*blushes* Sometimes I Write RPF *blushes*
Title: Shelter From The Storm
Pairing: Ian/Nina
Rating: G
Summary: Stupid Atlanta and its unpredictable weather
Word Count: 359
Disclaimer: The people are real; the events depicted in this story are not
Atlanta does nothing half-assed; Nina should have remembered this as she got into her car this morning, the clouds darkening, but she figured a little rain wouldn't hurt her.
But this was not rain; it was a freaking monsoon and now she was legitimately afraid she was going to be swept away.
The rain hadn't started until she was driving home, but, as she tried to navigate her way back to her apartment, she couldn't see the road and was starting to panic. She turns into the parking lot of her building out of instinct, and, in the fastest 50-yard dash ever performed in wedges, ends up banging on Ian's door.
He starts laughing the moment he sees her, which Nina doesn't entirely blame him for; her hair is plastered to her head, her jeans are wet all the way up to her knees, and the tank top she wore clung so tightly, it appeared as if her skin was now a delightful shade of fuschia. When coupled with what she is sure is a truly miserable expression on her face, Nina is certain she looks ridiculous.
Despite the fact that it is 80 degrees outside, when he offers her anything in his closet, she pulls out a pair of soft sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee, burrowing inside the material, inhaling the scent of him. As she is wringing her hair out over the sink, he appears in the doorway, a smirk on his face.
"You realize this all could've been avoided if you had just taken that umbrella like I told you to do this morning, right?"
Turning around to playfully glare at him, she retorts, "You realize Paul wouldn't give me this much shit, right?"
"Well, he is two doors down if you want to test that theory."
She smiles despite herself, tossing her towel into the hamper. "Fine. You were right, I was wrong, and I will never again doubt your insane skills at weather prediction."
"That's all I ask," he replies with the lazy smile she loves, handing her a mug of tea.
The storm ends two hours later.
She stays until the next morning.
* * *
Title: An American (and Canadian) in Paris
Pairing: Ian/Nina
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,303
Summary: The Paris trip
Disclaimer: The people are real; the events described are not
They are posing for the cameras during Up-fronts when he leans over, his voice smoky against her ear, and drawls, "Want to go to Paris?"
She giggles even as she poses for the photographer, cocking her hip and smiling playfully. When the shot has been taken, she whispers back, "Sure, let's go now."
Both of them are incredibly grateful for their jobs and all which it provides them, and usually Nina is game for whatever the network wants them do. Mall tour with screaming legions of tweens? Sure! International press tour which guarantees she will be in a perpetual state of jet-lag for two weeks? Absolutely! Endless interviews where she's asked the same Stefan vs. Damon question ad-nauseum? Happy to do it!
But ever since the season wrapped, she has barely had a chance to catch her breath. As much as she loved Coachella and the week they spent in Mexico afterward, she had been so exhausted from pulling double-duty all season that she had slept most of the trip. And then she had reported to Pittsburgh for pre-production and been so horribly sick, even through the Correspondents' Dinner. She had just started to feel like herself again two days ago, and already she could feel the exhaustion starting to creep back into her limbs.
She knows Ian is feeling it too. The mad dash to finish the season after the near-constant delays, all the work he was doing with the Foundation, the trip to Africa...When he had met her at the hotel yesterday, she had been stunned by how unlike himself he looked.
"I'm serious," he assures her even as he wraps an arm around her waist, flashing the throng of photographers his very best Damon-esque smirk. "You want to come to Paris with me?"
Nina startles for only a moment before catching herself and resuming posing. "I thought you were going with your mom."
He shrugs, casually raising a hand to raise at someone in the crowd. "So we'll invite your mom too. We'll make it a late Mother's Day present."
There are a thousand reasons she should say no: she still hasn't learned her lines for Wallflower, a majority of her house is still in packing boxes, she promised Jeny she'd take a few days off and they'd have a chance to really talk. But instead, all she can think about is spending a few days in the romantic city in the world with the man she loved.
"Okay," she agrees with a genuine smile.
He grins widely. "Awesome." Dropping his voice as Paul sidles up to them, he divulges, "Because I already bought the tickets weeks ago."
* * *
Nina has always wanted to be famous. She knows she's not supposed to say that, that she's supposed to talk about "her craft" and "being moved by the material," but the truth is, when she was little, she wanted to be on the covers of magazines and have people know her name, want to hang her picture on their walls. It had always seemed so glamorous, when she'd watch movie stars on TV.
But the truth is, the flipside of everyone knowing who you are, is that you don't get privacy anymore. Two years ago, she could walk down the street relatively unscathed; sure, there was always some wiseass who would shout some variation of, "Mia, where's your baby?!" but otherwise she was just another person.
She never misses that anonymity more than when the crowd of screaming French girls surrounds them as they walk down the street. The noise is deafening and they keep getting closer, and all she wants in that moment is to be back at the hotel, locked away from the world.
They end up ducking into a post office, and she doesn't realize she's shaking until her mother grasps her hands and starts asking if she's okay. Immediately Nina responds to her mother's questions, and, when Ian and Edna come over, she sees just how angry he is.
"Are you alright?"
Nodding, she assures him that she's fine only for him to look at her in absolute confusion.
"English, Neen," he requests with a gentle smile, and she just shakes her head in apology.
Later, as her mother is in the bathroom and his mother is paying their bill, he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his body.
He doesn't say anything, and she feels tears start to well up in her throat. Softly, as if it will hurt if she says it louder, she confesses, "They really scared me today."
Ian squeezes her tighter, and she's never loved him more.
* * *
On their last night in Paris, Nina comes out of the shower to find her mother applying make-up.
"What's going on?"
"Edna and I are going to dinner," her mother replies, tucking the tube into her purse.
Rubbing the towel through her wet hair, Nina glances at the clock and says, "If you give me twenty minutes - "
"No," Michaela immediately interrupts, "we are going alone. You and Ian, you have a night in. Order room service. Watch a movie." Smirking playfully she adds, "Discuss how your father and brother will kill him should you end up pregnant."
Despite herself, Nina blushes. She knows her mother loves Ian; when she is not mercilessly teasing them both, she sings his praises to anyone who will listen. Her father and brother have been a little slower to warm, if only because she is the baby and the only daughter and...well, mostly because they still think she's six.
She pads across the hall to his room a few minutes after their mothers leave, still dressed in her pajamas, hair still wet from the shower. He answers the door in a pair of pajama pants which hang low on his hips, his own hair damp.
As they stumble to the bed, arms wrapped tightly around the other, mouths meeting clumsily, Nina gasps, "Are we going to discuss how our mothers set us up for a booty call?"
He laughs against her throat, pulling her camisole over her head before hooking his thumbs into her shorts. "No, we're going to buy them very nice houses as thanks."
When they are both sated, her fingertips idly stroking his chest as he brushes soft kisses against her hair, Nina reaches up, turning his face towards hers.
"Thank you for this. I really needed it."
He arches an eyebrow, a boyish smile starting to stretch across his lips, and she already knows what he is going to say.
Smacking him playfully in the stomach, she says, "Not that!"
Ian laughs, loud and free, before rolling atop her. He rests in the cradle of her hips, and Nina shivers, slipping her arms around his body, hands grasping his shoulders. She expects him to begin again, to make love to her until she is boneless, but instead he inclines his head, his forehead resting against hers.
"You know I'd do anything for you, right?"
"Of course," she replies automatically, her stomach flipping as he kisses her temple.
"I love you."
"I love you more," she teases, needing to lighten the mood, so overwhelmed with emotion she is either going to cry or propose marriage like a crazy person.
"Impossible," he declares before pressing his mouth firmly against her own.
* * *
"We're on the front page of the LA Times website," Nina reports the next morning as they wait for the cab.
Ian's brow furrows. "You're checking out the LA Times on your phone right now?"
She rolls her eyes. "No, Candice texted me. Apparently people have cracked the code and think we're dating."
Slinging an arm around her shoulder, playfully nipping her ear, he chuckles. "What could possibly have given them that idea?"
Pairing: Ian/Nina
Rating: G
Summary: Stupid Atlanta and its unpredictable weather
Word Count: 359
Disclaimer: The people are real; the events depicted in this story are not
Atlanta does nothing half-assed; Nina should have remembered this as she got into her car this morning, the clouds darkening, but she figured a little rain wouldn't hurt her.
But this was not rain; it was a freaking monsoon and now she was legitimately afraid she was going to be swept away.
The rain hadn't started until she was driving home, but, as she tried to navigate her way back to her apartment, she couldn't see the road and was starting to panic. She turns into the parking lot of her building out of instinct, and, in the fastest 50-yard dash ever performed in wedges, ends up banging on Ian's door.
He starts laughing the moment he sees her, which Nina doesn't entirely blame him for; her hair is plastered to her head, her jeans are wet all the way up to her knees, and the tank top she wore clung so tightly, it appeared as if her skin was now a delightful shade of fuschia. When coupled with what she is sure is a truly miserable expression on her face, Nina is certain she looks ridiculous.
Despite the fact that it is 80 degrees outside, when he offers her anything in his closet, she pulls out a pair of soft sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee, burrowing inside the material, inhaling the scent of him. As she is wringing her hair out over the sink, he appears in the doorway, a smirk on his face.
"You realize this all could've been avoided if you had just taken that umbrella like I told you to do this morning, right?"
Turning around to playfully glare at him, she retorts, "You realize Paul wouldn't give me this much shit, right?"
"Well, he is two doors down if you want to test that theory."
She smiles despite herself, tossing her towel into the hamper. "Fine. You were right, I was wrong, and I will never again doubt your insane skills at weather prediction."
"That's all I ask," he replies with the lazy smile she loves, handing her a mug of tea.
The storm ends two hours later.
She stays until the next morning.
* * *
Title: An American (and Canadian) in Paris
Pairing: Ian/Nina
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,303
Summary: The Paris trip
Disclaimer: The people are real; the events described are not
They are posing for the cameras during Up-fronts when he leans over, his voice smoky against her ear, and drawls, "Want to go to Paris?"
She giggles even as she poses for the photographer, cocking her hip and smiling playfully. When the shot has been taken, she whispers back, "Sure, let's go now."
Both of them are incredibly grateful for their jobs and all which it provides them, and usually Nina is game for whatever the network wants them do. Mall tour with screaming legions of tweens? Sure! International press tour which guarantees she will be in a perpetual state of jet-lag for two weeks? Absolutely! Endless interviews where she's asked the same Stefan vs. Damon question ad-nauseum? Happy to do it!
But ever since the season wrapped, she has barely had a chance to catch her breath. As much as she loved Coachella and the week they spent in Mexico afterward, she had been so exhausted from pulling double-duty all season that she had slept most of the trip. And then she had reported to Pittsburgh for pre-production and been so horribly sick, even through the Correspondents' Dinner. She had just started to feel like herself again two days ago, and already she could feel the exhaustion starting to creep back into her limbs.
She knows Ian is feeling it too. The mad dash to finish the season after the near-constant delays, all the work he was doing with the Foundation, the trip to Africa...When he had met her at the hotel yesterday, she had been stunned by how unlike himself he looked.
"I'm serious," he assures her even as he wraps an arm around her waist, flashing the throng of photographers his very best Damon-esque smirk. "You want to come to Paris with me?"
Nina startles for only a moment before catching herself and resuming posing. "I thought you were going with your mom."
He shrugs, casually raising a hand to raise at someone in the crowd. "So we'll invite your mom too. We'll make it a late Mother's Day present."
There are a thousand reasons she should say no: she still hasn't learned her lines for Wallflower, a majority of her house is still in packing boxes, she promised Jeny she'd take a few days off and they'd have a chance to really talk. But instead, all she can think about is spending a few days in the romantic city in the world with the man she loved.
"Okay," she agrees with a genuine smile.
He grins widely. "Awesome." Dropping his voice as Paul sidles up to them, he divulges, "Because I already bought the tickets weeks ago."
* * *
Nina has always wanted to be famous. She knows she's not supposed to say that, that she's supposed to talk about "her craft" and "being moved by the material," but the truth is, when she was little, she wanted to be on the covers of magazines and have people know her name, want to hang her picture on their walls. It had always seemed so glamorous, when she'd watch movie stars on TV.
But the truth is, the flipside of everyone knowing who you are, is that you don't get privacy anymore. Two years ago, she could walk down the street relatively unscathed; sure, there was always some wiseass who would shout some variation of, "Mia, where's your baby?!" but otherwise she was just another person.
She never misses that anonymity more than when the crowd of screaming French girls surrounds them as they walk down the street. The noise is deafening and they keep getting closer, and all she wants in that moment is to be back at the hotel, locked away from the world.
They end up ducking into a post office, and she doesn't realize she's shaking until her mother grasps her hands and starts asking if she's okay. Immediately Nina responds to her mother's questions, and, when Ian and Edna come over, she sees just how angry he is.
"Are you alright?"
Nodding, she assures him that she's fine only for him to look at her in absolute confusion.
"English, Neen," he requests with a gentle smile, and she just shakes her head in apology.
Later, as her mother is in the bathroom and his mother is paying their bill, he wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his body.
He doesn't say anything, and she feels tears start to well up in her throat. Softly, as if it will hurt if she says it louder, she confesses, "They really scared me today."
Ian squeezes her tighter, and she's never loved him more.
* * *
On their last night in Paris, Nina comes out of the shower to find her mother applying make-up.
"What's going on?"
"Edna and I are going to dinner," her mother replies, tucking the tube into her purse.
Rubbing the towel through her wet hair, Nina glances at the clock and says, "If you give me twenty minutes - "
"No," Michaela immediately interrupts, "we are going alone. You and Ian, you have a night in. Order room service. Watch a movie." Smirking playfully she adds, "Discuss how your father and brother will kill him should you end up pregnant."
Despite herself, Nina blushes. She knows her mother loves Ian; when she is not mercilessly teasing them both, she sings his praises to anyone who will listen. Her father and brother have been a little slower to warm, if only because she is the baby and the only daughter and...well, mostly because they still think she's six.
She pads across the hall to his room a few minutes after their mothers leave, still dressed in her pajamas, hair still wet from the shower. He answers the door in a pair of pajama pants which hang low on his hips, his own hair damp.
As they stumble to the bed, arms wrapped tightly around the other, mouths meeting clumsily, Nina gasps, "Are we going to discuss how our mothers set us up for a booty call?"
He laughs against her throat, pulling her camisole over her head before hooking his thumbs into her shorts. "No, we're going to buy them very nice houses as thanks."
When they are both sated, her fingertips idly stroking his chest as he brushes soft kisses against her hair, Nina reaches up, turning his face towards hers.
"Thank you for this. I really needed it."
He arches an eyebrow, a boyish smile starting to stretch across his lips, and she already knows what he is going to say.
Smacking him playfully in the stomach, she says, "Not that!"
Ian laughs, loud and free, before rolling atop her. He rests in the cradle of her hips, and Nina shivers, slipping her arms around his body, hands grasping his shoulders. She expects him to begin again, to make love to her until she is boneless, but instead he inclines his head, his forehead resting against hers.
"You know I'd do anything for you, right?"
"Of course," she replies automatically, her stomach flipping as he kisses her temple.
"I love you."
"I love you more," she teases, needing to lighten the mood, so overwhelmed with emotion she is either going to cry or propose marriage like a crazy person.
"Impossible," he declares before pressing his mouth firmly against her own.
* * *
"We're on the front page of the LA Times website," Nina reports the next morning as they wait for the cab.
Ian's brow furrows. "You're checking out the LA Times on your phone right now?"
She rolls her eyes. "No, Candice texted me. Apparently people have cracked the code and think we're dating."
Slinging an arm around her shoulder, playfully nipping her ear, he chuckles. "What could possibly have given them that idea?"