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spencersawkward · 4 years

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omg omg i know matthews birthday isnt for a couple weeks but i would die for a bday sex one shot omg

i made you wait so long for this i'm so sorry omg. one-shots usually take me longer bc i want them to be detailed!

summary: reader has plans for Matthew’s 41st birthday, but things take their own turn.

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, oral (male receiving), degradation, Soft!Dom Matthew with some fluff, too; fingering, creampie, implied age gap.

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.3k

masterlist

I haul the enormous bag of flour onto the counter, grunting. it's early afternoon, and my day has been spent wrapping all of Matthew's gifts and trying to plan out the perfect birthday celebration. he's turning 41, and all I want is for him to feel as special as he feels to me. the cake is the last piece of the puzzle, and I'm hoping that my less-than-excellent culinary skills improve over the course of the next few hours.

I set out all the ingredients first, swaying to my music while I go through the recipe and decide how much I need. it shouldn't be too complicated, right? just chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. I thought I'd try to recreate the Rumple Buttercup cartoon with it, but now I'm not so sure. that might be flirting with disaster.

instead of deciding right there, I just get started on the batter. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

the air is thick with sweetness and warmth as the oven slowly pre-heats and I stir together the silky smooth chocolate batter. I pour the mix into a round baking pan, tapping it a bit to make sure it's even, before pushing it into the oven. naturally, I lick the whisk clean.

my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see that Matthew's texted me.

on my way home now!

my heart stutters in my chest as I check the time. he's definitely early; he told me this morning that he wouldn't be at home until at least seven. my eyes flicker to the cake, over the messy kitchen, and back to my screen.

early?

yep. can't wait to see you. followed by a series of heart emojis. I start to panic a little. this throws my whole schedule off; I was going to do my hair, pick up food from his favorite restaurant, set the table, litter the bed with rose petals. I wanted everything to be just right for him; it's the first time he's had a birthday with me.

and now he's going to come home to me with flour-dusted cheeks and a half-baked cake. I quickly clean the kitchen and wipe my face before running off to the bedroom, rifling through my closet for something nice. thank god I already showered this morning because there's no way I'd have time now. I find the dress I'd planned to wear, red and slinky and pretty, before dropping my clothes and changing right away.

truly, I move at the speed of light when I do my hair, scatter the rose petals, and call the restaurant to get our order started. we'll need to run out and get it, but Matthew likes going for walks, so that shouldn't be a problem.

the smell of chocolate wafts through the house while I tie an apron around my waist and get a bowl out of the cabinets. the cake needs to cool for a while, but I might as well get started on the frosting. who knows how long that'll take?

too damn long, apparently.

Matthew opens the front door while I'm halfway through my crumb coat, the soft green shade of the Rumple Buttercup colors coming along nicely. I start to panic a little when I hear his footsteps on the stairs.

"Y/N!" he calls out.

"kitchen!" I respond without moving. he probably shouldn't see the cake, but at this point it's too late. there's fluffy buttercream frosting and food coloring all over my apron. all I can do is wait patiently as he strolls into the room.

"what are you up to?" he sets his hand on my back, smiling.

"making your cake, birthday boy."

"mmm." he wraps a hand around my arm, drags it down while leaning his chin on my shoulder. "looks really nice so far."

"you like the color?" I ask.

"I do." he mumbles, starting to touch my waist. "what material is this?"

"silk."

"you know I love that." he squeezes my waist and I have to resist the blush spreading up my cheeks. he's affectionate right now, and I want to resist, but it's hard.

"what're you doing?" I question playfully in response to the drifting of his fingers down my thighs.

"I'm excited to see you."

"I'm excited to see you, too, but we have a strict schedule tonight."

Matthew groans and drops his head into the space between my neck and shoulder. his hands don't leave my hips.

"why?" he whines.

"because I want you to have the best birthday ever." I smooth off the top of the cake, sighing when he digs his fingernails into me. it feels heavenly, and the featherlight kisses he's leveling on my jaw are making me woozy.

"making me wait?" he brushes over my ass, squeezing the flesh lightly. "that's cruel."

I laugh a little and swipe my finger through the frosting.

"try this and tell me if I'm still cruel."

he grabs my hand in both of his, sliding my index into his mouth and licking it off of me. my jaw drops in surprise before he pulls away and drops it. it's unbelievably sexy.

"that is really good." he smiles, then kisses my cheek in an alarmingly innocent manner. he knows what he's doing. "don't be a tease, darling."

"you--" I stutter, trying to regain my concentration. it's futile at this point; it isn't until he moves away from my body that I'm able to keep working on the cake. he only glances with a knowing smirk, walking around the counter to sit across from me.

"how was your day?"

"my day was jam-packed with planning for a little ingrate's birthday." I joke.

"I'm not an ingrate." he protests. one look at his pout and I feel guilty for teasing. standing on tiptoes, I lean over the counter and plant a kiss on his mouth.

"you're right, I'm sorry," I sigh. "I just had a whole plan and when you came home early, I didn't have time for all of it."

"what can I do?" he offers immediately. I scowl.

"you're not gonna help me prepare your birthday celebration, silly."

"but I wanna make it easier."

"you wanna make it easier?" I ask, the corners of my lips quirking up. he nods enthusiastically and I hold his gaze. "I need to go pick up our dinner, so you can walk with me."

"ooh, yes!" he leaps up in an almost child-like manner, coming around to my side again. I nuzzle into his shoulder as I finish piping the face onto the cake. he snorts when he sees the completed project. "is that Rumple?"

"shut up, it looks so bad." I complain. my body leans into his in defeat. even though I tried, Rumple looks like he's been possessed and exorcised in one sitting: he's got crazy eyes and a lopsided face.

"no, it's beautiful," he pecks the top of my head. "he's supposed to look funny."

all I can do is turn around and hug him, giggling at the absolute monstrosity that I've created. he wraps his arms around me tightly and we start to sway a little.

"I feel like Victor Frankenstein." I laugh. he untangles our bodies to tilt my chin up and look at him.

"you're way cuter." he rubs my nose with his own. I'm smiling so big, it hurts. he makes me so unbelievably happy, I can't imagine not being by his side. Matthew is the best boyfriend in the world, and I really want everything to live up to his expectations.

our fingers thread together briefly before we get ready to go pick up our food.

...

"I am literally going to combust." I giggle, throwing my napkin onto the table. red wax drips down the sides of the candle between us, and Matthew's eyes are starry as he watches me talk.

"good?" he asks.

"amazing. how was yours?"

"could barely get it down." he gestures to the empty plate. I throw my head back and laugh more than I should. Matthew frowns. "what?"

"that's such a dad joke."

"really?" he laughs along with me until we're both just smiling brightly at each other. I don't want to step too far; we've been dating under a year, still. but I see myself with Matthew forever. we've already moved in together; I've never felt so strongly as I feel for him, and I think that he feels it, too. in our bones.

"yes, but I like dad jokes."

"come here." he holds his arms out and I get up from the table, walking over to sit on his lap. he shifts so I can be more comfortable, and I place both hands on my stomach.

"I have such a food baby right now."

"do you?" he sets one hand over the bump. I lean my head into his shoulder, curling up a little. he starts to rub my tummy gently, holding me close while we sit in a relative quiet. "I like it."

"mmm." I hum, wrapping my arms around his neck. although he could easily turn this sexual, he doesn't. we just linger, breathing and letting our food settle. I really am full; the chances of me falling asleep are higher than not.

I ask Matthew to tell me more about his day as I sit there, and the rumble of his voice in his chest is soothing. as the candle wax drips further and further down, I watch it with lethargic eyes. I've had a hard year-- Matthew's made it better. he can read me like a book, and he listens like I've got all the answers in the world. I love him. and when I head to the kitchen to slice the cake, he follows me with his arms around my waist. we move like two people who have been together a long time, like we can anticipate the next person's movement down to the flicker of their eye contact, down to their step.

"I can't believe you have room for dessert." I grab a knife from the drawer, along with some plates. Matthew kisses my head.

"I've got room for multiple desserts."

"was that a sexual allusion or are you actually hungry?" I turn briefly to gauge his behavior. if he hasn't had enough to eat, I'll feel horrible. but he leans down to my ear. it still sends a shiver down my spine.

"definitely sexual," he smirks, then retreats. "let's do this, though, first. I want a piece of Rumple's eyeball."

"just get out the candles so I can do this for you." I push him away. he heads to the cupboard and returns with the pack of candles that I begin to spear into the cake. I only put in ten because there's not room for forty-one, but he doesn't seem to mind as I light them up individually.

"go sit down! you weren't even supposed to come in here." I laugh as I lift the dish into my arms and shoo him into the other room. Matthew gives me a sidelong look, smiling for an unknown reason, before following my orders.

he pretends to look surprised when I bring the thing out to him, mouth making a pleased O shape.

"wow!" he cheers.

"make a wish, then, my love." I tell him. he inhales deeply, then blows out the candles. one or two stragglers remain, their flames flickering before he tries again and snuffs them out. I clap my hands.

"happy birthday, baby!"

he grins at me and starts to pluck the candles out of the cake. "you didn't sing to me." he says.

"trust me, that was a gift in itself." I laugh before picking up the knife. "how big a slice do you want?"

Matthew seems to think for a second on this, squinting as he examines the thing.

"big."

"alright then." I cut an enormous hunk out, making sure to get one of the maddened eyeballs on it before sliding it onto the plate and giving it to him. "enjoy."

"oh, I will." before I can move to sit across from him, he reaches out and pulls me into his lap. I let out a surprised noise, but settle in anyway on his thigh while I cut my own slice of cake. we eat together.

"it's actually pretty good." I'm impressed with myself. sure, it's not a super complicated recipe. but I still did well. Matthew wraps his arm around my waist, one hand holding his plate while the other digs the fork in.

"it's amazing." he nods through a mouthful of food.

"how's the eye?"

"how you'd expect a vitreous humor to taste." he jokes, laughing as I elbow him in the ribs. "ow!" he complains. I swipe some of the frosting off the top of his slice and tap it over his nose. he wrinkles it at the sensation.

"maybe I'll just leave." I move to get up, but he keeps me in place. his little smile, so determined in its happiness, makes my heart soften. for all of his teasing, he's weak for me, and I love it. when I lean down a little to lick the icing off, he blushes.

"when can I have you?" he asks quietly, one hand resting on the top of my bare thigh. it tightens around my skin, growing more aware of my presence in his lap. I bite my lip and mull this over, subtly draw the hem of my dress up a bit just to tease him.

"I'm thinking..." this time, he lets me get up. my fingers slide through his, dragging him with me. "now."

Matthew gets an excited grin on his face before I spin around and lead him to the bedroom. a couple candles are burning, filling the room with a deep, sensual smell that he inhales as he stops in his tracks.

"did you put rose petals on our bed?" he chuckles, staring at me with his eyebrows raised in an adoring expression. I run my palms up his chest, stopping below his shoulders. I poke my tongue between my teeth as I smile.

"yes, I did."

"very romantic."

"is it?" I lift an eyebrow. it takes everything in me not to pounce on him right then.

"consider me seduced."

"if you ever use that word again, I'm calling this off." I laugh. he silences it in a kiss, eagerly gathering my body up in his arms as he tilts his head to deepen it. a slight moan slips through me, pleased with the gentle, innocent pleasure he elicits. he's softer than velvet. when he crushes the silk of my dress in his fist, lifting it over my ass so he can touch me without barriers, he groans.

"did I pay for this?" he rolls the fabric between his fingers.

"mhmm." I hum.

"good." his breath hitches when the zipper comes down easily, the garment falling to the floor and leaving me in brand new black lingerie. his eyes move hungrily over my body, pupils dilating further as he takes in the curves of my figure.

"this is new."

I twist around a bit, showing him the back as well, his grip on my waist loosening only to allow me this movement. "you like it?"

he groans. "I love it."

I want to start undressing him, greedy for the sight of his naked body, but he reaches down and lifts me into his arms, my legs wrapping around him while he carries me to the floral-covered mattress. I sink into a rosy paradise, almost give into the alluring sensations he causes with his fingertips over my skin.

he's between my legs, teeth seeking out collarbone and the swell of my chest. it would be so, so easy to remain here, pinned down and allowing him to let loose on me. every deliberate shadow on my body is like a sunburst. but I can't.

I grab his shoulders and yank him down next to me. he peers at me with a smile, wondering what I've got in store. the answer is too loaded to fit into one sentence, so I watch him move up the bed until he's resting his head on the pillow, my legs moving to straddle him.

"taking control?" he questions. he knows I don't usually like to be on top. instead of replying, I reach behind me and undo the clasps of my bra, sliding it from my arms before tossing it somewhere else. his eyes widen and he goes to grab at my tits, but I'm too quick. I lean down, unbuttoning his shirt and drawing my nails over his chest as I lower myself to his pants.

Matthew is silent, open-mouthed at the red marks I leave behind on his smooth skin. it's intoxicating for me, too, and I work quickly to tug his bottoms down his legs, the boxers with them. when his dick is released, I let him struggle through a moment of no contact.

"let me touch you." he goes to stroke himself. my gaze flickers between the length he's now gripping in his hand and the needy look on his face. I want to fuck him right now. every cell in my body aches for him, for the pleasure that so violently rips through my veins when he's inside.

"not yet." I betray myself, and his hips buck into empty air when he sees my torso so close to his erection. when I drop my head and lick up the underside, he lets go of himself and allows me to tease him. I pause at the tip, then hold the base while I spit on it.

"shit!" he grunts as I start to swirl my tongue around him. his fingers run through my hair. "suck on it, baby."

all I do is moan, the vibration torturing him. I peek up through my lashes and see the veins in his neck throbbing while he resists the urge to fuck my mouth. I soften and lower my head slowly, inch by inch swallowing his cock. he hits the back of my throat. the slight gag that runs through me makes him sigh. it's then that I tap his hand as our signal to push my head down.

Matthew loses it. he starts to shove my mouth onto him, fucking it, one hand reaching behind him to grab the top of the headboard while he groans.

"choke on it... fuck." he moans. there are tears in my eyes from the pressure, but I keep looking at him the whole time. he's gorgeous, mouth dropped open in ecstasy while he goes between rolling his eyes into the back of his head and staring with an intense desire.

every time I gag, he lets out an unholy noise and gets excited all over again, his hips moving to meet my lips until he's on the edge of falling apart. his cock twitches and I moan, but he's not willing to finish.

"get over here so I can fuck you." his voice is borderline raspy as he forces himself to release my head. I sit up and wipe the spit from my mouth, crawling on top of him again to leave some of my favorite marks on his neck. he's mine. every bite stands to prove it, and his quick breaths let me know that he's not going to wait much longer.

his fingertips hook in the waistband of my panties and he pushes them down my thighs, purses his lips while he watches me shimmy out of them. it's wonderful, seeing the disarray in his face whenever he catches sight of my naked form. he never knows where to touch first, moving over my breasts to my waist and hips down to my legs. like he's trying to blend our bodies together by simply drinking me in.

I tense when he reaches out and sinks two fingers into me. I'm so wet, it takes almost no pressure.

"fucking soaked, huh?" he smirks. my hands steady themselves on his shoulders as he starts to pump in and out of me. I groan.

"get inside, please." I murmur nearly incoherently. he starts to go faster, his cock throbbing against his stomach. but he wants me to squirm and beg.

"oh, so you've got demands?" he teases. his fingers curl in my pussy, brushing over my special spot, and I almost gasp at the pleasure. "after making me wait?"

"I just--" I start to defend myself, but it's fruitless. he guides my face down to his, whispering in my ear.

"let me guess: you just wanted me to have a good birthday?"

"yes." a choked, desperate reply.

"let me show you what kind of present I want, then." he removes his fingers and lines himself up at my entrance, pushing me all the way down before sliding the pads of his digits into my mouth. I lick them clean while I moan. his cock is so deep inside me, I can barely breathe.

the combined pressures between my hips and on my tongue, make me give up on drawing this out. it feels so good, I couldn't stop myself if I wanted to. I rise up a bit and sink onto him again, his jaw clenched at the sensation. he lets me do this a couple times and then pauses my actions.

"get on your hands and knees." he orders. I lift myself obediently, whining slightly at the loss of contact, before he sits up and switches positions so that he's kneeling behind. I wait patiently for him to do what he wants with me. he doesn't disappoint.

softly, he pushes my head down so that my cheek rests against the pillow while he slides in from the back. it's a completely different angle and I can barely handle the way he works through the tightness, his moans louder this time.

"thought you could sit on it and I would just let you?" he chuckles darkly, pulling out and moving in. my breath rattles in my chest at the repeated, delicious intrusions. my eyelids flutter shut while he keeps talking to me in that commanding, low tone. "you're my little slut."

the moan that comes from my lips is pathetic, like a mewl. he plows into me and my face presses into the mattress.

"such a perfect little pussy," his hands lure my hips to him while he groans at the new depths he keeps finding. "so responsive for me."

"faster, Matthew." I whine. although he's not going slow, I need more. the slam of his body against mine, from this angle, creates just short of enough friction for my clit. he follows my request, however, and fucks me at an insatiable pace.

"you like that?" he grunts. I literally don't have the mobility to nod, so I shove my ass back instead to take more. he bucks. "you feel so fucking good."

I whimper and he starts to stimulate my clit by reaching around, lowering himself a bit to do so. he keeps his arm pressed to my stomach so he can feel the bulge of his cock sliding in and out of me. "good girl. take it."

my fingertips fist the sheets and I whine as my orgasm approaches. he switches the pattern of pressure, finding what makes me fall apart fastest. I'm on the edge, my mouth dropping open in a silent cry. my hips start to move on their own, working against his cock as I moan his name and tumble into the abyss.

"Matthew, right there-- fuck me, fuck me--" I moan. he rams his hips so hard, the headboard slams the wall and he groans.

"you're gonna make me break you, baby." he warns. I bite my lip so hard that I almost puncture the skin, feeling like a planetary collision is occurring within my lower stomach. I'm coming up on a second climax.

"break me, then." I dare.

Matthew wraps his arm around my chest and brings me up so that I'm leaning against his chest while he whispers in my ear. "defiant little whores don't get my cum."

"but--" I complain, hips wriggling for more while he thrusts into me.

"apologize or I'll stop fucking you right now." he slows just to demonstrate the torture of not being inside me. I grasp at his hips to coax him, but he's determined. I take a shaky breath at the smooth, slow movements.

"I'm sorry." I beg. he reaches down and starts to play with my bundle of nerves again. as much as he wants to make me crash, he loves the way this feels, too.

"mmm," he hums while laying sloppy kisses along my neck. "good thing I wanna fill you up for being so sweet today."

his thrusts are uncontrolled and needy, rapid pushes between my legs that cause me to start shaking all over again. he rubs my clit and moans in my ear, spilling.

"I love you so much." he mumbles. the hand holding me to him squeezes one of my tits while I arch my spine and enjoy the slowing pace of our bodies. I moan his name.

"I love you, too." I'm in awe of how he changes for me, his attitude shifts whenever we're in bed. it's cosmic, how we fit together. and his withdrawal from my body causes both of us to collapse onto the bed with exhaustion.

I can only suck in air for a while. my limbs are like lead, in the best way.

"that was hot." he mutters. I turn to him, admiring his beautiful features, and nod lazily.

"a successful birthday, then?"

"after that cake? yeah." he scoffs jokingly and I giggle before curling into him. he traces his fingertips down my skin. "do you wanna take a shower?"

"I'm so tired." I groan. Matthew glances at me.

"I'm the one who just turned forty-one."

"shut up."

"come on, then. let's get you cleaned up."

he rises from the mattress, bringing me with him. a few stray rose petals flutter onto the ground.

#matthew gray gubler #mgg smut #mgg x reader #mgg oneshot

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wyntereyez · 3 years

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More season 3 thoughts, from 3x03 and 3x04:

- Is that Mjolnir? Does Rumple have Thor's hammer? I need this story.

- Regina, please, please, PLEASE stop channeling my abusive step-mother. PLEASE.

- Not cool to use a child like that, Neal.

- I'm tired of how supportive Mulan is about Neal's love for Emma. Again, they're REALLY pushing it. I kinda want to see Mulan's reaction when she sees who Emma actually ended up with.

- DAMMIT, DAVID...You'd be that idiot who gets bitten by a zombie and hides it from the rest of the group.

- Now I need zombie fic.

- Ah, the coconut sharing scene. I like how Killian doesn't share with anyone else. Killian, your crush is showing.

- We were robbed of Mulan/Aurora

- Face paint isn't helping, Rumple. You're still just wandering around doing nothing.

- SQUID

- HOW DARE YOU KILL A SQUID, NEAL YOU HAVE EARNED MY ETERNAL HATRED

- Stay out of their way, David. Let Killian and Emma flirt.

- Peter Pan as the Pied Piper is actually one of the most logical merging of tales this show has done.

- The families in this show are so weird.

- Pause for a moment for chest hair appreciation.

- Still paused.

- ...and resume.

- Rumple family dynamics, blah blah blah... Send all these people to therapy! Or the SB equivalent of Jerry Springer.

- That would be a disaster, wouldn't it.

- IF YOU WEREN'T IDIOTS, YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HENRY SO MUCH QUICKER

- Back to the chest hair.

- TELL SNOW ABOUT THE DREAMSHADE DAVID. DON'T BE THAT GUY.

- *sigh* He's totally that guy.

- A FAMILY OF IDIOTS

#wyntereyez watches #ouat season 3

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a-monthly-rumbelling · 3 years

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December Masterlist

A huge thank you to everyone who posted in December! The masterlist is below, I’m sure that everyone will find something to enjoy here.

Moodboard

Brought To You By The Colour Blue by @eirian-houpe: Detective Weaver is waiting for a contact in a run down, out of the way motel, when Belle, a beautiful woman, in a very bad way literally falls through his door. Can he save her? (Please note, rated Explicit)

Spy by @peacehopeandrats: Regina's Magic Mirror spies someone new in the Dark Castle and Regina finds some leverage.

Depths by @peacehopeandrats: In Hyperion Heights Weaver comes in to Roni's bar after a long day of work. Bad flirting begins and Belle tries to stop it from where she awaits Rumple's return to her.

Wild by @peacehopeandrats: Belle is reading to Rumple while he spins and he becomes a little too lost in the story. (Please note, rated Mature)

Blast by @peacehopeandrats: Rumple is working on a delicate potion but loses track of his work and ends up protecting Belle from a small disaster.

Accidents by @peacehopeandrats: The Golds are traveling across the midwest of the U.S. and hit a road block. Deciding to turn around and stay a few days at the nearest small town motel, Gideon runs off on an adventure while his parents get into a wild adventure of their own. (Please note, rated Explicit)

Non-Smut: Saving the other from a bad date.

Depth by @peacehopeandrats: In Hyperion Heights Weaver comes in to Roni's bar after a long day of work. Bad flirting begins and Belle tries to stop it from where she awaits Rumple's return to her.

Smut: Accidentally breaking furniture during sex.

Random: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Blast by @peacehopeandrats: Rumple is working on a delicate potion but loses track of his work and ends up protecting Belle from a small disaster.

#A Monthly Rumbelling #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #December Masterlist

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supremeuppityone · 4 years

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This was created for the Klaroline Fall Bingo Event @klarolinefallbingo.

Prompt: “You are the treat, sweetheart.”

Please review here.

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It wasn’t the worst heartbreak story Caroline had heard. But it definitely was the worst this season. The angry murder swans were an interesting plot twist though. She wiped down the bar, eyeing the clock before she announced, “Last call, everybody!”

She turned to the adorable drunk resting his head on the wet rings the bottles and glasses had left behind. Klaus had spent the evening raking his fingers through his dirty blonde curls, double-fisting shots and Ward Eights when he wasn’t berating his ex-fiancé. “So, your ex, this...um...something that sounded like ‘tater tot’, walked down the aisle, stood at the altar with you in front of a church stuffed full of your friends and family, and announced that she’s been banging your brother for months and wants to marry him instead.”

He squinted up at her, as though slowing piecing together her words. Letting out an unexpectedly boisterous guffaw, he said, “It was Tatia, actually. But tater tot is considerably more appropriate — often greasy, grows disappointingly cold, and an unpleasant aftertaste.” Fishing around in one pocket, he flashed her a devilish smirk that she would’ve found charming if it wasn’t for the bit of drool as he slurred his words, “Elijah’s welcome to her, but he’ll have to make it official without our grandmother’s ring.” He triumphantly slammed a beautiful antique ring on her bar, the neon lights making the diamonds and pearls twinkle.

Caroline let out a small gasp as she studied the delicate floral pattern the gemstones made. For some reason, she felt ridiculously pleased that Tatia didn’t get her grubby cheater’s hands on such a lovely piece of jewelry. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but morbid curiosity is winning right now. Did your other brother release the angry murder swans as a distraction just so you could steal back the ring?”

“A happy accident, love. Kol thrives on chaos and he nipped out to the reception area to let them out of the paddock just to see what would happen. I took advantage of the riot that ensued once the swans started attacking the outlandish lace train of Tatia’s dress and swiped the ring.” His smile was more of a grimace, but at least he chuckled as he said, “I escaped before I saw the worst of it, but I’ve been told that by the time the swans were under control, Tatia was wearing shredded bits of overpriced lace and feathers, and both she and Elijah were smeared in droppings.”

Giggling, Caroline squeezed another half-lemon into the shaker, adding the grenadine and topping it off with orange juice before pouring it over what was left of the rye whisky in Klaus’ glass. She tossed in a few cherries and winked as she told him, “My treat.”

He threw her what should’ve been a smoldering look, but instead his gray eyes seemed to cross slightly as he slurred, “You are the treat, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes, not bothering to respond to his clumsy flirting. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, she couldn’t help the way her pulse quickened. If he had this kind of effect on her now, what was he like sober? Nope, she sternly reminded herself; he’s on the gut-wrenching rebound to end all rebounds and you stopped doing one-night stands after Mr. Hair Gel seemed waaaay more into his brother and you snuck out the bathroom window once it got too squicky.

She kept busy closing out a few more tabs, feeling the need to steamroll past the awkward silence as she cheerfully said, “So, you just hopped on a plane and decided to go on your honeymoon anyway. That’s a level of petty I can support. Mystic Shores is a tiny resort town, but you should find plenty to keep yourself busy. There’s the lighthouse, natural rock bridges, seabird sanctuary...” she trailed off when she saw how his eyes had glazed over. “Plus, lots of white sand beaches you can day drink on while watching the dolphins.”

“I knew I picked this place for a reason.” Klaus gulped down the rest of his drink, grimacing as he told her, “Remind me to teach you how to make a proper Ward Eight, love. It’s positively criminal the rubbish rye you’re peddling.”

She grabbed his empty glass, putting it in the tub under the bar. Snorting, she replied, “Yeah, yeah, just add it to the rest of your complaints about my drinks. Not that it stopped you from slamming them back as fast as I poured them.”

Klaus smirked, rising unsteadily to his feet. “A bartender should understand proper citrus techniques. Zesting citrus in advance may save time, but it dries out the fragrance and flavor you’d otherwise infuse into your drinks.”

Normally, having her bartending skills drunkenly criticized would have Caroline covertly charging an ‘asshat tax’ when she closed out the tab, but there was something about Klaus that made her more amused than angry. She’d stealthily admired his cheekbones most of the evening, and when he occasionally stretched, the muscle definition was undeniable. He wore his classic good looks with casual indifference, but a curious melancholy hung over him despite his snarky wit. There was more than just heartbreak below his surface, and she was curious to know more. Nope. Don’t get involved. It’s not your job to fix broken people.

As he continued to hopelessly fumble with his wallet, she gently pressed her palm to his forearm and said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

It was the first genuine smile he’d given all night, and he lurched forward, placing a sweet kiss to her knuckles. “You radiate light and beauty. I should’ve known you were are an angel, Caroline.” He stumbled out of the bar before she could speak, cheeks flushed at the way his accented voice lovingly caressed her name.

Caroline busied herself closing up the bar, barely resisting the urge to glance out the front to see if Klaus had managed to operate his ride app correctly. Not your problem. She waved off a few of the locals who invited her to the dunes to watch the sea turtle nests. They’d be hatching soon, but a bubble bath and some bad reality TV sounded much more appealing at the moment.

Lost in her thoughts, she nearly stumbled over Klaus as she took the trash to the dumpster. With a gasp, she knelt beside him, realizing he was snoring loudly and his pockets were turned inside out.

Damn it, Enzo.

“Come on, Klaus, wake up,” she hissed, lightly smacking his cheek.

With a groan of protest, Klaus managed to sit up against the dirty brick wall, mumbling, “Bloody wanker came at me, but I gave him a right show with this,” he cursed, triumphantly waving around a fist.

She helped him up, muttering under her breath, “Nice work. Although it looks like he still snagged your wallet and ring.” At his crestfallen expression, she hurriedly reassured him, “But don’t worry! I’ll give Enzo a call and we’ll fix it, I promise.”

________________________________________

When she heard the loud thump followed by an impressive string of cursing, Caroline knew Klaus finally was awake. It was the first time she’d let a drunk stay on her couch who wasn’t a local, but he was far too out of it to be a threat last night. Plus, her bartending over the years had given her an almost infallible bullshit meter. Klaus wasn’t dangerous. Just dangerously sexy. She rolled her eyes at that thought.

She’d given Enzo an earful last night for not keeping a closer watch on his crew. When he dropped off Klaus’ stuff, he gave Caroline a saucy little wink and teased, “My apologies, gorgeous. I didn’t know my mates rolled your tourist fluff.”

“Seriously?! It’s not like that — he’s just going through a rough time with his fiancé leaving him at the altar for his brother, and he doesn’t deserve getting his stuff stolen.”

Enzo whistled, a rare look of sympathy flashing in his dark eyes. “Bollocks. No wonder he went after Jeremy like a man possessed. Gave him one hell of a shiner too — it’s my new wallpaper on my phone.”

Klaus stumbled into her kitchen, looking just as adorably rumpled as he did last night. Curse her weakness for complete disasters. He squinted at the sunlight pouring in from her open windows, and winced at the cheerful whirring and hissing of her espresso machine. “Caroline?”

She blushed to the roots of her hair, ridiculously pleased that he remembered her name. “Good morning, Klaus.” She slid the cup and saucer toward him. “It’s a double shot — I figured you could use it.”

He blinked, taking a sip as he said gratefully, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome. Um, so you probably don’t remember much from last night, but after I found you passed out in the alley, you kept muttering you were staying at a bed and breakfast. Which isn’t helpful when there’s one on almost every corner in this town. So, I let you crash here instead.”

Klaus gave her a small smile, rubbing his forehead as he muttered, “It’s a sad commentary on my life that I’ve been in the presence of friends and family this past week and the most kindness I’ve been shown has been from a stranger.”

“We’re not strangers,” Caroline protested with a gentle smile. “We’re just friends who haven’t finished bonding.” As she refilled his cup, she winked, “And when it’s my turn, I’m counting on you to have a very generous pour when I get left at the altar.”

He suddenly froze, rapidly patting at his pockets, and she quickly said, “Hey, no, it’s okay! I got your stuff back.” She reached into the drawer between them, pulling out his wallet and carefully setting his grandmother’s ring on top of it. “See? I told you I’d fix it.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, he pocketed his belongings, telling her, “You’re amazing, love. An angel, just as I suspected.” His gaze suddenly turned shrewd as he studied her, “You know the thief.”

“Yes. I have a friend who runs a crew that robs tourists that look like they can afford it.” At his frown, Caroline felt the absurd need to make Klaus understand. “Work here is seasonal at best for a lot of us, and Enzo kind of redistributes wealth when he can.” She held her breath, waiting for his judgement. He had swans at his almost-wedding, for fuck’s sake. His type was definitely Enzo’s favorite target.

Klaus let out an unexpected chuckle, telling her, “We should hope your friend never meets Kol. When we were in school, he set up an underground sports betting pool with the faculty and most of the staff.” Shaking his curly head in bemusement, he added, “Kol had teachers giving him passing grades just to pay off their gambling debts.”

She burst out laughing, wiping away tears as she imagined the crazy shenanigans Enzo and Kol would get into. That’s not going to happen. Klaus is on vacation, remember? His ruined honeymoon. Her smile was overly bright as she started pulling containers from the refrigerator, explaining, “My friend Matt runs the cafe down the road. I wasn’t sure what your go-to hangover food was, so I got you mine — butter biscuits and spicy sausage gravy, vanilla custard French toast, and orange juice.”

“You’ve spoiled me, sweetheart. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to repay all the kindness you’ve shown me.”

She did her best not to blush at the intensity of his gaze as he helped her set the table. They ate in companionable silence, listening to the small town slowly come to life on the street below. She waited until Old Man Gilbert’s noisy pontoon boat left the docks for the morning dolphin tour, and once the street was back to a manageable hum, she tentatively said, “Listen, I don’t know what you’re planning to do when you get back home, or if you’ve even allowed yourself to think that far ahead, but I wanted to offer you some advice.”

When he raised an intrigued eyebrow, but didn’t comment, she blurted out, “Go crazy. This is one of those moments where you can change whatever boring, expected path you’d planned out. Invite a little chaos into your life — do something wild and unexpected.”

The sudden press of Klaus’ lips to hers was just as thrilling as she’d imagined. He had her up against the cabinets with a resounding thud that seemed to fuel their frenzied kisses. The feel of his stubble against her neck was spicy-sweet pain that made her groan. Emboldened by her reaction, he dipped his head lower, running his tongue along her collarbone as he palmed her breast.

Caroline reached between them, rubbing the outline of his erection with a satisfied hum. It had been far too long since someone made her skin sing. He wanted her. And yesterday he wanted someone else. That thought alone jerked her out of their pleasurable haze. Placing a palm on his chest, she gently pushed him back, her words a bit jumbled as she panted, “That was...I mean...but we shouldn’t...”

Klaus’ cheeks were flushed as he smirked, “You advised me to do something wild and unexpected, sweetheart.”

She snorted, “Seriously? That was totally expected.” Her tone grew serious as she told him, “Klaus, you’re going through something huge right now and I’m not looking to be someone’s detour on the way back to their life.”

“You aren’t a detour — you’re a destination,” he replied. “But you’re probably right — I’ve had a bloody awful time of it. I need to get myself sorted.”

The determination on his face gave her hope; Klaus would be ok.

________________________________________

Four months later, Caroline was loading up the pushcart with kegs for that evening’s tasting room event when Enzo strolled into the supply room, wearing his serious brows. She hadn’t seen those since she’d dropped Klaus off at the airport and then sulked on Enzo’s couch for days. He’d argued that she was being stubborn and should go track Klaus down. But she didn’t want to get in the middle of his left-at-the-altar-for-his-brother drama. She refused to be someone’s second choice.

“For fuck’s sake, what is it,” she asked in exasperation, wiping the sweat at her temples with the bottom of her old t-shirt.

Frowning, he jerked his head toward the street, telling her, “Looks like some competition has moved in, gorgeous.” At her skeptical expression, he pulled her outside, pointing to a sign that proclaimed ‘A Little Chaos’ was opening soon. It looked like a bar. Right across the street from her bar. Frowning, she quickly made her way over, blinking in disbelief as she came face-to-face with a familiar devilish smirk.

“Caroline! I was just on my way to see you,” Klaus greeted her, that knowing smile making her blush despite her anger.

“You’re opening a bar. Across from my bar,” she said flatly, eyeing the exquisite, hand-lettered gold leaf sign that probably cost more than her rent. “A hipster bar,” she added, wrinkling her nose.

He chuckled as he lightly corrected her, “A speakeasy. I’ll be able to show this town how to make a proper Ward Eight.” With an impish wink, he reminded her, “Someone told me to invite a little chaos into my life. I decided to take her advice.”

#klaroline fall bingo #uppity bitch fanfic #klaroline fanfic #klaroline #klaroline aesthetic #aesthetic #klaroline does left at the altar plus meet cute #and amusing pickpockets #plus murder swans

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simptasia · 3 years

Note

ship number ask game;;;; 1, 7, 8, 15, 23, 29, 32, 33, 44 for mistoria please 🥺

thank you so much, keena!! :D

How do they fall asleep? Wake up? Any daily rituals?

typically they fall asleep curled up together spooning (in munku’s bed, or the love nest misto made on his roof, or victoria’s bed at the egyptian, etc), and most of the time misto is the big spoon because he’s ever so protective. they both wuv cuddles, they could stay like that for hours and hours. and they do

they wakin’ up looking like a couple of very content kitties. often purring

daily rituals? nothing they do together is something i’d call a ritual

What annoys them the most about their partner? Would they change it if they could?

uhhh misto is rather insecure so he’s self-deprecating and he doesn’t take compliments as well as one should. victoria could Almost consider this annoying, but mostly she finds it sad and concerning. yeah he got a confidence boost in the movie but he’s gonna still have some issues for a bit. as for misto with victoria,,, uh, victoria is impulsive and highly impressionable and that can get her into trouble and that worries him, so he wishes she’d think things thru a bit more. but again, i don’t think he finds it annoying, as much as... worrisome

so basically neither of them actually dislike anything about the other

What do the like best about their partner?

they both love each other’s kindness the best

cats, even these sapient cats, aren’t Especially deep creatures so they’re mainly thinking with their hearts and some other organs. ahem. so they love each other for being kind and sweet and good and funny and also sexy reasons. misto also loves what a good dancer victoria is, i mention because dancing is obviously incredibly important to the culture of jellicle cats. it’s like a mystical language

How adventurous are they?

victoria, Very. misto, coax him and he’ll get into it

victoria is down for anything, she’s hungry for Experiences, her eyes aglitter with wonder and curiosity. misto is an anxious overthinker but victoria (and munku) can convince him to do anything. ANYTHING. he needs to remember that he has the powers of a fucking god and maybe he’ll calm down a bit. anyways once he’s in The Adventure he’s like “oh this is really fun! why was i worried”

How do they hug? Kiss? Tease? Flirt? Comfort?

hug: ohhh misto would have to bend pretty much in half or get down on his knees because he’s a Long Boy and victoria is widdle. itsy bitsy. or he’s holding her to his chest. mostly they hug laying down anyways. i’m reminded of that post thats like “the ideal hug is 45 minutes”, yeah that. tight, unabashed, nuzzly affection. oh, with tails curled together too! how could i almost forget that

kiss: i personally shy away from imagining the cats kissing. i like the idea that nuzzles, in certain contexts and relationships, are their version of kissing. (like, their nuzzle during misto’s song very much felt like a movie’s Big Damn Kiss moment) i’m not against people writing/drawing Cats universe cats human style kissing, they just don’t in my version of this world in my head....... that and i find writing about kissing to be especially hard so the idea of writing nuzzles and other affections instead makes me feel pleased

tease: sometimes victoria will purposely move her tail is an extra slow and hypnotic manner in order to draw attention to... some attention deserving areas below the tail. and misto? tease? oh please. mr. Yes Victoria, No Victoria, Step On Me, Victoria, I’ve Been A Good Boy ain’t teasing nobody

flirt: i wouldn’t so much call it flirting as i’d call it They Want Each Other Desperately And Aren’t Subtle About It. also dancing. also based on the movie, misto’s form of flirting is to suddenly expose pretty cats to juggling and card tricks....... bewildering but effective. we make fun but by the end of the movie, he’s got two of the hottest cats in the tribe, so checkmate atheists

comfort: hold the other tight and pet their head while telling them they’re here for the other. whilst making soft soothing noises and rocking a bit

How do the handle disasters or emergencies? Minor injuries? Sickness?

disasters and emergencies? when something goes wrong the first plan is always Get Munkustrap, He’ll Know What To Do

minor injuries, i’m picturing victoria is a hurt leg, like she fell over and got a cut from something in the bin, and misto panics slightly but gets a band-aid from his top hat and tends to it, which is cute. also if victoria’s leg was can’t walk hurt, misto would piggy back her everywhere. just thought i’d mention that adorable mental image. as for sickness,,,, uhhh dote on each other i guess. keep cozy on misto’s roof, lotsa blankets and such

Do they ever get into trouble? Is it serious, or are they just mischievous?

yeah sometimes, nah never anything serious. misto for knocking shit over. and victoria can be pretty rowdy when given the chance (see: mungo and rumple’s song, where she also trashs a peson’s house and dinner jhdsajhdsa)

...also misto has gotten in trouble with his owners in the past for... how do i put this... loving the household pillows more than one should

it was a phase he went thru, he don’t do that anymore

What kind of presents do they get each other? Do they only do it on special occasions?

oh you know, traditional stuff: jewellery... food... buttons... dead birds

misto is a self described romantical cat after all

and nah, not just on special occasions, they’d both like “hey i found something shiny or tasty for you” or “i killed this, please enjoy it” and viola

Are the comfortable with each other? Anything they have to have their privacy for?

yes, they’re very comfortable with each other. at most, misto gets discomfort due to severe nervousness but thats not like discomfort with victoria

and for the second question,,,, you’re kidding, right? they’re cats. these two would casually lick themselves in front of each other. ah, okay, actually, there is some stuff involving misto’s favourite toy, a plush toy rabbit named flopsy, that he kept to himself beforehand buuuut he gets over that. misto gets his weird little shame spirals sometimes but they always get past it because victoria is so delightfully non-judgemental and sweet and down for whatever

thank you for your time!

#cats 2019 #gonna nip this in the bud: if you hate this movie why'd you click that read more huh #annnyways i really enjoyed this #i've been discussing cats a lot with my friends lately #and i looove these two so much #johnmulaneyhentai

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diamondsaregold · 4 years

Text

“Unraveled” – Robin x MC

Pairing: Robin (M!) x MC (F!) The Nanny Affair, Choices

Rating: T Summary: After walking in on a private moment between Sam and MC, Robin is forced to make sense of his jealousy and comes face-to-face with an unbridled truth—his burgeoning affinity for her. A conversation between the two at the company picnic makes clear that their entangled feelings are more real than both of them could have ever imagined. A/N: Well, we saw a lot of Robin’s angry face in the last chapter—so much that I began indulging myself in the fantasy that seeing MC with Sam made him jealous. Somehow the fact that this is a “one-LI book” (fingers-crossed that this could change, although the fact that M! Robin is Bradshaw in a Wig makes this fantasy highly unlikely) only makes the idea of Robin more enticing. Please enjoy this introspective re-imagining of Chapter 10, starring a grumpy, jealous Robin coming to terms with all his feelings. Also, it’s been awhile since I posted on Tumblr, hello! I’ve missed you all. Life has been treating me well and I hope it has for you too. Sending virtual hugs your way.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25775095

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

Robin knew he was being childish.

The annual company picnic was a well-earned break for the team at Dalton Enterprises, a rare opportunity for his colleagues to enjoy the New York sunshine and decompress from their hectic work lives. At the park, flocks of employees gathered around gingham picnic blankets while chattering away; around the corner, a queue of people lined up at the stalls to pick up their complimentary lunch from the gourmet caterers, personally requested by Sam. On everyone’s face was a beaming smile.

Everyone, except for Robin.

Sitting on a blanket on the edge of the park, Robin stormily surveyed the chipper scene about him. After picking up his sandwich (some sort of fancible concoction of tuna and high-end mayonnaise) and grudgingly thanking the staff, he had stomped over to an empty picnic blanket. He did his best to swerve around employees looking to start a conversation with him and cut off any exceptionally friendly colleagues with terse one-word remarks.

No doubt, his foul demeanor at the company picnic was drawing curious looks from his colleagues. As he unwrapped his sandwich, he caught the next group over murmuring in low voices while shooting surreptitious glances at him. He couldn’t blame them for gossiping. It was unusual for him to depart from his charming self, let alone at one of the most anticipated social events in the company. On an ordinary afternoon, he’d be walking through the park, darting in and out from different groups, trading jokes with all the employees he passed by. After a lifetime of being second-best to an over-achieving brother, Robin took care to maintain his sociable persona—it was the only thing he had going for him, after all.

But after what he had seen that afternoon, he honestly couldn’t care less about his image. It was a scene that had been burned into his mind for the past three hours. Robin stared down at his uneaten sandwich, losing his appetite as he recalled.

There they stood—just a few feet apart from each other, clothes slightly rumpled, faces flushed and breathing hard. Sam and his nanny, caught seconds away from (or perhaps seconds after) what appeared to be a secret rendezvous at work. Upon Robin’s incredulous interrogation, she had haltingly explained that they had been “discussing work.”

He couldn’t resist an eye roll. While he certainly wasn’t the genius that Sam was, Robin was no fool. He wasn’t blind to the flush on his older brother’s face, the way his body was angled towards hers even as they stood far apart and avoided Robin’s eyes. What gripped him wasn’t a smug glee that his uptight, perfect brother had finally gotten caught with a woman (his nanny, no less) at work—it was the stab of pain Robin felt.

Staring at her, with the collar of her shirt crumpled and hastily smoothed down (by who, he wondered), her lips slightly parted, Robin felt a coil in his stomach twisting and unraveling. It lasted for a second, before boiling away and leaving rage in his wake.

He had snapped at them, scolded them for their inappropriate behavior at work, before stomping off. The rest of the day Robin had spent stewing in his office, glowering at any employees who attempted to speak to him.

Now under the sunlight of a perfect New York afternoon, Robin was continuing to mope around at the picnic. He had a scowl etched into his face during all of his exchanges with her, as he made sure to throw out snide comments about the state of her relationship with his brother, much to the bewilderment of their colleagues. The flash of annoyance on his brother’s face almost made him feel better, until he saw the hurt on her face.

Great. If his day couldn’t get any worse, now he was being a colossal asshole to her.

Why was he so angry? Robin bit into his sandwich, not tasting anything (guess those gourmet ingredients Sam loved weren’t doing their job; he gave a silent shoutout to his taste buds for tapping out). As he chewed on the tasteless lunch, he sifted through his memories.

It wasn’t like their flirting before had meant anything to him. It was just a game to both of them.

The first time he saw her at Sam’s apartment he was immediately intrigued—a bright-eyed graduate with a sharp tongue, shaking her head amusedly with a raised eyebrow as he introduced himself with his usual lilt and charm. It was a warm exasperation that sang, “I can handle you,” not a reaction Robin was used to receiving. When Sam wasn’t looking, he appreciatively took in her pin-straight, stylish attire, the gentle sway of her hips as she walked across the living room, the pucker of her lips when one of the boys said something unsavory. He found her attractive, incredibly so, but he also caught the heated glances she and Sam shot each other.

And so Robin shrugged off his crush. He wasn’t one to commit anyways, especially not to a woman he had just met. From a young age, he had lived by an unspoken rule that whoever Sam wanted was out of his bounds; any woman who liked his brother wasn’t going to like him anyways. He felt a snide joy too at the revelation that Sam, the straight-laced, faultless CEO, engaged to a woman he harbored no love for, was on the brink of jumping ship for his pretty nanny. Talk about tabloid perfection and PR disaster.

It was Robin who had continued to flirt with her for the expressed purpose of seeing that unbecoming scowl on his brother’s face every time he winked at her. They played the “Make Sam Jealous” game, a form of entertainment that Robin had enjoyed for as long as he could recall. This particular round with her, however, was far more pleasurable than any he could remember before. A breeze swept through Central Park, fanning across Robin’s steadily warming face, as he remembered that night.

At the engagement party, he had whisked her away onto the dance floor before suggesting teaming up to make him jealous. The rush when he slid his arms around her waist, hearing her tinkling laugh as he pulled her close and Sam’s distracted stumbling on stage, was more potent than any childlike glee at pissing off his brother. Robin found himself enjoying this secret plot as a treasured chance to drink in the little details of her—the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, the crinkle of her nose when Sofia began her drawling speech, the mischievous gleam in her chocolate eyes that he had learned early on was an indicator of a devious idea.

When she leaned in and whispered, “Kiss me,” Robin had frozen under the headiness of her gaze. For a split second he forgot that they were playing a game. That she, one of the most enchanting women he’d ever met, presently asking him for a kiss, wasn’t his brother’s nanny. That it wasn’t his brother, who was currently standing (glistening, like a goddamn vampire) under the headlights on the stage, that she wanted.

As Robin stared down at his sandwich, perfectly intact except for the single bite he had taken, he felt that coiling sensation return to his stomach. He shot to his feet, almost stepping on a neighboring group’s picnic blanket in his rush to get out. “Sorry,” he muttered, before hurrying off the lawn, dumping his mostly uneaten sandwich into the nearest trash can.

Weaving between the groups meandering about the food stalls, he made sure that he had jogged a safe distance away from the rest of the party, before pressing his hands into his forehead and letting out a groan.

What was he thinking? Falling for a woman that didn’t—couldn’t—want him. He couldn’t have entertained affections for any other single, available woman in the world? Robin scowled at the couple walking across the street from him, swinging their hands between them as they strolled.

Typical. He always wanted the things he couldn’t have.

The sound of a soft, familiar voice caught his attention. Robin turned around to see the woman that had been occupying his mind for the past few hours. There she was, standing several feet away from, presently ordering food from one of the stalls.

He watched as she read over the menu, scrunching her face as she read over each item. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, exposing the skin of her shoulders. She looks good in plaid, Robin mused, as his gaze trailed over her legs and her jean shorts, different from her usual formal outfits he saw her in. Usually, she looked so prim and serious; the only tell of her spunk was the flash in her eyes, which only appeared when he said something vastly inappropriate (and hilarious, so he thought). Here, in her casual attire, she seemed far more at ease. With her windswept hair and her summery top rippling gently, she looked like a vision—the perfect nanny, he thought wryly.

When she took her order—vanilla ice cream, he noted with curiosity—from the vendor, Robin shook himself out of his outfit-induced stupor. Vaguely, he considered that it might be a good idea for him to stay away from her, but when did he listen to good ideas? Raking his fingers through his hair quickly to smooth it down, he stuffed his hands into his jeans and strolled up to her.

“You’re a hard woman to catch alone, you know?” He kept his voice as smooth as possible, trying for an air of friendly detachment.

When she whipped around, he caught the wariness in her face, for a second, before it dissolved. Ah. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, after the temper tantrum he had been throwing for the entire afternoon.

Her voice was careful, measured. “I wasn’t aware you had been trying.” Her eyes darted away, as if she wanted to escape his prying gaze—or, as if she were searching for someone else.

The thought stoked a lance of rage within Robin; he felt as if he were walking in on her in the lab again, clothes disheveled, only feet away from his brother. Crossing his arms, he stepped forward and met her gaze head-on.

"After what I saw at the lab, talking to you is all I've been able to think about." His words spilled out in an agitated rush, as he struggled to hold back the question burning in his stomach.

“What the hell is going on between you and Sam?”

Her forehead creased, but she didn’t look away. Robin noted that her eyes glowed hazel under the sunlight. “You want the truth?” Her voice was level and low, just as business-like as how she composed herself whenever Sofia was terrorizing the house or the twins were bickering again. "I admit I find him attractive. But that doesn't mean I can't respect boundaries."

She was too calm. Far too calm. Robin swallowed the wave of bitterness, edged with a smoldering anger, rising in his throat. "It didn't look like there were any boundaries when I walked in on you two in the lab,” he bit back, ignoring the flush of heat spreading across his cheeks. “Care to enlighten on what precisely happened before I entered the room?”

At his snide remark, her face morphed into a scowl; she crossed her arms defensively (good, he preferred anger to the hurt on her face). Two could play this game, he supposed. “That is none of your business,” she retorted, as her cheeks flushed to mirror his own.

Unbelievable. “You made it my business when I saw you with Sam, alone, in the lab!”

“You know what they say about assuming, Robin.”

God, even when she was angry, he loved hearing his name fall out of her mouth.

Robin stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Look.” He mulled over his churning thoughts and rubbed a hand over his forehead, exhaling heavily. “Sam is a great guy. Maybe, in another life, you two could’ve been great together.” He forced the admission out, despite the ache that accompanied it. “But in this life, he has a family and fiancee that he’s responsible to. Whatever is going on between you two needs to end.”

Her gaze drifted to the floor as his words reached her. “The last thing I want to see is you getting hurt,” he continued on, feeling a hitch in his voice as he attempted to steer away from the less gilded version of the truth. “I was onboard for making him mad when I thought he didn't want me sleeping with his nanny. I didn't know I was making him legitimately jealous.”

He swallowed, before continuing on. “I thought it was just some innocent flirtation between you two. But it’s not, is it?”

It was the realization—that there was a deeper connection between her and Sam, a bond that he was not privy to—that twisted the knife further into his side. Judging from her inability to meet his eyes and the slow hunch of her shoulders, he guessed that it was hitting her too.

This wasn’t a fantasy. It was real.

Robin’s words, for once, were all dried up. There was nothing he could summon up to dissolve the tension that had formed between them, an impenetrable barrier of “what-ifs.”

What if she weren’t his brother’s nanny? What if they had met first? The knowledge that Sam probably mulled over these possibilities before as well, that they were both pining after a woman that they couldn’t have, only left a bitter taste in his mouth.

At the lull in the conversation, her head hung down. They were silent for a few moments, before she spoke quietly. There was an edge of desperation to her voice he had never heard before. “I don't know what to do.”

“I’d make a suggestion, but I know you wouldn’t listen.” It wasn’t a snide remark—he meant it. Robin had seen enough of her fierce resolve to know that she made her own choices. Once she made up her mind, she would listen to no one. It was one of the qualities he admired most about her. Her hair slipped in front of her eyes, and he suppressed the urge to sweep it back for her.

She locked his eyes on him, and he suppressed a swallow. Gaze trailing over her collar and neckline, he took note of a gold necklace he hadn't seen before; he wondered if it was a gift from Sam. “I just wish I could go back to a few weeks ago,” she murmured, twisting her hands together. “Before this all blew up. Before I had all these things to consider.”

“Like last weekend’s engagement fete?”

She let out a laugh, a chiming sound that Robin tried to commit to his memory. “I have to admit that party was the highlight of my month.”

He grinned, besides himself, and leaned in closer. “What, conspiring with me to make my brother jealous?” He tried to hide the bitterness from his voice.

Clearly, it didn’t fool her. Her eyes softened as she peered up at him.

It was her eyes that first drew him to her—a gaze that never wavered. He was enchanted by the way she looked at people—at strangers, at the twins, at Sam too. How quickly her eyes shifted, from deep and reflective, to sparkling and joyous, to furious and flashing. She was never afraid to be vulnerable, to be honest, or to take a risk that might leave her reeling. She wasn’t like him; she didn’t have to hide behind layers of charming one-liners and flirty comments. She was real.

She took a breath. “Actually...I was thinking about dancing with you. That was my favorite part of the night.” His mouth fell open slightly, and she paused. “Thanks for kissing me, by the way. It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing. I didn’t expect you to play along.” Maybe it was his imagination, but he could’ve sworn that her eyes gleamed when she made the last statement.

For a guy who prided himself in easily making friends and charming the living daylights out of strangers, Robin had spent his entire life dutifully preventing people from becoming too close to him. He was accustomed to covering up his feelings when they became too strong for him to paper over with charisma. When a relationship entered serious territory, he’d hit the panic button—irritate his girlfriends enough to get them to dump him in public, to cause a scene that’d distract himself and the world from what was turning over inside of him. It was better to keep them away than to let them down eventually; it was inevitable, given his own history of dissapointment in his family.

Robin had already accepted the fact that he would never be number one in anything—but he’d be damned if he would be last. He wouldn’t be made a fool by anyone or anything.

Yet standing in front of her, on a picturesque day at the park, Robin found himself questioning everything he believed in. Amidst the tangled threads of attraction, the rocky waters of company protocol and forbidden relationships, there was something pure about the moments he had spent with her. When he had whisked her away from Sam at the engagement party, murmuring conspiratorially into her ear, “You look like you could use a break,” he saw the visage of his honeyed words slipping away. Sam and the engagement party could have erupted into flames for all he cared. All he wanted, in that moment, was to hold him in her arms.

There was a yearning, growing within him, that he couldn’t hold back now.

“You know I didn’t kiss you just to piss off Sam, right?”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, at his sudden admission. Robin should have taken that as a sign to bite his tongue, but the train couldn’t be stopped anymore.

Ever since Robin was young, his father had always chided him to slow down. An audio recording of him yelling, “Be more careful, Robin!” could have very well been the soundtrack of his childhood. Unlike the cautious Sam, Robin was naturally reckless, always seeking out thrills to the dismay of his image-obsessed family. Try as he might to tamper his impulsiveness though, his efforts were never enough for their father.

The one time that Sam had ever been impulsive in life was when he had stolen her away for a private moment only hours ago—before being interrupted by Robin, no less. It was she who had driven his perfect brother to put his career and his livelihood on the line

Robin was beginning to understand why Sam had been so careless over these past few weeks, so apparently willing to risk everything he had ever worked for. It was her.

He stepped closer, gazing down at her. Breathing in her scent, he drank in the gentle curve of her face and her neck, framed by her windswept hair. He imagined Sam standing in the same position just hours ago, before his lust-addled brain banished that thought.

He was already standing on the edge of the cliff; he knew he may as well jump off.

“I kissed you because I wanted to.”

Her lips parted, and he was descending, diving, drowning into the pool of her eyes.

Leaning down, Robin brushed a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, revelling in the softness of her skin. She was so close that he could count all of her freckles, see that her lips formed the shape of a heart. Perfect.

Finally, finally. All he could register was the aroma of her soft floral perfume, the dim memory of their last kiss a week ago, an ache that Robin didn’t realize was throbbing in his chest for too long, begging for release.

He was a fool, but he didn’t care. Robin saw her eyes flutter close, before his followed suit—

“Hey, come see Mickey cannonball into the fountain!”

They leapt apart, putting an appropriate amount of space between them just before Mason came sprinting up to the pair. His hair was sopping wet, leaving Robin afraid to see the state of Mickey’s. The other twin in question came hurtling over only seconds later, his button-up shirt completely drenched, presumably from their antics in the water. Despite the storm of desire rattling his brain, Robin couldn’t help but stifle a derisive snort at the thought of Sam’s exasperation later.

The twins paused, suddenly taking in the two of them, standing awkwardly apart from each other. Mickey’s head tilted in confusion. Robin thought sheepishly back to how he had behaved likewise only just hours ago, when he had walked in on his brother in the same position that he was now in. Caught red-handed with the nanny.

“Hey, did you two get into a fight?” Mickey’s face was far too innocent to know the stabbing truth that his question held.

Robin forced a smile, straightening his back. “Of course not, kiddo. You’ve got one of the best nannies in the world.” Both of their faces perked up at this. “I could never fight with her.”

His gaze flitted over to her, standing a few feet away as the twins reached up to grab her hands, ever the reaffirming picture of the perfect nanny. Her cheeks were still flushed and he read the tangle of confused feelings written all over her face. She was staring at him again with that shining gaze again, vulnerable and open as the first time he met her. Because of him.

His stomach twisted. So much for not wanting her to get hurt.

Robin took his leave before she could say anything in response—he didn’t want to hear what she had to say about him in front of the twins. He wasn’t sure if he could put on a smiling front any longer. “I’ll see you guys later. Be nice to your nanny.” He turned as his throat constricted, and hurried off.

Shortly afterwards, he called a limo to take him home, citing exhaustion as the reason for his early departure from the picnic. His colleagues told him to get some rest; his father, unsurprisingly, said nothing. Before he stepped into the car, he caught sight of her, next to Sam on the lawn. He ignored the lance of pain upon seeing them stand so close together.

He caught her eye for a second, but before he could be drawn into the faint glimmer in her eye, he forced himself to walk away and get into the car.

As the limo pulled away from Central Park, Robin stared blankly out the window. His agony was laughable—it was Sam that was supposed to be held back by this forbidden romance with her; he was the one that was already engaged. Yet here Robin was, the perpetual second-best, always left behind, trapped within the same snared feelings. He found some cruel relief in the knowledge that both he and Sam shared the same predicament.

Was it love at first sight? For him, and for Sam, too? He laughed bitterly; what a twist of fate that he and his perfect brother had the same weakness—a woman they could not have. No matter what happened, Robin knew for certain that they were all going to be hurt.

Thinking of what she had said that afternoon, about her wish to go back to last week, Robin wished he could rewind time too. To not rejoice in the stolen moments where she wasn’t occupied with Sam and the twins, to not stay in the office alone with her as he inched closer and closer, to not pull her to his side on the dance floor as he felt the pit in his stomach sinking deeper. Maybe if he could have stayed away, he would be able to retrieve his heart from the snare of her bright gaze.

Or maybe—Robin could’ve charmed her first, before his brother got to her. Maybe then, she’d be sneaking away at the office to be in his arms, not Sam’s. Maybe they would be sitting on a picnic blanket together at Central Park, enjoying a perfect afternoon. Maybe, when no one else was looking, he’d be pressing her against the side of the stall, kissing her over and over again until he was intoxicated from the scent of her.

As the sky darkened steadily, Robin watched the cityscape pass in a blur. He already knew where this fantasy would end. This wasn’t his story. But he was in too deep and there was no hope of getting out.

#the nanny affair #robin flores #robin x mc #mc x robin #tna #playchoices #choices #choices stories you play #nanny affair #choices fanfiction #choices nanny affair #choices fanfic #tna robin #robin tna #pixelberry #my writing #somebody get robin the abc book of feelings

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unseeliekey · 4 years

Note

Shuichi and Kokichi getting married 💜💙 What do you think that would be like?

IM SORRY IVE BEEN SITTING ON THIS ASK FOR SO LONG I JUST. I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ON IT AND I WANTED TO DO IT JUSTICE. REST UNDER READMORE BECAUSE THIS GETS LONG.

I think! it depends a lot on the universe. i am going to ignore japan’s current stance on gay marriage for this. Post game/VR AU... I’m not sure if they would get married, but if they did, they’d go out of their way to avoid any kind of PR (maybe having learned from kaimaki’s mistakes.) It would either be very, very minimal, or... the whole class is invited (probably minus Shirogane) and it’s very big despite there being twelve guests in attendance- Angie magistrates, obviously! It’s a big affair- a little bittersweet at times, because how can it not be, and Kokichi jokes about his own death and Shuichi shoves cake in his face, and they both have people missing, but their friends are loud enough to make up for it.

It’s similar in a nondespair AU, I think, but... I like parties and I’m going to chat about them having a party! The whole class is invited (plus Shirogane this time) and so are Shuichi’s uncle, and DICE, and NO ONE ELSE. They’ve got some other friends- Shuichi through work, Kokichi through... Kokichi stuff, but not really wedding friends. I think both of them are actually quite private about it- Shuichi is shy, and the attention flusters him, and as much as Kokichi loves drama, he also. Does not like showing vulnerability and it probably gives him HIVES even thinking about it. Writing his vows takes months, (which is fine, because planning also takes months, and Shuichi has his vows down a week after they’re engaged but he spends the entire time overthinking them and ends up stammering when he actually reads them.) DICE end up having to drag Kokichi by his teeth to get out some genuine sentiments- but his still ends up filled with in-jokes and puns and on paper it’s very playful and teasing and fun, a nice contrast to Shuichi’s almost painfully earnest words.

and shuichi goes “oh. yeah. that’s fair actually.” and he ends up emailing their work emails that they never check so technically he told them. but they don’t rsvp and they don’t show up and he only thinks about them a few times.

Anyway! I don’t think the event is traditional at all. Planning is a disaster because Kokichi wants big and Shuichi wants Kokichi to have anything that makes him laugh, and Kokichi secretly wants little secret meanings everywhere. (Chess pieces on the cake, little fake detective pinboards, not-so-subtle floral language, objects that don’t mean anything to anyone but them.) Shuichi panics for a while about his friends, and his parents, and he overthinks it for a long time because he’s not sure if he wants to try and keep the event a little classier for them, or just say fuck it, because who knows if they’re even going to goddamn show up, right?

And Kokichi, who has already invited his nine people, just goes “okay, don’t invite them, then?”

And Shuichi flounders for a while because they’re his parents and it’s his wedding, and then he asks if Kokichi will be insulted if they don’t show up, to which Kokichi informs him that if they do, there’s a minor chance of a fist fight.

Shuichi goes “you’ll fight my parents on our wedding day????”

And Kokichi goes “no, momota-chan will.”

Because his uncle is there! And Kaito is there (crying the whole way through) and Kaede! and Maki! and Himiko! and Kokichi.

I think in a post game, they walk up the aisle together, because tradition is stupid and they want to be close and they were making out two minutes before the band began to play. but in a universe where Kokichi has DICE with him? Shuichi can wait at the altar (which he is okay with, because, again, anxious) and Kokichi can walk up like the smuggest bastard you’ve ever seen. He does NOT have a veil. What he does have is the most ridiculous fucking cape you’ve ever seen. It’s white, and velvet, and furred, and bedazzled with ballet jewelery, and it takes all nine members of DICE to keep it from dragging all over the chairs around the aisle. It’s so stupid. He trips half way up. Shuichi, who is already dying of nerves, laughs so hard he almost falls over.

A lot of things go wrong, I think. There’s only 26 people there and a photographer, and neither of them wanted to do rehearsals or anything, so the whole thing is being winged. Something gets set on fire at some point. They accidentally break open a bottle of vintage honeymoon wine from Rantaro instead of the champagne they were meant to be drinking. Kokichi’s white cape ends up stained, which he should have expected considering how stupid and big it is. Miu, weeping, calls them both whores in her speech- OH

everyone gives a speech. Shuichi’s uncle doesn’t know many of these people that well (especially not the nine weirdos in evening gowns who no one had met prior to Kokichi disappearing to get ready), but every single one of them has something wonderful to say about his nephew. Some of the stories are ribald, or wild, or a little bit unbelievable- but every single person gets up to congratulate them, and most of them cry.

Anyway! after the speeches they all eat. and drink. there’s cake, but there’s also ice cream and pastries and a bowl of skittles that gets increasingly stick as it’s passed around, and people keep talking and keep laughing. Kokichi explicitly told DICE not to flirt with anyone, so naturally they do, with everyone, including Shuichi’s uncle, who is bemused at best. Shuichi has to run to set out a small fire at some point.

A LIST OF GUESTS WHO CRY:

-Shuichi, choking up as soon as Kokichi reaches him and takes his hands, and then continuing to sniff for the rest of the evening and weep through all the speeches,

-Kiibo, all the way through the vows and uncontrollably,

-Kaito, pretending he isn’t, taking handkerchief after handkerchief from Kaede,

-Kaede, but politely, and she smiles the entire time

-all of DICE, at different points, but they all come up with increasingly stupid excuses for it,

-Korekiyo, who has to excuse himself after the ceremony- when Shuichi hunts him down, he expresses his apology for leaving and says he’s just too happy for them,

-Rantaro, a little, the second Kokichi looks up and wiggles his fingers to show off his ring,

-Miu, the entire way through her speech. Kokichi calls her a crybaby bitch halfway through when it looks like she might be about to break down completely, and that gives her enough strength to get through it,

-Tenko, but she won’t admit it,

-Himiko, openly, only a little bit because she wasn’t allowed to be the flower girl,

-Gonta. a lot. he is one of the happiest people there and he won’t stop crying. he’s embarrassed about it but he’s too happy to stop and he probably makes Kiibo start crying AGAIN at some point,

-Maki, oddly enough, but only when Kokichi and Shuichi move to go and dance. She tries to hide it and snaps at Kaito when he teases her, but when Kaede asks if she’s okay, because they all know she’s not the biggest fan of either Kokichi or the union, she quietly admits she’s crying about seeing Shuichi so happy.

and humiliatingly;

-Kokichi. a lot. through most of it. He gets halfway through his vows and he starts sobbing. Shuichi has to hold his hands to get him through it. He cries when DICE give their blessing and he cries when Shuichi’s uncle gruffly says he’s “a fine young man, though he doesn’t approve of his methods,” and he cries when he calls Miu a crybaby bitch and when Gonta hugs him and when Kiibo sobs into his shoulder and when Kaito musses up his hair and tells him to take care of Shuichi, and he cries through the kiss even though he’s smiling at the same time.

It’s hugely embarrassing to him and years later he refuses to admit to it ever happening despite the photographic evidence otherwise. Shuichi thinks it’s sweet- he’s proud that he managed to be that vulnerable around that many people. Kokichi has called him a slur after he expressed that sentiment.

There’s a last dance, though, after everyone has been dragged to various hotel rooms or passed out drunk, and they should clean up but instead they change the music to something slow- a waltz, maybe, with Shuichi adjusting the stupid cape and Kokichi reaching up to gently fix Shuichi’s tie (which has gotten a little rumpled by this point.) And they dance, with the lights a little lower and helium balloons sagging to the floor, and they dance. And maybe they repeat their vows- not the same words, but the same sentiments. Or maybe they don’t say anything at all.

There’s no first dance as such- music is played, and there’s wine, but Kaede is the first one to start dancing, dragging her date with her and tearing it up. Shuichi’s had a little too much attention, really, and he’s happy to sit back and chat a little more casually and hold Kokichi far too closely as they watch the others slowly migrate to the dancefloor. But after a while- when mostly everyone is dancing and his heart has stopped pounding quite so painfully, and he’s had just enough champagne to feel brave and Kokichi is looking so happy under the lights, he takes his hand and drags him over to the band and requests something- (i’m thinking the lovecats by the cure, both bc goth saihara rights and because it works very well for saiouma i think.) -and then he takes Kokichi’s hands again and they go dancing.

(and obviously everyone is staring at them now, because it’s their wedding, and with that cape how can you not- but Shuichi is too distracted to notice, or maybe too happy to feel self-conscious, and Kokichi is whispering something in his ear that makes him laugh and it’s kind of hard for everyone to look away from them, you know?)

Either way, when they get to their room they probably boink for a bit and then pass out only to be woken up late for their honeymoon two hours later by Rantaro, who knew this would happen and did warn them, and who receives a very nice postcard from France a few days later informing him that they made the flight.

#pov: youre me and you made yourself emo with this #ANYWAY THANK U SO MUCH I LOVE ASKS LIKE THIS #MY GAY HEART IS THRIVING RN THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN #IVE BEEN THINKING ABT IT FOR DAYS #MAYBE I WANNA WRITE A WEDDING FIC?????#thank u again im. weeping softly #asks #chatter #wedding

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livesincerely · 4 years

Text

it’s so easy (too easy) to love you, ch. 2 (END)

Also on Ao3. Chapter 1 here.

00000

“Jack is such a dumbass.”

Davey blinks his way out of his stupor. Tony is staring towards where Jack disappeared out the front door, his expression a mix of exasperation, annoyance, and sheer bafflement.

“Like, I forget sometimes, but he’s actually just a complete fucking moron, isn’t he?” Tony says. “I can’t believe he’s what counts as responsible adult supervision.”

Charlie heaves a massive sigh, shoving his math textbook to the side. “Yeah, that wasn’t his best moment.”

“Not his best moment?” Tony asks, incredulous. “How many years has it been at this point? Seven? Eight?”

“Eight,” Charlie gloomily confirms, shaking his head.

“Eight years we’ve been tryin’ to convince him to pull his head outta his ass and make a move and this is the shit he pulls? Really? He’s lucky that Davey’s basically a sure thing because Jesus Christ—“

Davey’s never been so confused in his entire life. Tony gears up into a full-on rant, splotches of red creeping further and further across his face with each word; Charlie clearly commiserates, chiming in with his own grievances every now and then.

And Davey’s listening, he’s doing his best to follow along, but he must not be understanding correctly. He can’t be. Because it sounds like Tony is implying that Jack…

“—I mean, he’s been in love with him for ages, so he musta had a plan, right? Some sorta idea, even if he’s too chicken shit to do anything with it? Well, I guess somethin’s better than nothin,’ but come on, you’d think he could do better than plantin’ one on Davey by accident—“

Davey’s heart does a series of pirouettes around his chest. He croaks out, “Wait, what?”

“I said, Jack shoulda done better than kissing you, then takin’ off—“

“No, I mean—“ Davey pauses, swallowing around a sudden dryness in his throat. “Go back to the part where you said Jack’s in love with me.”

“Uh, okay, what about it?” Tony says, brow furrowed—like he doesn’t understand what Davey’s getting at.

Davey stares at him. “Jack isn’t in love with me.”

Tony and Charlie exchange a loaded glance.

“Yes, he is, Davey,” Charlie says cautiously. Davey thinks he’d be more irritated with the gentle handling if it weren’t for the fact that his world is tilting off its axis.

“Jack isn’t in love with me,” Davey repeats. The words feel numb as they leave his lips, but he says them anyway. To think otherwise seems unfathomable. “Jack isn’t— Jack can’t be in love with me. I’d know if he was.”

“Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t ya?” Tony mutters.

“No, he is,” Charlie insists. “He’s, like, ridiculously in love with you.”

Davey doesn’t know where to even begin processing that statement. He leans back heavily in his chair and a small, distant part of his brain is grateful that he’s already sitting down, as this revelation would have sent him to the floor. The larger part of his brain is screaming.

“What makes you so sure?” he eventually asks, once he finds the words.

Tony throws him a look. “I have functional fucking eyes.”

“We’re sure, Davey,” Charlie cuts in patiently. “We are absolutely, definitely sure.”

The possibility rattles around Davey’s mind, then starts to take a more solid form. Jack’s in love with me, Jack’s in love with me, Jack’s in love with me.

“He never said anything,” Davey says.

“Yeah, no shit. If it was up to him he woulda taken that one to his grave,” Tony says, rolling his eyes. “But you don’t really need him to say anything—you can just tell.”

“I can’t tell!” Davey disagrees, the tone of his voice edging towards shrill.

“But that’s just you,” Charlie says, like that explanation makes any kind of sense. “Trust us, it’s really obvious to everyone else. Like, painfully obvious.”

“You do realize that the two of you have basically been married for years, right?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows. “You’re, like, disgustingly domestic and you flirt with each other all the time. Like, all the time.”

Jack’s in love with me, Jack’s in love with me, Jack’s in love with me.

“Please get together already,” Charlie pleads. “I can’t take it anymore, and obviously Jack can’t be trusted to make good decisions—” Here he and Tony exchange a commiserating look; Davey can only imagine what they’ve been privy to when he isn't around. “—so it’s gonna hafta be you.”

“What do I do?” Davey asks, completely overwhelmed. “I mean, he ran away! Should I go after him?”

“What, are you gonna chase him down in the rain?” Tony says with a snort. “Just talk to him when he gets back.”

“Give him a chance to calm down,” Charlie advises. “And, uh, maybe you should calm down a bit too—you kinda look like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Well, that was kind of a lot,” Davey retorts, but the words have no heat behind them.

“Besides, it’s not like Jack can hide from you forever,” Tony adds with a shrug. “You know where he sleeps.”

Davey can’t decided if he loves or hates how reassuring that is.

00000

The streams of sunlight that cut through the blinds wake Davey up the next morning. A glance at the clock tells him that it’s nearly nine; he’s surprised he slept through Charlie and Tony leaving for school, but after the emotional upheaval of last night, they must have made a point not to wake him.

He lays there for a long time, blinking up at the ceiling and watching the overhead fan spin in lazy circles. Jack had sent him a single text last night, warning him that his phone was about to die and he had to stay late at work; Davey had tried to wait up for him, but finally fell asleep a little after three am. There’s a flicker of worry at the thought of Jack—wondering if he was making up excuses to avoid him, wondering what to say when he sees him next—but the anxiety of last night has transformed into something hazy and distant.

Davey’s been in love with Jack for years; he’d long since resigned himself to living with that love quietly. The only thing that’s changed is there’s a possibility that Jack loves him back, so really, what’s there to worry about?

Eventually, he throws back the covers and hauls himself upright. He pulls a sweatshirt on over his pajamas, disregarding the way it makes his already tousled hair even more of a disaster, and shuffles slowly down the hall.

The growl of his stomach reminds him that it’s well past his usual breakfast time. Davey wanders into the kitchen and begins pulling supplies out of the cabinets by route, and before he knows it, he’s got the beginnings of a breakfast going.

Everything takes on a different aspect in the light of this new day—details that Davey’s always known, but has never been fully conscious of. The skillet he grabs is a hefty cast iron monstrosity that belonged to his Bubbie—it lives at Jack’s place because Davey’s dorm’s kitchen is the size of a shoebox and hasn’t been renovated in decades, and also because Davey’s never been in the habit of cooking for one.

The coffee maker is new: he and Jack had to get a new one last month after their old one finally crapped out. They’d spent the better part of an hour at the local Bed, Bath & Beyond, bickering back and forth about which one to get until a salesperson finally took pity on them and pointed them towards a sturdy model solidly in the middle of their price range. Davey grabs his favorite mug—a pale blue one with a chip on the handle from where Tony dropped it one time—and fills it with the first pour of a fresh brew. The coffee, of course, is from his favorite place around the corner, a blend that Jack always claims is too expensive, but keeps on buying for him.

It’s scattered all around him, the countless ways that his and Jack’s lives are intertwined. Davey almost can’t believe that it’s taken him this long to notice, but maybe that’s just it: this has been his normal for ages, so why would he notice it?

Davey hums softly to himself as he works, the quiet punctuated only by the buzz of the refrigerator and the hiss of the coffee maker, which is why it’s so surprising to glance up and notice Jack standing in the doorway, his expression a little pinched around the edges and still dressed in his clothes from yesterday, though noticeably rumpled.

“Jack!” Davey says, startled. “I didn’t hear you come in. When did you get— wait, did you spend the night at the office?”

Jack looks at him funny, like he was expecting Davey to say something else. “I missed the last subway and I didn't have money for a cab.”

“Maybe you should start keeping some things at work,” Davey says, frowning slightly. “Like, a pillow and a toothbrush and stuff like that. You’ve been having a lot of night shifts recently and that couch in your break room looks like it’s older than I am, so I know it can’t be comfortable to sleep on—“

“Are you making breakfast?” Jack interrupts, one hand braced against the doorframe. There’s something pointed about the question: accusing and disbelieving and conflicted all at the same time.

Davey looks at the assortment of ingredients gathered around him—milk, flour, butter, eggs, blueberries—then down at the bowl of pancake batter he’s in the middle of whisking. “Uh… yes?”

Jack barks out a laugh, but it’s tinged with a hint of hysteria. “I thought you’d be— But instead you’re— Why?”

“I always make breakfast on Fridays,” Davey says, because it’s true. He beckons Jack forward with a nod of his head. “Here, come help me with this, you’re better at flipping the pancakes than I am.”

Jack scrubs a hand over his mouth, then seems to rally himself.

“Okay,” he mutters, clearly not intending for Davey to hear him. “Okay… so it’s like that. Okay.” Then louder he says—with an incredibly lackluster attempt at his usual grin that wouldn’t fool anyone, let alone Davey—“Yeah, sure Dave, I gotcha.”

Davey lifts himself up to sit on the counter next to the stove while Jack steps up to the cooktop. He watches silently as Jack pours the batter into the skillet, nudging at the edges with his spatula until they start to firm up. It should be an easy, simple moment together—something they’ve done countless times before. Instead, the space between them is thick with unspoken tension.

Davey considers his options. He takes in the stiff line of Jack’s shoulders and remembers the look on Jack’s face yesterday—soft affection burnt away by panic. He waits for just the right moment, then says, “So, Tony and Charlie seem to think that you’re in love with me.”

The reaction is immediate. Jack jerks in surprise—a full-body flinch—and the pan slips out of his hands. It hits the burner with a clattering bang and the half-cooked batter goes flying halfway across the kitchen, then hits the floor with a splat.

“Yeah,” Davey comments mildly, taking in the mess with no small measure of satisfaction. “That’s about how I felt too.”

Jack makes a strangled noise: like he’s going to deny it, like he thinks he has to deny it, like it’s never occurred to him to do otherwise. And sure, Davey had never considered broaching the topic either, but Davey’s not the one that kissed and ran.

“No, don’t even start with that,” Davey begins before Jack can say anything. “You’re in love with me, I know you’re in love with me. The boys finally told me last night—apparently it’s obvious, but I never would’ve guessed if they hadn’t said something. And if you hadn’t kissed me.”

He gestures at the remnants of breakfast. “That’s for leaving me to freak out last night, by the way. Also, Tony told me to tell you that you’re the World’s Biggest Dumbass, and I can’t say I disagree with him.”

Jack’s eyes have gone very wide. An assortment of emotions flit across his face, but none remain long enough for Davey to identify them.

“Sorry about that,” Jack eventually says. The words come out slow and a little jagged, like he’s having trouble keeping his voice steady. “I shouldn’t have done that—I didn’t mean to kiss ya, it just kinda happened—but I understand if you’re mad at me or if ya need me to—“

“Oh my god,” Davey says, shaking his head even as a surge of affection rushes through him, “you really are a dumbass.” He jumps down off the counter and holds out a hand. “Jackie, come here.”

Jack stumbles forward, visibly unsure. Davey can’t imagine what he’s thinking is about to happen, can’t imagine how Jack can stand here with him in their kitchen in their home and not know that they’re in this together, just like they always are.

Davey threads their fingers together, tugging Jack those last few steps so that they’re standing chest to chest. He brings his other hand up to Jack’s face, dragging his fingers over his forehead until the furrow in Jack’s brow relaxes, until his expression begins to brighten with tentative hope, then down around the curve of his jaw to tilt Jack’s head that much closer to his own.

Jack moves easily, immediately, when Davey touches him—only the slight hitch in his breath indicates that this is unexplored territory—and it’s so simple for Davey to just lean up and kiss him.

Soft. Sweet. It feels brand new. It feels like they’ve done this hundreds of times.

“Just in case that wasn’t clear enough,” Davey murmurs as they part, impossibly happy and feeling like his heart might burst with it. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you.”

Jack’s answering smile seems to light him up from the inside out. “Oh yeah? Well, word on the street is, I’m in love with you too.”

#newsies #javid #Jack Kelly #davey jacobs #*final cut #*the writing desk #the one where it's domestic #wow more self-indulgent romance #*editor's note

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veenussposts · 5 years

Text

Taeil as a wizard (and your boyfriend)

If you were looking for the word "clumsy" in any dictionary of the witches and wizards of Ravenclaw, you were going to find a picture of Taeil.

"I'm a disaster"

Last night, Taeil didn't go to bed early because he was reading therefore when he was finally able to close his eyes there were 3 hours left for his first class. "It will only be an hour" he said to himself but that hour became three and a half.

So, there he was running.

The fastest route to his destination was The Grand Staircase. Only a wizard like him would think of using it knowing the things that can happen there.

His feet moved quickly while his lips begged to Rowena that none of the stairs changed its position since they were perfectly aligned to the floor where his class was.

One, only one stair was missing to reach the floor he needed when it began to vibrate. Instinctively, the people in the paintings watching Taeil run grabbed their heads, even some closed their eyes to avoid seeing the catastrophe.

"Watch out!"

Taeil's heart almost left his chest when a pair of arms grabbed his waist, holding him at the edge of the stair as it moved toward another platform.

"Are you okay?" When he turned around, you were looking at him with worried eyes and your cheeks were red.

TAEIL WAS STATIC LOOKING AT YOU BECAUSE DAMN YOU WERE A HANDSOME HUFFLEPUFF.

Your hair was a bit rumpled and your soft lips were forming a tender smile that left Taeil without thoughts. He was practically blank admiring your beauty.

"Yes... Yes, I... I am perfect"

"Are you sure? Because you almost swoop do..."

"Sorry but I'm late" He screamed as he ran at top speed to get to his class and to have a quiet breakdown because someone so cute has seen him with eye bags. "He's cute"

After that moment, whenever Taeil is about to commit a disaster because of his clumsiness you appear to save the day. Sometimes they are simple things, such as preventing him from throwing his books and then taking them to the Ravenclaw common room, and sometimes not so much, as when you saved him from being cursed by a student for stepping on his cat's tail.

And if Taeil was already clumsy, when you're around him his clumsiness multiplies by 6. His cheeks blush, he starts stuttering and his fingers move on his wand with nerves.

Also you liked him, your friends said that you were very obvious and that you should do something about it but you were afraid that he would reject you, ruining the beautiful friendship between you two.

Everything stayed that way for several months until one day the people in the paintings on the Grand Staircase told you, signaled you and even drew you that Taeil felt the same about you.

Your fingers cling tightly to Taeil's books, relaxing your nerves a bit, while your eyes slowly wander through the paintings of the Grand Staircase. Some of the characters found in them smile at you and others even applaud you. You let out a relieved sigh when you saw their support and then you get closer to Taeil, getting your shoulders to touch slightly.

"This is my floor" Taeil says, stopping on the platform while you are still standing on the last steps of the stairs. "Thanks for joining me"

"It's nothing." You hand him his books and you start playing with your hands like a child. "It's a pleasure to spend time with you"

Unable to meet his gaze, you turn your eyes to the nearest painting where a group of ladies push each other and giggle. You think it's because of your blush but it's really because of the blush on Taeil's face, which spreads from his cheeks to his ears.

"I like being with you" You say biting your lip. "I really like being with you because... Because I like you a lot"

Silence is present in the Grand staircase and you can only hear the noise that some stairs make when moving. Very carefully, you go up to the last step and place your hand on his hot cheek. His thin lips met yours in a tender and sweet kiss that culminate in the applause and cheers of the characters in the surrounding paintings. For a few seconds both get lost in the kiss until the stair begins to vibrate and, in a single movement, begins to move away from the platform separating you.

In the end Taeil will have to thanks Rowena and her stairs because if it wasn't for her, maybe he would never have met you.

Taeil still can't believe he's your boyfriend, every day when he's with you he pinches his cheeks to see if it's not a dream.

"I remember the first day I ever looked into your eyes and felt my entire world flip"

Despite his clumsiness, he is a wise boy and he gives the best advices. He listens patiently to all your problems and helps you find a solution.

You are very affectionate so Taeil lets you hug him from behind while he reads a book. Most of the time he falls asleep on your chest.

Every day you walk him to his classes, both of you hold hands while Taeil talks about theories and books.

He convince you to do experiments with him.

Once a professor lowered 50 points to each of your houses for have a date in the corridors at night.

You force him to go to bed early and take care of himself while he forces you to not work so hard to help others because you end up very tired

Taeil still blushes when you kiss him.

"The thought of our first kiss always makes me smile"

Whenever you have doubts or problems with a task he will be there to help you as long as necessary.

Really bad at flirting but he has a good heart.

Sometimes both of you have small fights because neither of you have time for each other.

You agreed to have lunch and do your homework together.

Nightly dates in the astronomy tower where Taeil talks about the stars and planets while you listen curiously, grabbing his hand.

"I want to hold your hand, laugh at your jokes, walk by your side, snuggle on the couch, look into your eyes, talk about the stars and kiss your lips every single day"

#kpop #kpop fluff #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop x you #nct u #nct 127 #nct taeil #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct x male reader #nct x reader #nct x you #the next one is Taeyong 🐍

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rambling-at-midnight · 4 years

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A Handmaiden’s Lies: Part 1

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Tom is staring moodily into the fire, tossing twigs and stones into it occasionally. Harry and Haz watch him by sneaking glances in his direction and thinking they’re being sneaky. The heat is brutal from where he’s crouching, but he can’t leave the firepit. If he does, he’ll see her. The girl he’s been infatuated with for months. The girl he knew he didn’t ever have a chance with. The girl he just saw kissing George in his tent.

Zendaya.

Maybe they’re doing a little bit more than kissing now, he thinks pissily, flicking his eyes to his friend’s tent before turning around with a firm resolution not to think about Z again—at least for tonight. It’s none of his business, anyway, and he’s never let a hint of what he feels for Z show. It’s not her fault and it’s not George’s either.

He’d never really had a chance. Not really. Not after George and Z had met and their words had burned. He’d known. It was self-preservation that had kept his lips sealed.

It still hurts.

And he knows he’ll see her in the morning, all golden and glowing, and it’ll hurt a bit but he’s her friend so he won’t say anything.

A commotion distracts Tom from his brooding. Everyone looks up at the sound of someone yelling, another sobbing, and other people grunting.

Zendaya and George stumble out of their tent to investigate the commotion. Tom glances at them, sees the way their shirts are rumpled, and can’t breathe until a group of seven people break through the tree line and approach the fire’s circle of light. Five of the men are Tom’s. They’re manhandling two servant girls.

Servant girls. From the castle? What the hell are servant girls from the castle doing in my camp?

“Paddy, what happened?” Tom asks, his voice equal parts amused and worried. His brother’s shirt has a large red stain down the front of it along with the lower part of his face.

“We found these two spying on us,” a boy older than Tom answers. His name is something like Anthony.

“The one with y/h/c hair headbutted him,” another boy, William, explains with glee.

“Got me in the balls too,” a brunet called Tomas adds, prompting a chorus of cries from the scandalized camp girls and both laughter and slight scolding from the boys.

All the while during this conversation, the girl with the palest white-blonde hair Tom has ever seen hasn’t stopped sobbing while the other girl is ramrod-straight. Tom almost likens her to a statue.

“Z, you and your girls get the…” Tom waves a hand limply at the crying servant girl. “All sorted out.” No way she’s a spy; no spy acts like that when they’re caught. She could be acting, but she would have to be a very good actress to do that and women aren’t allowed to act nowadays anyway.

No, the girl Tom is more worried about is the stoic girl who apparently knows how to fight. He beckons for the men to bring the girl closer into the firelight so he can examine her.

The first sight of you hits Tom in the chest like a donkey kick. His men should definitely have warned him about your appearance. You have to be a faerie of some kind.

Luckily, Tom gets his wits about him before he looks like an idiot by gawking at you. When he speaks, he focuses on your ear lest he lost his train of thought by focusing his eyes on your face.

Damn, he got over Zendaya fast. Too bad his men kidnapped you and you’re probably scared out of your mind right now. That’s probably not the best way in the world to start off a courtship.

“Why were you spying on my men?” he demands. Tom can tell you’re staring directly at him.

“To see what they were doing,” you reply. There is no inflection in your voice, nor any emotion in your face. You really are a statue-girl. Tom wishes he could be as stoic as you, but his arm burns and he flinches.

“Well, what did you want from them?”

“An adventure, so thank you for delivering.”

Tom doesn’t know what to say to that. He opens his mouth and closes it, pursing his lips with slight irritation. The blonde’s cries have stopped, leaving only the fire to fill the silence with crackling. Finally he manages, “Why were you interested in my men?”

“Holland and his men have been a thorn in my queen’s side ever since you arrived in Avenge,” Statue replies. “I hoped I could persuade you to leave.”

“Your queen is a joke,” one of Tom’s men calls, eliciting jeers from the crowd of men watching.

“And how do you propose to persuade us to leave before we want to?” Tom asks, amusement curling his lips at the thought of your one-woman army persuading him to leave. Your bravery is admirable but fool hardy, and you will undoubtedly be killed by that trait.

“As the queen’s personal assistant, you can understand why she wouldn’t let me go alone—I am her closest friend and confidant,” you brag. “So I brought with me her Chief of the Mystic Arts, Sir Benedict, and Chief Dame, Lady Scarlett.”

Tom swallows. Everyone has heard of the Chiefs of the kingdom of Marvel, which was why his men had been hesitant about coming to Avenge, Marvel’s capital. It was said they could do things normal people couldn’t. Sir Benedict’s powers were especially mysterious, as disaster could seem unavoidable until he would appear, his necklace would glow, and all threats would disappear, despite no one noticing anything between those moments.

“You think two Chiefs could take down Holland’s entire group?” Haz sneers.

Your lip curls. “A group of reject bastards without a day of training? It wouldn’t even take one,” you spit.

Haz surges forward—his heritage and abandonment have always been a sore spot—but one of the boys holding you tangles his fingers in your hair and yanks your head back. Your hand flies into the air, a closed fist, and Tom recognizes a ‘hold fire’ command.

“I think you’ll find I’m quite unkillable,” you mutter to the boy with his hand in your hair. Despite your low tone, your voice carries. “You, on the other hand, are toeing the line quite dangerously.”

“Let her go!” Tom barks.

“Come on, mate, you don’t really believe she brought two Chiefs with her,” Haz snaps, eyeing you with loathing. You smirk at him.

“Do you really want to risk it?” Tom replies. “She did say she’s the Queen’s personal assistant.”

“An assistant,” Haz repeats. “She could just get another one.”

“I’ll pretend you all didn’t hear me,” you say loudly. “I am unkillable, and you are rapidly approaching the point of no return.”

“Let her go,” Tom mutters.

“What?” Haz exclaims, like he really thinks he misheard him. Like he is allowed to speak to his superior like that.

“Let her go,” Tom repeats, louder. The look you give him does something weird to his stomach but he can’t afford to call your bluff just in case you are telling the truth. Only a Marvellian privileged assistant with two Chiefs at her back would waltz into enemy territory boasting loudly about her connection to the Queen. It paints too large a target on your back.

It’s either you’re telling the truth or a complete idiot. And as Tom meets your steady gaze, shadowed by the dancing flames of their campfire, he doesn’t see an idiot. He sees someone confident, used to getting their way, overzealous and brash, abrasive and aggressive, but he doesn’t see an idiot.

William and Paddy let go of your arms, albeit reluctantly. With a simple flick of your head, you reduce them to less than lumbering bears. Tom marvels at the way his boys aren’t crushed under the weight of your disapproval.

He’s heard this is what it feels like at first, but people disagree about whether or not the feeling gets weaker or stronger over time.

He is so screwed.

“Would you like to go somewhere private?” you ask with an unreasonable expression.

This isn’t what Tom had pictured. He’d pictured saving a girl from some rogues with less morals than he. He’d pictured meeting a girl in a tavern. He’d pictured buying something from a pretty vendor’s stall.

(In most of those scenarios, he’d pictured Z as the girl he flirted with)

But he never pictured her captured by his men and brought to his camp. He never pictured her as a servant in the Marvellian palace.

And yet, for some reason, he’s not disappointed. It does explain the mysterious half-sentence branded onto his right forearm. For years he’d puzzled over that phrase. For years he’s been wondering under what circumstances someone would say that to him.

For years Tom has been waiting for the one person who will love him unconditionally.

He nods and leads the way to his own private tent. Your soft footsteps follow him and he hears you close the tent before he turns around. You’re pulling your tunic away from your collarbone.

The once-black words now shine a glimmering gold in the lantern light from where they sit on the protruding bone. The handwriting is the same, even if the color isn’t; all soulmate marks are written in the same font until one meets their soulmate. That font is the type used in newspapers. It would have changed, except Tom doesn’t know how to write. His education hadn’t lasted that long. If he learns to write, Tom wonders, will the writing change too?

In return, Tom rolls up his sleeve, exposing his forearm and shivering as goosebumps appear. Belatedly, he sees your thin tunic and pants but you don’t seem to be bothered by the chilly night air.

He’d felt the burn but barely bothered to believe it. The once black, uniform letters have changed to a deep rusty red, like drying blood. The font has changed to a neat, small cursive that somehow doesn’t seem like it would be your handwriting. Tom had pictured large, looping letters to match your loud, strong personality, but perhaps that’s what happens when you’re educated in the palace.

He loves it anyway. It’s just another sign that no, Tom’s not unlovable, and the universe cared about him enough to give him someone to love and be loved by.

“It doesn’t matter,” you then say, smoothing the tunic down so the words are hidden again. “My loyalty is to the queen and her kingdom. In this time of political uneasiness one cannot afford emotional connections.”

Tom just beams at you. He can hardly believe the most beautiful girl in the world is his soulmate. And it doesn’t matter what you’re saying right now. Tom would wait a thousand years to meet his soulmate. Waiting until she’s ready for him won’t be (too) hard. He’d certainly comforted Zendaya when she was fretting about George this past week enough to know that there are always doubts. You’ll come around. You’re Tom’s soulmate.

“So tell me before you go,” you say, leaning forward to rest elbows on knees and chin on hands. “What do the foreigners think about my queen?”

Tom looks at you with confusion. “What?”

“It’s best to know what the enemy is saying,” is your stiff reply. “Might as well take advantage of the opportunity.”

“I’ve heard a lot of things about your queen,” Tom replies, leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach. He doesn’t miss the flutter of your eyelashes as you give him a quick once over and satisfaction pulls his lips up into a smirk. “That she’s a child. Weak. Stuffy for bringing back the old traditions.”

Secretly, Tom agrees with those rumors. The new Queen is a year younger than his nineteen years of age. Sure, he’s the leader of his men, but that’s much different than being the ruler of a whole kingdom. Plus, despite how no one has seen her in public for years, she decided to bring back the old Marvellian traditions of wearing a mask and not speaking in public. At this point the kingdom has no idea what their queen looks like despite her more frequent public appearances.

You might, though. If you’re her ‘closest confidant’ and ‘friend’.

“I’ve also heard,” Tom continues, “that she is so frail she sleeps frequently during the day, though I’ve also heard lazy.” He grins, enjoying the scowl that’s creasing your forehead. “And,” he admits reluctantly, “that all Marvel rulers are connected to their kingdoms with magic, and the queen is no different.”

You nod and lean back in your chair. “You and your men are thorns in her side.”

Tom doesn’t know if you mean that figuratively or literally. And frankly, he doesn’t care. He wants to talk more about you. He’d gotten you to scowl whilst insulting the queen, which means you’re not quite the statue he’d thought of you as.

And that means you can smile, too. You can laugh—Tom realizes for the first time what he would do to hear you laugh—and, most importantly, you can love Tom.

“That brings us to the true nature of my visit,” you say with a stern look like you blame Tom for distracting you. “Leave.”

“Wait, but…” Tom sits up straight. “What about…” he touches the words on his arm reverently.

“As I said before,” you say, visibly irritated, “there is no time for that.”

Tom takes a deep breath. “I can’t concede to you. Not without all my men knowing.”

You laugh bitterly. “Oh, how the governed rule the governors. That sounds like your problem, not mine.”

“I will come back,” Tom promises.

Your lip curls. It hurts him more than it should, especially considering he’s known you for about an hour at the most. “Would you really wait if I told you to? If I told you it would be years of loneliness? If I told you we might never—”

“Yes. You’re my soulmate.”

You scowl and turn away. “Hmm.”

“Wait!” he says desperately. “Don’t you… would you like an escort? On your way back, I mean?” Would you like just a little more time together?

You let out another unamused laugh. “Who would escort me? The one whose nose I broke or the one I kicked between the legs?”

“I could—” Tom begins hopefully but you hold up a hand to silence him. He doesn’t appreciate speaking to your back.

“I already have two Chiefs watching after me,” you say shortly. “And I know perfectly well that you and your men pass through this way every year. If you refrain from… Only take from those who can afford it,” you grit out. “Tell your men no destruction. And you may stay for the rest of your visit.”

“Will you be back?” Tom and his men only pass by Marvel once a year. Seeing you, his soulmate, just once, and then leaving for a whole year sounds like hell. “Just once. Tomorrow night.”

You shake your head after a moment of contemplation. Thankfully you’re still turned away so you don’t see the clear disappointment on his face. “That will just make it harder and you know it.”

He does know it. But can you blame Tom? He just met his honest-to-god soulmate.

“Doesn’t this mean anything to you?” His voice cracks.

“I can’t expect you to understand.”

“But I want to.”

“We’re all part of something bigger,” you say quietly. “And I can’t be selfish. Not right now.”

Tom stands. “All right.”

“R-what?” You turn around, pulling your eyebrows together into a frown.

“I’ll be back and you know it,” Tom promises. He brings one finger up to your cheek and barely touches the smooth skin. It feels like fireworks and the tent is suddenly entirely too hot. “And I hope you’ll be sorted out by then.”

“You’ll be better to find another girl,” you say quietly, swallowing noticeably but not pulling away from the caress. “Some camp girl who’s always with you. A girl with a choice.”

“I don’t care about any of them,” Tom insists and you snort.

“What about the beautiful girl with the large hair? It was obvious in the way you looked at her.”

All Tom notices from that remark is that you were watching him closely too, probably studying him as he’d done to you.

“Not a one,” he insists. “And even if I was, she found her soulmate a week ago when he joined the group.” You shake your head a tiny bit, a jerk he would’ve missed if he blinked. “If you change your mind we’ll be here until Sunday.”

“Find someone else,” you repeat, backing away and bumping into the side of the tent. “I won’t—I won’t come calling again. Don’t—” your fumbling fingers finally find the flap in the tent that is its opening. “Don’t get your hopes up,” you conclude, lunging forward at Tom. For one glorious second he imagines you’re going to kiss him, but then you’re tugging his sleeve down to hide his words. “I’ll—I’m not good enough—just find someone else.” And then, cheeks blazing, you slip out of the tent.

Harrison ducks in moments later after seeing both you and the white-haired girl off. Tom greets him with his sleeve pushed up again, fingers tracing over the beautiful cursive words. “Hey, Tom—holy shit!”

A Handmaiden’s Lies Taglist:

@andreasworlsboring101 @juliebean247

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know what you all thought or if you’d like me to put you on a taglist!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #reader x tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #reader insert #you x tom holland #MCU #mcu au #mcu fanfic #harrison osterfield #paddy holland #au #robin hood au #soulmate au #zendaya

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hookedontaronfics · 5 years

Text

First Contact series - Part 3

Title: First Contact - Part 3 Read the previous installments here: Part 1 | Part 2 Rating: T Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Some mild cursing A/N: The third installment in the First Contact series gives Jess a surprise third encounter with Taron while at work that somehow leads to more. If you love cute, fluffy Taron, you’ll love this installment. The series will eventually involve more mature themes as it develops, so be warned! I hope you enjoy! x

Beep Beep. Beep Beep.

I groggily reached over to my nightstand and accidentally slapped my phone onto the floor, where the alarm continued to drum into my brain. With a groan, I rolled over and grabbed it from the floor, snoozing the alarm. Just five more minutes ought to do it, right?, I thought blearily, pulling the covers up around my face to block the sunlight already filtering across my floor.

Just as I was about to fall back asleep, Mary burst into my room, making me groan loudly. “Go away,” I mumbled.

“Nope,” she said. “You need to get your arse up. Today’s a big day!” she said, her cheery mood just deepening my grumpiness. Some people were morning people; I was definitely not one of them. I turned over in an effort to ignore her, but she grabbed the edge of the covers and whipped them off the bed, the sudden cold air making me want to curl into a ball and stay there.

“God Mary, why do you have to be such a prat?” I asked, finally sitting up and rubbing my eyes.

“It’s not my bloody fault you went and got pissed last night,” she chided.

“Yeah, and you were there right along with me,” I laughed at that, finally swinging my feet to the floor just as my snoozed alarm went off again. “Alright!” I yelled at it, turning it off and then noticing Taron had texted me again. I grinned and blushed lightly over what he’d written, and Mary playfully rolled her eyes.

“Please don’t tell me,” she teased, although she and Jules had been adamant I deliver a constant play-by-play - and given me endless shit over the fact that neither of us had yet to really make a move. It’d been two weeks since the karaoke bar night and we’d been what you could call cautiously flirtatious in our text conversations. But I still hadn’t even gotten up the courage to ask if he was actually seeing anybody else; it wasn’t exactly unheard of to be flirted with by a cute boy who was completely unavailable.

“I’ll respond later,” I smirked, stretching out my back slightly and yawning a bit.

“Well get some clothes on you. I’ve got the coffee going already so let’s get you out the door and onto your first big gig!” Mary grinned, bouncing on her heels a bit in her excitement for me.

I gave her a thumb’s up and she took that as her cue to leave. I brushed my teeth and freshened up my natural curls before rifling through my closet, trying to find a shirt that wasn’t rumpled. I settled on a black pencil skirt paired with a blue-and-white striped button-down, tucked in of course. Professional but not too stuffy, I decided. Still, I didn’t quite feel like my look was finished until I spied the hat I’d managed to “borrow” from Taron; I had every intention of getting it back to him. I picked it up and placed it over my curls, feeling like it gave me a hip and modern vibe, and nodded at myself in the mirror. I finished my makeup and slipped into a pair of basic, sensible pumps.

Mary actually applauded my appearance when I clicked into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup. Jules was apparently still crashed out from the night before. “Fed Tim yet?” I asked, blowing on the steaming liquid before taking a sip and savoring it.

“You think Tim would let me forget that?” she laughed. “Not a chance, the big fatty,” she added affectionately. “Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Plenty. I think I might chuck,” I replied.

Mary crossed her arms and laughed at that. “As long as it’s not on some poor actor’s shoes, I’m sure you won’t get fired,” she teased.

“Not helping!” I groaned.

“Come on. You’ll do great!” Mary grinned.

“About to find out,” I said, taking a few more sips of coffee and trying not to spill it on myself. Stains on my shirt probably wouldn’t be the best accessory for today. “So I really look okay?” I asked her again.

“Yes, for the last time, but you won’t if you’re late,” she smiled, shooing me toward the door. I grabbed my purse and had my hand on the door when Mary cleared her throat. “Forgetting something?” she asked, holding out my laptop bag.

“Shit. I’m a disaster!” I laughed, slinging the strap over my shoulder. “Thank you!” I said before pulling the door open and stepping outside. It was already a muggy summer day and I hoped my hair wouldn’t frizz out too terribly.

“Tell me all about how it goes later!” Mary called as I waved and booked it to catch the bus I needed in time.

Once seated, I put in my earphones and attempted to chill out to some favorite music, but I couldn’t silence my nerves. I drummed my fingers on my leg, reminding myself there was a reason I’d gotten this promotion in the first place. I was good at what I did, I knew that; I’d worked hard to earn my communications degree and had spent years editing for publications. But I hadn’t loved those jobs and had been looking for something different when I’d found an opening for a script editor. I’d been intrigued, applied and got the job, and now spent my time in a cubicle going over scripts, fixing grammatical mistakes and adding directional cues when they were missing. It was maybe a bit unglamorous but I loved it.

Still, I’d sprung for the promotion the moment it had come up. While I was still considered an associate editor, I’d now be able to sit in on the table reads with the actors and writers themselves. If an actor stumbled over a line, or it just didn’t seem to work for their characterization, we could fix it right then and there. I was giddy and nervous as hell as I drew closer and closer to my first table read experience. I hadn’t been told what project the script was for, nor which actors would be involved. I assumed I’d be filled in once I arrived, becoming antsy as the bus was running behind schedule.

I didn’t have much time as I rushed up to our floor in the high-rise, clutching my laptop bag to my side and trying not to look flustered by the time I pulled the conference room door open and walked in. A handful of my colleagues were sitting about the large table; I didn’t see any of the actors yet. I pulled my laptop out of its bag and set it up in the seat indicated to me. A printed copy of the script laid at each seat and I picked my copy up, rifling through it quickly before my immediate boss beckoned me over.

“Would you be a dear and go grab us some coffees?” he said, and I looked at him incredulously.

“Pardon?” I asked, thinking I hadn’t heard him correctly. I’d worked far too hard to just be someone’s coffee runner. “Are you serious?”

“We’re already running behind,” he said, as if that was a valid explanation. I would have refused but I didn’t want to be kicked out of the room. Feeling like I had no leverage, I wrote down everyone’s “orders” on a post-it note and went to the breakroom to make them up, grumbling along the way. I set out cups and went about tossing pods into the single-serve brewer.

“Excuse me miss, but I seemed to have misplaced my hat,” a voice I’d recognize anywhere said from behind me. I whirled around, nearly knocking two coffees off the counter.

“Taron!” I said with absolute surprise. “What are you doing here?” I asked, realizing that was a stupid question the moment I said it.

“I’ve got a table read in a couple minutes and I could ask you the same. Never fancied I’d have such lovely company joining me today,” he smirked lightly at me, running his thumb over the brim of the hat. Even though he wasn’t touching my skin, he might as well have been for the flush of heat that ran through me. “It looks good on you,” he added.

“Yes well, I work here,” I stammered, trying to be coherent. “Clearly.”

“Mmm… As a barista?” he asked, raising that characteristic eyebrow of his.

“Ah, shit,” I sighed. “Just a perk of the job, you know,” I said, trying to hide my displeasure over the task as Taron studied me for a brief moment. He grabbed the post-it note and helped me finish off the coffees with cream and sugar, as requested, and carry them back to the conference room. I would have protested his help but I knew it would be hopeless; he’d only cutely wave off my concern and do what he wanted anyway. Once the coffees were delivered, I finally took my seat, Taron running his fingers subtly across my shoulders as he passed by to take his seat across the way. I had to fight the urge to gasp out loud at that, stifling it with a cough instead. Taron just gave me an innocent smile; I wanted to kick him in the shins but was too far away.

I was thankful for the diversion when other people filing in, recognizing several of the other actors because I didn’t live under a rock, and once introductions were made we got on with it. I found it easy enough to focus on my job, preferring to mark up the hard-copy version of the script rather than work on my laptop, but any additional notes that didn’t pertain directly to the script I typed up in a word document. I took my job seriously and no amount of boyish charm was going to distract me from that, I thought as I idly tapped the end of my pen against my cheek. My phone, which I’d left on my lap in case I had to take an important call, vibrated and I glanced down at the lit-up screen. <You know a smart girl is always a turn-on> Taron had texted, and I fumbled my pen, dropping it on the floor.

Shit, I muttered under my breath, leaning over to pick it up. No one else had even noticed, and Taron waggled his eyebrows at me across the table. I made it a point to look away, partly to maintain my composure. I had no idea how I was going to make it through this read if he kept that business up, but I wisely chose to stow my phone away in my bag at that point. The day wore on, with a few minor breaks I chose to spend either hiding in the bathroom or staying resolutely in my seat. Taron didn’t approach me, though I couldn’t always miss the way he gazed at me when we were going over a scene he wasn’t in.

We eventually called it a day and everyone seemed pleased with the progress we’d made. I packed my laptop and tucked away my marked-up copy of the script under my arm, excited to head back to my cubicle and start implementing these changes. Everyone seemed engaged in their various conversations so I thought I could sneak out unnoticed, but just as I reached the door someone stepped in front of it.

“Trying to avoid me?” Taron asked in a low voice, so no one could overhear.

“Just doing my job, which doesn’t include flirting with you,” I whispered back, though I wasn’t mad.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Go on,” I said, tapping my foot.

“And that wasn’t entirely professional of me. But I don’t regret it,” he said, winking at me and I sighed impatiently. “Let me make it up to you with dinner tonight,” he said, giving me the sweetest, most expectant smile.

I bloody well couldn’t say no to that. “Yeah, okay,” I said, as if it wasn’t a big deal to me, but oh, I was thrilled.

“It’s a date, love. Be ready by 7. And text me your address,” he grinned, finally stepping out of my way.

“It’s a date then,” I agreed, feeling a bit weak in the knees. I reached for the door and missed it, nearly stumbling over. I hoped no one had seen that as I made a mad dash out the door.

I returned to my desk, admittedly a bit distracted as I tried to get something done my last couple of hours. I had nearly worked myself into a tizzy by the time I was able to pack up and leave over the whole idea of it. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I’d already texted Mary and Jules, who had ransacked my closet as well as their own and laid out the most appropriate dress choices on my bed. They ushered me inside when I got back to the flat, squealing over this sudden turn of events as they made me change in and out of one dress and into another. “Maybe we’re just overthinking this?” I said, staring at myself in the mirror as I was sporting a bright pink taffeta number I’d never be caught dead in otherwise. “This just isn’t me,” I said.

“Yeah, pink’s definitely not your color,” Jules agreed, missing the point of what I was trying to say.

“That’s not what I mean” I said, pulling the dress over my head and tossing it unceremoniously on the floor. “This. All of this. I don’t want to put on a show,” I said, sweeping my hand around at the colorful chaos in my room. “I’m not some prize animal to be paraded around. I just want to be...me.”

While both girls watched me with concern, maybe thinking I was about to blow this whole thing, I wriggled into my favorite pair of black skinny jeans, threw on a frilly blue lace top and pulled on a lightweight tan cardigan. I instantly felt more comfortable, and if I was comfortable I could actually enjoy this date. Taron hadn’t said to dress up anyway, and everything else we’d tried just felt ridiculous and overblown. “Well?” I asked, holding out my hands.

“Oh alright, that’s cute enough,” Jules grinned at me. I decided to keep the hat on for good measure, since Taron had seemed to enjoy me in it so much. We spent the last hour cleaning up my room, partly because the mess would drive me crazy but also as a way to keep me from getting overly nervous. The less I stewed about this, the better.

Still, when a knock sounded on the door I felt my insides instantly squeeze. “Oh fuck,” I breathed, as Jules and Mary both went streaking to the door, swinging it wide open and full of giggles.

“Ladies,” Taron greeted them, his face brightening as he saw me over their shoulders. “Jess, you look absolutely stunning,” he said. Jules turned and mouthed “oh my god” at me, and I tried to ignore her so I wouldn’t totally lose my cool.

“You do too,” I said, then laughed at how awkward that sounded. Clearly, I had no “cool” to begin with. “Handsome, I mean,” I corrected myself, to which he just chuckled. I took a moment to appreciate that he’d dressed as casually as I had, in a pair of dark jeans and a sweater that just looked downright cozy.

“Shall we?” he said, offering his arm, which I gladly took. “Have a pleasant evening,” he said to my roommates, escorting me down the walk to his waiting car and even opening and closing the door for me like the thoughtful man he was. The conversation was light and mostly we tried to one-up each other with stupid jokes, making each other laugh, which wasn’t difficult to do.

We came up on the Borough Market and were lucky enough to find parking close by. Taron seemed cutely excited about the place he’d chosen to bring me to, as we walked up to a restaurant named Padella. “Let me guess, Italian?” I grinned as he nodded affirmation. I could get behind this, as Italian was some of my favorite cuisine.

We snagged a table and I was thankful no one seemed to give us a second glance. I knew that kind of anonymity could be hard to come by for actors. “So, the really fun thing to do here is order a bunch of different plates to share,” Taron said, and I was more than happy to agree with whatever he suggested. And truthfully, I was more than happy just to be there with him at all.

We started with the sourdough and olive oil, taking turns dipping the bread. For something so simple, it was really superb. “The rest of your work day was pleasant?” he asked, and I nodded.

“I really enjoy my work,” I replied enthusiastically, omitting the fact that I hadn’t been the most productive employee that afternoon. Taron asked a few more questions about what I did, genuinely interested and putting his chin in his hand as I talked rather passionately about the editing process. “Ahh, so yeah, that’s what I do. Sorry, did I become a total bore?” I asked.

“No, no, no, of course not,” he reassured me. “I think people who aren’t just doing a job for the paycheck are hard to come by. It’s really nice to see you so passionate about it, your eyes just completely lit up your whole face,” he said sweetly.

I gazed at him, taking everything in about this moment and about him, half-afraid it was all just a dream. How I had come to be sitting in a restaurant with Taron, on a proper date, was beyond me. Our food arrived and I realized Taron had ordered way too much for just the two of us, but he seemed unbothered by that fact as we dug in, each plate of pasta better than the last. “Try this one!” he grinned excitedly, offering a bite on his fork to me and without thinking I leaned forward and accepted it. The act felt at once intimate and made my heart race a bit.

“That’s fucking good,” I enthused, and we both deemed the crab tagliarini to be the best of the bunch. “I am positively stuffed,” I said after we’d demolished most of the pastas. “You might be rolling me home,” I joked.

“No room for dessert?” he asked, sounding slightly disappointed but I wasn’t sure why.

“We could get some as takeout, I suppose,” I said, finishing off the last bit of my wine. “But I really couldn’t eat another bite right now.” My skinny pants were already feeling a bit uncomfortably tight around my waist.

“Fair enough,” Taron replied, giving me a small grin. “The chocolate tart is to die for, believe me. I’ll order you one for later,” he said, and then proceeded to also pay the tab without blinking an eye. I probably didn’t want to know how much we’d just cost ourselves, but I could honestly say I’d had one of the best dates I’d ever been on.

We packed ourselves back into his car as the sun had started sinking to the horizon, turning the sky brilliant shades of orange and red and deepening into purple. It was lovely, and I stared out the window a bit in awe, much the same way Taron was looking at me now, had I been paying any attention.

The street lights had just started to flicker on as he pulled up to my flat. “I had a really fun time with you, T, thank you,” I smiled happily as he fidgeted slightly with his hand, rubbing his palm over his thigh. I hadn’t meant my attention to go there, and had to tear my eyes away, hoping he hadn’t noticed me gawking.

“It was a lovely time, indeed,” he agreed.

“I’ll see-,” I started at the same time he said “Shall I-” and we both cracked up laughing over it, relieving some of the awkward tension that had been building.

“Hey, I have an idea,” I grinned. “Come on,” I said, getting out of the car and expecting him to follow me. He did so, looking amused at me when I plopped myself down on the front porch step and patted the space next to me. He took a seat and I pulled out the tart, handing him one of the plastic forks they’d given us.

“Very good idea,” he grinned as we took turns scooping out bites, savoring the rich taste of the dessert in the semi-darkness. “Truth is, I didn’t really want our night to be over yet,” he admitted, and I felt a pressure in my chest I didn’t even know how to identify. I’d been on dates before, even with boys I’d rather fancied, but none had made me feel quite this way. I knew I’d have to try and separate the strands of being a fan from being whatever it is that we were, but that was going to take some time.

“Hey, you have a little … something there,” he said, breaking into my thoughts and reaching over, gently pressing his thumb against the side of my mouth and wiping away the crumb. Our eyes met and we were locked in that moment, my breath catching in my throat.

And then the door swung open, and Taron dropped his hand back down to his lap. I groaned inwardly as Mary stepped outside, absolutely surprised to see us there.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry,” she said as her hand flew up to her mouth. “I was just taking the litter out,” she said apologetically, holding a bag meant for the rubbish bin.

“It’s fine, we were just saying goodnight,” I replied, smiling despite the crushing disappointment as the moment completely passed us by. We stood up, brushing our pants off, and Taron pulled me into a hug, sweetly wrapping his arms around me. I couldn’t resist burying my face against his shoulder. It was, after all, his fault for wearing such a soft sweater.

“Hey, I hope you have a good night, I’ll text when I’m home safely,” he said within the confines of our hug, his breath tickling my ear.

“You do that, T,” I smiled as Mary awkwardly shuffled back into the house. I stood on the porch waving as Taron returned to his car and pulled away into the night, feeling far too many emotions for my heart or brain to comprehend.

I went back inside but was in no mood to field my friends’ questions. I shut myself in my room and fell face-first onto my bed. If this had been a simple fan encounter, would it have meant as much to me as it did now? Could we really build something real and true? This third chance had left me thoroughly and utterly confused.

Keep Reading - Part 4

#taron imagine #taron egerton #taron x reader #taron egerton fanfiction #taron egerton imagine

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sian22redux · 5 years

Text

Field of Dreams

Here we go! No 2 in the fics I owe @nomadicpixel and @theycallmebecca. Nomad asked for Steve and a relationship that is new and my brain said how about a little enemies to lovers everyone? Not to worry it all works out in spectacularly happy fashion--but before that Y/N has a PR disaster to sort out and really, he’s a hard guy to forget, even if he is a little stubborn about Brooklyn. ^_^

Part 1 of 2. And obviously the tweets I’ve made and embedded here are not real, do not belong to any real account.

---------

“Y/N have you seen this?”

Your harried Media VP, Stephanie, uncharacteristically dressed in a rumpled suit and no make-up, barges into your office, trailed by your harried looking PA. It’s 7 am, mid-morning in LA, and you are jet-lagged; bleary eyed and something that passes for awake after two precious weeks at your New York research labs. They were heaven, but now it’s back to routine, back to the long days that keep Fleur in Bloomberg’s list of Ones to Watch.

“What is it?” you ask, setting your latte down and rising to your feet just as the pair screech to a halt just before your desk.

From the look of things ‘routine’ will not be today’s best adjective. Steph, a night-owl through and through, is never here this early. Her face is flushed and her eyes red as she waves a piece of paper covered with a screen print in your direction. “It’s a mess is what it is. And how you should respond I have no idea.”

No idea?

Steph can finagle her way out of PR jams that reduce grown men to tears. “Respond to what?” With a sense of doom you take the paper from her outstretched hand and quickly scan the contents.

‘Not shoot O’Malley twice? What the ever-loving hell?!

Steve Rogers—THE Steve Rogers—finally gets a twitter account and the first tweet he sends six months later trashes the Dodgers baseball team?!

Your Dodgers.

“Why is he @CapRogers?” you ask, more than a little stunned as Steph looks on.

Her face is pale and her fingers shake. No coffee yet this morning. Mary, your brilliantly practical PA, settles on priorities and quickly hands her a steaming cup. “Captain America was already taken.”

Of course. It’s his first ever tweet and the one he’s pinned and everyone has already followed him. No way any soul on Planet Earth has missed this missile. You scan a few of the 50,000 comments. They range from the politely encouraging <welcome Cap!> to the crassly supportive <F*ckin A!> to the downright militant <Get your own team pal>

Oh god. What a perfectly shitty time for this. Fleur’s new board are well pleased that its initial public offering has gone viral but are still a little wary. Six months of thirty-six hour days and you are secure beyond your wildest dreams: number 25 on Forbes’s Top Thirty under Thirty; lauded in all the trade reports for your business acumen; working hard to turn your chemistry degree to more ground-breaking organic lines.

It’s been tough but satisfying.

Buying the Los Angeles Dodgers has been your one gift to yourself.

It has not been without its bumps. A women in Major League Baseball’s old boys club has ruffled feathers amongst the owners and grey-haired stodgy boardrooms around the world. You’ve heard it all. The back-biting and the snide sideswipes. The outright misogyny. The threatened egos. What does she think she’s doing? What does she know about baseball? Who does she think she is?

Oddly, the one group that hasn’t groused about the change has been the Dodger’s staff. You’ve kept their pennant chasing front house crew. Let the manager and coaching staff stay undisturbed. Got to know the players and their families. You love them. And they are beginning to cautiously love you back. The team is your baby and while your instinct is to not let anyone give them stick, some battles aren’t worth taking on. Especially from a national icon.

“We didn’t move them, perhaps we don’t need to be too direct,” you point out, hopefully passing the paper back.

“No way,” Steph shakes her auburn head. “You are Fleur and Fleur is you. It’s too critical a time. Besides, if you don’t publically speak out the team might take it as a slight and the True Blue sure will. He’s too visible a figure. You’ll have to respond and support LA, show that you are in their corner.”

You groan. She has a point. TrueBlue are the diehard LA fans--a colourful and vocal lot—southern California through and through, and they are proud to have a woman owner. You owe it to them.

Well then. You smooth your skirt and sit back down again, flip up your Macbook lid, hurriedly type a few pithy lines. Steph comes around the back of your desk and scans them over your shoulder, bites her lip while reading. “You sure it’s what you want, the pointed ref…?” but you nod firmly. She said direct and this is that.

“Ok…”

There’s a satisfying whoosh as it flies out into the Twittersphere.

Two weeks and a lifetime in business later you pause to smooth down your red evening dress, set your shoulders back and stride forward into the barrage of cameras as you reach to shake the President’s outstretched hand.

It is her inaugural formal State Dinner. Like the rest of your homeland you are pleased and proud she chose Justin Trudeau of Canada to be the first. He is confident and always on point, a neighbour with an aligned agenda and you incline your head, almost as thrilled to meet him as her. The handshake is brief. He jokingly asks in French if you will have the Canadien’s hockey game up on your phone as it isn’t even Spring Training yet (he has read his briefing book), and you laugh, saying that Los Angeles is your home now. The Kings are King.

The resulting laughing group photos are snapped and Steph, you’re certain, will be wildly pleased.

After half an hour of polite chat with several CEO’s you know, a quiet gong sounds and you, like the other luminaries, search for your seating card along the white expanse of silver and china-decked dinner table.

Mme. Y/N Y/N is written in gold on elegant white card. Right next to a name that makes your stomach plummet through the floor.

Captain S. Rogers

Of course the White House has invited prominent expat Canadians. Of course it has invited Americans Justin would like to meet.

Oh god.

You reach for your water glass just as the gold lattice chair pulls out.

“Miss Y/N.”

A pair of inhumanely blue eyes wait for some acknowledgement and you nod, just a fraction, wondering how in the world you will navigate this. Was it a joke by the President’s Chief of Staff? Some kind of not so subtle message? Or, more worrying, a comment that your pointed retort was not officially appreciated?

“Captain.”

The medal-garnished superhuman in a dress Army uniform takes off his cap and sits down. Blushes faintly. Runs a hand through perfectly trimmed blond hair and awkwardly clears his throat, making a blandly positive comment about the weather and décor.

The flowers? Really? Who thought this was a good idea?

You do your best: asking after the Avengers’ latest escapade, the health of Agent Hawkeye who is known to have been banged up, the adjustment of his friend. You are CEO of a multinational beauty empire, formal events with strangers go with the turf, and so you are relieved to note the pleased surprise in Captain Rogers’ eyes. Not everyone supports James Barnes’ parole. You’d have thought that that will break the ice but as soon as the appetizer plates are whisked away he turns to his left and engages Canada’s Junior Minister for Defense in a discussion about NATO that lasts until dessert.

What the?

Beside you, the US Consel for Montreal looks suitably embarrassed, but there is nothing either of you can do. You pound back a few flutes of champagne and another quite good Whiskey Sour as the speeches arrive with coffee and dessert. By the time the music starts up and the room applauds Justin’s smooth waltz with the President you are ready to make an escape, get something out of this mildly disastrous night by pigeonholing the head of Lauder for a little competitors chat, when a fresh-faced aide with Maple Leaf pin taps your silk-clad shoulder.

“Madame..”

“-oiselle,” you correct automatically.

“Le Premier-Ministre serait honoré d'avoir une danse. »

Of course you will. You rise and follow the young man onto the dance floor, accept Justin’s outstretched hand and proceed spend a delightful ten minutes flirting with one of the handsomer and more chatty leaders in the world. Thank heaven. As the cameras click you banter back and forth, relieved you took so much time on your wardrobe. A sleek but stylish chignon. Marcasite studs. Louboutin heels and fall of red silk slashed to just above your knee. You look good. Tomorrow’s morning tweet of you both will likely get thousands of views you think, when a low voice comes off from your left.

“May I cut in?”

“Of course, Captain.” Justin bows and drops your hand and you are swept up into the arms of the last person you thought would dance.

“Captain Rogers?” My word his chest is broad. You take a deep breath and dare to look up into those eyes. They look a little pained but hopeful. “Are you---?”

“Apologizing. Yes.” He quickly nods his head. “Look, I’m new at this. Never tried the social media thing before and I kinda..forgot..about the bigger repercussions.”

“Evidently.” You take a breath, watching his brow furrow and quickly thinking of what to say. “You are of course entitled to your opinion but blanket statements of where things belong are unfair to the players today. As their owner I have a duty to support them.”

“I know. Look I didn’t mean to be hard on those guys.”

The blue eyes droop. He looks abashed and a little like a puppy taking an expected scolding and so you relent, search for something positive to say. “They’ll recover. If LA is good at anything is it definitely bouncing back, Captain.“

“Call me Steve.”

“Steve.” He’s nodding, looking a little more confident. As he leads you (surprisingly smoothly for one so big) around the floor you start to relax a little. Chat about dancing as a lost art. Admire the cut of his uniform and the straight line of his jaw. He is, if anything, more handsome up close and personal, although there is just the faintest twinge of anxiety still in his face. A Man of Out of Time. Yes..and still adjusting to the world he’s landed in.

Maybe you could be generous and try an olive branch.

“Brooklyn are still as famous today as they were then,” you say, squeezing the hand that holds onto yours. The other at your waist is warm. “The first team to break the colour barrier. Nine World Series titles. Cy Young pitchers and All Star MVPS. You can be proud of all that they did. ”

A sunshine smile warms his handsome face. “I am! Of course I am. Jeez, they were so much a part of our life Buck and I scrimped and saved every penny we could just to get into the nose-bleed seats. 75 cents was lunch for a week. If we couldn’t find it, we listened on the radio. Everyone did. Young and old, rich and poor. They played their games on Sundays so that working stiffs like me could go. It was the only day we had off: a ticket and beer money was a treat.”

You’re seriously starting to enjoy yourself, listening to him reminisce. This is a veritable soliloquay. “Ebbet’s might have been shaped like a bandbox but it was a right-handed slugger’s dream. McPhail was a genius. Ladies’ Days for ten cents. Half price if the temps’ got too high. I miss it so. Hot wood slats and popcorn and warm beer.”

“The best.” You grew up with baseball too. The crazy cement white elephant that was The Big O where the Expos played. Gary Carter and Bill "The Spaceman" Lee. Hot, steamy summer nights near Montreal’s broad lazy river.

But you’ve made the switch—LA are your boys now.

“Dodger stadium is baseball’s beautiful showplace now,” you explain. “We have tried to honour Brooklyn’s spirit—playing to win always and keeping the park accessible. There is even a pop-up museum to them.”

He stills and you fall just slightly behind the beat. “A pop-up museum?”

“Yes. It has old jerseys and ticket stubs and photos of the team. It will run until the fall.”

Steve looks far from impressed. “That’s all? Nothing permanent? No one’s set up a display to stay?”

You stiffen a little in his big hands, beginning to be a little frustrated. “We do own the trademark. There are statues to Jackie Robinson and "P. W." Reese where the Brooklyn Cyclones play today.”

He snorts derisively. “Heck that’s mnor league. And Coney Island. Doesn’t count. Ebbets Field and Flatbush were their heart and that’s all gone. They’re an ugly old apartment complex now.”

A frustrated silence falls. Some how you’ve fallen into it again and you can feel your ire rising. He isn’t the only fan who’s had a team be traded. Business is business. A team has to have support at the gate or it isn’t sustainable. Some, like Brooklyn, move to greener pastures. And some are forced to fold.

You stop on the edge of the dance floor and pull back, looking him squarely in the face. There’s a muscle jumping in his cheek and annoyance deepens the french flavour in your accent. American icon or no, you’ve had enough with his pity party.

“I miss the Expos just as much as you do Brooklyn. My team was traded, too. But I do try to be more balanced about reality. I don’t go round trashing the Nats or complaining that Washington has no memorial for them. At least your Dodgers kept their name!”

Steve blinks and a press camera clicks.

You both drop hands when the music ends and retreat--him to the bar, and you to ladies room.

Insufferable. Stubborn. (Gorgeous) Man.

You try to put the experience behind you, get on with work and cheering on your team, but of course the world conspires to interfere.

LA clinches their pennant run but the photo of you and Captain America looking daggers at each other tops the front page of every newspaper the next day.

#Field of Dreams #sian22redux #writes #Steve Rogers

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mollymauk-teafleak · 6 years

Text

my heart is hitting the ground (Chapter One)

An urban fantasy/college Widomauk AU! Many many many thanks to the wonderful @minky-for-short for getting me into this podcast in the first place and workshopping this fic with me. Also enormous thanks to the amazingly talented @rabdoidal whose fantastic art this fic is based on but I could honestly write a multi-chapter fic on every bit of fan art he’s ever done, it’s all that great.

Please consider reblogging and leaving me some feedback!

Ao3 | Ko-fi

Caleb Widoghast isn't the kind of guy who blows off studying and goes out a lot. He isn't the kind of guy to get too drunk at the gig for some college band he's never heard of. He isn't the kind of guy to fall hopelessly in love with the tiefling singer of said band and flirt with him after way too much whiskey.

Caleb Widoghast wakes up to find that, last night, he did exactly that. And now he has to deal with the fallout.

The night before came back to Caleb in pieces, each one worse than the last.

The dry mouth. The pounding headache. The fact that he was still wearing jeans under the covers but no shirt at all. The ringing ears.

He moaned and pushed the hair back from his forehead, wrinkling his nose at the almost immediate reek of whiskey. Why the hell was he drinking whiskey, he never…

And then the last piece fell into place. And Caleb seriously considered diving back down underneath his blankets and never emerging again.

“Good morning!”

Of course, no knock preceded his bedroom door flinging open with a bang that made his eardrums throb, the only person it could be was Nott and courtesy wasn’t her strong suit. They’d known each other too long for that.

“I am…struggling to see what’s good about it,” Caleb groaned, pulling a face as the sound that came out of him sounded more like the last gasps of a dying squeaky toy.

Nott smirked at him from the cavernous hood of her sweatshirt, “M’kay, before you ask, let’s just do this all in one. Yes, you did get horrendously drunk. Yes, it was bad. And yes, Beau has video.”

Caleb slumped back into the tangled mess of his bedding, whimpering pathetically, “That’s it. I’m done with civilisation. I’m going to live in the woods and be a hermit and never speak to another person ever again. They will tell tales of me…”

Nott snorted, scrambling up on the end of his bed, “Aw, don’t be so dramatic. Beau had a few herself, it’s all shaky, you can barely see anything,” she took a sip of her tea, “Jester’s the one that got the really good shot…”

Caleb moaned again, louder as if making a point, dragging one of the pillows over his head.

His roommate couldn’t contain her giggles, though she tried to discreetly direct it into her mug, “The night wasn’t a total waste. You really seemed like you were having fun after about the third whiskey and coke. And you were really digging the band…”

Caleb threw his arm from his protective nest of blankets, accusatorily, “No! No, we are not talking about that!”

Nott held up her hands, “Hey, we all thought it was adorable! The way you kept ordering drinks so you could stand closer to the stage, I don’t think you ever heard a word anyone said…we knew you liked that kinda grungy, indie shit but we didn’t know you liked it that much!”

“Nott, I swear, I will kick you off this bed,” Caleb tried to snarl but it came out as more of a whimper, “Can you please take pity on me and make me some coffee?”

“Wish I could, big guy, but we’re all out,” the young goblin shrugged regretfully, “I think you used the last of it to get you through your last deadline.”

Caleb gave another miserable, frustrated groan, now at the world at large rather than Nott. That was just typical.

“Fine…fine, I’ll go get some,” he mumbled, trying to make his head stop throbbing long enough for him to tell up from down and roll out of bed, “Fresh air. it’ll be good for me. I think.”

“There ya go, positive attitude,” Nott grinned her ear to ear smile, hopping lightly back to the floor, somehow not spilling a single drop of tea to the carpet or, at least, what of it was visible beneath the piles of clothes and notebooks.

Her large ears pricked up as Caleb’s phone gave an annoyingly bright chirp, her smile turning playful and crooked, “If you need a refresher on what happened that night, I bet that’s it.”

Caleb frowned, pawing on his dresser until he found his phone, squinting blearily at it. Sure enough, there was a flurry of messages from his friends, a few pictures that seemed to show nothing but blurs and vague shapes that maybe could be him twirling around lampposts and trying to climb up onto a table. And a video. A few videos actually.

He felt his heart twist with that familiar and unpleasant acid of embarrassment as he studied the thumbnail of the first one. The purple tiefling, the singer, in all his colourful and coiffed glory, somehow still looking as drop dead gorgeous as he had the night before, even when recreated in blocky pixels. He was leaning against a large stacked speaker, an unmistakeably bemused expression on his face while some bedraggled, stooped hobo looking guy clung to a table for balance beside him. Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose and tossed the phone over his shoulder (though he was tempted to aim for the window) as it sunk in that it was him.

He hadn’t meant to go over and actually talk to the guy. He’d been perfectly content staying squeezed in between Fjord and Beau, subtly drooling and moony eyed over the front man who alternated between yelling his expletive filled song titles over the clamour of the close, smoky darkness of the bar and singing in a rough, low growl that had done things to Caleb that he really wasn’t ready to admit to. That would have been a perfect plan, maybe he’d daydream about him for a few weeks and months after before accepting that the tiefling was so far out of his league that it wasn’t even funny and sinking back into school work and vague loneliness.

But Caleb had found himself drifting back to the bar, where the view of the singer (Mollymauk, that was his name, Caleb wasn’t likely to forget it any time soon) with the spotlight hitting his exquisitely tattooed chest just right, looked like something from a goddamn renaissance painting. Instead of his usual half pints of what his friends insisted were pretentious hipster beers, Caleb had found himself ordering jack and cokes, eventually graduating to straight whiskeys after a while, hoping that the singer might notice and think him some cool cowboy type rather than the nervous exchange student in rumpled flannel that he was, who could launch into a full-on lecture about the benefits of different brewing techniques if given the slightest nudge.

Caleb blamed the whiskeys and the urging of his friends for the incredibly bad decision that followed the end of the set. He didn’t remember his words exactly, he just remembered a powerful need to go and tell this Mollymauk of the beautiful voice and extravagant dress sense just how much he’d loved his music. And he really had. He’d loved the rawness of it, the clever twists in the lyrics that sent the song suddenly careening in a direction no one would have guessed. He loved its simplicity, just that voice echoing through the underground bar and a simple guitar accompaniment from a very tall woman who’d had Beau staring in a very similar way to Caleb (he wondered why she wasn’t getting any shit for that…and then quickly realised it was probably because she hadn’t made a colossal ass of herself afterwards and because Beau getting heart eyes over a woman she’d only just met was nothing new). Caleb had never, ever found any music that had spoken to him like this stuff did; it make him feel less alone, less broken, less of an outsider. It had been a stronger magic to him than anything he read about in his schoolbooks and he’d fallen for it, hard and devastatingly.

All that would have been a great thing to tell Mollymauk, when Caleb had come staggering over from his table to where the tiefling was packing away his microphone. Unfortunately, what had come tumbling out of his mouth, as far as he could remember, was something about his music being so good that it had ‘given him a boner in his heart’.

Caleb thanked every god he’d ever heard of that he didn’t remember Mollymauk’s reaction, feeling a sickness in his stomach that had nothing to do with his hangover.

“Did you get the one of you doing Singing in the Rain in German?” Nott chirped happily, still in the doorway, swaying in her sweatshirt so long it brushed her knees, the one she always wore, “I never knew you had such a good voice.”

Caleb grumbled at her, glaring with bleary eyes, waving his hand dismissively, “Go. I need to shower…why do I need to shower so bad?”

“Oh,” Nott shrugged, “Probably because you climbed into the dumpster thinking it was the cab.”

Caleb dragged his hand through his long hair, which had taken on the consistency of a reddish brown, greasy birds nest, “Do us all a favour, Nott, and just leave me in the gutter next time. This was an absolute disaster.”

His roommate gave him a look he didn’t understand before disappearing around the corner, “Are you sure?” she called behind her.

That look and those words continued to confuse Caleb until he was in the bathroom, wondering if he should just burn his clothes and have done with it, when he caught sight of his own reflection above the sink. Not a pretty sight on any day and even less now in Caleb’s opinion, but his aching eyes were distracted. By the series of numbers written on his forehead in a flourishing hand, in thick black Sharpie.

Ah. Now Caleb remembered pressing the pen into Mollymauk’s hand, asking him to write his number on his head so he wouldn’t forget it. The wizard slumped, letting his head knock against the cold porcelain of the sink.

Being a forest hermit was sounding more and more tempting every second.

#critical role #cr #widomauk #widowmauk #caleb widowghast #mollymauk tealeaf #nott the brave #jester #fjord #caleb/molly #modern au #urban fantasy au #college au

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