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nine-of-words · 1 year ago

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Something Borrowed (Part Five)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

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Wordcount: 5134

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup, Drinking (Reader)

This one being a day late may or may not have to do with the fact I've finally started playing bg3...

Today, so far, has been one of those days that everything just feels wrong.

The midsummer wedding rush is in full swing, you’re baking the batters for a wedding cake off in the morning and finishing a different one for pickup each afternoon. And that’s on top of every birthday and pool party and every other sort of occasion under the sun, all demanding sweet, celebratory confections.

“Ugh, I just don’t get it…” Kirby grumbles and snaps the old tome closed, an uncharacteristically gloomy pout on their face. They lean their head on their hand, their palm squishing their cheek.

“Something I can help with?” You’ve told them pretty much everything you think may be pertinent, and happily entertained any of the failed spell purging attempts they’ve tried on you so far, but you still want to assist in any way you can.

“Not really- I’ve had no luck with leads at all. And none of the methods in this book that operate without knowing the origin of the curse look very promising. But there’s, like, definitely a curse here! The vibe in the shop and on you- The energy is there, it feels like it’s yours…but it can’t be from you! You’re a numan!”

“Yeah, imagine how frustrating it is on my end.” You chuckle.

“Ohh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that… No offense!!'

"None taken."

“It’s not your fault at all!” They sigh. “It just… doesn’t make any sense… y’know? I'm like, really good at breaking curses. Even the sneaky ones. It’s kind of my thing. But this one is like, hella hella HELLA sneaky!!!"

“Well, here, try one of these.” Doing what you know best in terms of soothing frayed nerves, you carefully pick up a cupcake from the case- Kirby’s favorite flavor, you've learned- and set it down in front of them. You hear yourself echoing the words your own mother told you growing up countless times: “It won’t fix the problem… but it might help you feel a little better.”

They let out a small, strangled gasp in glee.

“Oooooooh gosh! You're so good to meeee!” The faun takes the cupcake into their hands immediately, holding it like a small treasure. “I’m really going to need to hit the gym after this case, hahah~”

They devour their little treat and seem a bit less bogged down by the weight of your case afterwards, back to their normal peppy self. Helping to lighten their mood at least makes you feel slightly less guilty that your curse is the reason they’re having a hard time in the first place.

Kirby ends up heading out for the weekend not long after, deciding that fresh air and a change of scenery might help jog their investigative thinking.

You find yourself heaving a sigh as you look at the clock,clock, that closing time is creeping ever closer.

It's been so busy you haven't even been able to bake anything for when you see Carlyle later…

You go about the rest of your tasks, a little nervous about the tasting the closer it looms. Devin is pleasant enough, but working for someone you know socially is always a bit of a roll of the dice, unless you really know them well. You can’t imagine her being a problem client, though…

So, what could go wrong?

Nothing, you decide.

This tasting will go well, and even if it’s painful to be reminded of your past for a little bit, your reward for getting through it is getting to go on a date with a wonderful, kind, handsome man later this evening.

Any anxiety about the tasting seemingly disappears as you go through the motions lost in your smitten daydreaming.

Finally, you tidy up a little bit, taking care of what you can of closing while you wait, the table setting for the tasting already set.

Not too long after, Devin appears, all pastels and sunshine.

“Hi, hello there!” She chirps and all but flutters over. When she gets to the table, she grasps your hands and gives them a gentle squeeze with her small, graceful hands, still clearly brimming with joy. “Thanks so much again for fitting us in!!”

“You’re very welcome. Go ahead and take a seat- Oh, and where’s your partner?”

“Pookie will be here in a minute! He’s on his way.” She daintily takes a seat, tucking her ornamental bag in the sill of the window. “He had to stop by the music store before it closed. Lost all his picks again, hehe.”

“Oh, that’s funny.” You snort, reminiscing a little. "My ex used to lose all his picks all the time too, haha."

"It's the worst! I cleaned out one of my old purses once and found twelve at the bottom! Twelve! Then this one time-"

Devin continues to chatter excitedly about anecdotes involving her partner, most of which you relate to with your own stories. It seems you and her have dated similar types of men, for sure.

The conversation is enjoyable enough, but you can't help the strange sense of foreboding weighing on your chest.

"If he'll be here soon, I'll just go ahead and fill these, if you don't mind." You say, motioning to the flutes and the iced bottle of champagne in the bucket. You just want your hands busy to assuage some of the inexplicable nerves. "He'll miss the lovely pop, though."

"Oh, sure, go ahead! I don’t think he’ll mind." Devin assures you with a nod, so you grab the bottle and a cloth napkin.

After neatly removing the foil and the muselet, you cover the cork with the napkin and twist until it goes.

POP-

Devin laughs happily, clapping. The noise drowns out all the sound of the shop door opening, up until the end of the door bell jingle tapering off. A bit of champagne foam drips down the bottleneck and over your palm, then down onto the table.

You look up just in time to see your other guest- your body freezing in place as soon as your eyes fall on them.

You know this person anywhere, down to the tiniest details. A familiar lanky grey elf man; long brown hair tied back in a lazy half-bun, a worn band t-shirt with a flannel wrapped around his waist, and wrists wrapped in braided cord bracelets that move towards calloused fingers.

He looks the same as ever. He was wearing that t-shirt the day you moved out.

It’s Trevor.

You just look at him, speechless. He looks just as shocked- pale as a ghost, and frozen in place just past the threshold of the shop.

There is a loud maelstrom of emotions churning in your chest; you can hear it as blood rushing in your ears. Part of you is just so happy to see him again- but it’s quickly drowned out by months of suffering and grief and anger-

But before you can get so much as a ‘what the hell are you doing here?’ out, Devin speaks up, confirming the worst possible reason to be true.

“There’s my Pookie!”

"Hello." You force out. Finally reacting, you clean up the bottle and take the champagne flute from in front of her, turning your focus on filling it, trying to maintain some facade of normalcy as your heart starts racing.

“Oh… Heeey…” Trevor says awkwardly, seeming to find his ability to speak and move his limbs as he creakily approaches the table.

“What are you doing standing around, silly?” She pats the pink cushion on the seat of the metal chair beside her. “Come sit, you can finally meet my sweet friend!”

He finally takes the seat next to his new fiance, timid and flighty as if you’re going to jump up and sink your teeth into him at any moment. The expression is only made more intense when Devin leans over and gives him a large affectionate peck, the septum ring in her nose smooshing flat against his cheekbone.

“Let me introduce you! So,” She says your name. “This is my fiance, Trevor, and Pookie, this is my friend-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to…” Trevor cringes slightly at hearing your name.

“Oh… um, do you two already know each other…?” Devin puts a polished finger to her lips, tilting her head quizzically.

“Yeah, Pookie,” You barely manage to keep from spitting the word out like venom. You pick up the second flute to fill it, your fingers pressed forcefully into the stem. “We do, don’t we?”

“Uh. Yeah, Dev. We know each other.” Trevor rubs the back of his head, that little motion of self-soothing that you’re not sure he picked up from you over the years, or vice versa. “We used to date.”

Used to date? That’s it? That’s how he’s going to describe you devoting almost a decade of your life to him, and him tossing it away when you needed his support the most?

You expected to be sad. To be utterly devastated. And while you are certainly feeling heartbroken… You in no way expected this level of indignant anger bubbling in your gut in addition to that stabbing, crushing sadness in your heart.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! It’s so sweet you two can still get along.” Devin says, and you try not to scoff at her absolute failure at reading the room. “If you’re already friends, that makes introducing you a whole lot easier!”

“Yeah. Sooo, uh… You moved the shop and changed its name, huh?” Trevor asks, daring to address you directly for the first time since he meandered in.

The quiet part: This would’ve never had the chance to happen if I knew it was you.

“Yes. It felt necessary at the time.” You say through your clenched jaw, filling your own flute of champagne.

You can’t even look him in the eye while you speak to him. Looking at the familiar hazel of his eyes- it just hurts too much.

“It… looks nice in here, man. I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

Doing okay?? You're most certainly not- or at least you weren't.

Either way, what would he know about it?! Like you haven’t been struggling to crawl out of a deep pit of sadness and self-loathing over the last year… Spending so much time blaming yourself for getting cursed. For not being good enough…

But… at the end of the day, you are a professional. You mentally pull yourself together, remembering your customer service voice and mustering all of your strength to get through this tasting on your raw charisma and goodwill towards Devin alone.

“Thanks.” You say, neutralizing the emotion in your voice to a smooth, pleasant tone. “Let’s get those cake samples out for you to try, aye…?”

You mercifully move away from the table, grabbing the plate of small, delicately cut cake samples from the front cooler. Some of these samples are flavors you always include, while others are ones Devin asked for specifically.

You set the plate down on the table- each neat square of cake accentuated with flower petals.

You watch as they try the cake samples, talking amongst themselves. You provide guidance and offer information when prompted, but you mostly just sit and drink your champagne, trying not to scowl or otherwise provide bad service.

…They're not agreeing on any flavors.

You've been in this business enough to know that's a bad sign. Not that they have completely different preferences itself- that can be worked around, and you've made multiple split cakes, or had people opt for different flavored batches of cupcakes in the past. It’s not uncommon, but it’s the way that the couple comes to that agreement that’s important. It's the way that they're addressing, or in this case, failing to address, those differences of preferences that's the bad sign.

"I like the pistachio creme, oh!- and the apricot curd- but the rose filling is nice too… and the marble cake is so good! All of these are so yummy, how are we supposed to ever choose?" Devin sighs happily, holding up the tiny fork as if trying to defend herself from having to make a decision. She has a point- not being able to pick which cake flavor is better is probably one of the best dilemmas you can think of to have. "What do you think, Pookie?"

“Whatever you want is good, babe.” Trevor bobs his leg under the table in rhythm, the way he does when he's bored. If he wasn't acutely aware of how bad it would look, he'd probably already be scrolling.

Awkwardness aside, he could at least try to act involved… Some things never change, you guess.

“Oh… I don’t know. What do you think?” Devin turns to you with a bright smile, practically wriggling in her seat in child-like excitement. “You’re the expert after all, hehe.”

“Well, I could’ve saved us some time if I had known… He won’t like any of these three- definitely not the marble, he hates chocolate cake.” You lean over and say, pointing to a few of the cake samples. “Regular white’s his favorite, but you probably didn’t like it much. It’s the most popular for weddings, but it's a wee bit boring, if I’m being completely honest. And he’d prefer the Elven berry compote filling with it.”

Trevor looks pale, like he’s going to be sick. He doesn’t protest, though- you already know you’re right.

“Oh! Wow, you’re really amazing!” She says, impressed. “How did you know all that?”

“Dev…” Trevor cringes, but doesn’t say anything more.

“Oh you know." You brush it off with a bitter smile. "Years of experience."

"Hmm…"

"Not to overstep too much," You can feel the champagne starting to influence your commentary just a tad. "If his parents are going to contribute financially to the wedding, they'll probably appreciate something classic, like that combination. They're sort of traditional. Might help you get on their good side."

Devin looks at Trevor, who nods weakly.

As you expected, they end up going with what Trevor (and ultimately his parents) would enjoy, over the less common combo Devin preferred. You can't help but feel a little bad, seeing a lot of your past self in Devin while watching that compromise take place.

You take down the details of the order on your datapad, desperately holding onto your sanity because you're trusting relief is coming soon.

"You'll still come to the wedding, won't you?" Devin asks you, puppy dog eyes already engaged. "I've got the save the date right here-"

She retrieves her bag and digs through it for a little box filled with twee, flowery wedding announcements printed on nicely textured card stock. She hands you one.

"Sure. I'll be there." You say, reflexively placating without giving it much thought.

Ugh, why did you agree to that…? Surely you could've thought up some excuse.

Trevor seems to be having much the same thought as you, brows almost imperceptibly twitching through his sheepish expression.

"Oh, good!" She claps.

A small bit of gleeful small talk and Devin’s profuse gratitude later, they finally leave.

Somehow, you managed to get through the entire tasting without making a scene, no matter how badly you wanted to.

You plop down in the stool behind the counter, not even bothering to lock the front up or turn the sign off.

As soon as you’re sure they’re gone and absolutely won’t be coming back for any reason, you let yourself become undone- bursting into raw, pained sobbing in the silence of the empty shop.

It’s like a knife in your chest, seeing him with something else and doing well, when you’re an absolute wreck, still struggling to pull together the broken pieces of your life.

As much as you’re hurting and never want to see him again, on the other hand, a small, weak, part of yourself still wishes that he would change his mind, come to his senses, show up and ask you to come back. Or that you would wake up one morning and all of this would’ve been a particularly long and excruciating dream…

You know you would take him back in a heartbeat. And it disgusts you.

It’s hopeless. It’s pathetic.

But…

It’s not fair.

That was supposed to be your wedding.

Once you’ve had a good cry and drained most of the remaining bottle of champagne by yourself, you’re staring down at your shop counter, zoning out.

Your eyes drift from the wedding announcement, instead choosing to fall on the vased bouquet of flowers still sitting nearby. They’re doing well still, not wilting yet at all. You've been taking good care of them.

You're hit with the sudden, shattering recall of the fact you have a date in less than half an hour.

Carlyle!

You jump up from your seat, then are forced to sit back down at once as your world spins nauseatingly.

… There’s no way you can let him see you like this.

You pull out your device, and desperately hammer out an admittedly sloppy message.

< Canb we rain check? Had a v bad dday today

You decide that will suffice and take another long glug from your champagne flute- the last of the bottle.

Carlyle, bless him, is punctual as ever, and responds to your message with concern before you’ve even put the glass back down on the counter. You would’ve noticed this if you weren’t completely lost in your own spiraling thoughts.

When you finally wipe your bleary eyes on the inner elbow of your button up to get a more clear picture of your device’s screen, you see a bundle of messages waiting. He must really be worried, because it's not in his nature to send multiple messages without waiting for a response first.

> Already on the train to the restaurant

> Are you okay?

> I'll change lines

> Be there in a few

“Dammit,” You swear, hanging your head in your spread palm, staring down the screen.

Great. Perfect.

You tried to spare him the sight of you, and managed to summon him here instead.

Not only did you have to see stupid Trevor today and agree to make his stupid wedding cake for his stupid wedding with someone new, but now the amazing man that has somehow managed to show interest in you is going to see what an absolute trainwreck you actually are.

You didn't even bake him anything!

…You really are cursed.

And maybe you're to blame…

You’re stuck in that same loop of catastrophic thinking until the bell chimes, taunting, above the front door that you couldn’t be bothered to lock earlier.

“Hey.”

It's hard to stay devastated when you see Carlyle walk through the door, wearing a subtle, well-concealed look of concern that you may not even have noticed if you were less familiar with him.

"Sorry." You say in exasperation, voice hoarse, trying not to burst into tears again. "I'm fuckin' tossed."

He takes that as his cue to approach the counter.

"Hah- It’s fine." He glances around at the half-closed state of the shop with raised eyebrows, then back to you. "Bad day, huh?"

"Awful. Terrible. Dogshite."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!" You whine, and then immediately launch into talking about it. You explain the awful day you’ve had even before the event, and he listens attentively.

"And it was fuckin' Trevor of all people, because of course it was-" You seethe. "One of my clients is marrying my bloody ex! Of all the people in this city!"

Carlyle nods to confirm he's listening, so you take that as the go ahead to just spill everything.

"You should have seeeeen them- He hasn't changed at all. He still leaves his stupid guitar picks everywhere! And he sucks at guitar. He was always better at drums. And she just coddled him n’ doted on him n’ babied him the whole time. Just like I always did- He didn't deserve it then, he sure doesn't deserve it now!"

"I knew he was going to pick the vanilla sponge and the berry filling. I knew it! He is so predictable. You know she picked the marbled sponge and the pistachio cream? There is no way they're going to work out. I make a lot of wedding cakes, Carlyle! Those flavors don't work together!"

"And she calls him Pookie." You gag.

At some point during your rant, he removed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves and sat down on one of the metal stools across the counter from you. A glass of water has appeared within arms reach, and you didn’t even notice him going to find the sink.

"You should drink some of this." He taps a dull, stony claw against the trim of the glass. "You'll feel better."

"Ah, bless." You gratefully sip at the liquid, only now realizing how parched you were.

"Sounds like you've had quite the day indeed. At least it’s over?” Carlyle tries to reason.

“I agreed to make their wedding cake. AND go to the bloody wedding.”

“Spirits.” Carlyle laughs softly, cringing and rubbing his neck with his palm. "You could always say something came up."

"Yeah, but my… Client? Friend? Client-Friend? Devin- she’s lovely. Absolute sweetheart. She was so excited to invite me and… I just don't want to hurt her feelings."

“Oh. That is pretty rough.”

“Right? It’s downright tragic, is what it is!" You find yourself quickly becoming all giggles and giddy bubbles."That's why I'm such a mess- well no, I won’t lie, I'm a mess anyway- but tonight I am a HUGE one. We were supposed to be on a date right now, but instead you're here listening to me blubber and winge on about my ex."

"Believe it or not, I've actually been enjoying listening to you. Moreseo than I already do." He smiles at you warmly, fingers flexing where they're laced together on the countertop.

"An' why's that?" You ask, putting on your best attempt at a flirty tone, given your state. You’re convinced you’ve nailed it.

"For one, your accent seems to be stronger when you're intoxicated. It may not be the most appropriate time to mention it, maybe… but it's too cute to not point it out."

You laugh giddily, suddenly filled with a surge of confidence.

"Cute, eh?"

"Very." He affirms, obviously genuine through his amusement.

Your face flushes, and you beam with glee.

"...You wouldn't like me better with a twee septum piercing?"

"That's awfully specific…" Carlyle taps his fingers on the countertop in thought, a soft clicking of stoneskin on marble. "I suppose if you wanted one, it's your choice and I can't really complain… It isn't something I would personally find aesthetically pleasing. …Though I could get used to it…"

You crack into laughter, giggling until you're wheezing and dabbing at the tears in your eyes.

"Oh… that's such good news, hahah…"

"Right. …Maybe it's for the best that we get you upstairs?" Carlyle rises, then comes around to your side of the counter, where he idles beside you.

"Oh? You want to leave so soon?" Your hands find his tie, gently but clumsily fiddling with it between your fingers. "But I'm really enjoying your company."

"You can enjoy my company whenever you like." Carlyle smirks. He does not stop you from playing with his tie. "But for now, you could probably use the rest. Allow me to help you upstairs."

You pout, giving the striped pink fabric a few gentle tugs, but he has a point. You are so exhausted and drained from the day already and now with the intoxication on top of it- you're barely holding yourself upright.

"I don't think I need much h-" Shifting your weight to get down off the stool, you fail to find your balance and stumble. The stool clatters and wobbles behind you, and your hands fly out, grabbing at his shoulders.

But a set of firm hands is there on your sides to keep you from collapsing into a puddle on the floor.

"Careful."

You laugh breathlessly, and let your full weight rest against his form in relief. You let your hands twine at the base of his neck and sigh, relaxing against him.

"Okay. So. Maybe I do need a tick of help."

"Just a bit. But everybody needs a bit, sometimes."

You scoff appreciatively.

"You are so nice to me and so handsome and you make me smile so much." You start gushing words with your face pressed to his solid stone chest, lacking any filter or shame at this point. You're so happy your heart could burst- in stark contrast to the absolute emotional pit you were just languishing in earlier. "Kirby said that's a low bar, but nobody makes me smile like you do. I like it- it feels good to really smile again."

"Hahah, you're flattering me here. …But I'm pleased you feel that way." Carlyle says, seemingly not in a hurry to escape your hug. You can hear the hollow rumble of his laughter in his chest through the thin cloth of the button-up, with your ear flush against him like this. "I would be remiss to not admit I feel similarly.”

You’re too happy for words. For a brief moment, nothing else matters.

“...You probably don't want to sleep in this."

You feel his hands migrate back around your waist, delicately picking the knot of your apron loose with his claw tips.

Despite your strong desire to cling onto him indefinitely, he eventually helps you put your weight on your own feet again. Then, after you've worked together to remove your soiled apron, you wobble towards the stairs, guardian gargoyle in tow.

"Those stairs are a hazard for someone in your condition. So I'll be right behind you. If that’s okay?"

"Yes." You mutter in agreement.

You feel a heavy, reassuring hand place itself on the center of your back, keeping you steady as you climb the narrow stairs up to your loft.

Somehow, you manage to crest the stairs without incident.

"Nice little place.Very stylish, but not too visually loud." Carlyle says as he looks around the space, hand still lingering on your back as you stumble towards your bedroom. "It suits you."

"Oh, you're just so sweet…"

You cross the threshold into your room, the full weight of the day starting to bear down on you. You plop down on the edge of your bed, completely spent, and kick your shoes off.

"Ugh, I can't sleep in these, they're covered in flour." You gripe and gesture to your work clothes, not wanting to get up as soon as you’ve sat down. "I'll get my bed sheets fully dusted… But I don't think I have it in me to stand."

"Not to be too forward, but I can assist. If you feel comfortable with it."

"You're keen on stripping poor defenseless me down?" You tease.

"I meant I could retrieve some sleepwear for you." His dark eyes clearly fix on where your hands are working off your shirt buttons, obvious to you even when the alcohol has dulled your awareness. "Nothing untoward."

"I would like that." You continue to unbutton, a smirk settling on your face. "Or I could go without completely…"

Carlyle's lip twitches into a wicked smile too, but he quickly turns around and disappears past the hanging pink curtain, into your small walk-in closet.

"So. …In here, then?"

"First drawer on the left." You call.

He returns by the time you've partially removed your shirt. It's proving more difficult than expected, and you've somehow got yourself tangled in the process of pulling it off. Clearly a failing in the design of the shirt, and not a reflection of your ability.

Carlyle sets the folded set of pajamas next to you and stands for a moment, assessing the damage caused by leaving you alone for a moment.

"Hahah, here." He pulls it the rest of the way off. You can't help but appreciate the sight of his exposed forearms flexing to maneuver the twisted fabric free from your body. It makes your heart start to race.

"I thought it might end up like this- I was hoping," You look up at him with slightly glazed eyes and say, with what you are absolutely sure is a very sultry, alluring tone. "Tonight was supposed to be a date, after all."

"Hmm."

Your hands reach out, brushing against the edge of his leather belt.

"Don't you want me?" The words tumble out before you can stop them.

"...I do." Carlyle smiles warmly at you, letting out a breath he was seemingly holding. "But not like this."

"Probably for the best." You laugh in agreement, not even offended- you're far too pleased to have that confirmation to be upset. "Thought it was worth a shot."

Carlyle proceeds to help you change the rest of your clothes, mostly acting as a glorified handrail, as he stands firmly in place with his eyes averted.

Eventually you're fully reclothed, and let yourself fall back against the mattress.

"On your side, please-" Carlyle instructs, holding your bedding up while waiting for you to settle.

"Look at you, in here tuckin' me in and everything. You're such a stand up fella."

Carlyle doesn't say anything, just laughing and shaking his head, slender dreadlocks swaying as he pulls the quilted comforter up over you.

"...You're not mad, are you? I'm sorry, I went and mucked things up tonight."

"No, I'm not. It’s no trouble." He leans over with one knee resting on the mattress, constructing a wall of the available pillows on your bed against your back. "Things are still fully unmuckable. We can always reschedule."

You're so giddy, you can't stop yourself, and your hands reach up to affectionately touch either side of Carlyle's face where he hovers over you.

His cheeks are hard underneath your fingertips, like a marble baking table surface before it’s been dusted with flour. But instead of being cold stone like you expected, they're pleasantly warm and soft to the touch. The porous, sculpted surface of them feels good on your skin.

"You… You marvelous man. You still wanna take me out?" You whisper hoarsely. You'd jolt up and kiss him right here if you had any energy left. "After all this?"

"Yes." He finishes securing the pillows to his satisfaction, patient enough to allow you to continue drunkenly cradling his face.

You chuckle, and manage to raise yourself up, just enough to press your pursed lips square in the middle of his stony forehead in a quick, affectionate peck. Then, you release your hold on him and settle back down, snuggling into the bedding.

"Goodnight, Carlyle." You say, already starting to fade off to the sound of him quietly humming in amusement and shifting his weight off the bed.

"Goodnight."

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mxm #mlm #male monster #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

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