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endless-ineffabilities · 2 days ago

Text

They so are <3

too soon to tell you I love you!

Ewan Mitchell x f!reader

a/n: another random Ewan oneshot, as a result of @seamaiden indulging my delusions 💛

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It's not often that you bump into one of your favourite actors at the pub... or he bumps into you.

It is just another night out on the town, and your mates managed to convince you to have a couple of drinks out in Covent Garden.

There's a really good pub you haven't been to apparently, but you know your friends, and they would think a pub is stellar as long as there is free-flowing alcohol inside.

It's a pub, you typed in the group chat, what could be so special about it? I kinda want to stay in tonight.

It will be special cos we'll be in it, one of them replied.

And that was the end of it. No room for negotiation when a night out is involved, but you adore your close-knit band of rascals, so you're hardly fazed.

The three of you are snug in a booth, the first round of drinks already imbibed and wreaking havok in your livers.

"Another round, guys, c'mon," Paul says, slamming his hands down on the wooden table, ever the charming instigator.

"You want another, you be the one to fetch it," Gracie smirked, wagging a finger at him.

"But I got this one! Lay off me, mate. It's someone else's turn now, that's how the system is, let's be civil about this—"

"Oh my god," you cut him off with a teasing laugh, "you really will say anything to get out of getting another round, won't you?" You share a conspiratorial wink with Gracie.

Paul gapes like a blubbering fish. "Hey! But I got the first round—"

"Alright, alright, drama queen," you stand from your seat, patting his shoulder in a mock comforting manner, "I'll cover this round."

"Huzzah! I love you!"

You roll your eyes fondly. "Oh, get a grip. I'll be right back."

It's a Friday night, so traversing the cramped confines of the pub feels like walking into a battefield. You have to shimmy past patrons filing in and out, those standing around tables like flocks of flamingo instead of sitting as they should, lads too focused on the match on the telly to notice when you first mutter excuse me, pardon me.

Then someone, much to your increased annoyance, bumps right into you from behind. You're thrown off kilter when you feel an elbow shoved in between your shoulder blades, making you step on your own damn foot.

You turn sharply. "Hey, watch it—"

"I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"

"I... I..."

"Are you okay?" he asks. His sharp, angular face and intense, piercing gaze make him instantly recognizable. He has that quietly powerful presence, standing a bit taller than you expected, with striking cheekbones and the slightest smirk playing at his lips, framed by the littlest bit of dirty blonde scruff.

"Here, come on." He gently tugs at your arm, his other hand occupied with a full pint. You let him pull you away from the warm, inebriated bodies and into a more secluded corner to the side of the main bar. "Much better, eh? Sorry, I didn't think you could hear me back there. Pub's proper packed tonight, innit? But... yeah, I'm sorry for bumping into you like that."

"It's... not a problem."

"Really?"

You nod, forcing a smile, your throat so constricted you can barely form a coherent sentence.

"Well... I, uh... how about I make it up to you anyway, huh? I could get you a drink? And your mates too if they're around?"

"Yeah, they're..." You raise a hand and wave at your table, but they're already keenly watching you, intrigued looks on their faces. You'll never hear the end of this later. Or ever.

"Is that them?" He waves politely, smiling in amusement. He knows that they recognise him, and how could he not, when they're practically gaping in his direction.

And finally— "Oh, uhm, I'm... Ewan, by the way." You shake his extended hand, introducing yourself in turn.

"Nice to meet you," you croak, "and... uhhh... I actually—"

There's a spark in his eye, and either it's the ambient lighting or his cheeks turn flushed. "Do you watch the show?"

"Yes. I'm a huge fan of yours..." you exhale in relief, a weight off your shoulders as if some secret is finally revealed, but then you hear your words again. "...and the show! I mean, I love the show—"

"Thank you," he grins, saving you from blabbering on too much. He leans forward and nudges your upper arm in a friendly gesture. "Thank you so much, really. I'm glad to hear it."

"So can I ask what's it like to film—"

"You here with just mates or a boyf—"

"Oh, you go ahead," you quickly say, but he blurts out, "Sorry, what did you say?" at the same time. Again.

Just two cluckering hens unable to speak to each other.

Feeling your composure returning, you hold a finger up, telling him to listen for a moment. He laughs softly at your faux stern expression, and the sound is so warm and genuine that your attempted seriousness melts away instantly. You could so get used to that.

"I just wanted to ask, and I hope you don't mind, what is it like to film the show? To be Aemond?"

"Oh, it's an absolute dream," he starts, turning his gaze away for a brief moment as one does when they're tapping into a memory. His blue eyes are cast in another direction, and you're grateful for the momentary reprieve. You catch yourself letting out a shaky breath, no longer arrested by those magnetic orbs of his. But only a few seconds pass before you already miss gazing into them.

You get a hold of your thoughts, and tune in to his words as he continues, "Aemond has become very dear to me... Well, he's definitely a part of me now! And the cast is just the best group of people to work with and I couldn't be more grateful so... Who's your, uhh, favourite character then?"

"Well," you shrug, "you could say he's standing right in front of me!"

"Oh really? And why Aemond?" He places his pint down on the bar and takes a step closer, leaning against the varnished mahogany ever so casually. You have half a mind to chug his pint in order to deal with the intensity of simply being this close to him.

What can you say? Because he's the most beautiful boy you've ever seen? Because he's your tortured little war criminal who is precious and can do no wrong? Because you want to be his ladywife and consumm...

You decide none of those are usable.

So you jump into a brief explanation of how Aemond is a compelling character, a mix of ambition and vulnerability, constantly at odds with others and even himself.

All the while, Ewan stares at you intently. All the while, you pray that your heart won't stop.

When you finish, the smile that is already present on his lips stretches even wider. "You're not just saying that because I'm here, are you? Like, you wouldn't say Criston is your favourite if it were Fabien you bumped into tonight?"

You give a sardonic nod, a slight smirk playing at your lips. "Sure, Ewan. I can easily reuse everything I've said and apply it to Criston Cole. Is Fabien with you? Maybe he can bump into me, and we can start the whole thing all over again."

"No way," he says smoothly, "you're mine."

Your prayers didn't work. Your heart stopped.

He clears his throat, ears reddening. "I mean, you're on team Aemond, come on now. You must prefer him over Cole."

"Well, I do."

"So there, you are mine," he cheekily repeats. Shy then brazen. Embarrassed then flirty.

Just who is this man? You've seen dozens of interviews, heard many a tale of fan encounters, but with every passing second, you feel as if you're discovering someone new altogether.

And it's the type of exciting that stirs you at your core.

"Sorry, am I keeping you from company? I don't want to monopolise— "

He hurriedly shuts that down. "No, no, it's okay. I'm just here with my brother and..." A group of lads erupts in cheers at a goal. "...girlfriend."

"Oh," you mumble. Your heart did start working again, only to clench uncomfortably in your chest. "Well, you should get back to your girlfriend. It was really nice to meet—"

"Wait, hold on," he pleads, reaching for your hand to stop you from turning away, "Not my girlfriend. My brother's. I'm kind of third wheeling them actually. But he's only in London until tomorrow so he wanted to meet me anyway."

"Oh. Okay—"

"I don't... I don't have a girlfriend."

"Uhm, okay," you offer a small smile, unable to deny that his statement gave you some ease.

For no particular reason.

It dawns on you that his larger, rougher hand is still caging yours. When you finally lift your eyes to meet his, a gentle smile plays at his lips, his gaze unwavering.

He leans in, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone meant only for you. "Listen, could I—"

Something flutters in your peripheral vision, distracting you, albeit you thought it impossible to have your attention diverted if you would ever meet Ewan.

But it was. You turn to see Paul waving an arm frantically at you, likely having waited far too long for his precious pint. Gracie, bless her, tries to get him to simmer down, reaching across the table to slap his arm. Her hand comes into contact with his skin, resulting in a smack loud enough to reach you across the pub.

"Ow!" Paul yelps.

"Leave her alone, mate!" Gracie snaps.

You can't help but laugh at their antics. When you turn to Ewan again, you lose track of what you were going to say, as he's watching you with an unexpected softness, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.

"So..."

"Hmm?" How Aemond of him.

"I think I should do my duty and fetch those guys a round," you sigh, jutting a thumb at your table.

"Oh, I'll get it," he quickly offers. "Don't worry about it, darling."

"Are you sure? I really can—"

"Wait here," he murmurs, his voice so close to your ear that a shiver ripples through you, goosebumps prickling along your skin in response.

You watch as he effortlessly navigates the line, his steady confidence drawing your attention as he orders three pints when it's his turn. You can't help but wonder how no one else has recognized him yet. Luck must be on his side, the footy match on the screens rendering everyone oblivious to the presence of a celebrity in their midst.

Their loss, your gain.

The aforementioned celebrity gestures to you with a tilt of his head, and you weave through the crowd idling by the bar to reach him.

"Here, hold this for me, darling," he says, handing you his own half-empty pint. He balances a full tray with both hands, heading to your table, where Paul has most likely turned into a dry husk.

"Thank you for buying a round!" Gracie exclaims, bouncing slightly in her seat. "You are Ewan from House of the Dragon, right?"

Ewan smiles, shirking slightly under the attention. "Yeah, and hey, I'm just doing my part," he replies with a friendly shrug.

As they gush about House of the Dragon, you try your hardest to disappear into your chair, feeling your cheeks heat. Paul, however—of course—has other plans.

"So, Ewan, you have to know that my friend here—" He gestures dramatically toward you. "—has the biggest crush on Aemond. I'm talking full-on obsession, really.”

"Oh my god, Paul!" you groan, burying your face in your hands, mortified. "Why would you say that?"

Ewan chuckles, and you peer at him to find him leaning back, a smug yet handsome look on his face. "An obsession, you say?" he teases, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

You shake your head, laughing despite your embarrassment. "Okay, okay, that's a severe exaggeration."

Ewan says with a grin, looking between you and your friends. "I'll have to be on my best behavior, then, won’t I?"

"Oh, absolutely," Gracie replies. "If you mess this up, you'll ruin Aemond for her forever!"

Ewan raises his hands in mock surrender, laughing. "No pressure, then! But, I hope you don't mind if I steal her away for a while," he says, turning his gaze back to you, his tone softening. "I'd really like to sit and talk to her more."

Alys Rivers has got nothing on you.

"What about your brother?" you ask.

"Oh, I see him all the time," he says, all nonchalant, standing from the booth and offering his hand for you to take.

"Are you sure? I don't—"

"Oh my god, just go with him, mate! You know you want to," Paul groans loudly, then he throws Ewan a wink, adding, "You two would look so cute together, you know?"

You're about to chastise him for yet another pert remark, when Ewan replies, "Oh, yeah, I know."

As the night wears on, he recounts behind-the-scenes stories from filming, your shared laughter echoing in the back area of the pub. You lean in, captivated by the way he animatedly gestures, and by the absurd fact that you're casually talking to Ewan Mitchell.

Your Tumblr moots are going to have an absolute field day with this if they found out.

"You wouldn’t believe how many takes it took me to get that scene right with Vhagar," he says, shaking his head.

You can't help but laugh, picturing the scene. He watches you with a look that sends your poor heart fluttering.

The pub has just announced last call when he places his hand atop yours on the table. "Listen, darling... can I ask for your number? I would really love to see you again sometime."

Does he even have to ask?

"Uh, yeah, of course!" When you hand him his phone back, his fingers brush against yours, purposefully lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"Brilliant," he says, glancing up at you with that charming smile. "I'll text you right now so you know it's really me."

True to his word, it doesn't take long before your phone buzzes in your pocket. You're met with a notification that an unknown number sent you a message—

Hey, beautiful. How about you let me take you out on a proper date tomorrow night? – your obsession, apparently

Your head shoots up, and you lock eyes with Ewan, who is already laughing to himself.

"Ewan! Are you kidding me?" you exclaim, but surrendering to the humour of the whole thing, laughing with him.

"Please say yes, darling?" he tilts his head, pouting adorably, drawing nearer to you.

Yes. Of course. Most certainly.

"Well... since I'm obsessed with you, I guess you already know my answer."

#someday I'll be able to get over this #today is not that day #too soon to tell you I love you #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader

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