home Alabama (2002)

***

The streets of San Francisco were their normal, misty grey as Marianne Barnes rushed down the sidewalk. Scrubbing at the technicolor specks of paint that covered her arms, she wondered why that day of all days she had decided to introduce the splatter paint portion of her student’s curriculum. The current semester was focused on abstract and modern art. Slowly she’d been introducing them to all of the history and techniques behind the different styles before allowing them to try it out for themselves. While initially it seemed like a fantastic idea, she soon realized that allowing a group of middle schoolers the freedom to literally throw paint was a recipe for disaster. Luckily, she had her art smock to cover the entirety of her clothes, but that had not saved her arms and legs from the ricochet of paint as the over enthusiastic kids hurled globs of color as hard as they could at blank canvases. Continuing to rake her nails against the skin of her arms, she sighed in frustration. She really should have taken a few more minutes to wash up one more time.

It was important that she look nice tonight. Tony, her boyfriend, had invited her to dinner stating he had some “big news”. Marianne assumed that it probably had to do with the big business deal he’d been working on for his company. Tony was a visionary of sorts. Having come from family money, his future was always to be well off. However, he had taken the extra steps to truly make something of himself and slowly over the years of his career he had come to own the single leading company in clean energy technology. She was proud of him – even if his job did take up a large amount of his life. However, without his job she probably wouldn’t have met him. She thought back to the embarrassing moment in which they had met nearly a year ago.

Marianne pulled at the neckline of her dress, the Peter Pan collar currently feeling as though it was going to choke her as she shifted uncomfortably by the food and drink table. As much as she liked being there for her best friend, she really wished Natasha would stop inviting her to these kinds of events. While Nat insisted that she’d stay right by Marianne’s side, she always ended up alone at some point in the night, twiddling her thumbs in a room filled with strangers. Having met in art school, Marianne always found it incredibly interesting how drastically different her and Natasha’s careers were. While Marianne had opted for teaching the youths of America about Monet, Dali, van Gogh, and Matisse, Natasha had settled on the curation of art, a field that suited her much more appropriately. The rubbing of elbows with the hoity toity rich was a perfect fit for Nat’s easy, sophisticated, and, for lack of a better word, sexy personality. With her naturally fire-red hair, knockout curves, and perfect smile, Natasha was the type of woman that when she walked into a room, every person either wanted to be her or to fuck her. There was no in-between. Even for Marianne, who supposed in some ways, she’d like to be a bit more like Natasha.

That’s why she was so surprised to be approached as she clung to her glass of champagne and pretended to stare contemplatively at the same painting of a flat tire for the fifth time that night.

“What do you think?” asked a smooth and timbred voice from beside her.

Marianne chuckled slightly to herself continued to trace the thick brushstrokes of the painting with her eyes. “Well, considering the artist’s theme of stagnation, I think they’ve gone a bit too on the nose with this one. It’s…unimaginative,” she commented, before turning to see the handsome man beside her. If she’d actually been drinking the champagne in her hand, she might have choked on it. Luckily for her, she hadn’t.

The man continued to stare at the painting in front of them, a contemplative expression that brought his thick, dark brows together, before he turned his gaze to her, “So you don’t think it will sell tonight then?”

“Oh no, it will definitely sell. I’ve been to enough of these things to know that it’s not really about taste, so much as it is status. If the artist seems important enough, then so is their art,” smirked Marianne, this time actually taking a sip from her champagne flute to avoid focusing on the intriguing way in which the stranger was staring at her.

“Ah, yes. The snobbish elites’ inability to see past their own social status,” he commented dryly, taking a sip from his own flute.

“Hey, you said it, not me,” Marianne laughed, feeling as though she might have made a connection with a reasonable person just yet.

“And who do I have the pleasure of giving me all the inside critique?”

She extended her free hand out to the man, “Marianne Barnes—art teacher, friend of the curator, and overall critic of the snobbish elite.”

He took her hand in his own, his grasp soft, yet strong as he shook her hand and stared her directly in the eye, “Tony Stark – member of the snobbish elite.”

Marianne blanched at the words, the overwhelming feeling of embarrassment taking over her as she realized her mistake. She was just beginning to open her mouth to apologize when Tony held up a hand.

“No need to apologize—” he inhaled deeply, looking around the room and the people that inhabited it “—Truth be told, I don’t think I can stand a single person in here. You excluded of course, but who knows that may change.”

Marianne wrestled with the smile that fought to match Tony’s own wry grin. He was too charming for his own good. Taking a second to look over his expensive suit, Italian leather shoes, and $200 haircut, she reckoned he was much too handsome and successful for her own good. Still, she figured there was no harm in a little conversation.

“Say, I like your accent. Where’s that from? Georgia? Alabama?” asked Tony, stepping in to close the distance between them and making the interaction feel so much more intimate than it should.

Marianne gasped in mock offense, “Excuse you sir, but I am Texas born through and through.”

“My apologies ma’am,” Tony said, holding a hand to his heart in sincerity. “It’s never my intention to offend beautiful women. But for some reason, it just, well, happens.”

That comment made Marianne pause, “You think I’m beautiful?”

He took a moment to assess her, raking his eyes over her from head to toe. Not in a predatory way, but more like he was assessing another painting on the wall. Then he answered, voice heavy in sincerity, “Most beautiful piece of art I’ve seen tonight.”

The sharp tone of Marianne’s ringtone brought her out of her musing and back to the present as she waited at a crosswalk for the light to change. Digging into the deep contents of her purse, she cursed under her breath, pushing aside pens, pencils, scrunchies, lotions, and general clutter before her fingers closed around the buzzing device.

“Hello?”

“I just really don’t understand why Serena and Nate just don’t get together! I mean, he basically broke up with Blair for her, the least she could do is date him,” groaned Natasha from the other end, before Marianne heard the distinct crunch of popcorn being chewed.

“Hey! Spoilers, I haven’t watched last night’s episode yet! Besides, I really don’t have time to talk about Gossip Girl right now,” she huffed, glancing at the time on her watch and realizing she was even later than she thought.

“Well hurry up and watch it! I want to talk about what Chuck did. You’ll never believe it—”

“Seriously Nat, no spoilers!” Marianne exclaimed, now picking up her speed as she crossed the street, trying not to catch the heel of her stilettos on the cracks in the pavement. “And I meant it, I’m running late for my dinner with Tony. He’s taking me to my favorite restaurant to celebrate the contract with Pym Technologies.”

“Wow. I never would have expected Tony to slum it all the way to the Mission District,” Natasha snorted.

“What? No, I’m in SoMa right now. We’re going to Omakase,” Marianne said, jumping back when a bicyclist zoomed past her, nearly knocking her into a dirty puddle.

“Oh…”

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just that I have a distinct memory of you saying you’d rather lick an L.A. sidewalk than eat raw fish, but I have seen you scarf down more burritos from Taqueria Cancun than I can count.”

Marianne bristled at the comment; she always did this. “My tastes are allowed to change Nat,” she bit back, seeing the sign for the sushi restaurant her and Tony frequented in sight.

Natasha was quiet for a moment on the other end of the line before she responded, “Yea, yea, you’re right. I’m sorry. Well, have fun at dinner and tell Tony I say congratulation.”

Sighing, Marianne immediately felt guilty for the harsh way in which she spoke, “Thanks Nat, I’ll tell him. And don’t worry, I’ve got the episode queued up first on Tony’s TiVo. I’ll watch it tonight and then I’ll call you tomorrow and we can gab all about why Serena needs to pull her head out.”

The comment earned Marianne a small laugh from Natasha, alleviating some of her guilt, “I’m holding you to that. Talk to you later hun, love you.”

“Love you too.”

Marianne closed her phone just as she was approaching the front doors to Omakase. Throwing her phone back into her purse she pushed the glass door open, knowing that Tony was probably already waiting for her at their favorite table. The first thing she noticed upon entering the restaurant was the distinct lack of the normal bustling sounds of other people, the second thing was the presence of orchestral music, and the third were roses. Hundreds and hundreds of red roses. Stacked on every available surface, the flowers littered the restaurant in large arrangements placed in beautiful crystal vases.

Silently, her heeled feet padded across the rose petal covered floor as she tentatively stepped further into the building, wondering for a just a second if she was in the right place. However, as she rounded the corner to see Tony dressed impeccably, string quartet situation behind him as he stood next to the only table in the dining room, she knew this was exactly where she was supposed to be.

“Tony…” she approached him cautiously, unable to stop from looking around the room and all its grandeur.

“There she is. For a second, I thought you found something better to do,” joked Tony, closing the distance between them and kissing her lightly on the lips.

“Sorry, I got out of class a bit late and then Nat called. What’s going on?” Marianne asked, still unsure what the big romantic gesture was for. 

“What? A man can’t treat his girlfriend to a romantic night?”

“Well yes, but I thought we were celebrating your deal.”

“Well, I mean that’s part of it, but we’ll get to that later. Here, why don’t you set your things down? I have something I want to ask you.” Tony slipped Marianne’s purse from her shoulder and placed it gently down onto her chair before turning to her and taking both of her hands in his. “So, a little precursor, I closed the deal with Pym Technologies.”

“Oh my god, Tony that’s amazing! I knew you were going to get it,” Marianne exclaimed, smiling widely at her boyfriend. She moved in to give him a congratulatory hug, but Tony stopped her, holding her away from him at arm’s length.

“Oh, hold on, let’s not celebrate too soon. At least let me finish my little speech and then we can jump up and down like teenage girls,” responded Tony. His tone, while its usual joking manner, held a tense and clipped edge to it that Marianne didn’t hear often. Nervously she shifted her weight, wondering what he could possibly have to ask her. Then slowly things started to click into place. Secluded restaurant. Red roses. String quartet. Tony’s favorite red wine on the table. Big important question. Oh.

“Well, once this deal goes through, I’m going to be spending a lot of time traveling internationally. Things are going to pick up at Stark Industries and I realized that life is about to get a lot more hectic and messier. Then of course, this brought on a whirlwind of existential questions about life and its meaning and purpose and what I really want out of it and…and I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“Yea, just a bit,” Marianne answered with a small smile.

“I had a point—”

“Did you?”

“I did—” Tony released his hold on her hands to dig into the pocket of his suit pants “—and I think it sounded a bit like this.” Marianne gasped lightly as Tony dropped to one knee. “Basically, to make a long, drawn-out story short, I realized that no matter how messy and crazy the future scenarios of my life, one thing remained a constant. You. You by my side as my wife. So…” Producing a small, black box from within his hands, he opened it slowly to reveal a large, sparkling engagement ring. “Would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Marianne stood speechless for a moment, consumed by the surprise turn of events. For a second the musing thought that she would have definitely forgone splatter paint today if she had known she was getting proposed to, flashed through her mind before she nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes I will marry you.”

That’s how one month later Marianne found herself entering Natasha’s apartment, arms completely stuffed with nothing but wedding magazines, samples, and binders. Dropping her things into a large pile on the carpet of Natasha’s living room floor, Marianne breathed in deep before turning her attention to an open portfolio on the coffee table. The bright splashes of reds and blues of oversized poppies amidst a large, open sky caught her attention, drawing her in.

“Hey Nat, are you looking to take in a new collection at the gallery?” she called towards the kitchen, unable to pull her eyes away from the beautiful and almost impressionistic take on the flowers.

“Yea, one of my boss’s associates is crazy about these giant oil paintings of poppies. He wants us to consider doing a whole show of them. We’re equally as enthusiastic, but I guess the artist is hesitant about selling their work,” answered Natasha from across the apartment.

“Don’t most artists want to sell their art?”

“You’d think, but judging from the California poppies, they’re probably some west coast artist that doesn’t want to ‘sell out’ and ruin the integrity of their work.” Marianne could almost hear Natasha rolling her eyes through the walls.

Staring even harder at the small collection of paintings as she flipped through the portfolio, Marianne asked, “Are you sure they’re California poppies?”

Just as she asked the question, Natasha came around the corner, two large glasses of prosecco in hand. “Of course. We’re in California. They’re poppies. California poppies,” Natasha shrugged, placing the glasses on the coffee table.

“Yea, I guess you’re right,” Marianne said, sharply closing the portfolio and shaking off the strange sense of melancholy that the paintings evoked.  

“Jesus, when you said you wanted to come over and talk about wedding stuff while we watched Gossip Girl, I thought you meant something like looking at a couple of magazines, not planning the whole thing in one night!” Natasha said, eyes growing wide as she took in the sheer amount of materials Marianne had arrived with.

“Yea, well that’s pretty much all the time I actually have to plan this thing. Tony wants to get married soon so that we can go on our honeymoon before he has to start traveling for work. Once things pick up, we’re not really sure when he’ll get another free moment,” sighed Marianne, sitting down on the floor and beginning to organize her mess.

“I’m surprised he’s letting you plan this and it’s not him making all the decisions,” remarked Natasha, sitting down across from her, and picking up a magazine.

“What do you mean?” asked Marianne, looking up quizzically at her best friend.

“Well…” began Natasha, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “I just mean that Tony tends to have a habit of making decisions for you.”

“What? No, he doesn’t,” Marianne scoffed.

“Uhuh…okay. Well then, who decided shortly after meeting you that your car, your first car, your baby, wasn’t good enough and that you needed a new one?” Natasha asked challengingly.

“It was old Natasha. People get new cars every day. Tony was just kind enough to buy me a new one,” Marianne reasoned with her, picking up her glass of prosecco from the coffee table.

“Okay, what about your job? You were working at that cute little public, elementary school that you always said you loved so much. Next thing I know, you’ve got this new job at a private middle school.”

“Tony had some connections and there’s nothing wrong with moving up in your career. I’m pretty sure that’s the whole point of a career, Nat.”

“Your apartment then? A week after he saw your apartment for the first time, he insisted that you move in with him.”

“That apartment was a rat-infested shit-hole and you know it. Things were going well, and he had the space. I took a leap of faith and moved in with him. I think it went alright considering the fact that I’m marrying the man. Just- what are you getting at Nat?”

“I guess I’m just worried that these major life decisions aren’t what you want, but instead what Tony wants. I mean, you’ve been together barely a year and already you’re more like him than you are you. You dress posher, you act posher, your accent’s fading…I want you to be happy Marianne, but I don’t want you to lose yourself along the way,” Natasha ended her small rant by taking a large gulp of her drink.

Marianne placed a hand on her friends arm reassuringly, “Hey. It’s alright. I’m happy, I promise. And it’s still me! I’m still the same Marianne Barnes you met in art school – just a little fancier is all.” She laid her southern accent on thick near the end of her sentence, lifting up her left hand to waggle the large engagement ring in her friend’s face. Natasha laughed, knocking her hand out of the way, and rolling her eyes at Marianne’s blatant bragging.

“Shut up, now let’s work on your guest list and invitations first while we let the drama of Manhattan’s Upper East Side consume us,” said Natasha, exchanging the magazine for a binder as she turned her TV on with the press of a button.

Taglist: 

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​

@caffiend-queen​

@grincheveryday​

[iwantthedean]

So hard to choose, but I'd like America's Sweethearts with Clint/ backup When In Rome with Clint

I’m so sorry I missed this! America’s Sweethearts with Clint is yours - if you would be so kind as to tag my Marvel blog @arrowsandmixtapes instead of this one when you post :)

[satans-favorite-child]

Oooooooooohhhh! I love the Proposal movie, and fake relationships are one of my favorite tropes. This is clearly a slightly different start than the movie but I'm so excited to see what you do with it! 😁

The Proposal Chapter 1

Jensen Ackles x Reader

1200 Words

Written for @iwantthedean​ and the Rom-Com challenge. My prompt was the movie the Proposal

Summary: Jensen needs help keeping his life in order. To keep the media off his back. In order to do so, he comes up with a plan. Y/N, just a producer’s assistant, is pulled in to play a part she never thought she would have. Jensen’s fiancee. Only will it stay as a part to play, or will she start to want more?

Warnings: None

You had no idea why you were being called into the producers office. Nervously smoothing down your t-shirt, you ransacked your brain, trying to figure out what you could have done wrong. Sure there was the spilling of the coffee yesterday, and running into Jensen the day before. But you were sure you were doing well after being on set for almost a month now. 

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door, your heart plummeting when you saw the producer and Jensen inside, laughing at something, seeming totally at ease. 

“Y/N!” Jim boomed, a huge smile on his face as he came around the desk. Patting you heavily on the shoulder, he guided you to the chair beside Jensen’s. “Always great to see your smile.”

Your smile was wavering, full of nerves, but you still tried to keep it pasted on your face. “Thank you…sir.”

Keep reading

[justformyself2]

Notting Hill.

A/N: Wow, who also need a good story to be pumped for the apocalypse? raise your hand please!

Not really sure if you guys know about this story, but June 27,2020 is the date, look it up lol. You know what else we could be doing before going to hell once for all for lusting so much over John Krasinski? 

Sign this Petitions and donate if possible:

Justice for Elijah McClain

Elijah McClain donation

Justice for Miguel

Ways to Help and more petitions to sign.

BLACK LIVES MATTER NOW AND ALWAYS.

Well, now that i said what i said, let me finish by telling you, this is an important story for me. The past months have been extremely rough and i struggled like never before to fight for something i love to do not be consumed by dark thoughts, regardless of the past, i’m proud to be posting this right now, no matter how long it took for me and how minimal it may seem, goddamn i feel happy to create and write, and for you guys, in whatever you need to do, dream of doing, don’t let dark thoughts guide you into staying stuck, shine, do what you love, we all have the capacity.

This is my participation on my friend’s @lullabieswrappedinlies​​ rom-com writing challenge (go check her out, she is so damn creative and amazing)

This story is based on the movie Notting Hill and will be added on my masterlist. or tell me you want to be tagged if you want to keep up.

BEFORE YOU JUMP IN BE ADVISED

. Pairing: Reader x John Krasinski.

. It contains strong language.

. Click here for soundtrack of movie if you are in your feelings today

                                                   JOHN’S POV

“John, we will be ready in five.”

“Ok.”

I press the phone once again against my ear, listening to her heavy sigh. It is easy to mold her face into my brain with dexterity. The bushy eyebrows, casting a shadow under piercing blue eyes, seeking to grab my soul, she succeeding to combine it all with a condescending smile on her lips. Condescension which I have to kiss it off.

“Well, if you want to go, then go.”

Deep down, she was still trying, and I can’t take that for granted.

“I don’t want to go. I need to go, an enormous difference. It’s work.”

I aim to be the diplomatic debater, the mediator, and the opponent. She is better than me at being the third party, perfecting the act of passive-aggressiveness in chosen phrases, fuming through her nose on the other side of the line. An act I wish to interpret as a genuine breathed laugh with no second intentions; my five minutes seemed to multiply.

“Call you later?”

I say.

“Yes.”

She answers

“Love you.”

She hanged up.

                                                            --------

                                                      Y/N POV

“This book is so weird and sexist, holy shit.”

You put the phone down, and Nova throws another eighties romance book into the cardboard box with its copies.

“Language.” You sing at her in a scolding tone. 

“Sorry.” She sings back. “But you know I’m right. They are always pairing a young girl with some fifty years old, control freak who prey on them with their big, strong, tan hands.”

You giggle, and she looks satisfied.

Regardless of the narrative that anyone could quickly review, it was ‘in’ right now, as Agnes said, and what her bookclub wanted. “Un plaisir coupable.” she completed; the thin red lines that were her lips stretched in a laugh, causing her blue contacts to squint. 

Soon enough, the scavenging for the material began, and you found the yellow pages, delivered with weird smells, phone numbers, and addresses written on the inside of the covers, but still readable.

“They paid and are coming to pick them up tomorrow. It’s the only thing I care about right now. Also, don’t let her catch you saying that you hear me? I will help finish this then we can close before your mom shows up and kill me when she finds out you are here.”

You move from behind the counter, seeing the digital hour hit past ten pm on the laptop.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, she already knows.”

The unconcerned Nova grabs a box, and you grab another following her quick steps, twisting to the right almost at the end of the hall, entering a room that was once a decent private office before it became nonfunctional. 

The reserved bookshelf for Agnes club waited empty, a last-minute metal book rack next to the bay window. To create an illusion of a comfortable place for a book club, orange curvy chairs, which Alexis begged to be thrown out, along with the red Arabic carpet left behind with the chairs by the old owner. Every time you enter the space taking a deep, immediate, frustrated breath, Alexis wins a point.

You place the box down, looking at your niece.

“Kyle?”

You ask, and Nova hums softly, doing the stocking job.

 Kyle, more than a name it was first a banned topic usually discussed between a limited couple of sentences. His name was a warning, along with his unrequested presence at random, unannounced times. It became harder since Nova wasn’t at a manageable age anymore. It was tough at fifteen, and as the time passes by, sweetness gains the bitterness, and innocence, gone.

“Well, you know you will always have a second bed, Donkey misses you.”

You gain a laugh while she finishes her box.

“Oh God, can’t believe you still keep him there.”

You shrug impulsively, paying attention to your own hands, arranging the books and their horizontal titles on a pile.

“It was your favorite toy, why would I throw it away?”

“You know why.”

 A pause and a deep breath came from her, triggering the thought, long forgotten about, that people still expected you to be mourning over material remains.

“It’s okay to throw away with the rest of the others, it’s been a long time.”

Her auburn hair was now being tied in a bun. Your fifteen-year-old niece, holding a peaceful outside appearance, didn’t mind sounding more mature than you wanted to admit.

 “Good... then we can donate, not throw it away.”

“Even better.”

She agrees quickly, stomping on the empty cardboard box.

Nova turns out the lights as you awaited for her, leaning against the glass door on the entrance, blowing hot humid air into your cold fingers and watching over nothing other than a middle-aged man with a red beanie walking a Greyhound on the other side of the empty street. 

Notting Hill wasn’t known for its nightlife. It was almost a deserted city by eight and in the light of day, Portobelo Rode fruit market brings it to life. On weekdays, stalls and its hay baskets, packed with succulent fruits and greens, filled the streets along with shouted invites, half prices and sweet-soured smells invading each corner; on weekends the baskets shape-shifted to antiques of all kinds, genuine or handmaid, the crowd and the stalls multiplied in the small village. 

In-between buyers and sellers of what you could harvest or find in your gramma’s basement there was your store, a bookstore, one corner away from your home, squeezed in the middle of Linda’s cafe and a self-employed yoga instructor that recently rented Mr. Walsh’s house, a retired Navy who moved to Greenwich with his daughter-in-law three weeks ago; his red door house now held a big white plaque with ‘Sivananda Yoga’ written in cursive gold letters, phone number and social media included under the picture of a woman in the lotus posture.

“A yoga studio, nice!” Says Nova, coming closer to the four steps leading up to the red door.

You close the store and covers her shoulders with your arm when the icy wind started building up.

“We could try it someday, your mom-.”

“Hates trying new things.” She completed. “Don’t even bother.”

 “That is where you are the wrong baby. It may seem like this now, but I wish you could have seen your mom in her prior days. Wow... She was glorious.”

The feeling of wandering eyes aiming at your face became stronger as you carried her along the street under your embrace.

“Before my dad, I guess.”

A tiny part of your soul lighten up, recognizing itself in your niece’s words, but there was no place to fuel her fiery tone.                                                                                           

“To be honest, I don’t know, but people change Nova, everyone eventually, even the ones we thought we had figured out, including ourselves.”

“Whatever, I don’t want him back in the house again if she puts him back, I’m moving with you.”

The decisiveness in her voice sent bad vibrations along your back. 

Unusual memory mechanism. Alexis visited your mind, vivid as if you could see her across the street you were crossing, she waiting and shivering at your front door because you forgot the spare key in the store again. 

After the scolding she would show a rose-colored box from Fincher’s cafe under her arm, comporting the most amazing banoffee pie, your favorite pie from your favorite place. 

Fincher’s cafe, that was once located two blocks away from where you two lived was closed when the old owner went bankrupt and reopened in Queensway street, she would drive there every weekend to bring that rose-colored box under her arm and wait for you on the couch, once the spare key was in the fake birdhouse, with the TV turned on and the plates placed on the center table next to the wine.

“See, I don’t think that will happen.”

“How could you know? Didn’t you just said people change?”

“And love changes people, your mother has more for you than you could ever imagine and without measuring efforts. She wouldn’t make any decision that would hurt you, trust me.”

Nova quickly disengage from the conversation, staying on mute abruptly, leaving a temporary gap for thoughts of doubt to occupy. Your heart is worried, but a grown-up, worried heart shouldn’t be shown while trying to pass a sense of security. That included waiting for Nova to fall sleep before calling Alexis.

You climb the four steps and opens the blue door, face to face with smiling Rudolph from last Christmas, hanging by a thread along with Santa, waiting to be taken down as the feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I ate at home so if you don’t mind I will go to bed now.”

Unreeling the red knitted scarf, the tenth big piece Alexis attempted to make at her knitting fase, Nova doesn’t look behind once. You watch her back as she went upstairs to the guest room, her special fort at five, and now her hideaway at fifteen, with fewer toys and Donkey, an old stuffed toy still sitting in the shelf waiting for no one in a room cleaned every week.

You dismiss the purple scarf from around your shoulders, the third big piece on your sister’s collection, not as good as the tenth, but it warmed you inside to observe her trying to hide a proud smile in seeing what she made wrapped around Nova and you.

A stupidly cold breeze hits the back of your neck before you turned around to close the door, the phone rings along with squealing tires of a black car on the other side of the street.

                                                           1