#making coffee for his husband yes! it's the guy from the last art i posted ❤️ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilysdaydreams · 4 years ago

Text

The Artist and The Musician

→ I do not claim to know corpse- therefore please don’t think that this is what he would actually act like, or that any details about his life are actually true. this is fiction.

→ Pairing: Corpse Husband X Fem!Reader

→ Genre: Fluff.

→ Words: 5.6k

→ Request: Hey! It’s me again lmao I was curious maybe like sykunno or raes little sister (like 2 or 3 years younger) meets the group and her and corpse just click. How would either of them react to them hearing the news that their little sis is dating corpse and like they’ve moved in together and everything idk I thought it’d be cute💛

→ Warnings: Swearing.

→ Authors Note: Its been a hard couple of weeks and im really sorry that this took so long to be done but depression rlly hit me and I could barely move myself. I hope you enjoy this, and if you do, please comment some words of encouragement or feedback 💛

→ if you have some spare change , consider buying me a coffee.

You sighed as you finally dropped the last box in your new room, stretching to get rid of the pains in your back. Grabbing your phone, you moved over to Sykkunos room, knocking before sticking your head in.

"You want subway?" you asked when he looked up from the computer. He nodded with a quick smile, and as you closed the door behind you, you could hear him talking to the stream, letting them know that it was just his sister. Quickly ordering on Ubereats, you slumped on the sofa, closing your eyes and resting for a bit.

You had decided to move in with Sykkuno a month ago, the same week you'd decided to drop out of college. It wasn't something your parents were happy with, but after seeing how big your art and business had gotten, they had let you drop out. You'd dropped out and moved to LA, moving into an apartment with Sykkuno since he had to leave the OTV house. Sykkuno had moved in a week earlier which was why his room and computer was all set up. You'd only moved in today, spending a few weeks at home with your parents before leaving for LA. Stretching, you grabbed your phone, checking how long it would be until the food came, and then clicking on Instagram. Your most recent post was of this morning, a photo of you sitting on top of half the boxes in your room, throwing a peace sign at the camera. Sykkuno had taken it for you, the whole process taking 10 minutes cuz you made him take it at 45 different angles. Scrolling through the comments, you liked a few, replying to the ones by your best friends.

@selinaissss: "HOW DARE YOU LOOK THIS PERFECT AT 8 IN THE MORNING????"

→ @junefarie: i look like a racoon dont u dare

@onlyalyssa: "we need a house tour"

→ @junefarie: bitch I dont even have a bed yet

You grabbed the subway order when the bell rang, saying a quick thank you to the delivery man. You left yours on the table, and went to Sykkunos room, yelling "Sykkuno catch!" before throwing it at him, giggling as he leapt forward from his chair to catch it. Closing the door softly behind you, you jumped onto the couch, sitting cross-legged, grabbing your sketchbook and pencils from your backpack and setting them on your lap. It was time to wind down a bit.

It was a week later and you had unpacked fully, now focusing more on creating new pieces of art for a shop update. You were also working on some designs specifically for shirts and hoodies. Sykkuno found you in front of your computer, blanket wrapped around you and glasses perched on your nose as you emailed the manufacturer you were working with for the hoodies.

"Un, y/n?" he said hesitantly knocking on the door. You spun around in your chair, raising your eyebrows at him. "What's up?"

He walked in, sitting down gingerly on the edge of the bed and you got your water from the table, taking a sip as you wait for him to talk.

"I um- You know how I- I play Among Us right?" he asked, scratching his neck.

You hummed in response, urging him on with a nod. Sykkuno was almost never this nervous around you. Most of the time, you guys talked normally, joking and teasing each other. For him to be stuttering around you, he must have been extremely nervous.

"Well, you know Rae right? She um, she asked me to make a lobby," he said, standing up and pacing now. You furrowed your brows, confused as to where this was going.

He was explaining what a lobby was (which what the fuck, you watched his streams, of course you knew what a lobby was, why was he explaining that) when you cut him off, getting up and grabbing his shoulders to stop him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" you asked, holding his shoulders with both your hands.

He sighed and slumped into you, his head coming to a rest on your shoulder.

"Rae asked me to make a lobby and it's the first time I've ever made one and I'm really nervous about it. I've already invited people, but um I was wondering if you wanted to join as well? I- It would help me to have you there." he muttered, the words muffled as he spoke into your shoulder.

"Me?" you asked, a little shocked because you had never played among us before.

He nodded against your shoulder.

"Um sure!" you said, wrapping your arms around his middle, "It'll be fun!"

"And hey," you added on when he didn't say anything after that, "I can meet all your friends as well!"

He finally lifted his head a little, smiling as he muttered out a quick "Thanks y/n."

"However," you added, jumping back onto your seat and wiggling your eyebrows at him. "You have to buy me pizza for tonight's dinner."

He chuckled, grabbing his phone and already mutterng the order to himself as he opened up the ubereats app and walked out of the room.

You turned back to the laptop humming a tune under your breath. From interactions like this, most people would probably assume that you were older but the truth was that Sykkuno was 5 years older than you. Your roles were reversed and you were probably more protective over him than anyone else. Once in high school a girl had called him cute and asked him for his number only to write it on the bathroom walls. After the first three prank calls, you'd taken the phone from him yelling at anyone who called that if they called again, that you'd personally track them down and shove a dildo up their ass.

Both of you had always been close, but with the amount of bullying and teasing he got in high school, you'd got even closer, eventually becoming his best friend in a way. Seeing Sykkuno grow as a person, get new friends who were genuinely nice and kind made you the happiest person alive. When Sykkuno had first started streaming you'd been worried, scared that people online would say something mean. When he had first started streaming with other streamers and then met Lily and all his other friends, you had been anxious, worrying that they might only be putting up a friendly facade. You were also the happiest though when he grew even closer to them, when he smiled more, laughed more, talked more.

You had yet to meet or talk to any of his friends, mostly because you'd been in college, and the pandemic had made it harder. Maybe it was finally time.

The day came and you sat in your room, once again a blanket wrapped around you, glasses perched on your nose as you accepted the discord invite Sykkuno sent you.

"DO I GO IN THE CHAT THINGY?" you yelled to Sykkuno, hearing a "YES" before clicking on the voice chat.

You mumbled a "hello", wondering if your mic was on.

"Hey, yeah I can hear you y/n."

Breathing a sigh of relief, you logged into the game, smiling as you heard sykkuno introduce you to his chat. "Hi everyone," you said, feeling a bit weird only talking to a screen. You rubbed your hands, a little nervous to be doing this.

Just then someone else joined and before you could even speak another three people joined as well, all of them yelling hello as they joined.

"He- Hey guys, how's everyone doing?" started sykkuno.

"Im doing great oh my god, guess what guys, I'm-" started Rae, cutting herself off. "wait, whos um "ms snores a lot"?

You were a bit confused for a second, furrowing you eyebrows for a second before realising what had happened.

"SYKKUNO YOU ASSHOLE WHAT THE FUCK?" you yelled, staring at the name underneath the voice channel that you now realised belonged to you. You could hear Sykkunos laughter from the other room but you just spluttered indignantly. He was the one who had set up everything on your computer yesterday because technology was something that you rarely messed around with.

"Sykkunooo" you whined, when he kept laughing, "How the fuck do I change it now?"

"Um wait, sykkuno who is this?" asked Rae, the other three echoing her. You glanced at the names and from the voices figured out that it was Rae, Toast, Sean and Corpse in the lobby.

"Hey okay, so guys this is my sister, her names y/n and we recently moved in together, so I asked her to be in the lobby because... um.." he said stuttering at the end to find a reason.

"Because he wanted to embarrass me apparently!" you exclaimed, giving him a way out.

"Oh god, um - you can change it in settings, at the bottom near where your name is."

"Ahhh," you said finding it and then simply typing in your art business name.

"Its nice to meet everyone by the way," you started. "I've been watching your videos for ages so it almost fels like I already know you"

Raes voice started in your ears and you winced at the volume befoe turning it down a bit.

"I would love to say that Sykkuno has told us a lot about you, but the truth is that he keeps a lot of secrets and I didnt even know he had a sister, I AM SO SHOCKED RIGHT NOW"

You gasped. "Sykkuno what the fuck, you didn't even tell Rae?"

"You told me not to tell a lot of people!" he protested.

You heard someone saying "they're so different!' but you ignored it and kept talking.

"Yeah at the start! and on stream! I can't believe you never even said you had a sister." you spluttered out, followed by another gasp.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" you whispered dramatically.

"N-What no of course not!" he exclaimed, and you could also imagine how wide his eyes would have gotten.

You giggled before telling him that you were only joking.

"Um since sykkuno is embarrassed of me," you said jokingly, "I'll just tell you myself."

"I'm like five years younger than sykkuno, I'm a June baby, I do art, my star sign is cancer, I'm 5'4, I recently moved in with sykkuno, and my favourite colour is purple!"

"Oh is that why your username is junefarie? Because you were born in June?" asked Sean.

Before you could say yes, someone else cut in.

"Wait, junefarie?" asked corpse, "like the artist?"

Your eyes widened as you realised that he knew you. Sure you had quite a few followers, but you never expected any of Sykkunos friends to know you from there.

"Um yeah," you said letting out a shocked laugh, "I didnt expect anyone here to know about me."

"Dude, your art is fire!" he exclaimed, voice louder now. "I was honestly thinking of buying a piece soon, I've followed you for ages!"

"Wait, I wanna see as well." whined Rae, "Ima look you up, are you on Instagram?"

"Um," you said still shocked by the fact that somone this big knew you. "yeah I'm on instagram, its just junefarie." you said first replying to Rae, "Um corpse, thankyou so much! thats so nice of yo!"

"Um my art isn't that great yet," you chuckled, embarrassed by all the attention now. "I'm hoping to improve a lot more and I have a bunch of ideas for it as well. I'm hoping to work more now that I moved in with Sy."

"Oh my god, this is amazing," whispered Rae, Toast and Sean echoing her. You ducked your head even though no one could see you. Your cheeks were blazing hot and you pressed your hands to them to cool yourself down.

"Thankyou," you mumbled, not sure what to say.

Someone else entered the lobby, and said "hi" and you welcomed the source of distraction.

"Hi! I'm Sykkunos sister, y/n!" you said , wanting to move away from the topic of your art.

The reply of "sykkuno has a SISTER?" made everyone laugh, successfully moving the attention to Sykkuno and off your art. Finally Sykkuno started the game and you breathed as you lost yourself in the art of gaming.

"OH MY GOD!" yelled Rae as the game ended and everyone appeared in the lobby. "That was like amazing, Y/N I cant belive you pulled that off!"

She was talking about the last game where there was 50/50 between corpse and Sykkuno (because you refused to kill sykkuno when you were imposter) and you somehow managed to convince Sykkuno that it was Corpse.

"Honestly, neither can I!" you exclaimed back staring at your screen, eyes blurring the screen because of how tired you were.

"I can't believe Sykkuno," mumbled corpse. "I literally said I saw her vent and kill toast and Sykkuno was still like "hmmm, I don't think so."

Giggling at Sykkunos yell of "SHES MY SISTER" you yelled out a bye as everyone started leaving and then struggled to find a way to end the call.

"Wait, how do I end it," you muttered to yourself.

You jumped as Corpse talked, not expecting anyone to be there.

"You can see yoru name at the bottom left right? Its above that but a little to the right." he said chucling a little.

"Oh." you said, you cheeks heating up. You didnt know if it was because of him or because you were utterly useless with technology.

"Um thankyou," you said awkwardly.

"No problem."

You exited out of the call, a small smile at your lips.

Sykkunos friends were nice.

After the stream, your fanbase grew, and with it, the number of orders as well. For the next week, you were buried under orders, only leaving the house to go to the post office.

An Instagram post on @junefarie account:

[ID: A photo of y/n and sykkuno standing in the middle of the living room, packages scattered everywhere. Y/n is hugging Sykkuno tight and Sykkuno is staring at the camera, a distressed look on his face.]

Caption: Thankyou so much for all my supporters and all the love shown to me. Sending out loads of orders and I cant wait for you gusy to get yours! Special thanks to @sykkuno for helping me send out orders. luv yu.

Comments:

@Sykisacutie: best sibling duo!

@valkyrae: hope my order is in their as well.

→ I SCREAMED WHEN SY TOLD ME THAT WAS YOUR NAME.

@corpse_husband: sykkuno looks like he's accepted death.

→ @sykkuno: I would have welcomed death at that point

→ @corpse_husband @sykkuno: okay ill be honest, I would have welcomed death as well.

@ariesin: go best friend, go! we need to get together to paint soon !!

→ SOONNNNNN

You flopped onto your bed, every part of your body hurting. Carrying boxes filled with orders down the stairs had tired your whole body, which wasn't used to any exercise at all. That had taken practically the whole day and then you had to clean your room because the mess from the orders had barely left any room to move. You flung your hand to the side, grabbing your phone from the table and bringing it up to your face. The "1:02" was clearly visible on your screen and you unlocked the phone, heading to Twitter. Scrolling through your feed, you liked a few tweets from friends before gearing yourself up and moving to the messages. Ever since you'd played with Corpse, Sykkuno and everyone, you'd been getting a lot of messages. Most of them were just the streamers fans, asking you if you know them or telling you to take care of sykkuno. There were a few though that targeted you, telling you that your art sucked, that they didn't know why Corpse could like my art. You'd taken to deleting them before sleeping so that your inbox wouldn't get cluttered and you could still find any serious requests or messages from your followers. Therefore, you didn't really think anything of it when there was another message from someone with a Corpse icon and you clicked on it only to see the message and gasp, immediately sitting up in bed.

Corpse_Husband → Hey, I was wondering if I could work with you on something? I really love your art and was wanting to commission or collaborate for an album cover or some merch designs. Message me on this number cuz I barely see my dms.

Underneath was a number.

"Oh my god," you whispered, unsure as to what to do.

When you had decided to drop out of college, you had expected hard days. You had expected your normal orders and mostly just improving your art and marketing it more. You had expected long days and not much money in the bank account. You certainly had not expected the immense amount of orders you'd gotten. Along with that, the amount of love and support had taken you by surprise and you had spent the last night crying because of how much love you and your art were getting.

You had also not expected such a big opportunity just landing at your feet.

Quickly you clicked on the number, putting it in your contacts with the name Corpse and then writing a quick message.

"Hey I got your twitter dm! I've personally never done art for merch or album covers but I would love the opportunity!"

You bit your lip, confused as to whether that was enough before deciding it was fine and just sent it.

Your heart beat a little faster as you slumped back onto the bed.

@junefarie Instagram story:

[ID: A zoomed-in picture of a drawing, the only part that was visible was curly hair. The text read: "Working on something SO COOL"]

Your phone was ringing. Stuffing the rest of the pizza in your mouth, you swept your hand over the covers of your bed, trying to find it. With a muttered "aha", you grabbed it and swiped on the call before it ended. Pressing the phone to your ear, you mumbled a "hello", still chewing the pizza bite.

A low rapsy voice came out of the speaker, one that you definitely didn't expect. You choked on the pizza, coughing out pieces onto the bed. Sure you guys had messaged each other a bit (you kinda had to because of the commission), but you hadn't expected him to call out of nowhere.

"Um I hope this isn't a bad time," he said when you didn't respond for a second. Of course, he didn't exactly know that hearing his voice so close to your ear had you frozen for a second.

"Um no," you replied, coughing slightly to clear your throat. "It's fine! What did you wanna talk about?"

"Oh, um I know you're already working on the commission and its looking great! I can't wait to work with the merch team to create something really cool with it, but um-" he broke off for a second sounding hesitant. "I really wanna get another commission done as well."

"Oh?" you said after a second when he didn't reply. "I'd be happy to do another one for you!"

"Uh yeah, but I'm afraid that I might be a bit late, You see I was wondering if it could be done before Christmas?"

You sucked in a breath as you counted the days in your mind.

"Hmm, it depends on how big it is tbh. There's still 2 weeks to go till Christmas so I could fit it in," you mumbled, biting your lip as you remembered the onslaught of orders you still had to send out.

"Well," he started and you smiled a little as the excitement crept into his voice. "You know that Sykkuno, Rae, Toast and me are called the 4 Amigops right? I kinda wanted a portrait of all 4 of us, in our um among us colors, and I basically wanted to print it out and send to each of them for Christmas."

"Aww, that sounds like such a good idea, I'm sure they'll all love it!" you smiled, thinking about how much Sykkuno would appreciate that.

"Uh thanks," he mumbled, "do you think you can get it done?"

"Sure!" you replied immediately. You did have a lot of orders, yes, but like, you could fit Corpse in. If you pulled a few all-nighters. "I'll send you the sketches soon okay?"

"Oh thank god, thankyu so much for this y/n, I really appreciate it. Youre one of my favourite artists and I'm really happy that I could finally commisison you after so long."

"So long?" you questioned. "Since when have you known about my art?"

There was a moment of silence and then "Um, around the time you still posted your sketches and stuff I guess?"

You furrowed your eyebrows thinking for a second before letting out a gasp.

"Corpse that was 4 years ago!"

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, oh my god, I cant believe you've seen those, I was so bad then!"

"No no, they were really good at that time as well! I was so shocked when Sykkuno told us you were his sister because like, I'd been following you for ages and I had absolutely no idea. You guys are like really different."

"Hah yah, Sykkunos so soft, and then there's me. An actual devil."

"Your usernames so different as well! I remember when I first saw a picture of you on your account and I was kind of shocked because based on the name junefarie, I was expecting someone very soft I guess but then you were literally the opposite and wearing actual devil horns."

"Oh god, that was one of the first few photos I posted of myself. that was on Halloween I think,", you took a deep breath still shocked that Corpse had known about you for that long,

"Yeah, I chose junefarie because...”

It was 2 hours later when Corpse said that he should probably be working on his music.

"Oh I'm so sorry," you apologized, "I didn't mean to keep you,"

"Oh no, I um, I liked talking to you."

Your breath caught for a moment and you smiled like a lunatic at your Pokémon covered bedsheets.

"I liked talking to you as well," you whispered out, heart sinking a little as you realized the call would be ending soon.

"Um, do you, maybe want to stay on call? like I'll just be writing and we can just chill?" he asked and you felt like your prayers had been answered.

"yes" you said quickly, not giving him a chance to back out.

He chuckled, and you fell in love a little.

Just a little.

You continued like that, calling each other every few days, talking so much and then at times, not talking at all, simply content with each others company.

He had even started facetiming you, the first time with a mask and then the second without it. You hadn't made a big deal about it, but the first time you saw him, you could barely breathe.

There were five days left until Christmas when you got the idea.

You were entirely not subtle about it, because, well to be honest, there wasn't a subtle bone in your body.

"Hey Corpse, do you like surprises?" you had asked, in the middle of colouring Raes hair (her hair was the last thing left before you could finally print the goddamn thing)

"It depends," he had murmured after a second, voice sending shivers down your spine like every time. Now whether that was because of his voice or because of him, you weren't entirely sure.

"on what?" you prodded when he refused to answer.

"On whether its a good one or a bad one" he had huffed out.

You had hummed, waited for a second and then blurted out that next question because you did not have a cent of patience.

"So what are you doing at Christmas?"

"Sleeping, if I can manage it," he replied, his voice taking on a sardonic tone, eyes flicking to you on the screen. The only thing he could see though was the top of your head because you had your iPad on the bed and were laying over it as you drew.

"Not with that attitude you aren't," you replied right back, making a small smile appear across his face.

"Hmmm, okay!" you said when he didn't reply.

He looked back over, eyebrows furrowed and mouth opening as he started to question you.

"Hey did you see the video I sent you?" you quickly asked distracting him from his question.

He would probably guess the surprise but that was okay. You only wanted to make a smile appear on his face. And honestly, for someone with anxiety, a small warning of a surprise was definitely needed.

It was Christmas day and you woke Sykkuno up at 6 in the morning with the promise that you'd buy him McDonald's. 30 minutes later, you were both in the car, yelling the lyrics to "All I want for Christmas" at the top of your lungs.

You had told sykkuno of your plan a few days ago and he had smiled at you with that stupid smile, agreeing with a small "alright."

You'd immediately realised that he knew. Even though you pretended otherwise, Sykkuno was the older one and the thing about older siblings was that they always knew.

They always knew.

So there you were, snacks loaded into your car, McDonald's fries practically everywhere, and a cake you had made in the backseat, on your way to Corpses house.

There was a lull in the music, and you were only 30 minutes away from his place, butterflies fluttering in your stomach when Sykkuno asked you a question.

"You like him right?" he murmured, head leaning against the window, eyes closed.

There was a moment of silence as you thought about what to say. Did you like Corpse? Of course, you liked Corpse! He was funny, he was nice, he made you feel like you were the only person that mattered and your heart beat faster than ever whenever he looked at you. Hell, that was through a screen, in real life, it would probably be even worse. So of course you liked him! The question was, did he like you back?

"Yeah," you answered Sykkuno, eyes straight on the road.

A second passed and then he smiled. "Good," he replied. and well. That was that. You sighed.

At least you had your brothers blessing.

Pulling into the apartment building, you breathed in, your heart beating a million times a second and the butterflies in your stomach had turned into snakes. Maybe, maybe this wasn't a good idea at all. I mean, you expected Corpse to get the hint but what if he didn't? and what if he didn't want you to come? Maybe you were being too quick. After all, It'd only been a month since you'd met.

These thoughts plagued your mind as you trudged up the stairs, turning to Sykkuno as you reached the door.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come," you whispered to him.

He looked at you, eyebrows high, "We just travelled two hours to get here. There's no way im going back without at least giving him the print."

"What if he doesn't want us to be here?" you hissed.

"Then we'll go away." he stated, "after we give him the print."

"But what if-"

Before you could even finish your sentence, the door opened and you both jumped, turning to face the person standing in the doorway.

You forced yourself to breathe as you finally saw him. It was him. Wearing a black beanie, half his hair spilling out the sides, stubble clear on his chin... it was him. At that moment, there was only one thought in your mind.

You were gonna marry this man.

"You suck at whispering," he said, and you huffed out a laugh, jumping onto him without even responding. You wrapped your arms around him, not letting go until Sykkuno cleared his throat from behind you.

You turned back immediately, grabbing the stuff in Sykkunos hands so he could greet Corpse too. As they awkwardly did their handshake/fistbump thing, you walked over to the couch behind them, putting down the print and the takeaway bags, and putting the cakebox down on the table.

You turned around to see them both standing there staring at you.

"Surprise?" you said when no one else spoke. That broke the ice a little and you grabbed the print from the couch thrusting it at Corpse.

"Open it. Open it. Open it." you mumbled, your heart beating fast as he carefully ripped the paper off. The smile that overtook his face made your heart immediately calm.

"It's beautiful," he whispered, eyes roaming everywhere, trying to take it all in. Clearing his throat, he nodded his head further into the apartment, mumbling that he was going to put it in the room, eyes still on the print as he walked there.

"You smile is gonna blind me," muttered Sykkuno.

"Oh shut up."

A few hours later, you stood in the kitchen, putting the leftover cake into Corpses fridge. You had all chilled, eating cake and the takeout that you and sykkuno had bought, laughing every few minutes. It felt like you were all on an adrenaline rush. You had facetimed Rae and Toast, Rae shrieking when she realised where you guys were. Sykkuno had just fallen into a nap, still tired from being wakened up so early, you assumed.

You leaned against the kitchen bench, smiling as Corpse walked in.

"Thankyou." he said as he came to a stop next to you, matching your position.

"For what?" you mused, even though you had a good enough idea.

"For the print. For coming here. For making my Christmas, a much happier affair than it has been my whole life." he stated, chuckling at the last point.

You turned your head sideways, and you didn't know what it was, but something about his face made you spurn into action. You grabbed his collar, pulled him down, and kissed him before he could even say anything. It would be too cliche to say that fireworks erupted. And if you were being honest they didn't. Instead, it felt like everything was finally right. You fit perfectly in his arms as they wrapped themselves around you, and you smiled into the kiss as he lifted you up, making you sit at the counter. You twirled the hair at the nape of his neck with your left hand, taking a deep breath in as you both slowed down and pulled away.

"Well," he whispered, "that was unexpected."

You raised a single eyebrow. Honesty you'd done a lot for this relationship. You just drove for nearly 3 hours! If he wanted it to progress, he was gonna have to say it himself.

"But not unwelcome," he continued when you didn't speak. A moment passed, where you could see that he was psyching himself up to say something. Finally, with a heaving sigh, he whispered "Darling, would you do me the honour of being called yours?"

You melted right there.

A nod was all he needed before he grabbed your lips with his again, both of you giggling when he accidentally hit the side of your mouth instead of the lips.

The sound of a picture being taken filled the air, making you spring apart and swing your heads over to the doorway, which had sykkuno leaning against it, his phone in his hand.

"Thank god. Rae and Toast bet that you wouldn't confess until after Christmas, so now they both owe me 20 bucks." he said, now fiddling on the phone. "Dont worry Corpse, I'll add a circle over your face or something."

Your mouth dropped open as you stared at your brother.

"You bet on my love life?" you scoffed, still shocked.

At his nod though, you swung off the bench, marching until you were eye to eye to him.

"I want half the winnings."

Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the living room, jumping onto the sofa.

"C'mon, let's watch one more episode before heading back," he said and you jumped in next to him, patting the space next to you as Corpse came in behind you.

You grabbed Sykkunos hand and squeezed it, letting him know that you were grateful that he didn't make it such a big deal. Leaning your head on corpses shoulder, you smiled to yourself.

You'd have to leave in 30 minutes, to drive back to your parents and spend the rest of Christmas with them, leaving Corpse behind. And that made you a bit sad sure, but it couldn't overpower the feeling of pure happiness at being here. At giving him a happier Christmas. You smiled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Nothing could overpower this feeling of absolute happiness.

fin.

Corpse husband taglist: @mythicalamphitrite @ramble-writes @atsumubabe @anxiouskat5646 @itssierramcquade @xaestheticalien @jotaroslightning @starstruckllamapuppy @gxldenskiez @shinyshimaagain @cavanana @fee-btheweeb (send an ask to be added!)

#corpse x reader #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband #corpse x y/n #corpse x you #corpse husband fanfiction #sykkunos sister #sykkuno fanfic #hope you enjoy #love yous

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serendipityjxmn · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 13

TW: None

Words Count: 1.7k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 14

“Jimin?” You softly call. He looks up from his toast in front of him. “Um.. I saw someone unfamiliar with your security.. apart from Jinhyeok and Daniel.. is he new?”

“Ah. I forgot to tell you. His name is Taeseok. He’ll be your bodyguard from now on.” He casually says and went back to eating his toast.

“What?” You say a tad too loudly, startling him. “Why?”

He looks at you again. “What do you mean why- to protect you of course, you idiot.”

He calls you an idiot. Yet you have no idea why your heart flutters at that. Maybe you really are an idiot.

“I can’t be around you all the time and now that the public knows you, you’d need security.”

You swallow. It’s the cons of being a public figure, you guess. Or being married to one.

It’s a busy day at the office that day. You don’t see Jimin a lot. He even tells you to go home first since he had few things to be done. You figured to wait for him but then decided against it since you have something else to do.

Back at home, you’ve been rummaging and scrounging through the kitchen just so you can do what you can with the plan in your mind ever since you find out about Jimin’s birthday. It’s basically still two weeks away but early planning never hurts, you guess.

And that’s how you find yourself teteering dangerously on the edge of a stool because god forbids that the cabinets in the house is freaking high for you. And you curse whoever stacks the antique porcelain cup set so high but thinking it might be Mrs. Lee, you grit your teeth trying to reach it.

“Goddamn it, I just can’t reach it-“ you grumble.

As if on cue, Jimin’s voice broke through the kitchen, startling you and making your hand hit cabinet door before you feet starts to lose balance.

“Fuck Y/N-“ is the last thing you hear before you find yourself succumbing to the gravity and falling in less than elegant way to the ground.

Except the ground doesn’t feel so rough.

A grunt from beneath you makes your eyes shoot open and you’re met with the sight of your husband, his face merely inches from you. His brows creased and his expression pained. It takes you a few moments to realize you fell on top of him.

“Oh my god- are you okay?” You move your body but Jimin ends up grunting again and you panic even more.

“Y/N,” he calls you. You freeze but continue to stare at him in alarm. That’s when you realize that your hips literally met against him, making your private area right against his crotch. You gasp and wastes no time getting up, muttering tonnes of apologies at once.

He gets up as well. “I.. didn’t mean to startle you.”

You shake your head. “No.. I’m- I’m sorry I didn’t hear you come. Do you need anything?”

You look up and sees Jimin has his right hand on the back of his head, like he’s shy. He clears his throat.

“I.. got something for you.” As soon as the words come out of his mouth, you could’ve sworn his cheeks are flushing.

You look down at the gift perfectly wrapped in front of you. Slowly, like in a trance you take it from him.

“It’s uh.. I got it from a friend. Long time ago. And I don’t use it.. so.. if you wanna use it.. if you don’t it’s fine-“ Jimin is rambling at this point while you unwrap the gift.

It’s an art set. A freaking expensive one at that. Complete with the canvas, brushes and all kinds of coloring.

You look up and realize Jimin has left you so you start towards him, half running until you see his familiar back in the hallway.

“Jimin-“ you call him and he turns. Not thinking for a second, you hug him tightly. “Thank you.” You say as soon as you let go of him, holding his hand tight. “I love it.” You say in all honesty because you really do mean it.

You wish you could treasure your husband’s look of surprise mixed with some embarassment forever. He looks too adorable for your heart.

“Yeah, um-“ is all he says before he turns his back again and walks away.

You feel your heart pounds so fast as you watch his retreating figure.

No, don’t fall for him. He’s dangerous.

You hug the gift set tight on your chest.

But who are you kidding.

You. Like. Him.

Fuck.

And that’s the main reason that you wake the next morning feeling different. You’ve woken up beside a sleeping Jimin, your own freaking husband for weeks now and yet there he is, still sleeping soundly but your heart is behaving erratically.

Even when you’re having breakfast with him, you feel nervous that you can’t quite look at him in the eye. Like you’re staring at your crush. God, damn it you feel like a highschooler again. A hormonal highschooler.

You’re not yourself at work either. You know your husband has always been good looking but he looks extra handsome today, you think. Or is it just your biased mind talking?

If good looks are illegal, you’d probably be the first to sue him.

“Y/N?” Jimin calls you, pulling you out from your trance of thoughts. Your cheeks flush, feels like you’ve been caught in your embarassing thoughts.

“Y-yes?” You ask as you stand beside his desk in his office.

“You’re so out of it today. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” You quickly say and excuse yourself before you can further embarass yourself.

At home that night, taking a huge deep breath and trying hard to calm your trembling hands holding a a cup of coffee and a package, you knock on Jimin’s study room door. You enter after his answer.

He seems busy on his computer, barely looking up to register who’s coming in. You approach silently, almost tiptoeing though you have no idea why.

You put the cup of coffee on the edge of his table together with a wrapped package beside it.

“Jimin..” you call him cautiously. When he doesn’t look up, you continue. “I.. have something for you.”

That seems to pique his interest as he looks up from his work. He looks at you then at the gift you place on his desk.

“I.. made it myself but- um I don’t know if you’ll like it..”

He reaches the package and his fingers move to unwrap it so you quickly turn on your heels, exiting the study room with a pounding heart. His reaction to opening your gift isn’t something that you think your heart can handle.

You had made him a custom name plaque for him to put it in his office. If he ever finds it to his liking. Which you secretly hope he does. You’d made it before with little source you have but you’ve been contemplating too much whether to give it to him because things hadn’t been smooth with him all the time.

But recently you feel like you’ve gotten much progress in your relationship with your husband. So you figured you would just man up and give it to him. Though you promise yourself to make something else for him using the art set he gave you.

“Y/N!” You hear it before you turn to see Mina running breathlessly towards you.

“Mina what’s wrong-“

“This- take this-“ she says still out of breath. “For meeting with the Japanese after this, you’re sitting in the meeting right?”

“No I’m not-“ you begin but gets cut off instantly.

“What? Really? Oh God- please if you don’t know what the meeting’s about Mr. Park wouldn’t allow you in though. Y/N please can you help me out this once? My stomach is really really killing me now.” She continues to beg, clutching her stomach harshly.

You just couldn’t say no.

Even though you know you know how your husband could be in the meeting room. Especially when someone doesn’t know what they’re doing.

And that’s exactly what you’re doing right now.

And it doesn’t take long for Jimin to excuse you and himself outside the conference room and you know you’re absolutely doomed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He hisses outside the door, where everyone in the office could hear him shouting at you, his wife and you flinch. “The Japanese are waiting in the fucking conference room!” He barks.

You don’t know how to answer him. Do you tell him that Mina’s supposed to be sitting in? But that would put her on the spot so you decided to shut your mouth. Though you wish he would tell you off somewhere private instead.

“I didn’t pay your salary for you to fuck around-“ he snarls and the atmosphere gets even more tense.

It isn’t your fault.. You’re not the one who does it, not even the one’s supposed to sit in the meeting..

Feeling thoroughly unfairly accused, you feel your eyes start to water.

Your husband, ever the cold person doesn’t seem to take pity with your cry.

“If this is what you wanna do here, then you should’ve just sit the fuck home.” He hisses and you’ve never feel so hurt by his words. He just made this a whole lot personal by mentioning home. Jimin doesn’t waste another second and immediately turns on his heel.

Turn around and say you’re sorry.

But of course, Jimin doesn’t do that.

Someone approaches you as soon as Jimin’s gone, you’re not sure who with your unclear vision to ask if you’re okay. You hastily nod then gives a small smile before retreating to your desk.

This is a very cowardly act, you think.

But you just can’t hold it in anymore. Perhaps you’re better off not knowing what your husband does at work. Clara Kim, his cold attitude towards you.. it’s too much..

With a heavy sigh, you pull out a drawer on your right. Your hand reach for the letter you wrote few nights ago.

You resigned as your husband’s secretary.

A/N: surprise chapter drop! Hehe. I hope you guys are ready, the rollercoaster ride of emotions is just about to start 😎 brace yourself!

Link to Chapter 14

Posted on 210427 9:00PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnmrpresident #mrpresident #mr president #bts fic #bts au #bts smut #jimin au #park jimin #parkjimin #kpop fic #jimin smut #jimin ceo #jimin mafia #bts mafia #jimin x reader

96 notes · View notes

diofasolia · 3 years ago

Text

I posted 35,010 times in 2021

439 posts created (1%)

34571 posts reblogged (99%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 78.7 posts.

I added 3,497 tags in 2021

#reblog - 1390 posts

#others art - 828 posts

#ask - 235 posts

#xd - 201 posts

#undertale au - 179 posts

#undertale - 172 posts

#nothingbizzare art - 140 posts

#utmv - 136 posts

#others writing - 110 posts

#blue's art - 106 posts

Looks who's invading my tags XD @bluepalleteuniverse & @nothingbizzare

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#and a lil' shout out to the members of the dark cream family <3 since a year ago this same day i got the courage to post mimosa and from

My Top Posts in 2021

Every story has a begining

And our story begins at a small, cozy coffee shop. Where our three protagonist has their first encounter…

Studioverse by @zu-is-here and many others headcanons

Original Killer by @rahafwabas

Original Nightmare by @jokublog

Original Ccino by @black-nyanko

Fluffynightkiller Week by @help-im-a-gay-fish

*******

Soooo the first day of Fluffynightkiller Week is here ✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧

(yes I'm going to make music again:-)

And I have a silly idea that "what if the movie Fluffynightkiller gets their own soundtrack?"

Like every prompt of the day is a movie ost (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

The music cover drawing is how I picture the movie poster might look like, it's a weird one but I think it's kinda okay????

The music sheets is here ヾ(･ω･*)ﾉ

76 notes • Posted 2021-05-29 12:10:02 GMT

"I'm not sure if there'll be a happy ever after ending for us…"

"Yet I'm no longer afraid."

"Because I know you and me are gonna reach the end hand in hand."

Cross!Sans by @jakei95

Dream by @jokublog

Shattered Dream by @shattereddreamsau

Dark Cream Week by @zu-is-here

(notes to self: never attempt to draw skeleton hands again because it's too difficult—)

The last day of Dark Cream Week is here!!

Which is also my favorite day!

After countless despairs, Dream and Cross still manage to stay by each other's side

There's nothing can defeat them as long as the love between them never die

I'm so glad I manage to participate the DC Week project, it really pushes past my limit (I mean I never knew that I can compose seven pieces in three weeks—) and also seeing many kind and talented artists' incredible creations!

It just makes me so delightful uwu

Thank you for hosting this Dark Cream Week project, Zu!! (☆▽☆)(人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

Also I want to give a special thank you to @kotikaleo

You may not remember but your encouragement words is what making me able to complete the week project uwu uwu

77 notes • Posted 2021-03-16 12:11:26 GMT

Random thoughts about

Fluffynightkiller✨

So I'm just thinking about this headcanon where Ccino, Killer and Nightmare finally get married

And of course it's a BIG NEWS. I'd like to think the media all around the world is going crazy about this polygamous marriage. Because not only Killer and Nightmare are icons for the poly community but also they spent years to fight for the legal rights of their marriage

That's when a director comes up an idea of making a movie about the three skeletons

(because that's be honest, the love story between Killer, Nightmare and Ccino are just too dramatic and legendary to not make it into a movie—)

At first, Nightmare refuses the director immediately. He doesn't want to draw more attention to their relationship. Killer, on the other hand, it's not really against the idea of making a movie about their love story

As for Ccino, he's not really that surprised when his husbands tell him the news. Ccino knows how famous Killer and Nightmare are, so is pretty normal for some people want to know more about their relationship. Overall, he's a bit anxious about the idea of making a movie but also find it interesting as well

Director "so…do you guys agree on making a film about the story between you three?"

Nightmare "…fine, we'll do it. But only on one condition"

Director "okay! What is it?"

Killer "our sweet marshmallow will be in the film too"

Director "but…Mr. Ccino isn't an actor, we can find another person—"

Nightmare "he WILL be in the movie or else"

That's just say Ccino is absolutely shocked when he learns he's gonna be a role in the movie too

Ccino "what? I'm gonna play a role in the film? But I not an actor like you guys! I can't act!"

Killer "who says you have to act? It's OUR story! You just need to be yourself and focus on me or Night~"

Ccino "so what's the name of the movie? It's not going to be so cliche name like 'neverending love' or something, right?"

In the end, the three skeletons having a brainstorm about what name to call their movie

The result?

Well, the movie's name it's a bit long but they seem to like it very much

It's called—

"Fluffynightkiller"

Studio verse by @zu-is-here

Original Nightmare by @jokublog

Original Killer by @rahafwabas

Original Ccino by @black-nyanko

Tagging @help-im-a-gay-fish @jann-the-bean @yuriyuruandyuraart @dragon-tamer-1 @kotikaleo

I'm not sure if I tag people right, there are many people that bursting ideas about this ship

So if I make some mistakes, I'm sorry (θ‿θ)

77 notes • Posted 2021-05-02 18:06:43 GMT

Okay, I finally did it (ㆁωㆁ)

The dtiys by @zu-is-here!!

Original version by super amazing Zu!

Sorry I can't draw their hands or arms or waist

I nearly lose my sanity just to sketch them out (ʘᴗʘ✿)

Funny thing: My irl friend says dtiys to me is destroy this in your style XD

To be honest I don't really have an "art style"

Need to PRACTICE MORE ᕙ(＠°▽°＠)ᕗ

The rough sketch is in here ↓↓

80 notes • Posted 2021-04-07 11:42:03 GMT

"No…! Tell me…this isn't real…"

"Oh, but it is, my dear…"

"…and don't pretend it's all just a bad dream."

Cross!Sans by @jakei95

Dream by @jokublog

Shattered Dream by @shattereddreamsau

Dark Cream Week by @zu-is-here

I decide to compose some music for the Dark Cream Week(◍•ᴗ•◍)(◍•ᴗ•◍)

And here it is! The music piece of day one is in the structure of string quartet.

The melody of first violin represents Dream struggling against his corruption while the second violin represents Cross, who's trying to make Dream come back to his senses.

These are my music sheets (ㆁωㆁ)(ㆁωㆁ)

139 notes • Posted 2021-03-10 15:17:11 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #My top post is a battlefield between dark cream and fnk #that long tag probably come from Blue I think—#Goodbye 2021 this year is almost over #Also in memorable for my pet hamster #she past away just now #May you rest in peace and reincarnate in human next life my dearest fluffy ball

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bbykpoper · 4 years ago

Photo

𝓒𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓭𝓫𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 💐

Inspired by this post 🌼

Pairing: florist!yeosang x photographer!reader

Index: Jongho // Hongjoong // Seonghwa // San // Yunho // Wooyoung // Mingi

･*:༅

“We have the best wedding photographer on hand, she is currently at a photo shoot, so if you wish to see her work you are more than welcome to.” A tall young man spoke to the couple in front of them with a smile. “May I just say, it would be an honour to do your photos. Our whole studio simply adores your sweets!”

“Say it louder, I don’t think they heard how desperate you are Johnny.”

“Shut it Mark.”

Glares were exchanged. Small breathless laughs followed the exchange between the boys as the couple nodded in assurance.

“We’d love to work with your studio, and it would be really awesome if we could see the photographer at work!” Song Mingi exclaimed as he held his fianceé’s hand. “When do we leave?”

“Oh, you guys don’t have to go far.” The boy in the hoodie with glasses, named Mark, spoke from the corner. “They’re on the roof.”

“Wonderful, let’s go!”

Johnny was quick to guide them up the steps and through the door. The couple was met with a sight out of a fiction novel. There was a young beauty in a white dress standing in the middle of a field of dandelions the sun beautifully shading her figure on the ground as a bubbly you jumped from one side to another, your dark hair adorned with a very badly made flower crown.

“That’s her right there, the jumpy rabbit.” Mark pointed at the you in the cargo pants and flower crown on your head. “She’s overly excited sometimes.”

“Y/N!” Johnny yelled out, making you stop and turned to him, your facial features designed to murder him.

“What do you want Johnton?” You asked with a sigh. “Can it wait until the sun rises fully, I’m getting some good material here.”

“Oh yeah, no problem.” He waved. “We’ll just observe the magic.”

“Yeah yeah.” You ignored him as you went back to work, now bringing in the groom as well.

Mingi and his significant other watched you with vigour in their eyes, happy that they decided to go with their guts and come down to this particular studio to get a photographer for their big day. Johnny and Mark stood beside the couple and nodded knowing that you had just convinved them to pay you for a photo shoot.

“Congradulations on your day.” You said to the husband and wife as they happily left the vacinity of your studio. With a small smile on your face you turned towards your friends/roommates/co-workers and their new clients, a big question mark above your head. “Hi, I’m y/n. The main photographer here at NCT photos.”

“Hi, I’m Song Mingi and this is my future wife.”

“Welcome, take a seat please.” You said and sat in between Johnny and Mark. “How can we help you?”

“Our wedding is in a month and our photographer quit on us last minute.” He began explaining to you. “And a friend of ours reffered you guys, so we came here as soon as we could to see if we could book you guys to do our wedding.”

“So which date would that be?” You pulled out a small planner littered in stickers and opened it to the calendar page of the next month.

“It’s on the 7th.”

“That’s in a week.” Mark deadpanned his face embodying the pikachu meme.

“Yeah.” Both of them scratched their necks. “To be honest, I proposed three weeks ago.”

“Wow.” Johnny whistled and looked at his friends. “You think we could do this?”

“Where is the wedding?” You asked, just nodding at Johnny’s question.

“It’s going to be at our little home. The back yard is vast and there is space to do the shoot as well as hold the wedding.”

“Can we decorate the shoot according to your wishes?”

“Yes. We’ll provide you guys with everything. Except the flowers...” Mingi looked at you. “I want to have flowers which will fully bring out my future wife’s beauty. So I was hoping you could help me out.”

“Sure, no problem.” You gave a thumbs up. “I’ll just go down to Jihyo’s place later.”

“Great, we have a friend who works there.” Both said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, Kang Yeosang.”

･*:༅

The wheezing laughter that came from Mark had your eye twitching in annoyance. The three of you sat at Sugarberry’s, Johnny patting your shoulder in reassurance while Mark just kept on wheeze laughing while he tried to drink his watermelon flaovured lemonade. Ever since Mingi and his fianceé came by their studio wanting to book them as their photographers and the notion that Yeosang, your not so subtle fan, was their friend and your future co-worker had Mark dying.

You were friends with these two since elementary school. You guys went to the same middle and high school, only parting ways with Mark in college but still living together ever since. Johnny and you opened this small but very well known photography studio in your senior year of college and Mark jumped on the band wagon as a film maker and editor. Ever since then you guys were thriving in your job.

“Can you stop laughing?” You groaned out, sinking deeper into your hoodie. “I don’t think it’s that funny.”

“But it is.” He said, brushing off a tear from his eye. “You’ll be finally working together with Yeosang. How is that not funny?”

“You’re mean.” You mumbled underneath your breath.

“Come on Mark, y/n didn’t make fun of you when you had a crush on your visual arts teacher.” Johnny sighed, taking a bite of his pastry. “Remember, the teacher that had you all hot and bothered?”

“But why don’t you just admit it to yourself that you like him?” Mark suddenly straightened up at the mention of his college visual arts professor. “I mean you do like him?”

“I don’t know okay?” You sighed, playing with the straw of your coffee. “I do consider him to be attractive physically, but how can I like someone who I don’t even know?”

“Well, the easy answer is to get to know him.” Johnny shrugged his shoulders. “For now, you can at least tell him you’ll come to visit the flower shop.” He pointed at the blond boy who smiled shyly at you and waved, having you wave back.

“He didn’t hear our conversation, right?” You asked with an awkward smile on your face.

“I don’t think so.” Mark added, turning around to say hi to him. “You’re good.”

With a deep breath you stood up from your table and walked over to the boy who patiently waited in line to get to order his drinks. You softly tapped his shoulder to gain his attention and his ears turned a soft shade of pink when he figured out who was trying to gain his attention.

“Hi.” You softly greeted.

“Hi.” The smile which glowed on his face almost blinded your cat-like eyes.

“Came to get a drink?”

“Yeah. Jihyo has some orders and couldn’t go out to get us something to drink.” He nodded. “You guys done with work?”

“We’re just beginning.” You sighed. “Mingi booked us to work his wedding. I was surprised he decided to go through with a wedding only after three weeks of engagement.”

“Yeah, they actually pinned for each other for the past two years but were too dumb to notice the other.” Yeosang looked over at Mingi happily whistling in the back and making some cakes. “Oh to be in love.”

You looked up at him and got lost in the warmth he radiated from his body. The afternoon sun nicely shaped his facial features with those deep shadows and you had to control yourself as to not blush or show just how much it affected you.

“Yeah, must be nice.” Your eyes longingly stayed on him. “By the way, I’ll be dropping by the flower shop tomorrow. I need to pick out some flowers for Mingi’s photo shoot.”

“Really?” His eyes seemed to light up even more.

“Yeah, really.” You smiled at him.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

･*:༅

Jihyo sat in silence and observed the two as they went about the shop considering some flowers which were supposed to fit the couple. Johnny also stood on the side next to Jihyo and snorted when both Yeosang and you touched hands as you went to take hold of a gardenia flower at the same time.

“Please tell me they’re not dumb like Mingi and his girlfriend.” Jihyo commented.

“No. They know that the other likes them, but y/n has a problem connecting with others who she doesn’t know on a friendly basis.” Johnny added. “It’s a good and bad thing at the same time.”

“So, they just need to be friends first?” Jihyo asked.

“I mean they technically are...?” The tall man sighed. “But yeah. They need to hang out a bit more.”

Jihyo sat in though for a few minutes before motioning to Johnny to follow her lead.

“Guys, I need to go out and pick up some stuff for the shop so I’m leaving this little task of picking the best flowers to you Yeosang.” Jihyo said, and grabbed Johnny to drag him out. “I will need Johnny’s help too. Have fun y/n.”

“Good luck.” You waved at them, not really paying attention or mind to anything.

Yeosang caught on quickly to Jihyo’s plan because she basically gave him a thumbs up and wink to go for it. He suddenly became very nervous and skittish and you noticed it.

“What’s wrong?” You asked him.

“Nothing.” He simply answered. “How about making some flower crowns for them? I know Mingi’s wife would like some.”

“Great idea!” You exclaimed clapping your hands together, but quickly coming to terms with a small problem. “Only... I’m shit at making those.”

“You can’t be that bad-” You pulled out your camera and showed him some pictures of Mark mocking your hand woven flower crown. “-okay, you’re just not experienced. But I can teach you.”

And so, you spent the next two hours learning how to properly make flower crowns and finally succeeded in making a beautiful one out of the small flowers of a cloudberry.

“I did it!” You smiled at Yeosang widely.

“Yeah. You did.”

The dreamy look in his eyes had you blushing furiously as a sudden thought ran through your mind. Somehow you’ve come to know Yeosang a bit more through this little activity the both of you did and it gave you courage that maybe, the crush you had on him, and the crush he had on you, could work out into something more. But you had to be sure, so you took the next step.

“So, because I have to get everything ready and in order for the wedding next week, do you want to help me out?” You asked, your ears burning from the heat your cheeks produced.

Yeosang blinked a few times but nodded, shy and small, a smile playing on his lips.

“I’d love to.”

“Great. Is it okay if you come over tomorrow after your shift?”

“As in, come over to your home?”

“Yeah, I share an appartment with Johnny and Mark next to the NCT studio. Both of them have other business to attend to so they won’t be home and we can work in peace.” God this seemed to be so intimate but not at the same time. “You can say no if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No!” He suddenly said making you frown and avert your gaze. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.” He quickly corrected himself. “What I meant to say was that I am not uncomfortable and it’s totally fine being alone with you.” Great Yeosang, now she will think you’re desperate. “I’ll come over after 4 p.m.”

“Awesome.” Johnny came in with Jihyo just as you said. “Johnny look, I finally made a normal flower crown.” You flaunted your handy work to your friend. “All thanks to Yeosang.”

“Nice. Let’s go show it to Mark and make him suffer for ever mocking your crooked ones before.” He laughed. “See you around guys.”

“See ya.” You waved at them both and left the shop.

“So did it help being alone with her?” Jihyo asked, glancing at a blushy mess of a co-worker.

“Yes. I’m going over to her place tomorrow.” He whispered out, squating down and holding his face in his arms. “God, I feel like a high school kid who had his first kiss.”

Jihyo laughed and patted the man’s shoulder reassuringly. You managed to make Mark swallow his words and admit you did an awesome job with these new flower crowns. The day had ended with you laying in your bed, your head on your soft pillow with thoughts of Yeosang drifting you off to sleep, the flower crown you made proudly placed on your bed-side table as the night shifted darker.

･*:༅

“We made quite a lot haven’t we.” Yeosang commented as he finished his 40th dandelion crown since he came over. “What are we gonna do with so many?”

“Give them out to the guests. It’ll look nice in the photos.” You shrugged your shoulders as you texted Mingi’s future wife to tell her the plan. “She agreed to it. And Mingi seems to be excited.”

“Yeah, he does that when it comes to her.” Yeosang smiled solemnly.

“We’re done for today. The rest of the work is mostly on Mark and Johnny’s shoulders now.” You smiled and looked outside.

It was about 5.45 p.m. and you knew that soon the sun was going to set. You looked over to the window and noticed the furry friend you were waiting for and opened the glass which separated you two to have him jump into your arms and lick your nose slightly.

“Where have you been Dandelion?” You asked the grey cat as he purred in your hold. “Want some tuna with that love of yours.” You joked and placed him down before opening a can and placing it in his bowl so he can freely munch on it.

“You have a cat?” Yeosang asked, observing the interaction with soft eyes.

“Yeah. Technically he is a stray but likes to cuddle from time to time. He hates Mark and Johnny for some reason, but likes me and dandelion flowers, hence the name.” You shrugged your shoulders as you petted his head while he ate. “By the way, wanna see something cool?”

“Sure.” Yeosang stood up as you jumped out the window onto the connecting roof of a building next to your appartment.

He followed your lead as you kept walking and climbing on to a spot which had an outdoor lounge are filled with bean bags and a small wooden table.

“This is a secret rest area for the NCT studio which I usually use to take pictures of the sunset.” You said, plopping down on one of the bean bags. “Take a seat. You want something cold to drink?”

“Sure.” You grabbed two iced-teas and turned to give him one but were met with Dandelion cozying up to him instead.

“So he likes you.”

“It seems so.” He laughed and took the tea you offered him, opening it swiftly with one hand. “It’s so beautiful.”

You looked over at the setting sun. “Yeah. It is.” You took a sip of your tea and sneakily took a photo of Yeosang and your cat. “By the way. I have something to tell you.” You were now certain.

“What’s up?” Yeosang turned to look at your profile which was being bathed in the setting sun.

“I like you.” You said, not daring to look at him before taking a deep breath. “I like you more than a friend.”

Your eyes met for a brief second, you holding your breath as you waited for any type of reaction. The sudden blush which creeped up to his ears and down to his neck was a bit worrying but you still waited. He looked down at his hands and pinched his cheek to see if he was dreaming or not.

“I like you too. More than a friend.” He whispered out and laughed to himself holding his face in his hands, before finally pulling you to him, and placing his chin on your head. “I’m so happy. Like really happy to know the feeling is mutual.”

“Me too.” You said, burrying your face into his shoulder. “I want to try dating. Like, couple stuff too. And everything that goes with it.” You mumbled. “I think I can trust you.”

“Then we will do all that!” He said looking at you.

The both of you placed your foreheads against each others, smiling like idiots. The sun set in the background peacefully as Dandelion purred in Yeosang’s lap. Life was beautiful, serene and fluffy.

Just like the clouds and berries of this series.

#ateez imagines #kang yeosang #ateez #ateez reaction #cloudberry

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larryfanficwriter98 · 4 years ago

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Chapter One.

Fake Fiancé/Husband Wanted!

Yes, I know the request looks weird, but I can explain. I work a high demanding job so I can't have custody of my child unless I marry someone with regular hours and a regular nanny on call. I have the nanny, but she is a uni student and can't be here at odd hours. After gaining custody and getting a job with normal hours I am willing to pay you or we can talk about divorce settlements. Preferably someone with a stable job and a liking towards kids. If you have a child, they are welcome to live here too obviously and I will treat them like my own for the foreseeable future. Serious inquiries only, please contact me via email I have made specifically for this.

Thank you. Louis didn't know why he was on craigslist at three in the morning after drinking himself to death's door knowing Freddie was safe with Zayn for the night. He knew that when he was drunk, he tended to do stupid things and think stupid things. He had been on this post for almost an hour staring at it knowing damn well how stupid and dangerous replying was. That didn't stop him from clicking on the email and typing out a reply.

To Stranger,

My name is Louis Tomlinson I am a single father of a four-year-old boy. I work as a dramatic arts teacher at Abraham Moss Community. Not the best paying job, but nowhere in your post did you have a minimum annual income requirement. Despite the horrible pay I do love my job and I work at this school for free childcare at the nursery across the street my son goes to. I would like to know a bit more information about you wanting custody before I agree to such a thing. You hear so many stories about fathers taking kids to be spiteful, so I want to be sure that is not the reason.

Louis

**** It was two days later when Louis got a reply from the mysterious guy. He waited until his lunch break before he read it.

Louis,

You are the first normal person who has shown interest in anything that wasn't money related. For that reason, I really hope we hit it off. I love my daughter so much; she is my absolute world and I video call her every day. It's not me that is the bad parent and I say this as nicely as I can, but her mother is a very absent and selfish parent, and it shows. It's funny you work where you do, my daughter is in Year 1 there.

I gave her mother the money for private school, but she spent it on a new wardrobe for herself and didn't even spent a dime on out daughter. So, she goes to Abraham. I have receipts and check copies, and everything is to prove that I am the 'fit' parent. I have tried to avoid court, but I haven't been able to have my daughter for more than a few hours in over a year. Now her mother is talking about movie to America if her boyfriend gets the promotion at the end of the twelve-month training which just began a month ago. I have a hearing in a few weeks for visiting rights so hopefully if you are still willing after hearing how much drama this will involve, we can talk about everything in person before then.

Your son Freddie, what's his custody like? He is welcome here anytime and if he lives with you full time that's amazing. Obviously, kids make this a bit more delicate, but all the more reason to see if we can try to be something more along the way? We'll discuss this more another time of course, but reply as soon as you are able to and maybe we can get coffee?

Your (maybe) future husband.

Louis smiled softly reading about how much the guy loved his daughter. He seemed to want the best for her, and her mother seemed to just want money. He heard about those people and he could honestly say he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe people put themselves first over their own child. Louis had three-year-old winter boots with the soles so worn out that the snow seeped into his socks, but his son always needed new boots every winter and he'd be damned if his son were in pain over too tight shoes because Louis bought a pair of boots for himself. Louis pressed the reply button and wrote a quick response.

My future husband,

She sounds like the devil. I'd be happy to help you if you don't/haven't found anyone better. I have the same lunch hour every Monday through Friday from 11-12 and there's a small coffee shop around the corner I can make it to for the hour. Then my best my mate has Freddie a weekend a month and then me mum has Freddie for another weekend. Usually it goes me mum, myself, best mate, and myself again. So, to make this believable we have two weekends to have "been together". Freddie is mine solely, I'm a carrier so I had him, and his other father ran out a few months after he was born. Ran off with a younger boy without a child and without a scar on his stomach. Let me know when you're available for that coffee.

Louis

*********** Harry emailed only three people Louis, Matthew, and Brian. Matthew and Brian didn't have kids, but they said they liked them. Matthew kept asking about his monthly income which he kept avoiding and Brian asked how big he was and if sex was involved. Harry wouldn't say no to sex of course, but to ask someone's size. He ended up blocking him when he got a dick pic. Matthew then asked how much the wedding would total up to and if they were wearing designer suits, so he ended up blocking him as well. Louis was interested in his reason of doing this and he had a child so knew how real this had to be for kids. He knew what it meant to be a full-time parent and put the kid first. So, he was so far the best candidate and he never even asked about his job or finances. So, after checking his schedule he emailed him and told him he'd be able to meet Thursday during his lunch at the café he knew Louis was talking about. He got off a rare 38-hour shift Thursday at ten, so it gave him time to make it to the school for a quick minute to see Maddison. He walked into the building still in his pink scrubs and lab coat on as well, but that was because he hadn't taken it off so use to having it on all the time. He headed up to the front desk smiling at Amy. "Hey Amy, is Maddison available for just a minute? I know she's in art right now." "She is, however, she's over at the other side in Mr. Tomlinson's room. He's her favorite teacher and she goes there every art class and sometimes when her mother is late for pickup, he stays with her. I can take you to his room." "Louis Tomlinson?" Harry questioned not believing it for a second "Well, she calls him Mister Tommy." "Oh that's- no kidding yeah she told me about him. He gives her candy whenever she gets a good score on her writing or reading." Harry said grinning "That's him. He seems to be everyone's favorite. I'll take you to him-" "No, it's okay. Can you just tell her I stopped by? I don't want to disturb her." "Are you sure?" "Yeah, it's fine. Thank you, Amy." Harry left the building and headed to his Murano. He waited in the parking lot for a little while as he went through their emails over the past few days. Harry had told Louis his name and that he worked as a doctor. He wanted to get into neonatal care, he already had the training and everything he needed there just hadn't been an opening yet, but the hospital was expanding their Neonatal Ward and Harry had already talked to his higher ups about working there. When he finally got to the cafe, he was only a few minutes later because he got lost in his own head in the parking lot. Harry got out of the car and headed inside up to the front desk. Louis' Gmail account had a picture of himself so when he looked around the cafe it was easy to spot Louis sitting at a booth as he looked down at his phone. Harry grabbed his cup and headed to the booth nervously then set the mug down and slid into the other side. Louis looked up from his phone and smiled. "Hey." Harry said "Hi. Sorry I was texting one of the nursery staffs about Freddie. He had a rough night last night so he's having a bad day today." "Is he okay? Bad dream or something?" Harry asked concerned "He has a problem of staying asleep, we live in the apartment complex and our upstairs neighbors stay up all night yelling at their game system." "Melatonin. My mom swears by it when I was a toddler. I had to give mine some when she refused a nap even though she was exhausted a few years ago." Harry told him "They have melatonin for kids?" "Yeah, definitely get some for him if he wakes up at odd hours of the night. Also, you know my daughter." "I do? I know a few Year 1, but not a lot. Who is she?" Louis asked "Maddison Styles." Louis eyes widen and he grinned "Yeah, I was just with her. She comes to see me every Tuesday and Thursday during her art class. She has a hard time concentrating in the room, so I took her to mine. I have a free period anyway, so I don't mind." "Yeah, she's too much like me. Her and I have a sensory overwhelm with too much noise. We also have dyslexia, terrible dyslexia, mine is controlled most of the time now, but she's not doing so good with her reading or writing because she doesn't get at home help." "Yeah, I figured that out when she wrote her name as Mabbison or Wappison more than a few times." Louis said grinning making Harry laugh nodding "I had to get five different papers for her birth signing because I was so emotional when I was spelling her name, I messed it up. My mom had to take me to a quiet room and call me down before letting me write again. If was horrible. My patients look at my writing and I can see their confusion build as they try to decipher my spelling." Louis laughed covering his mouth with his hand, "anyway um I know this was meant to be a casual meeting to make sure we're not pedophiles or murders or whatever, but I did bring some copies of things just in case you want to see it. I'm not trying to make her out to be a horrible person, these are just some of the things I had copies of at home." "Oh, now that I know you're Madison's dad and having met her mother I agree with you. She's a horrible person. I hate her. Today for example Maddison came to school in a dress without a jacket and without leggings. She was freezing, the school wasn't letting kids inside yet, so I let her in the side door to my classroom and gave her some of Freddie's sweatpants I keep in my car. Poor thing is in 3t sweatpants that stop at her shins." "I have black leggings and a jacket in my car if you can give them to her. I always keep a small totes of season clothes for her just in case anything happens. Usually, the school calls me and tells me if something like this happens and usually, I'm at work so I have to ask someone to bring them for her. A few days ago, her teacher called me and told me Maddie came to school in dirty clothes and when I got there Maddie was in the nurses’ station crying. Apparently, her mother hadn't washed her clothes and that was all she had there. I called her as soon as I left the school and told her is, she didn't wash my daughter's clothes by the end of the day I'd report her to child services. Needless to say, that hasn't happened again, but September hasn’t even ended yet so who knows." "Yeah, I can take them to her. I don't see how a parent can do such a thing. I always wash Freddie's clothes first then I do his bed sheets then I do the towel then I do my clothes and bedsheets last." "Yeah, I wash her stuff at my house every two weeks so if I get her out of the blue, she has clean clothes and sheets." "How long has it been since you last had her?" "Her mother dropped her off at the hospital when I was working a few weeks ago but she came back right as my shift ended. Maddie was so upset because she thought she'd be able to stay the night. The last time I've had her over night was 16 months ago and I had for her two days because her mother and boyfriend were at a resort for the weekend." "I couldn't imagine that." Louis said shaking his head, "Freddie is my world. I couldn't be separated from him. I barely manage a weekend away." "So, does he call you Papa? I know that's the more traditional term for carriers." "Yeah, most of the time. If he's upset, he'll call me mommy or mama. I am one of the lucky ones able to nurse, at least with Freddie. I heard some can't for their second child or third child. I think with every child the chances get lower. He called me mommy or mama until he was two and a half, so I think it brings him comfort. I don't mind either way." "That's sweet. I wish I were a carrier. My sister and I had to play mommies and aunties instead of mommies and daddies because I always wanted to be the mommy. I'd shove the baby doll under my shirt and go through labor with my stepdad and everything. My mom held the seat rag to my forehead. We went all out, I demanded it. We were all convinced I was a carrier, then when I was seventeen, I got tested and I wasn't. I was devastated. I cried so much; I remember convincing myself I was straight for years after that. That's how I got Maddison." Louis laughed unable to help himself "You're joking." "No. Not one bit. I thought if I wasn't a carrier there was no point in being gay, so I went straight." "I was the complete opposite." Louis said, "I was always the daddy, I'm the oldest of five sisters and my mom finally gave me a brother a year ago. Two sets of twins. I demanded to be daddy because I didn't think I was a carrier. I thought I was straight until probably sixteen." "Really?" "Yeah, I just never really thought about it, I guess. My first boyfriend was when I was seventeen and we dated until he left after Freddie. I had him when I was twenty on March twenty-first and graduated early. He's turning five next year." "You had him in school and finished your studies early?" "Yeah, it was really hard, the first year was terrible, but I got my degree and took the first job I was offered that had the best benefits for us as a family." "That's amazing. We had Maddison when I was in my foundation programme. I was twenty-four. She was born on May twentieth, so she'll be six two months after Freddie turns five. I started working at twenty-six. Hannah and I split then because I had to work so many night shifts, so she started cheating while I slept during the day. She took Maddie and left. We've been fighting since." "So, you're thirty?" "Almost thirty. Still in my twenties for four more months." "Can't relate. Still got a few years." Louis said smirking making Harry throw a walled-up napkin at him. "Well, you look good for thirty." Louis teased "Twenty-nine." "Same thing." Louis said grinning as he watched Harry shake his head grinning as he stared off to the side before their eyes met. Louis knew that even if nothing came from this marriage besides Harry gaining his daughter, it wouldn't be a horrible marriage of convenience. Which made him feel better and he could tell Harry was relieved as well, both glad this wouldn't be a disaster.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me.” Harry said, “Especially considering how this came to be. I mean I know you see Maddie with her mom, so you understand some of it, but if you want to ask more feel free to do so.”

“Besides the obvious reasons why go to craigslist?” Louis asked

“Last resort? It had to be someone my friends didn’t know so I couldn’t ask anyone at the hospital. I tried dating, but it never went past a few texts. Having a daughter that I want full custody of sort of makes men run away. They don’t understand why I can’t just get a weekend a month and be happy with it. I’ve tried explaining the situation, but they don’t get it. Then it’s also my odd hours of my schedule. I’m a doctor at the hospital so I’m off and on and on call a lot. Makes it hard. My schedule is pretty tame, but it’s a pain to get use to and stuff like that.” Harry explained

“Yeah, I get that. With Freddie…he’s my priority and obviously before I fully agree to anything, he has to like you too, but that can wait a bit. Make sure you’re not a weird murderer or something.”

“Fair enough.” Harry said chuckling, “So I guess um…why did you offer to help? I know with a son this makes it more delicate, I mean obviously I’m hoping once we settle in, we can try for something real, but why offer?”

“Any parent who wants to see their child should be able to. I would help anyone who was sincere enough. If you were one of those fathers trying to take their child away from their mother out of pettiness then I’d walk out of this building, but I’ve met Hannah. I’ve seen, I’ve seen the clothes she drops her daughter off in while she’s wearing the newest Gucci purse or whatever. I’ve been talking to school about it since the first day, but there isn’t much we can do. We can record it and file it away incase you ever need it for court, but unless she comes to school with bruises or starving, we don’t have grounds to call child services.”

“So, Freddie’s other father?”

“If he ever contacted me, I’d let him see Freddie. I’d talk to Freddie about it first, make him go to the first meeting and if he didn’t want to see him after that? I don’t know. Freddie has asked and I told him the truth, that his other father left a few weeks after he was born. So, it’d be Freddie’s chose after the first meeting and anyone I see would obviously at least respect that. They don’t have to like it or agree with it.”

“I think people can change if the right person comes along. I hope for Freddie’s sake he contacts you a better man than when he left, but I also hope that if he hasn’t changed that he doesn’t drag Freddie into daddy issues.” Louis cracked a smile and nodded

“Me too. They’re not fun.”

“No not really. My biological dad left leaving my mom to feed two kids on one minimum wage paycheck. My stepdad came along and changed our lives basically.”

“My biological father left when I was born. My stepdad came along and gave me his last name so he’s my dad. Then he and my mom split, and mom is married to Dan now. She just had twin girl and boy two years ago in February.”

“Awe really? That’s sweet. I’m the youngest out of two kids. I have an older sister.”

“I’m the oldest of seven kids. Goes me, my sisters Lottie, Fizzy, Phoebe and Daisy are twins then Doris and Ernest are twins and my baby sister and my only baby brother.”

“That’s a lot of sisters.”

“Yeah, I’ve had my fair share of handling little girls. I was six when Lottie came around, so I’ve been through it all.”

“Well then I won’t stop Maddie from painting your nails a pretty pink color when I can’t be her victim in her nail salon. If she’s still into that stuff.” The last part was said sadly as he looked away

“She is. If she’s done with her art assignment early, then I let her color my nails with markers. It washes off by lunch, but she doesn’t need to know that. She’s great. She is one of my favorite students in that school, whenever we see each other in the halls she absolutely has to shout hi Mr. Tommy each time. My students probably think she’s my niece or something. They call me Mr. T all the time and try to encourage her to do the same however I think she’s too shy to.” Harry was grinning as he played with his napkin listening to him

“She’s very social. Always has been. There probably isn’t a stranger in the world she wouldn’t talk to. It’s a bad and good thing. I’ve tried to explain it to her, stranger danger and everything and she understands it, but I don’t think she realizes even a little hi can be dangerous in this world these days. Her mother scares me to death, I’ve seen Maddie run right upfront of cars sometimes and I swear my heart stops.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen her do it too and it’s always the arrival or departure teacher stopping her from getting hit. Hannah will walk her to the crossing way but not to the actual sidewalk so it’s not the easiest thing to watch when I’m on duty. We can’t leave our posts except for emergencies so I have to navigate kids and cars and then watch her and make sure she’s safe. It’s ridiculous sometimes.”

“Well thank you for doing what you can.”

“It’s not much, but of course. I’d do it for any kid. Just thinking about Freddie in the same situation I would probably do the same thing you are. So, for now I’ll help, Freddie is what will be the deciding factor.”

“We’ll talk more and figure it out?”

“Yeah of course. I should go though I need to get back early today. I forgot today is Pop quiz day, my kids are going to hate me.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thank you, Louis.” Harry and Louis stood up and walked out together, “My number is in the file I gave you so feel free to text me instead of emailing me if you want to.”

“Alright. Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.” Harry and Louis were luckily enough to have parked on opposite ends of the car park, so they didn’t have to awkwardly walk beside each other to go to their respected cars. Harry grinned as he looked at the picture of Maddie, he stole off her mother’s Facebook. It was on her fifth birthday party; one he hadn’t been invited to or hadn’t even been told about. She was dressed in a flowy baby blue dress and her hair curled and she was half smiling as she sat on a chair surrounded by a few presents. He touched the picture that was hanging about his rear-view mirror before he sighed sadly and let it fall from his fingers before he started his Murano and headed out of the car park.

#larry fanfiction #larry stylinson fanfiction #larry fake marraige au #nonfamous au #fake marriage #larries #Larry Stylinson #larry shippers #larry fic #new story #New Chapter #doctor harry styles #teacher louis #parents au #Wattpad #archive of our own

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alexiablackbriar13 · 5 years ago

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A Collection of Season 7 Oliver/Felicity Pregnancy Fics

Hey guys! So many of you enjoyed the S1-S6 canon-divergent pregnancy fic list that I decided to make a S7 pregnancy fics list as well - this time, the list contains canon missing/alternate scene fics, post-7x22 fics (pre-Crisis or completely canon divergent) and canon divergent fics.

Also... Yeah, I put it into alphabetical order (well... tried). It was a pain. I hate singing the alphabet song in my head because I’m an idiot who can’t remember the alphabet. ENJOY! If you have any other recs to add to the list, please let me know xx

A Moment of Grace - 4.2k - by juliesioux // Very short one shot of the hours that I think followed Felicity telling Oliver that she is pregnant. It is tender, sweet, sexy and told exclusively from Felicity's POV.I wonder just how nervous she must have been telling Oliver about it but this is all about how they communicate when words aren't necessary and when they are, how they are shared. [Post-7x15]

a once-in-a-lifetime love - 1.8k - by inlovewithimpossibility // Felicity squeals a little as he lifts her into his lap with the utmost care, nuzzling her neck before planting a few kisses there. “Oliver?” “I ordered you fries and a chocolate shake.” He tells her and Felicity grins, pulling back to grasp his face in her hands. [Extended 7x18 scene]

< read more recs down below the cut! >

a time of wonder - 4.1k - by ivorykeys09 // Their schedules unfortunately don’t allow for a long trip, and bad weather and doctor’s orders keep them closer than tropical beaches, but they still make it to a city they haven’t been to together before. (Or, one last trip before their daughter arrives.) [Late S7]

an evening walk - 1.3k - by CheerUpLovely // On a peaceful, summer evening walk, Felicity and Oliver take stock on the most important thing to consider when living with ex-agents and soldiers. Have our neighbors tried to kill us? [Post-7x22]

Caffeine Chronicles (Or Lack Thereof) - 8k WIP - by drmrs // No one loves coffee quite like Felicity but with a baby on the way, she's had to make some changes. (or the one where Felicity struggles to consume less coffee throughout her pregnancy) [Late S7]

Chain Reaction - 1.5k - by Bri206 // Oliver gets out of prison and Felicity is 6 months pregnant. Oliver wants to help and make up for lost time, but things don't go to plan and they both question if time really had changed them. [S7 AU]

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED Come Morning Light - 3k - by andachippedcup // After getting acclimated to the cabin, Oliver surprises Felicity with a visit from Donna, who has yet to be informed about Felicity's pregnancy. [Post-7x22]

Dear Mia (Love Mom) - 1.4k WIP - by AustenJane // When Felicity finds herself pregnant, it drudges up a lot of memories about her not-so-functional relationship with her own mother (and absentee father) growing up. And it gets her thinking about the future. She decides to write her unborn baby letters for her to read when she gets older, as a way to clear up any misunderstandings she may have about her relationship with her and Oliver. [S7]

Emerald Archer Martial Arts - 32.4k - by @alexiablackbriar13 // In May 2019, a tired Oliver Queen and four months pregnant Felicity Smoak retire from their vigilante duties and move to the redwood forest town of Bloomfield with their son William, to raise their family in peace. Along the journey, they build their own successful companies, increase the size of the Smoak-Queen clan by a couple more, train their kids in self-defense, and live out a blissful existence. This is the story of 7 years of their happiness and family antics, after 7 years of crime-fighting and hardship to save their city. [Post-7x22 AU]

For Heirs to Come, Be Brave - 2.5k - by andachippedcup // Before the events leading to their interrogation by the SCPD, Felicity and Oliver get some news about the baby. [Pre-7x20]

give all my secrets away - 1.5k - by LiteraLi // Before returning to the Waverider, Sara shares a drink with Oliver and Felicity as they reminisce about old times and some secrets are revealed, old and new... [7x18 spec]

Happiest man alive - 0.7k - by HopeShannon3000 // A short story that takes place after Felicity tells Oliver shes pregnant. [Post-7x14]

here, is home - 3.6k - by ivorykeys09 // In another life, they take baby classes and register for cribs and the Diggles throw them a shower.In this life, it's different. [7x22 AU]

Hope Is Something You Give Yourself - 1.6k - by Juvinadelgreko // Felicity tells Oliver who was on the phone, and they discuss what it means for their future. [Post-7x13]

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED how the light gets in - COLLECTION - 28.2k - by @dust2dust34 // "There is a crack in everything/That's how the light gets in." Bre’s ficlet collection for Season Seven. Includes speculation fics, wish fics, canon fics, elaboration fics, pretty-much-everything-related-to-Season-Seven fics. Including fics such as:

Afterglow - 2.5k - "Good morning to orgasms and buffalo wings only." [Post-7x18]

forever i’m yours (forever i do) - 6.1k - Oliver hid Felicity’s chocolates and she is not happy about it. [Late S7]

The Right Tools - 1.7k Set during the Happy Months. Oliver and Felicity move her desk into her new office at the cabin. [Post-7x22]

We Can Do This - 0.9k - Felicity tells Oliver she's pregnant. [Post-7x13]

i’ll take care of you - 2.8k - by undercoversmoak // Oliver finds out his pregnant wife braved not one, but two death-defying explosions while working with the canaries. He doesn’t handle it super well. [Post-7x18]

it’s only a matter of time - 2.5k - by inlovewithimpossibility // The mornings of Felicity's thirtieth and thirty-fifth birthdays are vastly different. The former is spent with her husband, anticipating the arrival of their baby girl and the latter is a far more lonely affair but a certain blonde-haired little girl seeks to change that for her mama. [Post-7x22]

late talks - 2.5k - by drmrs // Oliver speaking to fetus Mia and spending some alone time with Felicity for the first time since finding out they're having a girl. [Late S7]

Learning How To Win - 4.3k WIP - by Juvinadelgreko // Oliver and Felicity retire from the vigilante life only to be interrupted by the Monitor and Crisis on Infinite Earths.They deserved better. Here’s my take on what better looks like. Begins shortly after Oliver and Felicity moved into their new home. [Post-7x22 AU]

Little Star... Wonder What You Are - 2.5k - by OhhMyyDarla // Did someone say Gender reveal party? Yes the Queen's are having one!

Love Your Curves (And All Your Edges) - 3k - by andachippedcup // While pregnant with Mia, Felicity is having back pain and Oliver tries to help her with it. But his prenatal yoga suggestion backfires when he realizes this means he must look but not touch as his very beautiful, very pregnant wife strikes a number of very tempting poses. [Post-7x22]

Mint Chip Queen - 2.4k - by andachippedcup // Oliver is obsessively worrying over details of Felicity giving birth to Mia. But Felicity's only concern seems to be in determining what their code word should be to indicate that it's 'go time'. [Post-7x22]

Missing Pieces - 3k WIP - by aStormyHaze // After setting down in their new cabin in Bloomfield, Oliver realises Felicity woke up different that morning. Will she let him in? [Post-7x22]

No Regrets - 2.3k - by ghostfox11 // An episode insert for the end of 7x18, Lost Canary. Oliver finds a bruise on Felicity's hip forcing her to tell him that she went into the field.

One Final Goodbye - 1k - by Bri206 // How I imagine the ending to season 7 will play out. [7x22 spec]

Our Legacy - 4.6k - by @dmichellewrites // Oliver and Felicity focus on building their future starting with Smoak Tech and baby Mia. New beginnings help Oliver let go of his past. [S7]

Peppermint Lies - 0.5k - by @felicityollies // Felicity seeks revenge on Oliver for buying the wrong ice cream. [Post-7x22]

Precious Cargo - 2.8k - by OliversMuse // Felicity is pregnant and Oliver is a sappy, loving husband. [Late S7]

Pregnancy - 3.3k - by hope-for-olicity (Jacq) // Post 7x13 story dealing with Felicity’s thoughts about the unplanned pregnancy.

Reboot and Rebuild - 1.6k - by griever11 // Another way Diggle could have found out about baby Queen. Felicity has a request that might have long-lasting effect on the Diggle - Queen families. [Post-7x14 AU]

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season 7 pregnant felicity fics - SERIES - 12 fics, in total 39.9k - by @alexiablackbriar13 // Contains various fics set between 7x13 to after 7x22. Includes fics such as:

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you collect me with your steady hand - 2.2k - by inlovewithimpossibility // "Baby is starting to make their presence known. How long until she makes the connection? Or worse, someone we really can’t trust makes it?” Felicity pretty much collapses as she speaks. Her shoulders slump, her face falls and it’s all Oliver can do not to break at the expression on her face. [Post-7x19]

#arrow fic #olicity fic #arrow fic rec list #olicity fic rec list #arrow #olicity

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bytheangell · 5 years ago

Text

Second Chances at First Impressions

(Read on AO3) Square Filled: First Date // Ship: Clace // Rating: General // Tags: Christmas fluff, first dates, holidays, Post-Canon Summary: Not wanting Clary to be left alone for the holiday, Jace invites her to spend it with his family - and Clary feels right at home though she doesn't know why her time with the Lightwoods feels so natural. Created for @shadowhunterbingo

—

It’s a dating auction for charity, but with a twist: several of the art classes at the local college are auctioning off paintings - and whoever wins the painting also wins a coffee ‘date’ with the artist after the auction. Obviously, as no genders or appearances will be known, it’s set up as less of a date-date and more of a chance to meet and talk with someone new.

Jace has no way of knowing whether Clary’s even going to participate, but he’s willing to gamble on yes as he situates himself in the audience looking spectacularly out of place for an art auction in his ripped jeans and leather jacket. Clary’s never turned down the chance to help people, he can’t imagine she’d stop now.

He’s right. The moment the 9th painting is brought out he knows that it’s hers - he’s been going to her exhibits, watching the evolution of her work. He may not know much about art in general but he knows a lot about Clary’s art - her use of colors to give hints at scenes just beyond the canvas, the way the brush strokes grow thicker and the colors more prominent where her emotions take over and she gets a little too into the work, a little too heavy-handed.

He wins the auction after a very strenuous back-and-forth with a middle-aged woman, and has to act surprised when he’s brought over to ‘meet’ the artist.

“You again!” Clary says, smiling. “Jace, right?”

“You remembered, I’m touched,” Jace says, smiling with just the right amount of teasing.

“Yeah, well, it isn’t often someone runs away from me at my own exhibition,” Clary points out, joking just as easily.

“No running away this time, you’re stuck with me for an entire coffee,” Jace promises, motioning for her to lead the way out. “Java Jones?”

“That’s my favorite! How did you know?” Clary asks.

“I didn’t. That just happens to be my favorite,” he covers quickly.

“Huh,” Clary muses, but doesn’t comment on it any further than that. Instead they chat, about the crazy up and down temperatures lately, about Clary’s classes, about Jace’s work. He freezes for only a second before deciding on a whim to say it’s training in, and teaching, various forms of martial arts... which isn’t entirely off base.

Soon they start talking about Clary’s artwork, and once Clary starts she doesn’t stop. Jace listens with his entire focus on her, asking questions and commenting here and there. He starts one too many sentences with “This girl I knew used to-” for everything he has to add, because everything he knows about art he learned from watching her during her time at the Institute, not that he can tell her that.

The hour they’re scheduled for flies by, and the next thing they know it’s been two hours, three drink refills, and they’re still talking when the barrista comes around to warn them they’re about to close.

“Oh my goodness,” Clary says, looking at the clock on the wall. “I can’t believe I kept you here so long, I didn’t realize how late it was!”

Jace smiles and shakes his head. “I wasn’t exactly trying to leave, you know,” he points out.

And it’s true. Even without having the Shadow World to talk about, it’s like falling back into stride with an old friend talking with Clary, where everything is so much easier than he ever expected. It’s a blessing and a curse because as nice as their conversation was he knows this is only for the night, and once he walks out of here she’ll probably never speak to him again.

“I think I’m just starved for company this week. Everyone else went home for break, I think I’m the only one left on campus,” she says, trying to laugh off the statement though he can tell she’s at least a little bothered by it.

He almost asks why she stayed behind when he remembers - she doesn’t have anywhere else to go for the holidays.

His heart breaks, and before he can think twice the words are tumbling out of his mouth.

“Why don’t you spend Christmas with me?”

“What?” Clary asks, clearly surprised by the offer.

“I mean, not just me. My family. It isn’t anything big but you’re more than welcome. What’s that saying? There’s always room for one more?” Jace ignores the voice in the back of his head telling him how terrible of an idea this is, especially when he catches the hint of

“I couldn’t. I barely know you-” Clary starts, but Jace cuts her off before she can completely turn the offer down.

“Really, it wouldn’t be a problem at all. My mom always makes way too much food, and my brother’s husband makes the most amazing cocktails. And I have this feeling you’ll get along really well with all of them. In fact, right now I’m the only one not bringing someone along, so you’d be doing me a favor.” Jace pauses, realizing how that might sound. “Just as friends. And if you hate it you can turn around and leave. What do you have to lose?”

He knows he might be trying a little too hard to get her to agree, but he can’t imagine a scenario where he walks away from her right now to leave her entirely alone for the next two days heating up Christmas dinner in a dorm microwave, or eating alone at a diner.

Clary considers the offer for a very long minute or two before sighing. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. But if it’s awkward you have to cover for me leaving early.” “Deal,” Jace agrees immediately, pulling out his phone. “Give me your number and I’ll text you the address.”

She does, putting her name in as ‘Clary’ with a little paintbrush icon. Jace immediately sends her a text with Maryse’s address.

“I’ll see you then,” he says, resisting the urge to hug her goodbye. He doesn’t want to push his luck, and he wants to make sure she’s comfortable enough to follow through on the offer in two days.

To his surprise, Clary’s the one who takes one step to leave, stops, and turns back to wrap her arms around his middle for just a few seconds.

“Thank you, Jace,” she says as she pulls away, and this time doesn’t look back.

---

They do breakfast and presents with Simon and Luke who both leave before Clary is due to arrive. As far as Jace could figure out from his time with Clary, her memories of the two of them were altered in a way similar to Simon’s mother’s, so it wouldn’t do to have her completely blindsided walking into a room with the two of them. It’s enough of a risk with the rest of the Lightwoods and Lightwood-Banes - something Alec brings up one last time.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Alec asks.

“It’ll be fine. We just can’t let the wrong things slip out… we did it once before, you all managed that dinner with Charlie,” Izzy reminds him.

“Does Clary think we’re jewelers too, then?” Alec asks with a slight smirk.

“You can do whatever you want. I’m a martial arts instructor,” Jace reminds him.

“Of course you are, blondie,” Magnus says, walking over with a drink in hand. “But Isabelle’s right. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He doesn’t bring back up the contingency plan of being able to wipe this day from her mind and send her on her way if it backfires spectacularly, because Jace hates the idea and only bristles and insists they won’t need that.

“Better than leaving the poor girl alone for the holidays,” Maryse agrees.

“She might not even show. I mean, it’s a weird offer from a guy she only spoke to twice,” Jace points out. And when it hits ten, and then twenty minutes past the point Jace told Clary to come over they’re pretty sure she decided just that.

Until the doorbell rings.

Jace goes to answer it, beaming when he sees Clary in the hallway holding up a bottle of wine.

“Happy Holidays,” she says. “I hope this is alright. I didn’t want to bring nothing, but I didn’t know what anyone liked…”

“It’s lovely,” Maryse says, coming up behind Jace. “Come inside, take your coat off, dear. I’m Maryse, by the way. We’re so glad you decided to come.”

“Thank you for having me,” Clary says. “I’m Clary.”

Jace watches Clary’s eyes dart around the room, taking in the number of people she doesn’t know and swallowing back a moment of nervousness. Jace wonders if maybe this is too much for her - perhaps he should’ve arranged to do something with just her rather than expose her to all of the Lightwoods all at once.

But a moment later Izzy is bounding over with a bright smile. “I’m Izzy! So glad you could make it! I’m tired of being outnumbered by all the guys here,” she whispers conspiratorially to Clary who laughs and allows herself to be led off to grab a drink.

It’s roughly half an hour later, with Izzy making her way quickly across the living room to grab something from her bag, when Maryse says, “I don’t know how you manage those heels on this carpeting.”

“There’s nothing she can’t do in heels,” Clary chimes in, and Izzy and Jace share a look. Clary doesn’t even seem to realize she said it, turning right back to whatever she’d been discussing previously.

It isn’t the only time it happens, either. Magnus calls her ‘Biscuit’ and Clary only smiles and says, “It’s been a while since anyone called me that.” Another time she brings up archery to Alec.

“How did you know I shoot?” Alec asks slowly, eyebrow raised.

“What? Oh. Jace must’ve mentioned it over coffee,” Clary says with a shrug. Alec looks over at Jace who only shakes his head slowly.

Jace isn’t sure if it’s good or bad that Clary remembers more about them than just his name, but he’s certain that she has no idea she’s even doing it. Dinner is full of laughter and stories with just as much attention paid to Clary as to anyone else at the table, possibly more so as everyone - even Alec - goes out of their way to make sure she’s comfortable. They sit next to one another at the table, and more than once he catches himself getting lost watching her laugh over something Magnus said or blush over a compliment from Izzy. He also catches her staring at him a few times, too, though she’s always quick to look away once he does.

Refusing to get his hopes up Jace does his best not to read into those little moments. He did invite her here as just friends, after all, and he’s sticking to it - if he can keep Clary in his life, even just as a casual acquaintance, it’s better than the total lack of her he suffered the past year. It’d have to be enough, and he’s determined not to scare her away and ruin even that.

“I hope I didn’t impose too much,” Clary says at the end of the night.

“Not at all, Clary,” Maryse promises.

“In fact, we lost a good friend last year who you remind me a lot of… it was nice to have that energy around again,” Magnus adds, earning himself a warning glare from Alec which he pretends not to see.

“Oh, and it’s started to snow! ” Izzy announces from the window, turning around with a smile before Clary can read too much into Magnus’ comment and before the mood grows too somber. “We haven’t had a white Christmas since we were kids!”

“Let me walk you back,” Jace offers, and Clary looks like she might argue for just a moment before giving him a small nod.

“Alright,” she agrees, grabbing her coat and saying quick round of goodbyes to everyone before the two of them are out the door and on the snowy street below. It takes every bit of restraint Jace has within himself to not reach over to grab her hand as they walk, or move closer as they walk. He misses this.

“I know I said it before, but thank you again for inviting me. Everyone was so welcoming, and honestly? I felt so comfortable around your family, like I’ve known them for months, not hours.” Clary says with a happy sigh.

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Jace says.

Once they’re back at Clary’s dorm Jace hesitates. There’s so much he wants to say but he’s afraid of scaring her away, of being too much too soon, that he’ll come across as too eager to have her back in his life for someone who should, as far as she knows, barely know her.

Before he can say anything, still trying to figure out how to ask to see her again as casually as possible, Clary speaks first.

“I know you said this was just as friends,” Clary says, carefully avoiding his gaze as she talks. “But… I wouldn’t mind if it was more. Unless I’m totally misreading this and you were just being nice, which is totally fine-”

“Do I get to answer?” Jace cuts her off, unable to keep the smirk from his face. “Because I think this was a perfect first date.”

Clary relaxes at his words, smiling back. “Me too. Well, almost perfect,” she adds, taking a step closer to him.

Jace closes the rest of the distance between them, their lips meeting amidst a flurry of snowflakes. There’s an immediate warmth between them, the spark of a connection that’s still there. He doesn’t have to wonder if Clary can feel it too - he feels her gasp against his lips at the spark between them, so intense it’s palpable, just like that moment in the alley the night of her exhibit.

“What-” she starts, but the words trail off. He knows she can feel it, their past just beneath the surface, but not enough to put words to it. Instead she falls contemplatively silent again instead.

“Setting the bar pretty high for a first date, aren’t we?” Jace observes.

“I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” Clary counters, leaning up for another kiss, this time bringing her arms around his waist to pull him closer. “After all, this wasn’t even supposed to be a date - we weren’t even trying.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jace says with a huff, and finds himself rewarded with a laugh Clary tries, and fails, to hide behind the hand she brings up to her mouth. “But you’re right. With a little planning I think I can arrange for us to go ice skating next time.”

“I used to ice skate all the time when I was little,” Clary says with a soft smile. “I haven’t been in years, though. I’d love that.”

It’s obvious neither of them want to be the one to walk away first but as the snow continues to fall and the temperature drops they finally part ways with the promise to make plans again soon.

Jace’s phone buzzes almost as soon as the door shuts behind Clary.

Clary: Too soon to make those plans?

And with a smile he wastes no time in replying:

Jace: Free tomorrow?

He already knows so much about her he doesn’t like lying to go along with this ‘first date’ label, acting like he doesn’t love her with everything he has and then some, but it isn’t like he can tell her. All he can do is start over and hope the pieces fall into place the way they’re meant to - the way they did once before and hopefully will again. Angels be damned, Jace thought their happy ending was lost forever, but now?

Now that he has his second chance he isn’t going to let another second go by without Clary in his life.

#clace #clary fray #jace herondale #shadowhunters #ShadowhunterBingo #alec lightwood #magnus bane #isabelle lightwood #maryse lightwood #long post

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hazelandglasz · 5 years ago

Photo

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 ~~

#good omens big bang #gobb #masterpost #sometimes i write #hufflepuffbetty #scribblemakes #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #good omens au #food porn a plenty

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petitrenard · 4 years ago

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I can’t finish

Jessica stood outside the door and felt her heart beating in her chest. She was surprised she could feel anything. Chicago had been hit with another sub zero snowstorm and the short walk from her office to this front door was enough to make her reconsider her decision to move back home. Although, if she were being completely honest with herself, this was exactly where she wanted to be at this moment.

As she began taking off the layers of outerwear, she got a bit light headed and leaned her head against the wall of the entryway. Or was it a vestibule? Despite 3 years of design she always got those two confused. Proper terminology aside, she leaned her head on the wall of the area directly outside of the apartment door of the man she wanted to sleep with that wasn’t her husband. Jessica chuckled to herself, I’m not sure there’s an architectural term for this particular space.

As she was playing over the events of earlier in the day, the apartment door opened. Even though she wasn’t expecting it to open, she knew that it was going to open and although abrupt, she wasn’t startled. From the doorway Liam handed her a drink and grabbed her tote. “Jessica! You don’t have to stand in the entryway all night.”

She made a mental note, Entryway. Entryway. Check. This is an entryway. Check. Jessica took a moment to drink in the situation. Her hesitation must’ve telegraphed and Liam extended his hand out to her and said, “You can slam that whiskey in my entryway, I can hand you your Louis with my manuscript inside, you can walk out of here and you can never look back. But I’d be a real dick if I sent you out to the El platform without at least making sure you warmed up first.”

The thought of freezing while waiting for the El was not even remotely ideal. She considered for a moment, took her gloves off and walked inside.

As the door shut behind her, Jessica looked around at Liam’s place. It was a converted warehouse space, which wasn’t what she expected, and that definitely telegraphed. As Liam walked past her he remarked, “If you think the foyer is nice, you should see the rest of the place.”

She followed him into his living room. It was gorgeous. An original Pollock hung over the roaring fireplace, polished concrete floors, floor to ceiling windows with a large french door that led out to a lush indoor/outdoor terrace complete with a hot tub. Her bones ached to climb into the steaming hot tub. She also wondered how anything could be lush in the middle of a Chicago winter - making a mental note for small talk.

Jessica took a deep breath...this place, combined with this guy was trouble. She was at his place for a legitimate reason - his manuscript was about to be in production and they had to go over the copy editors queries. She knew better than to go to an authors home though - especially since her husband was out of the country and she didn’t plan on telling him about the visit when they talked tomorrow afternoon. The 100%, completely legitimate work visit between a new client and his editor was not going to be discussed.

In the 10 years she had been married, Jessica had never given another man a second look. She was happy, she was stable and it was a healthy relationship, but fuck was she bored. So this afternoon when Liam asked her to swing by after work to go over the edits, she leapt at the opportunity.

Liam Clark was a designer, writer, and noted post-disaster expert that had just finished a successful nationwide lecture tour. The big publishing houses had courted him, but he and Jessica hit it off instantly. Her independent publishing house was small, but well respected in the literary world and their arts focused content was second to none. Not to mention her robust multi platform approach to promotion and distribution. Liam signed during their first meeting.

She was thankful that he wanted to get right to business. His manuscript was splayed out across his coffee table and he sat right down. Instantly she felt silly for assuming that their rapport at her office earlier was anything more than a new client taking the opportunity to develop a relationship with his editor.

The two of them began pouring over the notes, drinking, eating and laughing. A few hours had easily passed and Liam got up to stir the fire. Jessica hadn’t looked at her phone or outside until the Weather Alert tone sounded. Significant Weather Advisory, Winter Storm with up to 8” of snow expected along with dangerously low wind chill. Fuck. For the first time all night, Jessica stood up and went to the front window.

The street was absolutely empty and the wind and snow was blowing with an almost comical ferocity. She shook her head. There would be no El tonight. Jessica opened the Uber app to try to get a car - No Cars Available. She would have to go back to her office and spend the night there. Perfect. A night on my couch. Love it. This is why you can’t have nice things Jessica.

Liam walked up to the window with another drink in his hand and handed it to Jessica. “Liam, I have to get going. I’ve got to get back to my office before it gets any worse out there and I can’t walk.”

“Jessica, you can’t go out there.”

“It’s fine. It’s only 2 blocks to the office. I’ve got a couch & a whole set up. I’ll be fine.” Jessica was doing a really bad job at selling this scenario. She didn’t want to go spend the night in her stupid office. She wanted to stay here, with the charming, handsome, successful man and sink into his hot tub.

“No way. You’re wearing high heeled boots, those are all fashion no function. Let’s say I let you venture out into the blustery, freezing Chicago night. You become disoriented and never make it to your office. They find your chic but frozen body with my manuscript in your tote. Next thing I know the cops are looking at me for answers...and the literary world never forgives me for letting the beautiful and talented Jessica Simpson, no relation, walk out of my warm apartment.”

“You make a compelling point. It’s not a problem if I stay here?”

“If it was, I wouldn’t have offered.”

She glanced out at the street, back into the apartment and then back at Liam. “All right, I’ll stay. Thank you.”

Liam smiled, “Perfect! I’ll get dinner started.”

Jessica hated how much she loved this attention and felt a little bit guilty. Is a 100% completely legitimate business sleepover a thing? Yes. As long as I don’t sleep with him, it is absolutely a thing. She glanced over at Liam turning on the burner of his industrial stove and wondered what a 90% legitimate business sleepover looked like.

“How can I help?” she asked.

“Why don’t you turn on the hot tub and find a movie on Netflix! I know it’s pretty basic, but the hot tub is perfect for a bone chilling night like this.”

Fuck. The percentages on legitimacy were rapidly diminishing the longer she stayed. She looked back at the street one last time, saw a couple stagger through the snow down the street, fall into a snowbank and drew the shades. In for a penny in for a pound. Jessica admonished herself. In for a pound? A pound? Oh you dirty birdie. You ma’am are a bad person. She nearly sprinted to the hot tub and started the bubbles.

Dinner was lovely and lively. As Jessica cleaned up, her insistence, Liam went to grab another bottle of whiskey from his bar. The apartment was warm and had a lovely warm glow. The steam from the hot tub made the room feel almost tropical. She was glad that she hadn’t left.

Liam came back with a fresh bottle of whiskey and asked the million dollar question. “Want to jump in the tub?”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“It’s ok. I have an oversized t-shirt if you want.”

Jessica was instantly glad that she had worn a matching bra and panty set. “Ok, if it’s not too weird. I’ve kind of been dying to get in.” And then she did something completely bold. Still unsure if it was the whiskey, the terminal fidelity or good old fashioned lust, Jessica began undressing in Liam’s kitchen...he didn’t stop her.

She stood in her bra and panties in his kitchen. Her clothes in a heap at her feet. She let her hair down. Liam had poured her another drink and placed it on the counter in front of him. Jessica grabbed it and as she walked past him she gently brushed his hand with her body. “Thanks Liam. I’m going to get into the tub now.”

Before she got past him, Liam grabbed her wrist. Jessica froze. She didn’t want to meet his eyes. She already knew exactly what he wanted. It was exactly what she wanted. Instead she looked at her wrist and his hand. He pulled her hand towards his cock and instinctively her body pressed against him.

She lifted his shirt up and pressed her belly to his. Liam groaned and pulled her body closer to him. Jessica pushed his shirt up further as she began kissing his belly on her way down to her knees. This was the moment that she knew in the war between all or nothing, she had chosen all. She ached for him. As she looked into his eyes, she knew he ached for her.

He undid his pants, she pulled them down and welcomed his hard cock into her mouth. She groaned and took him in her mouth with an eagerness to please him that neither she nor Liam had ever experienced. She wanted to know every single inch of his body, by mastering what was before her.

As the tip of Liam’s cock slid down the back of Jessica’s throat, he whimpered. His pleasure only made her want to please him more. She looked up at him, grasped his cock with her hand and said, “I want to please you Liam. I want to give you everything you want. Please let me please you.”

He looked down at her open mouth and pushed his cock back onto her warm, waiting tongue. “I want you to suck my cock until my balls are empty.” And with a single thrust he was deep in her mouth. Jessica took it all and Liam grabbed her hair in his hand, “That’s a very good girl. You’re making me very happy Jessica.” Liam’s encouragement made her work harder to please him. She brought him close to climax multiple times and as she edged him down she said, “Will you please put your cock inside of me?”

Liam took a moment as his cock rested on her tongue. “Jessica. My cock is already inside of you. It’s inside your mouth. Where else could possibly you want my cock?”

Jessica let go of him and slowly stood up. As she did she slid her panties down to her knees. As she pulled them down there was a long string of precum from her pussy to her panties. She grabbed Liam’s cock and pushed it against her wet pussy. “I want it here.”

Liam took a deep breath, put his fingers between her legs, spread her pussy and pushed his cock inside of her.

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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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A/N - Welcome to the season one finale! Hoo boy, this is a good one ;) be sure to send me your thoughts! Warning: use of a homophobic slur

LOST IN TRANSLATION

↳What do you do when you have no qualifications but want to see the world? You help teach English in a Korean primary school, apparently. ↳Principal!Jin, math teacher!Yoongi, PE teacher!Hoseok, English teacher!Namjoon, school nurse!Jimin, art teacher!Taehyung, and science teacher!Jungkook.

CHAPTER TEN ↳Parent teacher interviews are here, and with that comes an interaction that will have very lasting consequences for you and some of the staff.

“One black coffee and I brought also a rice cake.” You set the small plate on the edge of Yoongi’s desk and give him a short bow as well as the lady perched on the seat across from him. Ignoring the dubious look she gives you, you walk away just as quickly as you arrived. God, parents were scary. Just from wandering around and giving everyone tea and coffee, you had seen your fair share of tiger moms and oblivious dads, single parents who were going prematurely grey from the stress, couples who made their children come along and sit in the corner of the room while they spoke with the teacher. Spending all your time with pretty young adults, you had almost forgotten that you needed to be really careful to speak formally to them whenever you addressed them. You solved that by, for the most part, just silently bowing, not wanting to expose the inadequacy of your Korean.

You had started off the evening sitting beside Namjoon, smiling politely and pretending you knew at all what was going on, but soon enough it became clear to the two of you that you weren’t much help. Now, you were jumping between classrooms, from freezing evening air to thickly heated rooms, delivering refreshments. The others were all giving feedback in ten-minute slots, Principal Kim available to answer any administration or curriculum queries, and Jimin was holed up in the clinic, running a walk-in session.

As you make your way down the row of buildings, you spy through a window in one of them that Taehyung is alone. For whatever reasons, it seemed parents didn’t find it as important that their children were doing well in arts compared to science, math, and English. Although things had been awkward between you two since the day at the museum, your heart breaks when you stop for a moment and watch him. Beyond visible wisps of your breath that billow with each exhale, you can see him, chin resting in his hand as he stared blankly into the middle distance, bottom lip slightly sticking out. He looked unbelievably lonely.

“Knock knock,” you say awkwardly as you enter, “how is it going?”

He straightens up, glancing at you with a surprised look on his face. “Y/n. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be over with Namjoon?”

You shrug, sitting on the chair set out for parents. “Before, yes. Now I help with give drink. Help with giving drink,” you correct as an afterthought. “Do you want tea or coffee or water?”

Taehyung shakes his head slowly, leaning back into his seat with a sigh. Today he’s wearing a black beret and an oversize maroon cardigan, and you can’t help but admire the way it truly makes him look like an artist. Not that anyone could doubt it after speaking with him for longer than a minute. “I’m okay, thanks. I-” he breaks off and purses his lips, eyes searching your face for a moment. Something in them changes, and his eyes lower. “My next appointment isn’t for another half hour. I think we should talk.”

You feel your stomach flop with cold tension. “Yeah.”

He clears his throat, the sound harsh in the silence of the room. Shifting in his seat awkwardly, he avoids eye contact. “Listen, first of all, I need to apologize. What I did was unprofessional, as well as not fair to you. I regret,” his mouth goes tight and his eyes hard, “I don’t regret…kissing you, but I regret the timing of it. I should’ve handled things better.” He swallows nervously when you remain silent, still processing. “Please say something.”

With a soft sigh, you shrug, feeling useless. “I think we can, uh, not talk or think about it. And that is okay.”

He crumples his brow. “You just want to ignore it? Ignore everything that happened?”

You can’t bear to look at the sullen look on his face. Cheering him up really wasn’t going so well. “A little bit yes. It is okay that you kissed me, I forgive you, but I think it will be very, mm, not comfortable if we are still thinking about it.” You clear your throat and set your shoulders, fixing him with a smile braver than you were really feeling. “New start? We can be friends.”

An eyebrow twitches as he appraises you, but then the dubious look turns into one of amusement, and, more importantly, acceptance. “Yeah, okay. If I’m going to sweep you off your feet, I’ll do it right this time. Hello, I’m the art teacher here, Teacher Kim, but you can call me Taehyung. Nice to meet you.”

With a warm gaze, you tip your head in a short bow as if you really were meeting him for the first time. “Hello, Taehyung. My name is Y/n. Please take care of me.”

He scoffs in good humor, and you’re relieved to see that edge of solemnity has left his eyes, replaced with twinkling mischief. “Now, I would love some coffee, but I’m also quite hungry, and I know for a fact Jungkook always brings snacks to these things to eat between appointments. Would you mind popping down to the science department and getting me some? Anything is fine, preferably something salty.”

You nod and stand up, patting him on the shoulder as a quick goodbye. The air outside is considerably frostier than it was before, so you hurry along a couple doors down to the science block. From outside, you can see in the warmly lit classroom that Jungkook has company, a relatively older couple, likely in their 50s, just sitting down and making introductions.

You consider waiting around for them to finish, but they’ve only just arrived, and you don’t fancy freezing your ass off for ten minutes. Instead, you knock lightly on the door and step in, quickly bowing to the three inside. “I apologize for coming in, I need to pick up some things.”

The parents give you wan smiles and turn back, and when they’re facing away you mime biting down on something. Jungkook gives you a broad grin, and tips his head to his side, where his desk is. You make your way there quietly and begin delicately rooting around his desk and drawers in search for the food stash, not wanting to disrupt the meeting.

“Thank you for taking the time to come in and meet with Soo-an’s teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Oh. It’s great to see the parents responsible for raising such a kind young lady.” You bite the inner corners of your mouth to stop from grinning. Always say at least one positive thing. Jungkook was certainly making sure he ticked the boxes on sucking up.

“Well,” the mother starts stiffly, clutching her hands over a jade green, plastic-y purse, “we’ve heard good things. Soo-an says you’re quite a, what was the word? Flamboyant teacher.”

Studiously avoiding looking over, you can still hear the strain in Jungkook’s voice as he tries to remain positive. Asshole parents were certainly something you couldn’t avoid in his line of work. Instead, you subconsciously slow down your search, wanting an excuse to remain here rather than leaving him to deal with them alone. Luckily, Jungkook’s stash seemed to be pretty hidden, as all you’d found was an empty sleeve for M&Ms.

“I think it’s important to be energetic and enthusiastic in class, in order to get the kids excited about learning. All of us in this school do our best to make our classes engaging. Should we go over some of Soo-an’s results?”

“She’s always talking about you,” the mother continues in an unflattering whiney tone, “Teacher Jeon did this, Teacher Jeon said that. It’s clear you’re having a lasting impression on her, and likely other students as well.”

You finally take some stacks of papers out of the bottom drawer and see a technicolor assortment of packaged snacks, but instead of reaching down to find something, you seem to be frozen in place. This conversation sounded like it was getting ugly.

Glancing over quickly, you see the father place a hand over his wife’s knee, leaning in towards Jungkook like a show of authority. “Listen, boy, we just want to make sure the teacher our daughter sees as a role model isn’t an…unsavory type.”

The uncomfortable laugh that leaves Jungkook’s lips tugs at your heartstrings. “I- I don’t know what you mean by that, sir. Anyway, Soo-an’s grades have been steadily improving, and-”

“I’m asking if you’re a dirty faggot, boy. I pray it’s not true; I mean, what respectable school would hire one of their kind? But it certainly seems from what we’ve heard from Soo-an that you’re a very frilly guy. You have to understand, we’re only concerned for our daughter.”

You’re completely unmoving; staring at the older man in shock. Jungkook, poor Jungkook, has gone completely ashen, and you can see his eyes gleaming with unshed tears as his mouth opens and closes silently.

“Well, aren’t you going to answer?”

At his wife’s question, the father rolls his eyes. “His silence is answer enough, sick fuck,” he stands up suddenly, tugging at his wife’s elbow so that they can walk out.

Jungkook snaps back into life with a choked noise. “Uh, no, I’m not- That isn’t-”

“Don’t lie to us, boy,” the man spits, “we’ll be finishing the term here and then taking our little girl elsewhere. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Everything seems to slow down impossibly as Jungkook’s terrified gaze darts over to you. He mouths something, something you don’t catch, and rushes up to catch the husband’s elbow. “No, no, I’m not, I swear. Look, this here is Y/n.” He glances at you one last time, a pleading look that you can read from a mile away. “Y/n’s my girlfriend.”

TAGLIST Message me or send an ask if you wish to be notified every time I post a new chapter of Lost in Translation.

For some reason I can’t tag some people, I’m so sorry if the tag isn’t working!

#bts angst #bts x reader #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts au #yoongi #hoseok #taehyung #jin #jimin #namjoon

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kaisooficrec · 5 years ago

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College AU Request

This is part two of this post.

Last college au request was over a year ago and since this is a very popular au the list is insanely long! There are some fics older than the last req but that weren’t recommended yet so I included those too ^^ enjoy and don’t forget to leave kudos & comments to the authors ♡♡♡

La Taille Parfaite - (ongoing) soulmates au, kyungsoo dreams of his soulmate’s dick and can’t wait to meet him

Criminally Romantic - kyungsoo is an author and jongin is a huge fan

Yes, the Brisket is Braised - (ongoing) Kyungsoo works part-time in a restaurant in which he meets the campus’ most popular jock jongin and is an asshole to him

Our Season - (ongoing) wolf & abo, they’re in the same frat house and are attracted to each other, but there are other guys who want a piece of kyungsoo’s ass (read: junmyeon is a little piece of shit)

The Deflowering of Do Kyungsoo - (ongoing) kyungsoo is very insecure about himself but jongin loves him and wants to show him just how much

Sucker + Supermassive Black Hole - last two parts of a series where the boys are in college, established relationship, they deal with the struggles of life and how to keep their love going

Flawless - (ongoing) kyungsoo likes to crossdress which make people judgmental about him. he thought jongin was like all those people who make fun of him but jongin genuinely likes him

this gap can’t keep us apart - (ongoing) kyungsoo is in college and takes the bus every morning where he meets businessman!jongin and they start talking and getting close. turns out jongin is sehun’s older brother who is kyungsoo’s friend and they meet at their house when jongin discovered his girlfriend cheated on him again

Prank Gone Wrong - kai is a known prankster, so his bf ksoo decides to prank him instead one day. it backfires in a way he didn’t expect

Coffee - jongin found out taemin cheated on him which led him to the cafe where kyungsoo works~

Wild Flowers Worth Knowing - (ongoing) ot12 vampire au, kyungsoo’s life has changed for good after discovering vamp!jongin’s secret

i just need the time and place to come through - after ksoo’s been dumped jongin wants to teach how to fuck around, until he realizes he doesn’t want anyone else to have kyungsoo but him

run batted in - sports au, they’re from different colleges and during a competition they meet and voilà it’s instant love

Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls - (ongoing) kyungsoo is in a studio art class and jongin is his nude model

lately all i want is you on top of me - *cries hearts* they both think they’re straight until jongin accidentally sends a pic of his ass to kyungsoo and it marks the beginning of their gayness

Campaigning For Your Heart - elections au, enemies to lovers, they both support different people and get into heated arguments, which is all just bottled up sexual tension really

there are no wrong mistakes - /heart attack/ kyungsoo is a homebody who’s quiet and thinks he is boring. his roommate’s best friend thinks otherwise.

Pay Me Some Mind - (how was this not recced before? lol) fwb to lovers, kyungsoo doesnt know jongin’s had a crush on him for a while but that doesn’t stop him from catching feelings

Hurricanes - *my absolute fav* bad boy!jongin meets not-so-innocent!soo and they fuck, but kyungsoo thinks its a mistake and jongin is intrigued (liiiight angst)

You times infinite - they become study buddies and then kyungsoo is turned into a vampire and doesn’t know how to stay close to jongin without hurting him

A Certain Romance - sports au, they’re from different schools but during a competition, a certain captain catches ksoo’s attention and maybe he’s interested in football after all

Signal Lost (& Found) - /looooove this/ soulmates & coffee shop au, jongin gets tattoos of what his soulmate draws since he was a child and then one day it disappears, and he’s confused about what happened to his soulmate

Just Say You Want Me (That’s All It Takes) - god yes. established relationship and library fucking with top!soo and slut shaming. need i say more?

A Different Morning - (YEEEES) childhood bffs!kaisoo and vlogger!jongin, MUTUAL PINING but they’re both oblivious!!!

Break a Leg - drama club au i liiiive for this! they had a one night stand and ksoo is kind of a bitter asshole who doesn’t want anything to do with super popular jongin after it

vertigo; crash - abo, omega!soo is accidentally put in the alpha dorms and jongin thinks he hates him

Clandestine Romance - arranged marriage but they love each other, ksoo is in his last year of college and his husband turns up to become his new dance teacher

Pumped Up Kinks - (ongoing) kyungsoo goes to a gay strip club for his 21st birthday and gets more than he bargained for

We Can Go Home - broken kaisoo, jongin has to ask his ex for help in maths, and then... KISS & MAKE UP

Mirrors - (ongoing) ksoo is a famous youtuber whose fans start a online fanwar with kim jongin’s fans. he decides to be mature about it and text jongin himself to apologize

So You Have a Crush (Here's How You Grapple with It) - sports au, jongin is a taekwondo player and has a crush on the judo captain ksoo, and tries to get him to teach him chokehold techniques. (smutttt)

Hair - (ongoing) kyungsoo found out he has stage 2 spinal cancer, so he decides that he wants to take some risks before he has to die, like have sex with a guy. and this is how he meets jongin

If Only I Knew - soulmates au, jongin wants to wait to find his soulmate to be in a relationship but when he meets kyungsoo he changes his mind (warning: character death)

Some Kind of Start - ksoo likes jongin and the latter knows but chooses to ignore it since he doesn’t like him back. sehun asks ksoo to fake date so he can make junmyeon jealous, but jongin is also a victim of jealousy

hold onto me tight and never let go - het!kaisoo with fem!soo, she has trouble letting go of her barriers and jongin really wants to get to know her more

P.S. You're Cute - (ongoing) jongin liked his senior’s profile on tinder and they matched

Cloud9 - transition from hs to college, jongin expressed his crush for ksoo although nothing happened, they meet again five years later in college

Perfection - vocal major!ksoo meets dance major!nini and decides he likes him and will take care of him

A Slice of Summer Love - jongin has a crush on the pizza delivery guy and orders too much pizza (very cute uwu)

I’m sorry I broke your hand, date me so I can make it up to you (kinda) - jongin tripped during a party and groped ksoo’s ass by accident, and ksoo’s reaction was to break his arm, but he took care of him as a form of apology

Aspartame (Just As Sweet) - jongin’s friend creates him an account on a sugar daddy website as a joke but he was curious and kept it and met kyungsoo

Kim Jongin's Must Kiss List - after an accident during a bake sale in high school, ksoo doesn’t stand jongin. in college nini puts up a “would kiss” list with ksoo’s name on it among others, and an angry ksoo retaliates by putting up a “would never kiss” list with only nini’s name on it, which is the start of everything

Love In Control - bdsm!au in which kyungsoo wanted a partner that would understand his needs and how to dominate him, and that person is kim jongin (warning: obviously bdsm and everything that comes with it. please read the tags carefully!)

No buts, just beauty - wolf au, kyungsoo is bullied and being told he’s ugly, jongin is making sure he feels beautiful

[Ain't] My Fault - top!soo greatness :-) they meet while jongin’s still with sehun but they break up soon after bc sehun cheated on him, and ksoo’s here to pick up the broken pieces

Treasure Trove - dragon au, ksoo is sick n jongin went to his room to give him candy and then they netflix and chill (literally)

Waiting for You to Make a Move - i’m fucking in love with this fic omg ;___; JONGIN IS A DRUM PLAYER and they were crushing on each other during the bus ride in the morning and then ksoo goes to chanyeol’s band’s gig and THERE HE IS JONGIN THAT SEXY MOTHERFUCKER. yes read it please (smut)

This is a start of something new.. - police officer!soo goes to check a college party that wasn’t reported and is stuck with a flirty jongin

Cafe Eau Laid - /sweats profusely/ wolf au and coffee shop au, jongin has a crush on a cute costumer that comes otfen but thinks the friend that comes along is his boyfriend when he’s really just an idiot. (public sex n size kink, you know its good)

My Universe - set in college au but it’s also mama au, jongin is having weird dreams that seem like memories of another life, and dreams of a certain guy that he seems close with.

Sweep You Off Your Feet (Or Mop Around) - kyungsoo works as a janitor at nini’s college to help support his family. they get to know each other and kyungsoo doesn’t tell him he’s not a student but after an incident, he’s fired from the job and has to forget about jongin as well

This is the college au tag for older requests ♡

- Admin Macaroon

#kaisoo #kadi #fic request #r:uni au #admin macaroon

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hookedonapirate · 6 years ago

Text

To Play the Game (and win your heart)

Summary: Some people would call it a job, but to Emma and her sister, Milah, it’s a game of the heart. Play by the rules and you’ll never get hurt.

Whatever you call swindling wealthy men out of their money, this con-artist duo has it down to a tee. Milah sets up an available, rich man and gets him to marry her. Emma seduces and lures the husband into having an affair so he’ll get caught in the act. He then loses his money in the ensuing divorce.

The sisters wear a coat of armor around their hearts to keep them intact, but when they set their sights on their next mark, professional golfer Killian “Hook” Jones, Emma never imagined how hard the game could be and how easily her heart could be stolen—especially when she switches roles with Milah and becomes the one exchanging vows with the gorgeous multi-millionaire. Heartbreakers AU.

Artwork by: @distant-rose

Rating: Mature for connivery, vixen behavior and sexual themes.

Content Warnings: This story deals with conning and manipulation and also mentions/includes children with various disabilities, and also .

Author’s Notes: Thank you @captainswanbigbang and all of the moderators for organizing the event and for all of your help throughout the process.

A huge shout out goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones for all of her help with this fic. She really kicked some butt while beta reading, and if not for her, this story would not be what it is.

Thank you @distant-rose for stepping in as my artist. She is so talented and I can’t wait for everyone to see all of the art she has planned for this fic. She even made me a playlist for this story including Emma’s and Milah’s theme song, Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds, and some other great tracks that fit well with the theme of the fic.

Thank you @onceuponaprincessworld for all of her feedback and for her constant support and for letting me bounce ideas off of her during the process. Thank you @teamhook for her help and ideas with scenes I was struggling with.

There are 12 chapters, and I will be posting every Tuesday, so let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6

Also available on: AO3 FFnet

Artwork by @distant-rose

Ch 1 Art Ch 3 Art Ch 4 Art Ch 7 Art

Chapter 7: Holding the High Card

~Rule #7: Keep him at bay. On your first date, don’t wear anything too revealing, remain interested yet aloof and never give him more than a peck on the cheek; leave him begging for more. A little mystery drives a man wild.~

“You came home late last night.” Milah folds her arms, scolding her sister as Emma joins her at the breakfast table, clutching a hot cup of coffee.

There’s a drowsy smile on her face as she takes a slow sip of the hot beverage, but apparently Milah is intent on ruining the moment by treating her like a two year old child. She’s staring at Emma with those stern mom eyes, raising a brow. “You didn’t sleep with him, did you? Because you know that is strictly against the—”

“No, of course not!” Emma cries out, defensively. “We were dancing and eating dinner at the country club, that’s all.”

Milah’s expression changes into something more relaxed. “So things are going well, then?” she asks before sipping her orange juice.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I helped with the kids during the tournament and then I entered the date auction to make Hook jealous.”

“And it worked, no doubt?”

Emma nods her reassurance. “Like a charm. One of Hook’s rivals bid on me and almost won before Hook stepped in and completely outbid him.”

To Emma’s relief, Milah smiles with pride. “That’s great, Em.”

Emma unveils more details of last night as Milah constantly questions her decisions.

“You told him you’ve never worked with kids?!”

“What did you say after David questioned your motives?”

“Do we have to worry about this Nolan guy?”

Emma answers the best she can, hoping to ease her sister’s worries. “These people are nice and friendly, and they only care about Hook, but they know they can trust me.”

Milah crosses her arms, furrowing her brows. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. David and I were best friends by the end of the night.”

“Okay, good,” Milah sighs in relief. “So, what’s next?”

“Well, Hook asked me out on a date—a real date—and I said yes this time.”

Milah nods in approval. “And do you know where to?”

“All I know is he wants me to meet him at the Marina.”

“Oooh, so he’s taking you out on his yacht? How romantic,” Milah beams, her eyes dancing with excitement.

“Oh,” Emma utters, feeling stupid. She doesn’t know why on earth she hadn’t thought of that sooner. “Yeah, I suppose he is. He’s taking me tonight before he leaves for Ohio tomorrow.”

“That’s a good sign. He wants to see you before he leaves. Don’t forget—only a kiss on the cheek to—”

“To keep him wanting more, I know,” Emma finishes, rolling her eyes. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“True, but you’re used to watching the action from the stands. This is your first time riding the bull,” Milah reminds her, “but not literally, of course…” she warns sternly, pointing at her, and Emma blushes at the thought of riding Killian, and—no! She can not think about that… as much fun as Emma knows it would be. She shakes her head, closing her eyes briefly to rid the thoughts. “So, do you know what you’re wearing?” Milah asks, her eyes once again buzzing with excitement.

Emma laughs at her sister’s enthusiasm. “No, not yet.”

“That’s okay, we are going shopping,” Milah chants, clapping her hands.

$*$*$

Emma is cursing herself when she pulls up at the marina as the last traces of daylight make way for the warm, evening air. Her stomach is swarming and tightening with knots, and she inhales a deep breath when she gets out of the vehicle. Her hands are shaking as she tries to hold onto the small clutch in her hand. Why hadn’t she just listened to her sister?

Emma had enjoyed their shopping trip outside of Palm Beach and she had picked out a dress they were both sure would blow Killian away (without looking like a cheap hooker), but Milah had absolutely insisted she not shave her legs.

If you feel like a hairy gorilla you won’t even be tempted to have sex with Hook, Milah had stated while she was pinning up Emma’s hair.

She still can’t understand why Milah was so worried, especially when Emma is only allowed to kiss him on the cheek, for the first date anyway. So, of course, Emma hadn’t listened and she ended up shaving because she’d feel too icky with hairy legs. Plus, the dress is long—it’s a casual, yet formal off the shoulder white and pink floral dress—but it has a high slit, and Emma hates wearing panty hose. So even with sex off the table, there’s still the chance of Killian placing a hand on her knee, and she doesn’t want to take the risk of assuming he would absolutely not be going near her bare legs.

“You didn’t shave your legs, right?” Milah questions, planting her hands on her hips and offering her stern, mom glare as Emma pulls on her black high heels. Her lips are coated in red liquid lipstick per Milah’s request, to ensure Emma won’t be tempted to kiss him (unless she wants it to look like she vampired her date), her dress displays some skin without showing too much, and she’s wearing a pair of cute thongs with penguins on them, a pair she would never want a potential lover to see, but there is no way in hell she is going on this date with unshaven legs. “No, of course I didn’t,” she fibs. Once she gets the stilettos on, Milah hands Emma her shawl and clutch. “Good, because we wouldn’t want you to even be tempted to engage in anything more than a kiss on the cheek.“ Emma sighs and rolls her eyes, tilting her head. “You wanna feel up my legs for proof? While you’re at it you can frisk me too, to make sure I’m not wearing sexy lingerie under the dress instead of granny panties.” Milah flashes a sarcastic smirk, throwing the shawl around Emma’s shoulders and securing it in place. “That’s okay, I’ll take your word for it.” Emma shrugs. “Probably a good thing,” she begins, gracing her sister with a devilish smirk as she grabs her keys from the small end table next to the sofa, “cause I’m not wearing anything under the dress.” Milah throws her a deadly stare, tightening her jaw, and Emma laughs and shakes her head. “I’m messing with you, jeez.” She turns around, opening the door as she looks back at Milah. “I’m wearing a garter belt, so Hook at least has something to pull off of me,” she teases, clutching onto the knob as she starts to step out of the apartment, but not without casually adding, “or to leave on and grab onto—whichever he prefers.” With that, Emma moves quickly, shutting the door behind her before Milah has a chance to throw something at her.

As soon as Emma sees him, she immediately regrets her decision. This man is hot and dripping with sex, it’s really unfair. He’s wearing a burgundy waistcoat and a black shirt, exposing a provocative amount of chest hair, and a pair of black dress pants. His hair is artfully mused, and Emma’s thinking about all the things she wants to do to him. His thick, dark hair would be great for pulling, his bottom lip looks soft enough to kiss and bite, that vest looks somewhat difficult to get off (but possible), and those pants would look even better dropped around his ankles.

Her musings are quickly interrupted when he approaches, and her eyes snap to his face, catching the smoldering smirk plastered on his lips. He lifts a brow, his eyes spanning up and down her body at least three times, taking in everything she’s offering him without shame. She’s glad she’s not the only one appreciating the view in front of them.

“You look absolutely ravishing, Emma,” he says sincerely, taking her hand and placing a prolonged kiss to her skin.

Emma melts at the contact; his lips feel as soft as they look, and she’s reconsidering the possibility of him seeing her penguin panties. “And you look very handsome.” Emma blushes, feeling the tingling sensation still lingering on the spot he’d kissed; her entire body is alight from the warmness of his lips.

“Thank you, love.” Killian’s smiling shyly as he moves his other hand from behind his back, presenting her with a bouquet of freshly cut pink, purple and white roses.

Emma graces him with a soft smile and takes the flowers. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, love,” he murmurs, offering a wink and his arm. “Our table’s waiting for us. Shall we?”

Emma wraps her fingers around his arm and lets him lead the way towards the pier as she lifts the roses to her nose, smelling them appreciatively. “The roses are beautiful.”

“Aye, they are, but they don’t hold a candle to you.”

Emma laughs. “Do you always use that line on women you date?”

“Are you implying that we’re dating now?” Killian asks with a subtle smirk as those damn blue eyes sparkle in the moonlight.

“There you go again, avoiding an answer by replying to my question with another question,” Emma teases, rolling her eyes.

Killian shrugs casually, “And there you go again, pointing out my quirks just to avoid answering my questions.”

“Well, we could go at this all night, so I will answer your question—I thought the agreement was if dating is still not my thing by the end of the night, I don’t have to go on another one with you.”

“I don’t recall using those words exactly. I said I wouldn’t ask you again,” he clarifies with a flirty lift of his brow. “Doesn’t mean you can’t still ask me.”

Emma laughs, her cheeks flushing with red. “You are nothing if not persistent.”

“That I am,” he agrees proudly.

Emma shakes her head and can’t stop the blossoming smile from gracing her lips. “I’ll tell you what, if you play your cards right, the possibilities are endless,” she promises, running her free hand over his chest.

“Fair enough,” he chuckles, his cheeks painted with blush.

As they near the water, Emma’s pretty certain they’ll be going into one of the restaurants around the area because as her eyes fall over the variety of moored boats and yachts, his is nowhere to be seen.

“Here’s our table.”

Apparently she’s not looking in the right direction because when she lifts her gaze, following his line of sight, her eyes land on his yacht.

Her mouth falls open in awe as she watches the majestic vessel glide across the water. She’s seen it before in broad daylight, but she hasn’t seen it at night all lit up, blue lights from the bottom of the boat illuminating the surface of the water.

“This is where we’ll be eating?”

“Aye, just the two of us.”

They step aboard when the yacht reaches the dock, and Killian leads her to the cockpit where there’s a dark haired man at the controls. “Emma, this is Smee. He will be navigating the yacht this evening.”

“Nice to meet you, m'lady,” he greets politely, his voice big and hearty as he shakes her hand. He’s even dressed in a white Naval uniform, and Emma can’t help the big smile blooming over her lips.

“You too.”

Killian gives her a tour of the yacht, the place he uses as an escape from everything else, and when they step onto the deck, there’s a romantic table set for two, lit candles, champagne and a string quartet playing violins. It reminds her of the ballroom, but this is a much more intimate setting and there are far less people.

“This is like our own personal cruise,” Emma remarks as Killian pulls out a chair for her.

“You could say that. But no worries, we’ll be back before the evening’s over.”

Emma takes the offered seat as he sits across from her. “You mean you’re not going to kidnap me and steal me away?” she teases playfully.

Killian lifts a quirky brow, smirking at her. “Don’t tempt me, darling. The idea of keeping you all to myself is quite appealing.”

A pleasant shiver skates down her spine under his burning stare as he grabs the champagne bottle. Emma has a feeling that going away with him wouldn’t be the worst idea ever.

“Would you like some champagne, love?”

Emma thinks about the question, knowing if Milah were there looking over her shoulder, she’d be telling her no, and that alcohol inhibits one’s ability to make good decisions. Last night was different because they were in a room full of people, but now they’re on the ocean with only a few others on board who are most likely being paid to give them privacy. But Emma decides she wants the evening to play out it’s natural course. “Sure, I’ll take some.”

Killian pours them both some of the bubbly liquid and lifts the covers from the platters of food, which he tells her he made himself. It’s seafood, which Emma has never really tried before, but once she tastes the shrimp and parmesan crusted Tilapia, she easily decides it’s delicious.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had fish before, love.”

Emma shrugs. “Well, I grew up in foster homes, so if I wanted fish, I had to catch it from the creek, gut it and cook it myself. And it certainly would not have tasted anything like this,” Emma states, taking another bite. The texture is soft and practically melts on her tongue.

Killian’s eyes flicker with guilt, his features falling in regret, and Emma swallows her food down quickly. Why did she have to bring up her dreary childhood?

“I hope you don’t mind all this. I just wanted to…” He pauses and she looks into his eyes, trying to read what he is thinking. “I’m not the type of person who likes to rub their wealth in other’s faces, I just wanted you to have a special evening.”

Emma takes his hand from over the table, soothing his knuckles with her thumb to ease his worries. “I didn’t think that at all about you. This is very special. No guy’s ever went all out for me before.” She really should not be surprised her first date with Killian is an enchanting one, if the previous evening was any indication. “If I could have dreamt up the perfect first date, this is better—way better—so thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Killian offers a small smile and brings her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

They change the subject and finish the rest of their dinner before moving on to dessert, talking and laughing under the stars.

Taking their champagne glasses with them, they eventually move to the patio sofa, gazing out across the ocean, and watching the flecks of white reflecting over the vast waters.

“I’m sorry if I dampened the mood earlier, talking about my depressing childhood,” Emma apologizes as he wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I’ve never done this whole dating thing before, so I’m not very good at it.”

“You’re better than you think, love,” he assures, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Emma gives him a feeble smile, but she’s still doubtful.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t do this very often, so I don’t have much to compare it to.”

Emma lifts a brow, surprised by this. “You don’t go on a lot of dates?”

Killian shakes his head, looking down. “No, in fact I’ve never taken a woman on my yacht before.”

At that she has to laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

He lifts his eyes again, the intensity of his stare stealing her breath away. “Afraid not, love. I travel a lot, and when I am here in Palm Beach, the relationships I’ve been in have been short-lived.”

Emma takes a sip of her champagne, mulling on that thought for a moment. If those women left shortly after the relationship began, then they must have been scared off somehow. “Let me guess, David always weeds them out with his big brother speeches?”

Killian lets out a small laugh, nodding his head. “Some of them, but I’m normally good at judging if a woman is after me for my money… or if they’re only after me.”

Emma gulps thickly, wondering if he’s ever suspected her of this since they’ve met. “Have any of them been the latter?”

Killian’s stare pierces directly into her soul, and Emma can see the answer buried in his deep blues. She can see the pain he keeps hidden there, and it makes her heart ache. “No, they haven’t.” Killian takes her hand in his, resting both over her crossed leg. “Not until now.”

Emma’s heart flutters… at first. She can’t believe this man has poured so much trust into her already. She can’t believe someone like him actually likes her this much. She can’t believe any woman would not want the entire package that is Killian Jones. She can’t believe this man, this perfect man who is sweet and generous and rich—oh yeah, she can believe he would attract women who are only after his money, because she is one of them. Emma’s heart tightens. How can she do this to such a wonderful man? “I don’t know about that,” she mumbles quietly, her eyes dropping to their joined hands.

“What do you mean?” he inquires, soothing her thumb with the pad of his.

She looks up at him, a smile curving her lips. “I mean… there are many qualities about you to appreciate. You’re generous, you’re great with kids, you’re kind and you have a huge heart. You also know how to dance,” she adds with a laugh. “Is there anyone more perfect than you?”

Killian blushes, scratching behind his ear. “I wouldn’t say I’m perfect. Having a huge heart is not always a good thing.”

Her features fall at the sadness in his tone. “How so?”

“Because, I often leave my heart on my sleeve. Everything I do, I put my whole heart into. I don’t do things half-ass, if you couldn’t already sense that,” he chuckles.

Emma squeezes his hand, offering a frail smile. “Sounds like a good way to get your heart broken.”

“Aye, it is. So, I have to protect myself somehow, which usually means a lot of lonely nights.”

“Believe me, if there’s anyone who knows how to protect their heart, it’s me.”

Killian’s eyes flash with comprehension. “That’s why you’ve never been on a single date, then?”

Emma nods, her voice cracked as she answers, “Can’t get your heart broken if you keep it locked away.”

His eyes widen in surprise, and Emma thinks she may have given away too much. “But you’re taking a risk with me?”

She shrugs and removes her hand from his grasp, placing a palm on his arm. “What can I say, I’m an avid lover of poker who enjoys a little game of risk.”

“Really?” Killian asks with intrigue, lifting a brow.

Emma laughs. “Yes, and besides, you’re taking a risk with me. Why not take it together?”

The pools of his blue irises soften under Emma’s gaze as he offers a smile that makes her heart melt. “I can’t say I’ve ever played poker before, but I do like that idea, love.”

Emma’s smile dims, her features growing more serious. “I’ve spent my entire life running away, I’ve always been just an orphan wandering the planet with no place to call home, so maybe it’s time I changed that.”

Killian leans in caressing her cheek, his voice weak as he speaks. “I know what you mean. I’ve spent my entire life traveling, and it’s been far too long since I’ve actually had a home.”

“I don’t know, I think you’ve already found your home.”

Studying her eyes carefully, he lifts a brow, trying to discern what she’s saying. “You mean here in Palm Beach? I’m not sure about that. I’m not even here very much.”

“No, not Palm Beach. Home is not always a place. Being home is being with the people you love, and you have that wherever you go—Mary Margaret, David, Robin, Regina, Henry…”

“And what about you? Do you have a person to call home?”

Of course Emma’s answer is yes. Her sister is and always will be her home, but she can’t tell Killian that, as much as she wishes she could. “No, I don’t.”

Killian’s eyes fall to her lips, and he leans in slowly, placing his finger under her chin, his thumb grazing her jaw. “Well, then you’re right. Perhaps we can do something about that.”

Emma longs to feel his lips on hers, and she knows she shouldn’t kiss him, but God she wants to. Kilian moves in, and she’s glad the string quartet had left the deck after dinner. He pauses, making sure she wants this too, so she closes the rest of the distance between them and goes after his lips.

An abrupt screeching sound from across the water makes Emma gasp, and the big boom and colors erupting into the sky make her jump.

They both look towards the source of the interruption, watching the fireworks shoot up into the sky and explode, lighting up the black night.

“Come on, love.” He stands up, grabs her hand and leads her to the railing. Emma trails behind him, keeping her eyes on the display across the water. She lets go of his hand and stands in front of him, her elbows leaning on the rail, her gaze focused on the fireworks.

Wondering how the night could possibly get better than this, she feels the touch of his hand gliding up her arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. She feels his breath on her skin as he whispers in her ear, “You cold, love?”

Emma smiles with devilry, nuzzling her head against his lips. “What if I am?”

Killian chuckles against her, his voice sending a pleasant shiver down her spine as he takes her hands, threading his fingers through Emma’s and encircling her in his arms. “Do you always use this tactic to get men to wrap their arms around you?”

Emitting a small laugh, she closes her eyes and sighs in content, enjoying his warm embrace. “So what if I do? It worked, didn’t it?”

“Like a charm.” Killian’s voice is smooth as silk, sending vibrations through her body.

“Actually, I’ve never really craved having a man’s arms around me before,” she admits, loud enough for him to hear over the fireworks.

“Never?”

She shakes her head. “Never.”

“And what changed?”

Emma leans her head back, angling her face towards him and murmuring softly in his ear, “I met you.”

She hears his breath catch and faces the ocean again as he tightens his hold around her, pressing his lips against her lobe. As much as she’s not supposed to allow him to effect her like this, Emma is overtaken with warmth from such a small affection, and she has to bite her bottom lip to refrain from making any sounds of pleasure.

When he turns his head, the stubble on his jaw scrapes against her skin, and immediately she feels the loss of his lips. She tries to focus on the fireworks, but his warm body pressed to her back and his strong arms wrapped around her frame inhibits her ability to think clearly. The heat is surging between them, but it has nothing to do with the warmth of the summer air.

Emma tries to adjust her focus on the game plan, but instead she can’t concentrate on anything but Killian’s hands entwined in hers, and the way his chest moves against her back with every shaky breath he takes. Emma leans her head back again and places a kiss on his cheek. She can feel him quiver against her body, the smell of his skin overwhelming her senses. Another round of fireworks screech above the water, and Emma decides to throw her promise to Milah overboard.

She reaches behind his head, sliding her fingers through his hair and bringing his lips to hers.

Given their recent luck, she’s half expecting to get interrupted, but instead, she’s finally feeling those delicate, soft lips on hers as he parts his mouth, responding to her advances. He tastes even better than she’d imagined, and she can’t bring herself to pull away. Sliding her tongue into his mouth and tasting the sweetness of his, she tugs on his hair to press him closer.

Once he lets a little groan tear from his throat, Emma is officially a goner. She spins around in his arms, cupping his cheeks in her hands as the kiss rapidly becomes heated, both of them breathing each other in. Killian’s hands are soon all over her back, and everything Emma keeps tamed inside her—emotions, desire, the way she has genuinely grown to care about him—erupts to the surface.

The fireworks are long forgotten.

Emma moans as he presses her against the railing, and rips his lips away, the prickly stubble around his mouth dragging across her skin as he leaves an assault of kisses in his wake, causing her head to spin. Making a trail across her jaw, he reaches her ear, speaking in a low, husky voice, “Do you trust me, Swan?”

Emma’s not sure exactly what he means by that—does she trust him not to take things too far? Or does she trust him not to break her heart? She’s not really sure, but she nods her head anyway.

Emma gasps in surprise when he lifts her up and sits her on the railing. He urges her knees apart and moves in, pulling her legs around his waist, his lips crashing into hers. Now she understands what he’d meant, because he has to hold her securely in his arms to keep her from falling off the railing and into the dark waters. And now she’s glad she’d shaved her legs.

Their bodies move instinctively, his groin pressing against her center as they eagerly devour each other. Despite the fireworks still going off behind her, their muffled moans, heavy breathing and the sounds of their lips smacking together are all they can hear.

Emma releases his lips and buries her face in the crook of his neck, leaving seductive kisses down the column of his throat. He dips his head back to allow her more access as she clutches onto him tightly, but it’s not because she’s afraid of falling. She’s wanted this man since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

“Love, we shouldn't…” His slurred words are completely wrecked as she pulls back, struggling to catch her breath. “We should stop.”

She nods in agreement, licking her lips to savor the taste of him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Killian offers a lazy smirk. “Please, don’t apologize. That was uh…” Killian stammers, scratching behind his ear.

Emma laughs when she sees the red lipstick on his mouth and wipes it off with her thumb. The possibility of her makeup rubbing off on him had completely escaped her after dinner, even though she knew the lipstick choice wasn’t made to last through everything.

“If we continue any further we might end up making fireworks of our own.”

Sharing a laugh, both are blushing profusely as Killian helps her down from the railing.

“If I’m being honest, I really like you, Emma,” he admits earnestly, and his words crack as he gazes into her eyes, “and I don’t want to screw this up by taking things way too fast.”

Emma stares back at him, and cups his cheeks in her hands, whispering into his ear, “I like you too.”

Killian smiles, caressing her cheek. She turns around in his arms after a moment and they watch the remainder of the fireworks display. They spend the rest of the evening dancing as he tells her about the upcoming tour, both of them deciding it’s best not to tempt fate by kissing again.

The night ends far too soon, and once the boat reaches the marina, Killian wraps Emma’s shawl around her shoulders and grabs her clutch and bouquet of roses, handing them over to her after Emma insists she can carry them herself.

Smee emerges from the cockpit as they’re about to leave, and his cheeks fill with blush when he looks at Killian. “Uh, Captain, you have uh…” he stammers, gesturing to his neck.

Their faces fall in confusion as she looks at Killian to see what Smee is referring to.

“What is it, love?”

“We seem to have missed a spot. There’s still some lipstick on your neck,” she laughs and pulls out a tissue from her purse. Taking his jaw in her hand, she wipes his neck clean, his breath hitching at her touch and their eyes connecting intensely.

“You both enjoyed the evening, I take it?” the man remarks with a smirk.

“We did, indeed,” Killian blushes and smiles as she gets off any of the remaining red and tears her eyes away from him to tuck the tissue back into her purse. “I’ll be escorting Emma to her car now. Could you—”

“No, worries. I’ll take care of the Jolly and tuck her in,” he reassures with a wink and a friendly pat on Killian’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Smee. You’re the best.”

“No problem. Have a good night, Miss Swan. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too. Goodnight.”

Killian and Emma leave the yacht and walk to her car, their hands entwined as she takes stock of the evening. She can’t remember ever having as much fun as she did tonight, and she’s sad he is leaving tomorrow.

“So, what do you think, love? Would you be willing to give dating a try? With me of course,” he adds with a small laugh when they reach her vehicle.

Pursing her lips in contemplation, she steps closer to him, fluttering her lashes flirtatiously and tilting her head. “I suppose I could. I had a really nice time tonight.”

“I’m glad… because I was hoping…” Killian begins softly as he takes her free hand in his. He opens his mouth to finish his sentence, but appears to be hesitant to continue.

“You were hoping what?” she questions a bit nervously, her words laced with concern.

Killian’s lips twitch into a small smile and he says simply, “Come with me.”

Her eyebrows weave, displaying her confusion. “What?”

“Tomorrow, when I leave for Ohio… I want you to come with me.”

Emma’s mouth falls open; she’s not sure what to say to that. They’ve made a lot of progress so far, but she doesn’t want to ruin anything by going with him just yet. It’s far too soon in the game. Besides, Milah would never allow it. Emma had already gone too far by kissing him, and she knows she’ll receive the wrath from Milah as it is. “But… what happened to taking things slowly?”

“Emma, I’m not proposing marriage, I’m just asking you to accompany me on the tour. You’ll have your own hotel suite and you won’t have to worry about the expenses. I’ll make sure you have everything you need for the trip. I just… I would very much like your company and I’m not sure when I will see you again otherwise.”

Emma gulps thickly. She had anticipated going with him, just not this soon and not without any type of notice. “I… I’m sorry, I just… I have obligations here,” she manages. “I have my job, I can’t just up and leave.”

Killian’s features fall slightly, his eyes flickering with disappointment as he offers a weak smile. “Of course, love. I understand. It was a shot in the dark, but I had to take it.”

Emma offers a reassuring grin, reaching a hand to caress his jaw. “It’s okay. I will miss you when you’re gone though.” She extends her hand to him, adding, “Let me see your phone.”

Killian quickly reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his phone, handing it over.

Quickly keying in her number, she adds it to his contact list. “There, now you have my number. Will you call me?”

Killian nods as Emma hands his phone back. “Of course I will.”

She leans in, capturing his lips and luring him in for a deep kiss. One of his hands curl around her hip, the other sliding through her hair, and their lips and tongues move slowly, memorizing the feel and texture of one another, making the moment last before having to break apart.

Killian groans in content, he bites her bottom lip and slowly releases it, pulling away and resting his forehead on hers. She licks her lips, clutching onto the lapels of his jacket, whispering breathlessly, “Goodbye, Killian. And good luck.”

Killian smiles, his blue eyes glittering under the moonlight as he caresses her cheek with his thumb. “Thank you, love. Goodnight.”

She reluctantly lets him go and gets in her car when he pulls the door open for her. But before he closes it, he hunches over slightly to catch her gaze, a trace of hope lingering in his eyes. “If you change your mind, takeoff from the airport is at 8 a.m. tomorrow. I’ll text you the address just in case, and I’ll wait for you at the terminal.”

Emma offers a soft smile and nods as he shuts the door. They wave at one another as she drives away, and a strange feeling courses through her body. She feels as light as a feather, her lips still tingling and her body buzzing with nerves and excitement. But she’s also feeling guilty, and her heart is swelling inside her chest; she really doesnt know what to do with all these emotions. She does know one thing for sure; for the first time since she and Milah had started conning, Emma doesn’t want the mark to get hurt. She doesn’t want him to suffer any more than he already has. For the first time in her life, she is falling for her mark.

Crap. She’s totally fucked!

#cs ff #heartbreakers au #csbb #captain swan #how to play the game (and in your heart)#my fic

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