ficletvember 2023 - day 30
gascon/meve/reynard thronebreaker office au
After months of failed efforts to matchmake his boss and her secretary, Gascon resorts to mistletoe at the company Yuletide party.
Part 1 here
Gascon was nearing his wit's end.
Over the course of the past months, he had tried every trick he could think of to coax his stubborn and oblivious colleagues into recognizing their mutual attraction.
To no avail.
Granted, most of his tricks came from cheesy romcoms and his own meager, largely online dating experience, but it shouldn't have been so hard to convince two middle-aged workaholics that they were made for each other.
Though his range was fairly niche, limited to obscure forums and hobbies most ordinary people would be ashamed to admit to in public, some would call Gascon an influencer.
If he could influence a few thousand people on Twitter into buying boring company merch featuring his fursona, surely he could convince his boss and her secretary to lock lips.
He didn't know how much more of this he could stand.
There were lingering glances as their fingers brushed when Reynard brought Meve her morning espresso and then similar, charged looks when Meve brought him mugs of chamomile in the evenings, her silent plea that he leave the office at a reasonable time for once and rest.
There were fond smiles from a distance, vanished the moment the other turned their way. There were little moments that verged nearly into flirtation, the inevitable sort of endless banter that happened between two people who truly liked one another, but those moments were inevitably interrupted by some workplace drama or another.
Meve pretended to care about Reynard's spreadsheet formulas. Reynard tripped over himself when asked to check Meve's emails for typos. Neither of them seemed to notice how often they finished each other's sentences.
It should have been fairly straight forward to give them both a nudge in the right direction, but alas. They were rigidly professional and bound by polite office decorum, wholly ignorant of their clear mutual interest.
The upcoming company Yuletide party, Gascon decided, would be his best shot to finally shove them out of the office and together. In previous years, the party had apparently been a dull midday luncheon, which just wouldn't do.
It had taken several days of consistent pleading, culminating in a gif-heavy PowerPoint presentation, to convince Meve to authorize Gascon to throw a festive company bash the likes of which Rivia-Lyria Inc. had never seen before. Or really wanted.
His plan was simple. Good food. Alcohol. Questionable music. A casual environment away from the expectations of the office. And then, mistletoe. Bam. Kissing. Immediate eloping. Profit.
On the evening of the party, Meve appeared like a vision in the festively-decorated banquet hall Gascon had rented. She wore a gold dress that shimmered in the light and draped off her bare shoulders, and it struck him then. How beautiful and out of reach she was.
He watched Reynard's lovestruck gaze follow her across the room and thought, I understand exactly what you feel.
Worse still, Reynard looked devastatingly handsome in a sharp tuxedo. His nervous half-smile when he noticed Gascon watching him was disarming in its awkward charm.
Ah. Of course.
In his months of unsuccessfyl match-making, Gascon had somehow managed to blunder into falling for them both.
Uncomfortable personal revelations be damned, the show had to go on.
But his attempts to lure them beneath any number of strategically placed sprigs of mistletoe went thoroughly ignored. The couple had eyes only for each other, locked in deep conversation, and could not be distracted into the convenient means of moving things along to smooching that Gascon had provided for them.
Defeated, he moped in a hidden corner along the outskirts of the gathering, nursing a mug of spiked eggnog and posting depressing all caps song lyrics on his personal Twitter
He was interrupted in his attempts to miserably wile away the remaining hours of the party by someone clearing their throat.
It was Meve, smiling, and Reynard on his other side. She gestured above his head.
Knickers leaned through the garland-draped banister of the balcony above him, wagging his tail with his usual expression of mischievous glee. From his collar hung a sprig of faux greenery rather than his usual oversized dog tag.
The brush of lips against his cheek was soft and unexpected. He must have been making quite the dumbfounded expression in response, because Meve laughed, bright and gorgeous, and even the seemingly humourless Reynard snorted.
His perplexed spluttering was interrupted when Meve leaned to kiss Reynard thoroughly on the mouth with a familiarity that could only come with excessive practice.
Gascon had never claimed to be the most detail-oriented man. Well, maybe he had in multiple bullet points on his resume. But who's counting?
After a lengthy conversations about assumptions, open communication, and Gascon's poor taste in romcoms, the trio proceeded to christen every silly bit of greenery hung about the place.
And then some.
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cw — pregnancy
gojo’s absentminded whistling as he shuts the front door alerts you that he’s arrived home.
you jump from your skin, hands quivering as the reality of it all begins to sink in. nerves gather in your stomach, spinning rapidly until they morph into nausea — although that might just be morning sickness.
your heart pounds through your ears, pumping so loudly and quickly that it drowns out all other noise. it means that you don’t hear when your husband enters the kitchen, and you’re not aware of him until one of his huge hands grasps your chin and gently tugs your face until your lips meet his.
the gut-wrenching nerves waver and fizzle out from the way satoru handles you so tenderly. and it’s always been this way — from your very first kiss, satoru’s ability to put your mind at ease so effortlessly has never faltered. every touch of his forces even the slightest of fears in your brain to melt away.
he pulls away, pouting, his crystal eyes filled with curiosity, and before you manage to get a verbal greeting out, he springs to ask you a question.
“why is your heart beating so fast?”
the curse of being married to the world’s most powerful sorcerer means that trying to hide emotions from him is futile. it’s not a real curse by any means, however nothing goes unnoticed — even when it’s a burden you refuse to let him help you carry.
“i have something to tell you,” you say, struggling to hold back your soft grin.
“you’re pregnant,” he says — not in curiosity, not as a question, but rather as-a-matter-of-factly.
your mouth drops, along with your heart. you’d hope it would be a sweet surprise to him, after all, and now a baffled disappointment sits in the pit of your stomach.
“how- what? how did you know?” you stutter. it wasn’t simply a guess, and you can tell from the way he smirks.
“my six eyes sensed it,” he explains. when your eyes brim with tears, his own features fill with concern. i fucked up, he thinks immediately. “angel, what’s wrong?”
“well, you could have pretended not to know! i wanted it to be special when i told you,” you whine, and he gives a lovesick laugh as he gathers you in his overwhelming embrace.
“i’m sorry, sweet thing,” he coos, soothing his hand over your hair. his voice becomes low when he speaks again, almost a whisper. “it’s still special though. we’re… having a baby.”
he says it slowly, like it’s the first time he’s actually comprehending it. because it’s no longer an unspoken thing as it had been for the past two weeks — it’s real.
and as satoru kisses the top of your head, he thinks how he’s holding his entire world in his arms — you, and the life growing inside you.
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