#meetcute | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

“Damn,” Lance mutters to himself, craning his neck as he takes in the building in front of him. The tall, beautiful building. The expensive building, Lordie. They’ve come a long way since they were bunked up in their piece of shit studio apartment, 19 years old and stressed and completely unsure about what they were doing in life.

Lance snorts. Well. Maybe they haven’t changed that much.

Reminding himself how excited he is to see Hunk’s new place, he heads through the sleek glass doors, nodding at the doorman — an actual doorman, what the fuck — and hauling ass to make the elevator. He rides up to the twentieth floor, which seems to take a thousand years. That probably has less to do with the actual elevator and more to do with the fact that there are six other people in this elevator and five of them are wearing fancy suits, but whatever.

He steps out onto the quiet, carpeted hallway, looking for apartment 2014. He finds it quickly, peeking under the welcome mat like Hunk said, beyond relieved to see the silver key. He slides it through the lock, opening it easily, and pokes his head through the door.

“Dandelion?” he calls softly. He’s expecting the excited howling of Hunk’s big dumb cat, then the sound of his little paws clambering on the floor as he speeds down the hallway, but there’s nothing. Lance shrugs, stepping all the way into the apartment and locking the door behind him. Hunk must have taken Dandelion with him to see Shay.

Humming to himself, Lance heads for the kitchen. He ate before he got on the train, but that was almost two hours ago, and besides — Hunk’s fridge is always stocked. At best there will be leftovers of whatever genius Hunk has cooked up in the past couple days, and at worst there’ll be fifteen dollar exotic strawberries that Lance will steal shamelessly.

Hunk is so lucky to have Lance as a best friend, honestly.

Opening the fridge, however, is a massive disappointment. There’s not a single fancy schmancy ingredient in sight, and certainly no delicious leftovers. In fact the fridge is almost completely barren, only a carton of eggs, random condiments, and a bunch of veggies. The veggies make sense, but the fridge still feels off, somehow. But there are ingredients enough to make a killer sandwich, so Lance helps himself.

Ignoring the countless warnings Hunk has given him over the years to not eat and walk so he doesn’t get crumbs everywhere, Lance decides to give himself a tour of the apartment. It’s leagues better than anything either of them have every lived in before, which is nice. Lance is unbelievably proud of Hunk for his promotion — he deserves it and more. He most definitely deserves the sick view, 20 storeys in the air, the crown moulded ceilings, the general cleanliness. The sparseness of the place is definitely a little odd for Hunk, because he’s more of a knickknack guy, but he’s only been at this place for a couple months. Makes sense that he hasn’t unpacked yet.

Lance perks up at the sound of the key in the lock. It’s a little early, yet, almost a half hour before Hunk said he’d be here, but hey — the earlier the better! Lance has missed living near his best friend.

Quickly scarfing down his sandwich — he was so bullshitting before and if Hunk catches him red handed he’s going to die and he knows it — he sprints to the kitchen, hiding just behind the bend of the wall. He snickers quietly for himself, tense in wait. He’s going to scare the shit out of Hunk, and it’s going to be great.

“— yeah, yeah, I know, but I’ve got shit to do tonight, Shiro. I don’t have time.”

Lance freezes.

That’s not Hunk.

“What? No! I’m not sacrificing Survivor to go to some bar, dude! Why the hell would I trade chilling out with Kosmo on the couch and watching people be fools in the wilderness for dodging drunk people?”

Maybe Hunk brought a friend over, Lance thinks to himself. Hunk’s a friendly guy. It’s possible.

“Yeah, yeah.” The mystery man’s voice goes high pitched, mocking. “I have no friends and need to get out more, blah blah blah. hear you, Shiro.”

Lance’s heart pounds. So much for that theory. He peeks around the corner, expecting some dude in a ski mask and dressed in black, holding a gun and a duffel bag. Instead he sees a guy, dressed in a white t-shirt — a tight white tee, may Lance add — and basketball shorts, maybe a couple inches taller than Lance, sporting what Lance can only call an honest-to-God mullet.

Well, at least Lance got the duffel bag part right.

The man’s voice turns exasperated. “I am taking you seriously, Shiro. Promise. I’ll go — I’ll do something social tomorrow, okay?” The man turns slightly, so Lance has full view of his profile, and the arm holding up his phone.

The, uh, fairly toned arm.

“Yeah. I will. Love you, too.”

Oh no.

This intruder is hot.

The hot intruder hangs up, shoving his phone in his pocket. Then, faster than Lance can react (look, no one prepares you for a burglar that looks like a Greek god, okay? Lance is a little stupefied and he feels that it’s justified. This man’s jawline alone is affecting his heart worse than the fear that he’s gonna get murdered for witnessing a crime), the man turns into the kitchen.

Face to face with Lance.

For a moment neither of them say anything, completely frozen, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. And then the hot intruder blinks, says “Shit!” loudly enough to echo, and reaches for his pocket.

Lance, fearing the worst, screeches at the top of his lungs, and sprints for the bedroom, shoving past the intruder.

“Get out!” he screams, slamming and locking the door behind him. “Get out get out get out!”

“What the — you get out!” the intruder screams back. He slams into the door, banging on it as he juggles the handle. “Why are you here?”

“Dear God, please help me.” Lance isn’t much of a religious person, really, but all those boring years of Easter Mass growing up must have affected him in some way, because he’s halfway ready to start praying for real. Obviously, this man had quietly observed how smart and handsome and awesome Hunk looks, and assumed he’s a rich supergenius, and has now come to rob him blind as he’s out of the house. What this horrible criminal didn’t expect was Lance, here to visit his friend at his new place. And now that Lance has witnessed him, bare-faced and red-handed, he is going to murder Lance — to death — to cover his crime.

“I’m calling the police!” Lance screeches. He doesn’t have a whole lot of faith in the fuckers, but at this point they’re better than nothing. Maybe they’ll bring a forensic team to help solve the crime of Leandro Agustín Nuñez Carmen Esposita-McClain, far too young and beautiful to die, murdered tragically.

There’s a pause from the other side of the door, almost shocked.

“Why the fuck would you be calling the cops?” demands the man, half incredulous. “I’m calling the cops, you trespassing weirdo!”

Something like cold realization begins to build up in Lance’s gut. “I’m calling the cops because you’re trying to rob this apartment and maybe murder me?” he suggests.

“Rob the — murder you?” the man sputters. “This is my fucking apartment!”

Before he can talk himself out of it, Lance unlocks the door and yanks it open, face to face with Mr Tall, Mulleted, and Handsome.

“Do you,” he says nervously, face a little red, “happen to have a neighbour named Hunk Garrett?”

The man blinks at him. “Yeah. He’s across the hall. 2041.”

A long, agonizing moment of silence. Both of them just look at each other in pure bewilderment. (Well, Lance will admit that his bewilderment is not quite so pure. There might be some healthy admiration and lust swimming around there somewhere. This man is very attractive, and Lance has a thing for people who are angry with him. It’s a complex.)

“In my defense,” Lance says eventually, “I’m dyslexic.”

———

Luckily for Lance, Keith — the hot not-intruder — is very understanding of the entire ideal.

By that, Lance means he laughs himself to tears, right there on the hallway floor.

“There’s no way this is happening in real life,” Keith wheezes. “There’s no way you could fuck up this bad.”

Lance scowls. “Oh, piss off. I flipped two measly digits, and you’re the dumbass who keeps your house key under your welcome mat! Who even does that!”

It takes Keith several tries to calm himself down. The first few times he seems like he’s normal, but then he looks at Lance’s grouchy face and loses it all over again. The worst part is that he has a fucking gorgeous laugh, so Lance is having a really hard time staying angry.

“I’m —” Keith takes a deep, shuddering breath — “I’m sorry, dude. Lance. Really. I don’t mean to laugh at you. It’s just — I was just telling my brother that nothing happens here, you know? And then this.”

Lance softens, finally allowing himself a small smile. He offers a hand to Keith, who takes it and pulls himself up. “Yeah, I guess it’s kind of a one-in-a-lifetime thing, huh?”

Keith hums. “Yeah.”

Keith’s hand is calloused, along the heel and flex of his palm. His hand is also very warm, like Lance has his own personal hand-heater. But Lance is, if he’s being entirely honest, paying way more attention to his eyes — they’re the most peculiar shade of indigo, so dark that Lance thought they were black, at first. But no, the darkest shade of blue-purple Lance has ever seen. He has freckles too, though barely. Just a couple spattered on the bridge of his nose. And the —

The sound of the Swedish chef from the Muppets over trap music startles Lance out of his reverie — Hunk’s ringtone. He pulls away from Keith’s hand, from his very close personal space, God, and hurriedly answers.

“Yeah, Hunk?”

His voice cracks seven times. He’s not proud of it.

“Where are you, dude? You were supposed to get here earlier than me but I’ve been here for twenty minutes. Did you get lost?”

Lance looks at his watch, then curses loudly. Has he really been in Keith’s apartment for nearly an hour? Fuck!

“I didn’t get — I just lost track of time — I’m not — I’ll be right there,” he rushes out. “See you in five, okay?”

He hangs up before Hunk has the chance to respond, still cursing endlessly.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grips his hair with one hand, other clenching his phone. He flicks his eyes back to Keith, who looks way more amused than he has any right to. “I have — I’ve gotta go. Now.”

“To the right apartment this time,” Keith surmises, grinning.

Lance flushes. “That would be correct, yes. I’m meeting my friend for dinner.”

“Hunk Garrett. Chef extraordinaire. You mentioned.”

Like a dumbass and before he can stop himself, Lance blurts: “You should come with me.”

Keith raises an amused eyebrow. “I’m not an expert in social cues or anything, but I don’t think you can invite me over to other people’s houses.” He chuckles. “Although you don’t seem to have a problem showing up to places randomly, huh?”

“Shut up!”Lance checks his watch again, then bites his lip. “I really have to go.” There’s nothing stopping him. He has no reason to stay, really. But for some reason he doesn’t want to go.

“Hey, give me your number,” Keith says after a moment.

“Why?” Lance asks on reflex. Very quickly he wants to smack himself for being a fool.

Keith smiles wryly. “Well, I dunno. Once I emotionally recover from you breaking and entering into my apartment, I might decide I want to press charges. Better get your number just in case.”

Lance laughs. He takes the offered phone, punching in his number and contact, putting a heart after his name after only a beat of hesitation.

“I’ll text you,” Keith says, walking Lance to the door. For the first time since he discovered Lance hiding in his kitchen, he looks slightly nervous. “If, um. If that’s okay.”

“I’d like that,” Lance says softly. Keith’s gentle look makes something hot brew in his belly, butterflies fluttering and making his arms and legs tingle. He’s had crushes before, and he’s absolutely no stranger to finding someone hot, but this feels…different. Almost —

“Lance?” For the second time, Hunk’s voice startles Lance out of making goo-goo eyes at Keith, poking his head out of his actual apartment, right across the door. “I thought I heard you out here — wait.” Hunk’s dark eyes narrow, and he looks Lance up and down. He holds his gaze for a second, then bursts out laughing. “Keith, pal,” he wheezes, “please tell me my dumbass best friend didn’t break into your house.”

Keith grins. “He did!”

“No fuckin’ way! Lance, dude, oh my God —”

“Easy and reasonable mistake! Fuck off!”

———

Hours later, cozy on Hunk’s couch, he gets a text from an unknown number.

from: unknown

i’ve decided i won’t press charges for breaking and entering.

Lance laughs, quickly adding the number to his contacts.

to: keith <3

thank you, oh merciful one.

Lance is left on read for long enough that he’s almost offended, but luckily a text pops in before he can get really mad.

from: keith <3

don’t get too relieved yet, lance.

from: keith <3

there are other charges i’m going to press.

A real stab of fear pierces Lance’s heart.

to: keith <3

u best be joking it was an ACCIDENT

to: keith <3

i have DYSLEXIA

to: keith <3

this is DYSLEXIPHOBIC

Before Lance can really work himself up, though, Keith finishes his thought.

from: keith <3

i have to report you for theft

from: keith <3

cus aside from sandwich ingredients, i think you stole my heart

Lance couldn’t stop his giggle if he tried. It’s besotted and stupid and halfway-drunk, Jesus. Lance is embarrassed for himself.

from: keith <3

oh my god that is the most embarrassing thing i’ve ever typed and sent

from: keith <3

i’m begging you to purge it from your memory

to: keith <3

i’ll make you a deal

Lance takes a deep breath, steeling himself before sending. It feels strange to be on the other end of a pickup line — Lance can’t say he minds.

to: keith <3

you go out with me, and i’ll never mention how embarrassing you are to another soul

from: keith <3

…

from: keith <3

i’ve only known you for a day, and i know you’re lying to me

Lance snorts. That’s a fair assumption. Lance was lying. He’s actually debating waking Hunk up to show him these texts instead of waiting until tomorrow morning, but Keith doesn’t need to know that.

from: keith <3

but, yeah. i’ll go out with you.

from: keith <3

…tomorrow?

Lance grins. He has a good feeling about this.

to: keith <3

see you then, hot not-intruder :)

———

based on this video

#been waiting to write this one #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #pre klance #flirting #meetcute #tall keith #hunk & lance #modern au #broganes #fluff and humour #my writing #fic #longpost

305 notes · View notes

wardenparker · 2 years

Text

Redbox Romance

Javi Gutierrez x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: Food/alcohol consumption, cursing, some splashes of self-consciousness. Javi is an amazing kisser (no I do not take criticism), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), hair pulling, vaginal sex, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it), blink-and-you’ll-miss-it begging/praise. Summary: Bumping into a hot guy in line to rent a Redbox movie after work has never sounded like a better idea than when that guy is Javi G. Notes: Happy Spooktober everyone! We simply couldn’t do this big round of spooky season stories without including a movie night with Javi 🎃🧡🎬

Since he has had his entire world crumble, his perfectly controlled world shifted - Javi has realized how few friends he actually has. There is Nick of course, but he cannot call Nick over to watch a horror movie marathon. Not when he is trying to repair the damage he had done to his relationship with his ex-wife and daughter. Javi was sure that soon that they would reconcile, and Nick would be happier - something that his friend would be very proud of. The concept of going to the store is daunting but Javi has fallen in love with the Redbox location down the road from him at the local grocery store. He wants to buy junk food. All the things that are so bad for him, yet so delicious. Maybe even making cute treats - but his cooking skills are lacking - and watch movie after movie that are designed to scare and thrill him. Sighing, he grabs his keys and decides that he will do it alone, like most things he does now.

******

The line at this particular Redbox machine is always long. It’s in the front lobby of the grocery store right next to your work, though, and it has the best selection of horror movies of any machine in the city, so you wait. There’s only four people ahead of you so you tell yourself it won’t be that bad - fiddling in the pockets of your scrubs to pull out any scraps of paper from the day and toss them into the nearby trash can. Everybody else always has plans of Friday night, but you’re spending it curled up with some horror movies, and the frozen pizza and pint of ice cream that you’re going to pick out once you get inside the store. Maybe even some candy to sprinkle on your ice cream, because the patients you dealt with today sucked.

Three people ahead of him. Javi shuffles his feet slightly and looks around, wishing that he had someone to talk to, to share with. Gabriella hadn’t worked out— it wasn’t her fault. They just found they weren’t compatible like they had imagined. He’d tried dating but half the women he had talked to had flat out disbelieved his tale of how he ended up in the States. He sighs slightly and hums to himself, wondering if he could find a friends group online to be social with.

It was trying to sneak a peek of what the people in front of you were renting that did you in - losing your balance slightly from carrying your heavy tote bag in your shoulder and having the bag slip off and smack the man in front of you directly in the ass. Only to be startled by it and drop your bag, spilling things everywhere. If it were possible to actually melt like the Wicked Witch, you would be doing it right now – right now as you scramble to pick up your belongings, including the two large books that were making it so heavy in the first place. “Oh god, I’m so sorry!” You groan, hoping he isn’t too angry by the accidental accosting he’s just gotten. “I’m just…I’m clumsy. I’m really sorry.”

Javi turns in surprise, watching the purse spill – the only glance of the woman who is dropping down to her knees is fleeting but he thinks she might be lovely. Immediately, he bends down to help. “It’s okay.” He promises, hearing the mortification and distress in her voice. “I too am clumsy.” He chuckles, reaching for a pouch and scattered pens and assorted junk women always seem to carry.

“I didn’t mean t—” You look up, realizing that the man has bent down to help you, and completely deflate. He’s fucking gorgeous, because of course he is. This is LA. Sometimes you feel like the only token big girl in the entire city. It’s just models and actors and ridiculously attractive musicians as far as the eye can see. He’s probably famous, you think with a shake of your head. “I’m sorry. My bag slipped off my shoulder.”

He gives you a smile and nods. “It happens.” He looks down at the books in your hand. “Especially with such things.” He hands you the items he had collected and his hand cups your elbow as both of you start to straighten up. “Are you a student or do you carry books around always?”

“It’s research.” The explanation is immediate, but you cringe at yourself as soon as it comes out of your mouth. Just another pathetic Hollywood wannabe with a day job. That’s what your boss had said. “So, uh…I guess I always carry books.” You sweep the copy of Harold Schechter’s Hell’s Princess and the thick notebook back into your bag quickly.

“Research?” He looks back at the line as it shuffles forward and moves up before he turns back to you. “That I understand. I research a lot of things myself.”

“You do?” Unsure why he’s even still talking to you, you straighten up again and hoist your bag back into your shoulder, trying to smooth out your wrinkled scrubs and look presentable. He’s really…fuck he’s incredibly good looking. Tall and tan with wavy hair and big brown eyes and pouty lips that you just— don’t stare, don’t stare…

“Yes!” His eyes light up happily and he glances around. “I can only learn so much through movies and everything is different. I have to research everything.”

“What are you…researching? Or watching?” It’s like someone flipped a switch in him and turned him into a human puppy, excited to share and play and talk with whoever is around. And you’re more than happy to listen.

“I want to write a horror movie.” Javi confesses, knowing that most would find him ridiculous - even with the success of his collaboration with Nick. “I want to write the perfect thriller or slasher.”

“I’m writing a horror movie!” It’s probably a very weird thing to hear exclaimed in a supermarket anywhere but LA, but right now you’re enjoying the coincidence too much to care.

Javi’s eyes widen happily and he grins. “Really? What is it about? Tell me what your inspiration is.” It’s amazing to run into someone else that is writing even though it’s common in L.A.

“Have you ever heard of Belle Gunness?” Pulling Hell’s Princess from your bag again, you hold it out for him to flip through if he wants to. It’s probably unlikely that this sweet, incredibly handsome man is into true crime, but he asked, so you’re going to share. “She was a serial killer in Indiana the 19th century who lured countless men to her farm and murdered them. They say that the farmhouse was haunted for decades before she got there but I think her crimes started far before she arrived.” It’s not something most people would get excited about. You know that. But you have never been able to resist the oddities of history. “The crazy thing is that she was never caught, so we’ll never really know exactly how all these men and her children died. It’s just an absolutely fascinating character study.”

“Wow.” His eyes are dramatically wide as he takes the book and he starts thumbing through it. “That would be an interesting movie.” He is into it. “There are so few where a woman is the antagonist.”

“Gruesome, I know.” You laugh nervously, realizing that it isn’t exactly standard conversation for a complete stranger. “But like you said, there are so few female antagonists and her story is just that much more unbelievable because it’s true.”

“That would be awesome. Would you frame it as a haunting? Or someone continuing the killing spree?” He asks, curious about how you would tell the story. He's desperate to continue the conversation, and it's not just because you are interested in horror movies and are writing. You're pretty. He noticed that from the moment you looked up into his eyes, it captured him and he can't help but admire the soft features of your face and body.

“I almost feel like the haunting was sort of…fuel on the fire, if that makes sense. Negative influence powering someone who already had malicious intent. But I’m not sure how to frame that without it coming across as hokey, so I’m sort of blocked at the moment.” Shaking your head a little, you offer the incredibly handsome man a small smile and shrug before introducing yourself. “I probably should have started there. First name before favourite serial killer seems like better manners.”

Javi smiles, repeating your name and rolling his tongue over it. It's beautiful and fitting for such a charming woman. He takes your hand and gives you a small bow over your clasped hands. Maybe a little ostentatious for the line at a Redbox kiosk, but he likes the way your eyes flutter. "I am Javi." He introduces him. "Javi Gutierrez."

“It’s very nice to meet you.” The name rings a bell but you can’t quite place it, making you even more certain that you just stumbled onto some minor celebrity at the grocery store and are just too out of the loop to realize it. “So…what is your script about? Do you have ideas?”

"I have toyed with many ideas, but stick to none." He shakes his head at himself ruefully. "It is why I wish to rent some favorites. Acquire inspiration."

“Some of your favourites are here?” Motioning to the Redbox behind him alerts both of you to move up in line - Javi is now next up to the box.

He nods. “I have misplaced my copy of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari when I moved, and this box is said to have one.” It was why he had chosen this Redbox to go to tonight.

“That—” You tilt your head at him and smile at the coincidence, thinking how horribly disappointed you would have been to realize that the man in front of you had just rented the only copy of the movie you explicitly came to rent. “That’s why I’m here, too.”

"Oh." He knows there is only one copy of the movie, the box said that there was only one left. He debates giving it to you, but he selfishly wants to watch it again. "There is perhaps— if it’s not too forward ? Why do we not share the rental?" He asks. "You can join me and we can enjoy it together?" His tone is hopeful, suddenly believing this to be the best idea he has ever imagined.

Typically, this would be the moment where the red flag waves in your mind and you think about safety. You think about every abduction scenario in every true crime story you’ve ever read or heard. This doesn’t feel like that though, and while you know that’s the lamest excuse anyone has ever had for ignoring a normally dicey situation — when was the last time you made a new friend? An extremely handsome one, at that? You can definitely dignify this to yourself and still have a good time. “I was planning on getting pizza and curling up on my couch tonight,” you admit, feeling warmth in your cheeks and a little bit of nerves like you’re fifteen and getting asked to dance by the guy you like. “So why don’t I have something delivered for us? We could…it could be fun.” And that way if you end up dead by the end of the night, someone will have seen you at his place. There. Problem solved.

It's on the tip of his tongue to protest, to insist that he would be a good host and provide the food, when he realizes why you might want to have some part of planning tonight. Instead of arguing, he nods happily, throwing a look over his shoulder to make sure that the person in front of him wasn't done yet and then back at you. "That would be acceptable, if—" He jerks his head towards the grocery store, "you allow me to purchase the snacks and desserts that we can indulge in to go along with the movies?"

It’s such an innocent request - sweet, ironically - and you can feel the broad, smitten smile spread over your face. “I think we might need more than one movie,” you suggest with a soft laugh, seeing him light up with excitement.

"Exactly!" Javi exclaims, nearly bouncing on his toes and turning around to see that the man had finished his transaction and it's his turn at the kiosk. "Shall we pick out the makings of a movie marathon of horror?" He asks, motioning you to join him as he lifts the sunscreen.

“You’re not…a Nick Cage fan, are you?” Just because he’s in your top three doesn’t mean he’s everyone’s cup of tea, but the man makes a hell of a horror movie. “Mandy is an absolute masterpiece, if this machine has a copy left.”

"We don't need to rent it." Javi looks at you bashfully, almost admitting that he is friends with Nick, but you would never believe that. "I own all of Nick's movies and those were with me so they did not get lost."

“Seriously?” Your eyebrows wing up in surprise, but you won’t pretend to be anything less than excited. Bonding over a favourite actor is definitely the foundation for a friendship - or more. “Does that mean you like Color Out of Space, too? Because I swear I can never find anyone to watch it with me and it’s so damn good.”

"Completely underrated. " Javi rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Nick was so in the zone. He said that he had really delved deep, wanting to harness the untapped potential." He grins. "He also smoked a lot of weed during production."

“Where did you find an interview with him? He never does press.” Waiting until the movie pops out of the machine and ends up in Javi’s pocket, you turn together to go into the grocery store. “I mean, I totally believe it. I’d believe if he did a hell of a lot more than just smoke pot making that movie.”

Javi bites his lip, not wanting to seem like he is bragging. Especially since he had given you that little factoid. "It was just pot." He hums in amusement. "But, uh, he told me." He admits, not wanting to make it into some big deal.

“You’ve met him?” The way your eyes widen is nearly comical considering where you live and work. It isn’t so unbelievable to just…run into a celebrity on a trip to the corner store.

"Yeah." Javi nods and gives a small shrug. "We – uh, we worked together on a project last year."

“Oh shit.” You shove your hands in the pockets of your scrubs as you walk beside him, feeling borderline mortified. You’re here fangirling and blabbering on about your little amateur project and he’s a real professional. “That—that’s awesome.”

"It was." He smiles at the thought of the last conversation the two of them. "I bet that if you were to pitch your movie idea to him, he would be interested." He says. "Nick loves the nuance of a good horror story."

"I wouldn't even know where to start." The shrug you give him is honest at least, as you pick up a basket to walk around with. "Medical receptionist by day, amateur writer by night. Emphasis on the amateur."

"I was an amateur until last year." Javi doesn't look down on you for that, grinning over at you before he steers you to the candy aisle. "We must get all the snacks we can possibly crave."

"How do you feel about sour candy?" You're practically already reaching for the bag of Sour Patch Xtreme as you ask, always loving that hit of tart sourness with your sweet ever since you were a kid. If you're going to do this - you're going to do it right.

"I have never had those, but I do love a sour punch straw." He nods, knowing that he will buy whatever you want to snack on during the movies. "Are they similar?"

"They have a pretty similar level of sour." The bag of sour sweets is added to the basket, and the fruity gummy candies give way to chocolate as the two of you walk further down the aisle.

"How do you feel about Reese’s Pieces?" He asks as he holds up a box of the candy. "I love chocolate and peanut butter and these are addictive!"

"Chocolate and peanut butter is the closest mortals get to divinity," you joke, nodding emphatically. "Better get two boxes."

"Two boxes it is." He happily dumps two boxes into the basket and grabs a shareable bag of peanut butter cups and holds them up with a grin. "Double the deliciousness."

"The next question is the most important." Strolling a little further down the aisle, a plethora of popcorn options are laid out in front of the two of you just waiting to make you salivate. "How do you like your popcorn?"

"There is only one answer." He declares with wide, serious eyes. "Buttered."

"Oh, thank god." Smirking at him, you break out into a giggle at the extreme seriousness of his expression. "I was going to have to come up with an excuse to get out of this if you picked up a bag of Skinny Pop." Not that the snack doesn't have its merits - but it has no place in a movie marathon.

"What is 'Skinny Pop'?" He asks, sneering slightly at the mere thought of something that sounds disgusting.

"No butter, no salt," you shrug, grabbing a box of movie theater style extra butter popcorn off the shelf. "No flavour, basically. And definitely no fun."

"So that will not be at our movie night." He decides, shaking his head in disbelief at how someone could enjoy that. "Tonight is about thrill, horror and indulgences."

"Drinks?" Indulgences sounds very good, but you won't let your mind get too carried away. Not when he hasn't indicated this is anything more than a spontaneous new friendship.

“We must.” Javi glances over at you. “I have wine and some sodas, but we can pick out other things.”

"Far be it from me to turn down wine and soda." The whole thing is spur of the moment and a little giddy, and you're sort of feeling like questioning it would be looking a gift horse in the mouth. Why not just go with the flow and enjoy it?

“Are we decided on pizza for our meal?” He asks, giving you a grin of excitement as he sees the plans falling into place almost naturally.

"Seems like the most appropriate, doesn't it?" Nothing in LA is ever quiet, and other customers bustle around the two of you as you linger in the aisle looking over the abundance of snacks available to you. "Pizza is the ultimate comfort and indulgence all at once."

He tilts his head and nods, agreeing completely. “Although you cannot have a comfortable night in your work clothes.” He tells you. “So you must go change into your most comfortable outfit.”

"Oh! Um..." Looking down at yourself, you realize you had completely forgotten that you were in your work clothes at all. "I guess...if you want to give me your address, I can drive over after I change? I just finished work...but I guess that's obvious."

He nods, knowing that it would make you feel more comfortable to be able to come and go as you please and to know where you were going. “Absolutely.” He pulls out his phone to show you his address since it would be easier for you to text yourself from it.

He lives in a very ritzy neighborhood; you notice that right away. It's one of those communities that you hear about movie stars living in, but you say nothing about how very different your situation is from his. It doesn't matter. Not for new friends having a movie night. Instead you just text his address to yourself from his phone and hand it back with a smile. "There. Now you have my number, too."

“Okay.” He brightens as he realizes this and paints a serious look on his face. “How do you feel about ice cream?”

"If we end up in a food coma, it will be totally worth it." You nod with authority, as if accepting a secret mission of some kind.

“Completely worth it.” He hums as the two of you walk towards the ice cream sections. “Are you a vanilla and toppings kind of girl or something specific?”

"I normally get a pint with stuff mixed in, or coffee ice cream with caramel syrup. Those are my two directions." Most girls would demure, or go straight for chocolate, but there's no need for that here. You've both been pretty in line with your preferences so far, so you're curious to see if he'll feel the same way about ice cream.

“Coffee ice cream?” He hums happily and nods. “Only if we add cookies to it as well.”

"That sounds amazing." It's practically a groan from your lips and you're nodding again immediately.

“Are you a chocolate chip kind of girl or Oreos?” He smirks, happy he could make your favorite indulgence a little sweeter. “Or both? Both is also a good option.”

"I mean, I think we have to try both." He's so fucking handsome when he lights up like that, it's distracting and makes your chest tighten just a tiny bit in the best way possible. "For science."

He would be completely solemn as he grabs the cookies from conveniently place display and places them in the basket along with a bottle of caramel and one of chocolate sauces. “For science.” He agrees, enjoying this shopping trip so much more than his normal ones,

"Do we need anything else?" At this point you're going to have enough junk food for a full day's worth of movies and you only have the night planned, but it's fun to just - as he said, indulge.

“I don’t think so.” Javi watches as you put the ice cream in the basket and grins. “Maybe some medicine for when our bellies ache.”

"I'll be very glad to have tomorrow off work." It elicits a laugh from you, flustering under the beaming sunshine of that grin of his.

“Fantastic!” The two of you make your way up to the front and Javi takes the basket from you, keeping his word that he will buy the snacks. “We will get scared and scream and eat ice cream!”

******

It's a little over an hour later when you pull up to the house halfway up the hill, its typical southern California architecture blending into the upscale neighborhood and palm trees lining the property to give it that picturesque attitude of tropical luxury. The convertible that you saw him pull out of the grocery store parking lot in is parked under the port beside the house and you pull your own little sedan up behind it before checking your reflection one more time in your rearview mirror. While you were home changing you let your roommate know your plans for the evening, gave her the address you were going to and Javi's full name and phone number all out of an abundance of safety. Now it's just you in your favourite jeans and sweatshirt wondering if you haven't made some kind of massive mistake. Are you remembering him as so much better than he really was? Were you imagining the little bit of light behind his eyes when he awkwardly offered you a brief hug before you parted in the parking lot? God you hope not. But the only way to find out is to go up to his door and ring that bell.

Javi's nervously checking everything when the doorbell rings. He'd flown back home and started getting ready for you to come over for the horror movie marathon. Wishing he had an assistant here to make things perfect like he used to have, he had been determined to give you the same kind of experience you would have gotten if he was back on the family compound in Majorca. Candy displayed in easy to reach dishes, he had decided that the popcorn was better popped when you got here, a bucket moved into the living room with ice and sodas available. and he'd doubled checked that the bathroom you could possibly use was clean - it had been a bitch learning how to clean one of those properly. (He had a completely new appreciation for putting the seat down now.) Throw pillows and blankets that the decorator had insisted on where arranged so that the two of you can sprawl out and get comfortable but he wishes he had a dedicated movie room again. Maybe the next house he buys although he knows he most likely won't.

As he walks to the door, he wonders if he's too casual, or not casual enough, shaking his head at himself because this wasn't a date but he was just as on edge as if it was one. Opening the door, he greets you with a smile. "You came."

“You sound surprised.” And it both relaxes and surprises you in your own right. Does he not know how magnetic he is? “I, uh…I almost stopped to pick up pizza on the way over, but we never discussed toppings.”

It might be pathetic the way that his shoulders relax, and he lets out a metaphorical breath he had been holding but he was surprised. "You might have changed your mind." He tries to play it off casually. "I am a strange man to you, and it could be seen as odd that I invited you over."

“My roommate knows where I am.” You tell him honestly, stepping inside when he shuffles aside to let you in. “Besides, people have the wrong idea about things that are odd. Odd makes life more interesting.”

He chuckles and closes the door, stepping beside you and smiling. "So now we can discuss those toppings and we can wait for the pizza before we start the movies? Allow for less distractions and get to know each other?"

“Lead the way.” His house is beautiful, well decorated and airy with high ceilings and fresh paint - but the tidied stacks of things here and there give the impression of what your mother would have called artistic messiness. As though at any moment the whole place might be consumed by a new obsession and the stacks of things created by his current obsession will tumble. Which is…sort of like your place, honestly.

He leads you through to the living room, the door and windows open to the back deck and a luxurious view of the hills beyond the sparkling glass. Sky gorgeous and bright hues of orange and pinks before the sun sets. "This is okay?" He asks, gesturing to the setup of the food and drinks he's amassed so far. He's even thrown things in that he's had on hand and the ice cream is still in the freezer but the bowls and scoop are set out on the kitchen island just steps away in the open living of the back of the house.

“Our very own private screening.” The living room sofa is big enough for three full grown adults to sprawl out on and the tv takes up most of the facing wall. Throw blankets and pillows dot the space carefully and a full stack of movies sit on the coffee table next to the one you had rented together. “It’s…” your face cracks into a grin as you pull out your phone to open your delivery app. “It’s perfect. Way more than okay.”

He's relieved, grinning as if you had just showered him with compliments. "Good." He motions for you to sit down, choose whatever spot makes you most comfortable. That is what he wants, for you to be comfortable.

“So what is Javi’s perfect pizza combination?” Dropping down on his couch is easy – every inch of it is plush and inviting and you pull your socked feet up under you for maximum comfort.

“What is yours?” The debate over pineapple on pizza here is endlessly fascinating to him and he wonders if you will bring it up.

“My favourite pizza is a little unorthodox.” Opening the list of specialty pies in the restaurant’s menu, you offer him your phone to let him read: barbecue sauce, pulled pork, red onion, sweet corn, and the dreaded debated topping, pineapple. “It’s totally okay if that doesn’t sound good to you,” you tell him, knowing that he might be one of the many people totally grossed out by pineapple on pizza.

His brow shoots up and he smirks. “I am willing to try this pizza.” He agrees. “I was wondering if you were a pineapple person or no.”

“I don’t like it with normal pizza sauce but it’s so good with all this barbecue stuff.” It only takes a few keystrokes to get dinner ordered, and you tuck your phone away again with a smile. “Next time we’ll get your favourite. Doesn’t matter what it is, I’ll try it.”

“I am simple.” He gives you an apologetic shrug. “Salami, peppers when I wish to have heartburn.”

“Simple and delicious.” For the life of you, you aren’t sure why you seem so sure that there will be a second time. Tonight could be awful and awkward and you might avoid that Redbox for the rest of your life just to make sure you never run into him again — but somehow you are just positive that that won’t be the case.

“Would you like a drink? A snack while we wait?” He scrubs his palms against the lounging pants he had change into and gives a small chuckle. “I guess I underdressed for tonight.” He had gone a little too casual since you are in jeans.

“I don’t think it’s possible to underdress to sit on the couch and watch a movie.” You assure him. The truth is that you hadn’t tossed on the pair of yoga pants that you usually lounge around the apartment in because you’re a bit self-conscious about showing of your - admittedly round - figure. When it’s just you and your also plus sized roommate at home, you don’t care. “You said comfy, so these are my comfiest jeans. That’s all.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t quite believe that but he won’t push the subject. “Either way, you are beautiful and I am lucky you joined me tonight.”

“I—” Beautiful? You can feel the pleased and slightly embarrassed warmth creeping up your chest and neck and you have to clear your throat a tiny bit. “Thank you. I-I’m lucky you invited me.”

“I have been wanting to have someone to watch horror movies with and fate placed you right in my path. And it’s very nice it is someone like you.” He grins and motions to the collection of movies. “This is what we have to choose from tonight.”

“I think we have to watch The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, don’t we?” Not that that will bother either of you. After all, it was your individual plan for the night.

"Of course. That should be first." He declares as he set the rented DVD on the coffee table apart from the other movies. "What else would you like to watch? I am open to all of them."

"You have an amazing collection." The stack of movies includes anything remotely spooky that Nick Cage has ever made, plus some classic slashers, groundbreaking pieces like The Exorcist and both versions of Suspiria, and more obscure choices like Let's Scare Jessica to Death. "Oh, I looove Suspiria." It's been ages since you've seen the original - streaming services tending to carry the remake these days. "Dario Argento is an absolute genius."

"I agree completely." Javi grins, quickly adding it to the must watch side. "Let us choose one more - just in case." He doesn't not want you to stay past the time you are comfortable, but it has been a long time since he has indulged in a night of nothing but movies.

"What's your favourite slasher?" Something classic, something artistic, and something gory. That's the key to a horror trio, in your opinion.

"I have a guilty pleasure movie." Javi admits, rummaging in the pile of movies and pulling one that he had deliberately put at the bottom of the pile. "2006's Stay Alive is an underrated movie, although it is not a traditional slasher, so I do not think it counts."

"I've actually never seen it." You offer him an encouraging smile because you can tell he's a little embarrassed to like it, and put it in the to be watched stack. "Don't tell me anything about it. I want to be surprised."

His grin lights up his face and nods eagerly. "My lips are sealed." He promises happily.

"Fantastic." The candy and some drinks have been spread around the room, but you had spotted the box of popcorn in the kitchen on your way through the house. "The pizza will probably take an hour or so." You shrug. Both of you know how busy a Friday night in LA is for a pizza place and how bad traffic can be for a delivery driver. "How does a popcorn appetizer and a drink sound while we get the first movie started?"

"Do you want wine, or I do have some whiskey if you prefer?" He asks, motioning over to the very sophisticated bar that is in the corner of the room. "It does not have to be just sodas."

"Actually..." His place is clean, you feel comfortable, and most importantly your Spidey sense isn't tingling or sending you red flags, so you smile and offer him a little nod. "Wine sounds great."

He nods and quickly walks around the bar to open the wine fridge that is behind it. "I have a Cava from my own family vineyard if you like sparkling wine?" He offers, holding up a bottle. "It is one of my favorite years."

"Your family has its own vineyard?" Your eyebrows wing up in surprise. "That's...killer."

"It is in Spain." He gives you a small shrug as if it is not a big deal. "Majorca."

"Which is even cooler." He downplays it as though he isn't proud, but he would not have even mentioned the vintage if some part of him didn't want you to know. It's the getting to know you phase of things and that's always entertaining. "The coolest thing my family ever owned was a camper."

"There is nothing wrong with a camper." He argues. "You can take it with you and have adventures."

"Well sure," you shrug, watching him carelessly pop the cork from the bottle like he's done it once a week since he was old enough to lift one. "But it would be a lot cooler to take the camper to a vineyard and camp out in the valley."

"Or maybe a tent." He hums. "One of those that are large and have a house set up in them. With the large bed and fairy lights strung overhead while you drink around a fire in vineyard?"

"That sounds absolutely dreamy." Glamping, your mom would call it, turning up her nose at it even while she used every inch of the kitchenette in the camper just like she was making dinner at home. "Like the perfect weekend getaway. Camping and drinking and snuggles. I love it."

"Have you ever done that?" He asks, wondering if you have a boyfriend suddenly. He doesn't think so, surely you would have said something, but he has to ask.

"Weekend camping getaway?" He picks two glasses up from the top of the bar and carries everything over to the sofa while you shake your head. "No...I don't think I've been camping with anyone but my family ever. And it's been years since we did that together."

"You should." He shakes his head and thinks that it is an utter shame that you do not get to indulge in something you obviously love. "I have heard camping in the desert is lovely."

"It's dangerous to do alone." It's not like you've run into a lot of guys who share all of your indoor, nerdy hobbies and love camping as much as you do. It's a unique combination, and you don't really care for the idea of risking your safety by going alone.

“That is something that I have not tried yet, but I want to.” Javi was sheltered a lot and since he had come to the US, he wanted to do things that were unavailable to him before.

"You should." The glass he hands to you to bubbling and cheery and inviting, making the look of wistful longing on his face even more pronounced. "Sleeping under the stars and cooking over a campfire? It's fun." And romantic, but you hesitate to point that out at the moment.

"I will have to find someone to knows how to do it." He wants to ask if you would show him, but that is entirely presumptuous for a movie night between people getting know each other. "Show me the ropes as you say."

"I hope you find just the right person." This would be so much easier if you had any idea whether or not he was flirting...

He bites his lip, slightly disappointed that you did not offer but he cannot make you like him. Instead of moping, he taps the rim of his own wine glass to yours. "To making new friends and movie marathons."

"And being extremely clumsy in line at the Redbox." You have to laugh at yourself, seeing as how it ended up with such a fun night for both of you. The part of you that is normally shakingly self-conscious is a little quieter with him. You're just a little nervous instead of downright anxious, which is the way that meeting new people normally makes you feel. And that is a very big deal to you.

"It was my pleasure to be accosted by your purse." He teases, sending you a small wink before he takes a sip of his wine. "It is not every day a gorgeous creature such as yourself runs into me." He tells you. "My very own rom-com meet cute."

If you hadn't just swallowed a sip of the delicious wine, you might be wearing it, completely floored by the compliment and wondering if it is possible for cheeks to become the temperature of lava instantly. "Believe me," you murmur, sure that you look as flustered as you feel. "The pleasure is all mine."

Javi wants to impress you, feeling very delighted in the way your eyes slide away shyly, like you were flustered. "Would you like to see my collection?" He asks you suddenly. "I have a lot of film memorabilia."

“Sure!” You have a few favourite recreated props and other pieces of your own. Enough to know that the pieces a person collects says a lot about them as a person. “Sounds like fun.”

Javi grins and motions you deeper into the house. "I had a better set up in Spain, but this is what I decided to bring with me when I— when I moved." He wants to go back and get more, but he has been nervous to, opening the door to the second bedroom and flipping on the light so you can step inside.

“Oh wow…” Stepping inside the room makes your eyes widen and your jaw slacken slightly, just taking in the sheer amount of actual real movie props on display in the large re-purposed bedroom. The built-in shelves are chock full of specifically Nick Cage-related items and you go from shocked to ear-to-ear grinning in an instant. “Oh, so you’re a Nick Cage fan,” you tease lightly, even though you immediately go over to inspect the chainsaw sitting on a table against the far wall. “Is this the actual prop chainsaw from Mandy??”

"Yes." Javi grins, catching the pure delight in your voice. "He was impressed with the collection too." He admits. "Although I still need to get my golden guns back from him."

“The golden guns?” When you whirl back around to look at him you’re in awe again. “How did you possibly get ahold of this stuff, Javi? You must be like the single most successful auction bidder of all time.”

He gives another shrug and looks around the room again, unsure of how to answer that. "I guess that anything is possible with enough money." He says finally before he looks back at you. "It is how I met Nick. I paid for him to come to my birthday two years ago."

“I—wow…” Of course you’ve heard of things like that, but never actually met anyone who did it. That kind of thing takes an insane amount of money. And usually an ego - the kind of person who believes they should get to possess the world just because they can buy it. Javi is definitely not like that. He’s sweet, and unassuming, and kind of seems like he didn’t want to even admit it at first. Maybe so you wouldn’t think less of him? “And then you worked together after that?” You can’t help the way your curious eyes roam around the room, zeroing in on the encased copy of the Declaration of Independence from National Treasure with the cipher encoded on the back. It’s cheesy, but you love those movies so much.

"I asked him if he would write a script with me." He admits, looking around proudly. "I think we will take home the Oscar this next year."

"Wait—" You're starting to feel like your head is spinning a little as the eerie feeling being sure that he must be famous somehow slides into place. The puzzle pieces that click in your head nearly make you squeak out loud when you look up at him again. "The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent? That was your script?"

He tips his shoulders up again, self-conscious again and he wonders if you hated the movie. "Guilty." He admits, rushing over to a shelf and pulling out his working script. His and Nick's notes are scrawled through it and he holds it out to you, proud of his name emblazoned on the front.

"You don't understand..." Your fingertips barely touch the pages, like you're afraid it might burn you or release some kind of booby trap. "I love this movie. Like I went to see it five times in theaters and I took notes on the characterization because I thought it was so good. It's phenomenal, Javi." The way your chest tightens, realizing that this man in front of you is the genius behind one of your favourite new films, is fangirling and excitement and definitely a dose of attraction like you've never felt before. "You're an incredibly talented writer, and I—I'm sure any horror movie you write is going to blow the genre right out of the water."

He can't help but blush, flustering as he looks down at the script that he had pour his soul into. "T-thank you." He murmurs softly, touched that you would say such a kind thing to him. Even after reading the reviews, he still didn't believe the success of the film, but he gives all the credit for it to Nick and his brilliant performance.

"Seriously." The way he shies away is endearing, almost blustering. "If you don't win an Oscar, I'll protest the damn Academy myself."

He gives a small laugh, relaxing at your vehement claim and nods. "I might take you up on that if it comes to it."

"Cross my heart," you promise, warming at the smile that spreads across his face.

When the doorbell rings, Javi is disappointed to leave the room in order to go to the front door to collect dinner. Pouting slightly when you insist that you pay, he at least pulls out his wallet to tip the driver, something that he had learned was very important here in the states.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is only an hour long, the 1920 black and white classic being a perfect way to start the night as you both dig into the barbecue pizza and continue to savor the delicious cava that his family's vineyard produces. Things are a little more relaxed between you now, as you've started to get to know each other, and you feel like you're starting to get a clearer version of who this sweet, incredibly talented, and fairly nerdy man really is.

He is drawn to you. You are witty, incredibly knowledgeable and gorgeous. He feels himself starting to develop a crush on you, even as the movie plays and the two of you snack on the treats he had purchased. Enjoying the way that you laugh with your entire being and he wants to make sure that you continue to do that. Your eyes sparkle when you do and your smile is mesmerizing.

By the time Caligari is over and Suspiria is popped into the DVD player, you're pleasantly buzzing from the wine and pull one of the throw blankets off the back of the couch to drape over you as you start to crave that feeling of comfy-coziness that always comes with movie night. It lays over both you and Javi easily, almost putting you in a little cocoon together. He has inched closer to you, drawn to the spicy, floral scent of your perfume and needing the warmth of another body close by as he shivers slightly. His eyes move from the movie over to you and he bites his lip.

It’s a slightly sexier film, although that wasn’t at all why you recommended it, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the way Javi has shifted slightly beside you on the couch. Somehow, over the last hour or more, you’ve inched closer to each other And while you aren’t complaining in the least, it is definitely making you feel like there’s some kind of fire igniting in the place where your arms and sides are pressing lightly against each other. It’s intoxicating in a way that is completely different from the wine and far more distracting - a trick of your mind or wishful thinking making you sure you’ve caught him looking at you more than a few times tonight.

His breath catches slightly and can't deny that there is a sense of eroticism to this that has him thinking about other erotic things that nothing to do with the movie and everything to do with woman sitting beside him.

“Do you—um—” You swear you heard him gasp but you’re not sure why, and you glance over at Javi about halfway through the movie. “Are you enjoying it?”

"I am." Javi murmurs, leaning in more and inching just a little closer to you. "Are you? Anything to do to make it better?"

He’s barely a breath away when he leans in again, and you feel like you might catch on fire if he gets any closer - though you’re too fuzzy from the nearness to know if that’s a bad thing or not. “I mean…” You crack a grin, feeling your heart in your throat. “Did you have something in mind?”

"That is a...question." Javi nearly gulps as he wonders if you are waiting for him to make a move. "One that has several answers." He admits with a small grin.

It would only take the smallest movement to close the space between you, and your eyes flicker to his lips before you can stop yourself. "I—I think I'm very interested in those answers..."

There is his answer. Javi nods to himself, making up his mind as he stares at you softly. "You are?" He smirks slightly and reaches up to cup your cheek. When you nod, he leans in to kiss you in a burst of confidence.

When the moment of hesitation passes, it seems like you both internally toss up your hands. His arms are around you, you're pressing into his space, and the thread of tension that has finally snapped has both of you sighing into the kiss and letting it linger between you. His lips are soft and warm, drawing you in just as assuredly as his arms are around your body.

Javi groans against your lips, shuffling forward and needs to be closer to you. Wishing that he was lying next to you but that can be remedied, the tv and movie completely forgotten.

The only thought left in your head at this point is him - your hands finding purchase in his shirt before one slides up to the back of his neck and eventually ends up in his hair. Your kiss passed any version of innocent about thirty seconds ago and you don't give a single damn, especially not when you feel like tongue drag delicately along the seam of your lips and you open up to let him in without hesitation.

He moans as you let him in. Nothing mattering but the way you taste. He shuffles, pushing off the couch with his lips still locked to yours and moving so that he can climb onto the cushions beside you, his arms wrapping around your soft shoulders and pulling you to his chest. It all seems to happen in slow motion despite how eagerly you’re both grasp for each other. But within moments you’re laying side by side on the overly deep couch cushions, tangled up in each other’s arms with the entire rest of the world forgotten.

Javi slides his hand down your thick side, reaching for the cushion of your thigh and pulls it up, draping it over his hip so he can slide closer. Groaning when he feels the heat that is wonderfully trapped by your core radiating out while he slowly explores your mouth.

It really is the last thing you expected to happen tonight. Nothing could have been farther from your mind when you accepted his invitation. But now that you’re here it feels like it was meant to be. The tented front of his soft lounge pants hides nothing, letting you feel the heat and hardness of his excitement grinding into your core worth every roll of his hips. It’s stunning, and you moan into his kiss eagerly as you scramble to pull him impossibly closer.

He shudders when you drag him closer, happily going wherever you wanted him. A scream sounds from the tv but all he can think about is how you taste, breaking away from your lips so he can kiss down your heated skin.

“Javi—” As soon as he moves down your neck his name is dripping from your lips, a nearly ecstatic moan as you can practically feel him hardening between your legs.

“Beautiful.” He whispers against your skin. His teeth scrap over your pulse and he soothes it with his tongue. Sliding his hand up and down your thick thigh lovingly, he reaches back and slides his hand into the pocket of your jeans and grabs a large handful of your ass. “So fucking sexy.”

You whimper at that, drinking in his praise and rolling your hips up to meet his. “Want you so fucking bad,” you admit breathlessly, so wrapped up in him that you feel overwhelmed and elated all at once.

“You do?” Javi pulls back and gives you an almost surprised look. Half afraid that he had been caught up in the moment or that he was pushing too hard. “What do you want?”

“You.” Admittedly, you’re surprised that he’s surprised, but you’ve got enough self-esteem issues to not question it. “A-as much as you’re comfortable with.” Really, you have to laugh a little, but only a little. “I mean…I’m not opposed to sex in the first date…even if we didn’t really plan for it to be a date.”

“I wanted it to be.” He admits with a shy grin. “But I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

“I wanted it to be.” Reaching up, you brush an errant curl out of his eyes. “But I didn’t think you were interested in me that way.”

“I am not blind.” He grunts, pouting at you and leaning in to kiss you again. “You are a very beautiful woman and I want to take you to bed.”

“Please.” You are in no way above begging, especially when a man this handsome is praising you and wanting you. It makes you want to give it back tenfold.

It is hard to pull himself away, but he does it knowing that he is going to be able to be much closer soon. Standing up and holding out his hand for you, wanting to help you off the sofa. “We will be more comfortable in a bed.”

He’s stronger than he looks. You notice that immediately when he helps you off the sofa with ease, and pulls you directly into him for another kiss that leaves you breathless. “Lead the way,” you murmur when you’re forced to come up for air.

He’s nervous as he guides you down the hall, past the memorabilia room towards the master bedroom of the house. It’s been a long time since he had been with someone besides Gabriella and he wasn’t sure if that was in his favor.

Maybe you recognize that he's nervous because you've felt that way so many times before, or maybe you recognize it because you're also feeling it in this exact moment. Either way, when you reach for his hand just inside the doorway of his bedroom, you offer him a soft smile of assurance. "I'm nervous too. Don't worry about it."

“You should not be worried.” Javi frowns slightly. “You are gorgeous. Men must hit on you all the time.”

"Never." When you laugh it isn't exactly self-deprecating, just matter-of-fact. "I think you're the first man I've been alone with in...nearly a year?" You shrug, lacing your fingers through his in that same steady, supportive way. "You, though? Gorgeous, sweet, funny, and clever? I don't know how you're possibly single." And then you smirk at him, and wink, teasing to hopefully lighten the mood. Because he's too genuine of a man for you to believe he would lie about something big like that. "You are single, right?"

“Very much single.” He promises, although he would like that to change. “I have been used to people caring about me because of my name, my money.” He admits with a small shrug. “The last woman I was with could not handle wanting to put aside those things.”

"Then she wasn't good enough for you." There's a certainty in your voice - a surety - that you genuinely believe what you're saying. Money and fame aren't things you give a shit about, which makes you something of a unicorn in LA. "But all the better for me. Since I'm the one with you now."

He gives you a grin and a small wink. “That depends on how I perform.” He reminds you with a chuckle.

"If you fuck as well as you kiss, I don't think we have anything to worry about." Even if he fucks half as well as he kisses, you'll be in heaven. The man makes kissing seem like the most passionate indulgence on earth and you're pretty much living for it.

There is a slight ruddiness to his cheeks but he doesn’t shy away. Instead he reaches for your hips and pulls you closer. “There is only one way to find out.” He murmurs softly.

From there it's almost a blur getting to the bed, clothes being tossed aside as hands and lips caress every inch of skin as it is exposed. A flurry of grasping hands and needy kisses until the backs of your legs hit against his bedframe and you both go tumbling backward onto his mattress.

“Oh fuck.” Your softness is exquisite, and Javi pushes you into his bed as he clambers on top of you.

Somehow you knew his bed would be soft and luxurious, and the solid weight of him on top of you has you pressed into the mattress so he seems to fully surround you. Your knees part to make room for him in the cradle of your thighs, and every inch of you is on fire with wanting him. There are no barriers left - not a stitch of clothing - and you swear it might be the first time ever that you haven't immediately wanted to hide from sight when you were first bare for a new partner. Something about him just makes you feel safe, in a way you can't say you've ever felt before.

“You are so beautiful.” Javi gushes, his cock hard and leaking against your pillowy hip and he cannot help but rock himself into your skin, luxuriating in the warmth. “Gorgeous, a goddess to be worshiped.”

"We have all the time in the world." As badly as your body might be screaming to cut to the chase, aching for him to be inside you, the time to explore is something you won't take for granted. Maybe it will never happen again. Maybe this is just a one-time thing. If it is, you want as many beautiful memories of him as you can possibly get.

“I want to make you feel good.” He shuffles back to his knees, drinking in the sight of your body spread out for him and he cannot stop stroking your thighs. “What do you want, preciosa?”

Even just a few inches back he's out of your reach, and the impulse to reach for him - to wrap your fingers around his length and find out exactly what kind of pressure he likes with a fist around his cock - melts away to wondering if he's offering to do that. You lick your lips unconsciously, biting the lower one a second later as his large hands knead your thighs gently. "Would you..." You would never make him, but he did ask what you wanted. "Taste me?"

Javi groans in relief, happy that you have voiced your desire and nods eagerly. “Yes.” He practically pants as he leans in and presses his lips to yours. “I want to see how you respond to my fingers, to my tongue. Reenact Blue Valentine?”

It takes you a second to roll through your vague memory of the movie to figure out what scene he's talking about, but when you arrive at it, a smirk forms on your lips. "Do you like to have your hair pulled?"

He bites his lip and flashes you a slightly guilty look. “I don’t know.” He admits. “None of— no one has done that while I—” he breaks off the rest of the comment in embarrassment.

"Would you like to find out?" You won't push him to do anything that he doesn't want to, but you want to give him a chance to experience something new if he wants. And if you remember that scene in Blue Valentine correctly, there was a whole lot of hair pulling.

“Yes.” He doesn’t even hide how badly he wants to find out how it would feel. “Only if you want to though.”

"I definitely do." With gorgeous thick waves of hair like he has, you doubt you would have been able to resist.

You’ve given him permission, now all he has to do is move. Javi can’t until he leans back down again, stealing one last kiss before he starts to blaze a trail of kisses over your skin to his goal. Your head drops back onto the duvet the second you feel his breath on your core, his name a whimper from the back of your throat as you arch your back off the bed to try to get him to move closer to where you want him most.

There is a deliciousness to the way that you squirm towards him. It makes him feel greedy in ways he didn’t know he could. He starts slow, kissing the entrancing flesh over your womb and then both of your generous hips. In no way concerned with the rolls and folds he sees. Actually eager to explore.

Aware enough of yourself and your body to let your legs open wide for him. Leaning up on your elbows lets you watch the flex in his shoulders and the intense concentration on the parts of his face you can actually see when he isn't burying himself in your pussy. It's completely divine, drawing vocal moans and whimpers and gasps from your throat and making you so glad you talked it through so you don't have to hesitate for even a second before threading your fingers through the thick mass of hair on his head and giving a small but definitive tug with your nails scratching along his scalp.

The sensation of you pulling on his hair goes straight to his cock and he cannot help the loud moan that he sounds directly into your pussy. His hands sliding under your hips and wrapping around them before he dives deeper.

"Fuck!" It's like you found an Encouragement Button, and you repeat the action to see if you'll get as eager a reaction the second time. When he moans into you again you keen, loving the way the vibrations roll through your body and make you shiver.

He loves how vocal you are. Every sound you make is pushing him to make you give him more. Turning nearly craven for the praises that tumble from your lips and the sharp tugs on his hair. That he takes his time is both torturous and a virtue. Every stroke of his tongue is bringing you closer to your peak but not quickly - it's like he took your remark about having all the time in the world extremely literally. He is exploring every inch of you from the inside out, devouring you systematically, and you hope he never stops.

Javi slowly learns your body, his hands sliding up and down your thighs, caressing them as he licks into you. Taking brief pauses so he can kiss your inner thighs, right where they rub together before plunging back into your cunt like a favored dessert. Sweeter than all the candy still laying in his living room; he groans into you again.

The rambling, whimpering, begging mess you have become would probably make you a prime candidate for homemade porn but you can’t find a single ounce of restraint in yourself anymore. One hand flexes and pulls in Javi’s hair, tugging a little tighter as that familiar twisting in your belly starts to take over. Your legs tremble a little with the intensity of it, tensing at his ears and telling him you’re close before you can even gasp out the words.

You are so reactive to his tongue. Javi groans and doubles down on how eagerly he licks into you. Begging you to cum with every flick of his tongue. When you crest that peak you’re practically sobbing, your free hand tangled in the duvet and the one in his hair pulling tight the way you - and he - have learned that he likes. It makes you incredibly glad that you’re doing this at his place and not yours. Your roommate would be pounding on the wall and telling you to keep your ’oh gods’ to yourself. But when your thighs squeeze his ears just that much tighter and your back completely leaves the bed, that flood of cum makes you cry his name as loud as you please, and you don’t give a damn who hears it.

He can’t help but grind into the bed, needing the friction to relieve the aching want that is nearly at its breaking point. Unable to do anything but push you through your high, he moans into you as you soak his chin with the deliciously tangy flood of your cum.

“Holy fuck.” You can’t help giggling a little when you get your breath back, looking down at Javi and soothing your hand through his hair gently.

He grins, like a student receiving praise from a teacher or a man getting lavish praises from a lover, soaking it up and nuzzling into your touch. “You taste amazing.” He murmurs, ducking his head again to take another lazy lick.

"I'm glad you think so." That extra little shot of attention to your core makes you shiver. "You ready for more, querido?" The endearment slips from your lips easily when you look down at him, wondering who could possibly let this incredible man slip through their fingers and how grateful you are that they did.

“If you are.” He is aching to slide inside you, but if you are tired from your orgasm or have changed your mind, he will not protest. “What do you want?”

“You.” This time when you say it, it’s practically a moan. “Want you inside me, Javi, please.”

Javi nods, shuffling up to his knees and leaning over you so that he can reach for the nightstand. It’s been some time, but he wouldn’t be so irresponsible as to not have protection.

There's small amounts of shifting - pulling the duvet back and finding the comfortable nest of pillows at the top of his bed, wrapping up in each other for languid kisses, and finally resettling with Javi nestled between your thighs. Neither of you has the mind left for teasing, needing to feel how well you fit together.

The condom on, Javi braces his weight to one side - his right. Taking himself in hand, he strokes himself gently and groans when he presses up against your wet entrance. “Are you sure?” He looks earnestly into your eyes, elated that you are in his bed, but giving you one last chance to change your mind before he slides inside you.

"Absolutely." Your smile is as soft as your hands are when you cup his cheeks, thumbs dragging along the stubble on his jaw when you reach up to kiss him again. It's the surest you've been about anything in a long time, and that is surprisingly more reassuring than anything else.

He goes slow. His body suspended over yours, he fills you one slow inch at the time. In no rush as he stretches you out, his lips part against yours and a low moan is breathed into you as your walls grip him tight.

The moment of pause you both need to adjust to each other is only a pause. By your next breath you're shifting beneath him, raising your leg up to hitch high on his hip and let him sink a little deeper. Both of you groan deeply, messy and eager kisses interrupted only when he starts to move inside you.

Once he starts to move, he can think of nothing but the way you feel. Your walls pulsing around him and the soft cushion of your thighs and hips as he rocks into you. Panting out your name as he bottoms out again and again.

The rhythm takes over, hips rolling and breath mingling together slowly at first. The slow doesn't last long though, as both of you feel that same shuddering need for closeness that soon enough you have both hands above your head to brace yourself against hitting your head on his headboard as his pace ramps up to demanding. It's perfect. Both of your legs are wrapped around his waist as he pounds into your dripping cunt, tits bouncing with every thrust and encouraging praise falling from your lips in an endless ramble.

All Javi can do is grit his teeth, hissing between them at how tight you get. How obscene it sounds as his hips slap against your thighs and ass and your entire body takes the force of his increasingly hard thrusts. “Fuck.”

"So fucking good," you can feel yourself on the edge again, though the shaking in your thighs is as much from the way he's fucking you as it does with your impending orgasm. "Goddamn, baby, I'm gonna cum, fuck."

“Good.” Javi groans, your words just making him work that much harder. Sweat rolling down his face but he doesn’t pay it any attention, to lost in the way your walls are fluttering around him. “Cum baby, cum.”

It’s so easy to give in. To surrender to how fucking perfect he feels pounding you into mattress. You tense up under him, keening in pleasure and letting his name be the sound that falls from your lips as you fully come apart for him again. The only thing that could have been better would be if he had cum at the same time, but as you clench around him and draw him even deeper into your cunt you can feel how erratic his thrusts become.

He pants, a small whine the only sound he makes, his brow furrowed as he follows you into bliss. Gasping out your name as he stops thrusting, grinding deep into you as he can possibly get and pours himself into the condom in sheer relief.

“Fuck.” That small giggle touches your lips again, making you grin broadly against Javi’s shoulder as he holds himself over you. Just a little coaxing from you encourages him to let go and lay on top of you while he catches his breath, letting you ghost kisses across his face and shoulders and comb his hair from his face in the meantime.

He chuckles slightly, turning his head so he can press his lips to yours. He had anticipated renting a movie, coming home, and watching it by himself while he wished that he had someone beside him. Instead, he had literally run into you and was now more relaxed than he has probably ever been. “If this is how we act with horror movies, how will we be with romance?”

You grin at him, beaming in the afterglow of something so unexpected and beautiful. “There’s only one way to find out.”

His own grin matches your and he leans in to nuzzle your cheeks. “We can move the movie marathon into the bedroom and in the morning - I’ll treat you a brunch. If you want to spend the night and fall asleep watching movies with me.” He adds hopefully.

“Hmmm,” you pretend to think, leaving a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I think I’d like that a whole lot.”

“Good.” Javi flushes from both the kiss and the supreme corniness of his coming comment. “We can cuddle for safety.” He teases with a grin. “Have I mentioned I get scared very easy?”

"Don't worry." You tell him, when you finally stop giggling. "I'll protect you."

Javi grins and rolls off of you, pulling you with him so that you are sprawled on top of him, completely unconcerned with your weight. Actually enjoying the way you feel, grounding him and helping him feel like all of this is really real. “My heroine.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javi Gutierrez #Javi Gutierrez x reader #Javi Gutierrez x you #Javi Gutierrez x female reader #the unbearable weight of massive talent #tuwomt #plus size reader #spooktober #meetcute

418 notes · View notes

seeminglydark · 2 months

Note

If you don’t mind, could Mickey and his partner get some love? Maybe something from their early relationship when they first got together.

Anon, I DONT mind at all! All the requests/prompts I’ve gotten were for JxC which I love, and I have one or two more I’ll do, BUT I may or may not have dropped everything when I got this one cuz THE BOYS YES I WILL DRAW the boys. This is slightly before their early relationship, which is hopefully ok, but I love bi panic reggie and oblivious Mick and I’ve had an idea of something like this for a while, so thank you for giving me the opportunity to make it! I AM going to draw some cuddles/spicy/thirst trap/relationshippy stuff with them more often I think.

Anyway for context for those who don’t know these characters, or haven’t read my smallest project Call Me Mickey, Mick and Reggie are married and from my comic Seemingly Dark. This scene is just after their MeetCute on the internets of 2008, when online user MightyMouse jumps on a bus to Seattle to check on his ‘best pal’ RockabillyReggie, who suffers from chronic depression. Mickey has never been in a real relationship or found himself attracted to any of the girls his other friends try to hook him up with back in LA, well it turns out that’s cuz he’s INCREDIBLY GAY and his new found friend Reggie helps him navigate new found feelings.

Reg, ofc, has a big thirst for this cute dude crashing on the couch in his apartment but tries very hard to keep his cool until Mick confesses to him later that night.

SO YEAH I really do love them. I don’t draw as much as I used too cuz I have a little bit of sad surrounding their stories (bad memory/sad boy hour stuff) but getting over that slowly but surely. And ofc Mick is the main protagonist in Seemingly Dark, least we forget. He has big things up ahead, and I cannot wait to show you he and Reggie’s continued story.

#sketch prompts #ask box #gay man #original characters #rockabilly #internet relationships #long distance #meetcute #the BOYS

30 notes · View notes

storge · 10 months

Text

Thank you for saving me. My name is Dongbo Xueying. May I ask your name? We just met by chance. No need to ask for my name.

Snow Eagle Lord (2023) 1.01

108 notes · View notes

practicingbushiho · 11 months

Text

its rarepair week over on twitter courtesy of a Real Cool Twitter User and so I am taking advantage of yet another opportunity to draw Aymeric and Hien by imagining what their first encounter would be like lmao

#xivrarepairweek #meetcute #day one: meetcute #Aymeric/Hien #Hien Rijin #aymeric de borel #lyse hext #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv art #ffxiv

121 notes · View notes

weathertheraine · 1 year

Text

Grocery store meet-cute for my timeskip Asanoya ^v^ I love them so much they are soooo love-at-first-sight to me. I have various little aus where they’re neighbours/living in the same city and keep seeing each other around- I think they’re perfect for things like those coffee shop/flower shop/tattoo parlour aus. Noya is always instantly head-over-heels.

I also have to make them t4t ofc <3 Help… Tall Lady…

(Transmasc Noya - he/him, Bigender Asahi - he/she)

214 notes · View notes

vi-kingandlionheart · 8 months

Text

Hi everyone, happy mericcup month!!

Luckily, this year I'll be able to participate with four pieces for this month, and here is the first one!

I mixed and matched the prompts given by @allthingsmericcup , so this one here is both meetcute and modern AU.

Hope you like it and see you in a bit!

#mericcup #rotbtd #rise of the brave tangled dragons #how to train your dragon #httyd #brave #mericcup month #mericcupmonth23 #mericcup month 2023 #meetcute #modern au

46 notes · View notes

smolalienbee · 9 months

Text

A. J. Crowley’s Handbook on Flirtation at Height

good omens // aziraphale/crowley // a human AU meet-cute with construction worker!Aziraphale // rated T // 6.7k words The 5 times Aziraphale got away with breaking work policy and the 1 time he got fired for it. read on AO3 here!

As stated in clause 3.4 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, employees on site should take care not to invade on the privacy of the residents of nearby buildings. As to avoid causing any discomfort, employees are strictly prohibited from engaging with the residents unless strictly necessary (as such as in case of an accident).”

Today, in so far as Crowley is aware, is a Good day. So good, in fact, that he’s up at the whopping hour of five thirty in the morning - and no, for once it’s not because he hasn’t slept at night - and when he moves through his flat, it’s with a certain swagger in his hips that only happens when he’s in a particularly good mood. On a more average day, he prefers lurking and slithering and sauntering - certainly not pirouetting, dancing almost, as he slides in his socks on the slippery tiles.

It’s dark outside, but still, he pulls the blinds open. Then, he cracks open the window and inhales deeply, taking a whiff of London and its rather questionable quality of air. There's scaffolding, right outside his window. It’s been there for a few days, but so far there’s been no sight of any construction work happening, fortunately for him. He isn’t even sure what the work is gonna be nor does he care to find out - there’s always some bloody construction or other going on in Mayfair. As long as there’s no one glaring into his window, he’s fine.

He puts on music - Queen, of course. He’s fairly certain all his files turn into Queen somehow because last he checked, there were not this many Queen MP3s on his phone. Well, at least it’s Queen. Could’ve been worse; as it is, he’s always up to listen to Queen.

When he gets into the shower, it’s to the tune of Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy; as he washes his hair, he listens to It’s A Hard Life; and, by the time he steps out from under the stream, he’s accompanied by Fat Bottomed Girls. It’s still a Good day and so he wraps a towel around his hips and then more or less dances his way out of the bathroom, all while loudly belting out the familiar lyrics

“Across the wire, across the land,” he and Freddie sing at once, one of them (Crowley, it’s definitely Crowley) louder than the other. The bathroom door slams shut behind him and he moves further into the flat. “I seen every blue-eyed floozy on the way,” the song continues as Crowley throws his head back, eyes closed, and then - oh.

He blinks them open and stops directly in front of the open window. The bloody scaffolding, he remembers as he stares right into a pair of bluest, prettiest eyes he has ever seen on a guy dressed in an ugly hi-vis vest. The construction, he thinks desperately.

He must be a sight. He’s still dripping wet, naked save for the towel covering his most private bits. His mouth hangs open.

At least the other party involved, the construction worker standing on the other side of the glass, seems to also be in quite a state. He’s staring, wide-eyed and completely frozen. Pretty really does seem like a fitting word to describe him - there’s white, curly hair poking out from underneath his hard hat; a softness to his cheeks and laugh lines clearly etched into his skin. Looking closely, Crowley can also spot a hint of muscle, toned arms peeking out from underneath the neon vest and the white t-shirt. So not only pretty, the guy’s clearly strong as well. For Heaven’s sake, it truly is Crowley’s luck that he happens to be exactly his type. To top it all off, he’s blushing, furiously so, even as his gaze never strays from Crowley.

As if the universe was mocking him, Crowley hears Freddie continue from the bathroom, “Oh, won’t you take me home tonight?” How fitting.

It’s at that same time that the construction worker is brought out of his stupor as well. There’s a noise, outside, a clank and a bang and then a distant voice yelling, “Oi! You, up there! Fell! Watch what the bloody hell you’re doing!”

The guy - the angel, Crowley can’t help but think - jumps a little, startled, and twists his head to look over the railing and down. It’s only a few seconds at best, but it’s still enough time for Crowley to finally shut his stupid mouth and compose himself. Right, he can still salvage this one, certainly. He might be - well, he might still be naked, technically, and he might have just been caught belting out Queen lyrics by the most gorgeously angelic construction worker he has ever seen, but… he’s nothing if not transcendentally confident, even at the most absurd of times.

The moment the worker turns back towards the window, Crowley gives him a rakish smile and blows a kiss in his direction. Somehow, the angel manages to blush even harder, smiling sheepishly as he waves at Crowley. See, situation salvaged. Crowley’s still managed to come out of this looking smooth as hell, if he does say so himself.

All in all, today is not just a Good day, but a Spectacular one. After all, Crowley has learned at last that outside his window there’s an angel.

As stated in clause 1.2 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, employees on site are required to be in appropriate personal protective equipment at all times. The type of equipment required will depend on the type of construction work currently being performed and includes, but is not limited to, items such as: high visibility clothing, hard hats and helmets, ear defenders, goggles [...]”

Today is the day Crowley will, for the first time in his life, commit actual bloody murder. He’s certain of it.

The drilling began at a little past six in the morning. While it’s been unpleasant from the very start, it was at least bearable initially. But now, three hours in and with no end in sight? Well, Crowley truly is ready to kill someone, consequences be damned. Hopefully prison is quieter than this absolute hell.

Worst of all, he’s actually been hoping to get some work done today. As it is, though, he sits at his laptop and simply suffers since not even the music blasting into his ears is enough to drown out the incessant drilling.

Finally, fed up with it all, he stands from his desk with a newfound resolution. In a few strides, he makes it over to the window then wrenches it open.

“Oi!” he yells. “Mate! Sod off already with all that bloody noise, driving me - absolutely - bonkers…” he trails off, suddenly realising who he’s yelling at. That angelic face, again. “Oh. ‘s you. Angel.”

Noticing that he’s being talked at, the angel stops drilling and stands up straight. He’s wearing a pair of blue ear defenders and he makes a move to pull them down so that they rest on his shoulders instead of atop his ears. It’s at that moment that Crowley realises he hasn’t heard a word of what he’s been yelling - although admittedly, Crowley still feels a bit bad about it.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s you!” Crowley repeats, trying to squash the feeling. “From the other day. When I - ngk…” He waves an arm uselessly, unable to find an elegant way of phrasing something like when I was dancing and singing naked in my flat and you saw it all. Also, you happen to be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, could we kiss maybe?

Bugger. Crowley’s a disaster.

“No, yes, I know, of course, I remember you, but - sorry, what was it that you said?”

“Ah.” Crowley scratches at the back of his neck. “Er, well, ‘s just that you’ve been drilling a hole into my head this entire morning, angel. But, part of the job, I suppose, not your fault.”

“Oh. Oh, dear, I’m terribly sorry, I don’t intend on disturbing you, truly, but the work is what it is…”

“No, yeah, I know, I know, ‘s not on you, it’s just, well… a bit aggravating, really.”

Looking at him up close like this, Crowley’s beginning to feel even worse over the whole thing. The angel looks genuinely apologetic and a little distressed, as if being a nuisance to Crowley caused him physical pain. It’s not a fit look for a guy as pretty as he is. Besides, Crowley knows well what it’s like to have to do your job while getting in the way and on the nerves of everyone around him. With a soft sigh, he leans against the window frame.

“Look, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just turn the music up a bit or, I dunno, go out, do some work from a Starbucks while you finish up your… drilling.”

“Dear boy, I’d hate to inconvenience you…”

Crowley is about to argue, but before he can say much of anything, there’s a pair of ear defenders being shoved in his direction. Or, well, shoved is perhaps the wrong word to describe what’s really happening - it’s more that the angel is offering them, gingerly, like they’re a treasure. Or a wedding ring, Crowley’s mind supplies helpfully. Right, great one, brain.

“Here,” the angel says.

Crowley stares, dumbfounded. “What?”

“You can use these. While I drill. They muffle the sound quite efficiently, if I do say so myself.”

“Isn’t that exactly why you need them?” Crowley asks, pushing himself off the window frame and standing up straight. The angel is still holding the muffs out and so at last Crowley relents and takes them from him.

“Well - yes, certainly, but it’s no trouble for me to grab another pair.”

“You’re sure you can just… give them away?” The angel nods. “Are you sure you’re sure?”

“Quite sure, indeed.” He clasps his hands, clearly chuffed that he’s managed to talk Crowley into this. “Jolly good, then! Off you go, dear, best not to dawdle.”

“Suppose not…” Crowley turns the muffs over in his hands and considers them for a moment. “Thanks, angel,” he says eventually, giving him a small smile.

The rest of the afternoon is blissfully silent. He sits at his desk, clad in the blue ear defenders and protected by the will of a construction angel.

As stated in clause 2.1 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“While performing work at a construction site, employees should only take breaks in areas designated for that purpose. Employees should not consume their meals in areas not meant for such activities, this includes, but is not limited to: scaffoldings, buildings in which construction is being performed, vehicles [...]”

It’s lunch time, by the time Crowley gets home, and yet the construction work outside his window seems to be going in full force. He sees him, the angel, walking across the scaffolding in his silly hard hat and silly vest, though to Crowley’s eye he seems… a bit more crestfallen than usual; tired, perhaps.

Crowley can’t help but feel a pang of concern and wonder, has he even taken a break today? How do I cheer him up? because he’s that kind of a romance-inclined idiot. Anyway. He can think of one offering he can make to the angel and it comes in the form of a tupperware container full of badly folded sushi. He’s already ingested enough fish food to last him a lifetime during the sushi-making class Anathema had taken him to and so, really, it’d be a waste if he didn’t at least offer some of it to someone, right? The sushi might not be his best work, for sure, but hopefully it’d still be enough to satiate the angel.

And so, with a tupperware container and a set of chopsticks in hand, he makes his way over to the window. He pulls it open and raps his knuckles against the windowsill to get the angel’s attention.

“Oh! Hello,” he greets with a smile and a wave.

“Taken your lunch break yet, angel?”

The angel pauses at the question. He glances at the work around him then back at Crowley and the container that’s still cradled against his chest.

“Right! Yes. Lunch. That is to say, no, I haven’t - if you’d be so kind, what time is it, dear?”

“Like, one. Nearly one, anyway.”

“Rather late already… I’ve gotten so caught up in the work I didn’t even realise. I suppose I shall pop down for a quick bite, then, thank you -”

“Wait.” Crowley holds up a hand. “I thought - er, thought I could tempt you to have lunch with me? I, well, a friend of mine dragged me out to a sushi class, now I’ve got so much sushi leftover there’s no chance I’ll ever finish it on my own so I figured… could share it?”

He raises his eyebrows, gestures at the container and waits. It’s as good an offer as he can make, a chance at a proper conversation with the kindest man on this scaffolding. The angel does appear to consider it, his expression shifting in ten different, miniscule ways as he thinks.

“I could get in trouble,” he says slowly. He chews on his lip, conflicted. “There’s all sorts of rules about it, designated areas…” he trails off. His gaze flickers down to the sushi.

“Surely one time couldn’t hurt? Get a slap on your wrist at worst and at best… no one will even notice.”

Despite not getting a clear response, Crowley places the tupperware down on the windowsill. Carefully, he perches down next to it and then holds his arm out, offering the chopsticks to the angel. With a soft sigh, he relents and takes this offering before joining Crowley on the windowsill. They sit, back to back, the container between them, but still their heads are turned in such a way so that they can look at one another.

“You really didn’t have to,” the angel says fondly, picking up the container. Despite the small protests he’s been putting up, he seems rather pleased by the turn of events.

“Sure I did.” Crowley grins. “Wouldn’t want an angel to go hungry, now would I?”

Chopsticks hovering in the space above the container, the angel pauses. Crowley raises an eyebrow.

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Angel. Calling me angel.”

“Oh. Nyehhh, you know, you’ve got those curly white little -” Crowley gestures at his face. “And your - cherubic… cheeks…” He really should cut it out right about now, before he makes a complete fool out of himself. “And - you’ve never told me your name.”

“Aziraphale,” the angel says. He looks a bit flustered and Crowley wonders what did it, the pet name itself or perhaps Crowley’s terribly eloquent description of his cheeks. He’s not going to ask. “It’s lovely to make proper introductions at last…”

“Crowley,” he supplies with a nod of his head. “Well then. Now that we’re properly acquainted, dig in. And let me know what you think.”

Glancing at the container in Aziraphale’s hands, Crowley’s once again reminded that it is a rather sorry attempt at sushi. While he’s always thought he has a knack for using his hands, it’s clear he hasn’t yet mastered this particular art. The rolls have already mostly fallen apart, loose rice sticking to the walls of the container rather than, well, other pieces of rice. At least, he thinks, the ingredients used are of a high enough quality that the experience shouldn’t be a horrible one, taste-wise. That, and he also hopes Aziraphale is hungry enough not to mind particularly much that this creation is nowhere near proper sushi quality.

Propping his chin on his hand, he watches intently as Aziraphale picks up a roll - squished between the chopsticks it falls apart some more because of course it does - and then carefully places it in his mouth. He chews, agonisingly slow, his eyes fluttering shut - how in the hell are his eyelashes this long? - and then, once he’s finally swallowed - what if I swallowed you, Crowley’s singular braincell says, unprompted - he breathes a tiny, satisfied sigh. To make matters even worse, he, honest-to-Someone, does a full-body wiggle. All in all, it’s quite the sight. Crowley can’t look away.

When Aziraphale finally opens his eyes, their gazes meet instantly - no other way about it, considering how Crowley’s been staring at him, unblinking, for about two full minutes. Crowley doesn’t even try to shy away from it; and, really, it is a bit too late for Aziraphale not to notice that he’s been blatantly ogled this whole time.

“Liked it, then?”

“Oh, it’s lovely.” Aziraphale smiles at him and it’s blinding. “Although…” His eyes flicker down, up, then down again. He carefully picks up another roll. “Well, there’s certainly room for improvement here, wouldn’t you agree?”

Crowley stifles a laugh, opting for an offended pout instead. “Hey, now… you can’t just diss my hard work like this.”

“Oh, but it’s hardly that. Take it as a compliment, dear, you can only go up from here.”

Oh, wow. So Aziraphale is not only a strong-armed, beautiful angel, but he also has a bastard streak. There it is, then. Crowley’s utterly, properly, fucked. And, worst of all, smitten.

“You really know how to praise a man,” he teases.

“Most certainly I do,” Aziraphale says primly, sticking his chin out. He pops another piece of sushi into his mouth, not breaking eye contact. Blasted soon-to-be-buggered-if-Crowley-has-it-his-way bitchy infuriating little - “Next time, you shall treat me to a proper lunch. I know several lovely Japanese restaurants in the area, I believe they’d be wonderful places to draw inspiration from.”

“Oh, I shall?” Crowley hisses, leaning in closer.

It’s at that moment, when Crowley breaks the barrier of his personal space, that Aziraphale seems to realise the level of overfamiliarity he’s just shown in the last couple of minutes. His face flushes and he looks away, far less confident than he was just a moment ago. Crowley doesn’t like this look on him.

“If you’d be amenable to it, that is, of course,” he says, softer. Unsure. Crowley wonders, how many times have you been shot down, after showing someone this side of you?

“Well,” he hums, leaning back and giving Aziraphale his space back. “Research, right? I couldn’t possibly say no.”

He sticks a hand out. Aziraphale looks at it, confused.

“It’s a deal, angel.”

At last, that brings the smile back to Aziraphale’s face. He shakes Crowley’s hand.

As stated in clause 3.2 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, persons not employed by the company nor involved in the work should be prohibited from entering the construction site. In particular, employees should make sure that only permitted personnel is allowed access to areas of the site that could prove to be particularly dangerous without proper training, such as where: injuries from fall are possible; toxic substances are used [...]”

The clock ticks away loudly, the only noise in the otherwise silent flat.

That’s a lie. There’s not a single analog clock in Crowley’s flat - but, what Crowley does have is an imagination. Looking at the minutes passing by on the digital clock that stands on his nightstand, he can imagine the sound of ticking well enough.

6:01. Tick. 6:02. Tick. 6:03. Tick.

His sleep schedule is all fucked, again. There’s not much of a chance that he’ll be able to fall asleep for another three hours or so and, by then, he’ll end up sleeping through all of the daylight instead. Wonderful.

He wonders if Aziraphale’s started work yet.

That thought is what finally gets him out of bed. He grabs a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and then pads out of the bedroom wearing just his pyjamas - or, more precisely, an old, faded Queen t-shirt, ratty sweatpants and duck-print socks.

It’s just his luck, it appears, that Aziraphale does start work early. Sun hasn’t even risen yet and so Aziraphale’s white hair ends up being a stark contrast against the darkness of the early morning sky. Crowley grins and pulls the window open with more force than is strictly necessary.

“Oi, angel!” He waits a beat, until Aziraphale turns towards him. Once he has his attention, he leans an elbow on the windowsill and, for the added effect, waggles his eyebrows. “What’s a handsome guy like you doing in these parts? Hm?”

In response, Aziraphale shoots him what is most likely supposed to be an exasperated glare, but, really, comes across far too fond for its intended effect.

“Dear, I’m at work, must you really?” he asks, shaking his head.

“Yes, I must,” Crowley says, perching on the windowsill. He then swings his legs over the window frame in one smooth motion until his socked feet are firmly planted on the scaffolding.

Instantly, Aziraphale freezes and stares.

“Crowley, what are you -”

“Going out for a smoke,” Crowley replies casually. He pulls one cigarette out, tosses the remainder of the pack carelessly back into the flat and then flicks his lighter.

“But my dear fellow, you can’t -”

“Oh, if anyone asks, just tell them you tried to stop me, but I wouldn’t budge. Besides -” He pauses to light the cigarette, then gestures with it at the surrounding construction. “- no one’s even paying attention to us. ‘s fine, angel.”

Aziraphale opens his mouth, then closes it, but, of course, not without a frustrated huff. Still, he makes no move to actually shoo Crowley back inside.

They both fall silent after that. Crowley leans against the building wall and Aziraphale, dropping any pretence of displeasure, comes to stand next to him. The tension seems to have been drained from his shoulders, not as worried about anyone catching them anymore. In the distance, the first rays of the morning sun begin to shine.

Crowley takes a couple of puffs and then clears his throat.

“I gotta ask, angel, why construction? I mean, no offence, but you don’t strike me as the kind of guy to do manual labour like this out of passion. Bit too…” he waves an arm. “Bit too… something for that.”

“Queer?” Aziraphale supplies helpfully, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Posh?”

“Eghhhhh…” Crowley makes a vague noise and shrugs. “Both, I guess.”

“Ah, but certainly there’s many posh, queer men such as myself working these jobs,” Aziraphale laughs. Crowley can’t argue with that. “That being said, when it comes to me… you aren’t wrong, dear.”

“Just pays the bills, then?”

Aziraphale nods. “That, it does. I suppose it’s… well, I’ve always been strong enough to do this kind of work. Like you said, it does pay and is fairly easy to come by. And - for all the prejudices that there might be, in a field such as this one, the people I work with tend not to care what my sexual preference is or how manicured my hands are, just as long as I can do the work.”

Instinctively, Crowley’s eyes flicker down to Aziraphale’s hands. They’re littered with callouses, tiny cuts and scars, various signs of hard physical work, yet they really do look well taken care of, nails perfectly trimmed and shiny. He distinctly remembers the time they shook hands, too - how soft Aziraphale’s hand felt, despite the strain of the work. Good hands, they are.

Needing to stop his thoughts from running wild before he starts considering what those hands could feel like against other parts of his body, Crowley takes a drag of his cigarette. “What would you do instead, then?” he asks, blowing the smoke out. “If money was no object.”

Aziraphale doesn’t need to consider the question long. “I’d run a bookshop,” he smiles as he says it. “Or work in a library… some place that’d let me introduce people to the joys of reading.”

“Books, huh,” Crowley hums. “See, now that does seem like you.”

Aziraphale laughs softly.

The silence they fall into once more is a companionable one, neither of them eager to let this moment come to an end just yet. It takes about a minute or two before Aziraphale speaks.

“Would you be so kind as to share a fag, dear?”

Crowley smirks. He can’t possibly pass up an opportunity like this. “Well… that’s forward, even for you.”

Aziraphale puffs his chest out. “That is not -” he begins, but cuts himself off the moment their eyes meet.

Something in the air between them has just changed. All of a sudden, the moment feels charged, something unspoken, and Crowley, provocative as ever, intends to make good use of it. He presses the cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag, eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s. Nicotine smoke billows between them and Crowley drops his arm, letting the cigarette hang loosely between his lips. He raises an eyebrow, what do you say, angel?, and then simply waits, still as a statue.

Aziraphale’s tongue darts out as he wets his lips, his gaze flickering down to Crowley’s own. He seems to get the hint, the clever angel, and without hesitation reaches out to pluck the cigarette directly out of Crowley’s mouth. He presses it to his lips, tips his head back and breathes in, deeply.

Crowley can’t take it anymore.

The moment Aziraphale pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, Crowley pounces. He grasps at the collar of Aziraphale’s shirt and pulls him in, just in time for Aziraphale to exhale the smoke into Crowley’s mouth right as their lips meet. A small gasp of surprise escapes him as well, but he doesn’t seem displeased by the turn of the events; the opposite, really.

Oh, isn’t it a delightfully decadent thing to be kissing an angel on this scaffolding, out for anyone to see, with cigarette smoke clouding in the shared air between.

They stay like that a while, lips moving lazily while the cigarette continues to burn, nested between two of Aziraphale’s soft fingers. Eventually, Crowley’s too-gay-to-function mind finally gets about half a thought and it goes something like fuckfuckfuckbuggerfuck -

At once, he lets go of Aziraphale’s shirt and pulls back, lips parted and breath coming out heavy. Aziraphale, too, is a sight - cheeks flushed, lips pursed and shiny with saliva, shirt mussed up where Crowley had just been holding on. The moment they’re parted, Aziraphale brings a hand up, presses his fingertips to his reddened lips. Fuck, Crowley wants to kiss him again, badly.

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he scrambles away, one hand grasping at the windowsill lest he slips and ends this otherwise wonderful kiss in a rather unfortunate tumble to the ground.

“You can finish it off,” he mumbles, gesturing at the cigarette in Aziraphale’s hand. It’s pretty much burnt down to the butt by now, seeing as how they had gotten too distracted to pay attention to it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says and his fingers are still pressed to his lips and Crowley should really just leave before he does anything stupid and gets this angel into trouble.

“Nice seeing you, angel.” He hurriedly swings his legs over the windowsill, all while making a half assed attempt at a two-finger salute. “Ciao!”

So that’s how Crowley first kisses an angel. It’s also how he manages to cock it all up the very same morning. Bollocks.

As stated in clause 1.1 of the Heaven Construction employee handbook:

“During active construction work, employees on site are not permitted to leave the site during their scheduled work hours. The only exceptions are: scheduled breaks, in which case employees may leave their work assignments and head to the designated break area; as well as emergencies and accidents.”

There’s a knock on Crowley’s window. He can hear it, clear as day. He considers, for maybe a second or two, if he should ignore it.

He hasn’t spoken to Aziraphale in a few days. He sees him, day in and day out, as he continues his work right by Crowley’s window, but each time, he makes a point to look away, to stay away. All because of the Kiss - and yes, it definitely deserves the capital letter.

Crowley’s not stupid. He knows Aziraphale enjoyed it, could see it in the way he responded so eagerly to it, trailing after him once they parted, how his fingertips pressed against his own lips as if savouring it. He also knows that Aziraphale has been flirting with him as much as Crowley himself has. So, all in all, it seems like there’s certainly no reason for Crowley to be having this giant queer freak out. And yet.

There’s a knock on Crowley’s window and, freak out or no, he can’t ignore it.

He opens the window and raises his eyebrows the moment he’s met with Aziraphale’s bashful face.

“Wassup?” Act casual.

“Ah, yes, hello, terribly sorry to bother you, and you can of course say no, but it seems that Ligur has rendered our portapotty out of order, and well. I was just wondering, that is -”

Oh, as if things weren’t awkward enough already.

Aziraphale is rambling and Crowley is still freaking out, but he likes Aziraphale and so he takes pity on him. “Yes, angel, you can use my bathroom,” he sighs and takes a step back, giving Aziraphale the space to climb inside.

“Oh, oh thank you.”

There isn’t much finesse in how Aziraphale climbs through the window and into Crowley’s flat - in fact, he nearly loses his balance not just once, but twice, and Crowley resists the urge to hold his hand to help him. Eventually, he makes it through and stands up straight, smoothing out his clothes before giving Crowley a tight-lipped, but thankful, smile.

“Ah yes, where do I -”

“Down the hall, second door to the left.”

Aziraphale nods and without another word, walks past Crowley and into the hall in search of the bathroom. The moment he’s gone, the bathroom door clicking shut behind him, Crowley lets out a long sigh of suffering and slumps against a nearby wall. God, what was he thinking…

Outside, he hears first raindrops hit the scaffolding. He turns to look out the window, watch the rain as it falls, heavier and heavier. It’s a gloomy day. It’s a gloomy day and there’s an angel in Crowley’s home and Crowley is an absolute stupid idiot twat -

The bathroom door clicks again. By now, the rain outside pounds heavily, a typical English downpour. Aziraphale comes out of the hall and all Crowley wants to do is wrap him up in a blanket and watch the rain together. He really is an idiot.

“Ah, I suppose the rain was to be expected,” Aziraphale says, another small, fleeting smile on his lips. He’s nervous. Crowley can’t blame him.

“Yup,” he responds.

“I better get a wiggle on, then! Back to work…”

Crowley watches him - as he comes to the window, as he clumsily climbs over the windowsill and as, eventually, the rain catches up to him. Even with the scaffolding in the way, Aziraphale gets drenched immediately and Crowley finds himself doing the impulsive, kind, thing once more.

“Oh for Heaven’s - come back here,” he calls out, leaning out the window to grasp at Aziraphale’s arm and tug him back in before he’s had a chance to walk off. Aziraphale doesn’t resist much - their eyes meet and then Aziraphale’s making his way back inside of Crowley’s flat.

They stand like this for a moment, in front of the window, Aziraphale dripping onto Crowley’s floor while they both stare at one another. Finally, Crowley lets out a frustrated huff and walks away, only to return moments later with a towel. Wordlessly, he pats the towel over Aziraphale’s shoulders, his chest, then gently rubs it over his hair, doing his best to dry him off. Aziraphale lets him. Aziraphale bloody lets him.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Aziraphale says quietly.

Crowley continues the motions, not meeting his eye. “No I haven’t,” he lies because it’s what he does. Then, he sighs. “Yes, fine, okay.”

Aziraphale sighs as well. “I would love to hear an explanation as to why,” he says. “You… do realise I enjoyed it, yes?”

Crowley groans and, feeling utterly defeated, he lets go of the towel so that it hangs over Aziraphale’s head while Crowley presses his face to the back of his neck. “Yeah, angel, hard not to notice,” he says, voice muffled.

Aziraphale makes a small noise in response and Crowley can easily imagine the flush that’s painted his cheeks now. He still says nothing, though. He waits, Crowley presumes, for an explanation.

“I suppose I’ve been… worrying about getting you in trouble,” Crowley says, lifting his head to speak clearly. He rests his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder instead. “Making things awkward, me. Anyway. I’m a bit of a - a lost cause, if you haven’t realised, went and did that and then you bloody stare into my window every day so it’s - I just - am I even making any sense?”

He’s fairly certain that he doesn’t. He wonders if that’s enough.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, carefully pulling away so that he can turn around and face him. “You’re being silly.”

Crowley opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off by a hand on his cheek and then lips meeting his. He leans into it easily, his hand finding its way towards Aziraphale, fingers tenderly clutching at his work shirt. It’s different from their first kiss - where their first kiss was intense, this one’s calm, gentle. All Aziraphale, he thinks.

It’s also Aziraphale who pulls away first, though then they both hover in the shared space, close, breathing in each other’s air.

“I’d love an opportunity to get to know you better, dearheart,” Aziraphale says softly. “Perhaps, though, under circumstances where I’m not breaking work policies and neither of us is at risk of a fall injury.” His hand slides down, from Crowley’s cheek to his chest and then rests there. “Buy me lunch sometime, will you?”

Crowley laughs, amused by the way in which Aziraphale demands, never asks. “Sushi?”

Aziraphale beams. “Yes, that’d be splendid!”

They stay like this for another moment before eventually untangling themselves from each other and turning to face the window. The rain continues to pound heavily.

“You know…” Aziraphale begins, his eyes flickering between Crowley and the window. “I do work in the rain, typically. It is England, we would never get anything done otherwise.”

“So what you’re saying is I’m getting you into trouble again?”

“I don’t mind,” Aziraphale reassures quickly, flashing a smile. He pats Crowley’s shoulder gently. “Although - perhaps it’s best if I get back to it now, lest I receive another strongly worded note from Gabriel.”

“Sounds awful, that,” Crowley agrees.

They look into each other’s eyes and Crowley, cheesy as it is, wonders if this is what he’s been looking for all this time. Maybe it is true, what they say about some people being made for each other.

Dear Mr Fell,

We regret to inform you that, effective immediately, your employment with Heaven Construction is to be terminated on the basis of multiple violations of the health and safety regulations, as outlined in the employee handbook. [...]

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

When Crowley comes up to the window, two mugs of coffee in hand, he expects the familiar, angelic face. What he sees, instead, is an entirely different man, with a far more angular face, short dark hair and eyes that seem to glow purple in the sunlight.

Crowley freezes. The man notices him and, unaware of Crowley’s crisis, gives him a smile and a wave. Who the hell is this twat?

So, something is wrong. Aziraphale is… gone and Crowley’s doing his best not to panic because really, this isn’t a good reason to panic, not at all, except this makes him realise that they’ve never even swapped numbers or… anything, really. If Aziraphale is gone, truly gone, then Crowley has no chance of ever finding him again. Bugger, Crowley’s going to be sick.

The shrill noise of his doorbell makes him jump, some of the coffee spilling onto the floor. Crowley curses under his breath, practically slamming the mugs down onto the nearest surface, ignoring the sting of hot coffee on his fingers. He stomps through the flat, ready to tell whoever is at his door to fuck right off because now is not the time.

“I don’t know what you’re selling but whatever - Aziraphale?”

“Yes. Hi. Hello.”

It’s him, standing in all his angelic glory at Crowley’s doorstep. He looks… well, different from how Crowley’s used to seeing him. Instead of work clothes, he’s dressed much nicer and, as much as Crowley’s enjoyed the chance to see Aziraphale at work, sweat-soaked t-shirts clinging to his skin and toned arms on display, this feels much more like him. It’s old-fashioned, terribly so, a beige suit and a bloody tartan bow tie to top it all off. Crowley wants to kiss him - Crowley realises that he can do just that.

And so he does. Before Aziraphale even has the chance to explain what’s going on, Crowley pulls him in for a kiss. It’s quick, though it leaves them both flushed from the sheer unexpectedness of it.

“Hey,” Crowley says once they part.

“Hi,” Aziraphale repeats and he’s smiling.

Remembering that they’re still standing in the doorway, Crowley steps back and lets Aziraphale come into the flat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks as he shuts the door behind him and then leads him further into the flat. After all, he still has a warm mug of coffee waiting for him. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but - I was expecting you up there -” He gestures to the window. “- and not over there.”

“Ah, yes - oh, thank you,” Aziraphale interrupts himself as Crowley hands him his mug. “Well, about that…”

He trails off. His eyes flicker over to the window and, as Crowley looks over his shoulder, he sees That Other Guy giving another overenthusiastic wave in their direction. Crowley huffs and pulls the blinds close. It really is wrong to have someone other than Aziraphale looking into his home.

“Yes, angel?” he prompts gently now that there’s no one looking at them.

“I got fired,” Aziraphale admits at last, moving to sit down in a chair. Crowley’s eyes widen and he opens his mouth, but Aziraphale cuts him off. “Oh, do not start apologising, this is entirely on me. And, to be perfectly honest, I don’t find myself upset over losing this job, although, well, it does mean I’ll have to start looking for something new…”

“Angel…”

“Crowley, really, I don’t want to hear a single apology out of you -”

“No, angel, that’s not what I was going to say.” Crowley shakes his head. He comes closer and crouches down in front of Aziraphale who looks down at him with such fondness that Crowley feels like he’s just been shot through his heart. Still, he continues on, “Said you wanted to work with books, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes. But - well, it’s terribly difficult to -”

“Shhh - shush.” Crowley raises a finger, cutting him off. “Lemme finish. Point is - my point is, I have a friend, book girl, she works at a library. They have an open position, I think, and I could… y’know. Put in a good word.” He raises his eyebrows, letting his hand rest on Aziraphale’s knee. “What do you say?”

“Oh - would you, really?”

“‘course.”

Aziraphale’s smile lights up the entire room. “You’re a darling, Crowley.” He grasps Crowley’s hand and Crowley rolls his eyes.

“Shuddup.”

“Well, you are! And I’m very grateful.”

Crowley grumbles something under his breath. He presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s hand, needing to find an outlet for this warm emotion that’s threatening to burst right out of his heart.

“Buy you lunch about it,” Crowley mutters, lips still brushing against the skin of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Hm?”

He clears his throat, tries again. “I’ll buy you lunch. Today. As soon as you finish your coffee.”

Crowley didn’t think it was possible for the look on Aziraphale’s face to get any fonder and yet somehow the bastard’s done it. Crowley can’t even look him in the eye anymore, too overwhelmed by the love radiating off Aziraphale.

“Lovely,” Aziraphale whispers. “I better make haste, then.”

#smolalienbeewrites #good omens #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #gomens #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #good omens human au #human au #fanfiction #azcrow #good omens meetcute #meetcute

32 notes · View notes