#meet-cute

[to-the-stars8]

Daydreams with Strangers on a Train

Dick Grayson x Reader AO3 Summary: Dick spots you on a train and begins to daydream.

Dick had noticed you first. It was on a morning commute, and he had been running late for work after getting caught by a surprise downfall of rain. All in all, the morning had started terribly. Just as he took a seat, Dick looked up to see you. You were curled in on yourself, a sign that you wanted to be anywhere else but there. In your hands was a folded-up newspaper, working on a word search. The sudden halts of the train would make your pen slip, and you mumbled curses under your breath. 

He chuckled quietly and found himself strangely smitten by you. You were cute, in a classic ‘new girl in a new city’ kind of way. As Dick stared at you, he imagined the two of you together in small ways. From the late-night walks through the park in autumn to the fresh spring mornings in a cafe right off Broadway, it was the kind of place you would have probably liked. You seemed refreshing and kind in the dream he had, something Dick was partial towards.

Suddenly, he was snapped from his thoughts when your eyes caught his. Cautiously, he gave you a soft smile before looking away quickly. Dick felt a bit flustered at being caught, but when he looked back to see you looking down at the newspaper trying to hide an embarrassed grin something sparked in him. 

Never one to shy away, Dick thought about getting up to talk to you, but the train came to a sudden halt again. Within a moment, you were gone, rushing off the train in a hurry. You must have been late just like him. Dick felt a bit disappointed that he missed his chance for something that he believed could have been great. Slumping back into his seat, he patiently waited for his stop. 

He hadn’t expected to ever see you again, but when you appeared on the train again later that evening something in his chest bloomed. You saw Dick first this time, eyes trained on him across the train car, and he felt your stare. When your eyes met, neither of you turned away this time. Instead, there was a mutual, awkward wave that gave the sign of acknowledgment. Dick felt glad that he knew you knew he existed. 

There were too many people, or else he might’ve made his way across the train to ask for your number. Sadly, Dick realized that maybe the little daydream wasn’t meant to be. The idea seemed to cement itself as the train rolled to his stop. Reluctantly, he started to get off. 

As Dick stepped onto the platform, heart still a little sad, something in him said to look up. There you were again, that same little smile on your face as you made your way to him. 

#dick grayson #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x reader #jason todd #romance #meet-cute #nightwing #dc batman #dc comics #bruce wayne #batman #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n #red hood #batfamily #clark kent

[stayteezdreams]

Room With A View: Part One

Plot: Your excited when you finally move into your new apartment, but it quickly becomes awkward when you find that your apartment balcony looks directly into your neighbor's

-Part Two-

Pairing: Kang Yeosang x Gn!Reader

-Meet-Cute Series-

A/n: I really should have thought of a plot before starting this, but I didn't lmao. So it just happened as I wrote it. This fic has some jumps, it's kind of moments in time before the actual meeting at the end. There will be a part two!

Words: 2.4k

You let out a content breath as you finished unpacking another box. Your apartment was coming together nicely and you finally started to feel at ease in your new space. You were ready to live on your own again, no longer having to deal with roommates or family.

Sliding open the balcony door, you stepped out and took in a breath of the fresh air.

Walking to the railing, you leaned on it and looked down at the path below. You couldn't get an apartment with a view of the nearby park, and instead were facing other apartments, but you were desperate, so anything would do for now.

Hearing another door slide open, you looked up and felt your body freeze. On the apartment balcony across from you, a man around your age stepped out, his eyes caught on you at the same time you spotted him.

Your eyes locked as you both stopped in an awkward standstill. He obviously was not expecting you to be there.

Your immediate first though was about how attractive he was. Your second thought was about how weird he might think you were for staring at him. Then again, he as staring at you as well.

Suddenly coming to his senses, he smiled awkwardly and bowed in greeting before he grabbed a cup off his balcony table and went back inside.

You almost laughed at the encounter, but instead just went back inside, hoping you hadn't scared your neighbor off of his own balcony.

Yeosang peaked out of his window just in time to see your balcony door close. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh as he shook his head. Could he have made that any more awkward?

You caught him off guard, he had no idea anyone rented the apartment across from him, so the last thing he expected was to step outside with his post-nap hair and pajamas and see an attractive stranger looking at him. He panicked and now he wondered if you thought he was weird. Sighing, he shook his head, hoping if he saw you again, it wouldn't be so awkward.

The next morning, Yeosang had forgotten about the encounter entirely, until, as he passed his balcony door, he spotted movement across the way. Peaking out, he saw you sitting down at a small table on your balcony, laptop open in front of you as you sipped what he assumed was coffee.

Yeosang didn't realize how long he had been staring, as his heart seemed to flutter in his chest as he watched you. He had noticed that you were attractive the previous day, but as he watched you now, he found you even more so.

Finally realizing that he had been staring for what was probably an inappropriate amount of time, he shook his head at himself and walked away.

Seeing movement out of the corner of your eye you looked up, expecting to see your new neighbor, but he wasn't there. Maybe he had just passed by his door.

You wondered if he would ever come out onto his balcony again. Maybe he was so introverted you officially made him decide to avoid his balcony. You frowned a bit at the thought, wondering what he was like, and hoping he would appear again at some point.

A few days had passed since you settled into your apartment. You had unpacked almost all of your boxes, and even set out some plants on your balcony.

Heading outside to water them, you were smiling to yourself as you approached your balcony railing, where you had installed a plant box.

"Okay, who's first?" You asked out loud before you began watering the plants, a smile plastered on your face.

After running the water over them, you glanced up and froze. Your neighbor was sitting on his balcony, phone in hand, looking over at you.

Had he been there the whole time? Did he hear you talking to your plants?

You felt your ears grow hot as you smiled and nodded your head "Hello" you said, unsure if he would hear you at all.

As he smiled softly and nodded his head in return you smiled shyly before you turned away, watering a separate plant in the corner. You took in a deep breath as you reaffirmed that he was in fact, very attractive.

Before heading back inside, you glanced back towards him, seeing his head quickly return to his laptop screen. Had he been watching you? Smiling to yourself as your heart beat rapidly, you went back inside before peaking out again, getting one last look at him before you continued with your chores.

Yeosang's heart was hammering in his chest as he forced himself not to look back over at your balcony. When you had come out, his eyes naturally moved to you. You were smiling and talking to your plants as you watered them and he found a small smile forming on his face. It was cute.

When you saw him watching you, he saw you freeze as you seemed embarrassed he was there. He heard a soft hello escape you and he repressed a small giggle as he nodded back to you.

He wondered what your name was. What did you do for a living? Were you introverted, like him? Would you get along?

These types of thoughts continued to pester both of you as you saw each other more often over the next few weeks.

You both had the routine of sitting out on the balcony with your morning coffee. Though Yeosang hadn't done this much until you moved in.

You'd share smiles and nods of greeting, stealing glances at each other when you could.

Yeosang learned you watered your plants at the same time every other day and would often conveniently be on his balcony at this time.

The two of you, though never even knowing each other's names, shared a silent conversation whenever a downstairs neighbor loudly played his horrible music at random times. Your eyes would meet and you'd both share a look of annoyance or judgement before you both smiled to yourself.

On more than one occasion, you had almost met. You spotted him heading into his building just a moment after you left yours. And he saw you checking your mail and leaving for the day before he could get close enough for you to see him.

Neither of you were brave enough to seek each other out, and found comfort in your silent communications. But, you both wanted to know more about the other, silently waiting for the moment it would happen.

Staring at your kitchen counter, you bit your lip. When you volunteered to make cookies for your coworkers, you may have gotten too excited.

Your kitchen counter was covered in freshly baked cookies. The recipe had said it would make two dozen, but you gave up counting after thirty-five and still had raw dough to use.

Even if you took more to your work than you had intended, you'd have quite a few left over. What should you do with them?

As you pondered this, movement caught you eyes. Looking up, you spotted your neighbor out on his balcony, wiping his table. You felt your heart skip and suddenly wondered if he would like the cookies you made. Would it be weird to ask? How would you even ask?

After some more time trying to decide, you finished making all of the cookie dough, and effectively ran out of room for cookies. You packed them all away, as you nervously glanced out at your neighbors balcony. He was gone, but had his door open, probably to let the nice air into his apartment.

Getting an idea, that may or may not be weird, you went with it before you chickened out entirely. If it worked, you would hopefully make a friend, if it didn't work, then he would remain a stranger you steal glances at and have silent conversations with.

Walking out onto your balcony you looked down at the paper plane in your hand before aiming at your neighbors balcony. Taking a breath, you tossed it, watching as it soared closer to his balcony, before plummeting to the sidewalk below.

You watched it all with a disappointed gaze before you let out a sigh. Making another plane, with every intention of eventually getting the first one. You attempted another throw, letting out a frustrated groan as it too fell to the sidewalk.

"Maybe I should just crumple it into a ball" you mumbled as you went to get another piece of paper.

As Yeosang walked back towards his apartment after picking up a package, his eyes landed on two paper planes lying on the ground. He frowned as he walked up to them, wondering where they came from.

Seeing writing on one, he picked it up curiously.

"I made some cookies would you like some?" Grabbing the other plane, it held a similar message "I made too many cookies, would you like some?"

He smiled to himself as he glanced up, seeing he was below your apartment. These weren't from you were they?

Just as he wondered this, he saw another paper plane shoot from your balcony before hitting the railing of his and falling down a few feet away from him. Hearing a frustrated groan from your apartment, he laughed softly.

Grabbing the other plane, he read it and chuckled, "I made some cookies. Would you like some?"

Looking up at your balcony, he quickly ran into his building, hoping he could get your attention.

Looking down at another piece of paper, you debated going down and grabbing the ones you failed to throw before you attempted any more.

Crumpling the paper you went to your balcony "One more try and then I'm giving up"

As you stepped out onto your balcony, you halted as you saw your neighbor leaning on his railing with a smile. Your eyes moved to his hands as you saw the paper planes. You went to the railing and looked down, seeing that he had gotten them.

Did he see you throwing them and went to get them? You cringed internally, wondering if he thought you were weird.

Meeting his gaze again he smiled, and you saw amusement on his face. You giggled softly, feeling your ears burning.

Pointing at the paper planes he nodded and gave you a thumbs up "I love cookies" you heard his soft voice call out, and it almost caught you off guard.

You giggled softly as you leaned over your railing, hoping he could hear you as you pointed down to the side walk "Five minutes?"

He nodded and gave you another thumbs up as you nodded and ran inside, leaving Yeosang grinning on his balcony.

After you put the cookies into some boxes, you checked your appearance over before you made your way down stairs. You took in a few deep breaths, telling yourself to relax.

As you got to the sidewalk below, you spotted Yeosang sitting on the steps to his building. He still held one of the paper planes in his hand and you felt your cheeks burn. As he spotted you, he rose with a smile and met you half way.

You smiled shyly "Hello."

"Hello" He repeated with a similar tone and smile.

Handing over the cookies with a grin his smile widened as he looked down at them "Thank you"

You nodded "I made some for work and ended up with way too many. So, I thought maybe it would be a good excuse to finally meet you, actually meet you I mean. Instead of just, seeing each other from a distance."

You feared you might be rambling so you quickly stopped, your heart hammering at the way his eyes lit up as he smiled and nodded.

"I wanted to meet you too" Yeosang felt his ears burning as he admitted so. "But I thought it would be weird to just show up at your door." Looking down at the paper plane in his hand he let out a soft laugh "The paper planes were smart.""

You smiled, feeling some relief that he had been worried about the same things you had.

"I wouldn't have thought you were weird" you reassured him and he smile softly as he looked down shyly.

Your stomach filled with butterflies, as you realized just how attractive he was, and how gentle he seemed on top of it.

"I thought you might think I was weird because of the planes." You cringed softly and he let out a soft laugh.

"No" He shook his head "I saw them when I came from from the office. I thought it was cute."

You felt like your heart might explode from your chest, and you hoped it wasn't showing on your face.

He placed his hand on top of the cookies "I should be the one to bring you a welcome gift since you just moved in."

You smiled and shook your head "You don't need to worry about something like that."

You saw doubt on his face but he nodded, though in his mind he was already thinking of buying you something. A dessert in return for the cookies perhaps.

"I'm Y/n by the way." You added on softly and Yeosang's eyes lit up. All this time he had been wondering your name, and he hadn't even asked.

He smiled "I'm Yeosang."

"It's nice to meet you Yeosang."

He quickly reached out his hand for you to take, and you smiled, shaking it softly.

An alarm from your phone killed the soft silence that lingered and you quickly turned it off before smiling at him.

"I have to go to work."

Yeosang nodded his head in understanding, but felt disappointment wash over him.

You backed up a bit as you smiled "I hope you like the cookies. Don't be a stranger okay Yeosang?"

He let out a soft laugh as he nodded, watching as you began to leave. As you looked back once more at him and gave him a soft wave he felt his heart melt.

As you disappeared into the building he already wanted to see you again. Turning to head back inside he looked down at the cookies, feeling their fresh warmth leaking through. He grinned to himself as he held the cookies close to his chest.

Thinking back on what you said, he wondered if you would really be okay with him showing up at your door. Biting his lips softly he tapped his fingers on the box.

He would have to return the box once he finished the cookies right? That would be the polite thing to do? Smiling softly to himself he nodded, it wasn't a great excuse to see you again, but it was enough.

xx End xx

-Part Two-

Ateez General Taglist: @soso59love-blog

Series Taglist: @bubblesreplies, @halesandy, @why-am-i-sad, @acciocriativity

#Yeosang #kang yeosang/reader #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang/reader #ateez/reader #ateez x reader #yeosang x reader #yeosang imagine #kang yeosang imagine #ateez imagine #meet-cute #meet cute series #ateez meet-cute series #kang yeosang fic #yeosang fic #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #yeosang oneshot

[that-writing-raccoon]

MEET CHAOTIC PROMPTS

Alright, kids, listen up.

We’re all suckers for a good meet-cute. Don’t even try to lie to me. Like, yeah, they’re cliché, but, if done well, it can be really cute, hence the name.

Meet-uglies on the other hand can be super funny, and they almost always lead to enemies-to-lovers or rivals-to-lovers, even if just for a hot second. They’re great, too.

But here’s the thing:

I want more meet-chaotics. Not meet-cutes, not meet-uglies, meet-chaotics.

What do I mean by this?

Well, you know how crazy life can be sometimes? How wack shit happens, it makes a good story to tell your friends, and it makes you low-key question reality for a second? Yeah. Meet-chaotics are like that. How you met is just so weird and chaotic that it was a bonding experience.

Here are some prompts/concepts so you understand what I’m getting at:

“Normal”/Humor:

 “I’m an uber driver dropping off my last customer, and you and your friends(?) just jumped into my backseat right as they got out and yelled a variety of ‘DRIVE! FUCKING DRIVE!’ and ‘FLOOR IT!’ There are flashing lights behind me, but I panicked and stepped on the gas, and now you’re trying to assure me that it’s not what it looks like, but I’m too busy worrying that I’m a wanted criminal now.” 

Bonus points for found family and/or polyamory!

“I’ve had a really bad day, and it started to rain, so, because I’m dramatic, I blasted my ‘*insert playlist name here*’ and lied down on my sidewalk/lawn/driveway facing the sky, and you just drove by, backed up, and ran out to join me as ‘Chasing Cars’ by Snow Patrol was playing. I have never met you before, but I’m pretty sure we’ve bonded and might be soulmates.” (Yes, I got this idea from a TikTok. What of it?).

“I was walking my dog at the park when he got off his leash, and now I’m running after him through the park calling his name and yelling to ‘GET THAT DOG!’ You’re having a barbecue/family reunion/birthday party, and my dog sprints towards you, knocks someone over, and begins eating your food. You see me sprinting towards you and trying to catch my dog, but he’s faster, so now we’re both chasing my dog, and I may or may not be swearing words that’d make a sailor blush. Eventually, one of us or a random stranger catches him, and we finally stop, and, hey, sorry about that, but, wazow! You’re pretty cute.” 

Bonus points for anyone vaulting over a table or something.

“We’re on our way to class, and I just witnessed you run past me down the stairs holding a bunch of books, trip, roll down two flights, and roll to your feet and keep running like nothing happened. And, like, we didn’t talk, and I don’t think you noticed me, but now I can’t help thinking of you. Like, that was impressive, but are you okay?”

“We’re at a house party, and it’s gotten pretty wild. Music is blasting from the speakers, people are dancing on tables, stuff is breaking, etc. Suddenly, the music shuts off, and someone yells, “POLICE!” and everyone s c a t t e r s. It’s pure chaos. I trip while running outside and curl up in a ball to not get trampled, but then a hand reaches down and pulls me up, it’s you, and we run off together still holding hands. Who are you, again?”

Bonus points if this goes back to the uber driver prompt. 

Bonus bonus points if this couple is coming from the same place as the folks from the first prompt, so it’s same universe, but they’re completely different people having their own meet-chaotics running from the police ‘cause they were at the same party.

Could be any illegal/big crowd scenario. A concert, a protest, etc. 

Sci-Fi:

“We live in a world where superheroes exist. One day, I’m minding my own business in my own apartment when you, *insert superhero name here,* crash through my wall while I’m just lounging on the couch, mug of coffee/preferred drink to my lips, feet up on my coffee table, and laptop open on my lap. We stare at each other. You get up, apologize, and fly off through the hole in the wall. Little do I know, you feel bad about the whole thing and decide to try making it up to me, except every thing you try just descends us more and more into chaos.”

Bonus points if this ends up being enemies to lovers, seeing as the protagonist, Character A, would probably be hella bitter about not having the specific superhero insurance needed to fix their wall. 

Bonus bonus points if Superhero has to save A from x during one of their attempts to fix the situation. 

“It’s the zombie apocalypse. I’ve set up camp in a (mostly) abandoned town, scavenging to survive. One day, there’s an unusual amount of zombies in the road. Panicked, I start to climb something. When I’m about halfway up, I hear a weird noise, and look down just in time to see you and your friend whizzing by on a shopping cart down the incline- you in the basket and your friend riding on the back. You’re screaming/yelling and swinging a bat around. The zombies are too slow and uncoordinated to catch up with you. At the last second, you look up at me and we make eye-contact mid-me making at wtf face. It’s such a stupid strategy that I’m low key in love.”

“It’s an alien invasion. We’re all running and screaming for our lives. Suddenly, there’s a spot light, and you start being pulled up into a ship. You panic and grab something. For some unknown, ungodly reason, I try to help you. It goes as well as it sounds. Cue us both getting beamed up while holding on to each other for dear life.”

“We’re on a spaceship. There are so many people on board that it’s impossible to truly know or recognize anyone. I’m working or reading or what have you, when I so happened to glance up at my porthole/window, just in time to see you, who’d been fixing something on the outside of the ship, floating away and doing some space gymnastics with your lead and etc., and swimming, to get back to the ship. I do what anyone responsible would do and sprint off to the docks to get you back safe inside.”

Bonus if Floating Person is just doing the absolute most ridiculous things to make it back.

I have more, but I feel like this post is long enough. But yeah. Something something meeting someone in the most chaotic, stupid, and unhinged way gets to me. Like, we’ve all have shared moments with a stranger because we both witnessed something or been involved in something dumb or crazy. And usually it’s like, eye-contact or brief, awkward commentary, then at the end of the day you go home and it’s just a funny story that only you guys experienced. Something about it just speaks to me.

#writing #creative writing #writing prompt #writing prompts #meet-cute #meet-ugly #meet-chaotic #writing inspiration #writeblr #books #imagine your otp #otp prompts

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 your heart is mine to fortify by sunflowersfield

💙🔒 your heart is mine to fortify

by sunflowersfield

G, 2k, Wangxian

Summary: A few mornings later, Wei Ying stares up at his ceiling and listens to the wind blowing through the willow tree outside his window. It is 4:15 a.m. and he is wide awake once more. For a while, the howling wind is the only sound he hears, and then, there is movement from somewhere below him. The opening and closing of cabinet doors. Light footsteps tapping on a hardwood floor. The clanging of metal against glass. Lan Zhan has arrived at the bakery. Wei Ying allows himself to be swept away by the symphony of sounds that Lan Zhan unknowingly creates as he begins his day. His breathing slows, and his body relaxes bit by bit. He imagines that he is listening to a lullaby written just for him. And just like a lullaby, the symphony guides him back to sleep. Or: Wei Ying lives in the apartment above Lan Zhan's bakery. Or part 2: Wei Ying learns how to accept Lan Zhan's help. Kay's comments: Everybody wake up, AO3 user sunflowersfield has dropped another soft banger. This was incredibly soft, with Wangxian meeting and immediately both falling for each other and you can just tell with both of them and Lan Wangji makes such a perfect baker! The early hours and the routines and the cuteness of his creations with which he spoils Wei Wuxian - perfection. And I love how they both look out for each other and make space for each other in their lives. Excerpt: Wei Ying has lived above the bakery for nearly two years, but Lan Zhan has only owned it for three months. Wei Ying noticed him for the first time on a Saturday morning. The sun was bright that day, but there was a chill in the air. He was returning from the store, carrying three bags of groceries in each hand and eagerly awaiting the warmth of his apartment. He did not have time to stop. And yet, two things caught his eye: a brand new sign above the bakery door and a glimpse of someone new standing behind the front counter. Someone he felt drawn to. Wei Ying had rushed up the stairs to his apartment and unpacked his groceries as quickly as possible. When he was finished, he ran back down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. He waited patiently as a mother exited the bakery with a stroller, and he reached out to hold the door for her. Then, he walked inside. "Hi,” he said, and the man behind the counter looked up. "Hello,” the man responded, meeting his gaze. And that was how it all began.

pov wei wuxian, modern setting, modern no magic, bakery, meet-cute, first meetings, getting to know each other, stranges to lovers, falling in love, developing relationship, soft lan wangji/wei wuxian, getting together, neurodiversity, jiang family dynamics, insomnia, anxiety, mental health issues, sharing a bed, happy ending, mutual pining, domestic fluff, slice of life

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#April 2024 #Wangxian Fic Rec #The Untamed #Wangxian #MDZS #Kay's Rec #Kay's Favorite #short fic <15k #Gen #sunflowersfield #your heart is mine to fortify #pov wei wuxian #modern setting #modern no magic #bakery #meet-cute #first meetings #getting to know each other #stranges to lovers #falling in love #developing relationship #soft lan wangji/wei wuxian #getting together #neurodiversity #jiang family dynamics #insomnia #anxiety #mental health issues #sharing a bed #happy ending

[velvethopewrites]

The sob story with this is that I wrote this yesterday and it got deleted before I could save it. I wanted to die cry, basically. Somehow I managed to re-create most of it, after working on it all damn day. (I basically ended up writing over 6,000+ words in one day. Yowza) I still feel as though the first version was better, but…no one knows that but me, I suppose. (And my partner, who got to read it right before the horrors happened). Regardless, I am proud of this and proud of myself for not giving up when it really would have been easy to. So huzzah to the fickle hand of fate and all that stuff.

For Suptober 2023 prompt “starlight”

I tag @fellshish and @canonblastedships and @clarkenting for being super cool reblog buddies, lol (which is just a thing I made up) This is the longest destiel fic I’ve written yet and it will be my first official AO3 destiel! (As soon as I remember how to do that, oy)

Edited: Now with Spiffy AO3 Link! Here!

The Starlight

There were three types of people that visited the Starlight Lounge — drunks, people desperate to score, and the employees that made their bread and butter trying to tame the other two.

Dean Winchester, unfortunately, was a member of that third group. Oh, sure, Dean had been known to put away a fair bunch of liquor in his day, and sure, Dean had definitely been known to do the Bedroom Rodeo whenever the opportunity presented itself. Hell, back when he’d first started at the Starlight he’d often been three types at once. Work, drink, get laid. Sometimes, not even in that order.

But that was past Dean. Current and newly mature Dean (hah) just wanted to work, go home, eat and fall into his bed. Working at the Starlight wasn’t that bad – it had fairly decent pay and it was often interesting. And like everyone else, Dean had bills to pay and he gave more than his fair share to Sammy. Not that Sam really needed it anymore; he was busy working as a law clerk downtown, putting himself through school. But still, Dean wanted to help as much as he could and besides it was his brotherly duty. Heh. Duty.

Tonight, due to the cold and rainy weather, the bar was fairly empty and business had been slow. There was only one of his regulars, a writer by the name of Chuck crying into his notebooks at the back of the bar. To be honest, Dean had never seen Chuck write a damn thing but the man sure could put scotch away like a pro.  There was also a young couple making out in one of the booths near the restrooms. He’d been keeping an eye on them most of the night, actually, making sure no one lost any clothing. The Starlight didn’t need a public indecency charge on the books. At least, not so soon since the last one, at any rate. 

Dean yawned and finished cleaning up the bar, hoping Chuck and the couple on their way to Soft-Porn Town would soon be leaving. Maybe Dean could even push them on their way a bit early, so he could get home at a decent time, for once.  As he walked over towards Chuck to perhaps lightly suggest the writer hit the road, the double doors of the bar blew open – bringing in the rain, the cold rush of the wind and a new customer in a beige trench coat with seriously fucked up hair. Great.

Dean sighed and turned back around as the new guy slumped onto the first stool at the bar. His dark brown, messed up hair looked even worse up close, and he had a scowl on his face as he glared down at the bar in front of him.

“Whiskey. Neat,” Messy-Hair said, voice low and very rumbly.

Dean pulled down a clean glass and poured some of their nicer whiskey into it. Dude looks like he could afford it, at any rate. He had a nice suit on under the coat, now that Dean could properly see it and his watch was one of those big clunky things that could probably tell the time on Jupiter or some shit like that. The man’s hand reaches for the glass before Dean has barely pushed it forward. He throws back the drink in record time and hits the bar with it so that it makes a loud thunk.

“Another one.”

Dean shrugged as the man kept glaring down at the bar as though it contained all the answers to life and everything else; Dean knew for a fact that it didn’t. It didn’t even have a ‘42’ scratched into it or anything. (RIP Douglas Adams)

This time the man just wraps his hand around the glass, his fingers clutching at it and woah, Dean thinks, dude’s got some huge fucking hands. They’re big and they’re strong looking. The fingers are nice and long and graceful and oh, oh, oh. Maybe it’s a kink, or maybe it’s a preference, but Dean loves hands. Manly looking mitts like Messy-Hair here and even smaller, more delicate hands like on most women, with pretty nail colors. But Dean’s not choosy.

He sees motion out of the corner of his eye and notices Chuck signaling that he’d like to pay up. Glancing at Messy-Hair he figures he has a few minutes before having to pour him another so he sets the bottle down and heads over to the other side.

“All right there, Chuck?”

“Yeah, yeah, thank you, Dean.”

The older man is flipping through his wallet and counting out his cash slowly. Dean wipes the bar and puts Chuck’s last glass into the bucket for later cleaning.

“Write anything tonight?” Dean always asks this question. It’s like a little game he and Chuck play because it always has the same answer.

“No,” Chuck says looking up at him. He places his finger to his temple solemnly, almost like he’s holding a gun. “But I did a lot of work up here.”

He always gives Dean this look as though Dean should know exactly what he’s talking about. But, of course, Dean never does. He likes to read but he sure as hell would never attempt to write. Personally, he thinks Chuck is sort of crazy, but hey, to each their own, right?

Chuck pushes his notebooks into his old canvas bag on the bar. It’s bulging with everything he carries with him and looks fit to burst. Dean supposes that writer’s block is heavy business.

Chucks nods goodnight as he slips his bag over his shoulders, buckling a bit under the weight. Dean watches as he wobbles away and he’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the bag. He’d normally be worried (hey, no bar can stay in business if all its clientele got themselves killed), but he knows Chuck lives nearby. He’ll be all right and probably in his same spot tomorrow evening. He puts Chuck’s money into the till and realizes he tipped Dean more than usual. He really did have had a good night, then.

He notices the couple trying to break the world record for smooches in a single night are getting up and putting on their jackets. Maybe Dean can get out early; he’s got the DVR set for Dr Sexy already, but he wouldn’t say no to catching it live for once.

Glancing over he sees Messy-Hair is now resting his head on the bar, but he lifts it as the doors bang shut behind Chuck, the cold burst of wind making his hair looking even more disheveled. Dean heads back over to see if he needs a refill and is suddenly struck dumb by the other man finally looking at him. Holy Mother of Blue, those are some eyes. The dude is handsome. Like old-time movie handsome. Strong jaw, with a smattering of scruff, pink soft lips and eyes that look like they can see into your soul, no, scratch that, not see, but pierce. Dean swallows roughly and picks up the whiskey bottle. 

“Hey, uh, it’s getting late. One more for the road?” Dean assumes the dude doesn’t know the Starlight is technically open until midnight. Assumes, hah. More like prays.

Blue-Eyes stares at him and frowns. “I thought this establishment closed at midnight.”

“Er, yeah. I suppose it does.”

“Then I’ll take another,” Blue-Eyes pauses and holds out his glass. “And keep them coming for the next forty-five minutes, barkeep.”

Dean blinks at the old-fashioned word and pours another round. They stare at each other until he hears a giggle and a clearing of a throat. He looks over to see the couple and wonders how long they’ve been waiting. Judging from the churlish look on the guy’s face and the barely contained laughter emanating from the girl, it’s been awhile. He settles their tab and takes their money (lousy tip, of course) as the two saunter past Blue-Eyes and escape out into the night. Well, at least Dean can see it’s stopped raining.

Making up his mind, he follows them from behind the bar and locks the door after them. He flips off the sign, too. He may be stuck here with Blue-Eyes, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let someone else come meandering in to make him get home even later.

He comes back to stand in front of his customer and makes a decision. Pulling down another glass, he pours some of the whiskey into it and sighs as the warmth of it hits his system. What do they always say about good whiskey? It should warm the cockles of the heart, or something like that. Not that Dean actually knows what a cockle is, but hey, it went down smooth.

He realizes Blue-Eyes is watching him and Dean decides to bite the bullet. He’s tired, bored and probably on his way to cranky town if Blue-Eyes keeps his word about the next forty-five minutes.

“So, what brings you out on a cold and rainy night like tonight, Mr, uh…what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

The other man squints and tilts his head at Dean like a tiny, confused bird. And no, Dean doesn’t find that adorable at all. Nope.

“What have you been calling me in your head?”

Dean purses his lips. Sometimes he’s really an idiot. He gives Blue-Eyes a shaky laugh.

“I said I wasn’t gonna keeping doing that.”

They stare at each other again, neither one budging until Blue-Eyes releases a breath and blinks, shoulders slumping a bit more. By the end of the night Dean expects this guy to be melted into the floor.

“Cas.”

Dean frowns. “Your name is Mr Cas?”

“No, just Cas.” Blue-Eyes, no, scratch that, Cas then holds out his hand so Dean can shake it like they’re fellow professionals meeting at a party or something. As he grips the other man’s hand in his own he realizes Cas’s hand is warm, dry, and, yep, strong. The dude is seriously ticking all of Dean’s boxes without even trying. It’s a bit unnerving, really.

“Is that short for something?” Dean asks, wondering what type of name that is.

Cas just looks at him over the rim of his glass. “Perhaps.”

Neither of them say anything else for a long moment and Dean shakes his head. “People ever tell you you talk too much?”

“Yes. All the time,” Cas says with a smirk.

Dean laughs. “Well, whatever. It’s officially nice to meet you, Cas. I’m Dean. Humble and professional barkeep at your service.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas’s voice is deep but there’s a warmth to it that makes Dean happy.  They chit-chat for a bit, just like Dean would do with any newbie to the bar. He pours them both another round and then tries his question again.

“So, you seemed a bit upset earlier. What brought you through my doors, Cas?”

Cas sighs and glances away. He taps his fingers lightly on the polished wood of the bar. He stares at Dean as though assessing him and then looks as though he’s made up his mind.

“My…er, the person I’ve been dating, dumped me tonight. We went to an expensive restaurant and ordered far too pricey food for the serving size and drank outrageously fancy wine. Then they ordered an expensive bottle of cognac, drank it all and then told me I wasn’t worth it.”

Dean winces. “Ouch. How long were you together?”

“Six months.”

“Well, it’s not too long for a relationship, but it’s long enough to hurt.”

Cas nods, looking sullen again.

“What special occasion was it?”

Cas stares at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Fancy restaurant, the way you’re dressed, the cognac. Nobody orders that unless there’s been a birth or an anniversary or both.”

“It was my birthday,” Cas says, looking down again.

“Fuck,” Dean blurts out without thinking. “And they dumped you? Seriously bad juju, man.”

Cas nods and takes another drink of his whiskey, looking miserable. Dean tops off both of their glasses and hums.

“What was his name?”

Cas whips his head up, suddenly looking confused and more than a little worried. “I never said it was a he.”

“It was your distinct lack of pronouns, dude. Always the dead giveaway. Trust me, as a guy who plays for both sides, I know. Pronouns are key. Hey, relax, Cas, this is a safe space.” Dean points to the small pride flag he keeps above the bar and watches as Cas visibly relaxes.

The silence that falls between them is comfortable now. Welcoming, even. Cas clears his throat and rests his hand on his chin, peering at Dean.

“So…you’re bi, I assume or, pan, perhaps?”

“Got it in one. Just another bisexual loser ruining the world one lay at a time.”

Dean winks to show he’s only kidding. He’s proud to be bi, but it doesn’t mean he can’t make a joke at his own expense. Of course, if Sam or his friend Charlie were here they’d both tell him what they thought of that.

“His name was Bartholomew.”

Dean snorts. “It fits him. Douche-y name for a douche-canoe.”

Cas barks out a laugh and it completely changes his face into something truly beautiful. Dean suddenly feels the need to always make Cas laugh like that. He can’t imagine anyone not wanting to – his laugh is infectious. And the light it puts in his eyes is irresistible.

Cas looks serious again as he swirls the rest of the whiskey in his glass. “To be honest, Bart was just the last in a long line of failed…connections. I’m doubting my own self-worth at this point. Everyone ends up leaving or they get fed up with me. I’m too introverted…too socially awkward to deal with, I suppose.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be doing okay right now.”

“I’ve been drinking,” Cas says, deadpan. “And also I’m paying you.”

Dean chuckles. “Not really, I decided to stop charging you as soon as I poured my first one.”

“Your hospitality know no bounds. Truly.”

Dean laughs. Cas’s dry delivery and poker-faced expressions really are the limit. He feels that familiar warmth he always gets when he meets someone new. A someone new that excites him. But he pushes the feeling aside because he knows on some level that trying to get into Cas’s pants is so not what the other man needs right now. Dean shivers as he realizes how damn mature that sounds. Next he’ll be looking into 401ks and cemetery plots.

“Well, consider them birthday drinks. Of course, this stuff doesn’t cost a small fortune or anything, but I figured you’d already paid out enough tonight.”

Cas smirks and shakes his head at Dean. “Thank you, Dean. It’s actually very kind of you to…take pity on me.”

He says it jokingly but Dean gets the sense that he means it. He reaches forward and touches Cas’s hand.

“Hey, no pity here. You are ridiculously attractive and if I didn’t have a conscience, I’d definitely be throwing out my best lines here to help you relieve some tension, if you know what I mean. And you are not awkward to me, but even if you were, it wouldn’t be enough to stop me from asking for your number or seeing if you wanted to meet up sometime. I barely know you but you seem like a decent guy, Cas. And I think all of those people that don’t get you can just fuck right off. You need to keep trying, man. Don’t give up just because a few losers couldn’t see what they had.”

Cas blinks at Dean, blue eyes getting huge. “You think I’m ridiculously attractive?”

Dean thinks back. Did he say that? Yeah, he said that. Figures that would be the only thing to register with the dude.

“What sort of line would you use on me? I mean, if you were going to, that is.” Cas shyly glances away and then back, a curious look on his face.

“Oh, uh, probably something like, well you know what they say — the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and smirks, faking a leer.

“I’m not sure that would work with me,” Cas says, mirth clear in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You’d make me work for it, I know. But seriously, you need to regroup, clear out the douche-canoes from your life and find a new guy, man.”

Cas smiles at him in fondness, and nope, Dean is not going to do it. He will not break his rule about dating people just out of relationships. Not even for big huge blue eyes that make him feel sappy like a love song. Cas, however, clearly has other plans.

“This may be forward but, um, Dean would you allow me take you out for dinner? As a date, in case you were wondering how I meant it.”

“Oh, wow, Cas, um, I mean…”

Cas’s face takes an interesting journey in two seconds – from hopeful joy to miserable and wretched. Dean feels his heart break a little bit for him in that moment and mentally kicks his own ass for being a tool.

“Oh, I see. I…I’m sorry, Dean. Thank you for hospitality.” Cas fumbles with his wallet and places far too much money next to his glass. “I won’t keep you anymore. Go home and enjoy whatever is left of your night.”

Dean watches dumbly as Cas sits up straighter and then turns in his seat, his broad shoulders unyielding, suddenly. Dean knows he just can’t let it end like this.

“No, wait, Cas!”

Dean practically flings himself around the bar to reach Cas before he can unlock the door and leave without a backwards glance. He rests his hand on Cas’s shoulder, stopping him.

“It’s only because I have a rule about dating people that just got out of a relationship. It has nothing to do with you, I promise you. You need to focus on you, dude. Figure out what you’re looking for. If this one was just the last in a long line of guys who don’t understand you, try and see what people you’re going for. I mean, I’m no expert, and God knows I’ve had my fair share of jumping before looking moments, but I think you just need some Cas time right now, you know? If we ever start something I do not want to be rebound guy and you deserve something better than a one night stand.”

Cas stares at him, blue eyes half in shadow.  Dean holds his breath, hoping he didn’t just lose something. All he can hear is the clock ticking behind him and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

“That was quite the speech,” Cas finally says. “You sound like you know from experience.”

“Cas, man. You have no idea.”

“I have some, like I said, a long line of rejections. Still…”  Cas’s eyes search his face and then nods to himself. “Maybe you’re right. I do tend to do things without thinking in this area of life despite being very practical usually. And you’re also right on anther point, Dean. You do not deserve to be “rebound guy”.”

Dean can’t help his grin as Cas makes the quotes motion with his fingers. They stare at each other for a bit longer before he unlocks the door. Cas steps out as the cold air filters in between them, causing them bother to shiver. Dean pauses, and then holds out his hand. “Let me have your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Yeah, you have one, right? Or have you moved on to something flashier like sky writing?”

Cas snorts and shakes his head. He fumbles in his pockets and then pulls out a slim, black smartphone. He unlocks it and hands it over. Of course, it’d be that kind of phone that can help you bake bread or turn off all the lights in the world with just a click or something. He finally finds what he’s looking for and puts his contact information in.

“There. There’s my number. Text me to let me know you get home, okay? And as for the rest, we’ll take it one day at a time, Cas. Let’s be friends, first.”

Cas smiles shyly as he looks down at his phone and nods. “Friends, first. I like that. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, buddy. Be safe.”

Cas slips out and away, leaving a coldness in his wake as he takes his body heat with him. Dean watches him go, the black of the night almost swallowing him up. Cas pauses to pull his coat tighter, the glow of the streetlight lighting up his profile. To Dean he looks pure—angelic, almost, like a painting or a sculpture. With one last look at Dean, he eventually fades away, disappearing back into the world. Soon all Dean can see is his own breath in the air and the twinkling starlight from the surprisingly clear sky above. He locks up again and finishes his routine for the night. After he’s put the money in the safe and headed out back to his car, he feels happy inside. Like something good just occurred — like some new path has been cleared for him to travel. His drive home is quick and easy, there’s hardly any traffic mostly due to the earlier rain. It’s just as he’s pulling into his driveway that he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. It’s from an unknown number and his heart beats faster as he reads the message.

From unknown: I arrived home safely, Dean. Thank you, again. Would you like to get coffee tomorrow, or, perhaps I should say, later today? Oh, this is Cas, by the way. In case you didn’t know. :)

Dean saves the number and then returns to the message to reply, a grin creeping onto his face before he even realizes it.

Dean: Of course, dude. Coffee sounds great. Around 1pm?

Cas: Perfect. Do you know the Blue Java Café on Marion and Elm? It’s across from the park and one of my favorite places.

Dean: Sounds good. Can’t wait to talk to you sober, ya lush… (lol j/k hah) 

Cas sends him a sticking-tongue-out emoji as a response and Dean chuckles as he locks up his car. He has a nice, happy feeling in his heart as he thinks of Cas. Like maybe this is something special. Or maybe it’s just that it could be and has the potential to be. He knows he told Cas friends first, but Dean’s willing to see where it…where they, can go.

#suptober23 #destiel #prompt:starlight #dean and cas #meet-cute #my writing #biting nails here #like posting stuff is scary #wth #I am not used this anymore #castiel #dean winchester

[bump1nthen1ght]

Campus Romance

Pairing: Art Teacher!Sex Demon x Writer!Gender Neutral!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1786 words

Summary: You stumble into an art lecture while around your new college campus. Luckily, the hot professor doesn’t seem to mind

Request: UH BELZ HELLOOO???? You can’t give this gay anon a He/They art professor sex demon and not expect them to request a fic??

Anyways- can I humbly request a meet cute fic of Belz with a reader (GN or Male either or) who’s a writer? Maybe they meet on the college campus Belz works at or they meet over the phone cause of Belz’s night job, whatever floats your boat I just want flirty demon pls (/lh)

A/N: For those who haven’t read it, heres the piece where I introduced Belz!

What a perfect first day. No rain coat, no umbrella, an open campus and a downpour of rain. You hold your (hopefully) waterproof binder over your head as you race across a crosswalk, just avoiding getting splashed by a campus gardener.

This is what I get for waking up early. This is a sign from god.

You had meant to peruse around the college today, taking a note of the building you’d soon be teaching out of and the general layout. But the rain has turned everything into a blurry mess and you end up ducking into the nearby arts building. Your future office is technically only one over, but you’d rather not spend that extra 5 minutes and have your jeans get soaked through.

After shaking off like a dog, you begin wandering down the halls trying to find a bathroom, at least to see how much of a mess you must look like. The building is heated, thank gods, but only few of the classrooms are occupied. You’d guess most people decided to ditch or cancel their 8 AMS after seeing the weather outside.

You’re shrugging off your damp sweater when you see a propped open door, a vivacious voice and the sweet smell of incense luring you in. At first you intend only to peek, maybe ask where the nearest restroom is, but what you had expected to be a dull lecture room ended being much more interesting.

Numerous paint cases and student exhibitions line the wall, the tables well loved with paint splatter and pencil scratches. In the center of the room is a giant marble statue of a man in a rather artful pose, surrounded by multiple students and their easels. They all sit hunched over, charcoal smudged on their fingers as they sketch the form in front of them. But what really catches your eye is the lecturer, standing right next to the subject.

“Now, I want you pay special attention to the movement lines of this piece.” They say, running their fingers down the statues upturned arm. Long, black nails trail down the side of the figure, tracing the defined side and the hip bones. “Notice the flow of the Contrapposto stance, how it positions his limbs around the slight twist in his torso. If you want to come and see up close, you may.” The lecturer smirks, “Starting next week we’ll have live models, so this will be the only subject you can get flirty with.” The lecturer slaps the statue’s butt, a general murmur of laughter coming from the students.

The lecturer steps off the stand and brushes back their shaggy hair. Their billowy shirt exposes a lean clavicle and several necklaces. Their blue skin is complimented by the dark red of their boho pants, only adding to their relaxed air. Their gaze wanders around the classroom, observing their students before landing on you, the wet stranger lurking in the corner. You give a wave, hoping it doesn’t look too awkward.

Their eyes go wide at your soaking wet form, briskly walking over. You’re able to catch the small name tag pinned in their shirt.

Belz (He/They)

“Howdy.” They mock salute, eyes wandering down your wet clothes. “My goodness, you’re drenched! Here-” They reach over, grabbing a smock from a nearby hanger, “It’s not much but hopefully it should warm you up some.” Before you can protest they’ve thrown it across your chest, ducking behind you and grabbing onto the laces. You feel the faint brush of their claws as Belz quickly ties up the back, cinching it tight to your waist with a few precise movements. The fabric itself may not be particularly cozy, but you feel a warmth covering your body nonetheless.

“There,” Belz mutters, rubbing some imaginary dust off your shoulder. “And look at that, it fits perfectly.” He mutters, his chuckle at his own little joke just as inviting as the classroom itself. “Now, what can I do for you, stranger?”

“Oh, nothing! I actually was just escaping from the rain when I saw the door open. I guess I just got…drawn in?” You straighten out the front of the smock, realizing now how random this encounter is. “Just thought I’d observe. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“It’s no problem at all, my lessons are for all, as is art itself.” Belz brushes a stray hair back before sticking out their hand. “I’m Belz.”

“____.” You shake their hand, “I-I’m actually a new literature professor, I was supposed to be touring the campus today, but, well….” You gesture outside, an ironic crack of thunder echoing as you do. But Belz isn’t dissuaded by the storm, a big smirk coming across their lips.

“Well, I’m happy to be your welcoming party, Professor ____.” Belz wraps their other palm around the outside of your fist, enfolding your hand in theirs. Their warm palms feel refreshing against your icy skin. “Now, do you like muffins?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so-”

“Perfect!” Belz keeps your hand in his as he leads you to his desk, a big tray of different muffins sitting right by his laptop.“My mom always said the cure to bad weather is good food, so you may have the pick of the lot. Though my students have probably pilfered the best ones. Can’t let your mind work on an empty stomach, after all.”

Belz sits down in their chair, giving it a little spin before grabbing a chocolate muffin from the basket.

“Thank you! These look delicious.” You grab a banana-nut muffin, shocked by how warm it still was, like it just came out of the pan.

“I get them every morning from that bakery right near campus. It’s to die for, you have to check it out.” Belz takes a big chomp out of their muffin, immediately swooning at the flavor. Their noises are almost..erotic.

You take a bite of your muffin, trying not to think about that. But Belz is right, these muffins are delicious, you can almost forget about your waterlogged jeans.

“So, you’re a banana nut fan, huh? Underrated flavor in my opinion.”

“Agreed. But I think my favorite is blueberry.”

“Hmm, good to know.” Belz laughs, tapping their cheek as their eyes elevator up and down. You take another bite of your muffin, hoping he can’t see your cheeks flush. Instead you look around their desk, multiple knick-knacks and smaller art pieces scattered all around. Right near their laptop is a framed picture, one of those cheesy ones with a photoshop caption from the early 2000’s, of two rats. The caption reads “Benny and Jet <3”

“Are those your pet rats?”

Belz gasps, excitedly nodsing before holding the photo proudly up to his face.

“Yes, these are my babies, the loves of my life, my platonic soulmates. I would’ve brought them to class today, if not for the weather.”

“They’re really cute.” You point towards Benny, who is almost all white except for the brown spot on his hind. “I had a rat that looked like Benny when I was a kid. She was an absolute sweetheart, though my friend would freak out whenever they saw her.”

Belz tuts, “I don’t trust people who disrespect rats. It’s my ultimate judge of character.”

“Well, one of those friends did throw a pudding cup at me a year later, so I’d say it’s pretty accurate.”

You both laugh, Belz throwing his head back. He’s got a pleasant laugh, resonant like a bass guitar. His countenance is infectiously friendly and when he smiles your way, you can't help but feel a little more giddy.

“Well, good to know you have great taste in food and in pets, Professor. Hopefully that good taste rings true elsewhere, hmm?” Belz leans on their palm, giving you another wink.

You find yourself stuttering, rubbing the back of your head as you try to come up with a funny retort, but then-

“Professor? Could I ask for some advice on something?”

Belz stands up with a flourish, their billowing clothes making the motion seem extra elegant. “Well, it seems my people need me.”

“Of course, I’ll let you get back to work.”

Belz places a hand on your shoulder, that flirtatious smile making the contact feel even more electrifying. “Feel free to stay as long as you like, I have a kettle if you’d like some tea to warm you up.”

“Thanks again, but I probably should go and find my office. Be brave and face the rain.”

Belz smile widens, their eyes wandering down before locking you in with a sultry gaze. “Well, feel free to holler if you need anything. And you can stop by my class anytime.”

Belz begins ti walk away, but keeps their hand lingering on your shoulder. Their fingers glide across the back of your shirt, only loosing contact only when they’ve walked too far away.

Goosebumps rise to your skin, and you know it’s not from the wet clothes.

“Who knows, maybe you could be the model next time.” With another sultry wink, they walk away and to their student, immediately shifting into teacher mode as they look over the sketch.

You scurry out the door with a weak goodbye, hoping the cold rain will help your burning blush.

—-

Its your first official day of teaching and you're leaving the lecture hall with a pep in your step. Your students are much more engaged than you thought they would be for a morning class and you have a nice hour break before office hours. A warm lunch waits for you in your mini fridge, though you’re slightly regretting not grabbing those cookies you had back home; You were really craving some sweets.

You’re fiddling with the keys to your office door when you notice a small bag sitting right outside. It might have been mistaken for garbage, if not for the sticky note with your name and a heart stuck to the outside. You pick it up, nudging open the door with your hip as you walk inside, opening the bag with two fingers.

The first thing you see is paper wrapping, the thin kind all bakeries use, and then you the sweetest, most delectable looking blueberry muffin. It’s still warm to the touch, with a tasteful amount of sugar crystals on the top.

You place the muffin down on your desk, noticing the note underneath it. You unfold and read it as you sit down in your office chair.

You’re favorite, hope you’re having a great first day <3

-Belz

The smile that creeps up on you is a giddy one, quickly tesring open ghe muffin and taking a large bit.

Damn, this is delicious.

#my writing #reader insert #gender neutral reader #monster x reader #incubi #succubi #fluff #meet-cute

[358jours]

Tighnari x GN!Reader⎢Funky fungi meeting

Word Count⎢562

Genre/Tags⎢SFW, fluff, accidental meet-cute, fungi loves you⎢Crossposted on AO3

You look at the group of what you might best describe as a combination of mushrooms and hydro specters, floating around you. It’s the first time you’re seeing them, and while you cannot tell if they are foes or allies, they are pretty cute. They’re not attacking (yet, at least) and neither are you, far too taken by curiosity. 

One comes closer to you, observing.

The gloved palm you gently extend in its direction seems peaceful enough for the flying mushroom to land on. it’s odd, how it both weighs and doesn't. You can tell something is in your palm, but it’s pretty empty. The closest comparison you come up with is a balloon that is not entirely filled with water.

You realise that given its size, one movement slightly too abrupt would send it floating away.

Instead, you opt to smile at it. It looks back at you (it’s a bit unnerving, the way it doesn’t blink at all). For a few moments, it’s just that. You and this questionable form of life, having a stare down. 

It lets out an odd noise and suddenly, all of its companions float closer and closer, only to all land on you. Your arms, your shoulders and even the top of your head, are good places for them. 

“Ah.” You’re a bit lost on what to do now. There’s the worry that they might be poisonous, and the toxins will get through your thinner clothes. Maybe they would attack you if you were to chase them away. Maybe, they will slowly eat away at your life force if you let them there.

Yet you do nothing to make them move away, merely contemplating your options and possible dangers. 

“What are you doing?” 

The squeal that you let out is best described as pathetic. The mushrooms, all as taken by surprise as you are, float away as quickly as possible. 

The culprit turns out to be a boy in a mainly dark oceanic-blue outfit. His eyes shine green, his hair is dark blue with some apple-green highlighted locks. Yet his most surprising characteristic is the big, long, pair of animal ears on the top of his head. 

You dust your outfit quickly before turning around to face him. You’re tense, it shows in your awkward stance, the way you avoid eye contact. Yet, he seems pretty unaffected. “...I was observing them. It was my first time seeing creatures like those.” 

He blinks, unimpressed. “Is that so? I suppose you are not from here, given that attire.” 

“Yes!” you continue. “I was tasked by the Liyuan Adventurers’ Guild to investigate the Chasm, both underground and aboveground. As such I am simply exploring the area.” 

He tilts his head slightly. His frown is discreet enough not to be noticed. “Are you aware you’re in Sumeru’s Avidya Forest then?” 

“Ah.” 

Your facial expression must have been quite glorious, enough for him to pinch the bridge of his nose “No, I wasn’t …?” 

“ قَضيّة خاسِرة“ He says, in Sumeru language (as if you understood). You’re unsure of what to do or say so you keep it to yourself. When he drops his hand, he looks at you unimpressed. “I’ll walk you back to Chasm territory.” 

You can’t help but smile. “Thank you so much sir!” 

He begins to walk. “It’s Tighnari.”

(You’re unaware of the lecture you’re about to receive.)

#tighnari x reader #x reader #geshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #tighnari genshin x reader #tighnari x gn reader #fluff #meet-cute #nekonohanashi

[immacaria]

Fluffbruary: February 1 - Museum

Tags: Meet cute; Human AU; First time meeting; remembering; established relationship; Fluff or something similar to it; College AU

  The first time Morpheus entered a museum as an adult, it was raining. He was running away from it, recently out of class and walking back home when rain came pouring down. It had been raining for the past three days non-stop, but it still got him by surprise. 

  So, yes, the first time he entered a museum as an adult was an accident. 

  It was also the first time he met Hob Gadling. 

  The man was sitting in front of Death by Janis Rozentāls, staring at it as if it held all the answers about life. His eyes were fixed on it, ignoring the very few humans walking around him in favour of staring at that single painting. There was a dark expression on his face, as if this painting in particular held personal offence to him.

  Hob was the first one to talk between them, noticing Morpheus just standing there and staring at him, and asked if he knew the painting. Of course he did, it was his older sister's favourite painting, how could he not know? 

  "I'm Robert, but you can call me Hob, if you want," he had said, reaching a hand out to him and smiling. 

  "Pleasure," Morpheus said, shaking his hand before he added: "Why were you staring at the painting?" And that was all it took for them to get friends. 

  They spent hours in that museum, rain and appointments forgotten just so they could talk and discuss the paintings and the statues in there. And, then, when it was finally time to go home, Morpheus had asked to meet him again in that same place and hour next week. Crazily enough, Hob accepted. 

  Now, years later, Morpheus watched as Hob cooked for them, hair a complete mess and wearing only sweatpants he found thrown in the floor of their room. 

  Their. It was their room. It had taken them years, numerous people telling them the same and they almost losing each other to realise their feelings, but they had realised and it was their house now. 

  "What are you thinking about?" Hob said, looking over his shoulder to where Morpheus was finishing putting the dishes away. 

  "How do you know that?" Morpheus turned to him, one eyebrow lifted and leaning against the counter. 

  "Because I know you and I know that look on your face," he whispered, turning the stove off and walking to him. "You are thinking about something, aren't you?" 

  "Perhaps," he whispered back as Hob kissed his shoulder, his hands finding their way to Morpheus' hips and just staying there, gentle and caring. Hob was always gentle and caring with him. 

  "Do you want me to guess what you were thinking about?" His lips were over his collarbone now, tracing the little freckles there slowly. "You were thinking about me..." Each word was punctuated by a kiss, his hands coming up Morpheus' shirt as he pressed closer to him. "And a museum..." A kiss to his neck. "And a specific painting..." A kiss to his jaw. "And I know I'm right." 

  "You think so highly of yourself," Morpheus said, taking Hob's chin in his hand and bringing their mouths close. "I fear for your downfall." 

  "We both know you would be there to catch me," and he sealed their lips close, pressing impossibly close to him. 

  Yes, he was right, he would always be there to catch him.

#my fics #my writing #macca writes #fics #fanfiction #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #dreamling fic #dreamling nation i blame you #fanfic #human au #college au #meet-cute #fluff #established relationship

[newtabfics]

We need more Rauru pls maybe on how we met him?

Okay this had to wait until after I beat the game but honestly, seeing one of the major cutscenes about Mineru briefly talking about Sonia and Rauru meeting and marrying, I just got inspired.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

"Get down!" A voice echoed as Rauru looked up to see a stone coming straight for him.

He had reflexively thrown up his arms to shield himself when he watched it stop in the air. He blinked as he watched it launch back at the Octorok that'd attacked him for getting too close to the water.

"Are you alright, your highness?" A guard had asked as a woman rushed into view as the monster died.

He gulped and stared before seeing the glow on her hand fade. "Was that...you?" He asked.

Her cheeks flushed as she hid her hand behind her back quickly as if it'd make him forget her power. "Are you alright though?" She asked. "Watch out. This is Octorok territory. They do have good range on them so might want a bow on you next time you pass through her."

"How did you do that?" he asked, smiling as he approached. "That was fascinating. Show me."

She blushed, smiling sweetly as she shrugged. "It's like asking it to remember something. I just ask where it was and tell it to go back. I don't really know how else to explain it."

Rauru barked a laugh. "Yet you explain it so simply. Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Uh, well, I'm Y/N and I'm here because the boar out here are tasty?" She laughed, gesturing to the bow and quiver on her back. "And you are?"

"Rauru."

Y/N's cheeks went red as she quickly bowed, making him laugh and wave his hands, asking her to not be so formal. Neither realized what had begun for them.

#drabble #rauru totk fic #meet-cute #she rescues him #rauru x fem!reader #totk fluff #rauru totk fics

[jomiddlemarch]

With you nothing is simple yet nothing is simpler 

Rose stood before her, drooping, her braids coming undone, shoes scuffed, a new rip in her overalls, giving Hermione a look of absolute incredulity when faced with the undeniable truth:

Hermione had forgotten to pack snacks. 

She didn’t even have a bloody Polo mint somewhere in the recesses of her beaded bag, Transfigured to look like an ordinary mum’s ordinary leather handbag, designed to carry her through her day at the Ministry and any trips she might make to Muggle London. 

Forget about something healthy. 

She had planned to rely on the water fountain, that wasn’t another complete miss on her part.

She opened her mouth to begin the explanation-slash-apology that would not satisfy either one of them. Rose already had that furrow in her little brow that meant she planned to invoke Nan, which only ever meant Molly, and how important Nan said it was for growing human beans to have good homegrown food and not that muck Mum bought from Tesco’s.

“I have plenty, if she’s hungry. The fruit’s already cut, it won’t keep, and these pesto egg muffin bite things he said he liked yesterday, so of course I’ve gone and made far too many.”

That was Draco Malfoy, sitting on the bench just next to hers, a rucksack and some sort of sport-inspired hamper beside him, unable to resist rubbing it in, that he was a better prepared and more attentive parent than she was, the he his neatly and comfortably dressed five year old son Scorpius, who somehow made the jersey and shorts he wore look like the ideal outfit for a Wizarding child. His fringe was the proper length and not slicked back with some imported pomade like Draco’s had been for the first three years at Hogwarts, and he was busy constructing something tower-like from the stones, twigs and other assorted detritus he’d scoured the park for while Rose ran around, screaming like a banshee and climbing halfway up a tree before scuttling down again before Hermione had to call out to tell her too high, Rose!

Hermione turned her head to convert her explanation-slash-apology into a far more gratifying coldly cutting retort that she had to trust to inspiration to supply, since she had nothing approaching the moral high ground, when she actually looked at Draco’s face, which was tilted in an encouraging and frankly kind manner, and consider the tone of his voice, which had been commiserating and not the least judgmental. Hermione was quite familiar with the myriad shades of judgment and Draco’s voice hadn’t held even one.

He was also incredibly fit.

(That wasn’t really relevant to her decision-making, but it was note-worthy as a general fact.)

“Rose, Mr. Malfoy has some fruit if you want a snack. And something else tasty and homemade, just like Nan would have given you for tea,” Hermione said. Rose sized up Draco in an instant, pivoted to rifle through the sporty hamper, retrieved a little baggie of apple slices and another of the unexpectedly attractive pesto egg bites that reminded Hermione she’d also forgotten lunch and a stale ginger biscuit at her desk was going to have to hold her until after Rose was asleep.

Again.

“Ta,” Rose said, about to fly. It was impossible that she wouldn’t be Quidditch-mad. 

“Rose,” Hermione said. 

“Thank you, Mr. M’Foy,” Rose said. It was anyone’s guess if she would have gotten Malfoy correct without her mouth half stuffed with Braeburn. 

“You’re quite welcome,” Draco said.

Hermione nodded and Rose scrambled away, as fast as her hand-me-down trainers could take her.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. Her wild magic on an empty stomach is terrifying,” Hermione said. Was she bragging about Rose’s magic, when she’d heard rumors Scorpius Malfoy might be a Squib? Probably and she wasn’t proud of it, but that wasn’t unfamiliar either.

“I find them terrifying full-stop,” Draco said. “Adorable, would lay down my life for him in a heartbeat, makes me question every decision my own parents ever made on my behalf, but terrifying nonetheless.”

Hermione laughed. It was the first time she could remember laughing at something Draco said without there being any seething vitriol or tearful desperation she’d had to tamp down or put aside. It felt…nice.

“I have a bit more sympathy for my parents,” she offered. “My wild magic started when I was a toddler and they had no idea what to make of it. No context at all. My mother told me, during out sixth year, that she’d thought she was losing her mind. I was well on my way to inventing Leviosa before I got a hold of the first year spellbooks.”

“Yes, I can see how that might be where one would go. Madness, that is,” he said. There was a frankly companionable silence between the two of them and then he spoke again. “Sometimes, I can’t help regretting it.”

“Regretting what?”

“I love him, with all that I am, my heart and soul and magic. And I can’t help regretting sometimes I agreed to it, having him when I, when we did,” he said. He turned away slightly, so that she saw him in profile, a face like a god’s on a coin, the straight nose, the full lower lip, his jaw held tightly. 

“Why are you telling me?” she asked.

“For one, I don’t think you can think any worse of me than you already do, so that makes you perfect for such a shameful admission,” he said, shrugging. “Secondly, you let your daughter eat the snacks I made. Not that I’m trying to make you feel like you owe me something, that I’ve caught you out. You trusted me with your child, that’s what I meant.”

“I think you underestimate how I think of you,” she said slowly.

“Is that better or worse? Do you mean you think well of me and now I’ve dropped in your estimation? Or did I somehow go from sniveling worm beneath your heel to abysmal slime-mold you wouldn’t use your wand to scrape off with magic from said heel?”

He sounded resigned, amused, self-deprecating. His voice was low, a rich baritone, only a little of that drawl he’d had at Hogwarts left. The perfect amount. 

“I wear flats unless I’m in court,” she said. “I don’t hold the past against you anymore, we were children, child-soldiers, pawns moved around by people who should have known better. Played a better game of Wizarding chess, given that it was our lives they used. I regret it, myself, having her so young, though I don’t let myself think it if I can help it. I can’t, if I want to keep being a decent mother.”

“You are clearly an exceptionally fine mother. Why did you do it? You’re Hermione Granger, you don’t make decisions you regret,” he said.

Now she laughed, a bitter sound, that kept the tears in her eyes from spilling. 

“Don’t believe everything you hear. Or read,” she said. “I lost my parents in the war. They were both only children, my grandparents were gone a long time ago. Rose was my one chance to have a family, someone who belonged to me.”

“I’m terribly sorry. I hadn’t heard they’d died,” he said.

“They’re alive. Just…lost. Turns out, if you do a thorough enough Obliviation, there’s no return. The person they were before is effectively dead. They’re just not sad about it. That’s for other people,” Hermione said.

“Astoria told me it was her dying wish to have a child, even though it would kill her,” Draco said.

“That’s why you agreed?”

“No. I refused when she said that. She used blood magic, from the binding. Once that was done, it was either lose them both or just her,” he said. “She didn’t know that for sure, there was plausible deniability and we’d said someday. She made someday happen sooner than I thought possible.”

“You loved her,” Hermione offered. She’d never met Astoria, who’d been a few years behind them at Hogwarts and in Ravenclaw, had only a dim memory of the photo that had been in the Prophet when the marriage was announced, a slim, dark-haired young woman wearing a lot of lace standing next to Draco, who’d been all in black. Wizards wore all sorts of things to funerals. Only Hermione saw him in mourning at his wedding.

“In a way. I hated her too. I didn’t want to be either of my parents and I didn’t know how to be anything else,” he said. “My parents were overjoyed, a Malfoy heir, no miscarriages, no stillbirths. A healthy Pureblood baby. That’s quite rare, all the inbreeding, you understand. They think Astoria was a paragon of virtue and also, they didn’t give a damn about her.”

Scorpius ran over and stretched out a hand to show Draco a stone. It was an unremarkable piece of quartz, though it did catch the light.

“What a find, love. You can bring it home if you like or leave it here. You could even hide it, like goblin treasure,” Draco said, studying the stone, reaching out to straighten the collar of Scorpius’s jersey. He touched Scorpius’s cheek fondly, but he didn’t try to wipe the smear of dirt there, nor did he say anything about his son’s grubby hands. Hermione recalled what a pristine child he’d been, all silver and green, how he’d stand between his parents, very still, as if a portrait were being painted. 

“Hide it—” Scorpius said and darted back over to the field, just at the edge where a copse of trees stood, shadows beckoning. The whole playground was heavily warded and there were monitoring spells St. Mungo used for observation. It was safe enough to let him run away.

“That’s what I thought,” Draco said, shooting her that familiar parental glance, proud and powerless. 

“Ron begged me not to end the pregnancy. It wasn’t planned. The Healers said the curse damage I suffered from Bellatrix was unpredictable, the interactions with contraceptive charms and potions would have made them less effective. It wasn’t my fault, except I never told them I hadn’t bothered with any spells or potions, so it was, in a way. I didn’t care and then I did. I told Ron I was pregnant and he told me he was gay and in love with Theo and it would break his mother’s heart if he never gave her a grandchild. My parents were gone. Harry and Ginny were expecting, Andromeda was raising Teddy, Bill and Fleur just had Victoire. It was easier to say yes. It made so many people happy and Ron did what he said he would,” Hermione said. Andromeda knew most of it, but Hermione had never told anyone all of it, certainly not in one sitting, not sitting on a park bench in the weak English sunshine, without a Polo mint to her name. Augusta Longbottom had said Hermione should do as she liked but it was rare to see such a strong magical signature in the first trimester, though likely it would happen again, for a witch of her abilities. Likely hadn’t seemed like a good enough bet, not when Ron’s blue eyes had pled with her and he’d held her hands in his instead of touching her completely flat stomach. 

“What he said he would?” Draco repeated. He sounded encouraging, not nosy. Not prepared to made a rude remark about Ron or the Weasley family as a whole. It felt…good.

“Molly wanted me to name her Frederica. Winifred. Or Elfreda. It was ghastly. Even I knew Fred would have loathed it. Ron put his foot down and told her we weren’t doing that to a baby and that I had final say on her name. Then he came out to them, Molly and Arthur, so the name part receded as something anyone cared that much about,” Hermione said. “I don’t have to tell you how Purebloods feel about that, however warm and Muggle-forward they seem to be.”

“Bloody hell,” Draco said.

“There was a lot of screaming. Arthur finally told Molly to be grateful she had a son alive to tell her what made him happy and she piped down,” Hermione said. “She started knitting a jersey for Theo as soon as Ron let it slip they were involved. It was a little forced, but I think the knitting settled her down, let her feel like she was back in charge of the family. Molly had a great need for that.”

“Ah, the famous Weasley jersey,” Draco said.

“Infamous is more like it,” she replied. “Fleur won’t wear hers at all. But she’s married to Bill, so she can get away with it.”

“I gather you don’t have the same option,” he said.

“Molly watches Rose when Ron and Theo and I are all working or busy, always sends home dinner, invites me to Sunday lunch even when Ron and Theo have Rose. She’s Rose’s only grandmother. She means well,” Hermione shrugged. “Fleur wears cashmere and Molly sniffs. I Transfigured mine into a cardigan. Molly didn’t mind that, as long as the H is all on one side. I hid the pockets I added.”

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he said, squinting a little against the light, the sun lower in the sky. Rose had approached Scorpius and now they were working on something with less height but a larger area. Hermione suspected St. Mungo’s had tracking spells to evaluate wild magic. At Rose’s last Healer’s visit, Hermione had been advised to stock up on Easiheal and beginning Arithmancy books, as if she and Ron hadn’t already done so (plus the Wizarding chess set Theo had brought out to let Rose watch them play.)

“It beats the alternative,” Hermione said. He shifted, faced her full on. They both looked older than they were, Draco with shadows under his grey eyes that spoke of broken sleep, Hermione with a streak of white in her hair like a ribbon, neither of them partial to glamours. He’d grown a fair amount after Hogwarts, his shoulders broader, his lanky frame filled out, and he dressed the part of an older man, much as Hermione had her mum’s uniform on. For a moment, she only saw the boy he’d been, too clever by half, preening, insecure, nervous he’d be caught caring. He’d taken the Dark Mark or rather, it had been forced on him, hidden by the sleeve he had securely fastened with monogrammed cufflinks. He could be the Dark Lord’s deputy, she could be dead in a ditch, both their first wands broken.

“I don’t think that’s as true as people say,” he replied. “We could have been given a chance to grow up. To put ourselves first, not the survival of the Wizarding world or the Noble House of Black. We could have found ourselves here in another ten years or twenty, with children we had chosen to have. Had wanted to bring into existence from dreams. We wouldn’t have to be alone, here, and at home, sitting by ourselves with a drink after we put them to bed, wondering what happened—”

“It’s hard,” she said, to stop him, because he was so right it hurt. She drank tea at night, even though it kept her up, because drinking wine or whiskey alone was worse. Ron and Theo encouraged her to go out when they kept Rose, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to explain who she was and she couldn’t bear it they already knew. She drank oolong, Darjeeling, PG Tips, always black, and she never read the leaves.

“What if it were easier?” he asked.

“Easier?”

“What if you told me what happened and I told you, after we put them to bed. What happened that day, not just what Rose did and what Scorpius said, but how you dealt with that stroppy minister from Croatia and how I heard back from Damaris, in Alexandria, about that manuscript revision, and what we could bring to the potluck Neville’s insisting on hosting instead of getting a proper caterer,” he said. “Samosas, for the record. Though I can manage vol-au-vents in a pinch, if you wanted to be Muggle retro about it.”

“That’s a lot happening,” she said. It was a leap, an enormous, across-a-chasm leap, he was describing and also just words, a possibility she could dismiss with a shake of her head, a slight frown, some politeness he’d accept instantly. His eyes, though, were hopeful, watching her.

“Scorpius will probably interrupt. He usually wants a glass of water exactly when I’m at a good part,” Draco said.

“Rose talks in her sleep. In French. It’s quite distracting,” Hermione said. When had she ever backed away from something daunting? Granted, she usually did some research first. Draco knew what a vol-au-vent was; she clearly wasn’t the only one who prepared. “It’s better than mine. She talks to Fleur and Gabrielle a lot.”

“I’m fluent,” he said. “In French and wheedling.”

“I’m good at pouring a glass of water wandless. I make the water take the shape of a dolphin going into the glass but I can do a Hippocampus too,” Hermione said.

“Are you hungry? I have apple slices and pesto egg muffin bites going begging,” he said, smiling. He had a sweet smile and a gleam in his eyes that was positively, gratifyingly filthy. She blushed, dropped her gaze from his.

“You’re a very pretty mummy, Hermione,” he said softly. “But it can be whatever you want, however you want. It can be maybe later, after you look at your calendar. Half-past never. Whatever’s easier—”

“I didn’t bring any snacks to the park and I have nothing planned for dinner unless we get Indian takeaway again. For the third time this week,” she said in a rush. “It would be easier to have someone else take care of dinner. I’m not picky, Rose isn’t either.”

“Bolognese or carbonara?” Draco asked. “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy is made 98.2% from pasta. Don’t be deceived by the organic apple slices and pesto egg affectations.”

“Carbonara’s faster,” Hermione said. 

“But what do you want?” Draco hit the you and want with a perfect balance of emphasis. It made her remember she was only twenty-four years old. Hermione, not only Madam Granger and Mummy and ‘Mione.

“Bolognese,” she said. She reached over, touched his hand where it rested beside his leg. He couldn’t mistake her intention. “Everyone calls her Rose, but I named her Roseline, from Shakespeare. Roseline’s the one Romeo liked first. She goes away. Lives her own life off-stage.”

“I had to pick a constellation. I wouldn’t do it again,” he said.

Ten years later, after a long day and a longer night, he arrived, only a little later than they’d planned and just as they’d hoped. They named him Hugo.

#dramione #hermione x draco #post-hogwarts #family #angst #meet-cute #ron weasley being not as bad as you think #ron/theo #weasley family #dad!draco #mum!hermione #park bench #kidfic #since my fic tagged colic has outstripped my sex pollen tagged fic #in hits and kudos #I decided to double down on DILF!Draco #scorpius malfoy #rose weasley #epilogue what epilogue #very canon au #single parents #widower!draco

[stayteezdreams]

Pay Me Back: Part Two

Plot: A few days after you meet Jeongin, you return to the cafe, hoping you might see him again.

-Part One-

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x Gn!Reader

-Meet-Cute Masterlist-

Words: ~1.5k

As you walked down the familiar street, you held onto both hope and doubt. You had come to the cafe a few times since you met Jeongin, hoping you would see him again, but never did.

The day you met, you stayed and had coffee with him for over an hour, talking and bonding over various things. When he suddenly had to go, you said your goodbyes but realized too late that neither of you asked the other for their number.

Now your only hope of seeing him again was by running into him at the only place you knew he frequented. But you had failed so far.

Part of you felt a bit pathetic trying so many times, but you really liked Jeongin, and you wanted to know if he felt the same. Though, the thought that maybe he didn't ask for your number on purpose plagued you.

Walking into the cafe, your eyes scanned each table. You let out a soft sigh as you saw no sign of him. Approaching the counter, you ordered a drink, deciding to stay for a while. Just in case.

You tapped your fingers softly on the counter as you waited for your drink. Thought began running through your mind.

How many times were you going to try before you gave up? Maybe it was the fact that you were trying that it was failing? Or maybe it wasn't fate after all.

So lost in thought, you didn't hear the door open and close as someone else entered the cafe.

Taking your drink with a smile and nod of thanks, you spun around the find a seat, only to find yourself face to face with the one person you had hoped to see.

His eyes widened a bit as they locked with yours, before smiles appeared on both your faces.

"Jeongin!" You greeted, hoping you didn't sound too excited.

He let out a soft laugh "Y/n, hi!"

He stepped up to you and a shy smile formed on his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I was hoping to see you here" he noted softly and you felt your heart flip.

You bounced a bit on your toes and you smiled shyly. "You were?"

He nodded, feeling the tips of his ears burning. "Yeah. I uh, realized I didn't ask for your number the other day, so I was hoping I would see you again."

You smiled, trying to repress the giddiness rising in your chest as relief washed over you. So it wasn't like you feared.

"I was hoping to see you again too" You admitted, your voice coming out softer than you intended as you felt your neck get hot.

Jeongin smiled widely, "Do you have time now? I mean, to...talk, maybe have coffee again?"

You nodded happily before waiting for him to order a drink. Finding a seat at the window you sat down beside each other. Shy smiles on both your faces as you both hoped the other couldn't sense your nervous giddiness.

Conversation came easily between the two of you again as you now sat turned in your seats, facing each other. You were on your second drinks and even ordered a few pastries. Learning you had the same favorites.

As Jeongin was speaking, his eyes glanced out the window before his voice cut, and eyes suddenly widened. Suddenly, he ducked down below the window.

You jumped slightly, unsure of what was going on. Looking out the window to see what might have startled him, your eyes landed on two people who looked vaguely familiar.

You looked down at Jeongin as he cringed a bit, clearly embarrassed by his sudden actions.

"Do you know them?" You asked curiously.

He nodded. "My friends."

That must be why they're familiar, you noted. You must have seen them in the cafe with Jeongin before.

"Why are you hiding if they're your friends?"

"Because if they see me, they'll come in and then they will come over to us and then never leave."

His voice was somewhat dramatic and you giggled softly.

Looking back out the window you saw the two had walked past. "It's okay, they're gone now." You said with a soft laugh.

He sighed in relief as he sat back up. "You laugh, but trust me, it would be torture."

As Jeongin nervously ran his hand through his hair, you watched him before he froze as a voice called out.

"See, I told you I saw him!"

You looked over to see the two had come back, and into the cafe. Looking at Jeongin you saw him dying inside as he watched the two approach your seats.

You smiled politely at them as they eyed you with curious smiles.

"Hi" one of them with pastel pink hair greeted you.

"Hello" You waved softly as the other nodded politely at you.

As they looked back at Jeongin you could clearly see they held a curious and teasing gaze and you looked over at him and smiled.

"Y/n this is Hyunjin and Seungmin, hyungs this is Y/n."

"Ooh, Y/n" Seungmin said softly hinting that Jeongin had mentioned you.

Jeongin's ears were turning bright red as he cleared his throat, "Are you two heading somewhere?"

"We just wanted to walk around." Hyunjin said as his eyes grazed the seat beside Jeongin.

Seungmin was eyeing the menu and Jeongin began to panic as he feared they may decide to sit down, ruining his time alone with you.

"Can we hang out with you and your new friend?" Hyunjin asked, the teasing tone returning.

"No" Jeongin answered bluntly, and you almost laughed, but held it in.

"Why?" Hyunjin almost whined.

"Because we're on a date." Jeongin answered without really thinking.

Your heart jumped into your throat as you looked at Jeongin with mild shock.

Hyunjin and Seungmin's faces also held mild shock before they looked between the two of you.

Hyunjin lifted his hands "Then we won't interrupt!" Grabbing Seungmin's shoulders he turned him "We'll go, bye! Nice to meet you Y/n!"

As he began pushing Seungmin out of the cafe, you saw they held bright smiles on their faces as they glanced back at the two of you.

When they finally disappeared Jeongin let out a big sigh as he put his head down on the table in what you assumed was both relief and embarrassment.

"A date huh?" You asked after a moment, a teasing smile now on your face.

Jeongin slowly looked up at you and you could see how bright his ears were. He smiled bashfully as he sat back up.

"Sorry, I figured it might be the only way they'd leave us alone."

You giggled softly "It's okay, I don't mind."

Jeongin felt hope rise in his chest as you said this. He looked down at his hands shyly as he began to speak, "Would you mind if...it wasn't a lie?"

You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach as he shyly looked back up at you, his eyes locking with yours in a gaze more intense than you were expecting.

"What do you mean?" You asked softly, holding your breath.

"I mean, what if this was a date?"

If your heart could beat out of your chest, you thought it would at this moment.

"Do you...want it to be?"

He nodded softly, as he clenched his fists tightly.

Your smile lowly widened "So do I."

Jeongin let out a breath as he chuckled in relief, a grin spreading across his face.

You giggled softly, "I mean, it did already feel a bit like a date anyway." You said with a shy smile.

He nodded, "I felt that too."

He looked around before he looked back at you with a bright smile. "Are you finished?" He asked referenced the food.

You nodded and he smiled.

"Would you like to go on a walk by the river?"

You smiled and nodded, your excitement growing "That sounds nice." Your eyes glanced out the window before you repressed a chuckle. "Maybe somewhere along the way we can lose your entourage."

He rose his brow in confusion before you motioned your head to the window. Following your line of sight, he spotted Hyunjin and Seungmin watched the two of you from the street.

Seeing they were spotted, they both jumped in panic before they not so gracefully tried to hide behind a food truck.

Jeongin let out a groan but laughed "Something tells me that won't be hard to do." Looking back at you he grabbed your hand suddenly and let out a chuckle, "Back door?"

You laughed as you followed him out of the seat and towards the back of the cafe. Your heart racing as he looked back at you with a grin.

You didn't know if meeting Jeongin was fate, but you did know it was the best thing that could have had happened to you.

xx End xx

I wasn't quite sure what to do for this follow up part, but I hope you liked it!

Stray Kids General Taglist: @laylasbunbunny

Series Taglist: @bubblesreplies, @halesandy, @why-am-i-sad, @sourmooonlight, @jaeheekangslover, @seungminsdreamwife, @thesunsfullmoon, @ink-spilled-stars, @jisunglyricist, @marcillfll, @ultimatestayandminoronce, @cheeeseceli, @3rachasninja, @raehawthorne

Part Two Taglist: @violetvoo, @str4y-kidz, @chanceonceli @bmnyy <you mentioned wanting part 2 in your tags, so I thought I'd tag you, hope you don't mind :)

#yang jeongin #i.n #i.n/reader #i.n x reader #yang jeongin/reader #yang jeongin x reader #stray kid imagine #stray kid/reader #stray kids x reader #i.n imagine #yang jeongin imagine #meet-cute #pay me back part two #meet-cute series #stray kids fluff #i.n fluff #i.n fic #i.n fanfic

[petrifiedforests]

For the hurt/comfort prompts, I've got a couple ideas if you are interested:

15 "I'm going to be here when you wake up." Echo/Fives or Waxer/Boil

20 "Let's get you in the shower and we'll take it from there." Fox/Quinlan

Thank you for the lovely prompts!

You and @cacodaemonia had the same idea, great minds think alike :D

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clone Trooper Boil & Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars) Characters: Clone Trooper Boil (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Medic Waxer, Major Character Injury, Meet-Cute, the clone trooper way, Scout Boil Series: Part 5 of The grumpy one loves the sunshine one Summary:

Boil doesn't really feel like much of anything. Shock is a hell of a drug he's discovering. He's pretty sure that he's hurt. He must be or he wouldn't be staring at the sky in the middle of a mission.

Scout Boil's and Medic Waxer's first meeting

#marple-cat #cacodaemonia #tcw #sw tcw #tcw fanfic #clone wars #Waxer & Boil #meet-cute #medic waxer #scout boil #petrifiedforests writes #waxer #tcw waxer #tcw boil

[adobedragon]

As the dragonrider reaches for more stone, Keith speaks. “Keith. I’m Keith.” His voice cracks, hoarse from disuse.

S’hiro’s gray eyes, they are the gray of storm clouds, flick to Keith and he smiles. “Good to meet you, Keith.” How old is he? Keith wonders. Maybe twenty, twenty-one Turns? An odd sensation, the warmth of recognition flames up in his gut, and Keith looks away, eyes on the dragons.

A bronze and a brown, the brown large, nearly the size of the bronze. “Which one is yours?” says Keith.

S’hiro’s brow furrows in confusion for a moment then he works out Keith’s meaning. “The bronze. That’s Kuroth.”

Keith studies the great beast, wondering what it is like to soar high above the land on dragonback, a deep longing joining the warmth he feels toward S’hiro. The dragon turns his long triangular head, jeweled eyes whirling in hues of blue as they meet Keith’s gaze.

S’hiro chuckles. “He likes you.”

“He does?” Keith winces at the boyish awe in his voice, amazed that the magnificent creature likes him and also fascinated by this confirmation that dragons speak to their riders without words.

“So does Canth,” says the other rider.

Keith jumps, startled, feeling the eyes of all, dragonriders and miner folk on him. Especially the other dragonrider, who is studying Keith closely.

“Where were you born, boy?” says the other rider.

Keith bristles at “boy,” but answers. “Keroon. I think. My parents are dead.”

S’hiro, however is looking at the other rider, a question in his eyes. “A Candidate, F’nor?” he says flatly.

“Aye,” agrees the other rider, dropping a stone with a clatter into Dale’s basket. “You ever been to Benden Weyr?” He addresses the question to Keith.

Keith shakes his head, feeling a strange shift in the conversation’s undercurrent. “Candidate? For what?” He asks although he knows the answer but can’t believe it.

#keith #shiro #sheith #pre-sheith #meet-cute #Impression #dragonriders of pern #dragon #brown dragon #fanfiction #fanart #my art #people are still hard to draw #not my best but I like the colors #vld #crossover #paladins in pern #krita

[alexclrmontdiaz]

I still remember the first fall of snow

🎄 It's december and I will be posting some red, white & royal blue fics that I have been working on that are set in the month december.

I posted the next one on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/52345231

Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor

Category: M/M

format: stand-alone

Warnings: talk of deceased loved ones

When Henry left his hotel to roam the streets of Paris, he didn’t expect to wander into a bookstore and meet one the most devastatingly handsome men that he has ever seen. They hit it off instantly and before Henry knew it, they spent an entire afternoon in a coffee shop and on a bench underneath the Eiffel Tower.  Henry has never seen Paris as the City of Love, he wonders if the city could bring him love after all.

Click here if you'd like to check it out on ao3!

Click here if you'd like to check out my collection of december fics! 🎄

#red white & royal blue #rwrb #red white & royal blue fanfic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #Henry's POV #red white & evergreen collection #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #firstprince #meet-cute #first meeting #where Alex and Henry meet in a bookshop in Paris

[art-estrange]

(AMAMOA) Chapter 2: People Are People

Professor!Pedro Pascal x Teaching Assistant!Reader

Words: 1073

Masterlist

*All Pictures used (unless stated otherwise) will be found on my pinterest linked in the masterlist*

Story Warnings: MDNI 18+ (mostly in the off chance that I choose to explore heavy themes later on. This will obviously be updated at a later time) Crocs(yes that has a warning, i’m kind of obsessed with wearing crocs and currently own 2 pairs hopefully more in the future)

Story Content Tags (most of this is mentioned in later chapters.): Meet-Cute, First person perspective, Age-gap(F28/late 20s/early 30s x M40/late 30s/early 40s), Art references, new york nonsense written by a non-new yorker, spanish/spanglish, Lots of college technical talk, this was kinda based off a dream, crocs, College AU, AU where pedro isn't an actor/famous, slightly proofread… sorry for typos i'm trying guys😭😭😭

Chapter Summary: Reader comes to a possibly devastating realization on the way to the gallery, however Pedro remains his goofy-golden retriever self. Also Sarah Paulson is there, she’s a fellow professor at NYU and seems to be friends with Pedro… maybe more? 

LATE JUNE(PICKING UP AFTER CHAPTER 1):

With my outfit layed out, I slept like a baby with dreams of that sharp nose and bronze skin. The soft caress of his fingers against mine, those gentle puppy dog eyes like pools of warm cocoa. Pedro was in my dreams that night and the anticipation to see him again was almost palpable. I woke up that morning almost with a start, a jolt to rise from the sweetest slumber I had ever had. I got dressed and went about my day completing some lighter chores that I had left till the last minute. With a belly full of breakfast and a latte in hand, I slipped on some shoes at the door and went on my journey to see the man that’s invaded my dreams. On the way to the gallery I had a lot to think about, mostly the fact that when I looked at the fliers, both for the TA/Professor gallery and Pedro's…it was the same flier… I knew I had seen the flier before but I didn’t think it was the same flier I had seen earlier that day. In the back of my mind, despite having only thought about Pedro the whole morning, there was still a creeping feeling that the goofy loveable handsome Pedro I met yesterday…. Is my boss… or pseudo boss?? Or whatever, is the same Pedro that emailed me… the painting professor. It’s not exactly wrong if, per say in future, we were to pursue a relationship… IF that ever happened, not saying it would, but it wouldn't be bad if it did. He’s not my teacher… he’s a coworker… that’s higher up than me but he’s not the one ‘signing my checks’, sort-of-speak. The whole situation is conflicting, I mean there’s no denying that Peter/Pedro from the cafe is Peter/Pedro from my emails, he said it himself, his job has to do with painting and it's the same flier. There’s no way that they’re not the same person… there’s no way that there’s 2 Pedro’s/Peter’s both doing a job having to do with painting, having an art gallery AT THE SAME TIME IN THE SAME PLACE WITH THE SAME FLIER AREN'T THE SAME GUY. I worried about these intricate details, wringing my hands anxiously before texting him to ask if he wanted a coffee on the way there; just another way to delay the inevitable. I arrived with my watered down latte and his 6 shots of espresso over ice, still can’t believe he drinks this. The place was lively, there was light music playing in this brownstone walk-up that sat between an apartment and a warehouse turned studio. It wasn't too far from where campus resides, we were about a 10 minute walk in the direction of greenwich. I sent him a text letting him know I arrived and that I’d wait outside for him with his coffee.

Out walked the man of the hour. He strutted out in a fuzzy cardigan, no shirt underneath, his messy mop of hair now a quaffed wave of tresses trickling down the back of his head like a soft waterfall. A gold chain adorned his neck surrounded by a light smattering of chest hair. His dress shoes clicked against the concrete as he lifted his sculpted arms, fingers decorated with rings, to pull me into a warm hug. “Oh my god! I’m so glad you could make it! AND you brought me coffee!?” He exclaimed holding me out at arms length, inspecting my outfit and face almost like he’s committing my look to memory. “I mean it was on the way and I wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to celebrate my new friend!” my worries were still in the back of my mind, but on the forefront was how good he looked and how I should be enjoying myself. “By the way I hope you don’t mind, but most of the people here are colleagues from work plus some grad students that’ll be working alongside us for the semester. I mentioned I’m a professor right?” He gestures to the people inside and then looks around as he speaks, ultimately stopping to stare at me as he says the words that I dreaded the most. “Um no, you didn’t! But… there’s actually something I wanted to-” As I get to the topic that’s been flooding my mind, we get interrupted. “Hey! Sorry to cut in! Pedro we’re ready to have like the speech thing, everyones mostly here. Except for your TA… she RSVP'd but like I dunno.” What I’m assuming is a fellow professor, mutters the last part as though thinking out loud. “Oh! Ok thanks! Um Y/N this is Sarah Paulson, a theatre professor at NYU and a super close friend of mine. Sarah, this is Y/N, we met a couple days ago, remember the girl I told you about?” He introduces us as he holds both our hands. They talked about me…wait..they talked about me? THEY’RE CLOSE FRIENDS AND THEY TALKED ABOUT ME?! “Oh yeah, THIS clumsy bitch loves to make people bust their asses! It’s like the spacial awareness isn’t there or something.” Sarah laughs, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, head leaning against his, as she busts his balls about his goofy behavior. “Why don’t we go inside so you can see some of the pieces, maybe you can make some more friends while I have a short convo with some of my coworkers and the grad students?” He leads me in, his large hand guiding me by my lower back as Sarah strides in front of us. The warmth from his hand spreads throughout my whole body just as he levels himself to whisper in my ear “Don’t worry about her, she loves to tell people how much of a mess I am, while being a mess herself…that’s probably why we’re soulmates in a sense” the last part is muttered in thought, almost like I wasn't meant to hear it. Soulmates? Well that complicates things...more so than they already were…

Now's the best time to tell him, otherwise I'll never get to say it. “Hey so before we walk in there’s something I need to tell you…” I pull him aside so as to not block the entrance. “Yeah? What’s up?” he says, those puppy dog eyes boring into my soul, concern written all over his face. “So..”

To be continued…

Note: If you can’t find chapter 1 for whatever reason (it doesn’t wanna show ip in the pedro pascal x reader tag for some reason) you can find it on the masterlist linked above alongside the prologue and this chapter and any future chapters.

#x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #tumblr #art professor! pedro x ta!reader #meet-cute #professor!pedro #art professor! pedro x reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x you #pedro x you #pedro x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrito #professor! pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedroispunk #y/n #pedro x y/n #pedro pascal x y/n #occ!pedro #oc!pedro #where do i find a 5’11 chilean actor who may or may not br several years older than me who gives off daddy vibes and is goofy #this all started because of a dream #the title is a depeche mode reference #yes i made him a golden retriever #i know he would MOST DEFINITELY not act this way #AMAMOA

[onthedriftinthetardis]

Conjuring - Complete!

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Alternate Universe, but they are still an angel and a demon Rating: Adult/Explicit Tagline: It’s 2018. Crowley summons an angel to taunt, and meets Aziraphale — for the first time. 29k over 7 chapters and an epilogue. We’re down to the epilogue, which should be posted tomorrow!

Extra-special thanks to @mielpetite​ for the gift of a GORGEOUS illustration for Chapter 5! Thanks so much, friend! <333

Read from the beginning on ao3 Epilogue on ao3

IMPORTANT NOTE: Chapter 2 and later chapters will only be posted on ao3

Thanks to the women and the them on that one Discord server for their encouragement, WIP Wednesdays and Six-sentence Sundays!

And SO MANY THANKS to my brilliant beta reader, the lovely, thoughtful, and ever-kind @books-and-omens​! This story is so much better for their insightful feedback and I'm endlessly grateful for their friendship and tireless cheerleading. <3

***

Chapter 1

Crowley sprawled on his throne and sighed. He'd acquired a new sculpture that afternoon, of two winged entities wrestling, and rearranged it three times before he was satisfied with its location at the end of the hallway. He'd posted a photo of it to the invitation-only Demons group on Facebook (Zuckerberg was one of them), and had gotten a satisfying number of jealous likes and comments from his fellow infernal beings. Beelzebub had left an angry emoji, so that was a bonus. 

Then he'd watered and misted his plants, and trimmed one of his bonsai that was in dire need of a haircut. 

When he'd done all that, he opened a bottle of Bordeaux, flicked through his 1,800 satellite channels, and guiltily settled in to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" for the umpteenth time while getting more and more tipsy. Now it was nearly 2am, and he was burdened with a soul-deep ennui. 

He considered having a long nap. But then he stared at the ringing bell on the Christmas tree at the end of the movie — the bell that signalled that Clarence the angel had gotten his wings — and he cocked his head to one side, then the other. And he had a stroke of genius: he would summon an angel to torment! All right, perhaps he wouldn't torment the angel. But taunt, at least — he was good at taunting. And he grinned: he had a plan. 

People were summoning demons to do their bidding all the time. Crowley himself had been summoned at least a dozen times over the centuries. He'd never heard of anyone summoning an angel. But they were, at their core, similar beings. Crowley was sure that with a few modifications, an occult circle for demons could be modified to summon an angel. 

Crowley assembled chalk, candles, a bell and… he needed a component to act as bait. He pondered what might work as he quickly drew a circle with glyphs around the rim and a cross in the centre, and hastily arranged eight white tea lights just inside its circumference. (They were vanilla-scented ones that had been delivered by mistake, and he couldn't be bothered to return.) 

Crowley didn't have anything he thought an angel would want, but he needed something to lure the angel's corporation, so he poured another glass of the Bordeaux he was drinking, and set it in the centre of the summoning circle. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together in an unconscious parody of villains of the silent film era. 

He lit the candles, grabbed the bell, and sat back down on his throne. He picked up a pair of sunglasses from the side table and slid them protectively on his face. Now all he needed was an incantation. He didn't have one; he'd just have to wing it. 

"By all that is good and light and, er… sugar and spice and all things nice…," he winced, "angel, be summoned into my demonic presence!" And he rang the bell. 

To Crowley's surprise, there was a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, and a man-shaped being appeared in the circle in front of him, looking as startled as Crowley felt. He wore an entire ensemble of beige and brown clothing that would have been outdated over a century ago, and yet somehow managed to look right on him. 

"Hello?" said the strange angel. He looked intently at Crowley for a moment, then around in both directions, pausing for a moment as he looked at Crowley's new statue, then down at the tea light-surrounded chalk circle. 

"Ah. I see. What do you intend to do with me, demon?" he said, sounding… well, annoyed. 

This was a fair question. What was Crowley going to do with this frumpy angel, now that he had him? 

"I'll ask the questions here, angel," he said, recovering smoothly. 

"Oh dear. Is this your first time?" 

"What?!" Crowley squeaked. 

"Your first time with an angel," he said, not unkindly. 

"This isn't… I'm not…," Crowley objected. 

"Look, everyone has a first time, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

Crowley stared at him, jaw dropped, as if he'd never seen an angel before. 

"Not been on Earth long, have you?" the man-shaped being inquired politely. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Crowley said in horror, wondering how he had lost all control of this… whatever this was… so quickly.

"I'm sorry, I meant your first time summoning an angel. Aziraphale, by the way," he gestured towards his chest. "I'm a Principality — Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden! And you are?" 

"Crowley. Er… just Crowley. And I've been here since the beginning, I'll have you know."

"Really? No…Since Eden?" 

Crowley nodded, his mouth drawn in a tight line. 

"Well, goodness me. I thought I'd met all of your lot by now."

"I thought I'd met all of the original angels, but I've never laid eyes on you."

"Strange, isn't it."

"S'pose so," Crowley allowed. 

"So… why did you summon me here?" Aziraphale asked cautiously. 

Crowley was silent for a long moment, thinking. 

"Oh no… you're not going to torture me, are you?" Aziraphale said, alarmed. 

"Satan, no!" Crowley rushed to reassure him. "I was just bored. And a bit … well," he said awkwardly, "I don't really get on with other demons."

Aziraphale's expression softened immediately. "Oh, I see," he said gently. “It’s hard to make friends with demons, I suppose,” he continued, with a strange hesitancy, and for a moment it was as though he wasn't even there. 

"Yeah. I mean, humans are all right, some of them. But they're like mayflies."

"Yes, I quite understand."

"Anyway, you don't have to stay. I'll send you back where you came from," and Crowley started to get up. But he was forestalled by Aziraphale holding up one hand. Crowley sat down again, and looked at him, puzzled.

The angel smiled broadly. "Would you like to see a magic trick," he asked. 

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “You want me to let you do magic?”

"No real magic, I promise you! Just sleight of hand."

"Yeah… all right."

"Wonderful!" Aziraphale said, making quick, delighted, spidery motions with his fingers. He reached into his right waistcoat pocket. He frowned, and dug into his left pocket, frowned again, and patted both pockets. 

"Er… you wouldn't happen to have a 50p coin, would you?" 

Crowley rolled his eyes, then stood up and, with some difficulty, slipped his fingers into the right pocket of his jeans, and produced the requested coin. He took two long strides forward and handed the coin to Aziraphale, who took it with an apologetic smile. 

Their fingers touched as Crowley passed the coin, and the demon felt a warm spark travel from his fingertips throughout his entire nervous system. He just stood there, transfixed by the sensation, as Aziraphale blinked and then thanked him. Crowley finally stepped back and nearly tripped as he sat back down in his throne. What was WRONG with him?

His self-recrimination was interrupted by Aziraphale holding his arms out dramatically before turning them so that his palms faced the dark ceiling high above. The coin was in his left hand. He held it between his thumb and his first two fingertips. He quickly reached over with his right hand, looking like he was grabbing the coin, made both hands into fists, then smoothly moved his right hand towards Crowley and slowly opened his fist, revealing… nothing. The demon would have been halfway impressed if, at the same moment, the sound of a coin hitting the concrete floor hadn’t rung out in the flat. 

"That was the worst French drop I've seen since the invention of the French drop," Crowley said, wincing. 

Aziraphale looked down and followed the path of the coin as it rolled towards the throne, and the edge of the summoning circle. He pounced on it, and stood up, looking unperturbed.

“The spirits are in a mischievous mood today,” he announced cheerfully. “Here, though — nothing in my hands,” he carefully showed Crowley the empty palms of his right hand, then his left.

Crowley sighed, resigning himself to another classic magical blunder. He was the one who had summoned the angel, he thought grumpily. Why was HE the one being tortured?

“May I approach?” Aziraphale asked uncertainly.

Crowley raised his left eyebrow. “Yeah, all right.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips, and when Crowley continued to look at him suspiciously, he sighed. "You'll have to invite me a bit more… explicitly than that."

"Oh, right," Crowley said. "Do you swear you won't try anything nasty?" 

"I swear it by everything holy," Aziraphale said sincerely. 

"Oi! Are you trying to give me heartburn or what?" 

Aziraphale gave him a small apologetic smile. "So sorry."

Crowley nodded. "Aziraphale, you have my permission to cross the summoning circle." 

Thunder rumbled through the chamber, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Oh good Lord. Must these spells always come with sound effects?"

Crowley grinned. "Mages are such drama queens. Am I right?"

"Indeed."

Aziraphale approached him, seeming to look straight into his eyes behind his sunglasses, and reached next to his head, brushing his fingers and thumb lightly against Crowley’s neck behind his ear.

Crowley gave a small, involuntary shudder and froze. He had never been touched by an angel, and not by anyone for a long time. Which might account for the frisson of pleasure that pulsed down his spine.

The angel paused for a moment, as if he, too, was affected, then withdrew and showed him the coin. “Ta da!” he said softly. 

“Er, yes… that one was a bit better,” said Crowley rather breathlessly, still thoroughly distracted by the ghost sensation of Aziraphale’s fingertips raking against his skin.

And then Aziraphale grinned at him, and he smiled back, quite against his will. 

"Care for a drink?" Crowley said, three coin tricks later, each one worse than the last. He pointed behind Aziraphale at the wine glass in the centre of the summoning circle.

Aziraphale glanced at it with interest, then looked back at Crowley suspiciously. 

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking," Crowley said, half mockingly, half offended. 

Aziraphale started guiltily. 

"It happens to be a very nice Merlot," Crowley insisted. "Look, you were snared in this trap, you might as well enjoy the bait."

"You're a very unusual demon," Aziraphale remarked. Keeping one eye on Crowley, he stooped down and picked up the crystal glass. He carefully sniffed the deep red liquid, looked pleasantly surprised, and took a sip, swirling it inside his mouth before swallowing it. He closed his eyes and hummed appreciatively. 

Crowley felt his mouth go dry. A hum should not be alluring, but this one made his insides turn to warm goo. 

"Mmm. I taste blackberries, dark cherries, a hint of cedar, a touch of violets. It's lush, succulent, jammy, very racy finish… excellent." Aziraphale's eyes opened. "A 2009 from the Haut-Médoc, I believe." he announced, rather than asked. "Château Belgrave?" 

"How the Heaven do you know that?" Crowley said, glancing over the top of his sunglasses and revealing a flash of golden eyes. 

"Oh, I have a rather good palate for wine."

"I'll say," Crowley muttered, putting his head in his hand and thinking. 

Aziraphale took a sip and closed his eyes, and there was that hum of pleasure again. It landed in Crowley’s chest and sent out tingles that he tried to ignore, but failed utterly. Oh no. This was a disaster: he had a crush… on an angel. 

He grabbed the bottle of Château Belgrave, stood up quickly and sauntered towards the kitchen. "I'm just going to go grab another bottle or two," he threw over his shoulder. 

"And some cheese and biscuits?" Aziraphale interjected in a hopeful tone. 

Crowley smirked and turned around. "You're hardly in a position to ask for anything. But I'll see what I can do."

Aziraphale beamed at him. 

Crowley rolled his eyes and turned, starting for the kitchen again. Of all the bloody cheek! He'd summoned this angel, not the other way around. Nevertheless, he found himself rummaging in the back of his fridge. He returned to the living room with a wedge of Saint Albray, a small, rounded knife, and some water crackers on an oak cutting board, and set them down on an end table. Aziraphale was sitting on the floor inside the summoning circle, drinking his last mouthful of Merlot. 

"Angel, you don't have to sit on the floor — why don't you join me up here?" Crowley said nervously, waving towards the sofa. 

The demon held out his hand. Aziraphale took it, and a spark arced between them. Crowley pulled the angel to his feet, and reluctantly let go, Aziraphale's fingers slowly slipping through his grasp. He could swear the angel ran his thumb over his knuckles, ever so briefly, before he released his hand, and he barely managed to keep his cool.

"Please, sit." 

"Thank you," the angel said, sitting primly on the sofa. 

"More wine?" Crowley said, picking up the bottle and miming pouring with it. 

"I don't mind if I do," Aziraphale said, raising his glass to be refilled. 

Crowley poured the wine, and sat down beside him. 

Aziraphale saw the Saint Albray and made a pleased noise that shot right to Crowley's chest. The angel scooped out some of the soft middle of the cheese, spread it on a cracker, and popped it into his mouth. The sounds he made while he was eating were positively obscene, and Crowley couldn't speak for being so distracted. 

Aziraphale followed his food with a sip of wine, and closed his eyes, making noises of deep approval. Crowley couldn't help imagining Aziraphale's expression in a rather more intimate context, and it was starting to create a problem in his trousers. He crossed his legs, hoping that Aziraphale wouldn't notice anything. 

"The combination of flavours is fantastic," Aziraphale said, and Crowley relaxed slightly. But then the angel spread some more cheese on a cracker, and the process was repeated. Crowley squirmed.

And so it went, for twenty minutes, until all of the food was gone, and they had started on their third bottle of wine. Aziraphale made a remark about the divine inspiration behind the humans eating and drinking stuff that had, essentially, gone off. Crowley couldn't let that stand, and an argument had developed. 

"My point is… my point is," Crowley started drunkenly, "My point…," and then he paused, trying to remember what it was they had been talking about. "My point is… apples."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to say something, but Crowley pressed on, eager to keep his train of thought on the track. 

"I's just an innocent fruit, tryin' to do its thing and make more apple trees. Or it was, until God herself imbue… imboo… er, crammed it full of knowledge and shame."

"Now Crowley," Aziraphale started to object, but he paused, as if to think of what it was, specifically, that he objected to, and in the pause, Crowley barreled on. 

"I don't see what's so bad about knowing right from wrong, anyway," Crowley said in a hushed tone. 

"My dear boy," Aziraphale interrupted. "It's not for us to say. It's all part of the… the Ineffable Plan." Aziraphale gave him a soused smile, looking altogether too pleased with himself. 

"The Great Plan is ineffable?" Crowley asked, unable to pluck the meaning from his vocabulary while under the influence. He was startled that Aziraphale could still form a coherent sentence, and was well impressed despite himself. 

"Yes. And if God wants to make apples, or bananas or… what are those little orange fruits that make your mouth pucker? Like this…." Aziraphale asked hopefully, pursing his lips. 

But Crowley was suddenly focused on Aziraphale's lips, imagining leaning towards him for a kiss, and completely lost the plot. 

Aziraphale frowned. Crowley tried desperately to jog his memory of what the angel had asked him three seconds ago, but his eyes glazed over. There was a drunken pause. 

"Kumquats!" Crowley triumphantly announced. 

"Ah, yes!" Aziraphale sounded delighted. 

"What about them?" Crowley frowned. 

"If God had wanted to make a kumquat the vehicle of Original Sin, she would have." Aziraphale smiled victoriously. 

Crowley screwed up his face, aware that his argument had been derailed somehow. "No, no, no. No, we were talking about good and evil. You know good from evil. But you haven't fallen from grace. I, on the other hand, also theoretically know good from evil, and look at me," Crowley continued, suddenly melancholy. "I didn't mean to fall. I just asked too many questions."

Aziraphale looked at him sympathetically. 

Crowley couldn't stand it. "It was me, Aziraphale. I was the serpent who tempted Eve to eat the apple."

Aziraphale sucked a breath in through his teeth. "It was really you?" 

"Yes!" exclaimed Crowley miserably. "I just got told to go up there and make some trouble. I didn't know she was going to get kicked out of Eden, and all of the trouble that would cause, I swear."

Aziraphale looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Yes, I believe you.”

Crowley's chest felt tight, but in a new and strange way; half of him wanted the sensation to stop, and half wanted it to continue, and all of him wanted Aziraphale to keep looking at him that way: as if being a demon didn't make him inherently untrustworthy. He wasn't used to being believed, even — especially — by other demons. "I'm going to sober up," he said, swallowing against the lump in his throat. 

"So will I," said Aziraphale, and both of them took a deep breath and expelled the alcohol from their bodies. It left a sour, fuzzy feeling in the mouth, but it beat having a hangover. 

By unspoken agreement, they both headed back to the summoning circle. They walked slowly, which Crowley hoped meant that Aziraphale was as reluctant as he was for the evening to end. 

Crowley bit his lip. He'd hoped to see Aziraphale again sometime. But surely the angel wouldn't want to be around him, now that he knew who he was? 

When they reached the circle, Aziraphale pointed out a flaw in the outer ring, probably scuffed by his own leather-soled shoe. The circle was broken: there would be no return that way. 

"Fiddlesticks!" Aziraphale said, as if the word was a curse. "I'll have to miracle myself home, and I'm already over my transport allowance this month. That's going to cause problems. And paperwork."

"Fiddlesticks?" Crowley said incredulously, his eyes lagging as his head turned to confront Aziraphale. "Are you for real?" 

"Of course I'm real! What do you mean?" 

"I mean, no one but you has used that expression since the dawn of the 1960s."

Aziraphale pouted. And Crowley had been sure he couldn't get any cuter. "It's a perfectly good expression! And it stops me from saying… that other 'F'-word."

Crowley grinned, but then relented. 

"I suppose I could miracle you home," he said reluctantly. But suddenly something occurred to his freshly sober brain. "Unless… where do you live?" 

"I have a bookshop in London. Soho." 

Crowley grinned, "Angel, we're in London — my flat is in Mayfair!

Aziraphale's mouth morphed into a surprised "O" that turned into a grin. 

"Well I'll be damned!" he beamed. "We're practically neighbours!"

Crowley grinned back. His first instinct was to offer Aziraphale a ride home in the Bentley, but something stopped him. Then it occurred to him that he could extend the evening even further, if he dared ask. 

"Walk you home, Angel?" He held his breath. 

Aziraphale seemed startled for a moment, then fluttered his eyelashes at Crowley and quickly looked away. "I… Yes, thank you. I'd love the company."

Crowley smiled so widely, his cheeks ached. He was elated at the chance to spend more time with the angel, and from Aziraphale's answering grin, it seemed like his angel felt the same way. 

Crowley abruptly stopped smiling — when had he started thinking of Aziraphale as "his" angel? 

***

The early June evening was cool and damp with fog, but Crowley dragged his feet, not wanting the night to end. The smell of freshly mowed grass in Berkeley Square, as they passed through, overlaid the complex, layered odours of London itself. 

They talked about the weather, and how things had changed in Mayfair, and then Soho; an old restaurant gone here, a new church there. And they agreed on how people never seemed to be satisfied with what they had, always striving to make things better, more, or just different in the name of progress. But this was a characteristic that Crowley admired, and actively emulated, while to Aziraphale, it was somehow un-angelic, and something he tried to resist. 

"But why, Angel?" protested Crowley. "We wouldn't have any of the things you like, from wine to electricity, if it weren't for human ingenuity. Even books!" 

"Yes, that's true," Aziraphale admitted. "But that's just human nature for you. I do enjoy many of the things they come up with, but I feel it's not my place to, well… innovate."

Crowley shook his head so vigorously his sunglasses nearly fell off. He was sure that he was right, and was frustrated with Aziraphale's failure to recognize that. 

"You say it's un-angelic, but don't you ever get the urge to make something… better?" 

"Oh, constantly, my dear boy, particularly when it comes to people who are suffering. But that's what miracles are for," Aziraphale explained with a beatific smile. 

"What if you run out of miracles? Don't you get reprimanded if you use too many?" 

Aziraphale's smile faltered, and his eyes aged millennia in the flash of a second. 

Crowley swore at himself for making the angel unhappy. He wanted to pull him into his arms and sink his fingers into his pale hair, to say he was sorry, that it didn't matter. He took a deep breath instead. 

"That's when some innovation would come in handy," he murmured, looking softly at Aziraphale over his sunglasses. 

Curiously, Aziraphale blushed and looked away. 

"Perhaps you're right, but… how? I don't think I have it in me," Aziraphale said. 

"You could always ask me," the demon suggested. "I'm full of ideas," he added with a roguish grin. 

Aziraphale's pink cheeks turned scarlet. "Oh, yes? I'll keep that in mind. Er… thank you, Crowley," he said, sounding rather flustered. 

Crowley, who suddenly wasn't sure if they were still talking about human innovation, wasn't blushing at all. It took him a moment to formulate a reply. "Anytime, Angel."

Aziraphale stopped walking and looked shyly at Crowley. 

Crowley panicked. Why was Aziraphale stopping? And why was he looking at him that way? He didn't want Crowley to demonstrate his innovative tendencies now, did he? Was he supposed to do something? Did Aziraphale want to be kissed? Because Crowley desperately wanted to kiss him. Not just kiss him, but kiss him into the middle of next week. He suddenly had the horrible realisation that his jaw was slack, and his mouth had been hanging open; he was probably going to attract flies. Beelzebub, if he was especially unlucky. 

Aziraphale nodded happily to the right. "We're here. It's the bookshop. My bookshop, that is," he smiled. 

Crowley looked at the bookshop exterior, then back at Aziraphale. "Oh! Nice! Lots of … uh, books," he said idiotically, and wanted to discorporate on the spot. 

Aziraphale just smiled wider. "Thank you. I have a flat above the shop that's full of them, too."

Crowley nodded dumbly. What was he supposed to think about the angel mentioning his flat? Was it significant? Crowley's respiratory system seemed to think so, and went into overdrive. 

But Aziraphale had already turned away, and gone up the steps to the bookshop, unlocking the door. 

"Wait!" Crowley shouted. The angel turned around and looked at him in surprise. The demon bounded up the stairs. "I don't even have your phone number." He got out his phone, quickly opened the "add new contact" screen, and handed it to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale smiled coyly and carefully tapped a sequence of digits, then handed it back to Crowley. "That's my private line upstairs. Feel free to call me anytime, I rarely sleep."

Crowley smiled back, then frowned. "Wait, you don't have a mobile phone?" 

Aziraphale shook his head, his lips pursed tightly, as if he'd had this argument before many times. "No, I don't see the need for one," he insisted. 

"But how will I text you?" Crowley said petulantly. 

"Why do you need to text me? Can't you just talk to me?" 

"Yes, alright, fine. Luddite," Crowley teased. 

"Not at all," Aziraphale said primly. "I'm not in favour of destroying machinery, I simply enjoy talking to people. Just because you suffer from technophilia…."

Crowley barked out a laugh. "All right, keep your tin can and string. I'll call you tomorrow."

Aziraphale nodded, looking pleased. He stepped into the bookshop and turned around. "Goodnight, Crowley."

"Night, Angel."

Chapter 2 on ao3

#good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #Aziraphale/Crowley #Aziraphale x Crowley #good omens au #humor #crack treated seriously #fluff #smut #hurt/comfort #bickerflirting #summoning #meet-cute #good omens fanart #fanart #artwork on chapter 5 on ao3 #Chapter 6 is where the rating goes up! #I wrote this #lemons #complete