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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

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The Treatment of Captain Syverson- Chapter 7: Non-Productive Time

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: On a slow afternoon, Shane remembers a couple of fun evenings with Sy, and can’t help but start texting him…he turns out to be a bad influence.

Don’t want spoilers? Click me first to catch up!

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Language, mature themes, a steamy scene that bumps up against the line of smut/not smut…it looks like smuttish is, in fact, a thing, (see what I did there? Toss a high five to your fic writer for the paraphrased Witcher quote in these here notes! lol! Sorry, i’m tired...and in a weird mood tonight...) so, anyway, using that. I love it.

Author’s Note: This chapter was about half done before I even started SI1 and SI2! So that’s why it’s come along so quickly in the wake of them. It could also mean that there are some continuity issues…I found a couple during the re-write of the first part, and more when I was proofing, so it should be good, but…fair warning, one or more could have escaped me! Also, let me know if the text convo is hard to follow. I’ll try to reconfigure it to be more clear. It seemed to me like context was enough, and they’d had text convos before, and no one said anything…this one’s longer by about 300%, though, so…feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

Time seemed to pass slowly when Shane wasn’t with Sy. When they weren’t having dinner together, or doing their typical date thing. She thought about their second date. One of the bars in town, chosen for its above average bar food but mostly, it’s pool tables. The warning he’d given her via text had made her laugh:

We’re goin’ to Cade’s for apps and pool, if that's okay. As gorgeous as you looked in that blue dress you wore last night, I recommend jeans and a T-shirt for tonight, okay?

She took his suggestion. A simple black tee, because she was a food klutz from hell, layered over a red camisole, and her favorite jeans. It showed off her dainty arrow necklace well.

While they played, they drank beer and talked about life, getting deeper into things than they could at therapy sessions.

“Dad split when I was about ten, I guess. Mom did her best with her only son, but she sent me to my grandpa’s a lot when she was working or just…needing her own time. He’d been an army man. Fought in Korea. His dad was in World War II. It felt like…I don’t know, this pull, like I was meant to join up.”

“Destiny?” She asked. A dreamy tone overtook him when he talked about his family and his now former career.

“I guess. Never though too much of all that before.”

They smiled at one another. Knowing.

“What was he like? Your grandpa?”

“Oh, Pap was the best. He was a mechanic in the service and so he could get anything hummin, ya know? We fixed up and built motors for all kinds a’ shit. My first car was a ‘67 Shelby Mustang with the fast back all because when I was about 14, he found most of one at a salvage yard and basically rescued it from the crusher. Got it for about nothin’. For two years we collected parts and did body work on that thing. And by the time I turned sixteen, it was the most beautiful, show-ready Kerry green machine you ever seen.”

“One of my favorite cars! I’d love to see pictures!”

“I’ve still got ‘er.” He grinned. “When Pap died, it got…hard for me to drive her, ya know? So…special occasions only now. And he left me his truck, which he’d just bought brand new while I was on my first tour. That F150 crew cab we came here in, with all the bells 'n whistles. I couldn’t let such a fine automobile go to waste.” He grinned.

“You’re such a gear head.” She chuckled.

“Hey, you may be glad about that when you need somebody to get your own motor humming.” He teased back at her, bending over the table to take his shot and sinking it deftly. He said they would only play for fun, but he was still winning this round…which she didn’t think was that fun.

“Okay, I deserved that.”

“The shot, or the innuendo?” He asked to clarify.

“Yes.” They laughed. He eventually did miss, making it her turn.

"Ya know, I'm disappointed in this date, Shane." He baited.

"How come?" she asked, a bit hurt.

"A guy only asks a girl to play pool with him so he can show her how to shoot…and you already know."

It was true. She'd played a lot growing up and even a bit as she got older. She and her siblings loved billiards. Her whole family, really. And although she was no professional, she wasn't half bad for an amateur.

"What do you mean?" she asked innocently, sizing up the table for her next shot, but knowing with a fair amount of certainty what he was implying.

"You know. I wanted to get all close to ya. Show ya how to grip that cue in your hand. How to stand, bent at the hip, where to eyeball your shot from." he smiled. "All that shit ya see in movies that makes the girl all nervous and excited that the guy's touchin' on her. Pressed up against her."

Shane grinned, picked up the small, blue cube of chalk and rolled the concave side over the tip of her cue…she had no need to do so, most people didn't, really…but she made herself look really sexy doing it and asked Sy, "Is that right? Well, I guess you'll have to find another way to get your cheap thrills, because this girl has been known to run a table." She bent over the green felt seductively, the angle at which she did so displaying her décolletage in his direction just enough to tantalize him into licking his lips. She took her shot at the 10 ball, but sunk the 8 instead, losing her the game…damn. She shouldn't have gotten cocky.

"Run it where, sunshine? Into the ground? Off a cliff?" he laughed as she stomped over and began to poke him mercilessly in the ribs.

"Come on, Minnesota Fats. Let's pay the tab and find something a little cozier to do."

"Oka--wait, did you just call me fat?" he was incredulous. She laughed.

"Oh my God, you thought YOU were gonna teach ME about billiards…Minnesota Fats is like the most famous pool player of ever. I am not calling you fat."

"You messin' with me?" he squinted.

"Sy, google it. I promise. I would never call you fat. You're… my sexy man bear."

"Technically a bear is a fat animal." he sulked.

"Why don't you tell that to one when it's chasing you down to make a meal of ya!" Shane laughed. "Come on. Remember? I think I mentioned something about… finding another way for you to get cheap thrills. Lets explore that, shall we?" she whispered into his ear. He dropped some bills on their table nearby to more than cover their food and beer, and they hauled ass into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had definitely been exploring. In the two weeks since they'd been given the green light to see each other outside of therapy--the day Sy basically handed Shane's boss her own ass--they'd spent most evenings with each other, unless Shane had a particularly late evening at work or an early day the next day. A few nights, they had been together so late, that just staying over seemed the most reasonable option. But they had both agreed to take things slowly with the physical stuff. It had been a long time since either of them had been in a relationship, and given their patient/therapist situation, waiting a while for the sex had seemed like a good idea…on paper. On the sofa had been a different story.

One day last week, she'd had to make an early night of things, and stood up from his couch, but was pulled back down to straddle his lap.

"Hold on a minute, sunshine. Why don't you gimme a proper goodbye before ya go, hmm?" he held her so close to him at every curve of their bodies, like the pieces of a puzzle snapping flush together. His kisses were deep and agonizing, his beard gently brushing her mouth, teasing her with its uncommon softness. She returned the ardor, squeezing him in every way she could.

She couldn't contain the desire pooling at her center, especially when he clearly couldn't contain his, either, straining against his shorts, pressing against her so deliciously, right where she needed him. She didn't hold back. And he was nothing if not encouraging to her endeavor.

"That feels so good, baby. You're so warm. Mmm." he whispered as he nipped at her ear and bit at her neck. She hadn't intended to, but she felt herself slipping over the edge, into pure euphoria and gripped at his hair, still rather short, though growing out from the mandated buzz. The length made him even more sensitive and when she ran her hands up his neck and over the back of his head, the result was like an electric current straight to his manhood. His body tensed as his release followed hers seconds later.

"Fuck." he said. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" she was truly confused.

"For losin' it like a teenager." he sighed and laid his head against the back of his couch in surrender…an unfamiliar sight, Shane was certain.

"Don't worry about it. I mean…it's not quite how I pictured our first time, but--"

"Oh, hell no. This doesn't count as a TIME, sunshine. This is batting practice. A warm up.”

"Ooh, you and your baseball references again. I told you, I need to leave, Sy. You can't get me worked up with that kinda dirty talk." she kissed his cheek, and stood. "Walk me out?"

He did. And they stood holding one another in the dark, leaned up against her Explorer, Sy's back against the door, Shane's cheek on his bare, hairy chest, and the turning of the earth all but forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had to stop thinking about him. About their dates and the time they'd spent together. But her schedule had fallen apart for the day due to a nasty storm that had blown in, she had no more education to work on for now, and she could only clean and organize her treatment room and desk so thoroughly.

She guessed…the secretaries knew she was available if need be…and she was salaried…what was the harm in texting Sy? She'd stayed late and came in early and overworked herself in general so much for this clinic. She could justify a bit of downtime.

Hey! Whatcha doin?

Just did some exercises that my super hot PT gave me! *winky face emoji*

Uh-Oh, should I be jealous?

Mmm, hard to say, sunshine. I guess it'll depend on which one of you sleeps with me first. *devil emoji*

Smart money is on the one who’s already let you get to second base…and basically third, even though…does it count if it’s basically because of a dare. Induced by Jack Daniels?

I think it counts if you came…*smirk emoji*

Damn those skilled fingers and Tennessee whiskey.

What can I say. I told ya I knew how to get a motor humming. *cool guy emoji*

You certainly do. No doubt about that.

So how's your day goin', sunshine?

Eh, everyone's cancelled on me. I have no one until 4:00, and I have nothing to do until then. I've decided to see it as a blessing and text my favorite fella.

And when he didn't respond, you resorted to me? *smirk emoji*

Hey you know that you have no competition for my affection other than like, my dad…and Chris Evans. Lol

Your dad, I'm sure I couldn't compete with if I tried, from what you've told me. Chris…well, I'm a REAL captain, not some guy jumpin' around in tights.

Mmmm, shame. I bet you'd look good in a getup like that. *heart eyes emoji*

You think so?

Yup! *American flag emoji*

You wanna be my Black Widow?

I mean…I've already basically got a costume…*embarrassed monkey emoji*

*several lines of big eye emojis*

Yeah, a few Halloweens ago…I was Romanoff. Now you know. I'm a total nerd.

I'm a nerd, too, sunshine. Serious nerd.

How am I just finding out about this? There's next to no merch at your place, and you never wear typical nerd shirts…*skeptical face emoji*

You haven't seen my whole place…*wink emoji*

What, are you telling me you have Batman bedsheets? *lol emoji*

Oh, it's much…much worse than that. The bedroom is pretty neutral, but…I have a…kind of rec room in the basement that is basically nerd central.

Oh. Em. Gee. I can't WAIT to see that, Sy!!! And how dare you hold out on me!!!

Well, I mean, I didn't wanna lay out all my cards right off the bat. I'm playing the long game.

Ah, so, when do I get to see this nerd trap?

Come on over, sunshine. *smiley face*

I said, I've got a patient at 4:00.

Everyone's cancelled on you. Can't you cancel on them for once?

Not unless I'm violently ill do I ever have any patients cancelled on my behalf.

So…say you're violently ill and come see me. *shrugging man emoji*

I dunno, Sy…

I got stuff to make that soup you like…

She had made it clear to him how much she loved soup, especially a good creamy potato soup, and on one of their dates, he'd had her over and there was a big pot of the stuff on his stove, made from scratch. She'd never had better, and he almost got lucky that night…and I mean…he still got a little lucky. He cooked for her AND cleaned up, AND let her pick the movie that night. She still picked an action movie, because she wasn't really a romance movie type, overall. Even so. Could she leave him hanging?

She opened her thread with Heather in her messenger app on her laptop.

Heather, is there anyone who could take my last patient, Mr. Lopez?

Looks like Cheri has a cancel around that time. Need me to move him?

If you could. I'm not feeling well.

Are you pregnant?

Omg, every fucking time. Why when anything is amiss in a woman's life must it be pregnancy?! And why is it okay to ask that question?! Ugh! She loved Heather like a sister, and it probably was just a joke, but uuuuuugh!

Yes…yes I am. *eye roll emoji* I've got a killer headache that's making me queasy. I'll email Susan. Thanks.

You bet. Tell Sy I said hi. *wink emoji*

Shut up.

After a quick and concise email to her boss, she picked her phone back up. One unread message.

You there, sunshine?

She simply replied,

Get that soup ready, Captain, I'm on my way.

Up Next: Chapter Eight: Heat/Ice

#netflix sand castle #sand castle #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x ofc #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #sigh for sy #smuttish #not full on smut

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talldecafcappuccino · 3 years

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Title: Between Close Friends

Rating: General Audience

Chapters: 1/1

Relationship: Ted Lasso/Rebecca Welton

Summary: Ted is bad at social media, but is that a bad thing?

Ted, what the fuck are you doing????

Ted peers at his phone, rubbing sleep from his eyes and reads the message again.

He scrolls down and sees he has twelve more texts and three missed calls all from Keeley Jones. He turns off his nighttime notifications with a few exceptions for emergency contacts, so it’s not surprising he slept through the messages.

He scratches at the stubble along his cheek and checks his clock. It’s seven o’clock here in Kansas, so it must be . . . early afternoon in London. He thinks through the last day, but he can’t remember anything interesting enough to have Keeley on the case.

Henry came over to his extended-stay hotel, they went to an American football game, got a late dinner in downtown Wichita, and watched a movie before bed.

They did make it on the Jumbotron for the Lasso-off, the team’s half-time dance contest, but his moves weren’t especially embarrassing. At least not in his opinion. Unless one of the moves was actually an insult to the English in which case, oh jeeze, he needs to get on this quick.

The call barely connects before Keeley’s voice echoes in his ear.

“Oy! Ted!”

“Keeley, I am so sorry for whatever I did to offend the great people of the United Kingdom. I am ready to make a statement and an apology tour as soon as you tell me which dance move I need to retire immediately.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I need you to log out of the AFC Richmond Instagram account. Like, now.”

That stops Ted in his tracks.

Does he even have access to that? He remembers a post-it note of accounts and passwords from Beard on their first day with Richmond.

There was an account run by the previous manager, but Keeley had taken it over long ago, converting it to the official team account. She had also made Ted a personal Instagram for his own use and brand development, but he never posted publicly.

He puts her on speaker phone and opens the Instagram app. She’s right. He’s logged into the team account with all 25 million followers. Well, shoot.

There are about a dozen stories posted from last night. All of Ted and Henry’s day together. There’s puns (“having a cow” at dinner with an image of Henry holding up a beef rib and screaming his head off), Ted and Henry singing at a dueling piano bar, the two brushing their teeth together in the bathroom mirror.

“No offense, but I think this may delay the Tom Ford deal you asked me about.”

“Yeah. I get that.”

“It’s just, you know, dads aren’t quite their brand. Or our brand. I mean we’re not anti-dorky dad, but you know with the whole comeback narrative during the season hiatus . . .”

“No I get it. You’ve put a lot of work into rebranding this team and I just undermined that.”

She sighs, but it’s fond.

“Sorry, Ted. It’s not like what you posted was bad, it’s rather sweet actually. It’s just a little different from the posts I had scheduled.”

Ted nodded. It wasn’t the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him, but he felt bad for making Keeley’s job harder than it needed to be.

“No, I’m sorry Keeley. I swear, it won’t happen again.”

****

“Can you believe what Ted did last night? I’ve never seen someone so bad at social media.”

Rebecca has no idea what Keeley is talking about when she walks into her office. She flops onto the couch, feet splayed on the coffee table, clearly exhausted by whatever Ted has done from 4,438 miles away.

“So many puns. Which, don't get me wrong, I love word play more than most people. But I don’t think it’s right for the team right now.”

Rebecca shuts her laptop.

“You’re right about puns not being part of the team plan, but what’s this about Ted? What did he do, exactly?”

Ted hasn’t posted anything in at least 24 hours. Not that Rebecca is keeping track.

“Oh he managed to switch to the team account on Instagram and posted about his entire evening out with Henry. It was quite sweet, actually. The ones that made sense,” but then she pulled a face.”He’s like, really, really bad at social media.”

Oof. Well that isn’t great, but Rebecca doesn’t think there’s anything particularly terrible about Ted’s social media use normally.

“But everything seems under control? No big PR actions needed.”

“It’s fine. I had him log out and wrote a post about Coach Lasso’s surprise social media takeover from America.”

Rebecca nods. Okay, so it was all sorted. Keeley has things totally under control.

But she reaches for her phone anyway. She opens Instagram, taps through the AFC Richmond stories, and snorts at the image of Henry with the rib as big as his head.

“Are people at least being kind?” Rebecca hopes Ted logged out without seeing any messages about Henry. Not that she could see any reason for it, but people were shitheads on the internet.

“Well, wanker is still the most common response. But many of them are wanker with a little heart at the end, so I think it’s fine. We actually got a lot of responses, proper engagement and all that,” she looks up at the ceiling, considering it for a moment before rolling her head to look back at Rebecca.

“If we weren’t trying to present the team as a badass phoenix rising from the ashes, I’d say a Ted takeover isn’t a bad idea. He just needs some supervision. Maybe a phone with a better camera.”

Rebecca is only half listening as she taps to the next story.

“Aw, they went to dueling piano night. That must have been fun for Henry.”

She’s smiling at her phone when Keeley asks, “Dueling piano night?”

“Yeah, you know at Jim Bob’s Bar.”

Keeley is looking at her blankly.

“Fine. I know it’s not really Jim Bob’s bar. It’s probably not even a bar if Henry’s there. But I can’t remember the real name off the top of my head.”

She’d looked it up once, after Ted first posted about the dueling pianos. For some reason she started calling it Jim Bob’s. Ted didn’t seem bothered and had even started calling it that himself.

When she looks up again, Keeley is staring at her, eyes narrowed.

“What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you know so much about some bar in Kansas?”

That gives Rebecca pause. She isn’t sure what Keeley means by the line of questioning.

“It’s not some totally random bar. Ted posts about it whenever he goes for dueling pianos.”

If he gets to the bar early or she has a particularly late evening, Rebecca catches the story before going to bed. When she does, she always asks him to put in $5 for Wannabee by the Spice Girls. She owes him a small fortune by now, but it’s worth it to see the bar explode with cheers and jeers.

Some nights she misses the story, but he puts money in anyways and she wakes up to a shaky video of, Yo, I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really want.

Rebecca thinks this is a good enough explanation, but Keeley is still staring at her.

“I’ve literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Keeley, you know social media is not my thing. All I know is that sometimes Ted posts about this bar on his tiny friends list thing,” she waves her hand around, trying her best to describe it. “The one with the green ring around it.”

Keeley leaps to her feet, eyes wide.

“Am I not on Ted’s Close Friends list??”

Before Rebecca can say a word, Keeley is halfway out the door, texting furiously.

“Roy, better not be on there, if I’m not on there. Ted knows how I feel about being left out!” she shouts over her shoulder. “Sorry Rebecca, I need to do some investigating, asap.”

Oof. She may have just created a problem. It’s probably best to give Ted a heads up before Keeley gets through interrogating Roy.

She drafts a text once, twice, then deletes it and presses call instead.

“Hey Boss, let me guess. Keeley got a hold of you?”

It’s been a while since they’ve chatted, what with the time difference. It’s bizarre how familiar his American accent has become.

“She just left my office, yes.”

There’s a loud crack in the background and a metal clang.

“Where are you?”

“Oh, just the batting cages with Henry,” he says, cheering loudly. “Hey, do you guys have a sport called baseball that has nothing to do with American baseball? You know, like football and football?”

She chuckles, “I don’t believe we do. However there is always cricket.”

He hums, considering it.

“Now Ted, I think there’s something you should know.”

“Lay it on me Boss. I know I caused a headache this morning, what’s the damage? What do you need me to do? I am at your disposal or I’ll lay really, really low as long as you need me to.”

“It’s not that Ted. It’s Keeley.”

“Keeley?”

“Yes, she’s on a bit of a mission at the moment. It seems you left her off your Close Friends list? I think that’s right. On Instagram?”

“Huh. How did that come up?”

“I was telling her about Jim Bob’s. Apparently she had never heard of it and realized you had a whole social media life she was unaware of.”

“Right . . .”

“So do what you will with that.”

“You haven’t talked to anyone else about this yet, have you?”

Rebecca is confused by this new direction.

“No. Why? Ted, is something wrong?”

It takes a long moment for Ted to respond.

“What can I say, I’m just really bad at this social media stuff.”

It's a non-response and an overly folksy one at that. But Rebecca can’t be fooled by the aw shucks routine—not anymore. She tries again.

“Ted. Who is on your close friends list?”

“Uh. Not a lot of people.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“What can I say?” He huffs, a little frustrated. She would feel bad for prying, but she can't help herself. “The list of people I want to share silly life things with is small.”

“How small?” she wonders.

“Very small.”

The line goes silent and Rebecca swears she lost him. But then she hears him take a deep breath.

“It’s you. You’re the list.”

Rebecca feels flush. That’s not where she was expecting this conversation to go.

“I know that might be a lot. You don’t have to say anything. I just, that’s the honest truth and I’d like to get ahead of it before Keeley harangues the entire team.”

It’s a lot to take in, but it makes sense. Sometimes when she’s watching his posts, she wonders about his audience. Who else cares about his biscuit recipe improvements or Broadway Sundays (a recent development that’s turned into a shared movie night.)

“Rebecca?”

She realizes she’s been quiet for a while. The moment feels tenuous and she worries about saying the wrong thing, sending him running faster than Keeley during a social media snafu.

Finally she settles on, “You know, you’re welcome to text me silly life things. It wouldn’t be a bother.”

She brushes invisible crumbs from her desk, listening carefully to his breathing on the other end of the line.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Maybe I can send some, too?”

Rebecca can hear his smile from across the Atlantic.

“Well, alright then.”

****

That night, Ted’s phone pings and he rolls over to see a text message from Rebecca. It’s a picture of the sun rising over her garden wall.

Something silly to start the day.

But it doesn’t feel silly. Not at all.

#ted lasso #ted lasso fic #some fluff #because a plot bunny got in the way of what I planned to write this weekend #I blame the Easter bunny #ted x rebecca

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years

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Bah Hiddleston | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon) | Chapter 2 | Winter Wonderland

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon)

Summary: Tamra Harmon has no mind to mess with Christmas. All that talk about Christmas magic and the joy of the holidays is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But will a chance encounter with perennial Christmas lover Tom Hiddleston change all that?

This chapter: A chance meeting at Afternoon Tea at the National Gallery sets Tom and Tamra on a Christmas adventure. Plus ice skating and hot chocolate.

Warnings for story: smut, oral sex, implied smut, vaginal sex, light angst

Tom’s jaw remained slack as he pulled back to study Tamra. She didn’t seem like the kind of person to spew such blasphemous language.

“I don’t understand you. Everyone likes Christmas.”

“Tamra Harmon.” she held her hand out, “Certified Christmas Hater.”

“Tom. Normal Person.” He shook her hand. “If you don’t like Christmas, why on earth did you come to London?”

Tamra studied Tom for a moment. His face looked familiar. But she couldn’t place where. She shrugged off the nagging feeling for the moment. “For the museums, Tom, no last name. I’m a curator. This is a low season for me.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “Not the answer I expected.”

An attendant brought tea and food, interrupting Tamra’s response. Tom set to prep the tea. Tamra divided the sandwiches and pastries between the two plates.

“May I pour for you?” Tom held up the pot. Tamra held her cup for him to pour. He put the pot down and held up the sugar. Tamra held up one finger. Tom finished fixing the tea before tucking into the sandwiches and chocolate pastries with a voracious appetite.

“Wow!” She gave a low whistle. “How do you stay so fit with the way you eat?”

Tom chuckled as he swallowed the bite of chocolate chip scone. “I work out.” he deadpanned.

Tamra giggled. “Well, you look like you carbing up for a marathon.”

“With busy hammers closing rivets up, give dreadful note of preparation. In this case, I am preparing for Christmas crowds.”

“Shakespeare.”

“Quite right.” Tom shoved another bite of scone. “Henry V.”

“Act Four, Scene 1.”

“I’m impressed. Few can recount act and scene. Fan of the Bard?”

“Yes. I am a bit of a history buff. I take from your comment you are as well.”

Tom’s cheeks blushed at the comment. “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

Tamra tilted her head to the side. “Occupational hazard?”

“I’m an actor. And what with being British, Shakespeare appears to run through my veins.”

Tamra’s mind flashed to six months ago when PBS reran The Hollow Crown. The hair longer, the beard more pronounced but now Tamra knew who sat before her.

“Holy FUCK, you’re Tom Hiddleston!” She exclaimed louder than she planned.

“In the flesh, I’m afraid. And I would advise to keep your voice down unless you want to cause a scene.” Tom held his finger to his lips and Tamra nodded.

“So why are here at the National Gallery for tea?” Tamra took a bite of a tea sandwich before wrinkling her nose and placing it back on the tray.

“I skipped lunch. I’m hungry.” Tom took a large sip of tea before popping another bite of pastry in his mouth. “Shopping is exhausting work.”

“Don’t you have assistants to do that sort of thing?” Tamra found the chocolate chip scone much more appetizing. “I prefer to do my family Christmas shopping myself.” Tamra wrinkled her nose. Tom punched his fist against the table. “That is the second time you have reacted to Christmas since I sat down. What is your problem with Christmas?”

Tamra narrowed her eyes and Tom did the same, in an unspoken game of chicken, seeing who would blink first. Tamra lost her focus in Tom’s clear blue eyes and she blinked. “I don’t have fond memories of the holidays.” she huffed.

“With such a sparkling personality as yours, I find that hard to believe.” His voice dripping with sarcasm.

“My parents got divorced at Christmas.”

Tom’s smile wiped from his face. He reached across the table and placed his hand onto of hers. “I’m sorry. I have been there myself when I was young. It is never easy.”

Tamra nodded and shoved a big bite of scone into her mouth to end the conversation. Their conversation died out as the din from the dining room filled the air. Tamra snuck glances across the table at Tom, who seemed oblivious to her spying.

Tom stared out the window as he ate. The Christmas tree glittered in the afternoon light. He chewed on the conversation as he chewed on a savory pastry. Tamra’s whole attitude towards Christmas unsettled Tom, not just the attitude but reasoning behind the negativity. A plan brewed and percolated in a corner of his mind. He turned to face Tamra, who threw her gaze askance as he faced her. Tom smiled at the whole scene. He was used to having people gawk and stare but there was something different here. Tom saw the wheels turning in Tamra’s mind.

She is a complete stranger. He mulled, trying to convince himself to not to follow through of his ridiculous plan. Luke will be furious. She might be a psychopath or worse a crazed fan. He listed all the reasons not to do this and each time he rationalized the reason away. After wrestling with himself, he gave a small nod as if to set down the path he chose.

“So…” he placed his cup back on the saucer. “My holiday plans have changed because of unforeseen circumstances and I will be in town longer than I expected. I would love some company.”

Tamra raised one eyebrow. “You want to hang out with me?” Her nose wrinkled. “What’s the catch?”

Tom’s eyes sparkled at how quickly she caught on. “You are clever. While we would keep each other company, I would like to show you all the joy and wonder that Christmas has to offer. How long are you in the country?”

“Twelve days.”

“Perfect. What do you say? What to spend Christmas with a man who eats afternoon tea alone?”

Tamra leaned back and studied Tom, mulling his proposal. She didn’t want to anything Christmas related, but she also didn’t want to spend the next twelve days alone. And she could imagine worse company than a handsome British guy.

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I am here for the museums. So I will partake of holiday activities if we go to one museum a day.”

“Deal.” Tom extended his hand. Tamra shook his hand.

“Deal.” Tom began to busy himself clearing the table. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I only twelve days. I’m not wasting a moment.” he smiled as he stood and straightened his sweater.

Tamra placed the last bite of scone in her mouth before rising as well. “Well, aren’t you a man of action?”

“You have no idea.”

The two of them tugged on their winter coats as they headed out into the chilled air. Tom led the way through the busy London streets and he left Tamra with little choice but to hold his hand as he weaved into and out among the pedestrians. She didn’t know their destination headed and Tom refused to divulge his plans.

After about 30 minutes, they arrived at Hyde Park, Winter Wonderland to be precise. Tamra glared at Tom as he attempted to pull her into the cavalcade of lights and sound.

“We made a deal.” Tom responded.

“Aren’t you afraid of being recognized?”

Tom pulled his ball cap lower on his brow. “I’m invisible.”

Tamra laughed at the notion that a black baseball cap somehow rendered Tom invisible to the crowd. Tamra relented as Tom tugged on her arm again. The light arches lined the main walk area. She observed midway games, food and drink, and carnival rides. Everything Christmas themed. Tamra’s eyes darted from side to side taking in the sights. She wondered how the organizers construct something so extensive just for the holidays. Tom led them to the skating rink.

“Are you serious?” Tamra questioned as they stood in line to purchase tickets and rent skates.

“As a heart attack.” Tom gave a dazzling smile. “You don’t like ice skating? It is a time-honored winter activity, not a Christmas activity.”

“We don’t do a lot of ice skating in Florida.”

“Fair enough.” Tom nodded. “Florida, that would explain the lightweight winter coat.” Tom pulled at Tamra’s sleeve.

She moved out of his reach. “Hey, I did the best I could. They don’t sell a lot of wool at the mall. Now bathing suits, I can handle.”

She blushed realizing what she said and saw Tom blush as well.

“I am sure you dazzle in a bikini as you do in a parka and scarf with your winning personality.” Tom teased.

“Are you flirting, Hiddleston?”

“Not in the slightest. Just making an observation.”

Tamra blushed deeper as Tom wiggled his eyebrows for effect. Tom paid for the tickets and grabbed both sets of skates. In no time, he had his shoes off and skates on.

“You can put your shoes in the locker with mine.”

“Do they smell?”

“I’m not sure, but you are welcome to check.”

“Hard pass.”

Tamra pulled off her boots and placed him next to Tom’s in the locker. Tom locked the door while Tamra pulled on the skates. He helped Tamra stand, and they moved their way to the ice. Tom stepped out first, gliding out on wobbly legs.

“You look like a baby giraffe.” she giggled as she clung to the railing.

“Not the first time I have been called a giraffe.” Tom held his hands out. “Your turn.”

Tamra gripped tight to the railing.

“Trust me, Tamra. I am here.” Tom beckoned her.

With trepidation, Tamra placed one foot onto the ice followed by the other, still gripping the side.

“Trust.” Tom reassured.

She pushed off the side towards Tom’s outstretched arms. She smiled as she glided towards Tom. As she neared him, they both realized she couldn’t stop. Tamra plowed at full speed into Tom and they both dropped like a rock to the ice. They collapsed into a pile of limbs.

“That will leave a bruise.” Tom groaned as he sat up.

Tamra rubbed her backside. “Agreed.”

“Let’s try this again. A little less speed this time.”

Tamra nodded. Tom rose to his feet first, looking as graceful as one could on ice in skates. He pulled Tamra to her feet next, and they set off again, albeit much slower.

“And they say Floridians can’t skate.” Tom commented as they made their final round before their session ended. Tamra held Tom’s tight until the last ten minutes when he let her go. Tamra’s eye shot over to him as he pulled behind her. He shooed her away.

“I did it!” she exclaimed as she came to a stop at the side.

Tom smiled as he glided behind her, bumping against her just to tease her.

“You need more confidence.”

They stepped back onto terra firma and exchanged their skates for their shoes. As they stepped back onto the main walkway, Tamra noticed the chill of air. She rubbed her arms to warm up.

“Need to warm up?”

“Yeah, all those falls wet my clothes.”

“I know just the thing.”

Tom led her to a row of food tents. They ducked a food tent.

“Welcome to Thor’s!” the bartender greeted them.

“I guess I should have looked at the name before we entered.” Tom commented.

Tamra snickered. They perused the drinks menu. Tamra ordered a hot cocoa.

“There is nothing on here for Loki. This is an outrage!” he slammed his fists in mock anger.

“There is a Frosty Giant.” Tamra pointed out.

“One measly drink. This is unacceptable.” Tom leaned to the bartender. “Tell your boss the God of Mischief is not pleased.”

The bartender nodded and Tom gave him a wink before ordering a hot cocoa as well.

The bartender turned to prepare their drinks.

“Do you always harass the waitstaff?”

“Only when I am in good company.” He shoved her shoulder.

“On the house for the God of Mischief and his date.” the bartender commented, handing them two large mugs of cocoa.

“Not his date.” Tamra deadpanned before turning to find a seat.

Tom shrugged his shoulders at the bartender before following Tamra.

The hot cocoa warmed them to the core. They drained the mugs in no time and then stepped out into the wonderland.

“How about we check out the Christmas market?”

“What’s a Christmas market?”

“A collection of people selling Christmas related items.”

Tamra wrinkled her nose. “I will go, but I won’t enjoy myself.”

“That is all I ask.” Tom gave a small bow.

“Stop it! You are drawing attention to us!” Tamra pulled at his arm.

“As you wish.”

They moved from stall to stall with Tom looking at everything and asking questions while Tamra stood nearby wanting it all to be over. She lingered at one of the last stalls, admiring the workmanship of a hand-blown glass ornament. Tamra turned it over in her hands a few times before putting it down in haste when she caught Tom spying. She hustled away to the next stall, leaving Tom behind.

Tom picked out a few ornaments for his mother and sisters.

“Which one did the young lady look at?”

The owner gestured to a beautiful blue and white ball. Tom picked it up. The ornament was the color of the ocean. Perfect for a girl from Florida.

“I will take that one too. And can you wrap it please?”

The owner nodded and rang up the purchases. Tom trotted off to catch up with Tamra, who was tapping her foot at the end of the aisle.

“What’s in there?” Tamra gestured at the bag in Tom’s hand.

“Some presents for my sisters and mother.” Not a lie. He fudged.

“It’s starting to get dark, should we head out?”

“I have one more activity in mind.”

Tamra groaned as Tom dragged her off in the direction of the Observation Wheel.

“A Ferris Wheel? Are we at the county fair?”

“We are at Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. And it’s Observation Wheel. Now stop complaining. You will be free of me for the night in no time.”

Tamra shuffled her feet. She didn’t want to admit but Tom was pleasant company. After waiting in line, the attendant loaded them into their seats. The wheel started to rise and lifted them into the London sky.

“This is how London should be viewed.” Tom gestured to the windows.

At first, Tamra saw the rainbow of lights from the Wonderland. She could see the rides and the skating rink. As they rose, the lights of the city twinkled in the evening. Tamra couldn’t pick out anything other than the London Eye in the distance but it looked beautiful just the same. At first Tom sat back to watch her, but before long he too became enamored with the view.

The lights fell from view as they made their descent and before long they were back in the cold London evening air. They walked in silence to the entrance.

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow. How will this whole thing work?” she asked.

Tom gave a nervous giggle. “I haven’t thought it out.” He rocked back on his heels. “The least I can do is give you a ride to your hotel—”

“Airbnb.”

“—Even better. We can exchange mobile numbers. And I will call you in the morning to pick you up.”

“I can’t impose on you like that. I can take the Tube.”

“Nonsense. Where are you staying?”

“Over by the Bakersfield station.”

Tom clapped his hands.

“On my way home. It’s settled. I’m taking you.” He fished his phone out his pocket and dialed a number.

“Over by Winter Wonderland by Hyde Park. Thank you.” Tom hung the phone. “Driver will be here in about ten minutes.”

“Wow. Driver on command. Fancy.”

“I assure you it is more of a pain than I care to admit.”

Tamra rolled her eyes but said nothing. A black car pulled up, and the driver got out to open the door for Tom. He gave a glare as Tamra approached the car, but Tom waved him it off.

“It’s okay, she’s with me.” Tamra slid into the back seat. The driver closed the door and returned to behind the wheel.

“Where to, Mr Hiddleston?”

“Give him the address.” Tom whispered to Tamra.

She pulled out her phone to give the address of her Airbnb. Traffic was light at night so they got to her place in about fifteen minutes. Tom lept from the car, much to the dismay of the driver, to run around the car and open Tamra’s door.

“Allow me.”

“Thank you.”

Tamra gestured to the door. “This is me.”

“Thank you for the company and being a good sport. Feeling the Christmas spirit?” Tom asked with hopeful eyes.

Tamra’s face dropped. “I am feeling the bruises forming on my ass from ice skating. Is that what the Christmas spirt feels like?”

“Hardly. I will have to try again tomorrow. Before I leave, I need your mobile.” Tamra handed Tom her phone. He typed for a bit before looking up at her with a grin and returning to type. Tom then typed into his own phone. He returned her phone after several minutes.

“Don’t look at it until tomorrow.” he ordered.

“Fine. Goodnight Tom.”

“Goodnight Tamra.” Tom extended his hand; she shook it.

“It’s been weird.” she retorted before opening her door. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.”

Tom stood in the cold until the door shut behind Tamra. He rubbed his arms and hurried back into the car.

“Home, please.” He asked of the driver.

Tom sat for a moment in the silence, wondering how he got here and what he would do tomorrow. He wondered about all the things to do in London and that spark a thought.

“Fuck!” he muttered as he fished his phone out. He punched in a familiar number. Despite the late hour, the person on the other end, answer on the first ring.

“Luke… I have something to tell you.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston smut #bah hiddleston

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Note

Since this actually happened to my friend last week and I’m now totally paranoid it’s going to happen to me too: person x is trying to sell their house/apartment and person y’s realtor forgets to give notice and person y walks in on person x getting out of the shower...

Rain pounds down around her as she drives to the viewing she set up last week. It’s time for her to get out of her apartment and have a house for Henry with a backyard. Like, an actual backyard with grass and a swing set and not something that’s covered in concrete and trash from their neighbors. She feels like she’s been saving for years, and maybe she has been.

No, she definitely has been.

It’s hard to be a bail bondsperson and a mom to a ten-year-old boy. Some nights she spends half of her paycheck on Henry’s babysitter, especially because a lot of the time they have to spend the night at her apartment. Frankly, it sucks. But this is the hand life has dealt her, with a large assist from Neal Cassidy and all of his asshole ways, and she’s dealing with it. She thinks she deals with it well, but it’s not like she’s given Henry a life with two parents and ice cream on Saturdays after they come home from his soccer games.

There’s one parent, maybe some ice cream, and Henry likes baseball, weirdly enough. She didn’t know a single thing about baseball until Henry came home one day and told her he was playing it.

She’s a baseball mom.

Like, she keeps a chair in the back of her car and brings orange slices (sometimes donuts when she forgets it’s her week) to games and slathers she and her son down in lotion so that neither of them get burned. Ten years ago when she was in the high school bathroom staring at a positive pregnancy test, she could have never imagined any of this.

Life is weird.

She loves her kid more than anything in the world.

Her car runs through a puddle, mud and water splashing up on the side, and she nearly sways into the other lane. Shit, she needs new wipers too. She doubts that comes with this house. Maybe some curtains and the appliances but definitely not windshield wipers for her car. That would be a little odd. Helpful but odd.

She thinks that she’s pulled up to the right house, the exterior looking the same as the listing online, and she checks the address one more time as a loud crash of thunder vibrates the ground, her car, and seemingly the blood in her veins. She really hates storms. Seriously. Nothing good comes from them except maybe plants and grass getting watered, but all they really need is a light sprinkle. They don’t need a thunderstorm.

Calm it down universe.

Sighing, she pulls on her raincoat, zipping it up as much as she can, and pulls the hood over her hair. She really needs an umbrella, but she gave Henry hers before he got on the bus for school this morning. It’s probably five dollars for another umbrella. She’ll stop by CVS or something on the way home.

Home.

That’s a weird word because technically, if she likes this place, and if Henry likes this place when she brings him here at some point, this could be their home.

Huh.

Home.

It’s a mad dash from her bug to the front door, her keys jiggling against the key Ashley, her realtor, gave her to get into the house as she runs. It doesn’t really help, though. Her boots are somehow soaked through, wet grass and mud covering her feet as she tries to shake the water from her coat, water droplets falling to the brick steps that are covered by the roof.

Oh, a nice little covered porch. That’s good. She likes that.

She scrapes her feet against the welcome mat (sorry, house owner) and unlocks the door, stepping inside. It looks just like the pictures, which is always a good sign. There’s a small entryway, light gray paint covering the walls, with a small cushioned bench pressed up against the wall. It’s definitely more for decoration than anything, but she can see she and Henry having a little cubby there for their shoes and his backpack. She’d definitely put a key ring there and then decidedly not put her keys there.

It always happens. And she’s always late everywhere.

With her shoes squeaking on the dark hardwood, she walks out of the entryway and into the living room. It’s kind of small, but then again, so is the house. It’s not like she’s looking to buy some kind of mansion. She’s a single mom looking for a place where she and her son can have their own bedrooms and bathrooms, preferably ones that don’t share walls. It’s not like she’s brining guys back to her house, but sometimes Henry jams out to hard rock (she has no idea where the AC/DC obsession came from, and she’s honestly not sure if she should be letting her kid listen to it) and she needs to sleep.

But her own bathroom? That’s a must have.

She wanders around the living room and the connected dining room, the table and chairs under a rounded archway, and even though she’s supposed to be imagining their stuff here, all she notices is the nautical décor. Seriously. She knows that they live in Maine and the ocean is fifteen minutes away, but this is some serious anchor and captain’s wheel decor. Everything is in dark leathers and deep blues, and if she had to bet, a guy lives here. It’s stereotypical, but stereotypes are true for a reason.

Damn, sailor. How many stripes can you have on each pillow?

Is there a crab on that pillow on the recliner? There is.

It’s a nice place, though, one that hits all of her boxes, and the very last thing to check is the master bedroom. She’s basically living in a shoebox now, so when she opens the last door in the house and sees that there’s room for a king bed (not that she has one) plus a few extra pieces of furniture, she lets out a sigh of relief. The nautical theme is still going on, a white bedspread with blue and green pillows covering the mattress, and above the bed is what seems to be a framed Naval uniform. Or at least the jacket. It’s a weird flex, but it’s not the weirdest thing she’s ever seen. Yesterday Ashley took her into a house that had purple carpeting and a leopard couch.

Nautical is much better.

She’s bringing her own stuff her anyways. The owner is going to take all of his things and never come back.

After looking at the bedroom and watching the rain fall heavily outside, she walks over to the door that she assumes is the bathroom and twists the knob, opening the white frame and stepping into what has to be the bathroom.

Which is being used right now.

Specifically the shower.

Which is clear glass.

With a naked man inside of it.

Holy shit.

“What the bloody hell are you doing in here?” the man shouts the moment he sees her, blue eyes connecting with green. Why in the world is the shower so close to the door? Why is that her concern right now?

There’s a naked man in the shower. Like, she’s getting a full frontal view.

“What are you…what are you doing in here?” she screeches, still staring at the damp hair that’s matted down on his chest and the lean muscles that are beneath. Nope. Nope. Nope. She should not be looking at this naked man who most likely broke into the house to take a shower or something. Damn it, she should have brought her gun inside.

She looks at him one more time, shock still running through her system and causing her heart to beat erratically in her chest, threatening to break through the ribcage, before she looks up at the ceiling, biting the inside of her cheek while her foot taps. Why is she standing still instead of running away? This is the dumbest decision she’s ever made.

“What am I doing here?” the man scoffs, turning the water off.

How did she not hear the water? The rain. The rain must have blocked it out. Or maybe she was too distracted by all of the nautical stuff. Maybe this house turns into a boat and sails away. It might need to if this storm never stops.

“Yes, what are you doing here? Are you one of those creeps who breaks into houses that are for sale and steals things? Or uses the shower? Did you also decided to make yourself lunch today?”

She’s so focused at looking at the pattern on the ceiling that she doesn’t realize that the man has gotten out of the shower and stepped toward her, hovering slightly over her face. Couldn’t he have put on more than a damn towel? She’s probably going to get murdered, and she’s distracted by this dude’s bare chest and the scruff that lines his jaw. He’s crazy hot, and his eyes are much bluer this close.

Crap. He’s probably like Ted Bundy or something.

Nope. Nope. Nope. Not going there. She is not getting murdered today.

“Love, I own this house. What are you doing here?”

Oh.

Oh shit.

“W-what do you mean you own this house?” she asks, straightening out her back to try to make herself bigger. He’s not that much taller than her with the heels of her boots helping, but it’s still a difference. Plus she has to stop looking down. The towel doesn’t hide much. “Ashely said that no one would be here and I’m free to look around.”

His tongue clicks at the same time that thunder rolls outside, and she takes the brief moment to back up so that she can’t feel his body heat.

“You’re viewing the house. Thank God. I was about to call the cops.”

“And say what? A woman is watching me shower. I don’t think – oh yeah, I could totally get arrested for that. Sorry.”

He smiles at her, white teeth contrasted against the black of his beard, and she absolutely cannot wait to tell Ruby about this. She may very well die of laughter…if Emma doesn’t die of embarrassment first.

And disappointment over not getting the house. There’s no way this guy is going to sell it to her now.

“Yeah, love,” he laughs, tightening his towel around his waist, “you could.” He reaches his hand out in front of her, and she stares at it for a moment too long before taking it and shaking his rough hand, disbelief at this entire situation beginning to sink in. “Killian Jones, house owner and shower taker. I’m in desperate need of a realtor who tells me when to get out of the house so that beautiful women don’t walk in on me in the shower and see all of the features that are not included in the sale.”

“Wow,” she whistles, shaking her head back and forth at the cockiness of this guy, of Killian Jones. Or maybe he’s just confident. He does seem to be laughing a bit at himself, and he could be embarrassed. She swears that she sees the slightest bit of red on the apples of his cheeks. She honestly doesn’t know. “So if I buy the place, you don’t just hang out naked in the shower all day?”

He lets go of her hand and leans forward, seductively winking. That doesn’t make goosebumps rise on her skin at all. “I could if you want me to.”

Her lips part, all words dying on the tip of her tongue. All she can really think about doing is kneeing this guy in the balls, but that doesn’t really seem appropriate. She did kind of invade him in his own home, after all.

“I don’t,” she finally answers.

He shrugs it off. “Fair enough. What was your name again, love?”

“I don’t believe I told you.”

He raises his right brow, lines on his forehead increasing, and she gets the feeling that this is kind of his signature move.

“Would you like to? I’m not Rumpelstiltskin or anything. I don’t get a secret power in knowing your name.”

She laughs at that. She can’t help it. “Funny. My son just got really into fairytales and has been kind of obsessed with Rumpelstiltskin. But I’m Emma. Emma Swan.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Swan,” he smiles, and she notices how he doesn’t question or flinch away at the mention of Henry. Most people do. But this isn’t a date or anything. This is just an awkward meeting, and if she wasn’t interested in buying this house, she’d probably never have to see this guy again. “If you’ll give me five minutes, I’ll change into some actual clothes and show you around the house, give you the real behind the scenes tour. It’s the least I can do.”

She’s not sure why he’s being so nice when she’s the one who walked in on him, but she’ll take it.

“I’d like that.”

After he gets dressed, Killian shows her around the house, telling her all of the ins and outs that she might possibly need to know. Really, he shares far too many weird facts and oddities about the house (like how sometimes he has to slam his hand up in the freezer to get the ice machine to work and how there’s a dip in the wood in the second bedroom that gets worse in the heat) for someone trying to sell the house, but she appreciates his honestly in everything. He’s actually really good at showing the place off, much better than Ashley has been in showing her the other places, and when she asks him if he also works in real estate, he lets out a hearty laugh before telling her that he’s a retired Naval Captain (which explains so damn much about every piece of décor in the house) and is moving to an apartment closer to his new job as the harbormaster. He says he doesn’t need this much space anyways.

It’s the perfect amount of space for she and Henry, though.

She spends an hour or so listening to him talk, which is really far too much time since she’s already looked at most of the house, but she kind of loses track of time listening to him explain things and share stories that give her a little glimpse into all of the life that’s taken place at this house. He’s a charming guy, which is usually the first warning sign to stay far away, but she tells herself that it’s all about the house. That’s why she’s listening to him.

And that’s what she tells herself three days later when she brings Henry to see the place. Killian isn’t there, Ashely most likely actually telling him to leave, but he does leave a note on the counter that she knows is for her.

I left the shower free if you want to test it out. I’d suggest locking the door, love. You never know who might walk in.

“What are you smiling at, Mom?” Henry asks her as he slams a kitchen cabinet door shut.

“Nothing, Kid.”

She goes under contract to buy the house two days later.

Two years later, after dating for nearly all of that time, she asks Killian to move back into the house that he sold to her in some kind of weird full circle move.

They definitely share the shower.

#cs prompts #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic

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pinkbalrog · 5 years

Text

Harry Potter and the Intruders an HP Night Vale fanfic

I did not edit this at all. This was basically just something g fun to write. I don't even particularly like Harry Potter. *shrugs

Harry Potter and the Intruders

Premise: Harry Potter is raised in Night Vale. Only practicing magic in Night Vale is similar to cleaning. Everyone has different ways of scrubbing the sink or making sure the doors are locked and some people are better at it than others.

The new clock ticked loudly. Harry had set it at “uncomfortable visitation” as he gestured his guests to the couch under the guise of checking it against his wrist watch.

Vermin milled at his feet, whuffing softly at his visitors, pink tongue lolling out. Harry sat down across from them, careful not to wrinkle his blazer and asked, “Sorry, I don’t have time to make coffee. Will tea do?” Personally, Harry found the steady banging of the coffee hammer comforting, so he was sorry.

But it was good for them to know that he was Busy, of the kind that was best got on with, which was true. At his feet, Vermin settled with his head on his paws.

“Thank-you, tea is welcome,” said the guest on the right. She was a spare woman in high-necked black, and she folded her hands like she’d like to wring them. The man to her left was extravagantly bearded, and had the huddled posture of a roosting bird. He peered at Harry through half-moon glasses and smiled a little beatifically.

The desert heat had left their hair and lace quite wilted.

Hesitating, the woman leveled a long look at Harry’s face, and took a deep breath. “Mr. Potter, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, and this is Professor Albus Dumbledore. We knew your parents. We had-have reason to look out for your wellbeing and would speak to you about those circumstances.” Her posture reminded Harry of Khoshekh bristling his spines.

Dumbledore leaned forward so his beard brushed gold bedazzled knees, full of unctuous good cheer. “It’ so good to see you safe and sound, Mr. Potter, all limbs accounted for.”

Harry shifted so the handle of the knife in his sleeve was better positioned, smiling.

“Well, thank you. I am proud of that. Hold on, let me get your tea”. Once they were served in his second best mugs he mirrored Dumbledore’s posture, replying,

“Oh, I see the problem. I’m not Harry Potter. I’m Harry Carlsberg,” and he beamed, glad to have cleared that up. People who knew him would have remarked a pointed resemblance to his Uncle.

“May I direct you to the nearest telephone book, member of the Sheriff’s Secret Police, or” and he glanced at Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes, “the nearest church of the smiling god?”

Their rebuttal was long and earnest. Harry sat very straight, smiled fixedly, and watched the light slant across the floor through the slatted blinds. He bent a little to scratch behind Vermin’s ears.

They held forth on blood magicks gone wrong (which Harry nodded sagely at) an unknown adoption, prophecy, fascists and owls for some reason. Harry did not offer more tea.

He interrupted at the mention of a guerilla movement. “Don’t you have a fearsome, incredibly talented, young female leader to coordinate and strategize for you, or can you not find one?” he frowned. “You can’t have ours.”

Unfortunately, this prolonged the whole conversation and Harry resorted to playing tug of war with Vermin’s favorite rope. His blazer, he mourned, was no longer pristine.

Finally, sounding desperate, McGonagall protested, “Mr. Potter, you must have noticed, you are magic, a wizard.”

As if on cue, Dumbledore pulled a stick from his sleeve, and humming, turned his mug into a song bird. Vermin perked up, cocking a dark velvet head, and scrambled to chase it. His gleeful barking followed the frantic twitter of the bird wheeling around the room.

Harry ignored this.*

“I’m a physical therapist.”

Hesitating, eyes darting around the room, she opened her mouth—closed it. Her eye twitched. "You-you!” shouting, she flung out a hand and light shot out, reduced the bird to a mug that thumped down onto the rug, profoundly disappointed Vermin, and did not appear to help her blood pressure.

Visibly straining for patience, she lowered her own stick and arranged her worn face into something kind. Her voice was precise and gentle,

“Being a wizard, it’s not something you become, it’s something you are,” a speculative pause, "and judging by your reaction, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

Now, Harry had been patient. Yes, these people were bothering him just as he was anticipating a nice evening out, but they meant well. They weren’t salesmen had to be lured to the censor of human desperation left at the end of the hall so residents could creep past them to the elevators; but Harry was out of patience.

Bullishly setting his jaw he squared his shoulders, and glowered. His voice snapped out, "Vim, Vim here boy!” Vermin pattered over, came to attention to the left of Harry’s knee, poised.

“Both what we become and what we are subject to change and often unknown to ourselves. Safer to say, ‘I am a physical therapist’. It’s accurate.” He raised his chin, continued, “and I’m not accredited in Designing Rituals for the Public Good.”

He spelled out the acronym DRPG, suspecting they weren’t familiar with it or the popular abbreviation, Drop and Cover.

Glimmering with a writhing thread count of gold and silver, Dumbledore sat rigid, and deliberately spread his hands. His eyes were stern. Potential gathered in his mien like a thunderstorm over the gentle dip of the sand wastes.

The table bled. Harry’s cell sang out the crooning opening lines of Henry Mancini’s “Rock You like a Hurricane.”

“Oh! Sorry I have to take this,” he sprang to his feet and murmured a chant, then nicked his thumb with one long, sharpened canine and rubbed the bit of blood on the home button.

“Hey! Yeah, unexpected guests. Still on. Five minutes?” he side-eyed his guests meaningfully, and started chivvying them toward the door.

He paused to nudge Vermin into his crate and secure the clasp well in case Vermin grew opposable thumbs when he wasn’t there. He’d better not. Harry wanted pictures!

The intruders protested, but Harry was used to assisting even the most recalcitrant citizens of Night Vale in strength building exercises and so was trained in four different unarmed martial arts and mild hypnosis.

He chattered as he ushered them out and locked the door.

“Really for the best. Sure, I got my Sedition, Infiltration, and Retreats both Orderly and Under Fire badges in the scouts, but I haven’t dusted off my desert camo in years. It’s still buried in the backyard of my childhood home along with my then-aspirations. Good riddance I say.

Now off you go, I’m sure your prophecy, like most brain aneurysms, will either happen or won’t.”

By the time they reached the bottom of the fire stairs both his guests were getting their breath back. They blinked wide eyed at the harsh light that flushed the town in orange and red, warmed the parking lot, and limned eddies of dust around the brightening street lights. A few cars passed.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore managed, beard quivering in entreaty or threat, “You must listen, this is important. More lives than yours wait on your attention. Hopes rest in you. To dismiss then so lightly does them and yourself a discredit.”

Morose but alive with passion he extended a hand. McGonagall eased into a gentle smile, patient entreaty in every long line of her.

Harry intoned, “ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD”. So did Dumbledore and McGonagall. They paled. Harry did a little jump and spun on his heel.

“Glow Cloud! These are two intruders I met today, or at the least I assume one or more of them isn’t multiple entities in one or a parasite suppressing the host consciousness.”

The vast ridge of cumulous above their heads rippled in a cascade of color and sound like wind in thorn trees, a thin whistle just audible. There was the scent of vanilla, or maybe its taste on the back of Harry’s tongue.

Harry loved vanilla. It reminded him of summer days at the zoo.

“Mr. Potter! Harry! That-that has to be a form of-of imperious. We’ll handle this.” McGonagall swept in front of him. Dumbledore strode forward ordering,

“A kind of dementor I think, of a level I’ve never seen—” and he collapsed to his knees, chanting, “ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD. ALL WILL KNEEL FOR THE CLOUD AND KEEP THEIR TONGUES. LET ALL SAY HIS NAME ETC. ETC.”

McGonagall yelped (or yowled?), dropped her stick and looked shifty, pretending it hadn’t happened.

“Huh,” Harry stepped past Dumbledore to step into the shade cast by his boyfriend. “I know it’s startling at first, but then you just, stop feeling the need to obey. Personally, I think the whole ‘I must understand/dominate this thing/entity that somehow defies me’ thing adds a lot to this relationship.”

A dead rat fell at his feet, splatting and staring up with a rictus of unspeakable terror, eyes bulging and tongue sickly distended, like a wet ribbon. Harry tilted his head up, his whole body rearing up to the cloud, eyes fond.

“Yeah, let’s go. Do you like the fangs**? The new dentists from Desert bluffs are amazing.”

If he’d bothered to look back he would have seen McGonagall kneel in front of Dumbledore, still chanting loud and shrill and panicky in the background; but a curling tendril of cloud swept down around his chin and he ducked into it, cheeks flushed.

*Harry turned a blind to most things Vermin savaged or broke, excepting his signed baseballs, especially since the one he’d caught with his mouth in that record breaking game had been found torn to bits under his sister’s wheelchair one morning.

**Upon discovering that he could talk to snakes, and instill in them a rudimentary sentience thereby, Harry spent most of the last year of middle school identifying as the God King of Serpents, and had never really gotten over his disappointing lack of venom sacks.

#harry potter #welcome to night vale #fanfic #harry/glowcloud #really random #threw this together in an evening

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

Text

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Eight: Heat/Ice

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Playing hooky leads to more delicious food (Sy cooks! Swoon!), some deep conversation, and new revelations about Shane’s past.

What? You’re behind? Don’t worry! CLICK ME to catch up before reading this chapter!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, mature themes, more food sluttiness, shameless nerd speak, unfettered and shameless sappiness.

Author’s Note: So, guys, I’m sorry. I really wanted to get this chapter to you Sunday. Life has just been a bit disheartening of late. Between being upset over some personal turmoil some friends are going through (two of my oldest friends are getting a divorce!) and coming home from work utterly exhausted on all possible levels, it’s been hard to write about lovey dovey things. As I said in my recent reblog of my masterlist, though, I’m working on some prologues, one for each character. I don’t plan on them being terribly long, but I want you guys to have some more back story.

Tags:

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@summersong69

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@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

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@suavechops

It was hard to feel guilty for calling out of work for the afternoon under false pretenses when she was curled up on the sectional in Sy’s “nerd lair” with his head in her lap as they watched John Wick on the massive TV he had down there.

“You mean to tell me we watched the entire Bourne franchise upstairs on that…that iPod Touch, by comparison, when we could have watched down here on this majestic monolith!? In what is essentially a theater!?” She’d asked immediately, derailing the grand tour of the museum of things she would soon find amazing.

“Hey, I haven’t been coming down here a whole lot since I hurt my knee. Stairs haven't exactly been easy or, ya know, possible. I had my gaming computer down here for weeks, too, couldn't do a damn thing about it, because I didn't trust a'one of my buddies or my neighbors to haul her up the stairs for me. Leia's a custom machine worth thousands a' dollars. If she's getting' broke, it's all gonna be on me."

"You named your gaming computer? Leia?" So many emotions were flooding her. Adoration, sympathy, lust, and just a sheer need to squeeze the bejeezus out of him.

"Yeah, it's a common thing. And…not to be that guy, but…you do know who Leia is, right?

"If by Leia, you mean Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, true daughter of Darth Vader, adopted by Bail Organa at birth, sister of Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion against the Empire?"

"Hey, I thought you wanted to take things slow, sunshine." he pulled her close, flush with his body. "Then you go talkin' all sexy to me like that." he lingered at her cheek with light kisses.

"Well, you did the same with your baseball talk the other night." she moaned into the contact with relish.

"I can't help it if certain sports terms have made their way into everyday speech. Your…exposition there, about my boyhood crush was intentional."

"You had a crush on Leia?" he nodded, shyly. "I had a crush on Han! Heck with Cap and Widow, THERE'S our couple's costume for next Halloween!" she said, excitedly!

"Oh, I didn't know you were talking about costumes for public use." he said, a naughty smirk in his eye.

"Stop it, you. Finish your tour. I want that soup on the stove." she said, patting her tummy.

He showed her the various memorabilia he'd procured over the years. Posters from a few of her favorites, and a few others that she recognized but wasn't as excited about. Die Cast models of several famous film vessels and vehicles, and a "life size" LEGO R2-D2 which would have had her salivating even if she hadn't been hungry. Apparently it took him almost a month to assemble the droid, but he did it all by himself.

"Aww…I wish I could have helped." she lamented.

"Maybe I'll pick up the Death Star and we can do that one together."

She nodded excitedly, eyes wide, rubbing her hands together in front of her chin with greed.

"Okay, little mouse." he chuckled. "Let's fill that belly and start this movie."

They filled massive bowls with generous portions and took the crackers down stairs so they could start the marathon. If they wanted to get through all three films tonight, they'd best get started.

They were both fairly quick eaters out of habit given her often truncated lunch breaks and his typical ten minutes in the mess hall. Even savoring the delicious creamy, cheesy concoction, as she tried to do, it was hard to slow down on. It did give her something to focus on during the first, emotionally devastating part of the film though. Once she finished, she expressed a final groan of delight and thanked Sy, kissing him on his cheek as she held the other. She felt the smile bloom across his face as she prolonged the contact.

They were about halfway through the movie, a big fight scene in a night club, when something dark and grim hit Shane in the chest. Watching Keanu Reeves pretend to beat up and kill all of these actors and stunt men, it occurred to her that the man with his head resting gently on her lap, long body taking up the rest of that side of the sectional, had fought and killed. The man letting her play her fingers through his hair and beard had shot and blown up people. He was told to do it. Ordered to do it. But even though he was doing it lawfully and by military order, as far as she knew, it was still his job…at least some of the time. She knew that was an oversimplification of the function of the armed forces, but…sometimes, it was an apt description.

She had never thought of Sy like that before. Someone other than the strong but gentle teddy bear that had come to be such a comforting presence in her life. She needed that, after all she'd been through…she tried not to think about the hurt of her last relationship. She hadn't discussed it with Sy. It was history. Ancient history. But she was, after all, a believer in the fact that those who knew nothing of the past were doomed to repeat it. She'd tell him…one day. Everything that Elliott had done to her…had put her through. But not tonight. Suddenly, she thought being on the arm of a soldier, someone who'd lived the kind of life that Captain Logan Syverson had lived, might make her feel more safe than she had in ages.

"You're awful quiet, sunshine." he said, cracking a beer open and handing it to her before doing the same for himself and sitting down with his thick arm around her.

"Just…trying to be respectful of the movie experience. You know." she smirked at him as the menu music to the second movie played.

"It ain't that. I know this is still new, what we're doin', but I've watched enough movies with ya over the last few weeks to know that you don't keep quiet for a full length feature." Shane worried the tab on her cold Miller Lite. She wasn't sure how to bring this forward. "Spill it, sweetheart. What's eatin' ya?"

"What…what do you think about when you're watching movies like this, Sy?"

"Guess, same as anybody. How awesome the fighting and driving is. Wondering when Keanu got to be a badass. And if there's really an underground society of assassins. Why, hon?"

"I, umm, I only wondered if it…it doesn't make you miss…your job?"

The smile he gave her was both bemused and amused. "Come 'ere." he prompted her to lean her head into him, and sat his beer down on the buffet behind the couch so he could better hold her. "Do we need to go over the function of a captain of the Army of These United States? Because as flattered as I am that you think so highly of me, I'm no John Wick, nor do I know anyone like John Wick. Or five guys that would make one John Wick. Ten guys. Maybe twenty."

"The fighting doesn't bring anything back?" she smoothed the creases in his shorts as she tried not to act like she was over thinking his past.

"That fightin’s…it's like dancing. It's choreographed, precise, and the outcome is predetermined. Real fights are the exact opposite. They're chaos, unpredictable, and the right guys don't always win. Trust me, I've seen a lot of them go south in a big way." they both let a moment of silence pass before Sy broke it. "What’re ya really askin’, Shane?"

She wanted to ask so many things. The questions seemed to clog the ventricles of her brain like leaves in a rain gutter. Bottlenecked traffic.

"I just…couldn't help but think…about things you must have had to do when…when you were active, and I just…if you need to talk about anything, I'm here." She imagined that taking someone's life, no matter how personal or impersonal the act itself seemed on the surface, would create some level of emotional scarring.

“Oh, sweetheart." he kissed the top of her head, making her feel as warm and cozy as the soup had…perhaps more so. "You are important to me for so many reasons. You've shown me how to smile again. Laugh. Real, genuine happiness. No sarcastic shit like I had to use on my men in my squad. But although I'd feel comfortable talkin' to ya 'bout near anything, there's a counselor on the base who's specifically trained to help guys like me. Who've seen what I've seen and been through…similar situations. He makes sure I don't feel like less of a man for what happened to me. You make me feel…like more than a man…something stronger than I thought possible."

She was straining hard to corral the tears within her waterline, but they broke free when he squeezed her tightly to him with both of his massive arms.

"So…that HEP I gave you is working?" she laughed, knowing full well that his home exercise program had no bearing on the strength he meant.

"Come on, Shane." he raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her to see herself the way he saw her. "Them handouts you give me don't mean a hill o' beans in this conversation and you know it. The way you hold yourself, speak to others. There is so much quiet strength in your kindness that comes right out of your beautiful little heart. Some days I'll see you working with kids, if I get in early, and I know they annoy you and freak you out, but you never let that show." He looked into her eyes, misty from emotion, and he wiped away the tears from her cheeks. "I'll never be able to explain it right, the way you inspire me to be a better and stronger man. And my heart just breaks to hear you put yourself down. And don't say you're just kidding, because I know you think you are, but behind every one of those jokes is a truth, at least as you see it." He'd seen her make to argue and knew her tactic before she had attempted it. "Give yourself some credit, Shane."

"I'm too busy blaming myself for the bad stuff to give myself credit for anything good." she sniffed. "You're the first guy I've…I've been involved with that's acted like I was worth anything more than a meal ticket. Someone who was only suitable for enough sex to make it an official relationship just so they could have a place to live, and do whatever quasi-job was a thing. First serious boyfriend was a freelance writer, but he never seemed to be writing. Then there was the guy with the internet start-up…but he could never tell me in a satisfactory way what the company actually did…so that was brief."

He seemed to know she was bracing for something big. Something difficult. He gave her silence and stroked her shoulder in encouragement to continue. She took one of her deepest ever breaths.

"Then came Elliott. Elliott Thomas. My last boyfriend. The worst of them all. Most useless and greatest offender. I ignored all of the signs, of course. He had a YouTube channel and an Instagram that he was trying to gain followers on and become a so-called "influencer." she rolled her eyes. "He had no life skills. He had a bit of an eye for photography and he could find humor in uncommon places, which he thought made him insta-famous and vlog-worthy."

"I hate him already." Sy growled.

"Well, maybe I shouldn't tell you the rest, then." he asked her to go on. "He always seemed to find these ways to cheat on me and lie to me that I couldn't quite prove, but I was just certain of. But I just…I didn't want to believe it. I wanted THAT one to work. Well. I came home one night after work, and he had another girl in our bedroom. I told him he had until the next day when I got home to leave. Things got a little physical, but I can hold my own." she said, proudly, "and I bolted with my purse. I stayed with Heather, our evening secretary, and we hashed it out, and got a little blitzed on moscato, and cried together."

"Wow."

"He was gone the next day. All I heard from my landlord was, 'you shouldn't be hearing from him anytime soon.' so I guess he had his cop buddies send him a message. He blocked me on all social media and I haven't heard a peep from him since. That was five years ago."

"What a scum bag." he stated, obviously.

"Yeah, I haven't been able to really think about a relationship since then…until…" she let the word hang there, knowing they both knew what the end of the sentence was. "Until I met you." Drifting unsaid in the ether of the unspoken.

"It's been a long time for me too. I mean…I haven't quite been a monk, but I haven't…I haven't cared for a girl since…actually, I've never felt this way about anyone."

"I didn't mean to unpack all of that tonight when we're only a third of the way through our marathon. I really wasn't even going to bring it up at all. It's just…been on my mind. Ya know. I once heard a very poignant parable about keeping your mouth shut if you're warm and happy. I was attempting to do that." she chuckled.

"Yeah, but we need to be able to open up to people in this life. Keeping a bottle stopped under pressure ain't no good for the bottle. Or what's inside."

"Such wisdom. You know just what to say to me." she grinned into him.

"Just seen what keeping yourself closed off can do to a person. And the people they love."

Love…there was that word in the air. Not officially said, but felt in all ways. They held each other close as the opening to the second movie played.

Up Next: Chapter Nine-Group Therapy

#netflix sand castle #sand castle #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #sigh for sy

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