#thread: a romantic holiday

[universestreasures]

Valentines Day Themed Inbox Call!!!

Heart that post mutuals for a Valentines Day themed ask from one of my muses for one of yours! Please specify a muse (mine and yours), and a verse too if you’d like! <3 You can ask for multiple ones too!

This will be open till the evening of Monday the 13th, giving me enough to send them out by the holiday!

[aafranmayazine]

💜 PRODUCTION THREAD 💙

New adventures together have begun as our production period is in full swing! Stay tuned to this thread as we keep you updated on how production is going for all of our romantic and darling Franmaya goodies!

📑 STICKERS

Starting with... our darling die-cut stickers designed by @maylamuse, @snoocupz, and @bell-cloche!! Aren't they sweet? We're so happy with how they turned out and can't wait to decorate everything we have with some new Franmaya kisses!

📑 STICKER SHEET

And check out our winter-themed Franmaya date sticker sheet designed by @kitsastik! These turned out SO darling; we can't wait to get into the holiday festive spirit early, Franmaya-style!

[blues824]

im surprised this hasn't been requested yet,, but could you please do malleus, jade, floyd, silver and trey with a reader who is like alice kingsleigh? im talking about the live-action alice, not the animated one (im unsure if they act the same, its been a while since i watched the animated one).

The LA and the animated versions are quite different. Gender-neutral reader.

Trey Clover

You were as brave as you were adventurous, and he appreciated that about you. However, your sense of adventure often ended up with you in trouble with Riddle, and this baker had to bail you out with a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card (a strawberry tart) more times than he can count. You loved standing up for what you believed was right, and you didn’t think the Queen’s rules were just at all.

Trey loved hearing about your own world. The different cultures and how you were seen as crazy always amused him. However, whenever you got to the parts where you were either going to have a spouse chosen for you or you were going to be thrown into a mental asylum because you had the ability to travel through mirrors and get from Twisted Wonderland back to your world… or so you claimed, according to your world, he was in disbelief. Your land seemed even more twisted than anything Twisted Wonderland has to offer.

All that aside, you do have to admit that the treats your beloved baker makes are better than the Eat Me! pastry that you had consumed however many months ago. It did increase your size by a very significant amount… you almost destroyed Heartslabyul. However, you just drank the Drink Me! potion and you shrank down to the size of a pencil. Trey took it upon himself to make sure that you weren’t squashed, and you sat on his shoulder.

The Vice Housewarden knows of your distaste for the patriarchy, but this man was written by a woman (literally and figuratively). When he threaded his fingers through yours and brought the back of your hand to his lips for a gentle kiss, you could tell that it was genuine love that he felt for you. He had no intention to ‘tame’ you. No, he wanted to be the person you returned home to, and you were grateful for that.

Jade Leech

He was intrigued by you, to say the least. You marched so bravely into Azul’s office that day and you demanded that your friends be freed of their contract. Considering you were a sea captain and knew much more about shady deals with pirates than Azul knows about making shady deals, you were able to find loopholes within the loopholes created. You took your time and read through the fine print and pointed out errors, and seeing the cecaelia so riled up in anger made the eel’s heart beat quickly.

That is how you both became friends, actually, and romantic partners. Your sense of adventure aligned with his, and you both swam and hiked with each other. You lived an active lifestyle, something that doesn’t quite fit within the societal standards of your world, so keeping up with Jade was no challenge for you. Every single time you make it up a mountain, you always ask about the different mushrooms and their properties, and this eel is more than happy to tell you.

Your Unique Magic was definitely strange, as you had the ability to travel between entire worlds. For any holiday break, you were able to go back home. However, you rushed back into Twisted Wonderland in what seemed to be a tattered straitjacket. Your eyes were a bit sunken in, and you seemed a bit woozy. That’s when you told him, with slurred speech, that you had been sent to a mental asylum and injected with a bit of medicine to make you go to sleep before you pulled the syringe out and stabbed it into the doctor.

Jade took you to his room where he helped you take off the straitjacket, offering you one of his own shirts and hoodies. Then, he tucked you into bed so that you could sleep off the medicine’s effects. Oh, he definitely wanted the doctor who did this to you to pay, but for some reason, he was not able to go to your world like you were able to. But your tired ramblings of forced marriage and societal standards made him want to find a way so he could make those humans pay for touching his beloved.

Floyd Leech

He, too, was intrigued by you when you marched into Azul’s office and demanded to read your friends’ contracts. He did get bored when you sat down and read the fine print, but when you pointed out a loophole that managed to get your friends out, Floyd was genuinely surprised. No one has ever managed to do that before, which made his hyperfixation on you even more apparent and present.

But, that ‘hyperfixation’ wasn’t a ‘hyperfixation’... it was a crush. Your adventurous personality both aligned with and contradicted his. You never made him bored. You liked playing basketball with him so that he could get extra practice. You loved sneaking him away during his 15 minute break at the Mostro Lounge just so that you could hang out with him a bit more. Also, when he was in a bad mood, you were not afraid of being squeezed because you faced an entire jabberwocky before. A grumpy eel was nothing to you.

During that break where you were originally going to go home, he did not want you to leave. Well, just a few days into the break, you jumped back through the mirror in a straitjacket and you were stumbling about. You ran as fast as you could to Octavinelle and into the [closed] Lounge. Floyd rushed to see what was wrong, and you went on and on about how you were thrown into a mental asylum and injected with medicine that would put you to sleep. He picked you up and over his shoulder and took you to his room where you slept off the medicine’s effects. He cuddled close to you, and you would never know how angry he was.

Even though it doesn’t seem like he pays attention, he knows that nothing matters to you more than continuing your father’s legacy as a sea captain. However, he never wanted you to go back to your world if it would kill you. After all, he can’t function without his shrimpy. Anyways, you could be a sea captain in Twisted Wonderland, and he would even go with you. He could swim as much as he wanted, he could sail as much as he wanted, and he would get to be with you.

Malleus Draconia

He knew you were different based on the way you walked up to him and just introduced yourself. You held no fear of him, but you didn’t know who he was. When he told you to call him what you will, this intrigued you even more. You both found yourselves excited to meet up each night, as you got to know more about this mysterious new friend that you had made yourself acquainted with.

When you inevitably discovered who he truly was, you understood where he was coming from. Nothing really changed, but you often teased him about keeping more secrets from you. Eventually, a flower of romantic interest bloomed between the two of you, and every single time he brought you back to Ramshackle, he would wish you farewell by placing a polite and loving kiss on the back of your hand. When he looks back up at you, you can feel your heart flutter a bit because of the amount of love he looks at you with.

Malleus had no intention of ‘taming’ you either. If you were to rule beside him, you would do wonderfully as-is. Your world did not share the same view, and one night you had told him about your winter break when he came back. You were taken in by Octavinelle when you ran back through the mirror from your world in a straitjacket and you had some medicine injected into you at that point. The dragon prince was absolutely angry, and a storm was starting to form as you went on and on about the happenings.

If you think you are ever going back to your world, you are sadly mistaken. He is not letting you go back just so you can be tossed back into an insane asylum. He knows about your desire to carry out your father’s legacy, but you can do that here. Actually, he still hates the idea of you being away from him, but it will do because at least you would be in Twisted Wonderland. Plus, there is no chance that you are going to fall for someone else, so he has nothing to worry about.

Silver

He reminded you of the dormouse that you had met. He always fell asleep, which was unfortunate when one was as adventurous as you were. But you were not going to let him lie in the middle of the hallway just to be trampled. It was with a tad bit of difficulty that you pulled him onto a chair and off of the floor. However, he miraculously woke up because of all the extra movement, just to see you really close to his face. To say he was startled [and flustered] would be an understatement.

This was a start to a rather interesting relationship. Since he was a knight, you compared him to the card knights in Underland, but found there to be no comparison at all. After all, he was not rushing to paint the roses red. He was very serious compared to your first year friends (excusing Jack and Sebek), but that was what you liked about him. He, too, was the constant in your life, even if you had only known him for a short period of time.

Silver appreciates peace, but he appreciates you even more. So, when he comes back from Briar Valley, and he hears whispers about you being thrown into a mental asylum back home, he is running around trying to find you. He found you at Ramshackle, staring at a straitjacket with a look of absolute betrayal on your face. That was when he realized that all the whispers were correct. He pulled you into his arms, grateful that you were okay. 

From that point on, he kind of treats you differently. He doesn’t want you going back to your world if that is how they are going to treat you. No, he will keep you safe because he doesn’t want you to get hurt. He supports your dream of being a sea captain, and he will help you learn the different lands from a multitude of different maps so that you could be confident in the geography of Twisted Wonderland.

[gingerjolover]

Maskin in each other’s presence - Josette Maskin (MUNA) x fem!reader (soft!gf)

sypnosis: chronic migraine!gf "ruins" dinner, but jo makes it all better:)

g's notes: look...she's late but she's here, (she's also unedited and not titled grrrr) I'll be posting vday fics until the 16th :-)

thank u cutie anon for the title <3

warnings: RPF, migraine-y symptoms, nausea but no s!ck, fluffy fluff, jo being a sweetheart, crying, smutty comments, jo's soft!gf is lowkey grumpy!gf, no physical descriptors?

Most of your life you hated Valentine's day. Once mandatory valentine's day cards were stopped in school and it started to get romantic is when your opinion on it changed. The pressure, even as a teenager, to have a valentine, combined with the hyper-consumerism of it all made it almost unbearable. almost. until you met jo.

Granted, every day felt like Valentine's Day with Jo. If there's one thing Josette is good at, it's spoiling you. She somehow cracked the walls around your heart and buttered you up with bouquets of flowers, chipping away at your disdain for the holiday with every specialty pint of ice cream and "all you can carry" trip to the bookstore.

This Valentine's had been nothing short of perfect. Jo had been busy recording Gayotic and working on the album, but Muna was finally taking a break after the Grammy, and her plans for you aligned. You had agreed on no gifts, but there's one thing Josette is going to do: get you practical gifts that you can't get mad at her for.

She awoke you with breakfast in bed, a wonderful assortment of pastries, and your favorite tea before curling into your side, her lips moving up and down your neck and jaw, biting into the junction of your shoulder softly. With kisses on your shoulder, you get dressed for a short hike, stopping by Katie's to let Bleu run around and play with her friends. You had lunch by the beach, strolling down the coast in a rental car, top-down, as Jo's hand rests on your thigh as she weaves through her hometown streets. You nap together on the hammock in the backyard; Jo reads to you from your current read, one she picked out for you (again, practical gifts), as you rest your head on their chest, fingers gently threading through your hair and rubbing your scalp.

The day had been perfect, basking in each other's presence and welcoming the sunshine after LA had been weirdly cold and rainy. You're sitting on the floor doing your makeup in front of the standing mirror (your unbuilt vanity in boxes because Jo doesn't have the guts to ask Naomi to help her build it) while Josette stands behind you, tucking their dress shirt into a pair of slacks. It's slight, but the pain behind your left eye makes you freeze, mascara wand in front of your eye.

"What's wrong?" Jo murmurs.

"Huh?"

"You look like you saw a ghost..." Jo giggles undertones of worry in their tone.

"Oh, just- was thinking- need to make sure I shut the curling iron off," you say quickly, coming up with an excuse. Your refusal to let the inclination of a headache or migraine ruin your night.

"Can I unplug it now?" Jo asks sweetly, heading towards the bathroom. Jo heads in and unplugs as soon as you nod and continue doing your makeup.

"Thanks," you mumble, focusing on not getting any mascara on your pink eyelids. The pain subsides, and you continue getting ready.

It's not until you're in the car, the headlights make you wince, the lights bright and looking like starbursts, that you realize you're indeed getting a migraine. Jo's hand is again fixed on your thigh, tapping gently along with the music, when a slight pain shoots up the base of your neck to your head. As Jo parks and holds out her hand for you, you wobble slightly, Jo's eyes flashing with concern as you giggle it off, blaming it on your heels.

All throughout dinner, Jo keeps a close eye on you, noticing your blinks becoming longer, the way you push your food around on your fork, sipping cold water gently. Josette goes to the bathroom and, on her way back to the table, sees you with your fingers at your temples, rubbing gently as you crane your neck. Jo comes back, rubbing the back of your neck, "Why didn't you tell me you were getting a migraine?" she murmurs softly, eyes flooded with worry and disappointment. You quickly straighten up, trying to brush it off.

"I'm fine, Josie, I swear," you say, face paling at the sharp pain behind your eyes.

"You can't fool me, doll," Jo groans, pulling out their wallet as they sit back down.

"No, wait, we haven't even ordered dessert," you slur out, cursing yourself for not taking something to prevent the bad symptoms earlier.

"Baby girl, you're slurring; we can get dessert later; I need to get you home," Jo says, voice firm and definitive.

You pout, tears welling in your eyes as Jo pays for your meal, feeling guilty as she gently holds your back and walks you to the car. Instantly Jo is in caretaker mode, the food is placed in the trunk sp the smells don't bother you, she has you close your eyes, opening the windows for fresh air, taking a piece of peppermint gum and handing it to you gently.

"Just until we get home," Josette mumbles, buckling in your seatbelt and wiping your tears away with her thumb. You can't help but cry, yes, from the pain but also for ruining a perfect day, knowing there won't be any fun, intimate activities tonight.

Jo starts to drive quickly but safely, trying to keep the movements of the car limited, knowing the pain could turn to nausea quick.

"Don't cry, baby, I know it hurts; you didn't bring your meds, did you?" Jo asks, rubbing your knee.

You shake your head. "No," chewing the gum gently as you try to take deep breaths, the pain becoming more intense every minute in the car.

"I don't feel good, Josie." You cry, the mind-numbing pain now paired with nausea. At the next red light, Jo reaches into the glove compartment, getting alcohol pads, ripping them open to have you sniff to curb the nausea. "You're okay, sweet girl, just breathe," she murmurs again, trying to get home as fast as possible.

The second you're back home, the migraine routine Jo can do with her eyes closed begins. They immediately help you into pajamas, propping you up with a bin at your bedside. They grab your face roller, eye mask, and migraine gap, collecting your water bottle and meds before heating up a heat pack for your feet.

"Come on, that's my girl," Jo mumbles proudly, voice filtered with a teasing tone, watching you sip water after taking your meds, the room as dark as possible, Bleu lying at the end of your bed, head resting on your feet. "Good girl...you nauseous?" Jo whispers, smiling when you shake your head no. "Okay, stay still for a little," they say softly, moving to the bathroom to set up after the medication kicks in.

After 45 minutes and a quick nap, the pain is duller, and your migraine cap is thawed. Bleu's head is resting on your lower stomach, your hand moving to scratch her ears. Jo returns to the room when she hears her tail thumping against the bed. "You awake?" Jo whispers, walking over to your side of the bed and rubbing a hand down your arm.

"Mhm," you mumble, removing the cap. The room is dark except for a few unscented candles scattered around.

"Bath time?" Jo smiles, rubbing your cheek softly, holding your chin as she leans in and kisses your cheek. They help you get out of bed, gently stripping you of your pajamas and helping you get into the bath, the hot water and Epsom salts helping soothe your muscles. The bathroom is dark, besides unscented candlelight. Jo is sitting beside the tub, rubbing your back gently as you sit in the warm soapy water.

"I'm sorry," you say tearfully.

"For what?" Jo asks curiously, moving to wash your hair.

"Ruining dinner," you sniffle, wiping your eyes.

Jo chuckles softly, massaging your scalp gently. "You have no reason to be sorry, baby..." they start, moving to rinse your hair. "Do I wish we were in the tub doing... other things... yes, of course... but it's not your fault you got a migraine. In fact, it's a good reminder that you need your shot tomorrow," Jo says softly, squeezing the excess water out of your hair.

You groan, thankful that Jo has been willing to give you your migraine injection in the outer thigh for most of your relationship thus far, but it's never enjoyable. But even the things that were never enjoyable, like Valentine's Day, are much better with Jo. As she sits on the floor next to the tub in sweatpants and a sports bra, you can't help but be grateful for all they do for you. Jo makes everything full of love and light; for every migraine, birthday, illness, stressor, holiday, party, and everything in between.

"What kinda things?" you mumble, cheeks heating up as she scrubs your back.

"How about we have a do-over tomorrow? Let me wake you up with some of the things I wanna do, eh?" they say with a smirk, kissing your damp cheek with a cheeky smile on her face.

[jophiel-extras]

Hi, can you do an aziraphale x reader one, where reader is oblivious that aziraphale has developed feelings for them and he tries signaling it to them but after a while he just gives up and blurts it out? 🩵

summary :: Aziraphale has being trying to catch your eye for some time and eventually becomes fed up with your head being in the heavens

warning :: none, fluff

note :: I never expected to get three Aziraphale requests in a row, I thought it would’ve been Crowley city in my inbox

Aziraphale has been on earth long enough to know how to ‘court’ another person.

Despite being socially… off to human standards, he can be quite smooth.

He has been quite smooth, a few times. To you specifically although you never seem to take the hint. Aziraphale finds it “dreadfully cute,” but it’s quite comedic at this point.

The first time Aziraphale attempted to be romantic towards you, was buying you a bouquet of lovely flowers. They were the prettiest Cala Lillies you’d ever seen.

“Oh Aziraphale, they’re lovely,” You glossed a finger over the rounded petal of a singe Lilly, then returned your eyes to Aziraphale, “what are they for?”

“Well erm, they’re for you, dear.” Aziraphale stuttered.

“Yes but what for?”

You couldn’t quite grasp the idea that Aziraphale had gotten you flowers for no reason other than he simply liked you.

Aziraphale would ask you out for dates (which you considered friendly hang-outs) and always paid the bill. Which you usually protested.

Never left a door unopened for you.

He would lend you his coat if ever the weather called for it. No other had gotten that kind of special treatment. He prized his coat, after all.

Always threading compliments into your conversations.

“You look marvellous.” Or “What a lovely outfit.” Even “You’re glowing this evening.” And “I enjoy your company so much.”

All met with a chipper; “Awh, thanks Aziraphale!”

He’s a big gift giver too, he loves to drown you in presents.

Even if you merely mention liking something in a shop window, it’ll end up in your home one way or another.

Often, for gift giving holidays like Christmas or your birthday, Aziraphale will have a minimum of five presents waiting for you.

No matter the amount Aziraphale spoils you, it never seems to click.

At this point, Crowley had caught on and began teasing him.

Crowley’s teasing ruffled his feathers, quite a lot, causing the Angel to become ever so slightly frustrated with your ignorance.

“You know it’s never going to work, not with a human so dumb.” Crowley muttered.

“Don’t be rude.” Aziraphale defended.

“In fact, I think it’s such a lost cause that I might even pray for you.”

Crowley, praying for him?

That’s when the frustration got to the better of him and with a huff, Aziraphale made his way to your whereabouts for a serious confession.

It took Aziraphale a year or two of pining before an outright confession.

If patience were a person, it would’ve been Aziraphale! But something had bugged him so sorely about your airiness towards his feelings that he had lost sleep about it.

And when Crowley had a go at the sleepless, pining Aziraphale things had suddenly changed.

“I fancy you! No, I love you,” he had quickly changed his words, ‘fancy’ giving you too much room for a miscommunication, “very dearly, and I have for some time.” At this point, Aziraphale had begun fidgeting, he’d never been so forthright before.

“Love me?” You parroted.

“Yes! Romantically, very romantically.” He hurriedly specified.

“Oh Aziraphale, I never knew you felt that way.”

God bless you. How could you be so oblivious?

[crystallinestars]

Dinner Dates

Lyney likes to take you out to eat once in a while. He wants it to be a proper date, so it will be one of the few times where you won’t see Lynette with him. Instead, it’s just you and him enjoying a nice meal together.

Lyney is very familiar with all sorts of restaurants and cafes in Fontaine, and although he could take you to eat at the restaurant of Hotel Bouffes d’ete, he instead chooses to bring you to a small yet cozy eatery. It may not be the most well-known place, but it has delicious food with a homecooked touch, a cozy ambiance, and it’s not as noisy as other cafes and restaurants in Fontaine. The perfect place for the two of you to relax and chat while sharing a delicious meal.

While dining, Lyney flirts with you, shooting you a charming smirk while teasing you about feeding him the way lovers do. Though his remark and that alluring look in his eye make your heart race, you’re not one to back down from a challenge. To Lyney’s surprise, you gather some of your food onto a fork and bring it up to the magician’s mouth with an adorable smile and a cute “Say ‘ahh’~”.

You can only watch in quiet amusement as you successfully turn the tables and cause the magician to blush and stammer awkwardly, finding himself suddenly tongue-tied. Your amused giggle deepens his blush, and he tries to hide it behind the rim of his hat.

However, the same trick won’t work on him twice. The next time you dine together, you try to tease him by offering your fork to him again, but Lyney smoothly accepts the food, eating it from the fork without hesitation. He even licks his lips in a seductive manner while crooning how delicious the food is, just to try and fluster you.

He beams and offers to feed you in return, holding up some of his own food for you to try. Though initially this mutual feeding started off as a means to tease one another, it helped to deepen your relationship and bring you closer as a result.

For anniversaries or romantic holidays like Valentine’s, Lyney will want to take you out to eat too, but he’ll want to make it memorable for his love. During one such occasion, Lyney plans an extravagant dinner on an airship in the late evening, complete with a bouquet of rainbow roses that he presents to you with a flourish and a deep bow, and a gorgeous view over Fontaine’s landscape.

He entertains you throughout dinner with some simple but unique magic tricks, such as making food appear or disappear, and pulling out more flowers from god-knows-where and threading them into your hair and clothes. He also presents an assortment of cards to you with various desserts depicted on them and tells you to pick one so he can guess what it is, only to give you the real dessert at the end.

The sparkle of delight in your pretty eyes, and your bright smile and laugh are a worthy reward for the long days of practice he put in to make these tricks work. Actually, scratch that. The kiss you pull him into as the two of you stand under the starry sky is the best reward ever. As much as Lyney tried to make this night unforgettable for you, he would be a liar if he said it wasn’t memorable for him as well. The feeling of the breeze weaving through your hair, your soft lips and sweet scent, and the city far below you will forever be etched into his memory, and he’ll often reminisce about it afterwards with a wide grin on his face.

[mytheoristavenue]

What the Straw Hats get you for Valentine's Day!

Summary: How your nakama surprise you for the most romantic holiday!

Warnings: All fluff, platonic!Chopper, fem!reader

Straw Hat Luffy:

Luffy frowned as he tilted the hat in his hands, inspecting it's quality. He'd commissioned it recently from a hatter on the last island, whom he'd compensated handsomely to keep quiet about their deal. The hatter had promised the pirate a replica of his own, down to the last detail, and Luffy assumed that the ins and outs of the task must have gotten lost in translation. This new hat lacked all the nicks, stitches, and frays that his had.

As usual, the captain decided to take matters into his own hands, taking a dagger, needle and thread and began molding the straw hat into an exact copy of his own. Finally he was satisfied with level of destruction he'd inflicted on the thing, he stepped back from it and smiled. In the dead of night, he crept into your room to set the gift on your nightstand with a note that read:

'A king needs a queen, and a queen needs a crown. Happy Valentine's.'

Pirate Hunter Zoro:

Zoro hummed in almost an irritated manner as he drug the cold steel of your weapon of choice through his microfiber cloth covered hand. He was so vexed over practically being forced to shine all your weapons for this stupid holiday- even though nobody asked him. He had no choice! He didn't want to go through the trouble of picking you out a gift you probably wouldn't even like, so he had to.

Then again, he wouldn't have been breaking a law if he hadn't given you a Valentine's Day surprise...but then you'd nag him about it! (Or so he'd convinced himself.)

Cat Burglar Nami:

Nami mulled over her decisions, literally weighing her options. In one hand, she held a beautiful diamond necklace, adorned with a pattern of pearl cut sapphires for color- and in the other, a 14 karat gold tennis bracelet with round cut emeralds all throughout. She sucked her lip into her bite, brows furrowed and unsure of which you'd like more. Or perhaps would wouldn't like either. She knew the ship was too far from any landmass to chance any chance at getting something else. Maybe she could just tell you she forgot to get you something, and then take you on a shopping spree at the next one?

With a hopeless sigh, she sat on her bed, groaning dramatically. She knew she was being silly and that you'd love any type of gift. You weren't as materialistic as you were, and she tended to give present that she would like to receive, but you always adored them. Maybe both..." she muttered, dragging herself off the mattress and out of her pity party to walk over to her dresser. On top of it sat a sparkling red gift box with a satin pillow inside.

Delicately, she laid the necklace out on it, before retrieving a piece of tissue paper and wrapping the bracelet in it, setting it on top. Finally, she crumbled the remaining paper and stuffed it into the box, so as to obscure the shine of the jewels, before setting the lid on and tying a silver bow around it, relieved to have made a decision.

God Usopp:

The gift that Usopp had in mind to give you was months in the making. He'd gifted you things for many other holidays since he begun this little project, having started it all the way back in April of last year. All his hard work had paid off though- all the late nights and early mornings and trips to certain islands to make sure he had the perfect supplies. On his desk sat the most perfect Ghost Orchid in an ornate pot. He'd gotten the seed from a shop that sold rare plants several islands back.

Apart of him was nervous that the flower might die in your care, after all the work he invested in it. The orchid was also endangered, which lead him to anxiously envision it being stolen if any enemy pirates ever looted the Sunny. With a deep breath he shook those thoughts away, sighing with a smile as he sat down at his desk to admire the gift. Tying a ribbon around the pot, with a small name card attached, his mind drifted off to more pleasant things, like how you might react to the gesture. Usopp was sure you'd cry, you always did when you received unexpected gifts. He was certain you'd agree to be his Valentine, most likely giving him an over joyed hug- maybe even a kiss. Blushing and snapping out of his daydreams, he paused, a bit embarrassed of himself.

Black Leg Sanji:

Sanji stayed up all night on the thirteenth, unbeknownst to the rest of the crew. He slaved tirelessly in the kitchen, crafting you the most decadent chocolates ever made. Chocolatiering was always something that he excelled at but it was his current occupation rarely had room for such a skill, that's why he loved Valentine's Day. Each truffle took him hours to create, but simply thinking of the way your eyes would light up- the way you'd at first refuse to try them, lest you risk ruining their beauty, only to cave and melt at the taste kept him going with a smile.

Once he had finally curated a dozen pieces, each not at all similar to the last, in flavor or presentation, he arranged them carefully in a heart shaped box that he'd bought from the last island, and fed the contents of which to Luffy. He wanted you to think he'd simply purchased a cheap treat for you, only to find his hand crafted assortment instead.

Cotton Candy Lover Chopper:

Chopper held a bubble of air in his cheeks as he snuck about the ship in the dead of night, well beyond his bedtime. Quietly, he his way to the deck and ascended the stairs to the gardens of his crewmates, basket and ribbons in hand. He snicker devilishly as he went through the rows, ignoring the signs labeling 'Nami/Usopp/Robin's garden, Keep out!' assigned to each respective section.

As he passed by Nami's orchard, he plucked a few of her sacred tangerines from their branches and stowed them away in his basket, before moving on to the sniper's plot, picking the least deadly looking greens he could find. Finally he made his way to Robin's flower bed and selected the prettiest curation of blossoms he could put together, before tying them together at the stems with a pink bow.

Devil Child Robin:

Robin combed through the shelves of the lounge, many extra sets of hands sprouting around the room to pick a select few books from their places. Each limb passed it's claim to one another until they reached her view for inspection. With he approval, she collected them all in stacks of three on the table, all to be tied with ribbon. The theme she'd chosen was 'tragic romance', opting for 'Romeo and Juliet' and 'Jane Eyre', just to name a few.

She had thought it a wonderful way to spend the holiday of love snuggled up with you, reading you the saddest love stories ever written to remind both of you how deep and healthy of a relationship you shared.

Cyborg Franky:

Franky wiped the sweat of his brow with a large hand, before his dainty one returned to work, tinkering and putting the final touches on his latest and most important project. Satisfied with it's out come, he grinned before falling back against the back of his chair. He was sure you'd go feral over his.

Running one last test to make sure it functioned perfectly, he wound the tiny key on the side of the mechanical box, watching it open to reveal a beautiful porcelain dancer spinning, and occasionally stopping for a pirouette on her platform.

When the display drew to a closer, the doll folded back into her hiding place and the hatch closed again as the song ended flawlessly. He chuckled a bit at his success, and delicately cradled the device, carrying it to a decorative box before wrapping it as a gift.

Soul King Brook:

All Brook could do to calm his nerves was tune carefully tune his violin, ivory phalanges trembling, a shake which traveled up his arm with a rattle- his bones clambering together. Once he could no longer deny that the instrument was in tune as it would ever get, he forced himself to gently set it down on it's stand before adjusting his sheet music.

Without a doubt, he was terrified for the most important concert of his life, the one that might ensure your place by his side for eternity- the one that he hoped would charm you into accepting his proposal.

Knight of the Sea Jinbe:

Jinbe grinned warmly, gently pinching an old photograph of you and himself, reminiscing on the moment it was taken, many years ago. Finally after a moment of looking back on the past, he carefully encased it in a golden frame, fastening the buttons that held it in place with the utmost care. After done, he wrapped the object with love, eager to bestow it upon you the next morning.

[realshadowfan07]

The autism took over and I made a long list of Luis headcanons. Originally wrote them on paper and colour coded them by category :3

Category 1: the ones without a category

He has autism and OCD because I have autism and OCD and I think they fit him

He is super mega queer (doesn't really label himself, just says queer (this definitely isn't me projecting again))

Trans ftm (there was a whole thread somewhere but i forgot who made it but i love you)

He defo gave himself top and bottom surgery because he's insane like that

Sentimental fella

Multilingual (spanish, english, and french)

He is HAIRY

Still doesn't quite get a lot of english phrases, slang, jokes, etc

HE HAS A LAZY EYE. It could just be game graphics but ITS THERE AND I SEE IT AND IM TAKING IT AS CANON THERE IS MANY SHOTS WHERE HIS EYE BALL IS LIKE THIS ↓

Category 2: romantic ♡

His happiness comes from making his partner happy

VERY VERY romantic

Malewife

Petnames +100

Main love language is touch

He yaps and yaps about how much he adores his partner

He loves praise

Mega gay flirt, but will absolutely become a mess when someone flirts back

Clingy (doesn't want to lose the one person who loves him)

Does all the chores because malewife

Pathetic wet cat

Category 3: angsty stuffs

Dogs/wolves make him very uncomfortable and tense due to what happened to dear old gandpapa

Fire can cause PTSD induced panic attacks (gramps death, and also what happened in the lab thingy)

Loves helping others, but struggles to ask for help because he thinks he doesn't deserve it

VERY low self esteem (his confidence is all a big ol facade)

Not completely comfortable with his body and sexuality, having been raised in erm... A silly not fun environment

His silly little dancing is a form of self soothing

Not a big fan of holidays, because he has nobody to spend them with

Doesn't bother celebrating his birthday

Category 4: interests/likes

Really doesn't like silence because it reminds him of being stuck in a lab, so he ALWAYS has music on in the background on one of them vinyl record playing old people things

Very good cook, would've had to cook a lot for gramps because he's like old and stuff

Collects silly little trinkets and just anything that catches his interest

Gramps defo taught him guitar

Loves loves loves to yap and yap about his interests

Knows how to ride horses 100% because people defo travelled around Valdelobos on horseback

Would very much enjoy a cheeky spa day, needs to relax

Category 5: post re4 because HE IS ALIVE

Refuses to ever use an elevator again because they lead to death and evilness

Craves simplicity 🙏

Again, HATESSS asking for help

Nightmares +100

Believes that he deserved what happened

Depression +100

PTSD +100

Was mega underweight in Valdelobos, but gains healthy chub as he recovers

Selective mutism

Bed bound -> wheelchair -> crutches -> cane

Lets his hair grow

Starts taking care of his hair and suddenly BOOM curls appear

Sometimes needs help to bathe, but he HATES being vulnerable

Cried the first time that Leon helped him bathe

Very much struggled to come out due to the environment he was raised in

Cane is permanent due to mega big ouchie

Back ache +100

Struggles to come to terms with the fact that he's been given a second chance

Uhhhh that's it methinks BYE

[spockfascinated]

I’m starting a different thread of fic recs with the theme “shamelessly romantic.”  We’re here for the romance folks, and both TOS and AOS are up for grabs, any rating.  Whether it makes you ache or feel butterflies, you’ll lose yourself in the softness. 

I was inspired to create this thread when Annie’s Song showed up in one of my playlists in the car today, and I immediately started to tear up. Now, what does an old John Denver song have to do with Spirk or romance?  Well, ever since I read Mistletoe Challenge by awarrington, I’ll always associate that song with this fic.  At 15k, rated E, this TOS fic starts out as Academy era and then FFWD to canon era, the two time periods bookended by a Starfleet holiday tradition that involves the aforementioned song and a whole lot of sweet pining. 

Also, I highly recommend listening to the song to really get the vibe.

[black-amortentia]

Despite the Darkness | Lights - Snolidays 2023

Severus Snape x Professor!Reader | Warnings: Secret relationship, hints of seasonal depression, just fluff, barely proofread so please excuse mistakes!

This is my story for week two "Lights" of Snolidays 2023! Like last week, I decided to take all the prompts together and use them to inspire one little story. This is a follow up to my story for Week One, and I think the next two weeks will all follow the same narrative.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

--

Winter days grew shorter and shorter, and it seemed like you spent less and less time with the warmth of the sun. Darkness rarely bothered you, but sometimes it just felt like too much. Tonight was one of those nights, you thought, alone in your quarters.

Wand out, you conjured a string of tiny magical lights, threading it around the room. Meant to add a touch of cheer, the blinking lights only reminded you of the holiday blessings that seemed so far away. Standing back to admire your handiwork with the lights, you heaved a weary sigh.

"Something on your mind?" Severus drawled from the doorway.

You looked up, surprised by a visit from the potions master. He didn’t visit often, lest he be seen by one of the other professors. "No, just a little out of it. What do you need, Severus?"

His black cloak swirled around him as he stepped through the door, closing it behind him. "Just you."

You smiled at the softness that crept into this voice. Your Severus, not the man he still showed everyone else.

"What’s this?"

"Fairy lights." You shrugged. "Something to cheer me up."

Severus’s eyebrow raised ever so slightly. "I wasn’t aware you needed cheering up."

"Just in something of a mood. It’ll pass."

A shudder of hesitation ran through Severus, and then his hand clasped yours. Your heart skipped at his fingers around your skin. His other hand withdrew his wand and pointed it at the fireplace. The dying fire roared with new life, filling your office with light and heat.

"Oh! This should be warm now." You flicked your wand, and a small cauldron warming over the flames levitated from the fireplace to your desk. "I made hot cocoa. Do you want some?"

"Sure." Severus spoke as if he were indulging you, but you caught a spark in his eye. You always felt pride in your little victories of learning something he allowed himself to enjoy, even if he hid it well.

Cocoa in hand, the two of you sat in front of the hearth, backs against your desk. Wrapping your fingers around the warm mug, you took a sip of the cocoa. You scrunched up your nose, causing Severus to raise an eyebrow in amusement. He almost smiled, even.

"Missing something."

"Such as?"

"Cinnamon!" You grabbed a small pot of the spice and stirred a pinch in your mug.

Though Severus seemed unsure at first when you offered it to him, he followed your lead and added some to his own drink.

"Thank you for coming to Hogsmeade last week. I enjoyed having you there." You tilted your head, letting it rest on his shoulder."

He tensed, an automatic response, but then relaxed. His arm skated up your back, hand landing on your shoulder, fingertips gently squeezing. "I enjoyed seeing you smile, and knowing that I was cause. In part, at least."

You sat like that for a while, watching the fire, sipping cocoa. The rhythm of Severus’s breathing soothed you, his thumb stroking your arm. Finally, the cocoa was gone, and the feelings weighing on you were too heavy to ignore. Lifting your head from his shoulder, you looked at the man in front of you.

"Severus?"

He turned to look at you, your noses almost touching. "Yes?"

"Do you believe in miracles?"

"No."

The answer was quick, no hesitation.

You faltered. What had you expected? Some romantic words proclaiming you his miracle? Maybe.

Severus searched your eyes, his expression changing when he finds what he’s looking for. The words remained unspoken; they didn’t need to be said aloud. Severus couldn’t give you what you sought, not yet. Your eyes darted back to the fire, unable to meet his any longer.

Despite this, he wasn’t ready to let you go. His arm tightened around your shoulder, drawing you close.

"That does not mean," he began, the low timbre of his voice resonating through you. "That I intend to take the goodness in my life for granted."

He tilted your chin up with a single finger until your gaze met his. The fire cast flickering shadows across his face, but his eyes burned with an intensity all their own. They dropped briefly to your lips before returning to capture you in their depths.

Severus’s lips claimed yours, passionate and hungry as his fingertips traced your jaw. Your hand crept up his shoulder, inching into his hair. Severus leaned into you, meeting no resistance as he laid you down on the floor. You pulled him against you, his body covering yours.

Kisses trailed down your neck, breathy sighs drowning out the crackle of the fire. The flames painted your shadows on the walls as Severus chased away your cold and darkness with the warmth and light he showed no one else.

[ducktoonsfanart]

Donald and Daisy Duck with their kids - Scrooge McDuck and Magica De Spell with Webby and Minima - Quack Pack Week - Valentine's Day and Holidays (Quack Pack AU) - Quack Pack and Duckverse

I wish everyone a happy Valentine's Day! And sorry for the delay! For this thread, I drew two drawings (admittedly the second drawing was drawn two years ago, but I'm posting it now) and it's related to one of my favorite couples in the Duckverse and I apologize if it bothers anyone.

The first drawing I drew shows Donald giving his love Daisy Duck a candy box with chocolate hearts as well as three purple tulips, and Daisy is all happy with that, although she prefers it when Donald treats her nicely and the material gifts aren't that important, but the real feelings you feel for someone. And so in this case, although Donald prefers to give with attention as a sign of love. And there are their children, Donald's nephews Huey, Dewey and Louie, as well as Daisy's nieces April, May and June as teenagers in my version supporting their uncle and aunt. And behind them is a background with mountains and fir trees, as well as snow that has persisted, because it is still winter.

Another drawing that is more of an old drawing is Scrooge McDuck in a Scottish kilt with Magica de Spell, an old rival but new partner. Yes, I know it bothers some people, although Scrooge and Magica, as frenemies, have a lot in common, and maybe they have a secret love. However, in my Quack Pack AU, after a long time of rivalry, Scrooge reconciled with Magica and somehow they have a romantic relationship. Scrooge won't let Magica touch his first coin though, and this is just my version of what Scrooge and Magica would look like in the Quack Pack. In addition to them, there is Webby, Scrooge's adopted niece as well as Magica's niece Minima as a teenager who is no longer the good old girl she used to be, but more mean, and I drew it to suit her. Despite their differences, they would still work together and be best friends (inspired by the Ducktales comic "Dime After Dime" from 1991). And then there's Ratface, Magica's pet crow. Yes, I drew that drawing two years ago. And this is just my alternative Quack Pack version, because in addition to Magica, Scrooge also has Goldie and Brigitta, as well as other ladies who are Scrooge's loves, although Scrooge's true love is money. Again, everyone is entitled to their love partners. Still, I kinda like Scrooge and Magica together in the Quack Pack for the hilarious comedy, but that's just my opinion.

I hope you like these drawings and these ideas and these love couples and feel free to like and reblog this, just don't use the same versions of me without mentioning me and without tagging my name. Thank you. By the way, this is addressed, @quackpackweek. And once again, happy Valentine's Day!

[qulizalfos]

[runs in after abandoning my blog all week and throws this on the table] HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAYLI @wayward-sherlock PLEASE ACCEPT THIS FICLET AS A SYMBOL OF MY GRATITUDE TOWARDS HOW FUCKINF AWESOME U ARE ALWAYS <3 I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU BTW!!! anyways i hope u enjoy 2k of college byler shenanigans :) mwah

home (is wherever you are tonight)

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you're here, you—” “It’s Valentine’s Day, right?” The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t about to explode.

You’d think Mike would have scrounged together a better sense of how to backpedal when he’s about to do something incredibly stupid. 

He’s trying not to think too hard about how quickly they rattle off in his head, the world’s most inconvenient list of reminders. What is wrong with you? We’re just… not in the mood right now. You’ve been on the bench all year. Not for the first time he’s gritting his teeth and wondering if it would have been entirely too much to ask for him to have acquired, by now, some intricate sixth sense for recklessness. He’s well aware that there’s no cosmic cure against the potency of his own mistakes, but he’d take anything to help him generally steer clear of these specific situations.

Encounters with murderous, eldritch entities ought to do that to a person. In his —for the record, totally impartial— opinion.

No goddamn dice, he thinks as he raises a fist to knock.

Maybe it is different, he supposes, because he’s less consumed by a wave of defensive volatility and less likely to bury the truth at the first sign of scrutiny, recoil at any chance of being left behind, and more willing to stop before he gains too dangerous an amount of momentum. It still happens, obviously— (case in point: now, loitering in an empty corridor, bland wallpaper finding a way to make it look like it’s laughing down at him, shifting his weight as he waits) he’d just convinced himself he had it more under control.

It’s ridiculous anyway. This whole thing is clearly careening towards a setup for a copious amount of slip ups on his part. But, it’s whatever.

Will’s probably out, anyway, he considers, belatedly.

It’s Valentine’s Day, —granted, a Wednesday evening dragging by with a sluggish, hazy quality— but a significant date all the same. Will is, Mike hedges, almost definitely out, maybe with the mystery guy in their joint history lecture, whose name Mike neglected to wheedle out of him last week. Maybe they’re both walking home from some fucking café, and Will would be getting cold like he does when the threat of snow looms at every waking moment, and to make matters worse, the other guy might do something sickeningly romantic like wind his scarf around Will’s neck, all while Mike’s standing at his dorm door like an idiot.

It’s possible he’s not very committed to the whole “breathe” thing El suggested, the day before the sky turned blue again, the day he was most convinced it never would again.

He threads a nervous hand through the disaster-prone section of his hair, hoping to smoothen it out, as he lifts his clenched hand, setting his face in concentration and aiming to knock one more time, and—

He has to flinch back to avoid accidentally punching Will in the face with his knock. Needless to say, that would be pretty counterproductive.

Will. Standing in front of him, soft furrow between his brows, loose sweater, lips parted.

He’s beautiful.

He shoves the thought to the side. It’s not the safest one to have when Will is less than two feet in front of him.

“Mike?”

It hits him about an hour too late: Maybe it’s ironic, how this holiday, composed entirely of spontaneous lovesick bullshit and cordiform chocolate boxes, doesn’t warrant him showing up at someone’s door unannounced. Not when it’s already 7pm.

It isn’t that he hadn’t brought that into consideration, just that now it’s not just an inkling in the back of his mind he has to ignore if he has any hope of getting ready with minimal distraction, but a real, pressing concern, and—

Will’s face splits into a grin, and the thought vanishes as quick as it came.

“Hey,” Mike tries, too hastily. The longer Will stands, just blinking at him, the further Mike burrows his hands into the pockets of his jackets.

He snaps out of it fairly quickly, and the expression has melted into something pleasantly surprised. Mike can work with that. He’s done much more with much less. “Uh— hi.”

“Are you busy?” Mike cranes a neck to peer around Will’s shoulder, unsure of what he’s looking for but appreciating the lack of anything all the same. “If you’re busy, I’ll totally come back, to— fuck, maybe not tomorrow, you have that—”

“Mike.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not busy,” he says with bright eyes, stepping back from the door to accommodate him. “I— don’t just stand there, come in, of course I’m not busy. Why, what’s up?”

“Thought maybe you were off at a candlelit dinner,” Mike remarks, because it’s easier to get out than the other thing, kicking off his shoes and trying not to think too hard about Will, the same Will in the same shadowy alcove as him, whose expression is tinged with fondness, at dinner; with warm lighting and a muted hum of chatter and someone else sitting across from him. “With the fancy napkins.”

“I think I would’ve mentioned the horrors of scraping together enough money for anything like that,” he says, and Mike’s efforts at miming cradling the aforementioned, hypothetical napkin receive a raised eyebrow. “Seriously, is something going on? If Max—”

“Nothing’s happening,” Mike tells him, passing him out and swiveling around to keep walking backwards, reversing into the couch and pretending he didn’t whack his knee as he drops onto it, picking at the edge of the nearest cushion, sprawling out as much as he can manage to. “Which is precisely why I’m here. Well, one of the reasons.”

Will hums, folding his arms and leaning on the back of the couch, contemplative. It has no right to be as endearing as it is. “Are there a lot of reasons?”

“I’m not allowed to visit you anymore?” Mike jokes. “Should I have called and given you a week’s notice?” He sits up, relishing the back and forth. “Should I—”

“No, you’re just… I dunno.” Will pokes his shoulder and skirts the couch, settling in the space Mike makes for him. “You seem nervous. Like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Shit.

Mike lets out what may be considered as the fakest laugh he’s ever mustered, darting his eyes away and plastering on a frown. He gives a half-hearted attempt at an unconvinced, hopefully somewhat assuring scoff, tugging free the crease that’s formed at the ankle of his jeans. “What makes you say that?” he asks. He’d like to describe it as nonchalant. Maybe he’s not as good at hiding as the boy in front of him, but he’s been sidestepping the obvious for what feels like his whole life. He’s had more than enough practice.

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you’re here, you—”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, right?”

The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t trying its damndest not to explode. Again, counterproductive.

Will’s mouth drops open a little, the line of his body stock still, and just hovers there, close enough that the warmth of his breath brushes Mike’s face, and the room slips into little more than a backdrop. Mike searches his eyes for a sign that’s not there. He lifts a hand from where it’s resting on a dark green cushion, weighing the implications and consequences of reaching out against the part of him that doesn’t want to consider technicalities until far, far later. The moment stretches, engraving itself into Mike’s memory. 

And then it shatters.

Will slumps back, clearing his throat twice in rapid succession, and the corners of his mouth quirk up in diplomacy. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Mike’s throat feels unreasonably dry. “Nope,” he says, omitting any mention of the crisis he’d had marching down the hall, questioning whether he’d gotten the date wrong and everything would blow up in his face tenfold, and just drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“So—” Will frowns, “what are you trying to say?”

This was all going much smoother during the numerous rehearsals in his head. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he parrots, trying not to think about Will’s sharp inhale too much, “and I haven’t done something on Valentine’s Day for years, and you’re free, and I’m free, and…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I don’t know, I thought we could hang out.” 

Silence.

It’s about to backfire, he can sense it, so he rushes to add: “In solidarity.”

“Right,” Will says, faraway. Mike sort of needs to run outside and scream for an untold amount of time.

“Doesn’t have to be super special,” he says, sensing the need for a prompt change in subject. “Unless you want it to be special, but I just figured— like, what were you gonna do before I came?”

Will glances at him once, quizzical, but drops it. 

—

It’s a short walk from the dorm to the closest Circle K, and one spent wrapped up in pleasant, amicable conversation, catching up on the various aspects of each other’s lives that aren’t entwined already, and about halfway there Will stoops to tie his shoelace. As Mike waits he considers how scary it could be if he dwells too long on how noteworthy the most mundane tasks become in Will Byers’ company.

They wander inside, Mike leaning on the door to open it for Will in what he hopes is a courteous manner, and trails down an aisle beside Will, the faint beat of a trashy pop song barely covering the echo of their footsteps on the tiles.

“Just the sodas?” Mike checks, swerving to avoid a display stacked high.

“Yeah,” Will says, nabbing a coke and gesturing to the fridge. “Take your pick.”

Mike reaches for a 7Up.

“Knew it,” Will says, something indecipherable in his tone. And then he’s extending a hand, covering Mike’s for a split second — long enough for an odd sensation to bloom in his ribs, but short enough for him to want to say, fuck it, and tangle their fingers, but Will teases the can out of his grip, leaving Mike with a cool smear of condensation on his palm.

“We can pool our resources,” Mike quips as Will deposits the cans on the counter. The cashier flicks a lazy glance at them and tells them the price. “I have a quarter.”

“Generous of you,” Will observes, producing a crumpled dollar note from his back pocket.

They settle on a wall outside, and Mike kicks the solid stone intermittently with his dangling heels, sipping away as Will starts to talk. The sky runs like spilled ink above them, perforated with only a smattering of stars and a few dark clouds, but Will is bathed in the gold ring of a streetlamp. There’s a lull in conversation, but it’s fine. Mike’s content to stay here all night.

“This was nice,” he says, in lieu of everything else.

Will bumps against his shoulder. “Yeah?”

A tiny droplet of rain lands on Mike’s nose, and three more freckle more of his exposed skin. A low fizz kicks up, drilling into the gray landscape surrounding them, and more dots pepper on the wall.

“Yeah.”  Will turns away. Mike scans the area around them, but they’re alone save for a few empty chip packets strewn across the concrete. Will’s gorgeous. Mike can’t explain it, but he knows when warmth floods your veins it’s a sign that merits extra morosis, and his intentions are in the right place, and it’s so hard to steer himself in any direction other than pitching forward and propping up a hand on the other side of Will’s jaw. Mike doesn’t let himself think too much of it as he presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.

It’s as short-lived as it is sweet: Will’s answering gasp, all wide eyes and questions in every line of his face, the beads of rain on his skin, near lucent in the orange lighting, the tickle of his bangs getting in Mike’s eyes a little when he turns.

And then Will’s breaking away to set down his Coke, and closing the gap between them.

Truthfully, Mike didn’t know that kissing could feel like this. It seems like something so untouchable, so far from what’s in his own comprehension of the world, that finding this kind of warmth could happen, but Will’s slinging an arm around his back and all coherent thoughts promptly dissolve in the now steadily falling rain. 

[barb-l]

Copy-pasting this from TvTropes:

The Not-Love Interest: Enid fulfills many roles in the dynamic that would go to a love interest in another work. Enid quickly becomes Wednesday's closest confidant, and their growing bond is one of the biggest threads of the show. Enid is also the one who pushes Wednesday out of her shell and gets her to be nicer to both herself and Thing. When the two have a falling out, it hits Wednesday much harder than most other stuff, with Wednesday being visibly upset by it. Enid even finally transforms into her werewolf form to save Wednesday, and when they both see the other is okay, they have a climactic hug. When Wednesday is departing Nevermore for the holidays, she tells Enid that she has left a big mark on her life.

So Enid is not the love interest but as a character she fulfills way more love interest features than the supposed official love interests.

And there are still people wondering why the wenclair ship has caught on so much.

Right like it's not even just the actors' chemistry(tho it does help a lot). But the writing gives of their dynamic ticks off a lot of romantic tropes

[heraldeez]

Straight Laced (Tugging Loose)

Viktor x Reader | 1.7K | NSFW

Warnings/Tags: semi-public fondling, teasing, oral, Viktor in a custom corset, and the cruelty of chocolate covered strawberries

The romantic holiday finds you and Viktor out at a restaurant – a rarity for two workaholics – dressed up in finery – also a rarity, for two oil-covered lab rats.

Truly a momentous occasion. And you are insistent on perverting it.

A/N: Okay, so I missed Valentine’s. By a lot. But that’s okay because time is a suggestion, and rules are fake. :^)

And hey! It’s still February! For another whole hour!

Anyway, thanks to @linky-dinks for the corset idea, I really needed someone to point my brain in a direction. And always, thanks @valaruakars for reassuring me that - as stated - time is fake and simping is eternal.

Enjoy! :]

---

Viktor's fork clatters briefly before his hand smacks down to silence it, eyes wide.

Your right shoe sits innocent and abandoned beneath the table, socked foot resting instead against the inner seam of Viktor's thigh. Tracing - back, forth, back - just shy of where might truly get you in trouble.

"Are you alright?" you ask.

Casual as can be, butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. It's fun on occasion, to keep him on his toes. It doesn't help that he's so cute like this, incredulous and aroused despite it.

"What, exactly, are you doing?" Viktor asks under his breath.

"Enjoying my meal." You circle your fork above your plate, lips starting to wobble with the need to laugh, Viktor trying to keep it together despite the flush rapidly overtaking him, right up to the tips of his ears. "You really choose the best places when I can get you out and about, you know?"

You might be referring to the food – or perhaps the fact that this place has low hanging table cloths, perfect for disguising the way your toes slide, delicate and gracefully, up to the beginnings of firmness that's growing between Viktor's legs.

His fist tightens around his fork, drawing in a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed.

Your voice drops low, leaving pretense behind. "What do you think, Viktor?"

Your foot slides up in alignment, arch curved against the stiff line of his erection, the barest amount of pressure applied to get him right where you want him.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

There's a sharp, predatory edge to his gaze as Viktor slowly drags his eyes open, sizing you up in a way that makes your heart skip a beat and your hips want to squirm in anticipation.

"I think," he rasps, leaning closer over the table, "that you should know better than to tease."

That look? That look indicates you'll be sore long before morning comes.

You scan the surrounding tables briefly, all these people still engrossed in their own conversations, their own little pictures of perfect romance.

The grin you can't quite hold back finally breaks out fully, and you lean over the table, closer than is perhaps polite to your fellow diners.

More polite than the way you flex the ball of your foot against the straining head of Viktor's cock beneath the table, though.

"How can I help myself, when you're so pretty like this?"

You hadn't thought it possible for him to get redder.

Viktor sets his jaw and asks for the check.

You slip your shoe back on, smiling primly across the table.

---

The walk home was short, and the distance to the bedroom even shorter.

Viktor's hips are a pleasant weight atop your chest, legs folded politely to tuck his knees under your arms. He’s placed himself at the perfect distance, just out of reach of your needy mouth, knees sinking into the sheets to keep you right where you are.

Quietly, he reaches for his shirt buttons, slowly thumbing them through each button hole, revealing himself for you.

Only it isn't his usual brace tucked beneath.

"What do you think? Is it pretty?" Viktor's voice takes on a smug upturn on your previous descriptor for him, but you can't even think of a response.

The corset is objectively gorgeous, gold threaded embroidery swirling across rich burgundy panels. It's custom – has to be, with how it fits over his spine for proper support, and you're blown away.

It's perfect. Makes him look deified and glowy, sharp lines from head to toe, decadently adorned in the middle.

"Yes," you sigh, hands raising to trace your thumbs over the threadwork, little starbursts scattered down to where corset meets belt. A belt he’s resting his hands on, and you hope, soon to be undone. “When did you –?”

"A few months back. I wouldn't normally go for something so gaudy -"

Gaudy is the last word you'd use to describe the low toned, immaculately embroidered corset panels, rich and dark against his skin in the candle light

" - but Jayce is always saying that I ought to enjoy the fruits of our labor more."

Viktor glances down at you with eyes lidded in satisfaction, lashes almost kissing the tops of his cheeks, a veil on molten amber.

"Are you enjoying it?"

It's barely more than a whisper, low dulcet coaxing just barely able to be heard, for your ears alone to covet even in an empty room. A question that didn’t even need asked.

Of course you’re enjoying it.

“Yes,” you sigh, word gusting out with only half its strength as your eyes rove over him, drawn back again and again to his still fastened belt.

Viktor thumbs at your bottom lip. “Open.”

Your lips drop open eagerly, treating him to the sight of your waiting tongue, plush pink and slick, just waiting for him to tease open with his fingers, or better yet –

And there it is. The distinctive clinking of metal on metal, Viktor’s capable hands threading the leather of his belt free, unzipping.

You keep your eyes politely on his, even through the thrum of anticipation in your ears.

You’re not sure you’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound, already on the brink of squirming for him. Surely you hadn’t teased him this long? A few moments at the end of dinner didn’t deserve this much restraint, did it?

His thumb slips free from where it had been resting on your chin, holding you open – even though you’d have eagerly sat there drooling for him all day, if he’d asked. You really didn’t have any shame left, when it came to him.

You can’t hold eye contact as you hear the slick sound of his thumb rubbing through the pre gathering at the tip of his cock, and Viktor tuts.

“You’ve been rather impatient tonight. Couldn’t even last through dinner.”

You do your best to look contrite, but it’s hard when faced with the pretty, flushed length of his cock, right before your eyes and yet just out of reach.

Your smile is crooked, struggling to not look like the cat that got the cream when it’s so obvious that he’s about to give you exactly what you’ve been goading him for all evening. “Let me make it up to you?”

Viktor follows your meaningful gaze to the engorged head of his cock, humming thoughtfully.

“You need your mouth filled that badly, miláčku?”

You’re perfectly prepared for him to guide himself to your lips, to smear them with the slick beginnings of come, and take his pleasure. To split your mouth wide around his girth, push in deep, remind you what it means to misbehave. To come down your throat, just like you’ve been itching for since you’d set up the dinner reservation.

Instead, Viktor holds up a strawberry.

The tuft of green atop it is unmistakable, even though the majority of the fruit is coating in a rich layer of shiny chocolate.

Viktor smiles down at you, patient and bemused, as he sets the fruit on your tongue, urging you to bite it off.

“Is it good?” he asks, knowing full well you’ll have to chew.

You swallow hastily, peering up at him, uncertain of this game. “You should try one.”

Viktor hums thoughtfully, eyes leaving you – bereft – to peer at the velvety box sitting on the nightstand. Thin fingers pluck another strawberry out, this one with an even darker layer of chocolate, but drizzled in white icing.

You’d like to be drizzled in white, too.

“Viktor,” you whine, fingers creeping over the soft fabric of his slacks towards the hard swell of his cock, pads just barely tickling against the coarse scrub of pubic hair –

“Hands back where I put them. You know better.”

A heavily put-upon sigh, but your hands drop back to the pillows cradling your head, palms up. Stuck waiting.

You let him feed you the strawberry, pouty around the juicy give of sugar-sweet fruit.

Viktor thumbs the droplet of juice that gathers at the corner of your mouth, threatening to spill down your cheek stickily into your hair. "Did you enjoy watching me squirm, drahý?"

You chew your strawberry, petulant, in lieu of answering.

But your jaw forgets to move as Viktor’s hand comes down to cup his cock, giving a slow, loose stroke. Just for show. The slick bead welling up at the tip is more tempting than any decadent fruit, your mouth watering around the acidic mush of strawberry still sitting on your tongue.

His voice is hardly a whisper, low and teasing. “I know I’m certainly enjoying the sight of you squirming now.”

Your breath comes out shaky, swallowing and yet somehow feeling a bit dry in the throat.

Viktor plucks up another strawberry and brings it to his own lips, leaving you fixated on the crisp noise of the fruit splitting between his teeth, calling to mind more lasciviously slick noises.

Juice swells up and drips over the curve of his bottom lip, and his soft tongue peeks out to lap it up, sliding in a way that pulls a little moan from the depths of your lungs.

You flush as Viktor grins down at you.

“All you have to do is ask politely,” he prods.

“Please? Vik?”

He raises a brow and reaches for a strawberry.

“Let me suck your cock, Viktor, stop teasing –”

He’s laughing at your eagerness, and you have to fight not to pout again.

“Let me suck your cock, Viktor, please,” Viktor corrects. Never has a strawberry looked like such a threat as it does now, sitting in his hand like denial made physical.

You swallow heavily, peering at the head of his cock, the confident hand resting at its base. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you look back up at him with the most pleading, needy eyes you can muster. “Please fuck my throat, Viktor?”

It’s Viktor’s turn to feel breathless, shuddering exhale as his eyes go dark. Exactly what you’d hoped to achieve, intensifying the reward like that.

The moment of stillness seems to crawl along your skin, waiting –

And he pops the strawberry into his own mouth, leaning forward to bump the head of his cock to your lips.

You open for him eagerly, salt on sweet, and moan as Viktor pushes deep into exactly where he belongs.

[g-xix]

Love I would make an omelette if you do a NSFW alphabet for either one of the Cals. 🍳🍳🍳

LOVE U, LOVE OMLETTES OMDS <33 And ofc you can get an NSFW alphabet for the wonderful CalLUX cuz he's CUTE like fuck, proof:

Cutie. Anyways, here's the alphabet (+ link to KSI and W2S's versions!)

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

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex) I think after doing it he wants to make sure you're all okay. He skedaddles to get a damp towel to clean you up and to press to the back of the neck to cool you down.... Also asks a lot to make sure you're physically okay and asks whether he was good enough- almost sounds like he's worried for you, but you know it's just his way of showing love and concern

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's) Thighs. Love, love, loves your thighs. Loves how they're just so soft and comfy- he's a mix of either wanting to lie his head on your thighs and rest, or wanting his head to be between your thighs with your fingers threaded through his hair

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He's so fucking good at giving head- like, it's unbelievable. Headcannon is that after you've cum, he'd lick your thighs and core all over again just to taste your cum- even though your legs were already fucking shaking from post-orgasm overstim

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) One time whilst you were abroad on a girls holiday he felt really horny all day and didn't know what to do... Ended up looking through your insta and pleasuring himself whilst looking at pictures of you. Post-nut clarity he realised how weird he was for doing that and never told anyone (occasionally in conversation he gets a flashback to it and completely blanks out of the convo in sheer horror)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?) I think w Lux you would've gotten into a relationship quite early on, and did your first times with one another. Pretty much all experience you've had is just with one another, so whilst it was quite awkward and intermittent at first- the two of you are now experienced and know exactly what you're doing with one another

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Missionary. He is a LOVE MAKER, and being able to see your face contort with each thrust, be able to lean down and press kisses between your chest and mark up your collarbones that easily is something too good to pass up on for Cal

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) You two are so comfy in the relationship that yeah, you can joke mid-sex. Whilst he's bottomed out you could look up at him and joke What, did you put it in? and he can say whatever jokes he wants back

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) I feel like he doesn't have much hair growth as it is, so it's not really chaotic down there. Keeps it clean and shaves if he needs to, he isn't really bothered and neither are you

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Quite intimate and loving in the moment. You've done rough sex before whilst you two were really fucking horny, but generally sex with Cal is a lot more personal and intimate + you leave feeling well and truly ♡loved♡

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Knows he can't always have sex when he's horny and you're busy, so he tries to wait for you instead of jacking off... but I reckon if he couldn't wait, then he'd have you completely in his mind whilst doing it

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) PRAISE. I feel like it's a two way street asw. He's one to praise you for how "fucking gorgeous" you are and how "beautiful you look under me"... But he loves being praised too- told he's doing so well and he feels so good... All the praise goes STRAIGHT to his head

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) You know back when Harry, and Cal² lived together in an apartment block, they had a hot tub and gym area on the roof? I reckon that after a long week, you and Cal would go up there to relax, but end up just dogging over (or sometimes in) the tub, surprisingly turned on by the risk-factor of someone just walking up and being able to see the two of you going at it

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Cuddling and just being all domestically loving. I think a few little kisses behind his ear, a few hugs from behind and wrapping your legs around his own... It doesn't turn him on per say, just makes him love you and want to develop that chaste kissing into him kissing between your legs whilst you praise him and squeeze your thighs around his head

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs) Age play. First heard about it at a shoot when someone said "He's so old they must have some weird sort of age-play sex life", and Cal hadn't a clue what that meant. After asking, he was mortified at the idea of pretending to be younger or older than himself or you were.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Giver. Such a giver because of how much he loves hearing your moans and the way his name sounds rolling off your lips between your whines. And the way he holds your plush thighs with such force he knows they'll bruise- but you still push them together around his head, giving him such pleasurable headrush as he licks between your legs, savouring every fucking moment between your folds

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Slow + sensual, if you couldn't have guessed it. There's no rush to make one another cum- he's holding your hand and praising you whilst he thrusts, telling you how perfect you are 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Not really into them- never really has had the need for a quickie. If you two have plans but you can't wait to rip one anothers' clothes on, then you'll scrap the plans- send off a voicenote between pants and rugged breaths that you'll "have to reschedule", or for the others to go without you. If ever you can't make it to nights out because the two of you are too busy fucking before you've even left the flat, Cal will make you send a voicenote apologising whilst he thrusts into you at a punishing pace, leaving you to try and regulate your voice and not fucking moan as you explain to whoever's on the phone. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) That long into the relationships? Yeah, experimenting is alright but it's not all that common for you two. Vanilla's quite satisfying and whilst experimenting is all good, sometimes you just find it gets in the way. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Tbf I think Cal could go a few rounds, but he's more into making you go more rounds. He's eating you out first, then pushing two of his long fingers into your overstimulated hole and scissoring them to your second orgasm. Chest heaving and words almost whispers between heavy breaths, you're persuaded to go yet another round by his sweet praises and coos, and make it through to the third round- legs twitching and barely able to walk after Cal's antics

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) You own toys and he's happy with just using a hand for himself. Has used a toy on you before during sex though, and was surprised by how much you liked it... Sometimes if it's lying not too far away, whilst he pounds you he'll hold a vibe to your clit because he knows how much difference it makes for you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) A little bit, likes to tease you verbally with little maims like "Awh can't you take anymore?" but ends up praising you afterwards anyways because he can't taunt you without telling you how "beautifully fucked-out" you look...

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) He isn't too loud, a few quiet groans... He mainly goes for dirty-praise talking you instead of making noises. You on the other hand let out moans and tell him how good he feels- but generally neither of you are stupidly loud. You look to keep it in the bedroom where it's only you two hearing one another's noises

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Tried phone sex once... Whilst you were on a business trip one night, down on the Isle of Man whilst he was bored and horny in London, he called you to check if you were free. He got his hand, you got your massager, and the two of you got started on yourselves, your high whines and moans music to Cal's ears even if it was through his phone's speakers

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes) Probs a bit above average and grows when he gets erect to an impressive six-seven inches. Maybe a bit on the less girthy side, but it never fails to leave you feeling completely fucked full.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Not very high tbh, he doesn't have a really high sex drive. You have the higher sex drive so whenever your horny he generally just takes it as an opportunity to give you head or fuck you

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Not interested in sleeping afterwards, probably wants to care for you instead.

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

Hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to interact- whether that be a comment, vote or follow! Requests open, feel free to submit what u wanna see... Much love!!

To see more, here's my MASTERLIST

And here's my WATTPAD, with 50+ more oneshots to read

[llflorence]

When you are old - human au, professors, quiet, gentle, romantic

6:42AM

That was what his phone read when the text message came through. It vibrated from under his pillow, and he very nearly dismissed it as an alarm he'd forgotten to disable. It was a holiday, after all.

And then, he remembered.

Are you awake, Angel?

Aziraphale fumbled the phone in his haste to respond. He sat up in bed and the stupid thing tumbled over the edge, landing in the crack between him and the wall. He scrambled to free himself from the tangled bed clothes, reaching down to collect it and only just touching with his fingertips.

"Damn!"

He tried again, exhaling in frustration at how his sizable gut got in the way and straining until he captured the escaped device. He typed a hurried 'yws,' and then a 'yrs,' and then, finally, 'yes.'

The phone rang almost immediately.

"'Lo, 'Ziraphale," that dark chocolate voice, thick with morning sludge, even deeper than normal. "Sleep OK?"

Aziraphale had slept like garbage. "Yes, I did. You?"

"Not a drop. Say? Since it's a holiday and all —" Crowley paused, leaving Aziraphale hanging by a thread. "Maybe we shouldn't go out —"

Disappointment sank heavy in his gut. Crowley didn't want to see him after all.

"— Maybe I should bring the party to you? Cook you breakfast?"

The downward swoop of his stomach immediately changed course, shooting skyward. "Oh! Oh! Yes, that would be lovely!"

Crowley's voice morphed into a smile. "Any requests? Or shall I surprise you?"

Aziraphale's heart was trying to kill him. He couldn't catch his breath. "Surprise me, by all means."

Desperate. It sounded desperate.

"By all means," Crowley repeated. "Fantastic. Gimme an hour, hour and a half?"

It was too long, much too long. "Yes. Yes, fine."

"Great! See you soon!"

Aziraphale didn't even hesitate. "Hurry!"

They disconnected and he tried to get control of his breathing. It had to be the lack of exercise lately; he should probably get back into walking through the park. Even if it was close to zero outside.

Then he remembered he'd gotten plenty of exercise the night before. 

Well, then, it was sleep he was lacking. If he didn't put more hours under his belt, his heart was going to give out. Especially if he continued making first moves.

What was wrong with him?

There was a time not long ago when he'd been repulsed by the man. When the Californian's voice grated on frazzled nerves. Where his touch made skin crawl and they'd argued about the Arts and classism. And then there were those infuriating glasses —

Well.

Aziraphale set the phone on the side table and caught sight of his messenger bag, strap mended with the skillful fingers of an artist.

He undressed and made his way to the bathroom.

Under the relentless steaming pressure of his shower, Aziraphale thought about what Anathema had said at Christmas.

"He's in there with the champ of taking it slow."

A week ago, he'd sat in his favorite chair in the library, fantasizing about having Crowley over for dinner. And now?

He wondered when he'd gotten so bold.

Wrapped in a towel, Aziraphale sat on the toilet lid and thought of Crowley's dead mum.

"She'd have liked you."

Aziraphale looked down at the overlapping bulge of his stomach. It hid from his view the disappointment of a penis that had let him down the night prior. Just when he'd gathered enough bravery to kiss the stuffing out of Crowley, the not-so-young piece of equipment inside his trousers had refused to cooperate.

"Traitor," he scolded, smoothing down the wet curls on his chest and trying very hard not to feel sorry for himself. That second kiss had been – well, it had been perfectly exciting, and –

But that wasn't fair. Arousal wasn't stored in the flesh. It was born and raised and set free in the brain. It was Aziraphale who had gotten into his own head and disrupted a process he'd rather enjoyed as a younger man.

(And it wasn't like he had a problem when he was by himself.)

Aziraphale stood in the middle of his bedroom and thought about how Crowley had said he wasn't a morning person. It was 7:05. It cheered him immensely.

He dressed for going out. His usual staying-in attire of threadbare pajama pants that showed his plaid boxers underneath and oversized sleep shirt that similarly showed his nipples was hardly the attire that fit the situation. The goal was to seduce, not to distract.

He made the bed and tidied the bathroom. He descended the stairs and loaded the dishwasher. He began to wipe down the counters and thought about Crowley's blue handkerchief.

"Oh my."

Perhaps Rogering was a possibility.

The doorbell rang at 7:39, and Aziraphale tried to imagine Crowley screaming in ten minutes late for other events. He smiled and opened the door.

It had been less than an hour.

And then, there he was, looking slightly worn out but insanely happy, an overstuffed brown paper bag in each arm. He kicked out of his boots and waited to be asked inside, leaning down to peck the apple of Aziraphale's cheek as he offered to take one of the bags.

"You're sweet," he said, blushing furiously.

"Nah," Crowley argued. He set the second bag on the counter as Aziraphale closed the door. "You've just made me that way."

The man was dressed in what appeared to be gray drawstring joggers with big, fluffy pink socks pulled over the cuffed legs. He wrestled from his overstuffed parka, revealing a black t-shirt with the words Butthole Surfers on the front.

Aziraphale stared open-mouthed, still holding the bag.

"What? They were a crazy band! It was a phase I went through!"

Crowley hefted the bag from him with a wink and set it on the counter to remove the items. Aziraphale watched and felt overdressed.

The man's excitement was off the charts. He bubbled on about how glad he was he'd stopped at the Co-op the day prior and what great selection they had and how he'd purchased a membership and planned to shop there for everything from batteries to bananas to baked beans.

Aziraphale smiled and nodded quietly, watching as the counter filled with a smorgasbord of food items.

"Here," Crowley said, pushing a bottle of champagne into his hand. "Tuck that in the fridge, will you?"

His enthusiasm was contagious.

Aziraphale turned away and thought about returning to his bedroom to change back into his comfies, but Crowley had a surprise for him when he swiveled back.

Long, strong arms slid around his shoulders, pulling him in for the world's most genuine hug. Aziraphale closed his own arms around Crowley's waist, well above that pert, narrow ass, and lifted his chin over the man's shoulder. 

"Hi," he said, inhaling deeply and loving the freshly-showered scent of him.

"Hi, back," Crowley answered and hugged him even more tightly.

Several moments passed as they clung to each other, until Crowley swung him around and crowded him against the sink. Aziraphale gasped, unprepared. He'd at least thought they'd make it through breakfast before –

But Crowley merely continued to hug him with one arm. With the other, he began unloading his purchases. "Don't mind me. Just go about your business and pay me no attention."

Aziraphale laughed and a whole lot of tension escaped. He clasped his hands together behind Crowley and took the man's weight; the countertop pushed uncomfortably into his lower back. He didn't care.

"So. I've got bagels and lox," Crowley named everything as he pushed it around on the counter, "and eggs and spinach and muffins and coffee and orange juice – I thought we could make mimosas – and –"

He went on and on and on, and Aziraphale grew even fonder of him.

Eventually Crowley had to give up his arm to be able to prepare omelets, and Aziraphale moved to find him pans, utensils, and bowls. He bent over to collect the hotpads from inside a bottom drawer and caught Crowley staring straight at his backside, eyebrows stitched together in an unreadable expression.

"Right –" Crowley cleared his throat, and Aziraphale's nervousness disappeared and he felt that much more empowered.

They ate right there, standing at the kitchen table, right off the same plate, Crowley forking morsels directly into Aziraphale's mouth. The room felt comfortably warm, and the conversation was intelligently rich. And if Aziraphale didn't know any better, he'd have thought they'd been like this for months.

Crowley measured out orange juice and bubbly when they'd finished and pulled Aziraphale bodily into the library. He set both flutes on the oversized ottoman and gave Aziraphale a gentle push onto the sofa, then sank heavily at his side, leaning forward to retrieve their drinks.

"Ah, I ate too much," Crowley sighed as he crossed one leg over the other. The pink-stockinged foot rested against Aziraphale's shin, rubbing gently back and forth as he slipped an arm over the back of the couch. Aziraphale eased into him, shoulder fitting nicely inside the man's armpit, the perfect height to nudge up under that bony chin.

"Me too," he agreed. "Although it was extremely delicious."

Crowley tilted his head to be able to look down into Aziraphale's eyes. His amber ones were so very attractive. They may have also been – fond? "Mm? You think so?"

Aziraphale nodded swiftly. Enthralled. "You can cook for me any time you like. Make a list, and I'll stock the kitchen with everything you need."

It was meant to make the man smile, to brush his ego, but it did the opposite instead. Crowley's face fell and his gaze flicked away. He sipped from his glass as he stared at the flames inside the fireplace before them.

"N-not that I'm suggesting we don't go out," Aziraphale backtracked, hoping to save the mood. "But this is nice, too. Don't you think?"

Crowley swirled the contents of his glass before taking another sip, swallowing audibly and smacking his lips. He didn't look down when he answered. "Indeed."

They drank their beverages in silence. Aziraphale refused to move away, and Crowley didn't seem bothered either way. He continued to run his toe up and down Aziraphale's leg, almost absentmindedly. And when he had finished his drink, he leaned forward to deposit the empty on the table.

His arm came off the couch.

“Listen. ‘Ziraphale.”

Aziraphale's palate went bone dry. Drier than the exquisitely expensive champagne on his tongue.

"Yes?" It came out with a squeak. A very unsure squeak.

Crowley's mouth had devolved into a very thin line. He twined his fingers together. "I had a nice time last night."

Aziraphale was so very confused. "So did I?" It came out like a question. Why did it have to come out as a question?

But Crowley didn't seem to notice. He stood and turned, calves bumping into the ottoman as he faced Aziraphale.

A hundred things raced through his mind, all of them bad. Aziraphale watched with heart in his throat as Crowley opened his mouth to say one or possibly more of them.

Aziraphale beat him to it.

"I'm sorry, my dear, for being so forward last night."

Crowley finally looked up. "You wot?"

"I-I shouldn't have assumed your intentions were anything but friendly."

The depth of emotion in Crowley's was unfathomable. It hurt to see it.

"I shouldn't have kissed you like that—"

Crowley's mouth opened and closed. The adorable underbite of his jaw flexed, and he made a sound in his throat.

"Ngk."

And then?

And then he was on the sofa. He was on the sofa with a knee on either side of Aziraphale's, and he had Aziraphale's face between his hands, and the drink was spilled on the floor, and the sofa was sliding backward as he pressed their mouths together, and he was kissing him in a way that was in no way 'friendly.'

"Mm?" Aziraphale tried to say as his lips were crushed and his cheeks, caressed. Crowley's thumbs were gently firm, his chin newly shaved. Aziraphale's mind whirled, his stomach boiled. And he did absolutely nothing to stop his shirt from being lifted over his head.

He helped, actually. Got tangled in those talented hands of Crowley's. Felt the brush of long fingers on the sensitive skin over his ribs, heard the excited rush of the man's exhale as he broke the kiss. He found the smooth skin of Crowley's forearm, gripped it tightly and thought it the most erotic thing ever.

"'Ziraphale," Crowley moaned as the shirt dropped over the back of the couch. He was sitting back, staring quite unabashedly at Aziraphale's broad, hairy chest. Cold and exposed, shy now that it had come down to it, Aziraphale closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at himself.

The slightest of warm touches graced his jaw, running delicately down the stretch of his neck. A pause, then further exploration over the curve of his shoulder.

"Gorgeous," Crowley whispered, rapturous. "You're gorgeous."

Something warm pooled in Aziraphale's gut, spreading upward and flushing his skin hot. He was acutely aware of how close they were, now that he knew what Crowley's hands could do.

"Oh, that's — that's —"

Aziraphale didn't know what it was, Crowley's fingers tracing bicep, circling the elbow and pulling his arm away from his body. He opened his eyes, finding Crowley staring at his fingers, holding his wrist very close to warm lips.

Crowley kissed the back of his hand, then turned it palm up and pressed it to his own smooth cheek. The man closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, held it for a long moment, before blowing out and allowing the hand to fall once more.

Crowley's weight rested on Aziraphale's knees, the heat of his backside a fiery flame. His gaze dragged the width of Aziraphale's chest, adoringly, indulgently. He lifted his hand to stroke the point of the other shoulder, pausing at the bulge of the muscle. He exhaled softly; it trembled.

Aziraphale's skin tingled with gooseflesh under Crowley's focused touch, under the hungry stare that lingered over the spanse of his chest. He was being devoured, worshipped. Time had suddenly stopped and it was just the two of them, on the edge of something beautiful.

He was beautiful.

Crowley shifted, then pushed himself to his feet. He leaned forward, reaching out with a hand to each of Aziraphale's knees. With quickened breath, Aziraphale guessed what was wanted, what was needed. And he put up zero resistance as his thighs were pushed apart.

"Oh."

Crowley knelt between them, easing in so that his firm stomach rested tightly against Aziraphale's crotch. The heated gesture most definitely triggered mutual arousal. He found himself rueing the thick fabric of his everyday trousers, wishing for more skin contact while simultaneously wanting to stay just as they were right then.

Hands took his own, twining their fingers together, squeezing and doing mad promising things to Aziraphale's heart. Crowley ran both hands lovingly along forearms, over elbows, biceps, shoulders. He turned his head from side to side, still watching, still worshipping. He didn't say much out loud, but the care he took spoke volumes.

As Crowley rounded the plump curve of Aziraphale's shoulders, his mouth fell open and his eyelids drooped heavily. As if he were drugged, as if he were affected by a substance so pleasant, he may as well be in heaven. His palms flattened and he crossed over collarbones onto the meat of what Aziraphale woefully accepted as breasts. And when Crowley's thumbnails raked punishingly over both peaked nipples, Aziraphale arched his back and clamped his thighs closed, and cried out in a manner unbefitting any decent gentleman.

"Oh, fuck!"

The electricity surging through Aziraphale's body was intense, yearning building much more quickly now. It appeared to be affecting Crowley similarly; he had begun to knead greedy fingers into the sag of Aziraphale's breasts. And then, he stopped.

A whine ripped from Crowley's throat, and he crumpled back on his heels. He fell back against the ottoman, and he rested his cheek on Aziraphale's knee.

"Angel," he said, hoarse and almost ashamed. "There's something I have to tell you."

It was a confession, on his knees like that. Like he was asking for forgiveness for his sins.

Confusion returned like storm clouds. It was clear something tortured Crowley. Whatever it was, it had to be bad. Something that stopped them from continuing onward, from being together.

Aziraphale summoned bravery and reached up to bury his fingers in Crowley's hair. It was soft and fine, the curls fighting against his combing. He didn't know if he could give this up, now that it was so very close.

"Then tell me," he hoarsed right back.

Crowley turned his face against Aziraphale's leg, rubbed his nose back and forth against his trousers. He sighed heavily, then rested his cheek once more. "I bought your book."

Aziraphale blinked. He did what? "You did what?"

Crowley nodded, embarrassed. "I bought your poetry book. Before I came to live here."

It was a puzzled frown that Aziraphale's face made. He didn't understand. "OK?"

His friend – no, his lover – sniffed. "And –" he paused, sighed again. "And I researched you. Found out where you worked. What you taught. Things you'd done."

Something fizzled in the back of Aziraphale's brain. "You – looked me up?"

Again, Crowley nodded against his thigh. "Proper stalker stuff, you know."

Aziraphale thought back to their beginning interactions. Their first outing for drinks. The subsequent lunches and dinners.

"My friend – Shax, we call her – my friend told me about you," he continued, his breath hot on the inner part of Aziraphale's other leg. "She said – she said you were just my type. So I bought the book, and I creeped on your privacy. And I'll completely understand if you never want to see me again."

A light bulb went on, glaringly bright, sparkling clear. Crowley thought, because his friend had suggested they might get along, that he was doing something untoward by pursuing him. His conscience had gotten to him, and he'd confessed to something he thought Aziraphale would be offended by. And he thought that would be the end of 'them.'

But there was more. Crowley had sacrificed his life in California to move to this town. He'd taken a chance, jumped off the dock without knowing how to swim. He had no idea what waited for him when he arrived. But he'd done it anyway, knowing full well he might fail. Aziraphale's heart did a strange dance in his chest.

Aziraphale dug his fingers deep into Crowley's scalp, tugging with so much fondness that it could hardly be contained. This man – this wonderfully stupid man – had given up everything for the chance he might find a compatible partner. And that right there was simply wonderful.

"Look at me," Aziraphale whispered, slipping his hand to the base of Crowley's neck. 

He did, if cautiously, as if fully expecting rejection. Those striking eyes looked up at him with such hope that it hurt. And who was Aziraphale to grant anything but forgiveness?

Aziraphale smiled as softly as he could muster. He moistened his lips and made a decision. "Your friend was right. It appears I am just your type. Now, how about we abandon the sofa for something a little softer?"

Read on AO3