#I hope everybody reading these little tags has a good and blessed day

[egginfroggin]

With regards to this post:

Ingo is a fine, honest, upstanding example of transparency and truth until his little brother is thrown to the wilds and he isn't allowed to help, whereupon all bets are immediately off and he will lie to the face of anyone he has to to keep Emmet safe -- including Irida, the woman who gave him a home.

Don't mess with him, it is a terrible mistake to do so, and yes, he is absolutely willing to fight Kamado on this. With Pokemon or straight up throwing hands.

Violence and deceit aside, the twins kind of... instinctively reach out to each other for comfort, sometimes. Emmet, while he's filling out the Pokedex, probably hunts Ingo down whenever he's in the Highlands -- or literally drops in via Braviary.

Ingo has, for whatever reason, always been able to understand the slightly odd Galarian sign language that Emmet uses, and after Emmet goes non-verbal, Ingo is about the only person he can just... talk to without issues. This was especially comforting during the incident with the sky, because it was so much easier to just spill out the truth of everything to someone who would understand immediately and react accordingly.

(There are a lot of tears, a lot of high-octane emotions, initially; they spend at least one night asleep on each other because Ingo just pulled him into a hug after Emmet's hands started shaking too much to sign with, and they fell asleep like that)

(The urge to debate Kamado on his decision to banish Emmet was already there the moment Ingo had heard about it; the urge to outright fight Kamado on the matter was near overwhelming the more Emmet told him, and probably the only thing grounding him there in Lady Sneasler's den was Emmet himself breaking down)

Emmet basically stays with Lady Sneasler for those weeks during the incident in the original WTST, and he does the same with Ingo during this version of things. Ingo winds up not being able to help him with the Lake Trio for the purpose of keeping up appearances, but he does intervene when Kamado tries to come up the mountain. He's, frankly, tired of holding back, and tired of Kamado's increasingly questionable decisions, and he absolutely lets him know.

("Leave, and do not come back -- you are unwelcome here, and failure to leave on your own will result in you being forcibly removed. Lady Sneasler is far less kind than I am, Commander, and I'd hope that you're intelligent enough to know not to tread on the territory of a mother whose kit you wronged.")

(Kamado is not allowed back into the Highlands until Sneasler says so, and even after she says such, the Commander is perfectly fine with simply staying away for a while longer)

Even after the Pokedex entries for Pokemon in the Highlands are completed, Emmet still sometimes just shows up at Sneasler's den or Ingo's doorstep, like some kind of weird wild Purrloin.

After the incident with Volo, the visits become even more frequent. When his health starts to decline from working too hard to finish the Pokedex, Ingo finds him and hauls him back -- by the collar, if necessary -- to sit and rest. He's as insistent as Zisu is in the original fic, if not more so, and Emmet finds himself listening a bit more quickly (something about the exchange -- "You are working too hard! Your cab is in disrepair, and you must pull the brakes before you derail completely!" -- feels extremely familiar).

With Ingo there to mitigate some of Emmet's more... detrimental practices of overworking himself, Emmet is in a bit better shape when he finally goes home.

Speaking of going home, remember when I said that Ingo was willing to lie to and fight anyone in Hisui for Emmet?

When he remembers who Ingo is to him and realizes that he isn't home, Arceus gets an extremely upset little chosen on its doorstep.

("He was in Hisui for six years," it tells him, surprisingly calm despite his threats to thrash it worse than he had in Hisui and stuff it into a ball again if it didn't bring his brother back right now. "Time is a sensitive thing, chosen of mine; the six years he spent in Hisui must pass here, as well, before he will come back.")

("But he'll come back?" he signs, too distressed for words, hands barely steady enough to form the words, and Arceus tell him that, yes, Ingo will come home)

(About four years later, Ingo drops into a tunnel, follows the tracks back to the station, and finds Emmet in a white coat, waiting for him)

(Finally, everything is as it should be)

[thislovintime]

Peter Tork with the Fairfax Street Choir (in their bass vocal section); pictured in photo 1 with Ralph Pennuneri, Hosanna Bauer, and Bill Craig. Via the Fairfax Street Choir Facebook page, except for photo 4 (courtesy of Mark Kleiner).

Photo 2: “Peter Tork has his banjo but never played it with the choir that I remember but He was a really good musician and I remember him playing at the Lady. [...] I've heard some of his live stuff on tape that he did at the Sleeping Lady and was blown away by how great he really was as a musician.” - Marla Hunt Hanson, Facebook, January 3, 2021

“Peter showed me some banjo picking patterns... he was a nice guy fun to play music with.” - David Carlson, Facebook, January 2021

“To us, he wasn’t famous, he was just Peter. [...] He was just a sweet, dear man that, you know, everybody loved... He was just a good guy. You know, ‘Sleep on the couch, have a good one. You know, we love you. Come on in.’ [...] His destiny in this lifetime was with The Monkees. We were like his backup friends, or his backup band, whatever you want to call it.He came to us wounded, like a wounded bird, really. […] He never really got to escape from being one of The Monkees. It was very hard, you know, it was hard for him. I wish we could have given him more. [...] I said to him, ‘Well, why are you going back when they treated you so badly, and blah blah blah?’ And he said, they offered him something he couldn’t turn down, something like that, so it had to do with money of course, because… so, yeah, he went back, poor thing. God bless him. [...] [W]hen you’re a Monkee, the fans will come out of, you know, somehow they’ll seep in through the furnace floor or a little crack in the window. You’re always on display, you’re always having someone looking at you or tagging at you or pulling at you or saying, ‘God, I remember that episode…’You know, and you’re always having to be on the stage or on— in gear, or answering with a smile to your fan group, whatever that is. You’re trained to do that through the industry itself. You know, anyway, I don’t want to go that far. In this group consciousness that he was a part of for a short period of time, he didn’t have to do that. He just didn’t have to do that. And that’s why I think that was — he’ll never forget that group or the Sleeping Lady however many lifetimes he lives. And I’ll tell you this, he was happy in a very strange way for as long as he was there with us. He was happy in a different way, not in the way that you are when you’re famous. In the way you are when you’re happy. [...] Someone like Peter Tork, who shines a light out onto this world, can only shine as brightly as we allow them to. […] When you see a flame, move back and let it shine, don’t go in there and try to get it, because the reason that it’s alive is because it’s got oxygen, air, and there’s not a lot of moths hanging out around it trying to, you know, take its life. I think a lot of that is true about Peter. That’s how — what I think.” - Marla Hunt Hanson, interview with the Nesmith Tork Goffin & King podcast, February 2020

"Back in Marin. Peter Tork began to hang out at the Sleeping Lady. (He works there as a waiter now). One night The Fairfax Street Choir was there. He was amazed, saw a home, and joined. He grins as he adds: ‘In some ways I was a cold, lonely hitchhiker being picked up by a warm school bus.’ [...] He’s happy. Content. And hopeful. For the Choir. And himself." - San Diego Reader, December 6, 1973 (originally published in the Chicago Reader; interview conducted by Chuck Stepner) (read more here)

“What a group! 35 voices strong; some harmonies! It was something, very encouraging, very comforting.” - Peter Tork, Goldmine, May 1982 (x)

Peter Tork: "As soon as The Monkees was over, I went to Marin County to try to recapture some of my Greenwich-Village-days happiness, and I did. I was very, I was very lucky, there was a lovely scene in Fairfax, Marin County, and I had a great time up there for a couple of years, worked as a waiter in a cooperative restaurant and it was great, it was actually great. The thing about The Monkees, it was so difficult, was to be yanked out of — off the street, flung to the pinnacle and then, you know, and then dropped.” Q: “Yeah.” PT: “So, so I went back to the street, where I’d, you know, gotten my roots together. It was great.” - GOLD 104.5, 1999 (x)

[huntingteeth]

hi!

saw your post asking how people found your sleep token fic and wanted to answer but figured i’d have too many words for tumblr comments lol

for starters- i am obsessed with this fic its so so so good i save every chapter upload as a little treat to unwind from my day! also completely in love with how you’ve written iii, it hits very close to home and i can relate so hard to your characterization that it’s just. perfect. i love it.

on to how i found it lol- i am the world’s pickiest fic reader, i can push myself to get through sloggish (i’m making my own words now) books, but if a fic doesn’t catch my interest within the first couple sentences i’m out! i’m always trawling the tags to find something that might catch my eye and stumbled across your fic. i think i read the first line of the description and that was that. i was hooked! but yeah. nothing fancy for me lol, just a desperate, ravenous reader looking for something new and there it was! bless you for writing it, it’s so gorgeous. i love the world building and how things are described! and i love love love seeing magic portrayed in such a casual, accepted way! i know that’s the whole basis of the fic but like. as a semi-practicing witch it’s off putting to me when magic is written either only in extremes, or as accessible only to a few. i love that in your fic world everyone has the ability to practice, and like real humans they each have strengths and different abilities!

i’m rambling now so i’m going to stop (i also should be writing a paper rn and this is me procrastinating haha) but i am so excited to see where the story goes next :)

hello!! hope you're having an excellent day

omg i'm crying, sobbing, i keep saying that i'm so glad that people like this fic as much (if not more) as i've enjoyed writing it. i'm also really excited to get to share with all the readers the behind-the-scenes that i've been drafting as i've posted chapters, because i really put so much into this fic and there's worldbuilding that never makes it into the fic exactly but does inform a lot of how i write the fic and i want to share that with you guys so badly!! also magic is for everybody!!

obvi WRITE YOUR PAPER but also so humbled and honored that you'd procrastinate with my (mildly attention-seeking) question

[alittlefrenchtree]

Second part of my fanfics recs! 

I try to sort them a bit so you’ll know where you want to go depending on your taste but I’m not going to go in details about what every story is about but you’ll have a quick thought and a relevant comment (according to me) about my reading experience. Enjoy! 

Let me start by reminding me of a WIP from the first post, "What kind of day has it been?" Still updating, still good, go show the writer some love and support 🙏

CANON COMPLIANT

God Save the Blessed American President Mom : A bit heavy in some chapters but it’s nicely balanced with lighter stuff so it doesn’t get too heavy and unenjoyable.

All our Sweetest Hours Fly Fastest: Feels like everybody knows this one already and I’d wish it would have been longer through the second part but I had a nice time.

Las Flores : The first work of this is one of my favorite things I’ve read in this fandom.

Mince Pies and Mischief : If you loved Baker!Henry in Doughnuts and Dinner Rolls, there is a little bit more of him over here. 

i ask how you’re doing (and i let you lie): For all of the insecure adhd souls out there who needs a little bit of love provided by Henry 💜

RWRB YouTube Interviews: All of the YouTube concepts you can think of have now a RWRB scripted version. Very well made, very realistic. 

ONE SHOT

Call it Hope : I love when glimpses of my ship’s story is told through the perspective of someone else.

In bloom : five times Alex bought Henry flowers — it’s rizcriz, you don’t need to know anything else

Algorithms : your ideal content when you’re commuting or waiting for your food to cook

In every scenario : Look, in my head, this fanfic is called "omg the worm fic" and you just have to trust me on that. It’s probably my favorite one-shot of the fandom? Idk. And if you don’t trust me, trust rizcriz.

Leave a Message: The idea is so smart and efficient I’m kind of baffled I never read it in a previous fandom.

a goddamn blaze in the dark (and you started it) : I love when glimpse of my ship’s character's story is told through the perspective of someone else.

SMUT

— like in the sense of if you don’t like or don’t feel like reading smut, these stories probably aren’t worth it for you, even when there’s plot and softness and fun around the sex.

In an emergency: bless a romcom fandom when the origin story for a fanfic is a sticky note with "will top in an emergency" and NOT "what if they go to war and one of them nearly die???" Gotta love it. (+ it’s mansikka so we’re safe).

day off diaries : on my draft for this post, this was called "soft morning porn"

Bedroom Warfare: on my draft for this post, this was called "idiots having sex"

A very merry (happy) kinkmas : Ok, look. It normally isn't the kind of fanfic I'd put in a rec post. You saw the title it’s very kinky, so check the tags first obviously. It won’t be to everybody’s taste but it’s also one of the most realistic and healthiest sex I’ve ever read in a fanfic? You have to push through a few chapters of kinks and smut to get to the ones when it became special, I think. As someone who has started reading explicit fanfic (waaaay) before becoming an adult, I feel like it’s important to have representation like this out there.

CANON DIVERGENT

We’ll invite something in: One of the first non-canon-compliant thing I’ve read and I was happy about it because I love how Alex and Henry’s relationship is handled in this one.

Be Worthy Love, and Love will come : on my draft for this post, this was called "baby Henry asks for a bff" + it’s Mags (sparklepocalyspe) and they do know how to write fanfics.

Age Like A Fine Wine : Different meeting that starts with a whole lot of smut so if it isn’t your thing, be aware of it. But if you’re looking for a 100K story, here it is :)

AU

The Clementine thing : sweet story with clementines in it. Clementines are the best fruit so we should always read stories talking about clementines. It’s a rule and i make them.

Dinner and a show: on my draft for this post, this was called "I DON’T READ MUCH AU BUT IT’S RIZCRIZ"

If you have recs of your own, please send them to me.

Special thanks to @myteavsricochet 💜 many of the stories you see in this list are her own recs ✨

Do you have any firstprince fanfics to recommend?

Hi and thank you again for sending me this very exciting ask!

A few things beforehand. I don’t read AU in this fandom. So my recommendations will all be canon, post-canon and a bit of canon-divergent as long as the set up is mostly the same as the canon (read or book), meaning a prince and a first son being all kind of idiot together. 

Even it’s not my main focus, I read explicit and PWP as long as it has excellent characterization and excellent writing (for me, a non native with absolutely no legitimacy to judge other people’s English skill :D)

Also, I’ve only been reading rwrb fanfics for a few weeks/a couple of month so I’ll certainly recommend the most famous writers of this fandom as if they need a shout out from nobody!me (event if they really really don’t) starting with…

Anything by indomitablelove -- I’ve started with All that glitters (is not gold) and made my way through all — or almost all — their canon-compliant stories. They did something I absolutely love is that all — or almost all — their canon-compliant stories are set in the same universe they’ve created with their first main story so you have little references everywhere and it really creates something really immersive. I haven’t read their AU stories but if you’re into that yourself, I recommend you doing so because they’re probably equally good. There is also a companion fic to all that glitters that is written from Henry’s POV that I haven’t read it yet — ‘cause I feel more like reading new stories as the moment — but I’m sure it’s as delightful as the main story.

In the same vibe, I’ve just finished reading A love Letter to love by soshesighs. Missing scenes and post canon stories, all set in the same universe that I liked very much. A lot of respect for the character and the original story. I’ve also read their other (canon-compliant) stories and I recommend them as well.

A bit different is Event if it’s just Pretend by nontoxic -- I wasn’t overly on board with the plot at first but I got on board pretty quickly. It’s well written and one of the chapter of the fic is one of the most emotional and beautiful thing I’ve read recently.

To continue with the "I wasn’t sure about the plot at start but a few lines in and I was hooked" idea is Doughnuts and Dinner Rolls by mansikka. 30K words of fluffy fluff (that is never cringy) and beautiful deliciousness. My next reads will be all of their other stories, most likely.

If you’re in a PWP mood, you can browse through the Kinktober 2023 collection by Mags (sparklepocalypse). There is (quite literally) something for every taste so feel free to explore if it’s your thing :)

Oblivion by milowren. Probably one of the most canon-divergent thing I’ve read so far. I kind of wish it has been longer but it was a good read.

Same vibe (with the plot and the wish that it was a bit longer) : hours by demigodbeautiies.

[WIP] what kind of day has it been? By Evelinafelicia. Not much to say since we’re 8/25 chapters but I’m enjoying what I’m reading so far so it’s obviously bookmarked not to miss any update.

Same vibe as above (I like the idea and I like the start) [WIP] Designated Survivor by Beck17. Based on the TV Show with a good writing, so already waiting for the next update :)

… and that’s all I have for now, since my readings and bookmarks aren’t organized AT ALL. I’ll probably be reblogging this post with new recs since I’ll probably keep exploring and reading for a while.

Hope you’ll find interesting stuff in my list and happy readings 💜 

[cthulhu-calling]

kill the lights and kiss my eyes : deform me to your likeness

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary : You never knew what love was, not until Natasha. But now that the King has his eye on you, will your perfect little world come crumbling down?

Warnings : medieval AU, smut, fluff, public smut, MISCARRIAGE, Bucky is a creep (18+)

Author's Note : This chapter is a little short and truly, not my best work (I might rewrite it someday) but I wanted to get this out. I hope you enjoy reading this. I appreciate all the lovely comments I've received. Feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. This work isn't beta'd so any and all mistakes are mine. Please consider the tags before you continue reading.

Word Count : 4005

series masterlsit

“In accordance with Article 17, Act V, In the event that a consort is unable to provide a male heir following five years after the couple has been bound in holy matrimony, the King shall be free to choose another, a second wife, with the aim of providing the kingdom with a legitimate heir.” the announcer finished, leaving the whole court in silence. All eyes were either on Natasha or Lady Morwenna, the king’s current paramour. When the king declared he had an important announcement to make, this was the last thing you or anyone had expected. Your eyes found Natasha’s, her face was a calm veneer of indifference but you could see the struggle inside. He hadn’t even thought of discussing this with her. She couldn’t say anything though. No matter what, they had to depict themselves as the perfect couple, happily married and deeply in love, a perfect unit. She had to act as if this was her choice too, nay, her suggestion for the good of the kingdom. 

“I know some of you might find this unacceptable but following the tragic events that took place a year ago, I cannot put my dear queen under such stress. Hence, with your blessings, I will seek a maiden who can provide our kingdom it’s future. I urge you to understand, consider everything without the shroud of social norm and expectations. Think of it from the point of a desperate ruler,” he pleaded with the court, his speech full of passion, pausing at just the right moments to emphasise his point, the change of the air in the court proof enough of what a great orator the King truly was . The court erupted into whispers when Lady Morwenna fainted, being barely held upright by Lady Ella and Lady Sybil, her two lackeys. 

When the court was dismissed for the day and everybody was back to business as usual, the ladies were in a state of unrest, waiting for the Queen in the gardens. She had disappeared before you could even think of following her. The ladies were all abuzz with the King’s declaration. The married ones were scandalised at his decision, not wanting to even imagine themselves in their Queen’s shoes. The unmarried ones, though sympathetic towards the Queen, could not let go of such an opportunity. There would never be a chance of a more advantageous marriage, and that was everyone’s goal, wasn’t it? To secure a betrothal, that’s what they were at court for. 

“How could the King do this? Disrespect the Queen as such in front of everyone?” Lady Violet asked. 

“Oh, he had every right to. It’s not like the Queen has been able to provide him an heir. No wonder he strays,” Lady Sybil said. Lady Morwenna had been taken to her chambers, the one she shared with Sybil, Ella, Morganna and you. She had yet to wake according to Sybil who had come back, leaving Ella there. 

“Keep your voices down! Your words are seditious,” Lady Virginia, Lord Stark’s wife, hissed. 

“It is the truth. It is what has landed us here, with the King seeking another wife. What’s the point of speaking in whispers now when soon, the whole kingdom shall know?” She shrugs, leaving everyone in a stunned silence. 

Lady Virginia stalks off, followed by Lady Violet as the rest of you are just sitting and waiting, watching the chaos unfold all around you. 

*

When James enters his receiving chambers, followed by his retinue of Lords, Natasha is already waiting for him. Seeing her there, he’s quick to dismiss the Lords as he takes a seat at his desk, making himself comfortable. 

“What is it?” He asks dismissively, angering her even more. 

“Really? How do you explain yourself at court today? You have completely humiliated me!” She rages and he just leans back, fixing her with an icy stare. 

“I did what I had to do, what was best for this kingdom and it’s future,” he shrugged. 

Natasha snorts, laughing humorlessly, “We all know for exactly whom this is the best for.”

“I’d watch my tongue if I were you,” he warns and Natasha rolls her eyes. 

“Who is it? That whore, Lady Morwenna? But knowing you, it could be anyone. God, James, you’re pathetic. You disg—” before she knows it, the King is on his feet, grabbing her by the throat and forcing her against the wall, effectively cutting off whatever she had to say. 

“Do not forget that I am still your husband and your king. Don’t you dare forget, it is by my desire and my hand that you still have that crown on your head. So now run back out and join you ladies in the garden, like a good queen would,” he says with a light slap against her cheek before stepping away from her and sitting at his desk again like he hadn’t just choked Natasha. 

She’s breathing heavily and clutching at her throat, her eyes blown wide. He’d never been like this. He was unfaithful but never had he ever raised a hand on her, hurt her physically. She walks out of the King’s receiving chambers in a sort of daze. She didn’t bother with meeting her ladies, asking one of the maids to let them know they’ve been dismissed. She’s beyond the point of caring, she doesn’t care what the people think of her. First the announcement and now this? She really does not know him, this man that she has called husband for so long. 

She sends one more maid to call for you, in secret. When you come to her door, she’s quick to let you in, pulling you in and shutting the door. She has a vice-like grip on your hand but she won’t meet your eye. You gently lift her chin up, forcing her to look at you and that’s all that it takes, the catalyst she needed as she breaks down crying, dragging you to the floor with her. You hold her close as she cries into the crook of your neck, rubbing her back and urging her to let it all out. You know she’s been strong for so long, longer than anyone should have to be. 

Once she’s reeled her emotions in a bit, she declares that she should probably talk to June, she is sure to have heard the declaration by now, though Natasha doesn’t know how much the little princess actually understood. 

You fix her hair as she reapplies her makeup, something that’s a routine of sorts for the two of you that brings a sense of normalcy, and the two of you make your way towards the nursery, the Queen’s foot soldiers following closely behind. No one could tell that Natasha had been crying, her cold and uncaring facade perfectly back in place. 

She dismisses Lady McCarthy, the pity clearly visible on her face. Her personal guard waits outside and you swiftly close the door, making sure they can’t hear what’s going on inside. Natasha and June walk hand in hand to the small cushioned bench near the massive dollhouse. You just stand behind Natasha, your hands on her shoulders to offer her some comfort, some much needed support. 

“June, my love, I am sure you have heard of your father’s decision today?” She asked and the princess nodded. 

“I’m going to have one more mama, isn’t that right?” She asked and Natasha couldn’t help but smile at her innocence. 

“Yes my love,” she says, feelings relieved that this was going much better than she thought it would. But her relief is short lived when June furrows her brows, a question at the tip of her tongue as she weighs whether she should ask it or not. 

“What is it?” 

“Is Lady Morwenna going to be my new mama? I don’t want her to be,” June says, crossing her arms and pouting a little. 

“Honey, that’s for your father to decide,” Natasha says, trying to keep a tantrum at bay. June just nods her head solemnly, not knowing what to say. “But you can come talk to me whenever you feel like it, I’ll always listen,” Natasha promises. 

“Okay,” she sniffs before getting up on her feet, “will you play with me now?” she asks and you and Natasha can’t help but laugh, nodding as you all sit on the ground, surrounded by a wide array of toys, playing until the princess is sleepy and her maid takes her to bed. 

You and Natasha part ways as you walk towards the chamber you share with some of the other unwed ladies. Just a few feet away from the doors, in a tiny alcove, you hear a hushed but heated conversation. A fight. 

“And what? I am just supposed to sit by and watch as you marry someone else? Who is not me?” You could hear Lady Morwenna hiss, trying to keep quiet but failing spectacularly.

“I am King, I can do as I wish. What you do or do not do bears little importance to me,” he seethes.

“Then I will tell everyone of how you’ve defiled me, how no one would have me anymore. You’ll have no choice but to be wedded to me,” she declares and you can almost imagine the confusion on her face when the King starts to chuckle. 

“You truly seem to believe that you have the upper hand here. Well, let me tell you right now, no one’s going to believe the word of a disgraced whore over the word of the King. So I suggest you turn around and walk back to your chambers, lest you’d prefer to spend the night in the dungeons,” he says. You can hear a strangled cry as Morwenna runs off, the door slamming shut behind her. 

You’re too stunned to move. You wait around the turning, staying hidden until you’re sure the King has left. You quickly run to your chambers, closing the doors. Inside, Lady Morwenna is bawling her eyes out, Sybil and Ella trying to comfort her. You fall against your own bed, staring up at the ceiling and willing for sleep to take you. 

You’re groggy during your morning prayers with the ladies and throughout breakfast. You were already trailing behind as the ladies made their way towards the gardens, not watching where you were going, bumping into a hard chest. You scowl but it’s swiftly wiped off your face when you see the King, followed by Lord Rogers and Lord Wilson. 

“Are you alright my Lady?” the King asked and you nodded, apologising. 

“A Lady not with her Queen? Are you lost, my Lady?” Lord Samuel joked and you offered a fake smile, trying to excuse yourself when the King grabs your wrist, letting your wrist go at the scandalised look in your eyes. 

“Forgive me,” he said as he let your wrist go. 

“I must leave, my Queen does bid me. If you’ll excuse me,” you say and curtsy and leave once he nods his assent. 

“She’s something isn’t she?” Wilson wondered out loud, receiving a scowl from Steve. Bucky just nodded with a hum, watching you go. 

In the gardens the ladies are all seated and your place lies empty next to Natasha. It seems like the same scene from a few weeks ago when you were tardy, the ladies deriving their laughs at your expense. But today, the ladies are quiet. No one thinks to say much, not even the ever chatty Lady Violet who just sits and whispers with Lady Virginia. Lady Morwenna is absent still though everyone can more or less guess the reason for it. 

“I apologise, Your Majesty, I did find myself accosted by His Majesty and his Lords,” you whisper to Natasha who just nods. You haven’t told Natasha about the scene you happened to witness last night but that’s only because you haven’t yet the chance to do so. You didn’t plan on hiding anything from her. The ladies all spent the morning in an uncharacteristic silence. Not a word was spoken during the afternoon meal either. The ladies were left to their own devices post that as you and Natasha escaped to her chambers. 

You recount every detail of the scene you happened to stumble upon. Natasha listened with a blank expression. If she found the situation puzzling, she didn’t let it show. When you finish and she’s still quiet, you wonder if she just tuned you out completely. You softly call her name, prompting her to look at you. 

“I thought I knew the King. Not anymore,” she shrugged. 

*

The feast is in full swing, the band playing a lively tune as couples move around the dance floor. You are sitting alone at the table where the Queen’s ladies sit, already having declined an offer from Lord Rogers for a dance. He accepted glumly when you gave the poor excuse that you’d imbibed far too much and couldn’t be trusted on your feet. The King though, would not be so easily deterred. He ordered one of the servants to bring you a glass of water and promised to be back just in time for the next dance. Your eyes found Natasha’s nervously, wondering if you still had time to slip out without getting noticed. 

He might dress it up as much as he liked but everyone knows the true purpose of the feast. All the maidens dressed to the nines were proof enough. You wore a nice enough gown, a gentle shade of pink with your hair left down. Your eyes drift from one end of the large room to another, checking if the King is anywhere close. You push your chair back, standing up slowly when the clearing of a throat from behind you draws your attention. 

“I was just coming to find you, My Lady. It seems you were doing the same,” he says with a sly smile. You hold back a sigh, plastering on a smile as you let him take your hand and lead you onto the dance floor, surrounded by dozens of other couples who suddenly seem to be more interested in you and His Majesty over their own partners. You can feel all eyes on you, your back burning with the heat of their gaze, but the King only has eyes for you. 

“How are you enjoying yourself this evening, My Lady?” he asks. 

“It is a fine event, it truly is. The cooks have really outdone themselves,” you answer as diplomatically as you can. 

“And what about the company? Do they leave anything to desire,” he asks, his hand that was firmly maintained at your waist up until this point, slowly drifting downwards, further than was considered appropriate. 

“I’m in the finest company in the whole kingdom,” you choke out. 

“I spoke to Lord Y/l/n only recently. He is joining me for the evening meal tomorrow. I would be greatly honoured if you’d accompany him,” he asks but you know it’s not an invitation you can deny. 

“It would be untoward for an unwedded Lady to dine with the King. I should be serving my Queen,” you say but stop when he scoffs. “The Queen has enough ladies, your absence for an evening would hardly make a difference. Your father shall be present so you have no reason to worry.I do not  plan on taking no for an answer.” he declares bowing slowly as your dance comes to an end, walking away as you’re left standing in the middle of the floor. 

*

The next evening comes too soon as you meet your father in his receiving chambers as the two of you proceed towards His Majesty’s chambers in relative silence. Your father seems to know what this is about though he won’t say it outright. He had always been one to count his chickens before they hatch so it’s surprising, when he’s this quiet. You were not naive, well aware of the purpose of this meeting though you weren’t too happy at the prospect of it. Surely, you’d prefer Lord Rogers to His Majesty in a heartbeat. Natasha was aware though you’d made it clear to her, you would not accept any offer the King would place in front of you. 

In the King’s receiving chambers, the table is laid out with all types of preparations that one can imagine, a roast turkey, seasoned vegetables, breads, a platter of cheese and meats, an endless flow of wine, this is truly a meal fit for a King. It feels wrong, seeing so much food laid out for only three people, it felt wrong. 

“Your Majesty,” you and your further bow as the King smiles, welcoming you in. You’re all seated at the table, the King at the head of it as you and your father are sat facing each other on either side of him. You’re mostly quiet, observing the conversation as they both danced around the true purpose of this meal, the food on your plate forgotten long before. After a while of polite conversation, the King gathers your attention with a loud clearing of his throat. 

“I must admit, my invitation to sup was not without cause and I believe it’s time I laid it out before you,” your father looks on with a frown, feigning confusion expertly. 

“My Lord and My Lady, you and all of my subjects are aware of my plight, of the decree announced in court as of recent too,” he says with a show of vulnerability, a farce. Your father nods sympathetically. 

“Keeping so in mind, I would be honoured if you would give me Lady Y/n’s hand in marriage, I would want to proceed with your blessings,” he says. 

Your father acts like he’s deep in contemplation, as if he hadn’t already planned everything out. You make a noise of protest that’s quickly silenced by his one look, your heart beating wildly at the thought that your own father would gladly sell you. 

“I was approached by Lord Rogers for my lovely daughter’s hand in marriage too. I’d say, the wife of a Duke is much preferable to the second wife of a King, isn’t it?” He wondered out loud and you looked on, scandalised. 

“Father!” 

“Hush, girl. You do not interrupt when two men, both well above your standing are speaking,” he says. 

“I would make her the reigning Queen, not a secondary. You will have more land and holdings than any other Lord. I solemnly swear on that,” he says, almost desperately. 

“It is a becoming offer, Your Majesty but you must give me the time to contemplate, let me sleep on it,” your father says and His Majesty nods his head, “Take as much time as you need, My Lord.” 

“What about me? Do I not get a say in this?” You finally scream, your blood boiling. 

“You would refuse your King?” He asks incredulously. 

“I cannot betray Her Majesty, I serve her,” you declare. 

“Oh enough with this already! That queen of yours is nothing but an imposter. Tell me, with what pride does she proclaim herself Queen when she cannot even bear me an heir? She should be thankful that I have found a solution, or I could have just as easily have her banished,” he declares and that stops you in your tracks. 

Banished? 

“Banished? On what grounds? She’s your Queen, Your Majesty, do you not love her?” You ask, tears threatening to spill. If he truly was to banish Natasha, what would you ever do? 

“I loved her but all she has done is scorn me. Tell me, do I not deserve true love?” 

You swallow harshly, your heart feels like it’s about to beat right out of your chest. 

“Would you truly banish Her Majesty?” You ask, tears free falling as you come to accept your fate. 

“I would if you give me no other choice, I’ll have you by hook or by crook,” he promises and you nod your head. 

“Then I accept,” you say, sobbing openly now. You cannot hold it in as the King is smiling from ear to ear, no longer able to contain his joy. He had well and truly won.

The King grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as he shushes you, rubbing a large palm across your back. “Hush my dear, this is a joyous occasion. You are finally going to be mine, only mine,” he declares with a chilling finality to his tone. 

*

You could hardly sleep that night, tossing and turning. Your bed no longer felt comfortable. Half asleep and bone tired, you made your way towards the chapel for your morning prayers when you were suddenly pulled into a corner by strong hands, one immediately moving to your mouth, muffling your screams. You looked up as icy blue eyes met yours. 

“Now I finally know why you never did consider my feelings, let alone reciprocate. You had your eyes set on another prize altogether, didn’t you?” He spat venomously. 

“I should’ve known. I always thought what could a Lady want more than a Duke? Especially a Lady with such a low standing in the peerage, the daughter of an Earl,” Lord Rogers had almost choked you now, only letting you go as somebody came looking for him. He stepped out of the alcove, straightening his doublet, acting as if he hadn’t spewed such vitriol at you, his lips adopting a saccharine sweetness as he spoke to Lord Wilson, blocking you from his view. 

You were shaken, close to tears at his words. You finally found the courage to walk out of the alcove once both the Lords were far enough that you could no longer hear them. You found yourself contemplating if you made the right choice. Should you have just accepted Lord Rogers when you had the choice? But how could you have known of your current predicament that puts bars between the owners and their rights. 

Your mind is restless, elsewhere altogether. You don’t even realise when Natasha approaches you, a gentle hand on your shoulder startling you out of your reverie. Natasha can see you’re close to crumbling so she guides you to her chambers in a bit of a daze, telling the other ladies to proceed with their breakfast without her. She closes the door gently behind her as she leads you to her bed, pulling you close as you break down. 

The familiar scent of her perfume and something that is just entirely her, brings you comfort as you’re able to reign in your tears, telling her all about the meal you shared with His Majesty the previous night. 

Natasha has noticed a pattern, she’s found herself in this position so often in the past few months and she can identify the root cause. Her husband. She doesn’t doubt that if it truly came to it, James would find a way to get rid of her. She knew what she had to do then. She knew she couldn’t escape, not truly and not without repercussions

. 

“I will marry him, if it means that you’re safe. I’ll do anything,” you swear to her and she shakes her head ‘no’.

“You will do no such thing. You will run away, you will escape. I will make sure that he shall never find you,” she tells you and you’re pleading no.

“I cannot live without you, I will die,” you cry as you realise, you were just as naive as you prided yourself for not being. You couldn’t live without Natasha, no matter how much you thought you could. “I will marry him, if it means that you are safe, and then we can be together. We won’t have to worry about June. It’s our best bet,” you say and though Natasha wants to disagree she has to admit, her husband had well and truly got all of you in a corner with only one way out : through him.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 19

19/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: mid-s3 (canon-divergent) | T | 5.3k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

Fate touches Scully's life, as does her own free will.

-----------------------

Can you still call something a miracle when you could not have gone on without it? When, if it hadn’t happened, the death knell would have sounded in your memory? Is that really a miracle, or is it just what had to occur? Certainly what keeps you breathing wouldn’t be so highly esteemed if the chips fell the other way. It would be called a tragedy, and no one wants to live in a world where every moment is caught between the two.

Scully existed there for a little while, but she’s escaped. Maybe for good. Because this--the Lace’s sacrifice, her signature on the adoption paper, her baby in her arms--is no miracle. This is God realizing she’s gotten her fair share, that he owes her a break. This is her fate.

In more normal circumstances, the foster family and the adoptive parent would have no contact. Social services would handle the transition. Since those barriers are already broken in Emily’s case, the state allows the Lace’s and their son to accompany Emily as she’s turned over to Scully. The nondescript woman in the polo shirt joins them as a witness to the custody change, and so they all find themselves at Bill Jr.’s house--of all places--for one grievous goodbye and a destined hello.

Mrs. Lace passes Emily to Scully moments after the family walks through the door. Her red-rimmed eyes reveal the depth of her agony. 

“Take her,” she says. “I need to start letting go while she’s still in my sight.”

Scully bites her lip, feels Emily’s pudgy hand press into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lace. I can’t imagine how hard this must be. I’ll make good on my promise to send pictures and updates, I swear.”

“Thank you, Dana.” She sighs. “It’ll be an adjustment.”

Her husband taps the head of the little boy by his knee. “This is Andrew, our son. He wanted to make sure Emily has the best life possible, so he made you a guide to her favorite things.”

The boy--no more than five--holds up a construction paper booklet with crayon drawings of him and baby Emily. How To Mak My Sister Smile, his stilted handwriting reads. Scully’s heart skips a beat as she accepts it from him. She kneels down so he’s level with her and Emily. 

“Thank you, Andrew. This is so sweet and I’ll be sure to read every bit of it and make sure your sister smiles every single day, okay?”

He nods, but tears cloud his vision. 

Scully turns Emily so that she’s perched on her knee, facing Andrew. “Tell me--what’s your favorite thing to do with your sister?” she asks him softly. 

He rubs his eyes and nose. “I like to show her my cars,” he stammers.

“Your cars? Wow!” Scully effuses. It’s not often that she gets to work on her kiddie voice, and she’ll need that now.

The color returns Andrew’s face. “Yeah, yeah, my race cars! I have a mat for them, and I push them around the track, and she watches. She likes the races. They make her laugh sometime.” 

“Wow! You sound like a great big brother.”

“Yeah, and I like her bouncy thing too,” he sputters. “It was mine before.”

“An activity jumper,” Mr. Lace clarifies. “From Fisher-Price.”

“Ahh.” Scully’s happy to get any insight she can into her daughter’s early life. The Lace’s offered to send some toys with Emily, but Scully will only accept a couple onesies and Emily’s beloved stuffed rabbit. She doesn’t want to take any more from them than she already is.

She adjusts Emily on her knee, looks to Andrew. “Do you wanna give your sister a hug?”

“Okay.” He moves bashfully toward her and wraps his arms around Emily. He holds on until Emily begins to fuss, then steps back like he’s been caught sneaking away from time out. 

“Emily’s lucky to have a big brother like you,” Scully tells him. “Your parents have my phone number, and you can call and talk to her whenever you want, okay? I know she can’t say much yet, but she’ll grow into it, and besides, she’ll recognize your voice.” Scully offers him a spirit-boosting smile. “Does that sound good?”

He nods, hands linked behind his back. Stranger shyness has taken over.

“Good. She’s gonna need her big brother to stick up for her.”

Scully stands up, clutching Emily to her chest. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace,” Scully addresses them, “it’s impossible for me to sum up how deeply, deeply grateful I am for you and your sacrifice. It is no exaggeration to say that you have saved my life. I can already tell that Emily is so lucky to have been raised by you--that you have done an incredible job--and I hope that the two of us will continue to be a part of you and your son’s lives as Emily grows up.”

Mrs. Lace dabs her cheeks with a tissue. Mr. Lace frowns at his wife’s pain. “That means a great deal to us, Dana,” he replies. 

“We feel blessed to have led Emily through her formative months,” his wife murmurs through her tear-strickenness. 

The man nods. “She’s a wonderful kid, and I’m sure some of that comes from you.”

Scully smiles tautly. “I could say the same of you. Thank you for giving her the start I was denied from providing her.”

“You’ll let us know if you need any help, won’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll have your number on speed dial by the end of the night.”

The Lace’s formal goodbye had taken place at home, they said, and dragging out their visit would only make matters worse. They leave Bill Jr.’s house after a few short minutes, advancing down the front steps like a funeral procession.

When the door shuts and Scully’s baby is in her arms, she realizes that this will be her life for the rest of her life. What joy--! What horror--!

----------------------------

The heater’s gentle sigh provides a generous rush of white noise as the girls settle for sleep. It’s the time of year when San Diego’s nightly temperatures start drifting away from perfection, when sleeping with the windows open no longer has such appeal. According to Bill, it’s not cold enough to turn on the heating system (surprise, surprise) so he pulled a dusty space heater from the closet for the “girl’s room” to share. Like a gentleman, Mulder took the couch (as if he had any other option), leaving Scully, Missy, and now Emily with the guest room. A family affair, one generation rounded out by another.

It’s a convenient arrangement, really. Bill doesn’t have a crib and it’s not worth buying one for a single night, so Emily will be sleeping on the bed like a grown-up. If Missy weren’t there as a physical barrier, Scully would be taking the chance that Emily might roll off the unattended side. Instead, the little girl’s mother and aunt will be an arm’s length away for her first sleep with her new family. A symbolic gesture of the protection they hope to provide for the rest of her life. 

It’s a wonder how smoothly the transition has gone. Emily hasn’t shed a single tear since the family she knew left her in this strange house. Then again, Scully has never seen her daughter cry; like her mother, she must not be prone to it. 

Tara served a ham for dinner while Scully spooned mashed carrots and peas into Emily’s mouth, her helicopter parenting beginning early. Mulder made some joke about gourmet baby food, and everybody laughed except Bill, and Scully felt that she finally understood what was meant by family--some who share your blood will never fit into it, but some who were once strangers will more than make up for that absence. 

And now, as Scully lowers her onesie-clad daughter onto the guest bed, there is peace. Terror, too, lingers in her mind, but it’s the unwarranted kind. She is the mother to a healthy baby girl. Yes, there will be challenges. Yes, a person loved separately from yourself is a person you could lose. But the summit has been reached; the worst did not happen, and now everything else pales in comparison. As far as Scully’s concerned, she can never be truly hurt again. Because if anything happens to Emily, well, this is what Scully asked for, and what gives her the right to complain? Beggars can’t be choosers, and she begged God for this...The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. This happened in the opposite order for her, so she can only assume more loss is to come, and she will accept it. She will.

Scully slides beneath the comforter, snaking her arm out from under to rest a hand on the small of her baby’s back. A comfort very familiar to her, and one she will bequeath to her daughter. They have the bed to themselves for now. Missy is in the living room downing a beer with the boys and trying to compete with (or mediate?) their trash talk. In the past, a situation like this might worry Scully, but those old concerns look so small now. 

Only a few hours in, and she already feels much more at home with the title of mother, much more deserving of it. The first diaper she changed rivaled some of the operations she witnessed in med school, both in its gruesome nature and in requiring multiple pairs of hands. Mulder would help if Emily was a boy, he swore, but he claimed to be “out of his depth with her plumbing” as he put it. Missy quipped that you sure are and it made even Bill laugh and life was wonderfully rose-colored through Dana Scully’s eyes. 

She hopes for sweet dreams for herself, but much more so, for her daughter, and she is aware that this is how it will be for the rest of time. Having been half-asleep when she was put down, Emily lulls into even-breathed dozing before Scully can decide on a lullaby. No harm done; Scully’s vocal cords haven’t seen regular exercise since college karaoke, and she’d hate to disappoint so soon.

When she opens her eyes again (she hadn’t realized she closed them, but apparently she had), Emily is deep in sleep, her eyelids twitching to the rhythm of her unseen dreams. And Missy has joined them too, her mouth drooping like it did when the sisters shared a bed every Christmas Eve. Scully doesn’t know what time it is, and with such a picture perfect view in front of her, she won’t dare to roll over and check the bedside clock. How nice it is to exist beyond time’s constraints, even for a moment. 

Scully is as present, maybe, as she’s ever been. She’s touched by the past and the future, ironically giving her a heightened awareness of now. One side of her consciousness is borne back into childhood and the many nights she slept by her sister’s side--in this very city, in fact. The other sees a path of hope unfurling in front of it, finally. She wonders whether her happiness might multiply, like a drop of food coloring unleashed into water. Might Emily be the shield that she’s needed?...Maybe the loss she expects will not be what comes.

And what that could mean...she has meant, for a long time now, to plant Mulder firmly in her life. Partner is much too fleeting--the Bureau could close the X-Files tomorrow, and then they’d be nothing but ex-coworkers. They’ve established where they stand through silences that say more than words ever could. She loves him, he loves her, and my god, neither one wants to lose that. It’s only now that Scully is realizing that they haven’t--or she, rather, hasn’t--embraced what they have, and so there is nothing to lose, and very little to cherish. 

With all this change in her life, she thinks, why not add that to the list?

--------------------------------------

They fly back into DC on Emily’s first birthday. November 2nd. Or at least, that’s the date that was left on the note at the foster agency. Scully isn’t sure exactly what she was doing last November 2nd, but she wasn’t having a baby, that’s certain. It was around the time of Aubrey, Missouri and BJ and nightmares, she remembers that. Plus, the phantom pregnancy, and the fear. The universe has a way of echoing itself.

They’re off to Mama Scully’s as soon as they make it off the tarmac. She’s aching to see her granddaughter, as she let Dana and Melissa know through a barrage of phone calls. I even made cupcakes and bought decorations for a warm welcome home! she insisted. Neither one of them can remember their mother being this excited about anything since...honestly? Ever. And they can’t blame her; Emily is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to their family. If only their father were here to meet her.

This is the sorrow that Scully has not had time to pick at. Her hero, her role model, the blueprint for all she wants Emily to be, not around to see it happen. She can’t think further than that; it’s the loose string that would unravel the sweater.

Mama Scully opens the door before they make it up the front steps, armed with yellow balloons and a party hat for the birthday girl. What a way to meet your grandmother. 

“Hello dear!” It’s unclear whether she’s referring to Emily, one of her daughters, or the three as a unit. “Look at you…” she cups her hands around Emily’s head, and now they’re pretty sure who she’s referring to. “You’re like a little princess!”

Scully smirks. She’s glad to witness her mother’s happiness, of course, but they’ve just finished five hours of travelling with a baby. “Mom, please, could you save the theatrics for inside?”

“Oh, I have a whole other set of theatrics planned there,” Mama Scully quips. She clears the way, ushers the group into the house. 

She touches Mulder’s shoulder as he passes. “Fox! I almost didn’t see you there.”

“Well, I can’t compete with Emily, so I don’t blame you.”

“She is precious, isn’t she?” Mrs. Scully gazes toward the doorway that Scully and Emily have since deserted. “There’s a place for you in Emily’s future, you know.”

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say to that, and besides, it should be up to Scully.

“Unless there’s another woman in your life…?”

“No, no, I just--” he chuckles. “I didn’t expect that.”

Mama Scully lays a hand on his arm. “I care about you, Fox. Your well-being is deeply connected with my daughter’s.”

“Yes, of course…” He really, really would like to go in now. 

“And it’s important to me that she has a strong support system throughout this ordeal. Raising a child is a tremendous challenge, and I don’t want her to feel that the burden is hers alone.”

“I completely agree.”

“That’s why you should adopt Emily, too. Give her the gift of a father.”

Mulder’s brain short-circuits. “I--what? Mrs. Scully, I don’t know--”

She puts a hand on his back and leads him inside. “Think about it. You and Dana, forming a family for this child that needs one. It would be a little untraditional, of course, but the wedding could come in due time, no need to rush.”

Mulder’s head is spinning. This is a practical joke, right? The hidden cameras can feel free to reveal themselves any time now. 

The pair stops in the front hallway, a safe distance from everyone else in the kitchen. Mulder tries to mold his thoughts into cohesive sentences.

“Mrs. Scully, your intentions are good, but I think this solution is a bit extreme. I’m more than happy to help with Emily as much as possible, but becoming her father would just make things more complicated for all involved. And trust me, even if I were onboard, there’s no way Dana would go for it.”

Mama Scully nods. “I anticipated that. I’m going to talk with her tonight, straighten things out.”

Mulder does an awkward side-to-side shuffle. “If there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that her mind is not easily changed.” 

“Yes, well, I doubt this is something Dana has given much thought to. I’m hoping to get my argument across before she takes sides.”

“Mmm.” Mulder looks off toward the kitchen, where he would like to be. 

“I’ll let Dana know that we’ve discussed my proposition,” Mama Scully continues, “and then you two can talk it over, alright? I don’t mean to force you into anything. It just feels like a logical step. I’m sure you’d agree that your relationship is deeper than that of many married couples.”

“Sure, but it’s very different too,” Mulder mutters. This is not a topic to delve into with his partner’s mother, of all people. “I don’t know that they can be compared.”

“Perhaps you should consider it.” 

Mrs. Scully holds her hardened glance for a long second, and Mulder is the one who breaks. He scoots out of her direct line of sight, then gestures for her to go before him into the kitchen. “Shall we?”

------------------------------

They celebrate Emily’s 365th day around the sun like they’ve been by her side for every one of them. Before the crew arrived, Mama Scully whipped up vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles, or as she put it, “a little bit of everything since I don’t know what she likes.” She even bought a happy birthday banner and sharpied in Emily’s name--not to mention five birthday hats and a humongous 1 candle that a single cupcake can barely hold up. 

It’s a testament to Emily’s character that she’s so unbothered by it all. She lets Mama Scully slip the hat into place, shows no visible distress to the admiration she receives from the room. She prefers her mother’s arms over anyone else’s--they are, after all, the most familiar of the unfamiliar--but she’s content anywhere that welcomes her. And this is a place where she is most welcome.

Scully reminds herself to capture these little moments in her mind...Emily’s effervescent giggle as Missy tickles the bottoms of her feet,  Mulder helping Mama Scully add extra sprinkles to each cupcake, the warm hug of a family’s company. Love, love, there is so much love here. 

The time comes for cake and singing and blown-out candles. Well, candle in this case. Mulder performs the honor of lighting said candle as everyone gathers around, Emily nestled in her mother’s arms. 

“Ready?” Mulder inquires. He conducts in time with his countdown. “One, two, one, two, three…”

The rendition is not in tune on anyone’s part (though Missy is the closest), but at least their intentions are harmonious. Scully’s heart swells. Mulder and Missy throw in a zany “and many more!” for the cherry on top of a joyous moment. Scully mourns its end; the birthday song is much too brief.

“Make a wish!” Missy chirps, and Scully leans forward and blows out the flame for her daughter. Safety, happiness, love...these are the things she asks for. These are the things that everyone deserves. 

Scully’s not surprised when her mother pulls her aside a few minutes later and leads her to the library, leaving Emily at Missy and Mulder’s mercy. Her mother is fond of sentimental speeches, but not brave enough for an audience. Scully steels herself for a mushy-gushy outpouring. 

Mama Scully shuts the door, turns to her daughter. “I’m overflowing with joy. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, mom,” Scully answers, tiresome already. “I’m a bit afraid this is all a dream that I’ll wake up from at any moment.”

“Pinch yourself. You’ll see that it’s not, I promise.”

Scully pinches her bicep, more for her mother’s amusement than anything. This is, in fact, reality.

“You must be very overwhelmed, I imagine,” Mrs. Scully remarks, beginning to pace. Scully follows with her eyes. 

“There is a lot that I haven’t sorted out yet, yes,” Scully replies, her suspicion about her mother’s intentions growing. “Work, for example. I only have one more day off, and then I have to explain everything to Skinner, and hopefully I’ll qualify for maternity leave. But the Bureau isn’t very good about that, it’s only two weeks.”

“Just remember that I’m always available to babysit Emily if you need it.”

“I know, mom.”

Mama Scully allows herself to get side-tracked for a moment. “You have a crib though? And diapers, and a high chair?”

Scully nods. “Required for the home study.”

“Good.” Mama Scully sweeps back a wayward piece of her daughter’s hair. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re all alone in this.”

Her mother’s soft gaze unearths a sudden swell of emotion; tears prick at the back of Scully’s eyes. “I know, mom.”

“And I know that you’re gonna say you are Emily’s only legal guardian, and so you are technically alone, but you know what? You don’t have to be,” Mama Scully asserts. “There is someone out there who is willing to fill that void for you.”

Scully rolls her eyes, her brief emotional trance broken. “Don’t tell me you're gonna set me up with the Prizatskys’ son again.”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Scully laughs. “Besides, he’s engaged now.”

“Oh.” Scully tries to miss the patronization in her mother’s voice. 

“What I’m saying is,” Mrs. Scully continues, “there is a man in your life who is loyal, trustworthy, hard-working, and in the perfect position to provide for you and Emily.”

“If you’re referring to Mulder,” Scully starts, an eyebrow raised, “I’m not exactly planning to shun him anytime soon.”

“Yes, but have you ever truly let him in?”

Mrs. Scully has aimed her arrow and hit her target, a stunning blow. The most damning parts of Scully’s inner dialogue have just been echoed back at her. 

Wounded, she swallows hard. “That’s really none of your business. And just because he’s in my life doesn’t mean that he magically fills the role of Emily’s father. How would that even work? Emily would have to be shuttled back and forth...She’d be split between one parent and the other...It would make her life more hectic.”

“Dana, Dana…” Mama Scully pulls her daughter close, recognizing that she’s struck a nerve. Scully stiffens into the hug. “Remember when you were little, and your father would be gone on long deployments, and you’d draw pictures of him in his uniform, and tell your class about how your father was a Navy captain, and you were so proud? You barely had a sense of what that meant, but you knew he was doing something important.”

Scully relaxes into their embrace. “And when I missed him the worst, you’d let me wear his old sailor hat.”

“Yes.” Mama Scully takes a hearty breath. “I was there every day, feeding you, bathing you, sending you off to school...and you loved me, I don’t doubt that, but I wasn’t the one who put stars in your eyes.”

Scully nods against her mother’s shoulder. Damn, if she isn’t winding her way toward a convincing point.

“Emily’s gonna love you whatever you choose. But the fuller her life is--the more love she’s surrounded by--the more she’ll have to give, and the brighter her light will shine.”

Scully sniffles, shaken by the truth of this. God, to know as much love as she’s known in her life and resist it still. That’s not the way a life is meant to be lived.

“Thank you, mom,” she whispers in her mother’s ear. It’s an imprecise affirmation--encompassing everything and yet a specific something that she can no longer reject. 

Scully pulls away, smiles at her mom. “No more meddling, okay? I’ll sort this out for myself.”

Mama Scully laughs. “You just needed that push. Now that the ball’s rolling, I’ll leave it alone.”

“You’d better,” Scully teases. She gestures toward the door. “I should get back to my baby.”

“Yes,” Mama Scully grins, “you should.”

-------------------------------

The knock on the door comes at a quarter to noon, as Scully expected. She didn’t expect that she’d be scrubbing grape juice off the tile when it happened, but hey, these are the disruptions everyone in her life will have to get used to. Including--especially--her. 

“I’ll get it!” Missy’s voice breezes through the apartment. 

A moment later, Scully finds herself level with a pair of black dress shoes. Big ones. A twelve if she had to guess.

“Scully, if you wanna know my shoe size, just ask,” Mulder jests, and has he read her mind? She feels like she’s been caught in a compromising act, though she’s done nothing but wipe up a sticky purple mess. She cranes her neck, looks up at him.

“Good morning, Mulder,” she mumbles, running her hand over the spill area. Coming up clean, she finds her footing. The top of her head is even with her partner’s collarbone. 

Scully thumbs toward Emily, who is gobbling cheese crackers in her high chair without a care in the world. “Apparently she doesn’t like grape juice.”

“Grape juice?” Mulder jeers. “She knows orange juice is where it’s at.”

Scully ignores him, but makes a mental note to add OJ to the grocery list. And apple too, just to be safe.

“Let me get my shoes and I’ll be ready to go,” she says, shuffling off in her pantyhose without waiting for a response. 

They have a lunchtime meeting with Skinner to explain...well, everything. Mulder doesn’t need to be there--as his partner was quick to remind him--but he insists on advocating for her. No amount of I’m not a damsel in distress, Mulder will put him off. She’s so much more than that, he knows. Hence why he’s got to do all he can so her life isn’t defined by its crises. Besides, he’ll take any excuse to sneak down to the office on his day off.

He told Scully he’d pick her up because it’d be easier on her, sure, but also because he has an important delivery to make. He nods to Missy, and she grabs the goods off the front table. He wanted to make his entrance before the big moment. His presence known, he’s ready to go.

“Emily, Uncle Mulder brought something for you!” Missy sing-songs as she places the gifts in Mulder’s hidden hands. The girl looks up, her attention easily diverted here and there. 

Mulder tries to tip-toe forward--hands behind his back--without coming off as creepy, which is harder than it seems. He takes it as a good sign that Emily doesn’t spook and wonders what it means that Missy called him Uncle Mulder. Did she and Scully have a conversation about it? Is this what he’ll be known as? Or was that just a last minute reach to fill the space? 

He pushes these thoughts away, focuses on the blue-eyed girl in front of him. 

“Emily,” he begins, and it rolls off his tongue like a devotion, “I thought your bunny might like some friends.”

He reveals the fox first, then the UFO. His personal mark on Emily’s budding stuffed animal collection. She lets out a peep of astonishment and reaches for the fox, fascinated with its bushy tail. She hits it back and forth so it wags like a dog’s.

Mulder chuckles, his brain lighting up in places it never has before. Missy hangs back and waits for her sister to reemerge. Sure enough, Scully melts at the sight, stopping short so she doesn’t interrupt it. She clutches her heart. She and Missy share a smile.

“My, my, look at this,” Scully saunters in, ruffles Emily’s hair. “Do you know what this is, Em?” she asks, patting the fox. “This is a fox.”  She points to Mulder. “And this is a Fox, too!” 

Emily doesn’t get the joke, but that’s okay. 

“And do you know what this is?” Mulder prompts, picking up the flying saucer. He moves it through the air like it’s flying. Emily reaches for it, and god, Mulder knows the feeling.

“This is a UFO, Emily,” Mulder tells her sweetly. “Aliens!”

“No, no.” Scully plucks the UFO from his hand. “No aliens, Em.” 

She lays the saucer on the high chair tray. “Mama’s gotta go away for a little bit, but I’ll be back soon.” She kisses Em’s temple. “Auntie Missy will be right here.”

Missy steps forward. “We can play with Mr. Fox and the al--” Scully shoots her a look. ”The UFO!” she corrects, winking at Mulder. She scoops her niece out of the high chair. “Say ‘bye Mama!’”

Emily doesn’t have that grasp on words yet, and they all know it, but Missy gets her to wave. “Okay, now ‘bye Uncle Mulder!’” Another wave. Smiles all around.

Mulder and Scully move reluctantly toward the door. Scully groans as Missy and the baby girl slip from her view. 

“They’ll be okay,” Mulder assures his partner.

“I know,” Scully sighs, “but will I?”

Mulder rests his hand in the familiar spot on her back as they exit her apartment. “Absolutely. Skinner will grant you the leave, and you’ll be back with your baby in no time.”

She nods, bites her lip, and slows, suddenly wistful. Mulder stops, turns to her. “Scully…?”

“Mulder, did my mom have a conversation with you?”

He nods. 

“And...did you think it was kind of crazy too?”

He nods again.

She takes a breath and rises to her tip-toes. She could pretend not to know what she’s doing, but she does. Oh, she does. 

“But not out of the realm of extreme possibility…?” she coos, eyes centered on his lips. 

Mulder smiles shyly. He always expected it would be this way: Scully the coquette to his boyish ineptitude. Who knew she’d be stealing his lines.

His hands find her waist, pulling her closer there in the hallway. “No, no,” he muses, “I think it’s pretty solidly in the realm…” He nuzzles her neck, breathes in her sweet smell, and nibbles her ear, all in the beat of a hummingbird’s wing. “...of extreme possibility,” he purrs into her ear, satisfied with himself. 

It reminds Scully of do you believe in the existence of  ~extraterrestrials~ and how she knew then that he was a little bit unhinged, whip-snap smart, and too goddamn charming for his own good. That either fate or her own unconquerable desire would bring them together. She knows now that fate conspired to keep them apart. What’s unfolding is neither an act of its hand nor a last-ditch effort of a dead-end life. It is one choice among many, undertaken out of sheer belief in the happiness it could bring.

She looks into his eyes, which look back at her with a caramel-drizzle melt. Yes, yes, this is right. She fans a hand out on his cheek, runs her thumb over his mole. She has always wanted to touch it, but could never come up with a good excuse. 

They’ve delayed the inevitable long enough. Scully leans in, still on her tip-toes, and Mulder bends to close the distance. Their lips meet, and there’s no fireworks. No, it’s simple serenity. Like coming home after a long time away--though this is a house they have never walked into until now, they have a feeling they will be walking into it for the rest of their lives.

And then Scully pulls away, and it’s over but it’s just beginning.

[bellatrixxue]

Xue’s Supernatural Dare: Wendigo (S1 EP2)

Hello, everyone? How did everyone feel about the finale? Yes? Yes? Oh. Oh. Oh my. Oh, dear.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell that half-assed homophobic chicken-shit fuckbucket’s not gonna stop me, since I strapped myself onto this roller coaster already and I promised I’m not getting out until the ride’s over, so here we go, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Also, those who are in this roller coaster with me, ready? Tag list is: @fangirlxwritesx67​ @amazingiam00​ @kalliravenne​ @indecisive20something​ @2musiclover2​ @impossibletosleepthrough @there-must-be-a-lock​ @wingedcatninja​ @arvit​

Oh my gods this recap is so cheesy I actually can make a fondue out of it. 2000s, everybody!

A WHOLE MINUTE AND A HALF FOR THAT FONDUE

FUCKJUMPSCARETITLEFUCKYOU

So we’re starting the episode with the murder scene first, eh? Is that gonna be a trend?

Oh come on, Chads, you’re out in nature and you’re playing video games? Absorb the nature...before it absorbs you!

Waitwait. Holy shit is that...is that Cory Monteith? Oh, bless his soul...

If the wendigo eats his dick as he’s peeing I’m immediately giving Jensen Ackles $100. For no real reason, I just feel like giving him money for already carrying the show on his back.

I can’t tell if it did or not, so I’m not paying yet.

Aw, Sammy...

"I should have told you the truth.” *Vine voice* BUT YOU DIDN’T

FUCKYOUINTHEASSHOhnightmare. Nightmare. So did he visit her at her grave or not? I need answers.

A week? Goddamn. Poor thing. That man-eating tree’s fucking good at his job, man.

“There’s nothing there, it’s just...woods,” Sam, I don’t know if Jess’s death hit you hard or if you got into law school by eating some ancient dick and/or pussy instead of earning that high score fair and square, but the woods “in the middle of nowhere” (your words) are known to be one of the top places full of weird-ass creatures. Even kindergartners know that.

Ehehehehehehehehe he’s so smol next to his lil bro my lil shit

At least you’re coming up with decent covers this time. No Agent Mulder and Scully ruining things for you this time around.

“Bull” oop-

Oh Dean’s a smoooooooooth operator. Good going, buddy.

AND HE GOT A COPY OF THAT DOCUMENT TEAM DEAN TEAM DEAN

Oh that death really got to Sam. I hope he doesn’t turn out to be a trigger-happy psycho. Or eat the man-eating tree and become one himself.

Oh, Haley’s a cutie! Which one’s her brother? Cory? Discount Enrique Iglesias?

Do you have a card for EVERY profession, Dean? And how do I get them too?

That is a very pretty car. I bet they wasted half the budget on that thing.

Okay, sonny boy, little bro, Broseidon, calm down.

Ah, fuck, Haley and Broseidon is gonna go into the woods, that’s more heads to worry about.

How the fuck does Sam find information this fast? I’m impressed, I take five hours to get to one article for my research paper. Or maybe I’m just lazy. So he really earned his law school interview without having to eat dick and pussy, huh.

Every 23 years? What is this, Pennywise? Are we going to see the wendigo do his best Tim Curry do his best scary clown impression? Honk honk?

“Whatever that thing is, it can move.” And the sun rises on the East, Sammy. Why are you so smart and dumb at the same time? Is this his character trait? It might grow on me.

Ahhh, so Sam’s go-to move at interrogation is doing puppy dog eyes and sympathize with the person. He’d make a good lawyer, shame that man-eating tree.

Go Grandpa Exposition, go!

Go Grandpa Exposition, go, give us information and none at all!

OH GEEZ THAT SCAR. PENNYWISE WENDIGO IS VICIOUS.

Skinwalker, Back Dog...Ooh, those all sound cool! I hope we get to see them soon!

‘Corporeal’ doesn’t sound like a real word, but then again, English doesn’t sound like a real language. Sorry. Moving on.

Sam’s gonna eat the wendigo with that attitude, Jesus Christ.

AND HIS BROTHER, AT THIS RATE. If the real villain turns out to be inside Sam all along I’m gonna flip. Is that why women keep dying and burning on ceilings where he sleeps? Is he secretly Lucifer’s spawn or something?

“Oh sweetheart I don’t wear shorts”. They queer-coded him from the start and they tried to make you believe he was straight for fifteen seasons straight? And some people bought that?

Oh, crap, another crappy death treatment for Cory before he got into Glee...No, I wasn’t into Glee, I just watched a few episodes and I might hate Rachel Berry...And Lea Michele...ahem...

Dean is totally flirting with Roy shut upppppppp

OOP AND THERE ROY GOES OH THE SEXUAL TENSION IS HIGH IN THESE WOODS TODAY

“It’s probably the most honest I’ve been with a woman. Ever.” See. Bi. Bi bi bi.

So...why the coordinates, Daddy Negan? Is this a portal to Hell? A place where man-eating trees grow?

*carefully places death flag on Roy*

Ooooh the campsite is very...haunted house-y. You know what I’m saying?

That’s not Discount Enrique Iglesias, but Pennywise wendigo, yes? Those things can mimic human voices, right?

*Google searches*...There are so many versions of this tale I can’t even confirm or deny it. Dammit.

Maybe Pennywise wendigo just wants some snacks and a nice phone and GPS? Maybe he misses his family in uh, Canada or something?

Daddy Negan’s journal is  a e s t h e t i q u e .

I’m so sorry, but the way Sammy smirks as he speaks with those dark, dark voids for eyes? My boy’s a demon. He’s a demon, I’m telling you.

At least Haley has some sense to her. *puts another death flag on Roy*

*PUTS YET ANOTHER DEATH FLAG ON ROY*

True, that. What the heck is Daddy Negan up to with all of this?

“Saving people, hunting things, the family business!” Okay, the way Dean said it gave me chills.

I can actually empathize with Sam here...As whiny and bitchy as he is, he has his reasons to be this way. I guess if I were in his shoes, I’d be less of a Dean and more of a Sam, too. We deal with our losses quite similarly.

Ah, the brotherly bonding moments like these little talks make the show worth it. It’s so heartwarming.

Pennywise wendigo! I didn’t miss you, why’re you here to burst my happy bubble?

I’m starting to see a slight parallel between Haley and Broseidon and Dean and Sammy. Hmm.

Nice meeting you, Roy. Zoop you go.

Haley and Broseidon are taking this rather well, I’m glad they do.

Okay, actual exposition time, thank you.

Whoa, Broseidon speaks! Donner Party! Please don’t remind me of that! Those poor people!

Hibernation and food storage. Delightful, just delightful.

TORCHING? *CALLS RAMMSTEIN*

Somehow, not being able to see the wendigo is scarier to me than what I will probably see itself. Limited budget horror can actually work well.

Oh, dear, Roy literally did a death drop. Badum tissssssssss.

FUCK IT TOOK DEAN THE ONLY CHARACTER I CARE ABOUImean I love you too, Sam! Come on, let’s find him before it’s too late!

A trail of M&Ms! Yes, Broseidon! And Hansel and Gretel refercalled it. Sammy, you and I share the same wavelength?

SHITSHITTHEYTRIPPEDANDFELLINTHEFUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

Thank the gods the Pennywise wendigo kept them right there. Chances.

DISCOUNT ENRIQUE IGLESIAS IS STILL ALIVE GEEZ BUT ALSO PHEW

Ah, Dean Winchester, I love you so much that I can’t even begin to describe it.

Also how convenient that the flare guns are there. Deus ex machina!

Haley would bode well as a hunter, look at her courage, her will. There are more hunters around than Daddy Negan and the brothers, right?

Yeah, seeing the actual wendigo makes me less scared of it now. It’s unnerving, but still.

TEAM DEAN YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW

Graphics are...alright, but it’s the thought that counts!

Running with the grizzly bear story. Smart Broseidon. Ben. Sorry, you deserve to be called by your real name. I think with practice they could become good hunters, along with their Discount Enrique Iglesias brother! Is there a fanfiction for that? Can I write it now?

...

I AM WILLING TO DIE TO PROTECT DEAN WINCHESTER I

Haley’s a lesbian, that’s why she kissed him on the cheek only. Headcanoned. Also I have a crush on her, she’s really pretty? Like? Heart eyes???

Ah, the siblings parallels again. Let’s hope neither of the two brothers end up in the bed like that.

“Man, I hate camping.” Really. Really really. Really.

“I’m driving”

...

SAM WINCHESTER I’M SORRY I EVER SPOKE ILL OF YOU I WILL PROTECT YOU WITH MY LIFE TOO I PROMISE YOU I WILL

It’s just a sassy bisexual brother and his little snide bisexual brother on the road to kill evil creatures and find their father and I love this show? Help? Help???

I really, really see the charm of Supernatural now! I’m fully invested in both brothers and their story, and I’m cheering them both on! Let’s get Daddy Negan back and get rid of that man-eating tree once and for all!

Six stars out of five!

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

This dare is introducing me to a whole new world, and I really, really am glad I took that jump a few days ago, man!

Thank you everyone for reading my ramblings, and I’ll see you in the day after with the next review! Thank you for sticking with me! Buh-bye!

- Xue

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

JOHNNY ‘COCO’ CRUZ x READER ⨟ PROMPT + SONGFIC

Aurora comments: I was in a mental breakdown with Coco, since a month ago. I just wanna say thanks to @chibsytelford and @satchie666 for helping me with some tips to bring back my inspo with him. Honestly, I think this is one of my favorites writings, a fucking masterpiece. I have mixed three requests and added one of my favorites spanish songs (I translated it under every part of the lyrics). I just hope you enjoy it as I enjoyed writing it.

Anon #1 asked: may i request 19 and 29 with coco?

Anon #2 asked: 37 and 39, angst, coco cruz

@hoooli13 asked: Hi I love your writing! Could you write 19. “You’re the only good thing I have”. With coco?

Song: ‘Orgullo’, Justin Quiles ft Káren Méndez.

Prompts:

19. “You’re the only good thing I have”.

29. “I don’t deserve you”.

37. “Stop ignoring me, please…”

39.“We need to talk”.

Word Count: 2k (including the lyrics and the translation)

Author comments: The paragraphs in italic mean that it’s a past situation. This work wasn't re-edited, so I'm sorry if you find grammar mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @sheeshgivemeabreak @destynelseclipsa ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Él me dice que le llame, que no duerme temprano. Si no textea, no texteo y si no llama, no llamo. Pero él es igual…

(He tells me to call him, that he doesn't sleep early. If he doesn't text me, I don't text him and if he doesn't call me, I don't call him. But he does the same…)

It’s been almost two weeks since that night when, apparently, you fucked up whatever you and Coco had. Comings and goings of furtive kisses and improvised sex. You were catching feelings, he was catching feelings too. It’s the thirteenth night that you are sitting on the sofa, waiting for a call or a text, waiting even for an email. You know he is on line, you can see him writing you with those three grey points flashing in your screen. But the text never comes. 

“Stop ignoring me, please…”

You would like him to write you, but he doesn’t do, so you either. Pride is stronger than you want to admit. The phone flies off from your hand with an angry move, crashing against the wall and breaking into pieces. And you don’t even care, because he won’t budge.

Estamos envueltos en un juego, donde somos prisioneros del sentimiento que llevamos por dentro. Me siento incontento, y yo sé…

(We're wrapped in a game, where we're prisoners of a feeling we carry inside us. I feel unhappy, and I know…) 

“(Y/N), Templo, now. We need to talk”. Bishop just says, as soon as you cross the main door of the clubhouse.

Everybody is staring at you, confused by the way he has talked to you. So serious, so dry. For a second, just for a second, you look at Coco. Maybe you’re ignoring each other, but he’s worried too. Licking your lower lip, you leave your bag over the empty table, before continuing your steps to the meeting room. Closing the glass colorful door, you find the man sitting on his chair having a smoke of his cigar.

“Sit”.

You obey, as a dog would do when the master talks.

“Why are you late?”

“I just… Last night I had a problem with my phone, and I needed a new one. I’m sorry, Prez, it would never happen again and… I’ll recover this lost hour today. I promise”.

He nods in silence, having a sip from his coffee.

“What’s up with Coco, ah?”

“Orgullo, Bishop. Eso es lo que está sucediendo”. (Pride, Bishop, that’s what’s happening).

“Fix it. I don’t care how. But… this situation is awkward and uncomfortable for every one of us”. He leans over the table, supporting his weight on his forearms. “I love you, and you’re a good mechanic. But he is a Mayan”.

And you know what that means. You can’t help but let some tears run out from your eyes when you're grabbing again your bag. The guys look more worried now, and even if you just want to punch Coco on the face, you lead your steps to the huge warehouse next to the club. Throwing your stuff somewhere on the ground, you attack enraged the punching bag hanging from the metallic ceiling. Your cry gets more angrier when you feel two big arms surrounding your body.

“Com’ere, McGregor”. 

Angel whispers on your ear, putting you away from it to turn you under his grip, hugging you tightly. You’re furious. Really furious. And your cry floods the place making some echo, while the oldest Reyes tries to comfort you. Fucking pride that doesn’t let you talk with him. And when you do, is his who talks for him.

Me esta matando el orgullo, cuando más quiero estar al lado tuyo. De solo verte concluyo que tú eres para mí y yo soy para ti.

(Pride is killing me, when I want to be by your side the most. Just seeing you I know you are for me and I'm for you).

Maybe you drunk too much that night, starting with beers to end up with a bottle of tequila. You were needing some fresh air, walking in some kind of zigzag to the empty yard. Having a deep breath with eyes closed, you continued your clumsy steps to the farthest picnic table. And you decided to have your own party. Playing some latin music in your phone, and leaving it over the wood, your body began to move alone, under the influence of the rhythm and the alcohol wreaking havoc on your mind. You saw him coming towards you, a little harmed too. He threw the cigar away, holding the hand that you were offering him.

You were having a good time alone, but with him, it only got better. His chest was pressing your back. His arms surrounding your waist, and your hips dancing against him. You could feel his warm breath on your neck, colliding in a delicious way, before starting to kiss your left shoulder. Since the moment you two met, a sexual tension got installed between both, following you whenever you went. And his mouth was feeling so good on your skin, that you wanted to taste it. 

No sé por qué el orgullo nos está matando, si tú eres mía, bebé. Ya sabes desde cuando. Nuestras miradas aquel día estaban chocando, y al besar tus labios el deseo iba aumentando.

(I don't know why the pride is killing us, if you're mine, baby. Our looks were crashing that day, and when I kissed your lips the desire incresed).

Turning under his arms, your faces met, twisting a little your necks. Your bodies kept moving to the sound of the song, your noses almost touching. Eyes closed, drinking each other breathings. You wanted too bad to kiss him. He wanted too fucking bad to kiss you. With a hand on your lower back, he wrapped your throat with the other to push you a little bit closer. Enough to you. Your mouth found the other with a ephemeral caress full of desire. You were playing, and he didn’t like it. Coco pressed his lips on yours, not wasting another second, looking for your tongue with his. And it was like an explosion. Your hands getting tangled in his hair, while you two continued dancing, with a leg between yours and vice versa. 

It was like touching heaven with your fingertips.

“Shit, I don’t deserve you, mami. You’re a fuckin’ blessing”.

Es que tú me tienes a mí en un vaivén, y me matan las ganas de volverte a ver.

(You have me in a swing, the desire to see you again is killing me).

“Who’s that mami, bro’?” Coco asked to Angel, resting his shoulder against the wooden column, having a drag of his cigar.

“New mechanic. Taza’s friend, or something like”.

Che was your father’s best friend, so when you told him what you were studying, he quickly offered you to work at Romeros and Bros. It was a good opportunity to learn a little more. You saw sideways how four men walked towards your car, from where you were grabbing your stuff.

“Welcome to the fam’. I’m Angel. And these are my brothers. Coco, Gilly and Creeper”.

You smiled with pursed lips, not ashamed, but kinda like. Four big guys with tattoos and looks on their faces of being truly assholes? No, thanks.

“I’m (Y/N)”.

Since the first moment, you knew they were betting who would be the one who would end up dating you. But they were wrong.

“Don’ try to fuck with me, guys. I’m more into drivers than into riders”.

Or maybe, you were the one who was wrong. 

Me está matando el orgullo, cuando más quiero estar al lado tuyo. De solo verte concluyo que tú eres para mí y yo soy para ti.

(Pride is killing me, when I want to be by your side the most. Just seeing you I know you are for me and I'm for you).

It was an innocent dance with Angel, what kick out of you two that fucking pride. When you came back to the clubhouse, holding hands and laughing loud, your favorite song were playing through the speakers. The oldest Reyes, who was your best friend since you met the Mayans, wanted to dance it with you. And you couldn’t say ‘no’. Dancing close with him, as you did many times before. The funniest thing about the night is that you danced with everybody.

Ella me dice que la llame, que no duerme temprano. Si no textea, no texteo y si no llama, no llamo. Pero ella es igual…

(She tells me to call her, that she doesn't sleep early. If she doesn't text me, I don't text her and if she doesn't call me, I don't call her. But she does the same…)

Coco has been the whole day trying to figure out what did Bishop say to you. No one, but you two, knew what happened inside the Templo. Not even Taza. He’s sitting in his terrace with both legs over the table, drinking a beer and his phone in the other one. He wants to call you. And he has been typing your number by heart, the last hour. Once and again, ending up locking the screen. Until he decides that he doesn’t want to play this game anymore. He doesn’t want to lose you. The world is less shit waking up with you.

You need to breathe fresh air, stepping out of your house with no destination. You just want to walk, leave your mind blank by listening some music, with your headphones on. Actually, you don’t give a shit about the work. You don’t want to lose him. The only moments of peace you have had, you have found them between his arms, under his kisses and his caresses. You need him. You love him.

When you want to notice where you are, your feet are leading you to his house, being pushed back to reality because of the roar of a bike coming closer. You turn at it, when the wheels stop dead making a scratchy sound. Then, you see him. And he sees you. Getting off the motorcycle, he leaves the helmet above the seat. You turn off the headphones to keep them inside a pocket, taking some steps closer about to say something. But, what can you say? He’s coming towards you too, as if it was a slow motion scene. 

Me está matando el orgullo, cuando más quiero estar al lado tuyo. De solo verte concluyo que tú eres para mí y yo soy para ti.

(Pride is killing me, when I want to be by your side the most. Just seeing you I know you are for me and I'm for you).

You swallow hardly, barely breathing when Coco is just one step away from you. And maybe you don't need any words. Maybe you've been too stupid to recognize what and how you feel about the other. The mexican raises up a hand to your left cheek, resting it there, knowing that you missed him much more than you thought. His right hand helps the other to hold your face, before crashing his lips on yours. A soft needy moan drowning in your throat, when your fingers get tangled in two fist in his shirt. Your tongues stroking the other so desperate, that you don't care about being out of air.

Your back finds the wall, lifting up your arms to his neck, surrounding it; while his hands go down to your lower back. Fuck the pride.

“You're the only good thing I have, mami”.

“Tú eres para mí y yo soy para ti”.

[freddiesaysalright]

Blessed Part 3

The Peace Like a River Sequel

Summary: Gwilym and Y/N are married. Violet is six years old. Baby number two is on the way. There are still some shadows that plague Y/N in her marriage to Gwil, and Violet is suddenly resentful of her parents. The Lee family tries to stick together.

Word Count: 2.4k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @simmisblog​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​, @readinghorn​, @riddikuluslypotter​, @doingalrightt​, @misslolasworld​, @lemurian-starship​, @ravenedges-lies, @painkiller80​, @imgonnabeyourslave​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @ixchel-9275​, @sincerelygmg, @lv7867​, @unicorn-princess-1999​, @delilahmay39​, @chlobo6​, @dragon-out-of-water​, @radio-hoo-ha​, @agentmalfoy24601​, @thigh-your-mother-down​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @anotherhystericalqueen​ If you want to be added, let me know!

A/N: Fluff, fluffity, fluff fluff fluff

Haven’t read Peace Like a River? Start here!

Part 1  Part 2

Part 3 here we go!!!

Gwilym swallowed nervously outside Violet’s door. You looked into his face and gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you whispered.

“I hope so,” he breathed back.

You took the knob and turned it, opening the door slowly. You found Violet sitting on her bed, reading a favorite book of hers. Gwilym had given it to her as a Christmas present, and she had read it so many times now the spine was falling apart. It was something they bonded over since after you moved, Gwilym was the one who read to Violet before bed. It instilled such a love of literature in her already, and you were very proud of her reading abilities for her age.

“Hi, Violet,” you said, surprised at the calm in your voice.

When Gwilym showed you such understanding, you felt it was easier to extend the same to your daughter. He was right, after all. Something must be wrong for Violet to lash out the way she did.

“Are you still mad at me?” she asked in a small voice.

You and Gwilym took seats on her bed beside her. You gathered her up in your arms.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” you said. “I was scared and upset, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“I forgive you, Mommy,” she returned.

You kissed the top of her head.

“Sweetheart,” Gwilym said. “Will you please tell us what’s been on your mind? We want to support you and get to the bottom of this. Help you work it out.”

Violet detached herself from you and sat back, pulling her knees into her chest. She rested her chin on them, looking pensive.

“I don’t wanna make you guys feel bad,” she said.

You and Gwilym exchanged a surprised look.

“Have we done something wrong?” you asked.

“No,” she sighed. “But...I dunno…”

“Talk to us, lovie,” Gwilym urged.

“Everything’s different now,” she said. “With Sybil.”

“What do you mean?” you wondered.

“Well, the way everybody talks about her...I hear what the doctors say,” she went on. “Dad’s not my dad.”

Oh. You looked at Gwilym again, and you saw the color drain from his face. The time had come where Violet could comprehend that Gwilym was not her father. She was too young to understand the way babies were made, but she was old enough to register that one man made her, and another made her sister. 

“It makes me feel different,” she continued. “Like I’m the oddball. So when Robbie started teasing me about my accent, it made me feel like that even more.”

She sniffled as more tears welled up in her eyes. She looked directly at you.

“Mommy, did you even want me?” she whimpered. “Like you wanted Sybil?”

Your heart shattered inside your chest. You felt your own emotion threatening to make you have a complete meltdown at that question, but you held it together. You took your daughter in your arms again.

“Oh, baby,” you said, stroking her hair. “Of course I wanted you. You were...well, you were certainly a surprise, but when I knew I was going to have you, I didn’t want anything more. In fact, you made me the strongest I’ve ever been in my life. I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”

She released a little sob and clung to your shirt.

“My real dad...he wasn’t a good person, was he?” she asked, looking up at you.

You truly ached for her. Her tear stained face and red, puffy eyes showed how deeply this had affected her, and the torment she’d been through over it.

You shook your head.

“No, he wasn’t,” you told her. You gently wiped away her tears with your thumbs. “But he gave me you. And for that, I will always be grateful. My perfect little girl.”

Gwilym watched you in amazement. You weren’t lying to Violet, but you weren’t sugar coating anything either. The balance you maintained in this difficult conversation was truly impressive. It took some courage to look your child in the face and tell them a harsh reality like this. He fell in love with you all over again in this moment.

Violet nodded and then turned and looked at Gwilym.

“I feel like I forced you to -”

“Oh, Violet, don’t,” he said gently. “C’mere.”

He sat further back, against her pillows, and she crawled into his lap.

“Y/N, could you give us a moment alone?” he requested.

You nodded, pushing yourself to your feet, and walking to the door. You told them you loved them and then departed, heading downstairs. You felt some relief after talking to Violet, and understanding her at last. It was a good idea for her to talk with Gwilym alone. They needed to clarify their own relationship.

Gwilym pulled Violet into a warm hug. He held her a moment and let her cry into his chest. This was such a heavy weight for a child, and he wanted her to know she didn’t carry it alone. He would always support her, no matter where she came from or where she went. He put every ounce of his love for her into the embrace, and he just hoped she felt it.

“That’s it, love,” he soothed. “You have yourself a good cry.”

She hiccuped and burrowed further into him.

“You’ve been through a lot today,” he went on. “And you’ve had so much going on inside. Let it out.”

He rubbed her back until her breathing evened out again and she relaxed against him. 

“You have never forced me to be your dad,” he said. “Yes, you called me Daddy and it stuck, but I wanted to be that for you long before you said the word.”

“Really?” she wondered.

He nodded. “Really. I love you very much. I may not have made you in your mum’s belly, but you are my daughter. I have the papers to prove it.”

She giggled. He smiled and pulled her away to look in her eyes.

“You are my daughter,” he repeated. “Mine and your mum’s. Blood doesn’t make a family, darling. Love does. And we’ve got plenty to go around.”

Her face scrunched as she considered the meaning.

“I think I understand,” she replied. “Like how Uncle Ben, Uncle Joe, and Uncle Rami aren’t your brothers, but they’re still my uncles.”

“Exactly!” he said excitedly. “They aren’t my brothers by blood. But I love them enough to be my brothers.”

Her face began to fall again. “But Sybil...she’s gonna look like you.”

“She might,” he agreed. “But things like appearance don’t matter. The things I hope you inherit from me are not my lips or my eyes. I hope you inherit love from me. That comes from the inside. You and Sybil are both my daughters, and I will love you equally for the rest of my life. And beyond.” 

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he assured her. “That day you called me your dad for the first time…” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “You made me happier than I ever thought possible,” he choked out.

Her brow furrowed as she looked at him.

“Daddy, are you crying?” she asked.

He chucked and blinked the tears back. One got out and rolled down his cheek. “Yes, love. Sorry. I just love you so much and I never, ever want you to doubt it.”

It was her turn to wipe his face.

“I believe you,” she said. “I won’t doubt again. I promise.”

He grinned and held her close again.

“Very good, my girl,” he said. 

An understanding formed between them now. Violet felt closer to Gwilym than ever. As she inhaled the smell of his cologne from his shirt, she recognized it from when she was even littler. A vision of a hotel room swam before her, and the memory wasn’t totally clear, but she felt her mother and father there. This father. The one she chose.

When dinner was ready, you went back upstairs to check on Gwilym and Violet. You found them cuddled together on her bed, fast asleep. You watched them for a moment, becoming softer than butter, and as you gazed on their peaceful faces, you saw a similarity. It was impossible, but for a moment, you almost believed Violet had Gwilym’s profile. Or maybe it was his hair? Anyway, she looked like him.

***

The following day, you began researching marriage counselors for you and Gwilym. You ended up switching to family counselors so Violet could come if she wanted to talk any more about what she was going through. She said she was fine for now, even if she was still grounded. You still weren’t sure what being grounded meant for six-year-old, but you were content with her just staying in her room for now.

You booked an appointment with a counselor for the following week. Gwilym offered to go with you, but you said for the first one, you should go on your own. That way you could explore your feelings without worrying about who you might hurt with what you found there. You were nervous, but still felt that it was a good idea. You had never really processed everything with Henry, and you wanted to learn how to cope with it without saying or doing things that  would negatively impact your new marriage.

During your first session, Gwilym decided to take Violet out for ice cream. She had handled her grounding well, and he thought she deserved a treat. Plus, he was eager to spend as much one on one time with her as possible before the baby came. That way, she would be further reassured of his dedication to being in her life. Especially since she may begin to feel neglected when the baby required more attention.

“How was school this week?” he asked when they sat down on a bench together.

Violet put a large spoonful of ice cream in her mouth and mulled it over.

“It was okay, I guess,” she said. “I don’t think I missed too much while I was out. I apologized to Robbie, and he forgave me. Then he said he was sorry for making fun of my accent.”

“I’m glad you made up with him,” he said. “I’m proud of you for saying you’re sorry. That’s not always easy.”

“Really? I feel like Mommy says it to you a lot.”

Gwilym paused, mid-bite into his ice cream. Now that he thought about it, you did have a tendency to over-apologize. He realized it was another habit you’d formed to ease tension. Whether by joking or apologizing, you had to alleviate it.

“With Mum it’s different,” he said. “For most people, saying sorry is difficult. People don’t like to admit when they’re wrong.”

“Well, we learn in school that it’s important,” she said. “If you hurt someone, that’s what you say. And to say it like you mean it.”

“Very good,” he praised. “I’m glad you’re taking your lessons to heart.”

“How are you doing, Daddy?” she asked.

He chuckled and reached over to muss her hair. 

“I’m doing just fine,” he said. “It’s sweet of you to ask.”

She beamed at him.

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re worried about Sybil.”

His brow furrowed. “Why should I worry about her?”

“Maybe not her, but you!” she returned. “You’re gonna have a whole other kid! Are you scared?”

Gwilym laughed. “Ah, I see. Well, I’m a little scared. But I’m mostly excited. Besides, I have your mum with me. I’m not as scared when we work together.”

She swallowed another spoonful of ice cream and looked thoughtfully out across the street.

“Mommy was alone when she had me, right?” she asked.

“She was, unfortunately,” he said. 

“Do you think she was scared?” she wondered.

“Probably,” he answered. “But not for too long.”

She perked up. 

“Then she got you!”

“She sure did!” he agreed. “Now, we’re a team.”

“The best team,” she affirmed. “Am I on the team too?”

He kissed her head with a smile.

“Of course you are, darling,” he said. “There’s lots you’ll need to teach your sister.”

A beat passed and they both took a few bites.

“Daddy, where do babies come from?” she asked suddenly.

Gwilym choked on the bite he was taking. He took a few moments to cough, and Violet - fretting slightly - patted him gently on the back. Her little hand didn’t really do much for him, but he thanked her anyway. He cleared his throat.

“Sorry, love, you caught me off guard there,” he said. 

“Do they come from somewhere weird?” she pressed, cocking her head to the side as she looked up at him.

“Sort of,” he answered. “You’ll learn more about it when you’re older.”

She pursed her lips and then relaxed them. She shrugged.

“Okie doke,” she said simply.

Gwilym inwardly thanked the heavens above that she let it go. That was not conversation he wanted to have with Violet without you around.

They stayed out another hour or so before heading home. Gwilym was relieved to see you were back, and eager to hear how it went. Violet went tearing into the house, and Gwilym came behind her, closing the door softly.

“Mommy, we’re home!” she cried, throwing her arms around you as much as she could. Really, she hugged your baby bump.

“Hi, sweetie!” you returned. “Did you have fun with Daddy today?”

“We got ice cream!” she told you.

“Well, I hope you still have room for dinner,” you said, eyeing Gwilym as he approached.

“Of course, we got small cups,” he assured you. “Now, give me a kiss.”

You giggled and gave him a swift peck on the lips.

“Mommy, can I watch She-Ra while you make dinner?” she requested.

“Sure thing,” you said. “Go ahead, baby.”

She clapped her hands and started toward the living room, but she came to a sudden halt. Turning on her heel, she hurled herself at Gwilym and wrapped her arms around his legs.

“Thanks for the ice cream, Daddy!” she said. 

She smiled widely at him.

“You’re very welcome, lovie,” he replied.

With that, she disappeared into the living room and switched on the television.

“So,” Gwilym said, looking at you. “How’d it go today?”

“Really well,” you told him. “I sort of got through my history with Henry and she mostly listened. I told her about us too. Even the letters, but she said it was romantic.” You laughed a little. “I felt a lot of relief afterward. Would you come with me next week? I think it could be really good for us to go together.”

“Of course,” he said, pulling you into a hug. “Anything for you, love.”

[galactic-academia]

Can I have #37 ‘ you look like you need a hug’ with Sherlock please ? 😍😘

Oooh yes! With a great pleasure, thank you for asking

Rating: G

Category: F/M

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes/Female Reader

Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Swearing, Fluff, Love Confession, First Kiss, Someone Explains His Life To John, Cute Sherlock, Request, Humor.

Words: 1289

Notes: I’m not a native, please, forgive my mistakes. Gif is not mine. I hope you will enjoy it

Masterpost | Ask | Guidelines | Sherlock (BBC) Masterlist

Since Y/N had moved to 221B Baker Street – she had taken John’s old room – she had been used to hear all sorts of weird noises, day and night, from the soothing violin playing to the shoots in the wall, from Mrs. Hudson’s cute chit-chat to the loud “BORED!”, from Lestrade’s well known footsteps to various “victim’s” reactions. She was used to them, they were part of her life, as the crazy genius with who she shared the flat. However, there was one thing Y/N had never been able to be used and would certainly never be: John yelling horrors at Sherlock.

It had been going for hours, now. It all began with a dark story about John’s numerous dates. How Sherlock had “f*cked it all with his bloody case”. Nothing to be upset with so far. Then, Y/N had heard him yelling about Sherlock’s fake death. Then his drug addiction. And finally, Mary. That wasn’t enough. That was the hell too much. With a very calm face hiding a boiling rage, Y/N went down the stairs to enter the living room. Quietly. John only noticed her presence when Sherlock looked up at her and stopped yelling already.

“I’m sorry Y/N, did I wake you?”

Still falsely quiet, Y/N took a few steps to stand between the two man and answer dryly

“No, absolutely not, it’s only 3am, why should I be sleeping? Anyway, I couldn’t even fall asleep with all the mess you’re making.”

John was startled by her answer. Y/N had never been rude with him. Upset by her reaction, he tried to justify himself.

“I’m really sorry to disturb you, but I have to do something, didn’t I? I can’t let him mess with everybody without…”

His rambling had been cut by Y/N who had turned to Sherlock; crouching in front of him, she dived into his eyes. He looks so sad, so tired. So guilty. It broke Y/N’s heart in billion pieces. Tight throat, she tenderly said

“You look like you need a hug.”

But John wasn’t done and seeing Y/N on Sherlock’s side obviously made him loose the little sanity that remained to him.

“Really? Are you f*cking kidding me? You want to hug that bastard? Do you know who he is? Do you even know what he has done? No, you can’t, otherwise you wouldn’t want to cuddle with that selfish bloody sociopath, with this piece of…”

“Shut. The. F*ck. Up.”

Y/N hadn’t screamed but her voice had slammed like a whiplash in the room. Agape, the Doctor watched the young woman standing up and faced the anger she wasn’t able to control anymore.

“How dare you? I live with this man and I want you to know that, despite his usual behaviour, he’s far, so far, from making a mess like you do tonight! So, yes, I think I can tell I know him especially to you who, God knows what, he stubbornly carries on calling his freaking best friend, thank you very much! Excuse me, do you know who he is? It’s incredible to believe you wrote all these stories about both of you John, it’s incredible you wrote them and you don’t even know their hero…”

At that, Sherlock tried to make an intervention

“I’m not…”

To be immediately cut off by Y/N.

“Shh, I’m busy here, sweetheart, wait a minute, I’m not done. And if you wanted to claim you’re not a hero again, don’t give yourself this trouble, you’re a hero. At least, you’re my hero. Where was I? Ah, yes. How dare you call “selfish” someone who jumps from a building to save your bloody life? Who fakes his own death during years to protect your little person? How can you be that rude with someone who has always been there for you, even when you didn’t deserve it? How can you blame his addiction when you don’t even try to help him out of it? Do you think yelling at him like a mad man will help him to stop? Do you think it’s a wise behaviour from a Doctor? I don’t think so. And how, my God, how the hell do you dare to blame him for Mary’s death? I wish she could come back from the dead and slap your stupid little face! I’m sure she would be so ashamed of your behaviour. She liked Sherlock, her, at least. He’s not a bloody sociopath! He’s just a lonely man who needs some love! A lonely man used to be blamed for everything and anything, used to be laughed at, betrayed. So he build walls around him and tried to avoid any feelings. You aren’t hurt when you don’t feel, that’s simple. But it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work and you keep coming with your hatred, you keep making him feel guilty for things he’s not guilty of. This is why I blame you, John Watson, to be the worst friend who has ever walk on this Earth. It’s a shame.”

The room was totally silent. John and Sherlock were both staring at Y/N, agape. John in frightfulness, Sherlock in awe. After a few seconds, John tried to say something again.

“I… I… But…”

“Shut up. Leave, go to sleep and come tomorrow to make it up to him. A night won’t be too long for you to swallow your bitterness.”

“O… Ok…”

With that, John threw a sorry look to Sherlock and a frightened one to Y/N before leaving, thunderstruck. He wasn’t the only one. While he was slowly making his way to the staircase, Y/N had proceeded to what she just had said. God. She was trying to find the courage to turn to Sherlock when she heard his voice, a little shaky

“I don… I don’t need you to protect me.”

Defensive mode. All right. She turned to the Detective, face blank.

“I know.”

“Why did you do this?”

Because I love you and I can’t stand this dumbass to treat you the way he does?

“Because, unlike you, I need to sleep from time to time and John’s screams stopped me from sleeping.”

“Liar.”

 Crap.

“Don’t upset me a second time tonight, you asshole, I’m tired. Good night.”

Y/N was starting to leave the room when Sherlock spoke again

“Wait!”

“For God sake… What now?!”

The genius was now standing in front of his armchair, a small smile playing at his lips.

“I… I think you offered me a hug…”

“I did…”

And Sherlock to ask shyly, blushing

“Can I get it?”

Y/N was too tired to think, too tired to resist. To head over heels with the Detective to even try to hide the pleasure she was having from hugging him tightly. He was so firm, so warm against her. Y/N breathed him, blessing her bad temper…

“You called me “sweetheart”.”

… Cursing her wild tongue.

“I… Did.”

“And your hero.”

She still was in Sherlock’s arms. There was no way she could escape. She didn’t want to.

“You are.”

Pulling slightly away, Sherlock stared in Y/N eyes. He was smiling.

“It sounds very much like a love confession to me.”

What could she do? She had never been able to resist to the Detective. It wasn’t going to magically start now.

“It is.”

“Good.”

Even under the threat of a weapon, Y/N would haven’t been able to explain how it happened, but it happened: Sherlock Holmes was kissing her, gently, tenderly, lovingly. When they broke apart, he whispered a little

“Thank you.”

It was the first time Y/N had been so happy to have a bad temper.

***

Thanks for reading

[gcnsey]

YFIP (Discord Edition): Eddie LoveCord

Hey everybody, Gab here. As some of you may know, there’s an It discord called the Eddie Lovecord that’s been active for a couple weeks. I’ve been a part of it since the beginning and I’ve gotten to know the members quite intimately- and well, let’s just say, not everything I’ve seen has been good. I wanted to make this post to humble them because some of their behavior is just not acceptable. Hope you all learn from your mistakes x. Enjoy my little burn book...

Alex @stanleyurpiss: Rumor has she’s in a vigorous legal battle with Lightning McQueen over a broken restraining order. I can’t pee without thinking about her.

Andrea @trentadepresso: Thinks we’re only a couple years away from the 2100′s.

Cleo @eddiebrak: Simply too nice. Created this discord where I’ve had to encounter all these problematic individuals and brought us all together. Really makes you think.

Colleen @richsbian: Commited a hate crime by making me look at PJ Lipsone and Finn Egghard with no hair on a frequent basis. When will they let my eyes rest? EDIT: IS ALSO AN EX HOMESTUCK!!!!!!!!!!

Con @thelosersparty: Thought penguins were a fish... when questioned, cited chemistry.

East @eastaustraliancurrent: The things she has made me read in relation to feet have made me laugh and cry, sometimes simultaneously. Pero ella habla en español conmigo.

Jack @neiboltwell: They stole all of the brain cells in the entire chat and is hoarding them like a dragon sitting on it’s treasure. Please, Jack, we need our brain cells back desperately. 

Jane @billdenbrough: Is very smart and incredible to talk to and yet she doesn’t talk to me every second of everyday? Has ruined fanfics for me because they’re not as fun to read without her reacting along with me... (and Murryn).

Mary @estarwars: Her food choices? Abysmal. Goes to Starbucks and walks out with a plate of cheese.

Migz @eddiekissbrak: Bill Hader related tags make me want to drink holy water and I’m not even religious. Goes to Orange Theory but I’m team Planet Fitness (Montague vs Capulets anyone?)

Murryn @pattyblumuris: She’s going to end up behind bars for PJ related crimes sooner or later and we all know it. She’s also dating my car but didn’t ask for my blessing.

Percy @kasprbak: Chat dictator. Not only can he slowmode you for six hours, he WILL.

Rochelle @bisexual-zombies: Draws beautiful things from fandoms that I tried to repress and makes me feel things for them again. Calls everyone babes and now I can’t stop saying it. British.

Sab @ribsedit: Their name is too similar to mine. That’s it, that’s the complaint.

Sarah @surroundedbythelonely: DOES NOT SLEEP ENOUGH!!!! Once stayed up for like 3 days straight speaking in gibberish and giving us all new names.

Sonny @wentworthtozier: Ex H*mestuck... need I say more? Roasted me within an inch of my life the first time we ever spoke and I’ll never forget it.

Soph @hcnrywinter: Writes sad shit that will make you cry. I honestly think she enjoys making people sad... she thrives on reading upset tags. What kind of sick person...

Zuzanna @fuckmewithyourtoespj: Her tumblr url says it all... she’ll probably be cellmates with Murryn.

There’s others but I don’t talk to them enough to have dirt...yet. Let’s cancel these absolute buffoons before they get out of hand.

Xoxo,

Gossip Gab

[hazelandglasz]

Sweet, Sweet Temptation

Word count: 12.727

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Pairing(s): Arizaphale/Crowley (Ineffable Husbands) ; Hastur/Ligur ; Beelzebub/Gabriel (Ineffable Bureaucracy); Background Minor Relationships

Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, Gabriel, Beelzebub, Hastur

Tags: Alternate Universe-Humans, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Food Porn, Bibliophile Aziraphale, Gourmet Aziraphale, Slow Burn, Awkward Flirting, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor

Summary: Anthony J. Crowley started working at Heavs and Hens, F.A., but they thought he asked too many questions, and frankly, he didn’t like his colleagues’ attitude. (Well. Except for one, but he never got the chance to get close to the blond cutie.) So he left. Now he’s working in a pastry shop and life is infinitely better. (Well. Most of the time, since neither his boss nor his colleagues are too often in the shop and he’s left to his own device, which is really for the best.) Baking is fun, tempting customers is even better, and if there is a certain blond who keeps on coming back to the shop, well, Anthony is not one to deny himself that pleasure.

A massive, massive thank you to the artists who managed to create such beautiful art for this fic, to the mods who set all this process up, and to my betas for blessing this mess!

Artist: IG Hufflepuffbetty (Art Post) / @hufflepuff-betty

Artist: @scribblemakes

😇😈😇😈😇😈

They say they fired him, but if you were to ask him, Anthony J. Crowley would tell you that he quit before they could.

Or, more accurately, he would tell you to bugger off and leave him alone, but if he felt like giving you an answer, that is the one he would give you.

Joining the financial advising firm was never his idea of a good time, really, but he did because he could and that it made his mother happy. But as weeks went by, Crowley discovered some things.

About himself, and about the firm’s ways, and both were inextricably in opposite directions.

He discovered that the more answers he found, the more questions he got.

That questions were not exactly welcomed, at Heavs and Hens.

That asking questions was the equivalent of lighting yourself on fire in the middle of a family dinner--a sure way to get everybody’s attention, but at what cost?

That fairness and obeying to the idea of the law was not a top priority for the partners.

And that fairness was one of his major core value (along with curiosity, which, if you have paid attention, should tell you how bad an idea it was for Crowley to work there).

So he quit, not with a bang, but with a swagger.

(And a comfortable “keep your mouth shut” pocket money.)

Oh, Crowley doesn’t hold any lasting feeling toward his former colleagues--especially not for Gabriel, that pompous ass who kept on stealing all of Crowley’s ideas and notes for his own credit--but there is a, oh, how can he put it into words, a chance of something greater that was missed with one particular junior adviser.

The man must be approximately Crowley’s age--old enough to be an adult, young enough to still have hope and energy--, with curly hair so blond Crowley isn’t quite sure it is natural, blue eyes that remind Crowley of a Spring sky, and the perpetual shadow of a smile on his rosy lips.

Yes, Crowley could wax poetics about this angel of a man who passed his desk once, eyes on a pocket watch while Gabriel was berating him for being too soft with the clients.

Crowley also knows one thing about this former colleague of his, that could-have-been-something-more-but-wasn’t, one thing that nobody else knows--if they knew, Crowley has no doubt about whether the man would still be working at the company or not.

(The answer is a resounding “not”)

The man, Mr. Eastgate is all Crowley knows to call him, is not as robotic as the other employees and, behind his soft smile and perfect attire, hides just enough of a dark side to be interesting.

How does Crowley know this to be facts?

Crowley saw a memo that miraculously disappeared from the system the following day.

A memo stating that while Mr. and Mrs. Godson would have been very interesting clients for the firm to acquire--read, very profitable clients who would have ended up with the clothes on their backs, if at all--, Mr A. Eastgate thought it best to tell them to invest their savings in a more secure venture, such as Apple shares or any other investment they could actually profit from in the future.

Which, if you weren’t aware, goes against the grain for a financial advising firm.

Tells you a lot about the kind of ethic and the character of Mr. Eastgate, that’s for certain, but where Crowley wouldn’t have been able to resist the need to rub it in everybody’s face, Mr. Eastgate apparently possesses much more diplomatic talents and decided to just …

Swipe it under the proverbial carpet, and play dumb whenever asked about it.

Crowley has to admit it: he respects that.

In addition to his already unbearable crush on the guy for simply looking cute, that’s the only reason he has a pang of regret as he leaves the firm’s building with his potted plant and his severance check.

So long, Mr. Eastgate.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Aziraphale may not be the best financial advisor in the company, let alone in the world, if only because he doesn’t like putting people in harm’s way, and financial enterprises often lead to harmful conclusions.

But he’s good with numbers, and people listen to him, so, financial advisor it is.

When A.J. Crowley is summoned in the boss’s office and leaves with a smile on his (handsome, unusually handsome) face and a swagger to his walk, sunglasses firmly in place even indoors, Aziraphale feels something akin to regret to see him go--the man was probably the only of his colleagues Aziraphale could stand.

Sad to see him go, but delighted to watch him go, if you can catch his drift.

Good Heavens, what a sight.

Anywho, Aziraphale needs to get back to work, now, doesn’t he?

After all, collecting books is one pricey hobby.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Plant in hand , Crowley lets himself stroll the streets down to the parking garage where he left his beloved car.

As content as he may be to be done with all of those self-righteous lunatics, a question keeps on nagging him:

What is he to do with his life now? Pester his neighbors until they want him blown to smithereens?

Not that he would particularly mind, Crowley delights in being a bother to his admittedly boring neighbors.

But there is a limit to the amount of little offenses one can come up with on a daily basis, isn’t it? And staying idle is really not in his temperament; again, lounging in the sun and doing nothing is a fun past-time, but there always comes a time when his mind cannot stand the passivity.

No, there is no way around it: Crowley needs to find himself a new job, one that will not make him feel like needles are piercing his skin every time his values system is breached.

A quiet, nice job, with almost non-existent colleag--

Oh, look at that shop window.

All thoughts about his future, near and far, come to a standstill as Crowley pauses in front of a bakery.

“Tempting Bites”, an interesting name for sure, but it is the content of the window that really gets his interest.

The cakes are all, indeed, bite-sized, but elegantly decorated--if a little on the morbid side, if Crowley is actually seeing what he thinks he’s seeing.

Yep, that is a tombstone on that grey-glazed éclair.

The pastry cannot be bigger than Crowley’s index finger (sure, he has long, pianist hands, as his mother called it, but still, it is a size-reference) but the fondant is still delicately decorated to mimic granite, and the tombstone is engraved and, dare he say it, sculpted to perfection.

The woman behind the counter glares at him, raising one eyebrow when he replies with a smile.

Daring him to enter her queendom, no doubt, and Crowley has never been good at resisting a dare.

“Good morning,” she says in a deadpan tone, “may I tempt you with one of our delights?”

Crowley’s smile only widens. “I would love to try the éclair in the window,” he replies, eyes perusing the store’s shelves. “And may I get a bag of chouquettes?”

The puff pastries are just, well, too tempting to pass, what with the black and red pearls of sugar decorating them.

“Temptation accomplished,” the salesperson says in a monotone, ringing his purchase. As Crowley goes to pay, he spots a sheet of paper behind them.

“You are hiring?”

They blink at him before sighing. “Yes, we do. Do you have any experience in baking?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Do you mind if the hours are long and the pay minimal?”

Crowley beams at her, leaning over the counter. “Not at all.”

“Are you a felon?”

“Would that matter?”

For the first time since he entered the shop, the hint of a smile appears on the person’s face. “Not at all,” they reply, “but I have to ask.” They shrug, pulling a piece of paper from under the counter. “Here, fill this and send a picture of your I.D. to the number inscribed on top.”

“Right away, boss,” Crowley replies, giving them a jaunty salute with the piece of paper.

“Call me Beelzy.”

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Okay.

If we’re going to continue with this story, there are a couple of things you need to know about Aziraphale Eastgate.

First of all, as previously stated, he is quite the bibliophile, collecting all first editions of British children’s books.

(Yes, it is a collection that requires a lot of time, care, and money.)

(Yes, Mother, he’s aware that he is an adult and that there are better things he could do with his money than chase after kiddy books.)

(No, Mother, he has yet to find a woman to marry and carry on the Eastgate’s legacy.)

((If only she knew.))

Second of all, but perhaps not entirely unrelated to the first point, Aziraphale considers himself an epicurean. A lover of good and beautiful things. A man capable of appreciating the finest things in Life, from a good book to a good meal.

After all, C.S. Lewis said it quite eloquently, “Eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably.”

Third of all, as brave and smart as he vows to be on a daily basis, Aziraphale hates being confronted.

All three are needed to understand how conflicted Aziraphale has always felt about the bakery around the corner near the office.

(All right, so maybe the fact that he is a bibliophile is not particularly relevant to this part of the story. But presenting Aziraphale without insisting upon his love for books would be criminal, criminal indeed.

Back to the point.)

Because on the one hand, bakery! Provider of scrumptious cakes and food!

But on the other hand, the person usually behind the counter makes him feel like he’s about to enter a ring just to prove himself worthy of the cakes.

Oh, he has seen many of his colleagues and many people coming out of the shop with little black bags, so the confrontational attitude may just be in his head, but still.

For now, he has only savored the pastries with his eyes, for their aesthetics and satisfies his need for sweet goodness in other places.

(No one needs to know about this, but his favorite place is a little, how should he say, hole-in-the-wall restaurant near the Theater district that serves the finest sushis in all of London and got him addicted to crepe cakes. Di-vine, to say the least.)

That being said, he’s reconsidering his avoidance of the bakery.

The sight of a certain shade of red hair behind the window is most definitely to be blamed for this change of mind, but Aziraphale would never admit it, even under threat.

(It depends on the kind of threat. Though he tends to avoid it if he can, Aziraphale is more than capable to handle a little brawl, shall the need arise. But threaten his books or his closet, and chances are Aziraphale will fold like a … well, like a crepe.

Oh, crepes.)

As it is, Aziraphale is not so easily tempted, so “Tempting Bites” and his possibly newly hired and very tempting salesman will have to work a little bit harder at convincing him.

Or, to be more truthful, Aziraphale will need to be sure that it is his infamous former colleague who is now behind the counter, in order to ensure a fruitful encounter.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Crowley is many things, but he is not a liar.

When Beelzy asked if he had any baking knowledge, he did not lie when he said none whatsoever. 

But. He is a very fast learner.

“Crowley!”

And. He has a lot of imagination.

“Crowleeeeey!”

Not necessarily a bad combination--he supposes it depends on who you asked.

“What. Is. That.”

Crowley beams at his boss and at his colleague.

“That, my Lord,” he replies with a small curtsey, “is a pumpkin brioche.”

“A … brioche.”

“Yes.”

“A bit on the nose, Crowley,” Hastur drawls from behind him. “An orange brioche, shaped like a pumpkin, and you flavor it with pumpkins.”

“Try it, Hastur.”

“No thank you.”

“Try it before you ditch it.”

Hastur rolls his eyes at him but takes a knife from his pocket anyway, cutting two slices of the brioche.

Beelzy’s face barely shows any reaction, but then again, their face is usually expressionless. As it is, the slight uprising of their eyebrows is all Crowley needed from them.

Hastur’s reaction, in comparison, is far more immediate and satisfying. 

“WHAAAAA--”

“Yes, Hastur?”

“But--! How--! Beelzebub, how did he do this?”

Beelzy takes another bite, waving the slice in the air. “Well, there are definitely spices in the dough of the brioche--you’ve been too generous with the cinnamon, Crowley, curb your enthusiasm there--reminiscent of the infamous pumpkin spice latte, and there is the matter of the gooey center … Citrus?”

“Lemon zest and orange compote.”

They nod, swallowing the remains of their slice of brioche in two bites. “Good product. We’ll get the high school population and the office population tempted in no time.”

“Only a matter of days until they’re ours.”

Hastur recovered from his shock--or from his distaste of cinnamon, whichever sounds best--and is now smiling like he came up with Crowley’s creation.

“I’m glad you approve of my idea, my Lord,” he simply says, pushing Hastur out of the way with a hip check. 

Beelzy leaves the kitchen as the bell above the door rings and Hastur comes far too close for comfort.

“One of these days, Crowley,” he croaks, “one of these days, you’re going to run out of ideas. And then--”

“And then we’ll be more alike than ever, Hastur! Won’t it be wonderful?”

Hastur snarls one more time before pulling his phone out of his pocket--to text his boyfriend about all the things he wishes he could do to Crowley to make him suffer, no doubt.

Crowley picks up the last piece of brioche from the plate and nods to himself. Indeed too much cinnamon, but he lost track of his spices while he was preparing his test batch.

See, a certain blond head happened to walk by the kitchen’s window when Crowley was seasoning his dough, and, well.

Crowley preferred to follow its tracks than to follow his idea.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

That is most definitely Anthony J. Crowley arranging small brioches in a basket in the bakery’s window.

Aziraphale finds himself dry-mouthed at the sight of these long fingers carefully placing one delicate peachy confection after another on a checkered napkin, and he would have an awfully hard time telling you which of the two brings him to push the bakery’s door.

“Good afternoon, how may I tempt you--,” Crowley starts, spinning on his toes before coming to a stop as he sees Aziraphale.

The way he stops and the way he gawks at him from behind his tinted glasses makes Aziraphale blush and preen.

“--today,” Crowley finishes his welcome, a small smile appearing on his face. “Well, well, well. Welcome, Mr. Eastgate.”

He knows who I am.

He knows my name.

Say something, Aziraphale, before he thinks you are under the influence of something illegal.

“Hello, Crowley.”

There, short and to the point.

Oh, dear Lord, he’s leaning against the counter like some sort of Michelangelo’s sculpture.

“Tempted by something, Mr. Eastgate?”

“Oh please, call me Aziraphale, Mr. Eastgate is my brother Uriel.”

“Aziraphale.”

Crowley repeating his name should not awaken such warm tingles in his lower regions, and yet, here we are, aren’t we?

Maybe it’s the way his tongue seems to hiss on the ‘zee’ sound and curl around the last ‘el’, maybe it’s the way he says it like Aziraphale himself is the delicacy about to be devoured.

“Earth to Aziraphale?”

Oh, right. He didn’t enter the shop just to leer at his former colleague and ever-present fantasy-man.

“Forgive me, Crowley,” he manages without a stutter, “I was, um, that is to say,” so much for not stuttering, well done, “your buns caught my attention.”

An army of angels passes by, as Crowley’s smile widens into a smirk. “Did they now? Flatterer.”

Aziraphale blinks at him until the words that left his mouth fully register. “Oh! Not those buns! I--I mean! The edible buns! Brioches! In--in the window!” He groans, placing his hand over his face. “Can the floor swallow me now, please?”

“What a waste it would be,” Crowley says quietly, his smile less mocking and more … gentle. “Don’t worry, Aziraphale, your appreciation of all my kinds of buns will be my little secret.”

Aziraphale can literally feel the color of his face taking a turn for the crimson. “G-g-good to know.”

“Now, about the pastries in the window, would you care for one?”

Aziraphale relaxes with a deep breath. “That would be lovely, yes, please.”

Crowley nods and goes to pick a couple of perfectly round orange brioches to put in a paper bag, and Aziraphale watches him carefully.

There is clearly more to Mr Anthony J. Crowley than meets the eye (and a sight it is already, look at those lines, those curves!).

What a pity that he didn’t get closer to the man when they shared an office--now, if he wants to be better acquainted with him, Aziraphale will have to come to the bakery quite often, won’t he?

As he takes a bite of one pumpkin-flavored brioche at the bus stop, letting moans that scandalize and, or, amuse his fellow commuters, Aziraphale comes to realize that it won’t be much of a hardship to pursue a friendship with his former colleague, present favorite baker.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

Crowley waits for Aziraphale to cross the street and turn toward the bus stop to fall to his knees behind the counter, one hand pressed against his heart.

So not only the man looks like an angel, but he decides to attack Crowley with puns, albeit unintended, and a delicious flush that Crowley wanted to follow under that crisp, white shirt?

Cruel, cruel, cruel.

Cruel and delicious torture.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

As time goes by, Crowley comes to really appreciate his new job.

Sure the hours complicate his social life, but Crowley never really had a social life to begin with, and he’d rather be in the lab in the early morning to tend to his garden of herbs and berries and try new recipes than go out and, what, dance on a sticky dance floor in the hopes of finding someone who will only be second-best to the man he really yearns for ?

He’s not that much of a dancer anyway.

And he has standards.

“I’m warning you, you better do as I say or there will be consequences.”

Luckily for him, now that both Beelzy and Hastur know he can hold the fort alone, they tend to mysteriously disappear and leave him to his own device.

All the better for Crowley to experiment to his heart’s content.

All the better for Crowley to enjoy the company of one particularly faithful customer, too.

Aziraphale comes almost every day now, several times on particularly gruesome days in fact.

By some kind of magic, the shop manages to always be empty when Aziraphale enters it, allowing Crowley to take a break with a man who is slowly becoming a friend.

Crowley doesn’t talk much, not in his nature really, unless a bottle of strong alcohol is involved, but he is a good listener.

And there are very few things in this world as entertaining and satisfying as Aziraphale daintily devouring Crowley’s cakes while ranting about his colleagues.

The man is made of contrasts, and Crowley …

Well, Crowley loves it.

Him.

Whatever.

You’re not in his head.

So what if he made a detailed mental list of all of Aziraphale’s preferences in the matter of tastes, uh?

What about it?

So what if his heart tries to compete in the Gymnastics Olympics every time the doorbell rings?

What are you going to do about it? Mock him? Tell him that he is an idiot for pining after a man who, clearly, seeks his company?

(Well, you wouldn’t be completely wrong about that, even Crowley would admit it. Not out loud, never out loud, but he would admit it.)

Trust him, he knows that this is bordering on ridiculous, this pinning and sighing and burying his feelings in yeast and flour whenever Aziraphale leaves.

Ridiculous, yet productive. 

He just put a batch of his matcha, sesame and crushed hazelnut loaves out of the oven, right before the end of the working day, when Aziraphale comes in.

“Hmmm, that smells heavenly.”

“That’s the yeast fucking.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them--he entirely blames Hastur for the phrasing (and his twisted mind for actually enjoying it)--and he looks up toward Aziraphale in alarm, with an apology on the edge of his lips.

Except that Aziraphale, while clearly startled by Crowley’s words, seems to be even more enthused by them, if the beaming smile on his face is to be trusted.

It’s blinding, truth be told, even with the protective sunglasses Crowley has to wear at all times to protect his sensitive eyes from any light.

“The yeast f--”

“I mean, it’s the dough,” Crowley interrupts. He’s not sure he would survive hearing Aziraphale actually curse.

He’s already as infatuated as can be, there is absolutely no need to add another layer of hidden bastardry into the mix.

Aziraphale hums, his amused smile hiding possibly jokes that would kill Crowley on the spot. 

“And what, pray tell my dear, did you do to make the dough rise so deliciously?”

A thousand arrows into the chest probably wouldn’t hurt as much as this.

(Probably.)

Either Aziraphale has taken a secret vow to kill Crowley with innuendos while not doing anything about … whatever is brewing between them, or he is really that oblivious and Crowley’s mind just has a dirty filter.

Whatever explanation works, Crowley wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Green tea and roasted sesame seeds,” he replies before shimmying his shoulders. “And my personal touch.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink. “As in …?”

“As in, that’s my secret and you won’t get it, as angelic as you may appear.”

Aziraphale looks surprised for a moment, before turning bashful. “An-angelic? Me? No, I’m not, I’m just... I’m just me.”

Crowley cocks his head to the side, mentally listing everything he would love to do to the people who ate this man’s self-esteem.

Then he starts mentally listing everything he could do to restore said self-esteem, and, folks, it takes a turn for the graphic with the speed of light.

“You are just you,” he finally says, leaning over the counter with his chin in his hand, “and that’s all it takes for you to be angelic.”

The blush on Aziraphale’s face darkens, but his smile is more assured already. “That’s … probably the nicest thing anyone has ever s--”

“Oh shut up,” Crowley sneers as he straightens up, “I’m not nice.”

Aziraphale makes a show of zipping his lips shut, but his shy smile is still there when he leaves.

😇😈😇

When Crowley leaves the shop, not too long after Aziraphale, the skies have taken a turn for the gloomy and seem ready to open and throw a flood on them all.

Crowley allows himself a moment of self-pity. Even if he takes the bus instead of walking home like he intended to, there is no actual bus-stop.

Hence no shelter.

Hence his new boots getting soaked and his evening ruined.

Raising his head to the heavens just as the first drops fall, he mouths a heartfelt “why” before making his way to the aforementioned bus-stop.

Only to find a blonde head and a beige trenchcoat waiting under the most Aziraphale-Esque umbrella possibly conceived.

“Aziraphale?”

The man in question looks startled before beaming at him. “Crowley!”

Without another word, he lifts the umbrella higher, giving Crowley some room to shelter himself from the downpour.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had dinner plans for the evening,” Crowley says, digging his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something stupid.

Like, on the top of his head, snake his arm around Aziraphale’s waist.

That would be a terrible, awful idea.

A deliciously awful idea.

Aziraphale shrugs. “I did,” he replies, looking at Crowley from the corner of his eye, “and then decided I would rather be at home, with a nice cup of cocoa and a book--and some secret bread someone just created.”

His bus comes and leaves and Crowley cannot be bothered to leave the cocoon of warmth that the umbrella provides.

“Which bus are you taking?” Aziraphale’s voice is muted as if the umbrella really shelters them both, not only from the rain but from the rest of the world.

“I--I think it just drove away.”

Aziraphale looks at him more directly, a crooked smile on his face. Not mocking, no, just …

A smile that speaks a thousand words.

A smile that says, “I know what you did, and I know what it tells me about you and about us, but I won’t say it aloud. For now. Because this is comfortable and nice too.”

Or at least that’s how Crowley reads it.

“Looks like mine is delayed,” Aziraphale simply says. “How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”

Crowley smiles, tired but content. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Eastgate?”

“If there is enough cocoa for one, there is enough for two, my dear Mr. Crowley.”

😇😈😇

For the life of him, Aziraphale doesn’t know what he was thinking.

He entirely blames Crowley’s tight pants and warm smile and--and ...Well, he entirely blames Crowley for being Crowley for his enthusiastic yet unplanned invitation to go to his place.

If he has to be completely honest, Aziraphale’s place is … Not somewhere you invite someone without careful planning beforehand.

(Especially someone who could potentially see more of the place than any random guest, and is possibly someone Aziraphale would like to see in the said apartment more often than not.

Possibly. 

As in, always and forever.)

Because, and not that it is a piece of information that is absolutely needed but it bares being told at least once, Aziraphale is messy.

“Ooooooh,” Crowley starts, low under his breath the moment Aziraphale lets him in, an amused look on his face. “You’re messy.”

It does bare being told twice, to be honest.

What puzzles Aziraphale is the sheer delight in Crowley’s voice. He glances around the living room, slash, kitchen, slash, dining room, slash, personal library, and tries to give it an objective look.

There are empty, dirty mugs in the sink, but otherwise, the kitchen area is clean-ish.

There are … oh dear Lord, there are dirty clothes on the couch where Aziraphale came home last night, too tired to get to his bed but not tired enough that he didn’t feel like indulging in a little one-on-one session with himself and his thoughts before succumbing to sleep.

(If said thoughts involved the very person now standing in said living room, well, that’s for Aziraphale’s shame to feed on.)

Three books are opened, stacked in a precarious pile on the coffee table.

At least Anathema is nowhere in sight. With any luck, she’s asleep on Aziraphale’s bed and won’t bother sniffing around.

(Aziraphale feels like introducing Crowley and Anathema would bare more consequences than introducing Crowley to his family.)

Some shoes and ties create a parkour-worthy arrangement around the room.

On his shelves, it’s not a mess. It’s the perfectly organized chaos Aziraphale has chosen as his way of putting his collection together.

All the editions of one book together, naturally, arranged per publication date, of course.

So it looks a bit in disarray in relation to the sizes and the conservation states.

That doesn’t bother him in the slightest, but he can see how, added to the rest of the room, his shelves give a distinctively chaotic vibe.

Still, Crowley is not running for the hills or making fun of him as some other people did in the past.

(Gabriel is a judgmental asshole who wouldn’t make the difference between a sketch by E.H. Shepard and a napkin at the bottom of a dump, and he can suck on his minimalistic design for all Aziraphale cares.

Still hurts when he makes fun of Aziraphale’s prized possessions.)

No, quite the contrary. Aziraphale can only gulp when he spots Crowley strutting, really, the man is strutting in his living room, caressing the back of Aziraphale’s chair or browsing the shelves, the same delighted look on his face softening as he goes.

“Oh, Aziraphale,” he says suddenly, voice barely above the sound of the rain hitting the window. “How did you get your hands on this one?”

Aziraphale forgets all of his embarrassment at the state of his home to see what caught Crowley’s attention.

“Sendak?”

“Not just any Sendak, you little minx. Quite the controversial item, isn’t it?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale can tell that his cheeks are now matching some of his books binding. “Well, no respectable collection--”

Crowley snorts and raises one eyebrow.

“No collection would be complete without Sendak’s entire body of work, now would it?”

“Dreaming about baking in the nude, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s brain flies out the window and into the gutter. “I--you--but--”

Crowley snickers, reaching for the copy of “In the Night Kitchen”.

Aziraphale takes it first, clutching it to his chest. “You demon! Do you enjoy making fun of me?”

Crowley’s smile slowly melts away. “I am not making fun of you, honest. It’s just …” Crowley looks frustrated, searching for his words and that alone appeases Aziraphale. “I like finding out that there are more layers to you than what you usually let people know, okay?”

It’s raw and honest and, frankly, adorable.

If Aziraphale wasn’t so worried about losing Crowley’s friendship, he would jump in his arms right there and then kiss the sarcasm out of him.

(It would take a while. Maybe even a lifetime. That doesn’t bother him. He’s willing to spend that time on this task.)

As it is, Aziraphale simply puts the book back on its shelf before clasping his hands in front of him. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Aziraphale chances a look at Crowley, who is busy pretending he finds the pattern on Aziraphale’s floor mind-riveting.

“How about that cocoa to go with your loaf?”

Crowley visibly chokes on air.

“Of bread! Your loaf of bread! That I bought!”

“... Right.”

Aziraphale all but runs to the safety of his kitchen where he gently smacks his head against a cupboard.

“Are you all right, Aziraphale?”

“Y-yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Aziraphale closes his eyes one moment before letting out a deep breath. “Do you have a milk preference? And do you want some sugar in your ….?”

Crowley appears next to him. “I wouldn’t mind if you have sheep milk--easier to digest.” Crowley takes a step that puts his hand almost on top of Aziraphale’s. “And I think I have all the sweetness I need.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale is absolutely not using his countertop as a crutch to keep himself upright while Crowley is standing so close to him.

Dear Lord, he smells like a cologne-scented pastry, and that is more appetizing than it should be.

“Perhaps if you mixed some honey in it, though …”

Aziraphale can’t help but beam at Crowley. “Now that’s an excellent idea, my dear! Go, sit, I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”

Crowley frowns at him, silently muttering “a jiffy?” but still complies with the command.

Aziraphale focuses on preparing their drinks, cutting slices of the delicious green tea loaf and putting them on a clean plate--more of a feat than you’d think--before joining Crowley.

And that’s when he almost drops the tray.

Because Crowley is not sitting on the couch, oh no Sir.

Crowley is sprawled on the couch, spread on the pleather like caramel on a crêpe.

“Com-comfortable, I believe?”

“Hm-hm.”

Aziraphale straightens up and bumps his hips against Crowley’s feet. “Leave some room for me, will you?”

Fussing over the cups and saucers, Aziraphale completely misses the fond look Crowley addresses in his direction as he sits more properly.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

“What are your plans for the weekend?” Crowley asks, wondering if today is the day he’ll finally get brave enough to ask Aziraphale if he’d like to--

“Would you care to accompany me to the auction I texted you about? Afterward, we could go get some sushis ….”

“Why do you need me, exactly?” Crowley cuts in. “It’s not like I know anything about books.”

(This is a blatant lie, for once. Crowley knows it, you know it, his shelves of astronomical and botanical books and romance novels know it. Aziraphale, however, does not. This will have to wait for Aziraphale to actually come to Anthony’s place, and, well, sorry dears, but Crowley is not there yet.

Pace yourself and enjoy the moment, will you?)

Aziraphale toys with the paper napkin, wringing it into oblivion. “Well, if I remember our brief moment as colleagues, you always seemed to be the … responsible, shall we say, um, perhaps, the sensible kind of fellow.”

Crowley barely resists the need to bark a laugh at that. As it is, he keeps it to a smirk stretching his lips as he leans back in his chair.“Hardly.”

“Now come on, dear,” Aziraphale tuts, oblivious to the way Crowley’s eyes widen at the term of endearment, “you would do a fantastic wingman to contain my enthusiasm.”

Crowley briefly raises his eyes to the ceiling--dear God, there is no way his former-colleague-turned-friend-could-be-more is not doing it on purpose, is there?--before sighing. “Why is there a need to contain your enthusiasm?”

Aziraphale gives him a look. 

“No, seriously, Angel,” he continues, this time being the oblivious one to the stunned look on Aziraphale’s face at his choice of words, “you do make a decent living, working for those vampires, why would you need to, um, contain your enthusiasm?”

“Because that’s the … reasonable, err, thing to do?”

“Screw reasonable, Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaims. “You’re not harming everybody, you are not going to spend all of your money during an auction. After all, there is only one book fitting your collection--”

“Oh. You looked at the catalog I sent you?”

“Of course,” Crowley shrugs, mildly offended. “So if you’re only looking to buy one book, why not splurge a little?”

“When you put it that way …”

“Treat yourself, Angel!”

“Clever tempter.” Aziraphale tries to look angry, but it only comes out as unbearably cute.

Crowley lets himself smile as fondly as his heart desires at Aziraphale. “Not much to tempt when it’s already what you wanted to do.”

“So?”

“So…?”

“So, will you come with me, Crowley?”

Oh, right, he never actually gave an answer did he? “I guess. If nothing else more interesting comes my way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What? I may have hundreds of invitations waiting for me to give them a reply.”

“Dear,” Aziraphale says, his voice just lower enough to awaken an unidentified heat in Crowley’s stomach, “you’re the one who asked me if I had plans over the weekend.”

With a pat on Crowley’s knees, Aziraphale is up and already at the door with a wave. “See you Saturday on New Bond Street, Crowley!”

Crowley is left stunned in his chair, looking after the blond curls bobbing down the street.

The little devil.

😇😈😇😈😇😈

To be completely honest, Aziraphale wasn’t sure Crowley would show up.

After all, it is his only day of freedom before going back to a job that is far more physically demanding than Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale would completely understand if Crowley decided to just sleep it away.

(He would understand. He would be disappointed and sad, but that would be for him and for his pet to know.)

But no.

Next to the entrance of the auction house, in all his glorious lankiness draped in black, stands the man starring in a lot of Aziraphale’s dreams lately.

Oh, kindly get your mind out of the gutter, not all those dreams are of the pornographic variety.

(The key-word here being “not all”.)

Crowley’s hair is out of his usual messy bun, flowing in crimson rivlets around his angular face. Sunglasses firmly in place even though it is a cloudy day in London.

As for the rest of his attire, one would call it “punk chic” if one even dared to try and qualify Crowley’s …

Well.

Crowley as a whole is inqualifiable, isn’t he? Almost …

Ineffable.

And here he goes again, waxing poetic over Crowley while being too shy, awkward, afraid, to do something about it.

Would that be so hard? “Hey Crowley, thanks for coming, after the auction, would you fancy some dinner? No, not like the hundreds we already shared, no, this one would be special. A date. I’m asking you on a date. No? Preposterous? Oh, alright, back to business as usual then, see you Monday at the bakery.”

See? Not that hard. Hardly more than a band-aid ripped from one’s skin.

… Right. As if that simple mind simulation didn’t rip Aziraphale’s heart out of his chest, stomped on it before putting the beaten pulp back for him to heal.

“Right on time, Angel.”

The pet name never fails to cause more aortic gymnastics and Aziraphale beams at Crowley. “If right on time means half an hour before the auction, then, yes, right on time.”

Crowley digs his hands in his pockets, face turned to the ground. “I know you want to find a good spot to observe without being observed,” he mumbles as they enter the auction house and are directed toward the room. “Half an hour to do so sounds reasonable.”

“I appreciate the effort,” Aziraphale says lightly, lighter than he really feels. “I thought reason was your kryptonite.”

A crooked smile appears on Crowley’s face, and he pulls his glasses down just enough for Aziraphale to see him wink. “Among other things, Angel.”

Crowley takes two strides as Aziraphale is glued on the spot.

That--that was flirting, wasn’t it?

It has to mean something, doesn’t it?

Aziraphale is going to lose his darn mind trying to read between Crowley’s lines.

(And he loves every second of it, don’t get him wrong.)

“Now, do you prefer to sit in the back, or somewhere in the middle? I’d prefer somewhere where we can talk without disturbing anybody, even if the walls have ears,” Crowley is rambling, strutting--there is really no other way to put it--strutting his stuff back and forth across the room where the auction will be held. “Do books have ears?” he mutters, to Aziraphale’s complete delight, before snickering in a way that can only be described as adorable, as much as Crowley denies being anything approaching “adorable”, “cute” ou even just “nice”. “Though I suppose they can be eared.”

It requires a lot of focus on their surroundings and a massive amount of self-control for Aziraphale to keep himself from throwing himself at Crowley and kiss the living daylights out of him right then and there.

“Get it?” Crowley insists, his smile far too much for Aziraphale to handle. “Dog-eared?”

“I get it, dear,” Aziraphale says, willing his cheeks to return to their normal, pale complexion. In a very satisfying turn of event, his blush seems to transfer to Crowley’s cheeks, too. “Very funny, and contextually appropriate. Kudos.”

Crowley gives him a little curtsey before pointing at different seats. “So? The choice is yours, Angel.”

Oh, Aziraphale knows that there is a slight percentage of Crowley’s choice of pet name which is vaguely mocking. He knows.

He does love being called “Angel” by a man who looks like one himself, only in a more lustful way.

(Can angels be lustful creatures? There is a probably a whole moral and theological debate to have there, but he’ll keep it in mind for their next date-not-a-date-God-he-wishes-it-was-a-date.)

“Right this way,” Aziraphale points to two seats in second to last row, somewhere around the middle. “Perfect view, perfect to bid.”

As if summoned by magic, a paddle seems to appear in Crowley’s hand. Aziraphale eyes it warily as Crowley twirls it in the air. “Planning on bidding, dear?”

“Yep. You should get yours too.”

“Seriously?”

Crowley looks over the rim of his sunglasses to look at Aziraphale. “Deadly.”

Aziraphale attempts to glare a him as he stands, taking a double take to make sure that his companion is not pulling his leg. When Crowley has the audacity to make a “go on” motion, Aziraphale huffs and puffs all the way to the paddle counter.

“And what, pray tell, do you plan on bidding on, exactly?”

“Something awfully overpriced, just to make some idiots pay more than they should.”

“Oh, be serious, Crowley.”

The room fills up one person at a time, but as far as Aziraphale is concerned, it’s just the two of them.

“If you must know,” Crowley replies, a faint blush appearing on the apple of his cheeks (and on the tip of his ears, that is just … Aziraphale has no words), “while browsing the catalogue you sent me, I spotted a copy of a book that could look good on my shelves.”

“As in …?”

“As in, wait and see, good things come to those who wait, for Pete’s sake!”

Aziraphale smiles crookedly at that, as discretely as he can manage.

If he had any doubts, they’re all gone now. There is definitely more to Crowley than meets the eye. The man is not as blasé as he would like to appear.

Or maybe, just maybe, he only lets Aziraphale sees under all that nonchalance to show his true self.

That possibility almost makes him faint.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention,” the auctioneer calls with a too-white smile. “Let’s begin with the first lot of this English literature, History science and Children’s book auction, shall we?”

😈😇😈

It’s not that Crowley is a bibliophile--far from it.

He simply has a profound respect for books and the answers they can provide to all the questions in the Universe.

And sometimes, just for the fun of it, he likes to splurge on books which show how far Humanity has come, in terms of knowledge.

The irony of it all, and, though he’ll never admit it, the hope that lies between those lines.

If humanity is capable of growing out of a pit of superstitions and darkness, the future cannot be as bleak as it looks, can it?

Which leads us to the present moment, to the book he spotted in the aforementioned catalogue and wishes to purchase if it fits his splurging budget.

Rachel Bell Maiden’s “The Canape Book”.

The small book doesn’t look like much, on its podium, barely held upright by the handler’s gloved hand.

And yet, Crowley wants it like he doesn’t often want for things.

(A look on his left tells a different story, but a, this is not the place nor the time, and b, Crowley himself doesn’t want to admit to himself that he yearns.

Humans can be stupid like that.)

The green binding is pretty unique, or so Crowley has learned online, and he really, really ...

“Starting the auction at 200 pounds, do we have a bidder, I have an offer at 250 pounds …”

Crowley raises his paddle like a sword in the air.

“300 pounds to paddle 666. I have an offer at 325?”

One more lift.

“350, 350 to paddle 666. What about you, Sir, care to raise the stakes? No? On the phone?”

The auctioneer looks around the room and Crowley starts sweating. As it is, with the fees, and everything, the book is going to be right on the verge of extravagant for his budget.

But it is a good purchase, if only to find recipes to try with Aziraphale, sandwiches and cocktails that will make for splendid afternoon and fantastic evenings, perhaps a prelude to more if they--if he ever gets himself together.

“Going once, going twice …”

“Come on,” Crowley mutters between gritted teeth.

“And sold to paddle 666, congratulations sir.”

“Yesss,” Crowley cannot help but hiss as he puts the paddle away.

Still in the rush of the auction--and yes, it was a rush, shut up--he slides his hand over Aziraphale’s next to him. 

And Aziraphale doesn’t move it away.

Oh, no, quite the opposite actually: he turns his hand to clasp Crowley’s firmly and doesn’t let go.

“Congratulations, dear,” he whispers, close enough for his breath to tickle Crowley’s skin. “I hope to be as successful in my own endeavor.”

Crowley smiles bashfully. “Thank you, Angel.”

The fifty or so lots after that go by without Crowley noticing them.

A not so small part of him wishfully thinks that Aziraphale doesn’t pay much attention to it either.

When Aziraphale straightens up in his chair, paddle at the ready, Crowley turns his attention back to the room.

The big lot of the sale isn’t up yet, but a few heads are turning toward the three tan-leather bound books.

“Now, lot 69, a 1840 printing of Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist, in 3 volumes, signed by the illustrator George Cruikshank, we have a lot of interest from buyers over the phone, let’s start this auction at 1200 pounds. 1200, 1300, thank you Sir, 1400 for you Emma, 1400 over the phone, 1500 for me, 1600 over the phone with Tang, 1650 for me, 1650, do I have more bidding?”

Aziraphale raises his paddle and Crowley can feel his heart beating faster in his friend’s behalf.

Well, “friend”.

Whatever they are.

“1700 pounds for the paddle 29472, thank you Sir. 1700 in the room, not with me, not on the phone.”

Aziraphale wiggles in his chair, a proud smirk on his face.

“And 1800 for the paddle 75005.”

Aziraphale and Crowley snap their head toward the part of the room pointed by the auctioneer’s hammer. A smug looking person raises one eyebrow at them.

Aziraphale scowls at them and lifts his hand.

“1900, paddle 29472.”

“2000, paddle 75005...”

Crowley glances back at the catalogue when Aziraphale reaches 3000.

“Angel,” he whispers, “you’re at the higher estimate.”

“These books are mine,” Aziraphale growls back, and while the sound goes straight to Crowley’s bloodstream, it may be time for this whole affair to end.

Glaring at the back of Mx. 75005’s head, Crowley waits for them to lift their paddle, again, and turn to smirk at them, again.

Which they do--so predictable.

Crowley discreetly brings his thumb to his throat and hisses.

The person seems appropriately taken aback.

Aziraphale lifts his paddle one more time, bringing the auction to 3500 pounds.

“3500 pounds for paddle 29742, do you wish to continue, Sir?”

The person hesitates, glancing at them one more time. Crowley lowers his glasses to glare them into submission.

And then they shake their head.

“We’re at 3500 pounds for the gentleman with the paddle 29742, do I have any more bidder? Going once, going twice…”

Aziraphale is the one reaching for Crowley’s hand this time around.

“And sold. Congratulations, Sir. Now, moving on to lot 70 …”

“Unless you wish to stay for what most of these people consider to be the important lot of this sale,” Aziraphale whispers, his hand still clasping Crowley’s, “we can take our leave.”

“Do you want to see how it goes?”

“Nah, I’ll check the final results online.”

“Sure?”

“Sure. Let’s go. I feel peckish.”

“Peckish.”

“Indeed. How about some crepes?”

“Lead the way, Angel.”

😈😇😈😇😈

“Well, wasn’t that fun?” Aziraphale says happily, hands clasped in his back as they walk down the street.

“It was fun,” Crowley replies, a crooked smile on his face. “Especially to see that side of you, Angel.”

“Which side, my dear?”

“The feisty, slightly bastardish side, of course.”

Aziraphale wants to protest, he does, but even if he felt like lying to Crowley, he couldn’t possibly procede. And he can admit that he did let out his … inner bastard.

“Right. Well. I’m glad you enjoyed that.”

“You have no idea.”

Crowley’s voice catches Aziraphale’s attention. It’s soft suddenly around the edges, almost tender, almost fond.

Almost smitten.

Aziraphale searches Crowley’s face for more clues, but beside this smirk that has indeed softened into a grin, his blasted sunglasses block Aziraphale’s “reading”.

“Crowley …”

“Angel …”

They both start at the same time but Crowley shakes his head before Aziraphale can tell him to go ahead. “Never mind that. Where are you taking us?”

Aziraphale considers pushing it, once and for all--speak your mind and heart, damn you, so I can snog you senseless in the middle of Oxford Circus--but Crowley is not the kind of man you can push into confession, that much Aziraphale knows now.

“To my secret spot.”

Crowley’s face instantly matches the crimson lining of his jacket. “Cool. Do you take all your dates there?”

“I never brought anyone there, I’ll have you know,” Aziraphale replies over the pitter patter of his heart at the mention of this afternoon being a date. “But I--I want you to be my guest there.”

They reach a crossroad and Aziraphale brings his hands in front of him, nervouser and nervouser as Crowley remains silent.

Until, that is, Crowley’s hand enters his line of vision.

“Crowley?”

Crowley is not looking at him, but he still wiggles his fingers, prompting Aziraphale to take it.

“I would love to see your secret spot, Angel,” Crowley finally says, voice barely covering the hubbub around them. “I am--I am honored.”

It’s only because he knows the way so well that Aziraphale doesn’t lose them both in the streets, floating as he is on his very own cloud.

“This,” Crowley says with as much doubt as he can put in a single syllable, “is where you take me to have crêpes?”

“Indeed it is.”

“This restaurant? Really?”

“Don’t pass on such a hasty judgment,” Aziraphale tutts. “‘For by your words you will be acquitted and by your words you will be condemned’.”

Crowley groans as he follows him inside the tiny Japanese restaurant. “Quoting scriptures at me now? Why, oh why would you do that?”

Aziraphale salutes the owner before taking “his” seat, inviting Crowley to join him. “If only to make you admit that you knew the source of my quote, you fallen soul. And to gently ask you not to say another word before you have a chance to try their desserts.”

“Fine, fine, I suppose I can put my judgmental side on hold for a moment with you.”

Oh. Wow. That’s too much, too fast, wow.

All Aziraphale can do on the outside is clearing his throat and pulling the menu in front of him.

“I mean--” Crowley starts, but Aziraphale cuts him short. 

“Should we split one plate of crêpes, or should we share two plates, I don’t know, I--I, um, I know I have built an appetite with the adrenaline and all, but how do you feel?”

Crowley shrugs, pulling off his glasses to clean them with his scarf. “You’re the connoisseur, you decide. I’m putting my faith in you, Angel.”

But all of Aziraphale’s knowledge and appreciation for the crêpe cakes on the menu flew out the window the moment Crowley’s eyes came into view.

They’re such a peculiar shade, a mesmerizing golden amber Aziraphale could bask in for all of Eternity.

“-raphale?”

“Uh? Sorry, my dear boy, I was--I was lost in thoughts.”

“Pure, happy thoughts?”

“Enough to make me fly if I had any fairy dust.”

Crowley opens and closes his mouth, the smile left behind enough for Aziraphale to gather that he has a joke on the tip of his tongue and is refraining out of the goodness of his heart.

“You were saying?” he asks instead, folding back the menu to focus on Crowley, now that those jewelled eyes are once again hidden.

(What a shame, but what a relief for his poor heart, too.)

“I was asking you what was your favorite cake?”

“Depends on my mood,” Aziraphale replies, more comfortable on the subject of food. “A good vanilla crêpe can do the trick but when I feel like treating myself properly …”

“Yess?”

“Chestnut and chocolate is my go-to.”

“An interesting combination.”

“A scrumptious combination!” Aziraphale claps his hands. “Oh, that makes my decision easier. We must simply try that.”

Aziraphale’s favorite waiter approaches and they exchange a few words in Japanese before Aziraphale places his order.

As he leaves them to it, Aziraphale turns back to Crowley who is gawking at him.

“What?”

Crowley clears his throat and chuckles awkwardly. “You--you speak Japanese?”

“Oh, yes, I do, don’t I?”

Crowley cocks his head to the side, fingers drumming on the tablecloth.

Aziraphale starts fidgeting under such intense scrutiny. “What’s so special about it, anyway? I’m sure you speak other languages, too.”

It comes out a bit more defensively than he really intended to. There is just something about Crowley that reveals his darker side.

Crowley smirks, still drumming on the table. “I speak Scottish, if that counts.”

“Of course it does.”

“And I suppose I can manage with French, but nothing as … exotic as Japanese.”

“French?”

“Tout à fait.”

Isn’t it funny, how we sometimes discover things about ourselves late in life?

As it is, until this very moment, Aziraphale had no idea that a few words uttered in French could affect him as it does.

But affected he is, and to his core.

“Mighty useful, French, when you enjoy baking,” Crowley continues, seemingly unaware of the sudden heat threatening to consume his companion on the spot. “So many French words just to talk about ingredients. Beurre noisette, crème pâtissière, sucre boulé …”

“Would you teach me?”

Crowley stops in his tracks and looks at Aziraphale over the rim of his glasses. “French, or baking?”

“Both?”

Oh, it’s not that Aziraphale doesn’t see how either lesson could turn into an apocalyptic sort of disaster. He does, he absolutely, with great clarity, does.

But on the other hand, this kind of apocalypse would inevitably lead to him and Crowley spending more time together, getting closer, until Aziraphale would be able to whisper his freshly acquired vocabulary into the meat of Crowley’s skin.

So, yes, Aziraphale would take the risk of an apocalypse of embarrassment for the reward of successfully wooing Crowley.

“That could be fun,” Crowley replies just as the crêpes land on their table, his hand suddenly covering Aziraphale in a sneak attack. “If you teach me something in return.”

Oh, boy.

“What would you want me to teach you?” Aziraphale asks.

“You could teach me Japanese,” Crowley replies, taking his hand back--both a blessing and a curse. “Or fencing.”

Aziraphale freezes. “How do you know I fence?”

Crowley sits back in his chair, cup of tea in his hand as he slouches. “Something in your posture, Angel,” he replies, gesturing in Aziraphale’s direction. “It was either fencing or horse riding.”

“And how do you know it’s not horse riding?”

“Hard on the buttocks, horses. Bit of a flaw in the design, if you ask me. But you don’t strike me as someone who would inflict such pain on his buttocks.”

Such a sentence promptly produces images of Crowley thinking about the comfort of his buttocks, which, if you are in Aziraphale’s mind, doesn’t take too long before derailing into Crowley taking care of his ass.

Not that Aziraphale’s mind needs much prompting to go in that direction nowadays.

“Touché,” is all he can say without making a fool of himself in the middle of his favorite restaurant. To cover for his sudden silence, he picks up a fork to dig into the crêpes.

Ah, crêpes.

Even when they are average, they are the superior dessert, snack and culinary creation altogether.

Aziraphale takes a moment to enjoy his first bite. Much like a French philosopher, Aziraphale thinks that as enjoyable a thing may be, nothing can surpass the happiness brought by the first bite, first sip, first encounter.

The crêpes are thin yet soft, with a delicate crispy ring on the edges. In the center, the pieces of chocolate are on the verge of being completely melted, but not yet, while the crushed chestnuts are bringing some texture to the whole plate.

Aziraphale hums in his delight, before pushing the plate toward Crowley. “Where are my manners? You’re the one who has to try this for the first time.”

Crowley picks up a fork, turning the plate so he can face an untouched part of the crêpe. Aziraphale carefully watches his face for his reaction.

His mind takes another turn for the gutter at the way Crowley flicks his tongue at the fork before closing his lips around it, but then.

Then.

Crowley’s eyes widens, visible even from behind the tainted lenses and he lets out a soft, heartfelt moan that seems to fly directly through Aziraphale’s veins and straight to his heart.

“That’s--” Crowley starts, a pink flush appearing on his high cheeks. “It’s delicious!”

A small part of Aziraphale’s mind takes pride in making his … friend discover such a pleasure, but most of it is entirely consumed by the way Crowley looks at the moment.

Amazement colors his features, and the largest smile Aziraphale has ever seen on his face stretches his lips.

If Aziraphale thought he had a crush on the lanky man before, that is nothing compared to the rush of, well, Love he feels right now.

“I can understand why you kept this place a secret, Angel,” Crowley says, picking a second piece of the crêpe cake. “This is truly a slice of Heaven.”

Aziraphale lets out a short giggle before smothering it with a forkful of cake.

“Aziraphale.”

“Yes, dear?”

Crowley removes his glasses completely before cupping his face in his palm. The sight of those golden eyes, with their oh so particular shade, short-circuits Aziraphale’s brain.

Particularly because of the fondness warming them.

“May I tempt you for dinner?”

“T-tempt me?”

Crowley cocks one eyebrow at him. “Well, asking you for dinner on my terms means making you leave work early, thus tempting you away from them all.”

“Them?”

“The parasites who used to be my colleagues.”

And just like that, the warm feelings in Aziraphale’s chest melt away. “Parasites?”

Crowley must hear the change of tone in his voice. “Well,” he straightens up while managing to still slouch in his chair, “you know. Gabriel, Michael, all those who act all holier than thou.”

Aziraphale feels hurt--he isn’t quite sure if he feels attacked or if it’s just a sense of professional duty. “Aren’t I one of them too?”

Crowley puts his sunglasses back on. “You work there, yes, but you are not one of them,” he replies emphatically.

“How so?”

“I know so.”

Aziraphale swipes his face with his hand. “I know I should take your words as a compliment, but what makes you so sure that I’m not like them?!”

Crowley smiles at him, blinding and, and, loving, yes. “I know you would never take advantage of the people who have faith in you,” he replies simply. “And that you are more layered than any of those buffoons.”

“Oh.”

“And given the chance, you wouldn’t work for them.”

It’s Aziraphale’s turn to raise an eyebrow at Crowley. “Oh really. And what would I rather do?”

“I think that you would be way happier if your job involved books and making people happy.”

Aziraphale blinks at the image those words paint.

Far too appealing an image. He needs to stir the conversation away from it.

“To answer your earlier proposal …”

“Hmm yes?”

“I would love to let you tempt me.”

“Great.” Crowley beams at him. “Meet me at the bakery around 5pm.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

😈😇😈😇😈

The thing you need to know about Crowley is that he’s a perfectionnist.

Oh, maybe you already gathered as much about him from the rest of the story already.

But anyway, that is to say that in preparation for his date--because yes, this is officially a date, if the previous day wasn’t already one--, Crowley spends the night trying to figure out the best sweets to treat his angel to.

(Yes, his. Aziraphale is his. Move on.)

He considers making a decadent crepe cake, perhaps even on with a heart hidden in its center, cliché be damned, but does he really want to enter a competition with Aziraphale’s favorite dessert on their first date?

No, he doesn’t. Maybe later, once they will have dated for a while, for a special occasion perhaps.

No, for now, Crowley needs to blow Aziraphale’s mind and tastebuds.

(No, Crowley is absolutely not considering blowing anything else. Who do you take him for? 

… If the mood seems right.

Maybe.

Possibly.)

The rest of the meny is fairly simple: Crowley knows Aziraphale’s tastes now. Fresh, quality ingredients, some fancy ones but nothing that can take him away from the ultimate prize that is the dessert.

So he decided to start with oysters (which doesn’t require a lot of preparation, juste the mignonette sauce).

Pros: it’s easy, fresh and aphrodisiac.

Cons: the shells. But Crowley will deal with them later.

For the main dish, Crowley goes with a pancetta and butternut squash risotto.

Pros: he can prepare it in advance and simply reheat it when needed (and he totally prepares it while considering his dessert options).

Cons: well, there are ways to fail at making a risotto, but this is not Crowley’s first risotto. He knows where the potential failure lies, and he sidesteps it like a pro.

And now back to the dessert.

If everything goes as well as Crowley wishes, thinks, hopes it will go, then by the time they get to dessert, they will both want to get closer.

Maybe kiss.

Maybe hold each other.

(Oh, to feel Aziraphale’s soft body pressed against his. Now that would be his treat.)

In order to to so, Crowley has two choices, really.

Either a dessert they can feed to each other, like an ice cream or a mousse of some sorts, or a dessert they can nibble on, like some kinds of biscuits or--

Hold that thought.

Crowley applauds himself before going through the pages of his book.

“Good Nommins: Agnes Nutter’s Nice and Accurate Recipes”, a book he got from his great-great-great-great aunt. All of Crowley’s recipes are a variation he played from those ancient recipes.

And there is something he thinks will do the trick.

So, yes, he spends the night trying recipes, finding ways to recycle what doesn’t make the cut (an unsuitable cookie is only a good cheesecake crust waiting to happen) until Crowley is sure he has the right treat.

And now he is.

At 5 a.m.

Which means that there is no point in going to bed now, is there, since he has to be at the bakery in one hour.

That’s alright, though. Crowley doesn’t really mind, especially considering the ultimate goal. Mission Woo Aziraphale Eastgate out of his waistcoat, dot dot dot, is a go.

😈😇😈

Crowley is waiting for Aziraphale in front of the bakery and he does his best not to be nervous.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Crowley is too tired to hide that Beelzy managed to surprise him.

“I’m waiting. For my, um, my friend.”

“Right,” they drawl, fixing the brooch on their lapel. “Your … friend, the blondy from the vampire office.”

“You know them?”

“Got my loan from them.”

Crowley can’t help but pull a face.

“And my regular booty call.”

Crowley’s grimace takes a turn for the worse. “Isn’t that what people call a boyfriend?”

Beelzy makes a gagging sound. “Don’t be gross. Okay, I’m off. See you tomorrow? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Should I worry?”

“Do or do not, I don’t care. Bye!”

Crowley is still frowning after them when Aziraphale taps on his shoulder, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Good afternoon, dear!” Aziraphale says, rocking on his heels. “So, where are we going?”

Crowley leans in to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek, bringing the rocking to a stop. 

“Follow me.”

😈😇😈😇😈

Aziraphale doesn’t quite know what makes him trust Crowley so much that he’s willing to follow him through the streets of London until they reach what looks like an old factory.

“What is--where are we, dear boy?”

“My place, Angel.”

(I told you it would come in the proper time, didn’t I, dear readers? Good things come to those who wait.)

“Your--your place?”

“I thought it would be better to have an intimate setting for our, err, first, you know,” Crowley says while opening his door.

Aziraphale’s brain has already melted at the word “intimate”, but the design of Crowley’s flat finishes the job.

Given the look of the building, Aziraphale expected something rough, somehow bohemian. The idea doesn’t quite fit Crowley’s general look, but what does he know, right?

But that flat!

Everything is sleek and modern, except for the kitchen which has a wooden counter, but even that part of the flat is in the darker shades, black wood and metal.

Though the space is not big, the whole space is tidy and sparkly clean, a complete opposite to the way Aziraphale himself keeps his own flat. Next to the windows, which could be seen from the outside, stand giant plants. Monstera, succulents and alocasia fill in the space, probably eating up the light during the day.

It’s the most luxurious private garden Aziraphale has ever seen. Next to them, in the biggest sunlight spot, stands a vivarium with a napping snake.

Now, that fits the picture of Crowley he has built in his mind.

“Welcome to my casa,” Crowley tells him, taking off his jacket and sending it with a scary accuracy onto the hook. Aziraphale doesn’t trust his own talent and goes to hang his own coat. “I hope you don’t mind Newt?”

“You have a lovely home, Anthony,” he replies instead, looking around. A door is closed, probably leading to Crowley’s private parts of the flat--and Aziraphale is now very intrigued to know more about the kind of bedding Crowley likes to sleep in, while the main room is split between the living room, where the plants are, and the kitchen, where Crowley is standing.

His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, good Lord.

“Thank you, Aziraphale,” Crowley replies softly, simultaneously opening the refrigerator and turning the fire on under a large pan.

For some reason, hearing his first name in Crowley’s mouth is even better than the pet name he got used to.

“Is there something I can do?”

“Make yourself comfortable, angel, and perhaps open a bottle of wine?”

Aziraphale works quickly to open the bottle of red wine in order to be able to return to his gawking at Crowley in action.

“Anthony?”

“Yes?”

“This is a date, right?”

Crowley freezes before nodding.

“I’m really glad it is.”

Crowley comes to sit at the table too, a large plate covered in oysters and a light vinegary sauce. He has a small smile, almost shy. “I’m really glad too.”

“Oh, oysters,” Aziraphale can’t help but sigh happily. “How did you know that they are my “péché mignon”?”

“I had a hunch,” Crowley says, pushing the plate toward Aziraphale.

“You have a lot of them, about me?”

“Quite a few.” Here is that smile again, soft and warm and reaching into Aziraphale’s body to seize his heart in the most tender way.

Aziraphale tries to hide his blush by slurping on an oyster, the peppercorn and the vinegar heightening the ioded taste of the mollusk.

“That’s delicious.”

“I’m glad.”

“How are you so good at cooking?”

That, more than anything else, gets Crowley started, and the hours tick by as they devour the plate of oysters and then the entire pan of risotto, spoonful by spoonful, while Crowley talks about his childhood, his desire to cook and his incessant need to ask questions to understand, really, the why’s and how’s of the universe. Aziraphale interjects some questions, mostly savouring both the food and the way Crowley seems to lighten up from the inside as they move to the plush looking couch in the living room. Truth be told, he becomes more alive the emptier the bottle becomes, sure, and his speech makes less and less sense, but it only makes him more attractive in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“And then, then--” Crowley pauses, pouting. “What was I saying?”

Aziraphale blinks, and yes, he is quite inebriated himself. “Something about fish soup?”

“Bouillabaisse! Yes!”

“What about bulibaze?”

“... I don’t know. But it’s bloody good.”

Aziraphale starts giggling, and when he looks up again to pour himself another glass, Crowley is sitting far closer than he was just a moment ago.

“Oh.”

Crowley’s hair is ruffled and soft-looking, begging for Aziraphale to pass his fingers through them. His eyes are dark, a golden circle surrounding his irises. And his mouth is …

It’s calling for Aziraphale’s touch, that’s what it is.

They both lean closer, and Aziraphale licks his lips the moment Crowley bites on his lower lip.

“I have dessert.”

“You--uh?”

Crowley leans back, still close enough that Aziraphale can feel his body heat radiating on his left side.

“I prepared a dessert. For you. A special dessert.”

I could be happy with you as my dessert, fleetingly crosses Aziraphale’s mind but in the ranking of his sins, gluttony must supersedes lust because he is immediately curious.

“A special dessert for me?”

Crowley winks, the devil, before jumping out of the couch and sautering to the kitchen.

While he waits, Aziraphale tries to compose himself. 

Oh, he has every intention of bringing what almost happened to something that definitely happened, but he doesn’t want it to be a drunken, or worse, rushed moment.

Hence the composing.

“Tadaaa,” Crowley singsongs as he brings a plate to his coffee table. The plate is covered in thin golden biscuits, as thin as paper, rolled up and folded.

“Oh, lovely!” Aziraphale picks up one of the biscuits. It’s amazingly light and buttery. “What are those?”

“They have two names,” Crowley explains, pushing forward Aziraphale’s glass. “They’re known as gavottes, or as crêpes dentelles.”

Aziraphale recognizes the first word. “Those are crêpe biscuits?”

“Yes.”

“And you made them for me.”

“... Yes, angel.”

Aziraphale delicately puts the biscuit back on the plate.

“What are y--”

Crowley doesn’t get to finish his sentence, his lips otherwise occupied by Aziraphale’s.

After months of dreaming about it, picturing how it would be, the reality of kissing Crowley is even better than he imagined. It’s soft and passionate and clumsy and perfect, all at once.

Crowley wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer until Aziraphale is practically lying on top of Crowley on the couch.

Clumsy? Definitely.

Uncomfortable? Just a little bit.

Everything Aziraphale wished for? And more.

Crowley moans into the kiss, and it’s not necessarily the good kind of moans. Aziraphale pushes himself up. “Everything alright, my dear boy?”

“Hm-hm,” Crowley replies, looking a bit dizzy. “Just, let me--agh--” Crowley winces, reaching behind him and picking a book. He glares at it, putting it on the table, before returning his gaze to Aziraphale. The love and adoration in those golden eyes render Aziraphale silent. “Better. Now, where were we?”

Aziraphale smiles, caressing Crowley’s cheek. “At the beginning of forever, I believe,” he whispers, before diving in for another kiss.

(They do get to the gavottes, eventually, once Aziraphale is out of his waistcoat and his shirt is opened, and once Crowley’s pants have been opened.)

😈😇😈😇😈

It’s a heartbreak to part, but on the other hand, they make the journey from Crowley’s flat to the street where they both work together, so Crowley counts that as a win.

He waits for Aziraphale to pause at the entrance of his building, smiling at him one more time before they meet again in the evening, before entering the bakery.

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see.” Beelzy’s words contrast with their tone, but Crowley is used to that by now.”

“What can I do for you, my Lord?”

“Do you enjoy your job?”

“I--I do. Did I give you the impression I wanted to leave?”

“No. Then again, I don’t usually care.”

“Oh. Then why--”

“I don’t want to work anymore. So. Are you interested?”

Crowley feels like he has entered the Twilight Zone. “Interested in?”

“In the shop, you imbecile. Wasn’t I clear?”

“Not really, no. But I could be interested.”

Beelzebub smiles at him. “Not so dumb after all then. Take your time, think about it, and come back tomorrow with your answer. I’m off now.”

With that, they walk out of the shop, leaving him alone with more to think about that he thought he would have on this day.

😈😇😈

“Are you interested?”

Crowley walks back and forth in Aziraphale’s living room, after retelling him of his boss’s proposal.

“I am! Of course I am!” he exclaims. “Fancy me, business owner. In charge of …”

“Of everything.”

“Oh God.”

“I’m sure you could do it,” Aziraphale points out, before sipping out of his mug of tea. “You have all it takes to turn this business into a success.”

“Except for the will to be responsible for it.”

“Hm.”

Crowley pauses. “Do you really think I could do it?”

“I do. You’re smart, creative, intuitive. You can do it.”

Crowley leans over the table to kiss Aziraphale before resuming his walking around. “But what of the money?”

“You have your severance money from Heavs.”

“True.”

“And, um.”

“What?”

Aziraphale wiggles on his spot. “I could, um, invest in it too?”

Crowley freezes. “You? What?”

Aziraphale stands to come in front of him. “I have money I could invest in your business.”

Crowley opens and closes his mouth like a fish; he’s sure it’s not attractive, but he can’t do anything else.

“Or better yet?”

“Better?”

Aziraphale nods. “I could … be a partner.”

Crowley feels his face heating up but he focuses. “A partner?”

“Yes.”

“Care to develop on that idea, Angel?”

“I could--that is, I have been thinking.”

“Yes?”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and then unloads all of the following in seemingly one breath.

“I have been miserable at my job for a while now, even though I’m quite good at it. I just, just, have enough of it, and I don’t think my soul can take much more of it. Meanwhile, I can see myself having a library of sorts, making my books available for all to peruse and enjoy while, I don’t know, maybe, savor some mini pastries?”

Crowley stares at him.

That idea is crazy.

Demented.

Completely out of this world.

Doesn’t make a lick of sense.

… Exactly what he wants, without ever knowing he did.

And yet, what comes out of his mouth next doesn’t make much sense either.

“You’d let people eat or drink near your books?”

Aziraphale had his mouth open to keep on babbling about his plans, but Crowley’s interjection brings him to a halt and he beams at him.

“I would. Would be rather hypocritical of me not to when I do it so often, wouldn’t it?”

“Ah. Right.”

Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand and brings it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “Was that your only objection, my dear, dear boy?”

Crowley’s brain fires up before he can get back to his senses. “I would love for us to be partners.”

“You would.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever had a better idea, Angel.”

Aziraphale pulls on Crowley’s hand, pulling him closer, pulling him to him so they can kiss. “I do have a lot of ideas, Anthony.”

“Can’t wait to test them all, Aziraphale.”

(It takes them a moment to get their shop running, but eventually, Londoners get to enter “Above and Below”, thus named for the nurturing of the mind, through the books-- above-- and the body, through the food--below.

Crowley finds a way to make one-bite delicacies that match some of the books and Aziraphale is the one making the match when it’s not obvious.

They work well together, what can we say?) 

~~ The End ~~

[littledreamybeth]

My young lover

A/N: This imagine is for entertainment purposes only and has no relation to reality!! This is pure fiction and is not going to be real so be warned!! 

Summary: Y/N is too young and Harry is too old (requested)

How could a person’s beauty be so out of this world yet so real? How could a person be unimaginably gorgeous- as if they were carved by goddess Aphrodite with such perfection and without any flaws? How could someone’s character be filled with so much kindness, gentleness and purity that everybody who spoke a word with them instantly became infatuated with that person? How could someone ignite a hell of a firework inside your body by just touching you or by kissing you? And lastly, how could a person make you fall in love with them so hard that even the single thought of having to live without them makes you instantly go insane?  

Harry always wondered what he did to deserve his girlfriend whenever he spared a glance at her.

Just like now. She was peacefully sleeping beside him, giving him the opportunity to observe the sweet creature lying in his arms. The afterglow of their previous love making was attached on her. The corners of his mouth rose, forming a gentle smile. Harry lifted his hand to carefully drive his fingertips over her soft cheek. Immediate warmth engulfed them.

He had his other arm protectively draped over her small frame as if he was afraid that she would disappear into thin air should he let go. And it was the last thing he needed. Pressing a tender kiss on her forehead, he continued looking at her. His eyes reflected nothing but awe for this young beauty.

Recalling his memories, Harry found himself back at the moment they have met.

On that special morning, he remembered, he had got hold of a role for another movie. Being in the studio for years and producing music was surely something he loved from the bottom of his heart, however, he tried to be open for other things as well. So, he had decided to boost up his acting career a bit more and had auditioned for a character in a new movie. To read the script in peace and memorize his lines, he had walked into a coffee shop he had only heard good things about and that many of his friends had recommended.  

He had entered the shop and watched out for a seat somewhere in the back. There had barely been any customer at that hour for his advantage. While waiting for someone to take his order, he had flipped through the pages of the script. Until he had heard the most endearing voice his ears had been blessed with. His heart had miraculously skipped a beat to the unfamiliar new sound.

“Welcome to the Coffee Club, sir. What’s your order?”

When Harry had lifted his head up to make eye contact, his eyeballs nearly fell out of their places. Right in front of him, there was standing the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. She seemed to recognize him too because she had looked at him as if she couldn’t believe that Harry Styles was sitting in front of her, in the coffee shop she was working at. But then, she had shot him the cutest smile ever.

“What a lovely surprise, Mr. Styles!” she had said. “It is very lovely to see you at our coffee shop!”

Harry had just nodded with his head. He had been too overwhelmed with how wonderful she looked. From the tag attached on her uniform, he could read that her name was Y/N. Beautiful name.

“Can I take your order already?”

She had taken a piece of paper and pen out of the front pocket of the bordeaux apron she was wearing and had looked at him expectantly.

Harry, hoping that he hadn’t made a fool of himself by openly staring at her, had taken a glance at the menu lying on the small table. “I’d like to have a… an Espresso.”

The young woman had noted his order. “Alright. Anything else?”

“A strawberry cheesecake would be lovely.” Why had he been so nervous while talking to her? He normally had never felt like this when he had spoken to beautiful women.

“An Espresso and a delicious strawberry cheesecake for Mr. Styles,” she had concluded before she had shot another smile at his direction and then had gone back to the front to get his order ready. Harry’s eyes had followed every step of hers until she had been out of sight. The minutes before she returned had been passing agonizingly slow. He couldn’t even concentrate on his script now that his thoughts were full of the young woman and her breathtaking smile. Speaking of love at the first sight, Harry had really believed it just happened to him.

And it had proven him right when Y/N had come back with a cup of his Espresso and a plate with his cake. His heart had beat like crazy. The young waitress had placed his coffee on the table and their fingertips had touched when Y/N had handed the small plate over to him, leaving a prickling sensation at those spots. Harry could feel his cheeks reddening and had hoped she couldn’t see it.

“There we go,” she had said. “I hope you’ll like them. If there is anything you want, please make sure to tell me. My name is Y/N by the way.” Harry was going to answer but she was already gone, leaving him a little disappointed. He had really hoped to be engaged in a conversation with her.

His wish was granted only when his cup was empty and all of his cheesecake was eaten.

“Did you enjoy?”  A sudden voice had attracted his attention. There she had been again.

“Yes, yes of course. All of these were delicious. I think this place is going to be one of my favorites from now on,” he had confessed.

“That’s a nice compliment, Mr. Styles. I’m happy to hear that. And our coffee shop would love to see you more often.”

“Please, it’s just Harry. Mr. Styles makes me feel very old.”

“Okay. May I say that you look quite young for a man who’s just hit his forties? And very handsome also,” Y/N had commented.

Harry knew he must have looked like a tomato by now. Shouldn’t the roles be reversed?

“Thanks darling. It’s good to hear that I’m still attractive despite the white strands of hair I’m having on the sides of my head.”

“No worries, they suit you.”

“You’re quite pretty yourself, Y/N,” Harry had remarked with honestly supporting his statement. Y/N laughed happily at him.

“Yeah, I hear that quite often.”

“Is that so?” the man asked, “Do guys always flirt with you?” Harry fiddled with his fingers. He wondered if she even had a boyfriend. If that was the case, then lord help him.

“Sometimes they do, but they’re not really my type, y’know?” She shrugged with her shoulders.

“What is your type then?”

“Hmm, I dunno. 40 year old attractive superstars maybe?” Okay, she tried to flirt with him, at least that’s what Harry was hoping. And it didn’t look like she was committed to someone either.

“Are you talking about me, love?”  he had grinned cheekily at her, his dimple popping to the surface.

“Maybe I do, who knows?” That girl was about to make him go crazy. “What are you reading, anyway?” She had pointed at the script.

“Oh that’s- that’s a new project of mine.”

“Are you going to star in a movie? What’s its name?” She had made an impression as if she was very excited.

“Sorry, love. It’s confidential. I can’t tell you yet.”

“That’s totally fine. I understand. But whatever it is, I can’t wait to watch it.”

“You would do that?” Curiosity was written all across his face.

“Of course, I would. I’ve seen ICarly and Dunkirk back in the days, and you were fabulous in them, so I’m exited that you give another shot to your acting abilities.”

“Wow, thank you very much. I really appreciate it.”

Their conversation led from one to another and before they knew, they had talked as much as possible and as much as Y/N’s schedule had allowed her. Their chemistry had instantly clicked. After that day, Harry found himself at the Coffee Club almost every day of the week. He had to see her, he had to get to know her- damn, he had to have her. He knew exactly that he was behaving like a sick boy in love, but he couldn’t let it go. Y/N had awakened feelings inside him he never knew he could feel. But on some days, he left the shop as soon as he entered it because his crush wasn’t there.

How funny- while many women were chasing after him, he was falling for a college student who was working as a waitress to pay her loans. She was different than any other woman he had dated, that’s for sure. She wasn’t a model or actress- she was just an ordinary girl, and Harry loved it.

They’d began to meet each other frequently, even outside the coffee shop. Whether it be breakfast at the baker’s shop or dinner at Harry’s favorite restaurant, whether it be having a walk for hours or movie nights at one of their places. Both of them knew they felt something for each other, but they had been afraid to address the elephant in the room. Their age.

Y/N was definitely too young for Harry. She was just 20 years old.

There had been times where Harry had been ashamed to gush over a college girl who was 20 years younger than him. But the more he saw her, the more he longed for her, and it had almost been impossible to resist the urge to stay away from her. She was like a drug he couldn’t take his hands from and whom he was heavily addicted to. Y/N brought him a sense of euphoria each time he had a taste of her. With her, Harry felt as if he was back in his 20s. She made him feel younger than he truly was.

The feelings had been too strong to ignore, and finally they had made Harry explode.

“I know what we have isn’t actually normal to society and I should keep myself away from you, but believe me love, I can’t. Y/N, you’re so special to me that the mere thought of not having you by my side kills me. I’ve tried to deny my feelings for you, I’ve tried to be just a friend to you, but you’ve already had my heart the first time we met. I’m an old man who is in love with you and I would do anything to call you mine. So please, will you give me a chance?”

His hands had cupped her cheeks firmly yet gently between his palms as he looked at her with vulnerability and sincerity mirrored in his eyes. Tiny snow flakes were falling from the sky down to the ground, covering everything around them in white. Just like in romantic movies, they were standing on a bridge with a large river underneath, Harry confessing his love to her and waiting for her answer. With a single reply she could either make him the happiest man on earth or crush his heart into a pile of broken pieces.

“Harry…” she had mumbled under her breath. Seeing the tears in his eyes, she could sense how much everything must’ve affected him. “This isn’t indeed very normal, but you can’t decide who you love, do you? Your heart does it for you, just as mine did for me. I see no one but you wherever I go. When I see something I like, my first instinct is to ask you what you would think about it. Every time when I go to bed and when I wake up in the morning, it’s you I think about. You’ve made me absolutely smitten with you and I would probably do the biggest mistake if I let you go. So, let’s keep it to ourselves so that we can love each other in peace.”

That had been the only confirmation that Harry had needed before he had brought their lips together and had kissed her feverishly. From that very moment, he was a taken man. But to the public, he was still single. It was extremely hard to dodge the question of whether he was in a relationship when the truth was that he had a girlfriend. Harry, sometimes, was like an open book. Especially close friends could tell when he was lying.

Harry still insisted that he hadn’t met anyone when the love bites on his neck showed otherwise. He tried to make everyone believe that those were just ‘mosquito bites’. Not the most believable excuse.

If there was anything Harry felt guilty about is to hide his relationship from his family. He would’ve loved to introduce Y/N to them and telling them that she was the reason why he was so happy like he had never been before. After one failed marriage and a couple of relationships, Harry had fear he wouldn’t find anyone who was going to be his ‘forever’ anymore. He would’ve liked to have a woman to refer to as his wife and he would’ve loved to be a father. That was his dream with Y/N. Yet, he was concerned about how his mother and sister or worse, Y/N’s parents, would react should they decide to confess that the both of them were an item. He could clearly picture the disgust displayed on Y/N’s parent’s faces and the disappointment on his mother’s normally gentle features. He could sense the anger that his girlfriend’s father would radiate and the craving to rip Harry’s off of his shoulders.

Put their families aside; he was more afraid of media and the entire world. Afraid that they would reveal his secret. Afraid of judgement and harassment just because there was a 20 year old gap existing between him and his lovely girlfriend. The media, that had been stuck to his ass since the day he had entered the industry, was already presenting him as a fuckboy who could wrap every single woman around his finger if he wanted to. Who knew how they were going to portray him in case he’d admit that he was in a stable and happy relationship with a woman who wasn’t even born when he had made his first debut? He mentally saw the headlines in front of his eyes. Written in bold letters he could read words that made his insides frigid and colder than the Antarctica could ever be. Pedophile. Sugar Daddy. Tabloids would mock him for weeks, people would create unnecessary drama over his love life. If he really chose to tell the entire globe about Y/N, then he had to expect his name to appear in everybody’s mouth. He had to expect being seen in a completely different light and being treated differently. Besides, he wouldn’t be the only one suffering- also his girlfriend’s life would be drastically affected. Harry didn’t want to put his love through this huge mess. He couldn’t bear to see her suffer. Harry had never feared anything in his 40 years of living more than the fear of his love leaving him- and if she did, then there was absolutely nothing to save him.

“You’re the only man I ever want.” she had whispered assuringly against his mouth during the steamy moment while riding him with an agonizingly yet gentle pace, their lips clinging onto each other to a passionate kiss as though their lives were dependent on their opponent to survive. Harry’s heart had nearly burst out of his chest to her blissful confession. She had meant it then, but would she even keep her word when things got serious? Would she overcome the bullying and humiliation everybody would cause because of him? He couldn’t blame her if she broke her promise. He would welcome the choice of breaking up with him with understanding. Still, he hoped from the bottom of his heart that this wasn’t going to happen.

Back to reality, Harry pushed himself closer to Y/N so that every centimeter of his body that was left untouched by hers could find their relief. He didn’t know why he had the sudden urge to cry, but the uncertainty of what the future held in store for them was unnerving.

As a tear slipped down his cheek along his nose, Y/N awakened from her sleep, opening her eyes at the right time to find her lover being in distress. She didn’t even have to ask because she knew. They had talked about it too many times.

She caught the tears with her thumbs. “Don’t cry. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

Harry took her hand into his, interlocking their fingers and kissing her knuckles gently.

“I’m afraid of losing you…” he whispered, his voice hoarse as if he had smoked uncountable numbers of cigarettes.

“You’re not going to lose me. You and me against the world, remember?”

“I know…But, I want you to meet my mum, you know? I can’t hide like this anymore. I feel terrible. I’ve never had any secrets that I haven’t told my mum. We always talk to each other. It’s like I’m betraying her…But on the other hand, she may be tearing us apart. Who wouldn’t?”

Her warm breath roamed his cheek, and she gave him a small peck there. “Harry, I love you… And I’m sure we’re going to find a way out of this. No matter what the outcome might be, okay? I know you worship your mum and I would love to meet her soon, too. From what you always tell me about her, she must be a very wonderful person. The same goes with Gemma. We need to find a strategy first before we make our move.” She kissed him softly.

“But now, let’s go back to sleep. Don’t fill your head with unnecessary thoughts. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about it again, alright? And see what we need to do?”

“Okay…”

Y/N untangled herself from his grip. “Come here you big boy.” 

She pointed at her chest, indicating that Harry should place his head on top of it. Harry did as he was told. Wrapping his arms around her hips, he gently attached himself back to her. The drumming of her heartbeat against his hair worked like a lullaby. Y/N started to hum a song while her fingers buried themselves into his curls. Embraced like this, they tried to find comfort in sleep, attempting to ignore the risks of their relationship.

[kaeltale]

Witcher Fic Rec List

Happy Fanfic Author Appreciation Day! I did one of these for my current obsession (Good Omens) earlier, but a lovely ask just motivated me to make one for my first obsession (The Witcher) too. Remember to leave the authors lots of love for this blessed celebration of Fandom!

(This is by no means an exhaustive list of all the wonderful fics in this fandom, but a sampling of some of my favorites for anyone who might be new in town. Enjoy!)

Rated-G:

No Monopoly on Altruism by @jikanet-tanaka (Dettlaff/Regis) (WIP) 6.4K words. Drabble Sequence, Injury Recovery, Slow Burn. 100 word drabbles for the rarest of rare pairs. Starting in the days where Dettlaff is resuscitating Regis after his dissolution by Vilgefortz. This project might be on hiatus, but I still love to go back and read it.

Absolution by Taricha (Gen Fic, no pairing) 6K words. Post-B&W, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending. Coming to terms with Syanna’s death. Dettlaff keeps visiting Anna Henrietta's room at night, and she cannot find a way to make him stay away.

A Merry Tune by nemluvnost (Regis/Geralt) (Not Rated, but probably G) 1.2K words. Silly, Cute, Dancing. A very short little happy interlude following B&W. Written entirely for fun. In which Ciri plays a match-maker.

I Will Find You by @andordean (Cahir/Ciri) 2.1K words. Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies AU, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension. Cahir was trying damn hard not to stare, not to follow Ciri like the lovestruck idiot that he was, but judging by her glances, he was failing miserably. In which Cahir has Got It Bad and Ciri has some recovering to do.

Rated-T:

It Takes A Hansa by @jikanet-tanaka (Gen Fic, no pairing) 18.5K words. Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies AU, Family Fluff, Raising a Child. Based off the book saga: In a kinder, better world, on a cold winter morning, Maria Barring's child is welcomed to the world by his exhausted mother and his overly giddy auntie Angoulême. Oh, and by his four dads. Overly self-indulgent AU where everybody survives, and Milva's kid gets to be raised by the most epic family of all time. (One of my favorite fluffy fics, and Regis is The Best Dad, In My Humble Opinion.)

Magpie by @asparrowsfall (Dettlaff/Regis and pre-slash Regis/Geralt) 7.7K words. Coming of Age, Blood Drinking, First Kiss, Drunkenness, Animal Death, Infant Death. A vignette of Regis and Dettlaff in their younger years. The tags sound heavy, but it’s actually pretty light and bittersweet (mostly sweet). Regis is a young, stupid vampire doing young, stupid things. A wonderful exploration of the characters.

Heart of the Matter by ValmureEld (Gen Fic, no pairing) 2.3K words. BroTP, Witcher Anatomy, Light Angst, Medical Fic, Friendship. Regis is an excellent friend and physician, and sometimes Geralt needs both to help him away from his uncertainty about his place in the world. Also known as, Regis keeps organs in his lab and this makes Geralt philosophical.

Blackbird by kaeltale (Dettlaff/Regis) 1.3K words. Depression, Overcoming Crisis, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship. Regis finds Dettlaff after the events of Tesham Mutna, and helps his estranged lover to heal.

Rated-M:

Blood Ties by @andordean (Ciri/Regis, Ciri/Cerys, Ciri/Tankred) 83K words. Friendship/Love, Post-canon, Alternate Ending, Queen of Cintra, Hurt/Comfort, Open Marriage/Polyamory, Complicated Relationships, Intimacy. This is a story of a witcheress and a vampire. A story of a journey, of facing the past, of choosing a future. A story of growth, of healing, a story of friendship. A story of love; of different kinds of love. (I could seriously write an essay on how much I LOVE this fic. It is so beautiful and sensitive, and Dordean has this wonderful respect and insight into who Ciri is; a strong and independent woman who has scars to overcome.)

The Promise of Dawn by @jikanet-tanaka (Gen Fic, no pairing) 11.1K words. Grief/Mourning, Depression, Recovery, Post-B&W. A remorseful, grief-stricken vampire tries to pick up the pieces of his life after doing the unthinkable.

Unsaid by @asparrowsfall (Regis/Geralt) 17.8K words. Soulmates AU, Telepathy, Wings. Based on the book saga: A soulmate AU, where soulmates form a telepathic bond. Geralt meets Regis at Fen Carn, and the story follows through the novel events all the way to Stygga Castle and beyond.

Young Wolves by @dreadelion (Eskel/Geralt) 8.3K words. Transgender Male Character, Friends to Lovers, ILLUSTRATED!! A collection of illustrated ficlets, showing Geralt and Eskel's friendship through the ages, from first meetings to best friends to something more. Part 1 of the Young Wolves series.

A Vampire, an Elf, and a Dragon Walk into a Bar by kaeltale (Regis/The Queen of the Night, Regis & Borch) 5.2K words. Young Regis, Philosophy, Established Relationship. Based on the book saga: Young Emiel and his girlfriend visit Dol Blathanna for a holiday. Things get a bit tense with the local elves, and a golden dragon plays referee. A fun exploration of what would happen if you stick Regis and Borch in a valley together and make them talk.

Rated-E:

Ripple Effect by @andordean (Ciri/Regis) 2.3K words. Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Referenced Past Sexual Assault, Recovery. Despite the tags, it’s very soft. Ciri thought she had gotten over the past, that she had accepted everything that had been done to her, that she’d moved on... Falling apart in front of his eyes, she realised how wrong she had been.

space hollowed out of absence by @merulanoir (Regis/Geralt) 14.1K words. Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Whump, Post-canon, poetry. Regis didn't have enough time to tell Geralt all the things he needed to hear.  He didn't know it would end like this. He didn't know it wouldn't end.  Some wishes, desperate and unclear, are stronger than death.

Forget Me Not series, and We Name Each Other series by @merulanoir (Regis/Geralt, and Dettlaff/Regis/Geralt respectively) Really, Meru’s whole AO3 page is just packed with tons of (smutty) goodness that mostly revolves around Regis/Geralt. (Be sure to keep an eye on their updates, because something DELICIOUS is coming *wink*.)

All That's Mine I Carry With Me by @asparrowsfall (Regis/Geralt) 28.2K words. Post-canon, Alternate Ending, Bottom Geralt, Choose Your Own Ending. A smutty take on that last Regis/Geralt scene in ‘Blood and Wine’— including two Choose Your Own Endgame mini-epilogues!

Misethere by @astolat (Geralt/Emhyr) 46.2K words. Consent Issues, Sex Pollen, Infidelity, War, Seduction. I’m not going to give a summary here, but just know that, before I read this fic, I would never have thought I’d want Emhyr slash in my life. I am ruined. This fic ruined me. Forever. There is no hope.

[clownsgobeepbeep]

World Where Pumpkins Bloom

And now, part 11 of my story! Hurray!!!

Tbh the next part is kind of when things get...good? X3 Gah I hope stuff here is good both writing and story wise heheh, I feel that I may have rushed with the editing so I pray it’s decent

Tagging @grotesquegabby and @post-itpenny because there’s the slightest mention of some of yours uwu

Part Ten /// Part Twelve

“No, no, no! I said that no cake right now! The cake is going to be rolled in when we start to sing!”

“Jells, take a breather and just relax.”

“How am I supposed to relax when they can’t follow simple orders!?”

“You’re starting to sound like Mama Carol.” mentioned Cosmos who had been standing next to his sister who impatiently tapped her foot, both watching as two men rolled the large cake back and away into the kitchen where it came from. “How about you take a break from this? I’ll do the telling around here and you can go change into your costume.”

“It’s too early for that and knowing you, you’ll either get extremely angry or be too chill about things.” Jelly walked away from her brother who then ran after her, walking alongside her. “Ugh! That table is not in the right place!”

Cosmos stopped walking and turned to the table, waving a hand before the table moved with his movements into what he could assume was the correct place. He then followed his sister once again, watching as she walked to the center of the circus they were inside. Right in the center was the main stage, their cousin Cuckoo standing on it as they did their own leading.

“Cuckoo,” Jelly called out to the ringleader who turned to her with a smile. “Where did you put the section for the gifts?”

“That would be right over there Jelly.” Cuckoo motioned to an area that was already adorned to the theme of the party the D’Vitt family had been working on for the past few days. “Jelly, may I recommend something?”

“You may not.” Jelly sweetly smiled at Cuckoo before turning on her heel, Cosmos having parted away. “Do not tell me to sit down and relax.”

“I was actually going to recommend that you lay and rest, but alright.” Cuckoo laughed to themselves as they walked beside Jelly. “Although I must ask, where do you want the cake to go once the moment arrives?”

“I’d say right on the center, which is why I ordered that platform so that we wouldn’t struggle.”

“Ah yes, of course.” nodded Cuckoo. “And may I ask, where is James?”

“He’s at home with the boys. James is practicing the heart warming speech he has for Ula.” Jelly playfully rolled her eyes. “He’s acting like he’s giving her away at her own wedding. I mean, it’s just Ula’s twenty-first birthday which to humans is like becoming an adult and it’s almost like...I’m giving her away at her own wedding…”

“Jelly.”

“What am I going to do Cuckoo?” Jelly turned to the ringleader who attempted to contain a laugh. “Cuckoo, what if my little girl leaves home? What if Schrader asks for our blessing and proposes to her? Tonight!? What if-”

“Jelly, Jelly.” Cuckoo took hold of Jelly’s shoulders to stop her from rambling any further. “Take a deep breath, and think about what you are saying.”

Jelly followed as Cuckoo instructed,releasing her air which was then followed by a sigh.

“Oh Cuckoo...even as a so-called Elder I act like a paranoid human.” Jelly tugged at her hair. “I’m just glad-”

“Mom?”

The pair soon turned to look behind, a smile gracing Cuckoo’s features as Jelly’s showed a sign of subtle, mixed emotions.

“How do I look?”

“Oh, Ula.” Jelly whispered before going towards her daughter who was now in the circus, a pink dress hugging her body as she wore it. “You...you look…”

“Absolutely stunning.” Cuckoo finished for Jelly. “A flower who continues to bloom fantastically.”

“Thank you.” Ula grinned at Cuckoo before giving them a hug. “And thank you for allowing us to hold our party here.”

“Ula, you are family.” Cuckoo carefully pat Ula’s hair, making sure not to mess it up since they knew she had just gotten it done. “There is no need for thank you. Now-”

“Isn’t it too early for you to be in your costume?” Jelly interrupted before biting her lip. “We wouldn’t want your dress getting ruined. Where’s Schrader? He’s not wearing his suit, right? Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be seeing these things! And-”

“Mom.” Ula was the one to now place her hands on Jelly’s shoulders, smiling at her anxious mother. “Please, just relax. I know you want everything to go well, but I just need you to chill.”

“I will chill,” Jelly cleared her throat. “Once you leave the circus and go hang out with Richard. You two are supposed to be at the pier, having a good time while we finish everything up.”

“But mom-”

“No buts! Now go to the pier and have fun.” Jelly shooed Ula who rolled her eyes with a laugh. “And you don’t come back until it’s time!”

“Alright, alright. I won’t come back.” Ula waved at her mother as she walked away, Jelly giving a sigh before Cuckoo placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I know you think she looks as if she were to be married today-”

“Cuckoo, what the hell are you talking about?” Jelly removed Cuckoo’s hand before making her way towards a table. “You’re cuckoo, Cuckoo.”

“Oh Jelly. It is not like I am the Elder of Time or anything.”

“Whatever Cuckoo. Just go and lead the ring or whatever it is you do.”

_____________

“Ula, you’re gonna be laaate!”

“How is she going to be late if she got ready way before us?”

“And it’s her birthday party!”

“Yeah!”

“Boys,” spoke James as he stood in front of a mirror and slipping into a leather jacket. “It is us who will be late if you do not put your shoes on.”

“But daaad!” whined one of his sons. “I don’t wanna wear shoes.”

“Vincent, please.” James turned to the triplets who all sat on their parents’ bed. “Your mother is already waiting for us at the circus. I feel awful about not being there earlier. Now where is my comb?”

“I think I saw Biollante with it.” Hector shrugged as he swung his legs around, slicking his hair back which was being held down by a nice amount of gel. “Maybe they already ate it.”

“Biollante never had it.” came the voice belonging to Ula, everybody turning to the doorway where she walked in with a comb in hand as she was followed by Biollante. “You left it in the kitchen.”

“Oh, Ula.” James gave a bit of a sigh before approaching Ula with a smile to gratefully take the comb in her hands. “Whatever would I do without your darling?”

“Pfft, I dunno.” Ula slightly shrugged before  looking over at her brothers with a smile. “Um, anyways, I just got  a text from Schrader.”

“Is he near?”

“Oh yeah.” Ula nodded as she read the text messages. “So I think I should be leaving now.”

“What about us?” Davy threw himself backwards so that his back was on the bed. “We wanna go in the fancy limo too!”

“Boys.”

“Yes dad.” the triplets all replied with a sigh, their eyes turning over to their sister who gave a small smile.

“Oh! I think that was the door.” Ula pointed behind her after hearing the doorbell ring. “I should go now.”

“Oh, alright.” James nodded before following his daughter out of the room and to the living room where Ula unlocked the front door. “We will see you at the party then.”

“Mkay.”

“Take care and make good decisions.”

“Okay.”

“And-”

“Dad.” Ula interrupted James. “I’m just going on a limo ride and gonna stall until everything at the party is ready. You’re gonna see me there. It’s not like I’m going to prom and you’re staying here at home worrying about nothing.”

“I…” James remained silent before nodding, giving Ula a smile before carefully hugging her in a tight embrace. “I am very sorry I have been treating you this way. I just worry about you.”

“I know, but I’m here.” Ula snuggled into the hug, hiding her face. “I won’t leave you, dad.”

“Alright.” James nodded before finally letting go of Ula, the two smiling at each other before she finally opened the door to revel Schrader in his suit. “Schrader.”

“Mr. Mendax.” Schrader replied with a smile before glancing over at Ula who grinned ear to ear, so he offered an arm. “Miss D’Vitt.”

“Alright dad, we’ll be leaving now to head to the party later.” Ula kissed James’ cheek before accepting Schrader’s arm. “See ya!”

“See you.” James gave a bit of a wave at the pair as they headed away and into the vehicle parked in front of the house, neither noticing the suspicious glare that was now on James’ expression.

“So, what did you do the entire day before coming to pick me up?” Ula turned to Schrader after they both sat inside the limo, her eyes soon widening in surprise when she felt him kiss her all of a sudden.”

“I’m sorry.” he apologized with a laugh once he pulled away. “You just look so beautiful.”

“I look like this every day.” Ula gently hit Schrader’s shoulder before he shook his head. 

“Look like you’re going to a school dance to get a kiss from your destiny lover? I don’t think so.”

“Whatever.” Ula rolled her eyes before snuggling into Schrader who wrapped an arm around her. “So, we picking up the guys?”

“Yeah, right before we actually go to the party.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know; I just know there’s a certain time we need to be there and it’s not exactly soon.”

“Huh.” Ula tapped her chin for a moment, then removing Schrader’s arm before making her way towards the end of the limo where there was a window that allowed her to see the driver. “Hey, how long till we go pick up our friends?”

“About an hour or so.” the driver answered. “Your mother instructed me to give you and your boyfriend either a leisure ride or let you stop wherever you wanted during that time. After that, we pick up your friends and head to the party.”

“Huh. That sounds pretty nifty.” Ula blinked in surprise before turning to Schrader who was too busy looking through the drinks. “Is it possible for you to take us to a restaurant or something like that?”

“It is. What do you have in mind?”

“I need you to go to this address.” Ula presented the driver with a note she had written earlier. “We’ll just spend some time there, maybe until the hour’s over.”

“Sounds great, I’ll take you there right away.”

“Thanks.” Ula nodded with a smile before heading back to where Schrader was seated, the latter casually drinking from a soda can. “Find anything good?”

“I’m surprised I found some Dr. Pepper.” Schrader proudly presented his soda before drinking from it again. “Anyways, where are we headed?”

“Oh, just somewhere nice. Hopefully it’s not crowded or anything.” Ula innocently grinned before Schrader gave her a look. “I know you’ll like it. Just make sure you don’t drink a lot of Dr. Pepper so you can have another drink over there.”

“We’re not going to a bar or anything, right?” Schrader laughed before wrapping an arm around Ula again.

“Of course not, you know I hate those places unless it comes to the good food.” Ula winked before her eyes turned to the driver who was too focused on the road. “I think you’ll like the place. Good food...if I remember correctly.”

“I trust you.” Schrader kissed the side of Ula’s head before looking out one of the windows. “Is that it? A 1950’s diner?”

Ula turned to look out the window as well, nodding with a small smile.

“It sure is.” she fluffed her hair and fixed the accessories in it before the vehicle made a stop, so she approached the driver’s window again. “We’ll be getting down now, I’m not sure if you’d like to come with or want to order something.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll wait here for the two of you. Just take your time.” the driver gave her a reassuring smile. “Go have fun.”

“Thank you.” Ula waved at the driver before she was helped by Schrader out of the vehicle. “Okay. Let’s go get our table.”

“Right.” he nodded before the two made their way to the front door, Schrader opening it and walking in after Ula. “Wow, it’s really not crowded.”

“It’s perfect.” Ula took hold of Schrader’s hand before leading him all the way to one of the booths in the back. “And this booth is perfect.”

“And why is that?”

“It just is.” she reached her hands out to hold Schrader’s again. “I really want a milkshake right now.”

“I think there’ll be plenty at the party.” Schrader looked around the area before turning back to Ula. “But, it’s nice being here. Just the two of us.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Ula nodded. “Nothing like a corny 1950’s date while we dress the part and drink from a single milkshake with two straws.”

“Sounds like the perfect date.” Schrader also nodded before his thumb rubbed on Ula’s knuckles. “You look so beautiful.”

“And you so dashing.” Ula replied. “I love you.”

“Nah, you don’t.” Schrader chuckled out before leaning over the table to plant a kiss onto Ula’s forehead. “But I love you.”

_____________

Once the appropriate time had gone by, the skies had finally grown darker while still having a bright orange coloration to them. Beneath the skies was the circus belonging to Cuckoo who wandered around said tent, a warm smile adorning their features as they greeted guests that arrived.

Cuckoo however also made it their job to keep Jelly at bay, keeping an eye on her as she was put in a “time-out”. After greeting yet another few guests, Cuckoo turned to the table where Jelly was seated, and she directed an insulting motion towards them which merely made them laugh.

“Are you really that upset?” Cuckoo questioned the woman who refused to look at them, turning to face the opposite side with her arms crossed.

“I’m not talking to you.”

“Jelly, you knew I would most certainly not allow you to rush around the circus with stress on your mind.” Cuckoo chuckled as they sat in a chair next to Jelly’s. “Did you not take me seriously?”

“I kind of thought you were joking, yes.” Jelly still did not look at Cuckoo who pat her shoulder. “But let me tell you, you won’t be able to stop me once Ula gets here.”

“Alright, that I can agree on.” Cuckoo nodded before turning to the side, their smile widening. “However, I will resume welcoming guests and attending to every other detail after you have finished greeting Ula.”

“Whatever.”

“So, you might as well take the opportunity.” 

Jelly finally turned to Cuckoo with a frown and a rather confused one. Her nose twitched at the new scent that made her look to the entrance before clasping her hands with a gasp and brightened expression as a new guest arrived.

Cuckoo turned as well, now spotting that new ‘guest’.

“She’s here!” Jelly excitedly exclaimed before her expression turned into one of terror. “She’s here!”

“Jelly-”

“Where’s James!?” Jelly jumped up from her chair before spinnin on the spot, then gasping upon finding her husband standing right in front of her. “Jamie!”

“Jelly, she’s here!” James exclaimed in a whisper as he motioned to the entrance of the circus.

“We need to go to her.” Jelly grabbed his wrist before dragging him through the crowd of applauding party-goers who all now focused on the spotlight on Ula and Shrader. “I already saw her earlier, but she looks so beautiful!”

“You saw her before me!?” James asked in shock before his wife waved a hand at him, both finally stopping once they neared their daughter.

“Ula!” Jelly waved her free arm while slightly bouncing in place, this obviously catching the attention of Ula and Schrader who went towards them. “Oh, look at you two!”

“Mom, dad! Everything looks great!” Ula exclaimed before she was embraced by both of her parents. “I can’t believe you guys did all of this!”

“Anything for our tiny clown.” James booped Ula’s nose after the three parted away. “Schrader, you also look nice. The slicked hair suits you.”

“Thank you.” Schrader bowed his head momentarily before turning to Ula.

“And wow, mom.” Ula laughed as she looked her mother up and down. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear pants, especially such tight ones!”

“They look good, huh?” Jelly showed off her legs.

“Very.” James nodded before he got a small slap from Jelly on the arm.

“Alright you two, now that you and your friends are all here you should go and sit down. We’ll make some announcements later and such, then we can get to dancing.” Jelly grinned in excitement with some soft clapping. “I am so very excited.”

“Me too!” Ula also clapped before taking Schrader’s arm and locking hers into it. “Well, if you guys don’t mind, Schrader and I are gonna go dance!”

“Sounds good.” Jelly nodded, then nudging James’ side before he also nodded.

“Yes, we do not mind at all.” James smiled at Ula who also nodded, then rushing away with Schrader. “I hope they do not ditch the party.”

“Ula would never do that, especially after how hard we worked on making all this happen.” Jelly planted a peck onto James’ lips before walking away, surprisingly in a calm manner.

As James was left alone, he gave one more suspicious look at Ula and Schrader who were already on the dance floor. Soon enough, James made his way out and towards his wife.

_____________

“So,” Ula breathed out as she slow danced with Schrader, her head bowed down as she looked at their feet. “How are we gonna do this?”

“Well,” Schrader shrugged before pulling Ula closer as he also spoke quietly. “We gotta get their attention.”

“I think I know how to do just that.” Ula added before finally looking up at him. “We’ll have to wait just a little longer.”

Time had gone by, hours having already passed as the pair felt that the party was never ending. They had decided to join each other in yet another slow dance, this one being different from the rest that had been filled with loving gazes ad kisses here and there.

“I just…” Ula sighed. “I feel so numb right now.”

“I know, I get it.”

“I’m scared Schrader.”

“There’s no reason for you to be scared.” Schrader forced a comforting smile upon his features as he brought a hand up to Ula’s cheek. “I’m...I’m here for you.”

“No...you’re not.” Ula shook her head, her eyes blinking away what she could tell were tears. “You can’t be.”

“Ula.” Schrader reached out to hold her hand. “Ula...I know this is hard to believe, but you have to believe me.”

“I want to...b-but how can you be talking to me?” Ula felt her lip quiver as she took her hand away from Schrader. “I, I’m so confused...how...I-”

“I know, I know. Just...let me explain everything.” Schrader attempted to calm her down.

Ula’s night had been going well. It had been fantastic, even after a small mistake that took place in a circus that in no way belonged to Cuckoo but was in fact their rival in their eyes. Yet now, Ula was seated back on the couch of her living room where she had left a slumbering Schrader who was now wide awake. She didn’t want to believe that just a few minutes ago she had been conversing with a cat, and one who told her quite the unbelievable story she did not want to believe. 

The cat told her to speak to Schrader, and that was exactly what Ula did...never expecting him too add on to the feline’s tale.

“How did you die?” Ula spoke before Schrader was able to, turning to him once she wiped away stray tears. “And if you’re really dead and not playing some fucked up joke, how is it that you’re talking to me?”

“Ula, I would never do something like that to you.” Schrader took her hands into his again. “I died after your birthday party. You were attacked by the daughter of...Ryder and Missy.”

“What?” Ula blinked a few more times, this time with even more disbelief.

“I’ll get to explaining that other part later. Right now, I just need you to know that their daughter killed me. Grabbed my own mallet and…” Schrader stopped himself, feeling a pain course through his head. “She...she smashed my head into bits and-”

“Are you here because you too got a favor from the Elders or something.” Ula interrupted with an empty tone, her face plain and numb as could be.

“Conllium, yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?”

“I had to make sure I wasn’t suspicious. Couldn’t blow my cover immediately since there are eyes and ears everywhere.”

“So...you’re alive here...but dead in reality…”

“...yes.”

“And I have a boyfriend who’s not you because you and I broke up before that.”

“Yeah…”

“What’s his name?”

“Atlas.” Schrader breathed out, not even sure what emotions he was feeling in that moment. “You’re...you’re childhood best friends.”

“How’s he look?”

“He’s got dark brown hair, green eyes, glasses. Pretty damn tall but still shorter than me. Has antlers coming out of his head ‘cause he’s a deer dude.” Schrader gave a bit of a laugh, still trying to comfort Ula. “And if I do say so myself, pretty good looking guy. Guess you do know how to pick them.”

To Schrader’s surprise yet gratitude, this was enough to make Ula smile a bit.

“However, Dante and the twins say that he looks like a nerd. That’s their nickname for him.”

“They’re so mean.” Ula quietly giggled to herself, right before her smile faltered and turned back into a frown. “But if he was my boyfriend and I really loved him...how did I forget about him?”

“You didn’t forget him. You were forced to;you were forced to forget every detail of your life so that you could feel that you belong in this world.” Schrader stated before looking down with a sigh.    “Just how...you were forced to love me again.”

“Schrader-”

“That’s not important right now.” Schrader shook his head. “What matters is that I tell you everything about your reality, and that we figure out how to get out of here.”

“Schrader,”

“Maybe we need to-”

“Schrader.” Ula spoke louder before Schrader looked at her, realizing that they were still on the dancefloor. “Schrader,”

“Yeah?”

“Schrader,” Ula started again before placing both of her hands on Schrader’s cheeks, biting her lip as she blinked away tears she would not allow to escape. “You have such a beautiful smile.”

“Ula-”

“Please. Just, never stop smiling.” she continued before pressing her forehead against Schrader’s. “I love you.”

“No.” he shook his head after grabbing Ula’s arms, preventing her from leaning in anymore towards his lips. “You don’t.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Schrader released Ula’s arms and she lowered them, the latter biting her lip as she felt Schrader kiss her forehead.

“But even death, I really love you.”

“Ray-”

“Ula!~” Jelly’s voice sounded from the side, prompting the pair to turn and see just the woman approaching them. “Schrader! It’s time to cut the cake!~”

“Already?” Ula turned to look at the large clock in the circus, but shock came to her upon the realization that there was no clock in sight. “What time is it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jelly waved a hand before grabbing Ula’s hand, dragging her through and off the dancefloor until reaching the bottom of the center stage. “Alright, now let’s get you ready Your father should be here any minute.”

“Jelly.” James was now heard, so the girls turned around to see James who smiled at them both. “Ula, ready to cut the cake darling?”

“Of course.” Ula nodded. “But I want Schader up there with us too.”

“Oh yes of course! We must have lost him on the way here.” Jelly chuckled before Schraer was finally in their presence. “There he is! Now let’s go up on the stage.

“Ready?” Ula whispered to Schrader who nodded, both holding hands rather tightly.

“I guess.”

“May I have everybody’s attention please?” Jelly spoke into her microphone she was handed, the music now stopping as everybody turned to her. “I believe that it is now time to sing Happy Birthday to the birthday girl.~”

Everybody’s attention was now on Ula who stood in the center, her siblings, parents and Schrader standing beside her. All eyes watched as from one side of the stage, two workers rolled in a table with a large cake that made Ula’s eyes widen and her jaw drop. The pumpkin at the very top was then lit up, right before everybody began to sing to Ula who felt her eyes swell with tears. Once done, Ula leaned in to blow the candle out before everybody clapped and Ula embraced her family, then being released as she was handed a large kitchen knife to cut the cake.

Cake slices were distributed to all the guests who focused on their new treats,. However, their attention was once again grabbed once a tapping into the microphone was heard. They all turned, as did Ula and those near her, everybody now staring at James who held the microphone and neared the girl.

“Lily.” he started before clearing his throat, a hand going up to slick his hair back despite it already being styled in such a way. “As your father, I have a few words I would like to speak to you.”

“Dad?”

You know I would do anything for you.” James gently squeezed Ula’s hand. “Lily, you...you have grown into such a beautiful, little lady.”

“Oh, dad...” Ula whispered, her eyes glancing down at  her thumbs which she twiddle, feeling a knot in the pit of her stomach. Besides that, there was a pain in her head just like every single other time something familiar struck her, and she very well knew these words had some kind of familiarity to them.

“What I am trying to say Lily, is that...I am so, very proud of you. Without knowing it,you gave me a chance to better myself and turn into who I am today. You allowed me to become your father, the father of a very talented, intelligent, beautiful, young woman who I thank for such acts of kindness.” James looked at Ula who bit her lip in order to prevent herself from showing too much emotion that she would have liked. “Anybody is fortunate to have you in their life Lily, I know I am. And as I mentioned before, you have grown into such a lady that I have grown to be very proud of.”

“Oh, dad.” Ula tried her hardest to hide what she felt, but even if she knew what she heard was all a figment of her imagination...it resonate deep within her. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“I only tell the truth.” James chuckled before using a handkerchief to softly wipe Ula’s eyes. “You deserve all the good in the world. You are such a strong and courageous one and you stand back up no matter how many times you fall. You are such an admirable lady Lily.”

“J...dad…”

“I just need you to know these things, just in case you ever forget darling. I am so glad that I was given the chance to this life, and especially to share it with you as you grow and continue to bloom into the wondrous flower that you are.” James smiled at Ula who accepted the handkerchief he offered to wipe her eyes again. “I know that the night is coming to an end, but I wish you a Happy Birthday.”

Ula then pulled herself away from James to wipe her eyes that finally poured out tears, right before she felt him pull her into a hug that she instantly returned. The girl buried her face into him until they eventually pulled away, James wiping her eyes once again.

“Thank you J...dad.” Ula wiped her eyes one last time. “That...that was very sweet ...I'm so glad...I...I don’t even know what to say….”

“That is alright.” James tucked a strand of Ula’s hair behind her ear. “You do not need to say anything.”

“No.” Ula shook her head before taking the microphone out of his hand. “There is something I need to say.”

Ula looked at both of her parents who each gave her smiles, awaiting the heartfelt speech Ula must have prepared. She then glanced over at Schrader who furrowed his eyebrows at her, motioning as if to ask what she was planning.

“Tonight has been wonderful, probably one of the best nights of my life.” Ula began, roughly clutching onto the microphone she spoke into. “But this is not my life.”

Jelly and James turned to each other, completely perplexed before Jelly stepped towards Ula who got away.

“This is just some illusion. It’s not real and I realize that now.” she told everybody before looking over at James. “You are...you are not my dad...you...you’re just a bunch of pure imagination.”

“Ula, what is going on?” Jelly whispered through grit teeth.

“My dad’s name is Lennie Blueblood and he’s the father of my siblings Davey and Cordelia. My pet is an alien axolotl named Mana, and he has a family of his own. My uncle Cosmos is married to a man named Vespers and they have three kids. My uncle Pepper is married to a woman named Belinda and they have kids like rabbits would. My mom’s best friend is my aunt Maggie who is married to Billy.My best friend is named Amaranthus and I couldn’t stand her when we first met, but I love her like a sister despite her being my cousin. And my-” Ula then stopped herself before looking over at Schrader again, though he made sure to turn away. “My boyfriend’s name is Atlas. That’s my life, my reality and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Ula…” Jelly pressured as she attempted to grab the microphone, Ula tearing her hand and the microphone away which made Jelly frown deeply.

“And now that I have everybody’s attention, I have one more thing to say.” Ula took a deep breath before finally speaking again. “Fuck you Cantarella, you useless piece of shit.”

In that moment, Ula saw as the lights in the circus all turned off to create a dark atmosphere that made her clench her fists. She felt as Schrader stood next to her and grabbed her hand, both then seeing as a series of pink lights turned on in the darkness.

“What’s with the pink lights?” Ula whispered before feeling Schrader securely dug his fingers into her arm.

“Those aren’t pink lights.” he took a step back, taking Ula with him as they realized the pink was everywhere. “They’re eyes.”

“I think it’s about time we ditch the party.”

“Yeah.” Schrader nodded before he and Ula made a run for it, jumping off the stage and kicking some guests on the way down before pushing through everybody that attempted to stop them. “May I ask what your plan even is!?”

“I just knew that we need to get everybody’s attention but other than that, my mind’s blank!” Ula exclaimed  before stopping in her tracks. “Wait!”

“No time for waiting!” Schrader grabbed her by the wrist in an attempt to drag her away from the crowd of pink eyed shadows that chased after them. “They’re going to get us!”

“No, wait! I need the cake knife!”

“Knife!? What for!?”

“I saw this in an episode of Batman: The Animated Series!”

“Ula!” Schrader groaned before picking her up, running even faster before they finally got out of the circus and lost the others. “I know this is all fake but this isn’t some hero television show!”

“I know, I know!” Ula replied, then whispering once Schrader hid behind a tree with Ula still in his arms. “But this stuff always works in movies and shows, I’ve seen it more than once. But there’s this episode with the Mad Hatter, and-”

“Ula…!”

“Oh! I’ll get the knife myself!” Ula removed herself from Schrader’s arms, hopping down and creating a rabbit hole in the ground which she jumped into. “Come on!”

Schrader searched the area for a moment, making sure nobody else was near, then jumping into the hole that lead him and Ula back into the circus. He remained silent as did the entire circus, the only sound being the music that ever so softly played quite ominously in the darkness.

“This way.” he felt Ula grab his wrist, the two walking over to the stage before Schrader helped Ula climb onto it. However, before he too was able to get on, the lights in the circus all turned on and Schrader was pulled back by arms grabbing him from every side.

“Schrader!” Ula exclaimed before rushing towards the cake, grabbing the large knife that she held close to her. Her eyes widened at the sight that was Schrader being held down by the hands of her parents and brothers that all glared at her with pink eyes.

“Oh shit…” she muttered once realizing that she was actually surrounded by pink eyes everywhere. “Oh shit, shit, shit.”

“Put the knife down.” commanded her mother in a distorted voice, her frown then turning into a sweet smile. “Please my little oyster, put the knife down.”

“No!”

“This is all but a grave mistake.” James commented as his nails dug into Schrader. “Please, let us love you.”

“No.” Ula shook her head as she now pointed the knife at them. “Fuck you.”

“Don’t you love us Ula?” the triplets asked with innocent voices. “We love you, big sister!”

“Fuck off!”

“Don’t speak to your brothers with such foul language.” Jelly frowned one again, pressing her sharp, elongated nails against Schrader’s throat. “Or I’ll kill him.”

“And we’ll especially kill him if you don’t stay with us.” the triplets nodded as their nails grew into claws as well.

“You have always wanted a father, correct?” James smiled at Ula who’s glare started to falter. “Here I am darling.”

“D...dad…” Ula started to lower the knife, then shaking her head as she slashed at the air. “You’re not my dad! Lennie is!”

At this, James gave a glare before turning to look at Schrader who struggled to get out of the family’s grip. 

“If you don’t stay with us, we’ll kill him.” James threatened, everybody then hearing as Ula gave a laugh.

“Do it.” Ula continued to laugh. “Do it, asshole.”

“Ula.” Schrader breathed out as he glanced down at Jelly’s and the triplets’ claws. “What are you doing?”

“Trust me.” Ula mouthed to Schader before her eyes went back to James. “Go ahead and kill him. I bet you won’t do it.”

James and the others scowled at Ula, then turning to Schrader before claws were dug and slashed into him. Ula made sure to turn away at the sight, not wanting to relive the memory of Schrader dying, even if she didn’t remember the first one.

“And now,” Ula shut her eyes as she gripped onto the knife very tightly. Her eyes opened for one last time before she glanced at James and despite her determination, Ula felt a twinge of pain in her chest.

“Goodbye.”

“Ula, don’t!” James exclaimed before plunging the knife right into her back, choking out a breath of air before she cut a straight line down.

[tuaparadis]

Tag, You’re It

–  Umbrella Academy one-shot  | Dave x Klaus –  Summary: Dating in Vietnam was never easy. Klaus and Dave have to watch out for everything, but thankfully they know their way around the system. Things escalate quickly and the only witness is the moon. –  Notes: I had this idea that popped in my head about Klaus and Dave switching their dog tags as an alternative to wedding rings, and it slowly escalated from there. I hope you enjoy! –  Word Count: 11K+ –  Warnings: Spoilers, Implied Sexual Intercourse, Gore  I recommend reading this on AO3, it’s probably better for your eyes. ___

It had been a total of 5 months since Klaus landed in good ol’ Nam only wearing a bloody towel and his coat, clutching a neat black briefcase to his chest, and oh boy, has it been one hell of a roller coaster. Not like a lot of roller coasters existed back in the ’60s anyway. It was weird for dear old Klaus’ case, however. Despite having to hold a gun close to his chest just to make sure he made it back to camp alive, drenched in sweat, mud, and shit, despite not having easy access to drugs, despite how terrifying it was, how he knew that one day he could easily be shot due to the lack of the necessary training but being forced in the army anyway, he still preferred it over the academy in a way.

Because at least here, in Vietnam, he actually mattered to someone who wasn’t his dead brother. Someone actually gave a shit about his well-being and didn’t scold him for all his bullshit. 

Dave.

Dave cared. Dave loved Klaus and despite how crazy it was, he had always been there from day one to help him out. It was nice, having someone around who actually meant what they said. They quickly became close friends and no sooner had two months passed than it turned into something more, which kind of surprised both of them. Well, to be fair, Klaus did kind of have his eye on him ever since he saw him in his cot when he first showed up. It was kind of silly, how he literally stayed because he found a pretty boy in the Vietnam fucking war. Out of all the insane last-minute decisions he’s made, this one took the cake. What he didn’t expect was how Dave actually returned those feelings and Klaus honestly couldn’t have been happier. Whenever the soldier was around, all his worries went away just like that, as if God had snapped her fingers.

Of course, they had to watch out for… everything, really. They couldn’t just be out in public, holding hands like the two cute little soldiers they were. They almost never got the chance to talk to each other in private and had to act like friends and nothing more in front of everybody else. At least they could always sit next to each other in the bus or when they and their comrades were playing cards, around the campfire or inside their tents. They were together all the time and nobody could possibly separate them, hell, even their friends would joke about them always touching knees while sitting next to one another. It’s not like they could judge them though, everybody had different coping mechanisms about the whole war. That’s what everyone thought the whole never leaving each other’s side thing was about, which was true technically. 

So yeah, Dave and Klaus never got alone time together. Which, really sucked, to say the least. The only times they could actually spend together without raising eyebrows was when all the soldiers were sent to town for a couple of days. That was pretty much how Klaus and Dave got together in the first place. God, that was such a good time. The R&R wasn’t a weekly thing though, sadly. 

If they could only share a kiss once every few months, their heads would have exploded by now.

Thank the lord they found a loophole a few months ago. Turns out their good ol’ friend Conny had figured out the two had a thing from the start. You seriously thought nobody knew? It’s so obvious! He said he didn’t have a problem with gay people and wouldn’t tell on them. What’s even better was that he was on watch every Wednesday night and would turn a blind eye if they snuck out to do what God forbid or whatever. 

“What’s so bad about gay people anyway? It’s not like they hurt anyone. And yeah, you guys probably want to spend time together. Can’t really argue with that, so you can go out there and do whatever, I don’t care. Just come back alive and don’t wake anyone up.” 

God bless him.

So, every Wednesday, with Conny on watch, the two would get out of their tent and quietly run away from camp where their favorite spot next to a lake waited for them. As much as they wanted to be away from everybody, it was much too dangerous to escape further into the jungle at a time like this without a squad, but at least it was far enough so nobody could see or hear them.

And that’s where they were, laying on their backs and holding each other’s hand like their lives depended on it. 

Because they did. 

And Klaus could only think back to all the times Dave was this close to him. 

___

A Friday and a weekend for all the soldiers to do whatever the fuck they wanted. Some soldiers managed on the hope alone of going back to their families after the slim chance of winning the war. And those with no family or dreams had, well, those three days. It was the only way to keep them entertained and to lift their spirits knowing they could die tomorrow.

Klaus was no stranger to a little bit of fun. Back in 2019, it was everyday life for him, but after what he went through over the past two months of serving, boy, was he looking forward to those days too. 

It didn’t matter if he knew they lost the war in the end, these three days would save him from the jungle. Three days of not having to worry about a leaf moving behind him, his uniform from practically being stuck to his skin from sweat and mud, his scabs and scars from a few weeks back starting to bleed again out of nowhere thanks to the lightest of a scratch against the branches he would push out of his way. Three days of being able to drink something that wasn’t muddy water, or eat something other than conserved food, not to mention being able to take something more than military go pills.

Three days of bliss. Three days of relaxation, music and probably sex. Sounds like a fun time, pop a pill or two and he’d be good to go. And Dave! How could he forget about Dave?

To be fair it’s not like they were dating or anything of the sort. But Klaus was really into him and Dave definitely felt something for him back. Klaus would drag his fingers across his arm to easily turn the soldier bright red from embarrassment in seconds, they almost had a moment too when Dave comforted him after waking up from a bad dream. 

But that’s a story for another time. 

Hardly an hour had passed after the bus pulled up to Saigon and everyone was already looking for a place to eat, or booking a room in one of those shitty motels, or getting drunk off their minds. It was easy to guess where Klaus was.

Not exactly what he had hoped for, but him, Dave, and two of their friends, Murphy and Sean, decided they all should go to the biggest bar they could find to celebrate being alive that day, maybe find some girls to sleep with as a bonus. Them all going together didn’t necessarily mean they wanted to talk about anything, figured the alcohol would do its work and they’d be suddenly laughing at nothing. And that’s what happened.

Only a few drinks in and everybody was drunk as a skunk, sooner or later Sean and Murphy got lost in a sea of people in the bar as everybody was up and dancing. Klaus and Dave were chugging down whatever it was that was in their shot glasses, going back on the dance floor and bumping into each other like toddlers, then more alcohol, the burning down his throat was much too familiar to Klaus, and then back on their feet and repeat.

Dave led Klaus a little further from everybody else, in the back of the bar where the door that was previously there was replaced by beaded curtains. Drinks still in their hands and dorky smiles on their faces, they stared at each other.

“This is fucking great,” Dave breathed out with a chuckle, looking at the ceiling, then back down at his drink and then turning to face Klaus again. “You’re a lot of fun, Klaus.”

“Ahh, you know it, Davey.” Klaus leaned his head against the wall, making circular motions with the hand he was holding his drink with, mixing it. He wasn’t as drunk as the actual mess he could have been at a time like this, or as wasted as Dave right there, but he was still pretty out of his mind. When wasn’t he?

“Y’know-” Dave started. “Your eyes are a labyrinth.”

Klaus grinned, tossing his head back as he straight up inhaled what was left in his glass. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“Every time I look at you I get lost in them.”

Wow. He really went for it.

It caught Klaus off guard nonetheless, the smile never leaving his face. He didn’t really think Dave would be a pick-up line kind of guy. Especially him, who would just get flustered every time Klaus teased him about something. Maybe it was just the alcohol talking. Yeah, maybe that was it. “I think I’m just gonna take that gin off your hands,” Klaus replied, still grinning lively, kind of avoiding the answer the other male gave to him and reaching out of for Dave’s glass. 

“No, seriously.” Dave looked at him in the eyes more intensely than before, if that was possible. “Your eyes are really beautiful. You are- really beautiful, Klaus,” he mumbled, his words interrupted by a hiccup mid-sentence. It was obvious it wasn’t just the alcohol, though. 

Klaus could feel the air getting a little bit hotter, he was sure Dave felt it too. A compliment? He hadn’t gotten a genuine compliment from anybody before, only the fake ones in the heat of the moment from the people giving him a fun time when he needed money for a place to sleep in, or drugs. It was always one of the two, never food or anything else. Did he mention he was a drug addict? And a sex addict? And yeah, the air was definitely getting a little bit hotter. Was it because of random memories coming back to him, or was it, Dave? He couldn’t tell. Can someone turn on the fan, please?

“I don’t want to hurt you, Davey,” Klaus said looking away from Dave, despite how much he wanted to keep looking at him and appreciate every single detail there was to him and his stupidly beautiful face. “I’m insane.”

Dave reached out with his free hand, gently cupping Klaus’ cheek and leading his eyes back to him. He was smiling.

“Maybe I’m insane too.”

Their lips met.

Dave kissed him. He wanted to pull away before he lost himself in his grip, but he couldn’t. Klaus had been waiting for this moment for what, two months now? And it felt right, god , it felt so right. They soon closed the gap between them, the slightly taller man pinning Klaus against the wall they were previously leaning on. It was a slow, but passionate kiss and their lips barely stopped touching.

Dave could taste it all. The gin, the Jack Rose they had earlier, the cigarettes, everything. Klaus tasted so good; he loved it. He had already dropped his shot glass and slithered his hand around Klaus’ waist, holding him closer as they fell deeper into the kiss. As much as Dave wanted to keep him there under him and kiss him senseless, they were in the corner of a public bar and who knew if they’d been seen by someone already. He pulled away slightly, far away enough to be able to speak but close enough to feel Klaus’ shaky breath on his lips. 

“Let’s get outta here, yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Next thing they knew, they were paying for a room in one of those shitty hotels, two beds please,  as if they were really planning on using both.

Everyone knows what happened that night. 

Seriously, they were so loud, possibly everyone on the same floor heard them, not like they could possibly give another fuck. They wanted this, they needed this. It was only right, just like the kiss. 

___

Klaus’ back was against Dave’s chest, the sheets covering them from their hips all the way down to their feet. They sure gave each other a workout earlier, to say the least. Klaus finally managed to get a good night’s rest, away from the reek of death like back in the jungle. Or so he thought.

A few hours of peaceful sleep was all he wanted, but of course, the ghosts wouldn’t let him off that easy. Klaus’ blood started to run cold, images of them flashing in the back of his head. And no sooner had the nightmare started than he was back in that place. Back in the mausoleum.

People, covered in blood and guts, clothes ripped, glass and knives sticking out of their bodies as they screamed his name repeatedly. Small children letting out ugly sobs and searching for their parents, not understanding what’s going on. They probably didn’t even know they were already dead. A middle-aged man with his eyes gouged out and his fingernails ripped off, an old lady with half her face burnt off, the list of disgusting things he had seen there went on. And they were all coming back for him, in his dream. They never went away.

“Klaus.” Shut up.

“Klaus help us.” Shut up shut up shut up. “Klaus... KLAUS!”

Stop it. 

“Bitte um Hilfe!” “помоги!” Stop. Please. “KLAUS-”

“Stop saying my NAME-”

Screaming bloody murder, he sat up suddenly, his eyes as wide as the sky, filled with pure terror, as tears started streaming down his face. His hyperventilating and previous scream was enough to wake Dave up in a matter of seconds.

“..Klaus?”

Dave’s eyes could barely be held open, but he forced himself awake for Klaus anyway. He sat up with a groan, wrapping his arms around Klaus’ waist slowly, not wanting to scare him with the sudden touch. It wasn’t unusual for Klaus to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, or for anyone else, really. It had happened countless times before, and Klaus always managed to wake everybody else in their tent up as well. That was one of the reasons Klaus changed tents a few times, he kept getting complaints and the others just wanted to sleep peacefully for once. He really couldn’t argue with that. At least he ended up in the tent Dave’s cot was again.

Everyone had their own fucked up shit to deal with, it’s not like they could scold Klaus for having nightmares, he wasn’t the only one with that problem. His case was a little bit different though. Everybody assumed he was mental or something, always zoning out in the middle of conversations just to stare at a random direction wearing a face of disgust and terror. Not to mention he just showed up out of the blue one night, covered in blood and only wearing a towel. 

Klaus tried to catch his breath, gulping down the saliva building in the back of his throat, as he lay back down with Dave on the bed, turning on his side, his arms still around him. “Klaus, it’s okay... I’m here. It’s okay, you’re okay,” Dave kept whispering comforting words in his ear, peppering his neck and shoulder blade with kisses to calm him down. Klaus practically clawed on Dave’s arms, not turning to face him yet. “Hey... Look at me.”

Klaus slowly turned to the side to face the man in front of him, trying to keep sobs from escaping his throat. “It’s okay. You’re safe,” Dave whispered, a sympathetic look on his eyes.

“You can let them out.”

And he did. Klaus started sobbing as soon as those words came out of his mouth, burying his face in Dave’s neck. He didn’t care how ugly his cries sounded, he couldn’t take it anymore. All Dave could do was hold him and brush his hand through his hair softly, telling him it was going to be okay and repeating himself to let Klaus know he meant it. They spent the next couple of minutes like that, holding onto each other tightly until Klaus wasn’t as tense and was finally able to breathe properly. 

Dave brushed his hand against his cheek, pulling his head up to kiss him on the lips quickly. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dave asked as softly as he could. Klaus sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder before mumbling something like Not much to talk about, Davey , ready to fall asleep in that position. 

“You don’t have to shut me out like everybody else, Klaus. You know I’m here for you.” And it’s true, all Dave had been was understanding, patient. He never judged Klaus for anything, and only wanted to help him. He cared. 

Well, I was adopted by a billionaire along with 6 other kids and I have superpowers that allow me to see and talk to the dead. The scowl I call dad would lock me up in a mausoleum around 17 years ago, did I mention I’m from the future and I came here using a time-traveling briefcase? Yeah, that wouldn’t really work. As much as Klaus hated not telling Dave the whole truth about him, he was sure he would scare him off if he led with that. It was too soon, much too soon. 

“I see things.” 

That would work for now. “I... I see things that aren’t there. Kind of like hallucinations but they’re so real. They’re so real and no matter what I do I always see them.” Klaus didn’t say anything about it being an actual power, that would have been a tough one to explain and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for unpacking all of that. He didn’t realize he had started crying again until Dave pulled him closer to his chest, no signs of letting go.

“I’ve got you. I won’t let them near you while I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“..Promise?”

“Yeah. Promise.”

Klaus gave him a sad smile, getting comfortable in his embrace as he shivered slightly, trying to fall back asleep but Dave noticed Klaus’ hesitation. Back in the tents, Klaus would always stare outside from the creak of the door flap when there was a campfire outside. His nightmares didn’t get him when he did that. Then it hit him.

“Do you want me to keep the lights on?” He asked in his gentle voice, pushing the hair out of Klaus’ face. He responded with a simple nod, nuzzling closer and trying to take as much body heat from Dave as he could. Dave, wanting to make sure nothing would keep Klaus from sleeping again, turned on the small lamp that was on the nightstand to light the room up just slightly. A few minutes later, with only each other in their arms, they drifted back to sleep.

___

“So... hit me if I’m wrong, but you and your siblings have superpowers?”

It was Klaus’ third month in Vietnam, about one month since he and Dave started dating. Klaus really didn’t expect to open up about himself and his family, especially to somebody he hadn’t known for that long, but it had already been his longest relationship this far and Dave somehow managed to get him to talk. 

“Yup! Adopted siblings, might I add.” 

It was hard to describe what Dave was thinking by the expression he was wearing. It was a look of genuine confusion, but that didn’t stop him from asking questions. “Right, you and- how many siblings did you say you have?” 

“Six! Four brothers and two sisters.” They were sitting in their usual spot next to the lake, the shining stars being the only source of light that allowed them to look at each other. It wasn’t really as dark as it normally was, so that was a plus.

“Four brothers and two- Right, right. Okay.” Dave pursed his lips for a moment, before opening his mouth to ask another question. Did he believe Klaus? Did he genuinely think he was being truthful? He honestly didn’t know himself, but Dave knew they wouldn’t just lie to one another. “And you can talk to the dead?”

“Mhm,” Klaus hummed in response, clicking his tongue about to add something to it. “Well, they kind of talk to me, if you’d like. They don’t have an on and off switch, that’s if you don’t count the drugs.” He snickered, looking up in the sky, using his arms as a stand.

“... Do you also see like, demons? Or is that not a thing?”

So, Dave was one curious little cat with a whole fantasy in his head. Who knew! “Judging by how ugly some of them are, they might as well be. So, yeah, I guess?” Klaus turned to look at Dave, a dorky smile on his face that didn’t really look as genuine as before. 

There was a pause from both of them there. Dave moved a little bit closer to him, keeping his voice down as if he was scared that someone would hear. They were all alone though! In this huge, empty, dark space where nobody could find them. Maybe he thought the ghosts would hear him?

“Have you ever seen like... the devil?”

Klaus let out a dramatic gasp, turning his head at the night sky and then back at him. “My my Davey! Aren’t you full of questions?” He giggled, fixing his pose so they could look at each other better. “Yeah. I have.”

“Wait. Seriously?” Dave’s eyes widened, kind of like those models when they won a competition in fake reality shows.

Klaus brought a lighter to his mouth to light the cigarette that was hanging from his lips. “Yeah, ‘m telling you. My brothers and sisters could see him too.” He took a long drag, inhaling all the chemicals like they were nothing, took it out of his mouth and let it hang on his fingertips. 

“Growing up we called him Dad.”

Dave shut up and looked at the ground, not sure what he was supposed to say. He probably just reminded Klaus some horrible childhood memories and it was entirely his fault or being too curious. Curiosity really did the kill the cat after all. 

“What’s the matter, Davey?” Klaus placed his hand on Dave’s thigh to grab his attention. “Don’t feel bad for me. Yeah, my dad was a sadistic prick but that shouldn’t stop you from asking more questions if you have any.” He gave him a genuine smile this time, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. 

He couldn’t help himself, he just had to ask. “Are there any here right now?”

Klaus scooted closer to him, passing him the cigarette which he gladly accepted. “Nah. They go away when I’m with you most of the time. They can’t do anything to me when you’re here. Just like you promised!” He exclaimed, booping his boyfriend on the nose.

Dave couldn’t help but chuckle and look into his eyes while bringing their hands up to his lips and kissing the back of Klaus’ hand sweetly. Those innocent little kisses were what drove Klaus crazy, considering he had never had those by any of his ex-lovers before. “Can you promise me something?”

“Mmyes, darling?”

“Stay sober.” That was the last Klaus was expecting to hear from him.

“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, almost forming a childish pout. Did he really blame him for asking that though?

“I know you said the drugs help keep the dead at bay, but I’m here and I won’t ever leave your side. I won’t let them hurt you,” Dave tried to explain himself better. “You don’t have to keep putting that stuff in your system. I like it when you’re sober after all, and you should too.”

Klaus sighed deeply, taking a moment to reply. “Well, I guess if you actually help in keeping them away then... Then I guess there’s nothing to worry about.” He took the cigarette from Dave’s hand to take another drag. “Okay. For you, I guess.” 

Would he really be able to stop taking drugs completely just because Dave asked him to do so? He doubted it. But one thing he knew was that he had never ever felt this way about someone before, he knew Dave was special from the start. And no matter how much withdrawal sucked, no matter how hard it was going to be for him and no matter how much craving he would have to go through, he knew he’d try. 

___

Dave was a great listener and a very good advisor. He would sit down and listen to what Klaus had to say and try to help him as best as he possibly could. He was never the one to talk about his own problems, though. It’d been about a month ever since he had found out about Klaus’ powers and family and he just wanted to be there for him and him only. He was always the one to listen. It wasn’t Klaus’ fault at all, it was all his. He just chose not to talk about things concerning him, he much preferred listening to Klaus babble about his childhood than him sharing things from his own. 

It wasn’t because he was traumatized about his younger years like Klaus was, he just didn’t think much of them and considered them unimportant. 

However, that’s not how Klaus felt. So there they were, in their usual spot, Klaus begging him to share at least something about his childhood. “Come ooon, Baby Dave must have made all the other mommies jealous n’ Mama Dave must’ve been super proud of you!”

“Eh, I wouldn’t count on it,” Dave replied, sitting up from the grass and letting his hands fall on his lap.

“Eh? Why not?” Klaus copied Dave, sitting up next to him and looking at him like a lost puppy.

“There’s not much to say, honestly. It’s just-” He interrupted himself with a sigh. “My childhood wasn’t great. It wasn’t bad or anything compared to yours, - no offense - it was just, sad, I guess?”

“Oh? Do tell.” Klaus bumped into his shoulder playfully, trying to keep the negative atmosphere away. Dave exhaled deeply, childhood memories coming back to him slowly. 

“I’ll be honest with you when I say I don’t remember all that much. I lived with my mom and sister in a small cottage just outside of town, in a relatively quiet neighborhood. Everyone was pretty great, actually. We never really had trouble with anyone, except my dad.” Dave sighed, shaking his head to himself. 

“My mom kicked him out of the house when I was six, she found out he was cheating and the only memory of my dad is him yelling at my mom right before he left us forever basically. I can’t just shit on my dad though, he was actually the one that cared about us. My mom- she wasn’t really the loving mother you’d expect. She was just someone who would cook us food, wash our clothes, take us to school and put us to bed. No matter how hard we tried to get her attention, it was like she wasn’t interested.” 

He hadn’t realized but he was gripping Klaus’ hand way too tightly. Klaus hadn’t said anything about it though, whatever made Dave feel better, even though it was starting to hurt a little. “When I realized I was gay, I figured I was going to keep it to myself forever, since, y’ know, you don’t come out unless you have a death wish or something. I was only 14 then, and my mom already wanted to find me a nice girl from the neighborhood.” Dave mumbled something after that, but Klaus didn’t catch what it was. 

“It was the only thing she cared about that had to do with me. And yeah, as I said everyone in our neighborhood was great. I was always surrounded by people but I never really felt like I linked with them in any way. I didn’t care about them, I wasn’t friends with them, I was just there.”

Dave kept going on about things he never thought he would talk about, and it turned out his childhood wasn’t perfect either. He didn’t really have anyone to confide in throughout his years, and that’s why joining the army was always something he was interested in. It was a way for him to leave everything behind and start over.

In other words, his childhood wasn’t horrible nor was he mentally abused, but it was painful in a different way. Dave wasn’t alone, he was lonely. 

“And then when I finally joined the army, I actually made some good friends. Murphy and Sean were the first to ever talk to me. Soon I was creating friendships and everyone could confide in me. I could trust everyone in my squad with my life. Didn’t mean my depression stopped growing after that.” Klaus looked at the ground, quietly listening to Dave’s rambling even though they got way past the childhood part. “But then you showed up.” 

He really has a way with words like that, doesn’t he? “I don’t know how you do it, Hargreeves, but all my worries just go away whenever I’m with you.” Dave let go of Klaus’ hand after holding and squeezing it so long, planting a kiss on his hair. 

“Same goes for you, baby,” Klaus answered with a big smile, appreciating the affection he was getting.

“Klaus.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

There was silence. Was that the first time one of them had used the L word? It had been two whole months since they started dating, they had to have said it before at least once. Yet, they hadn’t. Dating someone for so long they actually cared about had been new to both of them, maybe that was why.

The lack of conversation made Dave’s heart stopped for a moment. Did he just fuck it all up? Did he scare Klaus away already? “... I’m sorry I don’t know what I was-”

“I love you too, Davey.” 

___

Klaus and Dave were laying on the grass with their backs, holding hands, neither of them saying anything. It wasn’t unusual for them to do that, sometimes they just wanted to take in the nature around them and appreciate these rare moments of them being able to sit like this in silence. 

“Weird, no stars tonight,” Dave broke the silence, squeezing Klaus’ hand slightly, motioning for him to look at him.

“They wanted to make room for the biggest one, of course,” He explained with a smile, squeezing his hand back and looking at his boyfriend in the eyes.

“Oh yeah? And which one is that?” 

Klaus turned back to look at the night sky, giggling under his breath before having the chance to say anything. “I would have said me, but nah. I’m talking about the moon!” He pointed at the satellite hovering above them and once more turning to Dave. Its reflected light made his sea blue eyes shine beautifully.

“Is the moon even a star?” The slightly bigger man asked Klaus, trying not to chuckle at his poker face. Klaus only shrugged in response, the smile never leaving his face.

“Probably not. Guess the room was for me after all~” 

Snickers and giggles filled the air, as they scooted closer to one another, Klaus resting his head on Dave’s shoulder. “I wonder what the world looks like from up there.” Dave sighed, not taking his eyes off the planetoid.

“Luther would know.” 

He turned to the man on his shoulder in question. “Ain’t that the big guy?” He used his hand as a stand for his head as he turned to his side a little bit, trying to look at Klaus better.

“Yeah,” he replied, clinging closer to him and trying to get comfortable with Dave’s new position. “He used to live up there,” Klaus added after his monosyllabic reply all casual as if going on the moon something completely normal for that time. 

“On the moon?” Dave furrowed his eyebrows, putting words to his confused expression. Klaus nodded almost immediately, still trying to find a better position to lay in.

“Yeah, four years.” He put his hand behind his head, letting out a satisfied sigh and relaxing his muscles. “I bet it’s quiet... If I were him I probably would have stayed,” Klaus voiced, a pained smile on his face this time. Dave frowned at that, analyzing Klaus’ expression but Klaus was already turning his face to a random direction, but not looking at something in particular. “Klaus?”

Dave rubbed the back of Klaus’ hand with his thumb gently. “Mm?”

“Do you miss them?”

That caught Klaus’ attention, forcing himself to snap his head back at Dave and not zone out again. “What?”

“Your brothers and sisters. Do you miss them?”

He noticed Klaus’ silence. “You talk about them all the time,” Dave added, trying to further explain himself better and hoping he hadn’t said anything he wasn’t supposed to.

Klaus sighed, biting the inside of lip afterward. “I... I guess I miss them, yeah. I mean they were all assholes , but then so am I.” Dave couldn’t help but frown again at his reply. 

“Were? Are they-?” Not around anymore? Dead? A lot of the things he had heard about his siblings all led to that conclusion. Was that a touchy subject he probably shouldn’t have brought up?

“Hmm? Wh-” It took Klaus a second to realize what Dave was trying to ask. “Oh nonono, they’re not dead... Not all of them anyway.” 

“Ben, was it?”

A simple nod was enough for Dave to stop talking. He knew Ben’s death really affected Klaus even though they apparently weren’t as close as kids. How did he die? Could Klaus see him? Did he and Klaus start talking to each other after he died? What was his power? He always wanted to ask more questions about Ben but completely respected Klaus’ decision not to talk about him, and he was going to be there for him when he was ready to open up. 

Dave’s thoughts were interrupted by Klaus starting to talk again. “We just don’t talk to each other anymore. Everyone’s got it all figured out and I’m, well... I’m here.” He chuckled sadly, gripping his lover’s hand again. “I don’t really think they miss me though, nobody does. I don’t blame them for that.” He sighed, looking down at their intertwined fingers. “I wouldn’t miss me.” 

The words hit Dave, almost sickening him. How could Klaus talk about himself like that? He opened his mouth, ready to say something, however, it took him a moment to recollect his thoughts. “I’d miss you,” he finally said, pursing his lips and turning to look his lover in the eye. “If anything happened to you I don’t know what I would do.

I don’t miss her. My mom, I mean. But hell, I miss being close to you even though you’re right next to me and holding my hand,” he kept adding on, as Klaus crawled closer to him. Dave wasted no time and immediately wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face in his chest to listen to his heartbeat. 

“Please be nicer to yourself.” The words were barely heard, Dave’s face too busy being buried in Klaus’ shirt. Klaus held Dave’s head in place as he continued listening to his heart beating at a slow pace.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, alright Davey?” Klaus said after a few minutes of silence, moving a little bit to make sure he hadn’t actually fallen asleep, only to get a lazy moan in return. 

“Mmmhh... but you’re soo comfyyyy...”

Klaus clicked his tongue, smiling like a dork nonetheless. “I don’t wanna have to carry you back to camp. Hell, I’m not sure I can.” He moved from side to side, trying to push the sleeping beast off him and causing Dave to groan loudly in annoyance. “That ticklessss, stop.” Klaus giggled. 

“Mm, does it now?” Dave felt his lips form a mischievous smirk, as he moved his head lower.

“Wait wh-” He lifted Klaus’ shirt up just a bit as he started blowing raspberries into his stomach. 

The giggles rolled out of him almost instantly, unable to breathe between them as Dave practically attacked him. Sooner or later tears were brought to his eyes from laughing so much, but Dave couldn’t help giving him a break.

Klaus’ voice was like music to his ears. Anyone could argue that his giggles sounded like a drunk literally choking, however, there was nobody else there to do so. And thank god they weren’t close to camp because everyone would have been woken up by Klaus screaming for him to stop while laughing uncontrollably.

“D-Dave stop!” He choked out in between his giggles, begging for mercy as he tried to push Dave off of him. His shoulders were shaking too much for him to put actual force, but he kept trying nonetheless. Dave was laughing as well, and he eventually stopped exhausting his boyfriend. That was for later. 

“Let’s do something fun then!” he exclaimed, rolling off him and laying next to him, as the other man struggled to catch his breath.

“What’s with the- sudden change of heart?” he asked, his breathing still uneven, pulling his shirt down so he wouldn’t get cold after the torture he just went through. “I’m the one with the fun ideas around here!” 

“I guess you’re rubbing off on me~” Dave cooed teasingly, poking Klaus’ nose before making a ‘boop’ sound.

Klaus moved his head down, scanning Dave like a grocery. “Challenge accepted,” he said with a smirk, grabbing Dave’s foot and sliding off the boot before he had the chance to react. He was so fast the now single booted soldier had to take a moment to analyze the situation. 

“Wh- Klaus!” 

But Klaus was already getting up, clumsily running away as Dave furrowed his eyebrows and quickly started running after him. “Klaus, give me my boot back!” he called out, though he couldn’t help but laugh as he chased him around. Klaus made an unexpected turn and ran straight into the lake, Dave could only do the same, and into the lake they went. After seconds of splashing around like little kids, Dave finally grabbed ahold of Klaus’ hand and dragged him to his direction. Klaus started splashing water at him, kicking and screaming and laughing while trying to escape his grip, but it was of no use. He eventually gave up. 

“My boot, please,” Dave said, holding his free hand out as Klaus groaned in annoyance but a smile was planted on his face.

“You’re a big bully Davey!” He exclaimed, refusing to give back what wasn’t his. They were soaking wet from head to toe, their uniforms were going to take a while to dry without the sun hitting their backs. 

“C’mon, we’re gonna catch a cold.” Dave swung his arm, motioning for them to get out of the lake.

Klaus pouted and let himself be taken by the water, laying on his back and giggling. “You’re no fun! I wanna stay here a bit.” 

“Oh, I’m no fun?” Dave gave him a fake offended look before charging at him with no mercy. “C’mere you!” he yelled and Klaus started screaming and laughing like a small child again. They wrestled in the lake, Klaus swinging his arms around carelessly to blind Dave with water and it looked like he was winning, had he done this with someone before? It didn’t really matter, because soon enough Dave caught up with his technique. He grabbed Klaus by the waist and pulled him close, snatching the boot away from his hands and holding it away from him.

Klaus could try to reach for it again, but he couldn’t get it, he was laughing too hard and Dave was taller than him and could hold it out of his reach. But Dave had been glaring intensely at him, almost enough to burn into him and before he knew it, he stole the kiss. Klaus only held it for a second before he started giggling again, and he pushed Dave away so he could stop laughing.

He looked up at Dave, both of his hands on his chest. And Dave looked down at Klaus. Seeing his clothes soaking wet in the moonlight, looking into Klaus’ eyes. Dave noticed a lock of Klaus’ hair plastered on his forehead and he moved it out of the way gently. Klaus stopped smiling. He stopped giggling. There’s no noise, not even the sounds of crickets at night. Just them, in the water. Klaus bit his lip, before curling hands into fists, grabbing Dave’s shirt and pulling him in. Dave dropped the boot and caressed his love’s cheek as they embraced each other in the middle of the cold lake. 

___

They had finally gotten out of the water and back to where all the mess had started, Dave on his back and Klaus on top of him. “And what about your shoe?” Klaus asked, breaking the silence.

Dave looked up, his smile brighter than the moon. “You learn to let go.” He then looked at Klaus. “Some things are more important.”

“My god you’re such a sap.” Klaus giggled and nuzzled closer to his chest, the sound of his heartbeat resembling a faint echo whispering sweet nothings to his ear. “You know it, baby.” 

“Y’know I think we should get married.” 

Both of them laughed after Klaus had said that. “Oh yeah?” Dave faced down at Klaus, grinning and petting his hair.

Klaus zoned out for a moment. “Yeah...” he whispered, suddenly turning to him with a serious expression on his face. “I’m serious.” He paused and gripped Dave’s shirt slightly. “I want to marry you, Davey.” 

Dave frowned as he watched Klaus continue adding more to his words. “I’ve literally never met somebody like you. You’re the only thing keeping me together and god, I love you. I love you Davey and I don’t want to lose you and I want to be with you all the time. I really want to marry you.”

Klaus watched Dave analyze his speech, a slight smile of hope creeping up on his lips, but his eyes only screamed worry. Did he just fuck it up? Was it too soon? Was Dave going to scold him for thinking so childishly? He knew gay marriage was not a thing back then, which was another reason why he wanted to tell him the whole truth. About how he showed up, about the briefcase, about where he was from, about everything. That was his original plan but it looked like he regretted it now. 

“Klaus... I- Fuck,” Dave breathed out, squeezing his lover’s hand, trying to regain his thoughts. A weak smile appeared on his face. “I love you so much, Klaus. And if I could just make you mine right here right now, I would in a heartbeat.” The smile started to fade. “But I- people like us... We can’t, we can’t just do that. It’s illegal, we could get in serious trouble for that.”

“I know Davey... I know,” Klaus mumbled, sitting on Dave’s stomach to look at him directly. “Maybe we could get rings or something?” He raised his eyebrows in sadness, begging to see approval in Dave’s eyes. “Klaus-”

Klaus shushed him before he could finish his thoughts, shaking his head and chuckling. “Yeah no that’s stupid it wouldn’t work.” He kept talking to himself, muttering random words that Dave could barely hear, head hanging low.  

Klaus’ face suddenly lit up and turned to Dave, pursing his lips before he started talking again. “How about this?” he asked as he put his hands behind his head, carefully taking off his dog tags and holding them firmly. “Give me yours,” he said, or rather ordered, holding his free hand out. Dave couldn’t seem to rub off the confusion on his face but did as he was told anyway. He passed the ball chain over his head and placed it on Klaus’ hand. Klaus took ahold of Dave’s dog tags and wore them around his neck, letting them clink against each other as one hit against his collarbone. Klaus then took his own dog tags and did the same for Dave. 

“There! Nobody can tell the difference but us.”

The way that smile crept up on Dave’s lips made Klaus’ heart falter. All his smiles had been genuine before, but that one was different. He was shining, replacing the missing stars in the sky that night. It wasn’t just his lips, his eyes were smiling too. It filled Klaus’ veins with euphoria and for a split second his world stopped and it was like everything was okay.

He watched as Dave’s smile turned into a grin, which caused his own lips to curl up as well, forming a smile of his own. “I now pronounce us husband and wife!” Klaus exclaimed, raising his arms to shoulder level and curling his hands into fists excitedly.

Dave moved his arms and placed them on Klaus’ waist, running his thumb against his right hip soothingly. “I’ll never take them off.”

That feeling filled Klaus’ chest again. That feeling where everything was okay. That feeling where he felt like he didn’t have to worry about the future or the war or the death of his friends and family. Like he didn’t have to worry about losing Dave. And it was. Everything was going to be okay as long as they stayed like this. 

___

Nine months. Klaus had managed to stay in Vietnam for nine whole months, meaning it had been six months since his promise to Dave. Yes, Klaus Hargreeves had been sober for half a year. And he was happy. He was happy and proud of himself that Dave was proud of him, but he couldn’t just ignore the voices in his head, the ghosts in every corner. As the months passed, he and Dave became glued to the hip, they wouldn’t leave each other’s side, but no matter how much Dave was there for Klaus, so were the ghosts. 

They weren’t as intense as when he was thirteen locked in the mausoleum, but war was war. And progressively more of them started to show up. Comrades, citizens just staring at him with their gross, dry, dead eyes and calling out for help. Please, Klaus please please please tell my family you can see me please let me talk to my family. He hated seeing his dead friends look at him in disgust and disbelief when he couldn’t do anything to help. 

Things only got worse when Conny died.

It was Klaus’ fault too. If he had told him to watch out for the mine on the ground in time, Conny wouldn’t have gotten blown up into pieces. The image would never leave his mind, his friend’s flesh and bones exploding right in front of his face all because he didn’t look out for him like Conny did for him and Dave.

Dave insisted it wasn’t Klaus’ fault, there was no way he could have known anything like that would happen, but it didn’t make it any easier. His friend was gone all because of him and his ghost never fucking left him alone. Klaus didn’t blame him. It was rare for a ghost to keep their marbles in the afterlife if they weren’t there for Klaus, it was like their soul was crushed and gone forever. That kind of explained Ben’s behavior, it was just a hunch though. Dave had noticed Klaus twitching and zoning out of conversations just like when they first met. For the past month or so Klaus was still glued to him, but he wasn’t really there. His mind was in a different place, and as much as Dave wanted to help his lover through it, he couldn’t. He was able to help him before but now Klaus was shutting him out.

And it hurt. It hurt deeply and he couldn’t do anything about it. Dave knew Klaus wasn’t telling him something, but he didn’t want to force anything out of him he wasn’t comfortable sharing.

Either way, it was time for another R&R, and thank god for that because Klaus really needed a break from the war. And so did Dave. Because they both lost someone and neither of them could deal with death anymore. 

As soon as they got off the bus, Klaus and Dave made sure to book a room for the three days they’d be in town for. Their original plan was to go for a walk to blow off steam from the hard months they had to deal with and then stay in their room just the two of them, but Dave hadn’t been feeling that hot. So Klaus decided to go for a walk by himself.

And it escalated from a walk in the park to a walk in the bar.

Klaus knew where he was going wasn’t going to do him any good, but at that point he was desperate. He was sure just a couple of shots wouldn’t hurt anyone, in fact, it would just be enough to make most of the ghosts disappear. He ended up bumping into Murphy and some of the other soldiers and tagged along with them for the night. It was fun, but not nearly as fun as it would have been if Dave was there. A few shots turned into bottles, and the bottles turned into... LSD? No, no he wouldn’t do drugs. But Murphy was standing right there, practically giving it to him. 

“Come on, I’ve seen you fidgeting ever since we got here. It’ll do you some good, trust me.”

His stomach started to twist, his body screaming for a fix. And freedom was right in front of him, the ghosts that didn’t go away surrounding him and screaming his name over the loud music. He knew it wasn’t right, he knew he would regret it later, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t stand hearing the dead call out his name, he couldn’t stand the ringing in his ears, he couldn’t stand the images of bloody, mangled bodies flashing in his mind. He just wanted to relax. 

Moments after the acid touched his tongue, everything got blurry. Finally, the sweet release of numbness . It was like greeting an old friend and it felt so good. His worries went away in an instant and nothing else mattered at that moment, Klaus couldn’t feel anything and it was great .

Next thing he was knocking on the door of their hotel room, leaning on the wall so he wouldn’t stumble and fall. Being high as a kite and drunk as a boiled owl at the same time was never a good combination. Dave opened the door gently. “What took you so-”

“Heeeeeelloooo Daveyyy~” Klaus slurred out and stumbled his way inside the room, a giggle escaping his lips.

The smile that was planted on Dave’s lips dropped, as he closed the door and turned to Klaus with a... was it a sad expression? Klaus couldn’t tell, his eyes were shaking too much to see anything clearly. “Klaus, what the fuck.” That most definitely was sad tone but there was something else too. Something more... Something more like Reginald-like. Was it anger? Disappointment maybe? 

“Mmh, you in the mood?” Klaus took off his coat and let it rest on a chair, going on his tiptoes for a spin before laughing and sliding on the side of one of the beds.

He watched Dave’s expression change from worried to pissed off and sad. “You made a promise.”

“Relaaax baby it was just a little bit of LSD-”

“I don’t care what it was.”

It was anger. Bottled up anger and disappointment. Klaus honestly didn’t expect that from Dave at all. He was always this... pure and kind and worried soul. Sure, sometimes he would lose his patience but he was never angry at him. Dave’s anger seemed to distinguish a bit at that moment, furrowing his eyebrows in worry and sadness and... hurt. Klaus could tell he was hurt. And it hurt Klaus that he hurt Dave and now it was all coming back right at his face. “I don’t want to lose you Klaus but all you do is push me away. You made a promise and you broke it and now you’re... You’re just not you with all the drugs dammit.” 

“Isn’t that the fucking point?!” Klaus didn’t know what woke up inside him that made him snap, but he did. He yelled at Dave who hadn’t done anything wrong up until that point instead of begging for forgiveness, no, he was too deep in this shit to start apologizing now. 

“Okay, I’ve had enough ,” Dave practically growled, getting up and snapping his fingers so Klaus would look up at him. “I feel like everything I’ve done for you was for nothing! I’ve been there for you since day one and now you’re building up your walls again that I spent these months trying to lower down, and gosh I’m sorry I’m yelling right now but you’re not listening , Klaus! So listen to me!” 

It was terrifying. Dave raising up his voice was terrifying. Klaus yelled at him first and now Dave was yelling at him, so why would he be surprised?

“One moment it’s fine, the other is like you’re trying to get away from me. I don’t have a problem with you trying to protect yourself but honestly Klaus do me a favor and decide if you trust me or not.” Ouch.

Klaus was not good at dealing with these things. He always ran away from all sorts of trouble even when he was a kid, and usually drowned out his emotions with alcohol or whatever he could find that would get him high enough to forget his name. It all changed when he met Dave. Dave was his escape, his life . But of course he had to fuck it up and now Dave was against him as well. It was always Klaus’ fault. He brought this to himself and he knew it. 

So now that Dave wasn’t on his side, all he could do was run away. Klaus got up from the bed and grabbed his coat from the chair it had been sitting on, heading for the door. He hated himself for acting so childishly, but in his head, there was nothing else he could have done.

“ Klaus , no.” 

“ Klaus come on.”

“ Klaus , I didn’t mean-” Shut up. 

Dave started to sound just like them. His brothers and sisters, the ghosts, his father. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and that’s when he lost it. It was just as harsh and cold as when a ghost’s hand went through him, back when he was thirteen. Whether it was going through his shoulder or actually touching him he couldn’t tell, he was too busy screaming for his dad at the top of his lungs, curled up in the corner of the mausoleum as more ghosts continued to crawl in his direction.

“Don’t touch me!” The terror and sadness boiling up inside his stomach just spilled right out of him all at once. 

Then there was silence. He never meant to yell before and he definitely didn’t mean to yell now either, but he couldn’t help it. He was scared and overwhelmed and disappointed and angry at himself but he took it out on Dave.

Dave pulled his hand back, letting it drop on his side as it clenched into a fist. He took a deep breath and looked Klaus in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” Dave said slowly, not wanting to startle him. There was silence again, but it didn’t last long. “Let’s just calm down. It’s- It’s been a rough couple of days for both of us, let’s just go to bed and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” he added to his words, not moving before Klaus did. 

Klaus nodded slightly, moving past Dave and making his way to the bed he was previously sitting on. He didn’t bother taking off his clothes to sleep better, all he wanted was to rest with Dave by his side. He lay on the bed, turning to his side so he was staring at the wall. He waited for Dave to lay next to him, instead, he heard ruffling of the sheets from the other bed. Great, so they were sleeping on different beds now. Fantastic. Good job Klaus.

Dave felt bad about it too. He wasn’t sure if he should have held Klaus close or given him space. They were yelling at each other previously and he was scared to ask what Klaus wanted. So he did what he thought was best and gave him some time to cool off. 

It hurt both of them. Because both of them just wanted to cry and hold each other tight and apologize for being dicks to one another but they didn’t know how the other person would have reacted.

Klaus welcomed the darkness as his eyes dragged him to a dreamless sleep. 

___

For the first time in a while, Klaus wasn’t woken up by the screaming and begging of the ghosts, but rather by the beam of sunlight coming from the window and hitting his eyes. A groan escaped his throat as he sat up on the bed, barely able to keep his eyes open. He felt sore and had a massive headache, probably shouldn't have slept with his clothes on. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, as he yawned loudly and let out an exaggerated ‘fuuuuuuck me’, hoping he didn’t wake up Dav-

Dave . Klaus quickly turned his head to where the other bed was to lay his eyes on him, just to make sure he didn’t wake him up. But Dave wasn’t there. Klaus frowned slightly, getting up from his bed, but his worried expression softened when he heard the shower running from the small bathroom. Klaus, relieved, made his way to the bed Dave slept in, making himself comfortable and held the pillow close to his chest. The faint smell of his boyfriend left on it helped him relax.

He almost fell asleep just like that, but the sunlight kept reflecting on something placed on Dave’s nightstand by the bed. Annoyed by the reflected light blinding him, he reached out his hand to put it away. His fingers brushed against a familiar texture and his eyes widened, quickly sitting up to look at it better, but still clinging onto the pillow. 

Klaus’ dog tags, just sitting there, on the old nightstand. 

“I’ll never take them off.”

His heart dropped all the way down to his stomach. He tried to swallow down the saliva in the back of his throat, but there nothing there. His throat felt dry as if he had tried to swallow sand. He gripped the dog tags tightly and pulled them close to his chest, letting the chain hung from his hands. Klaus had promised to stay sober, and Dave had promised to keep the tags on at all times. Klaus broke his promise, so was this his punishment? Was that what Dave was doing? If it was, it didn’t hurt him. Hurt was a diminished word. Destroyed him, mortified him, broke him, maybe. But it didn’t hurt him. Not really.

His gaze shifted to the bathroom door opening, revealing the freshly washed Dave. His new grey shirt was a little wet from the water dripping off his soaked hair and onto his shoulders, but other than that he looked nice and dry.

Klaus stared at him, not feeling like he needed to say words. His eyes said it all. Dave’s happy resting face dropped to a frown once he saw the dog tags clutched to Klaus’ hands. “Kl-" 

Before Dave could finish, Klaus teared up. He didn’t cry, he sobbed. He sobbed like someone was tearing up his insides. Dave had seen Klaus cry before, but not like this. “Wait nonono-” Not a second passed and he was already sprinting to him and pulling him close to his chest. Klaus’ sobs didn’t seem to slow down, only when he gasped for air. His hands gripped Dave’s sleeves, his whole body shaking. Sadly this time it wasn’t from laughter. 

Dave held him tight, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back. He hated being the cause of this pain. Klaus didn’t deserve what was happening to him. He didn’t deserve the shitty behavior or the ghosts or the war and all the death in it. The least Dave could have done was help him but instead, he managed to make it worse. “Baby please look at me-”

It sounded more like a question than a statement, either way, Dave said it as calmly as possible while brushing the hair that covered Klaus’ face away. And Klaus did. He looked up at him, sniffling and trembling like a mess.

“I just-” Dave bit his lip. He hated seeing Klaus like this. “I just didn’t want to deform your initials on them,” he said, eyebrows curling upward as his frown grew. Klaus only sniffled and gasped, trying to get air in his lungs. He moved his arms from the position they were in and wrapped them around Dave’s neck tightly, clinging closer to him and crawling on his lap. He started to cry again.

“I’m so sorry Klaus... I’m so sorry I worried you like that,” Dave mumbled in his ear, before resting his chin on his head and firmly wrapping his arms around Klas’ waist. He wasn��t going to let him go. He was going to stay there as long as he had to. 

Klaus took a few shaky breaths and pulled back from Dave’s chest to look at him clearly. Dave’s eyes were red and puffy, not as much as his, but it was obvious he was very close to crying as well. He gulped down a hiccup. “I’m sorry I yelled yesterday,” he whispered with what was left of his voice. It was raspy and silent but he managed to get the words out anyway.

Dave looked at him with a sad half-smile, blinking to push the tears back into his eyes. “Yeah... I’m sorry I yelled too.” His voice was ready to break, not like he cared. He moved his hand to the back of Klaus’ head, rubbing the nape of his neck gently.

“And I’m sorry- I’m sorry about fucking up-” Klaus started talking again, feeling his throat getting tighter, making it harder for him to speak without hurting. His throat hurt, his eyes hurt, his heart hurt, everything hurt. “About the drugs and the drinking- I don’t know what’s wrong with me-” 

“No, I’m sorry,” Dave interrupted him before Klaus could finish. “It was stupid of me to ask you to just drop everything. I can’t imagine what it’s like, Klaus, being followed by the dead all the time and I’m sorry I was never able to help you through it. I hate seeing you poisoning yourself but I hate seeing you black out randomly because there’s someone screaming in the corner of the room that I can’t even see-”

“You can’t control it Dave it’s okay...” Klaus cut him off this time, leaning into Dave’s touch as he rubbed his neck. “You’ve always helped me through it. You’re just looking out for me and I couldn’t ask for more,” he said, resting his hands on his lap still holding onto the dog tags. “Nobody has ever done that for me.”

Except for my dead brother that I haven’t seen in almost a year. Klaus still wanted to tell him. He still wanted to clear all of Dave’s unanswered questions about everything. And it might have been the right time to spill the beans right then and there, but he hesitated. Enough shit went down already and he didn’t want to fall in a different hole at the moment. 

His thoughts were cut short as Dave removed his hand from Klaus’ nape and took the dog tags out of his hands. He pulled them over his head and let them rest in their rightful place. He then looked at Klaus again. “There. This time I’m not taking them off no matter what.”

___ 

The R&R flew by as fast as it came and things went back to normal. Of course, it became a little harder for Dave and Klaus to sneak out without Conny to let them off easy, but they found ways to spend time together nonetheless. 

If they weren’t fully joined at the hip before, they were now. Klaus’ relapse made Dave realize how much he really depended on Klaus, and how much Klaus depended on him. He made Dave a better person, and in return, he believed in Klaus when nobody else would.

It was true love and nothing anyone said could prove them wrong.

And when Dave was assigned to the front line, Klaus followed him. No matter how much Dave insisted he didn’t need protection, Klaus didn’t change his mind. Another thing he loved about Klaus. He would literally do anything, it didn’t matter how bizarre it was, to be close to Dave. He just learned to live with it. 

Because he was going to spend the rest of his life with the crazy man next to him, laughing in the middle of the war as shots were being fired and bombs were being dropped. Dave loved Klaus, and he wasn’t going to let him go. 

There was a sharp pain in his chest as if someone had stepped on him. Only it was worse. Way worse. And the pain was unbearable.  

“Christ on a cracker! That was a close one, huh Dave?”